I’ll learn from this, be more careful next time.
Minutes passed, unease growing in Khirro as he waited. He shifted from one foot to the other, crossed his arms and uncrossed them, eyes darting, seeing nothing of the magician crossing the open land. But why did he feel so unsettled? If any of them could cross the border undetected, it was Athryn. Peering intently into the dark, Khirro ignored the growing notion something was amiss. He shifted again, careful to move noiselessly. The unease spread from his head and chest into his limbs, manifesting physically, weighing them down.
Something was very wrong.
As Athryn finally pushed through the brush, Khirro realized what. He slipped his hand beneath his tunic, hoping he guessed wrong, already knowing what he’d find.
Gone.
Ghaul tapped his shoulder, signaled him to follow. Khirro shook his head and the warrior gestured again. Embarrassed and afraid, Khirro didn’t want to tell but had no other choice.
“The vial’s gone.”
Ghaul’s face first slackened with surprise then went stern in anger.
“You dropped it?”
Khirro nodded minutely. With a shake of his head, Ghaul turned to the others and told them what happened. Without waiting for them to add their accusing looks to Ghaul’s, Khirro slipped shield and pack from his back and moved quickly back onto the open ground before they could stop him or he changed his mind. The Shaman made the vial his responsibility, for better or for worse, so he’d fix this.
After only a few paces, an out-of-place, insistent bird call caught his attention. He looked around at Ghaul motioning him back but Khirro shook his head and continued, hurrying back along his previous path as quickly as he dared. Ghaul would be angry with him for ignoring him, but he was already angry anyway. He put the thought from his mind as the guard posts loomed and he searched for the spot where he fell. He must have lost the vial when he rolled on the ground.
What if I broke it?
The thought startled Khirro and he touched his chest: no damp spot on his tunic. Gods be with him, the vial had only come free. He fell to hands and knees, scanning the dirt and brittle grass, picking up scraps of wood and rocks and tossing them aside.
The sound of wood scraping against wood froze him in his spot-it was the sound of a bar withdrawn from its place on a door. Khirro flattened, pressing his belly to the dirt. The door opened, torchlight flooded onto the brown scrub grass. A figure stood framed in the doorway, pole arm in hand.
“Who goes there?”
The man sounded stern and threatening but Khirro thought he heard a slur in the words, the result of one too many drinks. He held his breath, body tensed. A reflection of the torchlight off something lying on the ground a few yards away caught his eye.
The vial.
“I said ‘who’s there’?”
The guard stepped forward from the doorway, brandishing his weapon. Stretched upon the ground, Khirro couldn’t reach his sword, though it would be suicide if he did. The guard took another step.
“It is I, Shyn,” another voice said, surprising both Khirro and the border guard. A tall man clad in Erechanian leathers stepped into the light cast by the guard’s torch. His hand didn’t linger near the sword hanging at his side.
“What are you doing here?” the border guard asked derisively, his threatening stance relaxing at the sight of the other man.
“Patrol,” the second man replied. “Go back to your merry-making. I’ll protect the border for you.”
The man’s foot came to rest inches from the vial. Another step and he might shatter it. Part of Khirro hoped he did.
“Go back where you belong, Shyn. The border is no place for the likes of you.” The guard spit in the dirt, a line of saliva trailing down his chin. “Go back to Tasgarad and concern yourself with drunks and thieves and whores. Leave the soldiering to real soldiers.” He retreated, slamming the door behind him, giving the other man no opportunity to reply.
Shyn stood his ground, fists clenched, fierce gaze burning into the closed door. To Khirro it felt a long time he lay on his belly unmoving, breath shallow as he waited for the man’s next action. After a time he crouched, wrapped his fingers around the vial and stood again. Khirro’s heart jumped into his throat. The man strode to where Khirro lay struggling not to squirm at his approach.
“Is this what you’re looking for?”
Khirro looked up at the man, blinking. No anger or threat showed on his face, his hand held no weapon. Still, Khirro neither moved nor spoke. Shyn knelt before him, offering him the vessel.
If he knew I was here, why didn’t he give me away?
“I don’t know what this contains, but it must be important for five of you to risk your lives like this.”
Khirro took the vial from the man’s big hand. Calm flowed into him, down his arm and into his chest. He wanted to thank the man, but fear and confusion kept him from speaking.
“Where are your friends?”
Khirro gestured toward the forest with his chin. The soldier nodded without looking.
“I’ll take you to them. Stay behind me and no one will see you.”
He offered Khirro his hand, helping him to his feet. The man stood a head taller than Khirro, making it easy to hide behind him. Carefully matching stride, they passed the tower without challenge but, when they reached the tree line, Ghaul stepped from behind a high bush, an arrow aimed at Shyn.
“Let him go,” he ordered, voice low and dripping with threat. Ghaul wouldn’t hesitate to kill his rescuer.
“I’m not his captive.” Khirro put himself between the two men
“Move, Khirro. Don’t get between my bow and an enemy. You’ll not like the outcome.”
“He saved me when I was sure to be discovered.”
Ghaul pulled the arrow back further, the bowstring creaking. Athryn emerged from cover and rested his hand on Ghaul’s shoulder.
“Come,” he whispered gesturing for them to follow.
Khirro led Shyn warily past Ghaul who stepped away to keep his arrow trained on the big man. Athryn led them deeper into the forest, Maes and Elyea hand-in-hand behind the others as they picked their way through fallen trees and tangled brush in the dim moonlight. Ghaul’s bow didn’t waver from Shyn’s back. With the magician satisfied they had put enough distance between themselves and the guard post, he spoke again.
“Who are you? Why did you save Khirro?”
Shyn looked from Athryn to Ghaul. “Tell him to lower his bow. I’ll harm no one. You can have my sword as proof, if you like.”
“Don’t trust him,” Ghaul said through gritted teeth.
Athryn ignored him and nodded to Maes. The small man went to their captive and took his sword. Shyn looked a giant beside the jester.
“Lower your bow,” Athryn said. Ghaul acquiesced reluctantly. “Who are you?”
“Shyn,” he replied with a short bow. “A soldier of King Braymon’s army.”
“But why did you help Khirro?” Elyea asked. “Doesn’t the border guard keep people from crossing without permission?”
“Aye, but the guard has been turned into a collection of fools and jackasses of late, with all the officers and good soldiers taken north to bolster the Isthmus.”
“That explains why you’re still here,” Ghaul grunted. Shyn didn’t react.
“It doesn’t explain why you helped Khirro.” Elyea shot Ghaul an angry look.
“I saw what happened in Tasgarad.” He glanced from one companion to the next, his eyes shining an unusual shade of yellow, his complexion ashen in the wan light. “I would be no servant of the king if I let a magician, two fighters, a woman and a midget go on their way without finding out what they were doing.”
“See? He means to turn us in,” Ghaul barked, half-raising his bow. Athryn lifted his hand, stilling him.
“I just passed up the perfect opportunity for that, didn’t I?”