“How did this happen?”
“Dragonfire.”
Khirro saw Ghaul’s expression shift again, this time to disbelief. “Dragonfire? If you speak the truth, prove it.”
The illusionist said nothing as Khirro looked questioningly at Ghaul. The warrior folded his arms across his chest.
“A man who survives the touch of dragonfire retains a portion of the dragon’s magic. If Athryn speaks the truth, he should be able to show us more than hiding coins on the back of his hand or making a woman disappear through a trap door.”
“I didn’t-” Elyea protested, but Athryn held up his hand to stop her.
“Let him show us,” Khirro said, curiosity making him forget his bout of vertigo.
Athryn nodded. From the corner of his eye, Khirro saw Maes lay his quill and bark aside. The illusionist closed his eyes, head bowed. His lips moved whispering words Khirro had never heard before. A chill crawled up his spine.
The air in the chamber stirred and a gentle draft touched Khirro’s skin as though a door was left ajar. He ignored it, but as Athryn’s words continued, the draft became a breeze. Khirro looked around the room. The door remained closed, the tapestry didn’t move. Overhead, the branches stretching across the hole in the ceiling didn’t sway.
How…?
A movement drew Khirro’s gaze away from the illusionist. Maes had stood, a dagger in his hand. Khirro’s heart jumped.
Ghaul was right.
He wanted to warn the others but couldn’t find his tongue. The breeze intensified, concentrating in front of Athryn at the center of the room, swirling into a whirlwind, flapping his cloak about his body. The temperature dropped and the illusionist’s breath became visible as his whispers continued, words drowned by the howling wind. The whirlwind became a tornado, spinning in place, intensifying until it became opaque. Khirro looked from Athryn to Maes-the small man had made no move toward him or his companions.
The wind stopped abruptly and Athryn’s cloak fell back to his sides, yet the tornado remained. Khirro squinted.
No, not a tornado.
Something solid had replaced the tornado, spinning in place like a coin set on edge. Khirro gaped. As the revolutions slowed, it resolved into the shape of a shield. Ghaul stretched out his hand but pulled away like a man who’d touched fire when his fingers brushed it. The disturbance set it wobbling and it clattered to the floor. Tentatively, Ghaul reached out again, but this time didn’t draw away when he touched it.
“It’s real.” His fingers touched bands of hammered copper and bronze criss-crossing the surface of the oval shield. “Did you create this?”
“No.” Athryn’s eyes were open. He pulled the cloth mask back into place as he answered. “I brought it here, but I did not create it.”
“How?” Khirro managed to ask.
“I cannot explain, but it should quell your concerns.” He picked the shield up from the floor. “This is for you, Khirro.”
When Khirro could only stare at the offering, Maes took it from the magician and brought it to him. The small man no longer held the jeweled dagger; a trickle of blood flowed down his arm from a cut on his left bicep.
“What happened to you, Maes?”
Elyea pulled a cloth from her bodice and dabbed the cut on Maes’ arm as Khirro accepted the shield, but the jester didn’t respond. The shield was real-heavy and solid. It held no warmth or vibration, nothing to make him believe it a magic shield.
“It is necessary,” Athryn answered on his behalf.
“What do you mean?” Ghaul shifted to look at the wound on Maes’ arm.
“Magic requires payment. Energy drawn requires energy paid.”
Khirro looked from the little man’s bloody arm to Athryn, the blood draining from his face. All those rumors and stories dismissed as flights of fancy instantly became true, shifting his life into another dimension. A life of potatoes and beans sounded less complicated than one where wizards and dragons existed, but now it felt so far away.
“All is ready.” The troubadour parted the tapestry and entered the room. “Shall I be coming with you to sing a traveling song?” He eyed Elyea and smiled.
“Not this time,” Athryn said. “We leave immediately.”
Khirro looked at him, his head spinning. This display, this new reality, left him with no words to speak, no idea what to do. He glanced at Ghaul.
“Why do you wish to accompany us?” the soldier asked.
“I dreamed a future without the king and it is not one I desire to live.”
“But Braymon outlawed magic,” Ghaul pointed out. “Why would you want him back if it means living a lie?”
“His law was a facade to placate the people and discourage show-offs. The cult of magic exists everywhere, meeting secretly, but Braymon knew and let it be thus.” Athryn adjusted his mask and brushed wind-thrown dirt from his cloak. “In Kanos, Healers, Shamans and Sorcerers not in the employ of the Archon are hunted down and drowned like rats. An Erechania ruled by the Kanosee becomes a dangerous place for the likes of me.”
Khirro nodded. Ghaul shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.
“It sounds like you’ll be joining us,” the warrior said begrudgingly. Khirro wondered why. “We should go.”
“Yes.” Athryn moved toward the oaken door; Maes followed, leaving his writing implements scattered on the floor. Khirro glanced at them and saw the letters he’d scrawled on the light brown bark resembled the ones covering Athryn’s arms. “We have a great distance to travel.”
“I have a bad feeling,” Ghaul said when the performers had left the room. “I’ve never trusted magicians.”
Before the Shaman, Khirro had never known a magician, so he didn’t share Ghaul’s sentiment. Something felt right, even comforting, about the two men joining them. The vial of blood warmed against his chest as they followed the magician and jester from the roofless chamber. The dimness of the hall didn’t quash his good feelings and, when they emerged into bright sunlight to find Athryn and Maes standing with horses readied, hope flooded Khirro. With Ghaul’s blade and Athryn’s magic on their side, perhaps they had a chance to succeed.
Or, at the very least, survive.
Chapter Fifteen
In the week since leaving Inehsul and the strange keep in the woods, there had been no particular need for a magician or a very small man, but Khirro still felt thankful Athryn and Maes had joined them. More travelers meant shorter watches and more plentiful sleep, though the performers always took watch together. Khirro felt better for the extra rest.
The magician knew the area, leading them along little used paths and around towns and villages to avoid attention. With a day’s ride left to the Vendarian border, one town remained between them and Erechania’s southern neighbor. The war raging in the north meant they couldn’t know what reception might await across the border, so it wouldn’t be safe to resupply in Vendaria. Neither was Tasgarad a safe haven, but it was their last opportunity before leaving the kingdom. As the headquarters of the border patrol, the town would be crawling with whatever Erechanian troops hadn’t been called to war at the Isthmus or to reinforce the Sea Wall.
“Care will be needed,” Athryn said as Khirro readied himself for sleep the night before their arrival in Tasgarad. “We will be better off to get in and out unnoticed.”
Khirro nodded and laid his head down, listening as Athryn and Ghaul planned the best route in and out of town and where to cross the border. He listened a minute, disappointed they didn’t seek his opinion even knowing he had nothing of value to add. What did a farmer know of such things?
Nothing.
He put it from his mind and turned his attention to sleep. Not so long ago, fear might have caused him to lay awake, tossing and turning the entire night, but not this night. Sleep claimed him and dreams usurped fear’s power.