The other two soldiers chatted and laughed as they rotated the rabbit on the spit, but Khirro tried not to listen to their conversation. The subject matter made him uncomfortable: wenches they’d raped, soldiers they’d killed, acts of bravery they’d performed. He doubted their words held much truth, but he didn’t like what they said nonetheless, even less so with Graymon sitting within earshot.
Why can’t they mind their manners? Do they have to be so crude? Do they-
Athryn shuffled in his seat on the log, feet scuffling in the dirt, and gently nudged Khirro on the back of his foot. Khirro’s head jerked up, surprised; Athryn had caught him on the edge of dozing on his feet.
Khirro looked across the fire, hand hovering near the hilt of the short sword hanging at his side, but his undead counterpart hadn’t moved. He resisted the urge to sigh with relief and stood a little more rigid; the scare of how close he’d come to giving them away made alertness that much easier.
Athryn kicked the back of his foot again, this time more obvious about it. Khirro grunted and faced him, hand on sword.
“The boy needs to make water,” the magician said looking Khirro in the eye. One of his eyelids fluttered slightly, signaling.
Khirro looked back at the fire and saw Tugg removing the rabbit from the spit.
“Eat first,” Khirro said, “then piss.”
He gestured for Tugg to bring the prisoners some meat.
“Pssh. Let them starve, I say. They’re the enemy.”
“I don’t know, Tugg,” Mandich said. “It’ll take us a week to get back to the fortress. What if they don’t make it? What would the wit…the Archon do to us if we bring them back dead?”
Tugg looked at the rabbit, then at the prisoners. “There ain’t much here.” He reached down and pulled a small knife out of his boot. “I guess they can have a taste to keep them goin’.”
He carved a piece off the thigh of the rabbit and held it out pinched between his thumb and the blade of the knife but remained seated. Khirro strode to him, watching as the eyes of the undead soldier followed his path. He held out his hand and Tugg placed the piece of rabbit meat on his gauntleted palm, then shaved a second piece and gave that to him as well. Khirro waited for a third.
“That’s all they get or there ain’t enough for Mandich and me.”
Khirro grunted and turned away; there would be no meat for him, it seemed. As he walked back to Graymon and Athryn, the smell of the food found his nose again. Savory, fatty. His mouth watered and he felt a gurgling protestation rise in his belly. He hurried his pace to get away from the others, reaching his companions as his gut let go with a loud, hungry growl.
“Here’s your dinner,” Khirro grated, hoping his words covered the sound of his traitorous stomach.
Graymon reached out and snatched a piece of meat from Khirro’s hand, lifted the too big black mask off his face and jammed all of it in his mouth at once, chewing hungrily.
“Give him my piece, too,” Athryn said.
Graymon’s hopeful gaze moved to the magician, then back to the meat in Khirro’s hand, but he didn’t take it. Khirro pushed his hand toward him.
“Take it.”
The boy did, chewing it with as much relish as he did the first piece. Khirro watched him eat, his own belly rumbling. A line of hungry spittle spilled over Graymon’s bottom lip and down his chin; he wiped it away on the sleeve of his shirt and Khirro’s eyes widened as the scar on his chin and the bottom of his cheek wiped away with it. Instinctively, he shifted to keep himself between Graymon and the Kanosee soldiers, then waved his arm toward the line of trees.
“Piss now,” he growled.
“But I don’t-” Graymon began through the meager mouthful of rabbit.
Athryn’s hand on his arm halted his protest. The magician stood and pulled the boy to his feet as he drew the mask back down over his face.
“I suppose you need to go, too?” Mandich said, his words garbled by the chunk of rabbit meat in his mouth.
“I too must empty my bowels,” Athryn said.
“Ha!” Tugg guffawed. “‘Empty your bowels’? Talking like that, I hope you wipe your ass with a stinging nettle.”
Khirro herded his companions away, leaving the two soldiers laughing so hard they nearly choked themselves on their sparse meal.
We should be so lucky.
They stepped off the road into the fringe of grass separating the dirt track from the line of trees. The forest on the verge of winter was quiet; the only sounds were the soldiers’ laughter, the faint crackle of the fire and the whisper of a light wind through the trees. When they’d gone a few paces into the forest, Khirro decided they were far enough away to chance speaking.
“His scar came off, Athryn.” He kept his voice low, both to ensure the Kanosee didn’t hear and to keep from alarming the boy.
“Yes. This type of spell does not last forever.”
“What do we do?”
“It seems to me that the magic is only one of our worries. The dead soldier does not have the same needs as the living. How will you stay awake for a week? How will you go without food and water?”
Khirro sighed and peered over his shoulder toward the fire; branches obscured his view, but he still saw the figure of the undead soldier standing behind the other two. He directed Athryn and Graymon around a clutch of brambles and behind the trunk of a large tree.
“I can sneak water and food. Sleep may be a problem.”
Despite Graymon’s prior protest, the boy dropped his trousers to urinate against the tree hiding them from their foes. Khirro and Athryn stepped away to give the boy some privacy.
“I think I can help you fell rested,” Athryn said.
He rolled up his sleeve and scanned the black cursive lines tattooed on his flesh. When he didn’t seem to find what he was looking for, he pulled open the front of his shirt. Khirro watched until his finger stopped on a line as unrecognizable as the rest.
“Here.”
“Will your magic work so far away from the dead man?”
“My power seems to be growing with every use. I think it will work.”
“Good.” Khirro allowed himself a relieved smile and felt the mud on his face crack. A piece toppled off his cheek. “Can you renew this, too?” He pointed at his face, careful not to move the muscles in his cheek and jaw unnecessarily.
Athryn sighed and nodded.
“I know you don’t want me to cut myself,” Khirro said, “but it’s better than losing our lives.”
“They will not kill you or the boy, not if they know who you are. I am the one whose life is immediately in danger.”
Khirro put his hand on Athryn’s shoulder. “That’s enough reason for me, my friend.”
Athryn nodded and stepped back as Khirro drew his dagger. The magician paused to read the archaic writing scrawled across his lower abdomen, preparing to cast the spell. Khirro breathed deep and looked toward the boy who’d finished his business and stood watching them, his back to the tree. Khirro held a finger to his lips and Graymon nodded.
“All right.” Athryn lowered his head and began the quiet chant.
Khirro yanked up his sleeve and brought the edge of the knife toward his forearm. Before he set the sharp blade against his flesh, he hesitated, given pause by the line of cuts he’d already made in the service of Athryn’s magic.
I’m already starting to look like Maes.
With a shake of his head, he closed his eyes, laid the edge of the blade against his skin, and drew the knife across his upper arm. The blade sliced his flesh, immediately bringing blood to the surface, but the sting of it was not as much as it had been other times. He let his arms fall to his sides and felt the trail of blood running down the inside of his forearm and into his gauntlet, a feeling with which he was beginning to become all too familiar.