Spirit of the King (27 page)

“I did.”

“You had no right.”

“Did you want her to twice die for naught? If we perish, all is lost.”

“You had no right.”

Khirro pushed Athryn away and jumped to his feet, hand grasping the hilt of the dagger hanging from his belt. The magician took a step away and raised his hands defensively.

“Khirro, you have been charged with a task of monumental importance. It outweighs all else.”

“Damn the task.” The blade sang against its scabbard as he pulled it free. “And damn the blood flowing in my veins. I didn’t ask for it.”

“None of us did. I only wanted--”

“Damn what you wanted.” He flicked the dagger in Athryn’s direction and the magician jumped back. “I’ve twice lost the woman I love. Is anything worth that?”

Athryn’s face grew stony, his voice firm.

“Do you forget I lost my brother in our journey? Or that Shyn gave his life for a man he barely knew? I am sorry about Elyea, but everyone has sacrificed.”

“All for a king we didn’t know.”

“For the kingdom which gives us life.”

Khirro shook his head. “I go no farther. I can’t.”

“You must. You may be willing to let Elyea die in vain, but I will not let it be so of Maes.”

“Watch your tongue or I’ll remove it like you took out your brother’s.”

He pointed the blade toward Athryn’s face. The magician stepped forward until the steel pressed against his throat, glaring at Khirro from behind the blond hair spilled over his face.

“Do what you must. At least I will die knowing I did everything in my power to honor the one I loved.”

The muscles in Khirro’s jaw knotted and he swallowed hard. Athryn’s expression softened.

“It was not Elyea, Khirro. You saw how she acted. You heard what she said. Were they the words and actions of the woman you loved?”

“No,” he replied and lowered the dagger. “But it was her face.”

“Yes, it was. But it was not simply Elyea’s face you loved, was it?”

“No.”

“Then this was not her.” Athryn moved closer and took the blade out of Khirro’s hand. He placed it on a table and embraced his companion. “Elyea would want her sacrifice to help ensure your success, Khirro. She gave her life so you might continue.” He paused, swallowing hard to contain his own grief. “They all did.”

It was her at the end.

“I’m sorry, Athryn.”

“It is understandable.” He moved back, gripping Khirro’s shoulders at arm’s length. “You are the bravest man I have ever known. The Shaman could not have chosen better.”

Khirro wanted to smile at his companion’s words, to thank him for the sentiment, but found himself unable. He didn’t feel anything like a brave man.

I’ve done a few brave things, but that doesn’t make me a brave man.

He nodded. “We should go before the sun rises.”

Khirro retrieved the dagger and the Mourning Sword, sliding them back into place at his hip, then picked up half of the broken shield. He deemed it unsalvageable before dropping it to the floor and slinging his pack over his shoulder. Athryn led him across the room and Khirro followed, careful not to set eyes upon the corpse lying in the middle of the floor.

***

People flooded the streets of Poltghasa as though news of the demon-woman’s vanquishing had already traveled from one side of the city to the other. Drunken groups of men rollicked down the avenues, cussing and fighting. Moonlight flashed on steel as brawls broke out while Khirro and Athryn watched hidden in the shadows.

Where were they all before?

The streets had been empty the previous night, like they’d entered a city populated by ghosts.

Did one woman cause so much fear?

Athryn led them down an avenue but they didn’t get far before a crowd clogged the way. Pressed against the wall, they crept close, but the throng stretched the width of the boulevard. They melded into the mob, pushing their way through while trying not to attract attention. Men and women around them cheered and jeered. Khirro paused and stood on his toes to peer over the people in front of him but saw little through the forest of waving arms. A man beside him slapped his shoulder and laughed loudly.

“My money’s on the dogs,” he shouted in Khirro’s face, spraying him with saliva and foul-smelling breath.

“Fuck that,” another man said. “The boys’ll take 'em down.”

Khirro stretched farther to see but Athryn grabbed his sleeve and pulled him away. Above the mob’s cheers, he heard the growl of feral dogs and yelps of pain—human, not canine. The autumn air suddenly seemed colder despite the warm bodies close around him.

