“How do you know this?” Ghaul asked, suspicion plain in his voice.
“I saw him. He wears the armor of a moneysword. If it’s who I think, we’re better not to meet him.”
“Suath,” Athryn said under his breath as he finished with Khirro’s wound. “There could be none more dangerous on our trail.”
They moved quickly, fixing their supplies to the mounts. Khirro helped, though his wound made it difficult. It would feel better soon, he knew, but would be a day or more before he could use his arm. The second time his pack slipped from his grasp, Ghaul caught it and helped him.
“I didn’t intend the arrow for you,” he said in a voice quiet enough only the two of them could hear.
Khirro looked into his eyes, discerning nothing from them. Was this his apology? Did he mean the rain caused his grip to slip? No matter who he pierced with the arrow, it was inexcusable if done on purpose-they’d agreed not to kill Shyn if he returned in good faith. Unsure of Ghaul’s meaning and motives, Khirro only nodded in response. This man had kept him alive when he wouldn’t have survived on his own, for that he owed him the benefit of the doubt. Ghaul offered his hand and helped Khirro climb onto the chestnut horse.
“Who is this Suath?” Elyea asked as they set out.
“A murderer of women and children,” Shyn said gravely. “A wretch. A devil disguised in the skin of a man.”
“Why would he follow us?” Khirro’s voice was breathy and weak with pain. He held the reins delicately with his right hand and held the vial against his wound with the other.
“Men like Suath do nothing without payment in gold,” Shyn said. “Someone’s paid him to follow us.”
“But who?”
“Take your pick,” Ghaul said.
They formed a rough line with Shyn leading the way and Ghaul at the rear, undoubtedly to keep an eye on Shyn. Khirro sat in the middle, with Athryn and Maes ahead and Elyea behind.
“The soldiers following Suath are Erechanian,” Shyn said over his shoulder. “He may be scouting for them.”
“Or they could be chasing him,” Athryn added without conviction.
Ghaul laughed. “I think it best we don’t find out.”
“Ghaul’s right. Our best chance is to be asea before we’re caught.” Shyn pointed ahead of them. “We are only a few days ride from the port of Sheldive. If we reach it and get a boat before he finds us, we should be fine.”
“How do you know we need to get asea?” Ghaul asked. “Khirro?”
He’d revealed their journey during one of his watches while Shyn was bound to a tree, but now he remained silent, feigning exhaustion from his wound. Ghaul let the subject go, though Khirro was sure it would come up another time.
Rain beat upon them and they fell into silence as they pushed their mounts as fast as they dared through the tangle of brush and trees. The heat from the king’s blood seeped into Khirro’s shoulder, warming his arm to the elbow. He flexed his fingers; the movement caused considerable pain.
As they rode, his eyes on Athryn’s black-cloaked back, he wondered about the man following them, but it distracted him only briefly. After weeks of being chased, he felt little concern. He’d worry if he caught them. Instead, his thoughts turned back to Ghaul. He believed the arrow hadn’t been meant for him-if Ghaul wanted to kill him, he’d had many opportunities. But it bothered him the arrow might have been meant for Shyn. The border guard came back with horses and supplies, and quickly, so he deserved their thanks and trust, not an arrow to the chest. Khirro sighed. Both men had shown dedication to this cursed journey. He couldn’t imagine reaching the goal without either of them, so he decided to dismiss it as an accident, as Ghaul claimed. If anyone knew accidents happened, Khirro did. The decision did little to ease his unrest.
Nearly three hours passed, time spent mostly in silence except for the frequent checks from both Athryn and Elyea to see how Khirro fared, when Shyn reined his horse to a halt at the crest of a hill. The others halted their steeds beside him.
“What is it?” Khirro asked.
The land fell away in a gentle, brush covered slope which gave way to grassland in the distance, the three days of rain slowly coaxing green back to the landscape. Farms dotted the valley stretched before them; a town sat next to a river near the center. To the south, rolling hills became mountains, peaks hidden in the billowing gray clouds.
“To the south west, the valley ends and the sea begins,” Shyn said pointing to the right of the mountains. “That’s where we find Sheldive. There we can hire a boat to cross the Small Sea and take us to Lakesh.”
The name of the haunted land sent a chill down Khirro’s spine. When the Shaman cursed him, he felt fear and despair, but the passage of time had washed much of it away. Drawing nearer the end of their travel brought it back again.
“We’ll have to skirt the valley and keep to the trees,” Ghaul said, directing his comment to no one in particular. “We won’t be welcomed here.”
“It would be best to avoid confrontation,” Athryn agreed. “Perhaps we could lose our pursuers, too.”
“Very well.” Shyn reined his horse around. “Are you well enough to continue, Khirro?”
“I grow stronger with each passing moment,” Khirro said more on faith than feeling. The intense pain in his arm continued but the vial healed him before, he had no reason to think it wouldn’t this time.
“Then we ride.” Shyn put heels to his mount, guiding it back into the forest. “But ride with care.”
Athryn followed, Maes bouncing placidly in the saddle before him. Elyea urged her horse beside Khirro’s as he started out.
“Are you sure you’re well enough to continue?”
Khirro nodded, sighing. Elyea smiled.
“You’re a brave man, Khirro. Let me help.”
She leaned over and took the vial from his hand, a gasp of surprise coming from her as she touched its warm surface. He tensed a little as she held it up to peer at the blood.
“Does this truly help?”
“It healed my leg the first time I took an arrow.”
He laughed a little, wondering how many farmers could say they had twice been skewered by arrows. Elyea lifted his bandage, blood and rain tinting it the washed out pink of a winter sunrise. Khirro cringed as she tucked the glass under the cloth, its warm surface pressing against his tender wound.
“Now you can ride with the other hand and allow this one to heal.”
“Thank you.”
Khirro glanced at the rain running from her hair, down her face, and thought about her prancing through the forest naked. Something stirred in his stomach and he averted his gaze. She stroked her hand along his forearm.
“Let’s go,” Ghaul growled behind them. “The one-eyed man will show no mercy if he catches us.”
Khirro clucked at his horse and the chestnut moved forward, Elyea and Ghaul falling in behind. As they re-entered the forest, the rain eased. Khirro looked over his shoulder, past his companions, at the valley beyond and thought he saw the sun breaking through the clouds in the distance.
Chapter Twenty-One
“How is your shoulder?” Athryn settled himself on the log beside Khirro.
“Better.” He raised his arm and made a loose fist-the best he could manage. “The king's blood does wonders.”
“I should expect.”
The magician rolled his mask up to uncover his mouth and bit into a piece of salt pork. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment before speaking again.
“Quite a sword you have, Khirro.”
“It…” A flutter of guilt interrupted his response as he remembered the fallen Shaman-the man who both saved him and cursed him in the space of a few hours. “It was Bale’s.”
“Yes. The Mourning Sword.”
Khirro’s eyes flickered to the magician, then away.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken it.” He reached to remove the sword belt, a twinge of pain running down his arm. “You take it. You knew the Shaman.”