by Bruce Blake
“What’s wrong, Khirro?” she asked, voice groggy with sleep.
Athryn and Ghaul, also arrayed on the forest floor near the fire, woke as well. Shyn came to them from where he’d been sitting watch.
Khirro breathed deeply to slow his thumping heart. He looked into the camp fire, recognizing the flickering flames for what they were but still chilled by the vividness of the dream. Had sleeping too close to the fire been the source of it? He looked at his companions, saw the concern on Elyea’s face, the sword in Shyn’s hand, the mask hiding Athryn’s expression, the annoyance Ghaul didn’t attempt to hide.
“A dream,” Khirro said. “We can’t tarry. Danger follows.”
That was the guardian and I am the seeker.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“I’ve been to this place before.”
The lake wasn’t exactly as in his dreams. Instead of blue and clean and serene, patches of weeds and sludge floated here and there on the murky water; the rocks littering the shore were larger and more jagged. A brisk wind churned the lake’s surface, splashing choppy waves against the rugged shore. And the lake was bigger than in his dream with no tower standing on the far shore they could barely see. The trees were bigger, too—ancient cedars and redwoods, fir, pine and hemlocks crowded the lake, some of them large enough it would take a man five minutes to walk their circumference. Khirro hadn’t known trees grew so big.
“Where do we go now?” Ghaul asked. Khirro pointed to the far shore. “How far?”
“I don’t know. I saw it from here in my dream. The lake is much larger than I thought.”
Elyea shivered in the cool wind; Khirro removed his tunic and spread it over her shoulders. He made no comment when Ghaul shook his head and rolled his eyes.
“There is great magic here.” Athryn sat on a rock looking out across the lake, his mask removed to allow the cool wind to caress his face. Khirro saw only the unburned portion of the magician’s face; if he didn’t know him, he might have thought he looked like any other man. Athryn faced them, dispelling the illusion. “It is in the air and the water, the trees and the rocks. It is the power of the Gods made real.”
“What of the Gods?” Ghaul spat on the rocky shore and slapped the sword hanging at his waist. “Never have I slain a foe with one of your Gods. Give me steel any day.”
Khirro suppressed a smile at Ghaul’s bravado—this was how a soldier dealt with fear. Over the weeks, he’d come to realize brave men felt fear, too, only how they reacted to it differed. There were countries, Khirro had heard from traveling merchants, where people worshiped their weapons as gods. Perhaps Ghaul would have been comfortable living there.
Athryn turned back to the lake, saying no more. Khirro liked the man, but he’d said so little since the death of his brother, Khirro worried he’d be more concerned about raising Maes from the blood in his veins than about bringing life back to Braymon.
Raising the king took priority, nothing could get in the way of that.
They milled about in silence for half an hour before Shyn emerged from the forest. Ghaul whipped around, pulling his sword, pointing it at him. Shyn chuckled as he finished buckling his sword belt around his waist.
“Always looking for an excuse to skewer me, aren’t you, Ghaul?”
“No one would be laughing if you turned out to be a wolf.” Ghaul sneered as he replaced his sword in its scabbard. “What did you see?”
Shyn’s smile disappeared. “Apparently our saggy-teated friend wants vengeance upon us for killing her comely mate. She follows us with two friends.”
Elyea sucked a breath through her teeth. “Three of them? How far away?”
“Perhaps half a day. They move quickly.”
Athryn slid off the rock and came to the others. “We must waste no time.” He looked at Khirro, then Shyn. “What is the best path?”
“The shore is treacherous, more so than I dreamed. Sometimes the trees overtake it. Following it would be slow and dangerous.” Khirro rubbed his chin. “The trees aren’t so thick in the forest, but our pursuers would track us easily and catch us before we reached the keep.”
“Let them come,” Ghaul growled. “We defeated one of their kind—me with my hands tied behind my back.”
Shyn tsked. “You’re very brave when the creatures aren’t standing before you, Ghaul.” The muscles in Ghaul’s jaw bunched. “We had surprise on our side last time. We have no such advantage now.”
