Am I insane to take comfort from the words of a dream?
He didn’t think so, but wouldn’t tell the others, anyway. As he pondered the most recent dream, the screech of a bird overhead caught his attention. Through the tree branches, he glimpsed a gray falcon soaring high above. It circled over them, giving Khirro an opportunity to marvel at its size. His lips parted to tell the others, but it streaked off north-west at an incredible speed. His mouth remained open as he watched it disappear in the distance. It was the bird of prey from his dream.
A shiver ran down Khirro’s spine.
Chapter Twenty
Rain began the day after they released Shyn.
When clouds first gathered, they praised the Gods. As the first droplets fell-gentle to start, then gaining in tempo and force-they raised their faces skyward and let the rain wash weeks of sticky heat from their skin. Athryn removed his white cloth mask to feel the refreshing moisture pelt his scarred face. Elyea stole away into the forest on her own. When more than a few minutes passed, Khirro followed, worried for her safety, and came upon her dancing naked in a glade, water streaming from her strawberry hair in rivulets down her back and between her breasts. He watched for a while, enraptured, feeling something more than the embarrassment he’d felt when he first saw her unclothed. This time, when their eyes met, he didn’t avert his gaze and she didn’t attempt to hide herself. He enjoyed her beauty a moment before he left. She emerged from the forest ten minutes later, wet but clothed, and they exchanged looks and smiles, but nothing else: a secret for them to share.
Two days later, no one danced or tilted their faces to the heavens. They cursed the Gods instead of praising them.
“There’s water in my boots,” Khirro grumbled as they trudged across a muddy patch of ground. “My tunic is glued to my back.”
“Stop whining,” Elyea said. “You complain a lot for a man who made his living on a farm.”
“We didn’t farm in the rain. Never did I harvest a potato with water running into my eyes.”
Ahead, Khirro saw Maes pull on the dripping sleeve of Athryn’s shirt. The magician stopped and looked toward his brother.
“Hold.”
They stopped, waiting for the magician to speak. He cocked his head, listening. Khirro did the same but heard nothing but the patter of rain drops on his soaked clothes and soon began to lose patience. He wiped water from his eyes, about to complain again when Athryn spoke.
“Horses. Someone is coming.”
“I don’t hear any-” Khirro began, but the others were already moving to find cover. He followed, pushing his way through a dense bush, the wet foliage dumping rain water on his head.
Ghaul pulled his bow from his shoulder and nocked an arrow as he crouched, gesturing for Khirro to draw his sword. He did and, with the black blade free, he noticed Maes staring at it instead of in the direction Athryn had indicated.
For a minute, Khirro heard only the plunk of rain impacting the leaves around him. They stared through the brush, waiting, Elyea with a dagger in hand, poised to strike as any fighter would. Athryn drew his sword while Maes stared at Khirro’s weapon. Above, a leaf that had been collecting water for some time overflowed, spilling its contents down the back of Khirro’s neck. He shivered, shaking the brush around him and drawing a glare from Ghaul.
Hoof beats soon became noticeable above the rain’s patter. Khirro held his breath, listening closer. He was no tracker, but he could tell more than one rider approached, though how many, he didn’t know. The sounds grew nearer and their pace slowed.
They’re following our trail. His grip on his sword tightened.
A breeze parted the leaves briefly, blowing rain against Khirro’s cheek, revealing a swatch of chestnut fur as a rider halted directly in front of them. Ghaul drew back on his bowstring as the muscles in Khirro’s thighs tensed, readying to spring.
The chestnut moved out of sight and a palomino came into view, followed by a horse of deep black. This time, he saw the rider’s leg and realized he hadn’t seen the same on the other horses. No riders sat them. It could only mean one thing.
“I know you’re there,” the rider called out.
Khirro looked at Ghaul and lowered his sword.
“It’s Shyn,” he whispered, but the soldier’s face remained set, his bow drawn.
“He might have brought soldiers.”
“I can hear you,” Shyn said.
Khirro cursed himself, recalling how Shyn had heard them from a distance before. Ghaul could be right.
“I’m alone. I’ve brought horses and supplies. If you still covet my head, Ghaul, you’ll have to wait for another day.”
Khirro burst forward excitedly. After two steps, something struck him, threw him forward, pain exploding in his shoulder. He pitched through the foliage, stumbling first to his knees, then falling face first on the muddy ground at the foot of Shyn’s horse. The border guard jumped from his steed, sword drawn protectively as he knelt at Khirro’s side.
“What happened?” Shyn surveyed the area as the others emerged from their hiding places. Athryn and Elyea joined him at Khirro’s side while Ghaul stood back, empty bow dangling. Khirro writhed on the ground, blood seeping around the arrow in his right shoulder.
Twice. His mind reeled with pain, grasping for something to hold on to. I’ve been skewered by arrows twice. Who’d have thought it possible?
Shyn acted quickly, drawing his dagger and shaving the arrowhead from the shaft. Khirro bellowed in agony as the arrow slid from his flesh, drawing a gout of blood with it.
“Maes,” Athryn called.
The little man pushed his way through the brush, small dirk in hand. Tears blurred Khirro’s vision as he watched the little man approach, squat by his masked brother, and roll up his sleeve.
“No,” Khirro said through the pain as he rolled onto his back. He wouldn’t let Maes cut himself, not when it wasn’t necessary. “Bandage it.”
“You are bleeding, Khirro,” Athryn told him. “We can stop it, make it heal more quickly.”
“No.”
Khirro struggled to a sitting position, grimacing at the pain of his shredded muscle as he reached beneath his tunic and brought out the vial, showing it to everyone.
“Bandage it and this will do the rest.”
Elyea looked at him questioningly, but Athryn simply nodded and tended the wound. Relieved, Khirro remembered the uncomfortable feeling when Bale healed him with magic. The healing power of the king’s blood was more comfortable. Shyn approached Ghaul, leaving the others to care for Khirro.
“How did this happen?” He held his sword by his side; Ghaul didn’t reach for his weapon.
“He crossed in front of my bow,” Ghaul said, one side of his mouth curling in a smug smile. “The rain made my fingers slick and my hold on the arrow slipped. An accident.”
Elyea paused in bandaging Khirro’s shoulder.
“What kind of soldier can’t keep hold of his arrow?” she demanded.
Ghaul only shrugged in answer. Shyn looked at Khirro then back at Ghaul.
“Had he not stepped in front of you, that arrow would likely be embedded in my chest.”
“Perhaps.”
Shyn moved a step closer and Ghaul reached for his own sword, but the border guard moved quickly, grabbing his wrist and pulling him close so they stood chest to chest. Taller than Ghaul by almost six inches, Shyn looked down into his eyes.
“Were we not being followed, we would settle this right now.”
They looked at the tall soldier in surprise, except Maes who busied himself wiping the dirt from Khirro’s face.
“What?” Khirro asked pushing the little man’s hand away.
“Followed by whom?” Athryn added.
“A one-eyed man follows, a half-day’s ride behind. There are soldiers another day or so behind him.” Shyn turned his back on Ghaul and mounted the black horse. “We must make haste or he’ll be upon us.”