by Bruce Blake
“But I don’t know what path I’ve chosen.”
“It matters not if you recognize the path, or that a choice must be made. Trust.” The tyger’s head moved forward, its wet nose brushing Khirro’s. “Follow our heart.”
“Our heart?”
But the tyger was gone.
Khirro stood, thinking about the creature’s words and forgetting his earlier fear. Before him stood a one-eyed man, his face marked by uncountable fights. Khirro moved to his left to escape, but the man moved with him. He went right and the man matched him. Every move Khirro made, the man did the same, the two of them moving as though dissimilar reflections in a looking glass. Khirro reached for the hilt of his sword, but didn’t draw it as the other man did the same. Not knowing what else to do, Khirro closed his eyes, squeezed them tight and wished to awaken from the dream.
When he opened them, still asleep and dreaming, the man had disappeared. The field around him blazed, the tinder-dry grass consumed by flame sending gray smoke billowing up to cloud the moonless sky. Khirro spun and ran from the blaze with the heavy, awkward legs of dreams, heat pressing at his back. He cried out—in anguish, in fear, for help, for anything—and the tyger appeared, loping easily along beside him.
“Beware the man with one eye,” it said in his head as they ran. “Fear not the fire.”
Somewhere above, a bird of prey cried out, its shriek drowning the snap and crackle of the conflagration.
Khirro woke with cold sweat streaming from his forehead and his hand clutched to his chest. He pushed himself to his elbows, breathed deeply to keep shivers from rattling his spine. Nearby, Shyn sat with his back against the trunk of a fir tree, hands bound behind him. Their eyes met, but neither spoke. Khirro lowered himself, rolled onto his side and closed his eyes again. When sleep reclaimed him, he dreamed of a giant gray falcon rescuing him from the fire, soaring above the flames, through the smoke, to safety and freedom.
A much better dream.
Chapter Nineteen
Shyn leaned his head back against the rough tree bark and cast his eyes skyward. Khirro had seen him do this a number of times during their hushed conversations of the last three days, each time a wistfulness seemed to cloud the border guard’s eyes.
“I’d seen but thirteen summers when I left my home,” he said looking at Khirro again.
“Why did you leave?”
“I no longer wanted to be there. And they no longer wanted me there. I spent a year wandering, fending for myself, before joining the King’s army.”
“At fourteen.”
“Big for my age.”
Shyn shifted, the rope holding his hands creaked with the movement. Khirro wished he could loosen the knots but knew Ghaul wouldn’t hear of it. He’d grown to like the big border guard, learning much about him in hushed discussions they shared as Khirro sat watch with Shyn lashed to a tree.
“The army was good to me at first. I felt things I hadn’t felt at home: accepted, needed. But it was short-lived. Eventually, people turn on you when you’re different. When they did, I was sent to the border like a broken tool discarded at the back of the barn.”
“Different? Because of your size?”
Shyn shook his head and looked toward the blue sky again. Khirro shared some of his own upbringing, even telling Shyn about his father’s accident and a much-edited version of what happened with Emeline and how he came to be a soldier, then felt guilty he hadn’t shared completely. The similarity in their circumstances made Khirro feel a kinship toward this man.
“One day, I’ll get back to Emeline. When all this is done. When the fighting is finished. And then I’ll—”
“Enough. It’s time.”
Ghaul’s words startled Khirro. While talking with Shyn, he hadn’t noticed him cross the glade toward them. Khirro stood.
“Time for what?”
“We agreed to bring him far enough from the border he’d be no threat to us, then let him go. I only agreed because you have no stomach for killing, farmer. Gods help us.”
“I trust him. We’ve spoken and I think he can aid us.”
Ghaul barked a derisive laugh. “What’s wrong with your head? It’s a spy’s job to earn your trust.”