“I’d be no less brave if they crashed through the trees this instant.”
“We know you would,” Khirro interrupted waving his hand for them to be quiet. “It would be best for us to reach Darestat’s keep before the giants find us.”
Athryn looked out over the lake. “Our best choice would be straight across the water.”
“Do you propose we swim?” Ghaul said with a snort. “I don’t have a boat in my pack. Do any of you?”
“Let’s build one,” Elyea suggested.
Shyn shook his head. “Not enough time.”
“Then the forest it is,” Ghaul said. “Let them come taste my steel.”
Khirro leaned toward Elyea, lowering his voice. “I wish we had a boat.”
The wind rose, howling through the trees and across the water. Waves splashing against the rocky shore sent spray over the tops of them, then the gust dissipated to a gentle breeze as quickly as it had come. The waves receded and a new sound came from the shore—a rhythmic thumping. They all stopped, listening.
“What’s that?” Elyea asked. “The giants?”
“They’re too far away yet,” Shyn said.
“There,” Athryn said, pointing between two jagged rocks.
Khirro stood on his toes to see over the magician. He saw a flash of something wooden. The prow of a rowboat bobbed on the waves, thudding against the shore.
Elyea eyed it, then looked at Athryn. “Did you do that?”
He shook his head. “My spells died with Maes. I told you there is great magic in this place.”
Khirro gulped the lump from his throat.
Did I do that?
Ghaul moved toward the boat, hand on sword, followed by Shyn and the others. As they neared it, the wind died completely. The waves disappeared and the boat steadied, floating in place with no rope tethering it.
“It’s empty,” Ghaul said over his shoulder.
Shyn prodded the side of the boat with the tip of his sword. Two oars lay at the bottom of the boat, and nothing else. White paint flaked from the boat’s surfaces, two thick boards crossed its breadth serving as seats. Khirro’s uncle had owned this boat, he realized—he’d seen it once as a boy when his uncle took him fishing.
“It’s solid,” Shyn said poking his sword at another spot. “No rot.”
“Then we should take advantage of this fortunate turn.” Athryn stepped toward the boat.
“I don’t like this, magic man,” Ghaul said. “Too convenient.”
Athryn ignored him, climbing over the side of the boat, setting it rocking precariously. Shyn sheathed his sword and grabbed the prow to steady it.
“We have no choice,” Shyn said. “Any other route will leave us in the clutches of an angry giantess. Can you not swim, Ghaul?”
The soldier shot an angry glance at Shyn but said nothing. There was no other sensible choice.
Elyea boarded first, taking a seat beside Athryn at the rear. Khirro and Ghaul followed taking up position on the other seat. Finally, Shyn pushed the boat away from shore and leaped into the prow making them all grasp for safety as the boat rocked violently. When it steadied, Ghaul and Khirro wrestled the oars from the bottom of the boat and took a few minutes to get the rhythm of rowing in unison. Soon they skimmed across the surface of the water leaving both rocky shore and pursuing giants behind.
As he pulled on the oar, Khirro wondered again how this boat appeared at the moment they needed it, at the moment he wished for one. Should they trust something unexplainable?
Only time would tell.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
They had been rowing for less than an hour when the mist descended upon them like a blanket thrown over their heads. They could see each other, but everything beyond the gunnels disappeared in the eddying fog. The shore, the lake ahead and behind, the sky above—all swallowed by the pale white curtain that left everything it touched damp.
At least the lake is calm.
“We should stop before we get turned around.”
“Athryn’s right,” Shyn agreed. “Without seeing where we’re going, we may end up where we started. Or worse.”
“Afraid of a little fog,” Ghaul muttered but pulled his oar from the water without argument. Thankful for the rest, Khirro did the same.
Waves lapped the boat as they floated in silence. Khirro faced Athryn, their knees touching, the magician’s black mask unreadable as he stared passed Khirro, attempting to penetrate the mist, or lost in memory, or grief, or plans. Shyn shifted in the front of the boat, setting it wobbling, and Ghaul grabbed the edge for support.
