Athryn healed him.
“Safe for now, you said. How are we going to get off this cursed land bridge?”
Khirro didn’t look away from the child as he awaited his companion’s response. When it didn’t come immediately, he knew the magician didn’t have a plan. Khirro raised his head toward the sky, squinting at the sun half-hidden behind horsetail clouds. This same sky hung above his parents’ farm many leagues to the south and east. Had the Kanosee army of undead soldiers advanced that far yet? Could they still see this sky?
“I do not know, Khirro. They are searching for us, or perhaps for the child.”
“Both.”
Khirro looked back to the boy who’d raised his head to regard the two of them as they spoke, his lips tilted in a nervous half-smile, the kind a child offers in an attempt to quell an angry parent. It made Khirro want to go to him and tell him they would keep him safe, but in that moment, he wasn’t sure they could.
“How long do we have before they find us again?”
“I cannot be sure,” Athryn replied. “Not long.”
“We can’t stay here.”
“That much is certain.”
Khirro faced his companion, looked at his blue eyes peering from behind the white cloth mask. It troubled him that the magician couldn’t provide answers; he had come to depend on him.
“We’ll find one of those undead bastards and you can transport us again,” Khirro said, his fingers wrapping around his dagger’s jeweled grip. “Take us all the way to the fortress.”
Athryn shook his head slowly, as tough he performed the difficult act of moving a great weight.
“Why not? Does the magic drain you? Hurt you?”
“It is not me I am worried about.” He stepped forward and put his hand on Khirro’s shoulder. “You do not respond well. I think the blood loss and the burden of carrying the spirit of the king within you makes it too much to risk.”
Khirro sighed and his shoulders sagged; he looked away from Athryn, directing his eyes toward the ground. Before, when they first began this journey, his lack of bravery and soldier skills constantly held them back; now it was his physical limitations. Would he ever be man enough to fulfill the destiny placed upon him by the Shaman? Could he ever be a worthy soldier?
Can I ever be a hero?
A leaf moved beside Khirro’s foot, distracting him. At first he thought a gentle gust of wind must have disturbed it, but it moved again, slowly and steadily scuttling across the grass away from him. He crouched and reached for the leaf, his hand hovering above it for a second, then he plucked it off the ground. Beneath it he found a caterpillar, its green skin marked with black dots noticeable against the yellowed grass and brown leaves.
Using the leaf as a disguise.
Khirro looked up at Athryn, held the leaf out for him to see. “I have an idea.”
***
They moved slowly and carefully, not knowing when or where they might run into a Kanosee patrol searching for them. The pain in Khirro’s head eventually dulled to an aching numbness as they scoured the area around them for the items they needed to put his plan into play.
“Can’t we rest? I’m tired.”
Khirro looked back to see the boy had stopped walking and stood looking down at his feet, hands held behind his back, a pout on his face. Athryn moved toward Graymon, but Khirro stopped him and went himself.
“Do you want to quit the game?” Khirro asked kneeling in front of the boy. “Do you want to stop playing before it’s done?”
Graymon looked up, his eyes widening. “Game? I didn’t know it was a game. What game are we playing?”
“It’s a scavenger hunt.”
“A scav-jur hunt? What’s that?”
Khirro nodded and smiled at the boy. “You’ve never been on a scavenger hunt?”
Graymon shook his head. A smile touched his lips and Khirro saw the enthusiasm building inside him; it showed in the gleam in his eyes and the color of his cheeks.
“A scavenger hunt is when you have to find things. The first one to find them wins.”
“Really? What do we have to find?”
“Some red berries. Dark mud. Green moss. Charcoal would be ideal.” Khirro ticked each one off on a finger as he spoke.
“Charcoal?”
“A burnt piece of wood.”
“Okay. Berries-”
“Red berries. They have to be red.”
“Red berries, green moss, mud and a burnt stick.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“And if I find them first, I win?”
Before Khirro finished nodding, Graymon took off past him, racing into the woods. Khirro watched him pick his way around piles of deadfall and past prickled bushes, pausing at each, searching for berries, then looking at the ground, and the trees. Athryn caught his eyes and nodded once. Khirro stood and sighed.
If things were different, I’d one day have been playing this game with my own child.
Graymon disappeared behind a tree and Khirro and Athryn started after him. A few seconds later, they heard the boy whoop with joy.
“I found some moss,” the boy hollered.
Khirro fought back a smile. “It worked,” he said to Athryn. “But we best find a way to keep him quiet.”
Athryn nodded and they hurried after the excited boy.
***
Khirro looked down at himself, felt the mud on his face crack like a second skin pulled too tight across his cheeks. The charred remains of a Kanosee campfire-the last of the scavenged items they’d found-darkened his leather armor and would make do as a substitute for black mail, but he couldn’t see if the berry juice they’d streaked across it would pass for the red spatters on the Kanosee undead.
“How do I look?”
“Funny,” Graymon said from behind Athryn’s black cloth mask. He was equally as pleased with playing dress-up as he’d been with winning the scavenger hunt.
“Great, thanks. Athryn?”
The magician, who’d removed his own mask, looked him up and down for a few seconds, then he looked at the boy. He shook his head.
“Not good enough.”
Khirro raised his hands, then let them drop in frustration. “What else can we do? Kill me and bring me back?”
Athryn raised an eyebrow and Khirro worried for a second that he considered exactly that, but the magician shook his head. Instead, he rolled up his sleeve, traced his finger along the cursive lines etched in his flesh. Khirro waited until Athryn looked up again.
“You will need your dagger.”
Khirro’s heart jumped, then settled.
He doesn’t want my life, just my blood.
“What are you going to do?”
Khirro pulled the dagger from his belt, rolled up his sleeve, and rested the edge of the blade on his flesh next to the last cut he’d made to enable Athryn to cast a spell. A scab covered the straight mark across his arm but it looked a long way from being healed.
“With just your blood, I should be able to do a little magic to aid with our disguises. It should not harm you.”
He closed his eyes and began his chant, its rhythmic ebb and flow threatening to mesmerize Khirro as he held the cold steel against his arm awaiting his companion’s signal. When the magician nodded, he hesitated a second, then dragged the sharp edge across his forearm. Khirro watched the blood well up, then flow down his arm in a red trail, along the lines of his palm and finally down his finger to form drops that plummeted to the ground. As he watched, he thought of Maes and the scars that had covered the little man’s body.
Will I end up like him?
Khirro raised his eyes from the cut and the blood, looked over Athryn’s shoulder at Graymon sitting on the ground drawing in the dirt with the end of a stick, the magician’s black mask hanging loose over his face. Every few seconds, he reached up to adjust it to keep the eye holes in the right place. The action made Khirro smile. When he did, his face felt different. He no longer felt dried mud crusted on his cheeks. Only then did he realize Athryn’s chanting had ceased. Khirro looked at the magician.