Khirro glanced at Shyn and felt a twinge that the man should be party to this conversation, so he led Ghaul to where Elyea sat with Maes and Athryn, far enough away the border guard wouldn’t hear. Elyea rose from her seat and laid a hand on Ghaul’s arm to calm him, but he shook it off. Athryn watched in silence, his expressionless mask hiding his thoughts.
Why does he wear it when it’s just us? It’s only a scar. What else is he hiding?
“Why do you think he should join us?” Elyea asked.
Khirro looked at her, his heart palpitating as it always did when his eyes met hers. “I’m not sure.” His latest dream of the tyger came to mind, but a dream of a beast advising him to trust his heart wouldn’t convince the others. More likely the opposite. “He protected me when he could have turned us in. We treat him like a prisoner yet he holds us no ill. Having another sword arm wouldn’t be a bad thing.”
“Depends on who the sword ends up buried in,”‘ Ghaul said.
“If he intended to harm us, it would have been simpler for us to be taken to the gallows in Tasgarad.”
“True,” Athryn said. Maes crouched beside his brother, moving dirt with a stick, disinterested in the conversation. “But perhaps he has a different agenda.”
“Let me prove myself.”
They looked at their captive tied to a tree ten yards away. How did he hear us?
“How did he—” Elyea began.
“Good ears,” Shyn answered before she finished. They moved to him, Ghaul gripping the hilt of his sword. Maes remained behind drawing shapes in the dirt.
“What manner of trick is this?” Ghaul asked. “Are you also a man of magic?”
Shyn laughed. “No, not a magician. Ask Athryn, he’ll tell you.”
“I would know a practitioner. He is not.”
“What I am is a man of unusual qualities who could aid in your journey, as Khirro says.”
“Why should we trust you?” Elyea asked, arms crossed.
Ghaul looked as though he’d say something as well, but Maes pushed his way between them, interrupting. He approached Shyn, looked him in the eyes for a moment, then sat cross-legged on the ground beside him. The little man had done nothing like this before; in fact, Khirro couldn’t remember Maes interacting with the soldier at all. Athryn didn’t retrieve his brother from Shyn’s side.
“Don’t trust me,” Shyn said glancing at Maes then back at the rest of them. “I wouldn’t if I were you. Not yet.” He shifted his position, attempting to find a more comfortable spot. Ghaul tensed at the movement, pulling an inch of steel from his scabbard. Maes didn’t flinch. “Do any of you know where to find the closest Vendarian town?”
“No,” Khirro said. Elyea shook her head. Ghaul looked like he wouldn’t admit to shitting in the forest.
“Neither do I,” Shyn confessed. “Release me. I’ll locate it and return to you with horses. If I do this, you’ll know I can be trusted.”
Ghaul shook his head. “If he’s a Vendarian spy, he’ll bring a company to slaughter us.”
“No,” Khirro said searching deep in Shyn’s gaze. “The border guard knew him. They didn’t like him, but they accepted his word.”
“No matter why we let him go—to prove his trustworthiness or to rid ourselves of him—he could bring soldiers,” Elyea said.
“Then we should kill him and take no chances,” Ghaul said.
“We kill no one,” Athryn said. He looked at Maes sitting comfortably beside the man. “He has done nothing to warrant his death.”
“You’ve nothing to lose,” Shyn said without any note of pleading or desperation. “If I don’t come back, you lose nothing—you’re already lost and traveling by foot—and you’d be rid of me.”
“Not lost,” Khirro mumbled feeling e
mbarrassed. The Shaman put a path in his head, but he hadn’t recognized anything since they crossed the border. He had no idea where they were but couldn’t admit it to the others.
Shyn looked at them, waiting. His eyes held Ghaul’s first, fearless despite the soldier’s grip on his sword. After a few seconds, as they remained silent, his gaze fell on Athryn, then Elyea, and finally Khirro.
Athryn broke the silence. “Maes?”
The small man stood and went to his brother, extending his hand. Athryn took the collection of items offered—to Khirro’s eye it looked to be an assortment of pebbles and small sticks, perhaps a bug as well—random items he’d picked off the ground. With the items delivered, Maes wandered away to pick berries from a nearby bush. The magician peered at the items, then tossed them to the ground and brushed dirt from his hands.