The fog grew more dense. Khirro looked over the side of the boat at the green water hiding the depths of the lake, every bit as impenetrable as the fog enveloping the world above the water.
“Why don’t you make yourself useful and see where we are,” Ghaul said over his shoulder.
“It wouldn’t do any good in this fog,” Shyn replied, then laughed. “Besides, you know I have to unclothe to change. Did you want my bare ass pressed against the back of your head?”
Elyea put her hand over her mouth, hiding her smile. Sitting across from her, Ghaul’s eyes smoldered.
“None of us need that, Shyn,” Khirro said before Ghaul spoke. “You can keep your breeches on, thanks.”
Shyn laughed and slapped Khirro on the back. As they settled back, a wave rolled out of the fog, buffeting the boat, sending them reaching for a safe hold.
“What was that?” Elyea asked, her smile gone.
They gazed into the fog, searching for the source of the swell, but the swirling mist disguised all. A minute passed and the ripples subsided, then they heard a splash in the distance to Khirro’s right.
“A fish jumping,” Ghaul said, his voice lacking surety.
“We haven’t seen any wildlife since we reached Lakesh.” Shyn stared toward the sound. “Why would there be fish if there’s nothing else?”
Khirro leaned out over the water, straining to see something through the dense cloud, listening for something, anything. No more sounds came, no more waves. He settled back into his seat, glancing down at the surface of the lake as a shadow slid by beneath its glassy surface, disappearing under the boat.
“There’s something in the water!”
The words had barely left his lips when something nudged the bottom of the boat. Elyea let out a startled yelp and Ghaul lifted his feet unconsciously.
“What is it?” Shyn called stretching to see over Khirro.
“There.” Athryn pointed over Ghaul’s shoulder.
They all twisted, rocking the boat again as they tried to glimpse what Athryn saw. A yard from the boat, at the edge of their limited vision, dark green skin marked with gray patches and flecked with black bulged the surface of the water, cutting through it like a knife through lard. The slick skin flashed in the mist-choked light, then it disappeared.
“What in the name of all four Gods?” Elyea’s green eyes flickered with the same fear tightening the muscles in Khirro’s thighs.
“I don’t know, but it’s time to put paddle to water again, Khirro.”
Ghaul pulled his oar from the bottom of the boat and Khirro did the same, falling into rhythm with Ghaul more easily this time. The boat cut across the water, though what direction they headed, none of them knew. The water by Khirro’s oar contorted as the creature’s back broke the surface again, keeping pace.
“It follows us,” Elyea said, her voice quiet.
Khirro craned his neck to see, ceasing rowing and leaving the blade of his oar in the water. A thick green loop coiled around the oar, jerking it in Khirro’s hand, but he held on.
“It’s got the oar,” he cried gripping it with both hands.
The green spotted skin faded to sickly yellow as it curved down to the creature’s belly. Its body looked like a python’s, more than a foot across, and it had decided to make a meal of the oar, squeezing the life from it. Khirro pulled but the thing wouldn’t relinquish its grasp. It dove, wrenching the oar from Khirro’s grasp. A moment later, the paddle bobbed to the surface, floating alongside the boat.
“You have to get it.” Ghaul jabbed his elbow painfully into Khirro’s ribs. “With one oar, we’ll only go in circles.”
Khirro looked at him in horror. Raised his entire life on a farm, the fishing trip with his uncle and their flight across the little sea were his only exposure to deep water, and neither had contained a malicious creature lurking in its depths. But Ghaul was right: he needed to get the paddle. He couldn’t ask one of the others to get it without seeming a coward.
Stay calm. Move slowly—don’t rock the boat. He breathed deep. It’s not so far. I can reach it.
He reached toward the oar and the boat lurched. He pulled his hand back, clutching at the side, heart beating in his ears.
“Get it,” Ghaul urged. “Quickly, before it returns.”
“Be careful,” Elyea said touching his leg.
Clenching his teeth, Khirro stretched again, ready this time for the boat to shift. The oar still bobbed beyond his fingertips.
