“Recently dead.” Athryn nodded. “Without fear of death, the re-animated make superior warriors. Do you recall anything else?”
After a moment’s thought, Khirro said he didn’t.
“You certainly are a farmer.” Ghaul shook his head and laughed. “A soldier is trained to observe his foes. The undead fighters wore black chain mail splashed with red paint, as though splattered with blood.”
The mask didn’t hide the way Athryn’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Black with red? These are the markings of Sheyndust, Shaman of the Kanosee. I did not think Sheyndust capable of such an act. It would take much more power than I have, or Bale had.”
Ghaul snorted. “Either someone has learned a new trick, or we ride into the grasp of our enemy.”
“Animating the dead is the act of someone striving toward necromancy. This does not bode well for the kingdom.”
Maes returned to his brother’s side, tapped him on the shoulder and pointed toward the sky. Athryn nodded.
“It is time to continue.” He rose and brushed bread crumbs from his breeches. “Night will be upon us soon.”
Khirro saddled his horse, stomach churning. If Darestat was swelling the Kanosee ranks with soldiers of the dead, they’d be riding to their deaths, no doubt of that. But what did it mean if Sheyndust possessed the ability to bring forth the dead? He swung into the saddle and allowed his horse to follow the others. Thoughts of Emeline sprang to his mind, and of his farm, but the image appeared vague, unclear, like a child’s drawing left in the sun too long, the lines had faded.
Will they eventually disappear?
A hand on his arm roused him and he turned to Elyea riding beside him.
“All will turn out.” The small action settled his gut a bit; Emeline disappeared from his thoughts. “Have faith. Athryn knows what he’s doing. Besides, the Gods smile on people like you.”
He smiled thinly. “And what of people like you?”
“Some of us have to take care of ourselves.”
They concealed themselves in the thin brush at the edge of the swath of cleared land separating the two kingdoms. The bare tract stood five hundred meters wide and stretched the length of the border, the trees cut down centuries before to provide wood to build the guard towers dotting the frontier. Originally built to discourage bandits and refugees, the kingdoms maintained the non-barrier more out of habit than need. During wartime, however, no doubt the border guards would be more wary.
A fingernail moon cast sparse light as they watched torches flicker in tower windows and a foot patrol pass between the towers at irregular intervals. After an hour’s observation, a whispered discussion between Athryn and Ghaul decided they’d attempt the crossing one by one. They’d already let the horses go knowing they couldn’t sneak them across the border.
Ghaul glanced at the sky and Khirro followed his gaze: clear, as it had been for a month. No wisp of cloud hid the moon. Ghaul looked at the others, then nodded silently. They tightened straps and secured loose items then, without a word, Ghaul broke cover, moving swiftly across the field, crouched low and halting at the slightest hint of movement. Khirro reminded himself to breathe as he watched Ghaul zig-zag over the bare expanse, choosing a path which took him farthest from the towers. After a few minutes, Athryn sent Elyea and Maes.
A finger of fear prodded Khirro’s heart, shaking him. It didn’t matter who they were or why they were here, any soldier manning the outposts wouldn’t ask questions before launching an arrow or swinging a sword. He glanced over his shoulder in the direction they’d come, wondered how difficult it would be to find one of the horses and make his way home.
That’s why Athryn will send me next: they don’t trust me.
A burst of anger flared but quickly disappeared.
I thought of leaving. They shouldn’t trust me.
Elyea and Maes stopped suddenly and dove to the ground. Khirro’s breath caught in his throat, anger and fear forgotten. He squinted into the night but saw no sentry, darkness and distance obscuring all save outlines and shapes. A tense moment passed. Ghaul’s form had disappeared long ago and he assumed he’d reached the forest on the other side-the forest of Vendaria. Beside Khirro, Athryn’s lips moved, forming a wordless whisper of breath. As if in answer, Maes rose, helped Elyea to her feet, and they continued, darkness swallowing them after another minute.
Khirro jumped when Athryn touched his shoulder.
“It is time,” he whispered. His black cloth mask and the cowl of his black cloak covering his blond hair concealed all but the scant glint of moonlight in his eyes; Khirro might not have noticed him crouched beside him.
Khirro’s heart climbed into his throat, threatening his breath; Athryn urged him forward with a gentle push. Out of the brush, Khirro felt like he’d been thrust naked into the middle of a busy marketplace, exposed and vulnerable. He crouched low, scuttled across the field. His foot struck a rock, kicking it away, and he stopped, listening, not breathing. When he heard no other sounds, he moved forward again more slowly, the weight of pack and shield on his back suddenly immense. The stillness of the night amplified every creak of his armor to ear shattering levels. In his mind, an unseen voice challenged him, the whistle of an arrow cloaked in darkness came to pierce his heart. He stopped, kneeling, pausing to catch the breath which had fled him.
To Khirro’s right, a guard tower loomed, slivers of light leaking through shuttered windows and under closed door. He looked left and made out the next watch tower in the line a little farther away. His legs didn’t want to move but Khirro forced them to creep forward, eyes pinned to the near guard post. Each step brought more confidence and he straightened, moved more quickly expecting the guard tower door to swing inward at any second.
Directly between the two towers, his foot caught in a clump of weeds and he pitched forward to the ground.
Khirro turned his shoulder, took the fall on his back. The clank of shield impacting ground seemed as loud as a clap of thunder. He rolled off it, came to a halt lying on his chest, sweat cold on his forehead. Afraid to breathe, he strained listening for any sound of men but heard only crickets chirruping and an owl call out a question that went unanswered.
No noise from the guard post, no door or window thrown open.
Carefully, Khirro rose. A figure to his left startled him and he turned toward it but it moved with him. He moved again and it did, too. With a sigh, he chastised himself for fearing his dim shadow and started toward the forest, careful of his footing. The yards of bare ground before him seemed to stretch on forever. His pack grew heavier with each step as panic grew within him. What if he reached the trees and couldn’t find the others?
What if this is a trap?
When he finally reached the brush, he crouched and glanced around but didn’t see his companions.
They’ve been discovered.
He searched for them, the bushes rustling with his movements, desperation festering in his stomach tempting him to shout for Ghaul. He parted his lips to call out when a hand covered his mouth, pulled him to the ground. Khirro clamored for his sword, unable to reach it. He ceased thrashing when Ghaul’s face appeared before his, a finger held up to his frowning lips.
Relief drained the tension from Khirro’s limbs and he grinned sheepishly, a smile Ghaul didn’t return. He imagined what the soldier must be thinking, but it didn’t matter, he was safe-for now. He clambered to his feet with no help from Ghaul, and scanned the darkness for Athryn crossing to join them, avoiding thoughts of the tongue lashing he’d have to endure from Ghaul later. His clumsiness had endangered them all, a trend he had to stop.