The crowd moved and pulsed like a beast, shifting first one way then the other as the fight at its center moved and the people closest scrambled out of the way. Khirro pitched and swayed, dragged along with it. Someone grabbed him and yanked him from Athryn’s grasp. The mob engulfed him.

He reached for his sword, but bodies crowded close enough to pin his arm at his side, making it impossible to grasp the hilt, let alone free the blade. People pressed against him, forcing the air out of his lungs, and he gasped to refill them. The throng encircled him, made it impossible to move as they made him their own. He tripped, but they kept him upright, moving him forward and away from his companion. He struggled against them and he found himself moved by too many hands, blocked by too many shoulders, and he stumbled again, but this time no one caught him before he went down hard on the cobblestone street. Air returned to his chest, fresh and cool, and there was suddenly nobody close by him.

Silence.

The cheering and catcalls ceased. Khirro looked up at a circle of faces staring down at him and scrambled to his feet. He reached for his sword to find it gone. The man directly in front of him waved the black blade at him and laughed. Khirro reached for it but the growl behind him made him stop. He turned slowly, already knowing what he would see.

Three brown, mangy dogs leered at him, ribs showing through their sides and foam at their mouths. The blood-soaked body of a man lay at their feet, entrails pulled free and hanging from the jaws of the largest dog. Khirro froze.

If I don’t threaten them, maybe I’ll be all right.

Two men pushed him, sent him stumbling toward the dogs. The big one reacted first, dropping its meal and leaping for him. The other two followed close behind.

Khirro regained his balance in time to raise his arm for protection. The first dog bit down on his forearm, the second went for his crotch but he pivoted and the dog’s snout bounced off the side of his thigh. The third grabbed him by an ankle. Pain seared through Khirro’s body and he struggled to maintain focus. In his mind, he pictured flames and fire burning on his limbs. He gritted his teeth as the lead dog shook its head, rending his flesh.

His arm burst into flames.

The big dog yelped and released him, fire spreading to the fur on its muzzle. It leaped away howling in pain, jaws snapping futilely at the blaze. The crowd gasped.

Fire swirled before Khirro’s eyes; a roar escaped his throat. The dog biting his ankle let go and sprinted into the crowd whining and barking. The last dog leaped for him again, jaws snapping at his face. Khirro caught it in both arms and squeezed. The dog’s claws raked his chest as it struggled to get away but he didn’t let go until its spine popped. He released his grip and the dog’s smoldering body thumped to the ground.

Khirro faced the men who’d pushed him. They stared, white-faced and gaping. Silence fell and time seemed to stand still. Nobody moved. Dogs whimpered and fire crackled, but the crowd around him made no sound. Khirro bared his teeth of flame and stepped toward them and it was as if someone released the throng from a spell. Everyone moved at once, screaming and yelling, desperate to flee. They bumped into each other, scrambled over the top of one another. A woman fell and no one stopped to help her—the crowd trampled her, left her bleeding in the street.

As the mob dispersed, the flames dancing before Khirro’s eyes dissipated. Tendrils of smoke curled up from his body leaving him shivering as the last of the crowd disappeared into doorways and down side streets. Even the woman who fell under the feet of her compatriots dragged herself away to find cover in the shadows.

“You have control of the fire,” Athryn said.

“More than I did.”

“That is good.”

Khirro wrapped his arms around himself and went to where the man dropped the Mourning Sword, probably leaving it behind for fear of retribution. He slid it back into the scabbard and looked at Athryn.

“I couldn’t stop it when I was fighting Elyea.”

“It was not Elyea. Remember that.”

“I know. Shariel.”

He wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of a bandaged hand and felt no pain, so pulled the dirty cloth from his fingers. The flesh beneath was completely healed. The spell Athryn had cast when Elyea—Shariel—died had worked. Only the fresh lacerations left by the dogs remained.

“Are you all right to travel?” Athryn eyed the blood on his sleeve.

“Good as ever. We have no choice: they may come back to punish the beast.”

“I doubt that.”

Athryn started down the avenue toward the broken doorway through which they’d entered the city. Khirro followed, his heart heavy. No matter what the magician said, no matter how right his thinking might be, he couldn’t help thinking he’d murdered the woman he loved. As they fell back into the shadows at the base of the walls and crept along the avenue hoping to avoid further trouble, it felt to Khirro like he left a piece of himself behind in this Gods-forsaken place.