“It is as he speaks,” Athryn said. “If he returns with horses, I will gladly welcome them, and him.”
“No,” Ghaul protested. “He can’t be trusted.”
Khirro looked at Ghaul. There was no reason for him to be disagreeable at letting Shyn go, it had been their plan from the start. If he returned with horses, all the better. What was it that—
He never planned to release him. He always intended to kill him.
“Let him go.” Khirro’s voice came out flat as he stared hard at Ghaul; the warrior looked back, unwavering.
“Do as you will.” Ghaul slammed his sword back into the scabbard. “But if next I see him without horses for us, his head will be mine.”
He stalked away kicking decayed needles from his path as he went. Khirro went to Shyn and untied his hands.
“Get his weapons, Elyea,” he called over his shoulder then turned back to the border guard. “We’ve seen no sign of civilization since we crossed the border. How will you know where to go?”
“I don’t know where to go.” He rubbed the rope burns on his wrists. Elyea lay Shyn’s sword belt and dagger on the ground beside Khirro, then stepped away.
“We’ll supply you with some food, but we can’t spare much. Your trek may be a long one.”
“Keep your food, I’m an excellent hunter.” Shyn rose, took the sword belt Khirro offered and buckled it around his waist. He stretched his back and wiped dirt from the seat of his pants. “I’m also swift. I’ll be back sooner than you think.”
“You saved me once. We’re even now.” Khirro offered his hand and Shyn shook it. “I’ll understand if you don’t come back, you have no reason to. But don’t return with soldiers or without horses. I can’t stop Ghaul from fulfilling his promise.”
“I’ll return as promised. I don’t know why, but I feel like I’m meant to join your journey.” He shook his head minutely. “Gods know why.”
Shyn bent at the waist, tucked his fingers into the top of his boot and retrieved a thin-bladed stiletto from some secret compartment within.
“Take this,” he said offering it to Khirro. “Hide it somewhere near the vial. Just in case.”
Khirro took the small knife and slid it into his breast pocket beside the vial, the steel clinking quietly against the glass, then Shyn went into the forest, picking his way deftly through the underbrush. After a minute, he disappeared into the dense brush.
“Fear not, Khirro.” Athryn’s voice was a whisper meant only for them. “Maes says he can be trusted.”
Khirro looked at the magician and the confusion his words caused must have been plain on his face because Athryn answered the question running through his mind before he asked it.
“Maes may not speak, but he knows people. Worry not.”
Athryn left to help his brother pick berries, leaving Khirro staring after Shyn. Behind him, Elyea joined Ghaul in breaking camp. After a minute, he went to help and everything was soon packed.
They walked through the forest, the scrape of boots on ground, the clink of armor and weapons and the rustle of brush the only sound to mark their passing. Maes popped red berries into his mouth as he walked, occasionally offering them to his companions. Khirro accepted and found the berries juicy and sour with an unfamiliar but satisfying flavor. He wiped a line of juice from his chin as his mind wandered. He thought about Athryn and Maes and the nature of their relationship: brothers, but somehow more. Concern for Ghaul’s propensity for violence came to mind. He had been a soldier his entire life, Khirro reasoned, so he supposed it was simply a matter of training, but it went against Khirro’s way.
Perhaps that’s why we’ve been brought together.
They tempered one another—he made Ghaul more humane and Ghaul made him see things from a soldier’s point of view; a good team despite and because of their differences. Without Ghaul, he wouldn’t have made it even this far.
He glanced at Elyea walking ahead, hips swaying pleasingly. So beautiful, so confident. Embarrassed, Khirro quickly put the encroaching thoughts from his head and thought of Shyn instead, wondering if they should trust him, if he would return as promised. The memory of the dream tyger’s words made him feel only slightly more comfortable.
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.