“Hold on to me.”
Ghaul grabbed a handful of Khirro’s tunic and he leaned out farther still, but for each extra inch he stretched, the oar floated that much farther away. He rose off his seat, fingers wiggling at the tantalizingly close paddle, when a coil of the creature’s body surfaced directly under his arm, its patchy skin brushing him. Khirro cried out in surprise and fell back into the boat. Elyea yelped and held on to Athryn who grasped his seat with both hands.
“I think I can reach it,” Shyn said shifting his position.
Khirro shouldered him back, having the briefest second to reflect on the dangers of pride as he stood, wobbling with the movement of the boat, and drew the Mourning Sword.
“I can get it,” he insisted. “Hold my belt, Ghaul.”
“Khirro, no,” Elyea said, but Ghaul’s fingers were already wrapped around Khirro’s sword belt. He reached beneath his jerkin, pulling the vial from its hiding place and handed it to Athryn, regretting this ridiculous show of courage.
“Just in case,” he said; the magician took it. Khirro wished for him to try to talk him out of reaching for the oar, but he didn’t. Only Elyea protested.
“Ready,” Ghaul said.
Khirro inhaled deeply through his nose, smelled the lake’s dirty odor, and leaned over the side, stretching the Mourning Sword toward the paddle. The boat listed with his weight and Athryn and Shyn shifted to compensate. The tip of the sword nudged the oar.
“Come on,” Khirro muttered through gritted teeth. “Come on.”
He extended farther, pushing the tip of the sword beyond his goal. He brought his weapon down on it, coaxing it closer.
“Farther,” he called to Ghaul over his shoulder.
The soldier slid over in the seat, bracing his feet against the side of the boat. The belt dug uncomfortably into Khirro’s mid-section, but he ignored it; the oar floated close enough for him to reach. As the blade of the sword touched the oar, Khirro heard something thump hard against wood.
He hit the water, the coldness of it threatening to steal his breath. It surrounded him, sucking him down and away from the wan light of the surface. He thrashed and swung the Mourning Sword as though he could cut his way free. The silty water stung his eyes as the weight of armor and weapons pulled him down. He stopped moving when the creature slid by in front of him close enough to touch.
Khirro swam for the surface, the sword in his hand making his arm impossibly long for swimming. He considered dro
pping it, but it would be his only defense if the serpent came for him. He kicked his feet and stroked with his left arm, holding the sword straight out above him.
I’ve come too far to drown.
With no sun shining, he couldn’t tell how deep he’d gone or see the boat above in the murky water. Weeds brushed against his face before his flailing arm sent them swirling away. Then his arm wouldn’t move. He jerked his head, expecting to see the serpent’s mouth wrapped around his forearm, but instead a mass of weeds twisted around it, holding him. He pulled but they tightened like a living thing loathe to let him go. His breath burned in his lungs, screaming to be replaced with fresh air.
Khirro drew the Mourning Sword’s sharp edge through the tangle and the weeds released his arm. He stroked for the surface but the serpent reemerged from the murk, struck his chest forcing precious breath from his lungs.
It swam a tight circle and came at him again. For the first time he saw its head: tapered to a flat snout designed for swimming, two black eyes faced forward. Its mouth opened revealing needle-sharp teeth. A surprising calm descended over Khirro, quelling his distressed lungs as he watched the serpent rush in for the kill.
This is not my time to die. He didn’t know from where the thought came. The Gods have important things for me to do.
He swung the Mourning Sword around, brought its tip to bear on the serpent and noticed how the runes glowed even in the turbid water. The creature spasmed to change its course, but too late.
The tip of the sword entered through the roof of the serpent’s mouth and exited the top of its head. It convulsed on the end of the blade, thrashing to free itself, but Khirro maintained his grip, twisted the blade. A dark cloud spread through the water and the struggle ended.
Khirro put his foot on the serpent’s snout and wrenched the glowing red blade free then stroked desperately for the surface. His arms turned to rock, each stroke requiring every bit of energy he could find. His legs faltered.