Emeline tossed another log on the fire sending sparks dancing and spiraling up the chimney. Careful not to disturb the babe suckling at her breast, she settled back into the rocker her father built as a wedding gift, and bundled the blanket close around the baby’s face.

“Snow soon,” she whispered. The babe looked up at the sound of her voice, then her eyelids fluttered closed as her mouth worked to extract milk from her mother’s nipple. “You’ll like the snow, Iana.”

Logs crackled and hissed, the occasional knot popped. Emeline looked around the single room hut at the furniture Lehgan had made himself, at the disheveled bedclothes left unmade. He’d return from the hunt soon. If snow was coming as she suspected, they didn’t have much time to cure and salt meat to last them the winter. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of feeding her baby, and sighed. The rocking of the chair slowed as she dozed.

At first, she wasn’t sure if she’d woken. The fire had burned down, leaving the room dark. Iana slept, nipple half in her mouth, a line of milk dribbling down her cheek. Emeline pulled her frock over her breast and looked around the room.

The air held a different quality; not just cooler because the fire had burned down, but it felt heavier, pulsed with energy.

She hugged the baby close, rose from the chair and poked the fire, coaxing it back to life before she threw on another log. With the blaze in the hearth casting warmth and light again, she turned back to the room.

The woman sitting on the edge of the bed wore her long, red hair loose down her back and her full lips were set in a smile. Emeline gasped and nearly dropped the baby as she stepped away and felt the fire’s heat on the back of her legs.

“Don’t be afraid,” the woman said.

“Wh--who are you?” Emeline asked side-stepping away from the hearth. “What do you want?”

The woman stood and moved toward her, her long dress hanging past her feet, giving the illusion she floated above the floor rather than walked upon it. Emeline shuffled away until the rocking chair stood between her and the woman.

“Don’t come any closer.”

Emeline looked toward the door, wondering if she could get to it. Even if she could, her parents’ house was a ten minute walk. With Iana in her arms, she’d never stay ahead of the woman.

“I won’t hurt you.” The woman stopped in the middle of the room, keeping her distance. “I’m here to ask for your help.”

“But who are you?” Emeline squinted. The woman’s pale skin and white dress reflected the firelight, making it seem like she glowed dimly.

“My name is Elyea. I’m a friend of Khirro’s.”

“You’ve come to the wrong place. Khirro doesn’t live here.” Iana shifted in her arms and she bounced the baby unconsciously. “He joined the king’s army a year ago.”

“No, he didn’t go, he was taken. You and your parents and his sent him away.”

Emeline stared at the woman, mouth open, and for a moment she thought she glimpsed the bed behind, as though she could see through her. She blinked and the illusion disappeared.

“That’s not true.”

The woman smiled sweetly and shook her head.

“You can’t lie to me, I know all the truths. I told you I’m a friend of Khirro’s. He told me everything.”

“What do you want?” Emeline snapped making Iana mewl. “How do you know Khirro?”

“I died so he might live.”

“Died?” She stepped back two steps until her back touched the log wall. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I say.”

The glow around the woman brightened as her form faded, leaving Emeline no doubt that she could see the bed behind her, through her.

“No.” Emeline looked around frantically for a weapon with which to ward off the spirit. She grabbed the stick she’d used to tend the fire and brandished it at the apparition. “Get back. Leave us alone.”

The woman smiled again, though not so broadly.

“I won’t harm you or the child. Please, sit down.” She gestured toward the rocking chair. When Emeline made no move toward it, the spirit kneeled in the middle of the floor, the wide skirt of her dress pooling beneath her. “I’m here to ask for your help.”

“Help with what?”

“Khirro.”

Emeline looked at her, head tilted, and eased away from the wall, bouncing Iana all the while.

“Khirro? Is he all right?”

“Sit.”

Feeling like she had no other choice, Emeline crept around the rocking chair, careful to keep the maximum distance between herself and the ghostly figure. She sat and began rocking to keep the baby calm.