Under other circumstances, Khirro would have been glad to miss a battle. Too many times he’d come close to losing his life when sword play commenced, or seen his friends and companions fall. It started with Jowyn-the victim of Kanosee hellfire hurled over the fortress walls when their attack commenced so long ago-and Athryn and Lehgan were but the latest.
Hasn’t there been enough death?
It weighed on him, but he couldn’t give up now, even if he wanted to-the spirit inside drove him onward despite the fear and forebodings in his heart. No longer did the fate of the kingdom-of people unseen and unmet-rest on his shoulders; now, Emeline, Iana and Graymon gave faces to those in peril, and he knew he couldn’t let them down.
As if she heard him thinking of her, Emeline urged the laboring donkey forward to ride beside him.
“I’m sorry for what has happened to you, Khirro.”
He looked at her, but she stared straight ahead at the path they rode instead of meeting his eyes.
“The Shaman cursed this upon me, not you,” he said. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
She shook her head and looked at him. Graymon shifted in the saddle behind him.
“Not this. Everything before.” She breathed deep as though preparing herself. Khirro tensed, readying himself to hear her words. “The ghost woman told me I needed to tell you all.”
“Elyea.”
“Yes.”
Khirro looked down at his hands gripping the reins, at the horse’s mane moving gently with the animal’s gait. He missed Elyea and spent much of his time keeping her from his thoughts. It was too easy to get distracted from what needed to be done when she inhabited his mind, too easy to feel guilty for his role in her death. Deaths.
“You don’t need to,” he said to avoid the pain of her memory.
“I do. Not because she told me to, but because you need to know the truth.”
They looked at each other. Iana snuggled in against Emeline’s breast; Graymon held tighter around Khirro’s waist and sighed, obviously not enjoying the conversation of adults, but keeping quiet nonetheless.
“What I said happened never did.” Her gaze dropped from his.
“So I didn’t rape you.”
She shook her head.
“And Iana is Lehgan’s.”
When she raised her head to look upon him again, her eyes glistened with tears. “No, Khirro. Iana is yours.”
Shock jolted through Khirro and he hauled back on the reins; the horse halted with a whinny of protest.
“Mine? But you said-”
“I said you didn’t rape me. I didn’t say we didn’t…” She glanced over his shoulder at Graymon instead of completing the sentence.
Khirro stared down at his hands resting on the pommel of the saddle. Flakes of snow landed on his gauntlets and he saw their unique shapes and fragile beauty before they melted away.
“But I don’t remember any of it. How could I not remember…that?”
Emeline looked away again and Khirro waited for her to tell him more, his breath held. For almost a year, he’d debated with himself about what happened that night, felt ashamed of what he thought he’d done. Could the truth possibly be more difficult to bear?
“We both drank that night, that much is true. And things led somewhere I didn’t expect them to go.” She lowered her voice. “You don’t remember because I drugged you.”
Khirro stared at the side of her head for a second, expecting more, but when none came, he put his heels to his horse. The donkey hesitated, the lead pulling tight before the bedraggled animal followed. They rode in silence for a few minutes, Khirro’s lips pressed tight together as he tried to make sense of what Emeline had said. He didn’t want to ask, didn’t want for her to say more, but his head spun with it. He slowed his horse for the donkey to catch up.
“I don’t understand. Why did you tell people what you did?”
“I love Lehgan, Khirro.” She paused. “Loved, I mean. The plan arose when we heard news of the conscriptors were coming to the village. He and I couldn’t live without each other and we thought that, if your parents thought ill of you, and Lehgan and I told them of our love, they would keep him safe.”
“But you could have drugged me and lied. We didn’t need to lay together.”
“I know, and I didn’t plan to. But something happened, something unexplainable, and I was overcome. I felt as though I had no control over my actions.”
Her words stirred pain in Khirro’s chest. I truly have a child, but not out of love.
“I wanted to stop the conscriptors from taking you,” she said, and he heard the sorrow in her voice, the truth. “But how could I after what we said you did? How could I accuse you of…of rape and then ask for mercy on your behalf?”
She began to cry and Khirro’s chest tightened, squeezing around his heart and making it difficult to breathe, difficult to speak, but there was still more to know.
“But how do you know she is mine? Surely Lehgan is Iana’s father.”
She shook her head slowly, still refusing to meet his eyes. “Lehgan and I didn’t take bed together until after we were married. He would have it no other way.”
“Did he know?”
“No. We married quickly and I couldn’t bear to tell him the truth of it. He died thinking Iana his child.”
Emeline’s shoulders shook as she sobbed quietly and Khirro looked away lest the tears in her eyes bring some to his. He stared straight ahead and, through the falling snow, saw a horse approaching. With a battle ahead of them, he should have felt fear or trepidation; instead, a sense of relief spread through him.
“Look,” he said reigning his horse to a halt.
Emeline sniffled. “A rider? Who is it?”
“I’m not sure. Wait here.”
He untethered the donkey and held his hand out to help Graymon down.
“I want to come with you.”
“You need to stay here, Graymon. You need to protect the women.”
The boy hesitated a second before assenting. He held Khirro’s hand, threw his leg over the horse and allowed himself to be lowered to the ground. Khirro leaned down and handed him the jeweled dagger that had belonged to Elyea.
“Keep them safe, but don’t cut yourself with it.”
Graymon’s eyes brightened and he nodded enthusiastically as he accepted the blade. He stepped in front of the donkey and held the knife in both hands, tip pointed toward the approaching rider. Khirro smiled and leaned down to ruffle the boy’s hair.
“Good work.” He looked up at Emeline, whose tears had stopped. “I’ll be right back. If anything happens, turn your steed around and head for the fortress.”
She looked at him without responding and he wondered if she would do as he said. He felt as though he should say more, or ask to hold his child, but he didn’t. Instead, he pulled the Mourning Sword, felt the comfort of its hilt in his grip, and rode out to intercept the oncoming horse.
***
It seemed that every time Sienhin struck down an attacker, living or dead, another rose to take its place. The green end of the staff flashed and glowed, its light strengthening and fading. The general realized its unearthly illumination was responsible for raising the dead but, without his sword, he possessed no other weapon with which to defend himself. If he kept it, the undead would eventually overrun them; if he disposed of it, he would be defenseless.
But I have to.
He felled two men with a single stroke, and two more climbed out of the slurry of blood and flesh and dirt. Most of those attacking him now were the undead, their faces smeared with gore, some of them missing ears or limbs, and all of them with blank, staring eyes and an indefatigable desire to kill.
Trying to kill them is going to be the death of me.
He put his heels into his horse and the destrier surged forward, crashing through a wall of dead Kanosee and Erechanians alike. Fortified by the movement, the general urged his steed on; it trod a Kanosee soldier with a long wound across his face into the sod, then bowled over another. This man screamed.