Heart of the King (21 page)

The first row of warriors immediately behind her were monsters. They wore black armor splashed with red, and their faces were the faces of the dead. Emeline had heard rumors around the fortress of these dead men brought back to life to fight for the Kanosee, though she’d not seen one until now. She hugged Iana close and wished she hadn’t seen one at all.

The crowd watched mostly in silence, only occasional gasps as someone caught sight of one of the monstrosities for the first time disturbing it. Emeline looked away from the hideous faces and back at the woman. As appalling as the soldiers were, the woman’s beauty surpassed them in attracting attention. Her hair bounced gently with the horse’s gait; a lop-sided smile made her face looked relaxed and unworried.

With fewer than ten horse lengths between them, the woman’s gaze found Emeline’s. The horses approached and she found herself unable to look away from the woman, mesmerized by her hair, her smile, the paleness of her skin, the darkness in her eyes. As her horse drew even with the spot where Emeline stood, the Archon raised her hand, stopping the procession, and reined her own horse to a halt.

Half a minute passed as the two women looked at each other. No thoughts entered Emeline’s mind as she gazed upon the woman. She didn’t wonder who she was, or why she stopped where she did; Emeline only admired her beauty and found herself unable to think of anything else until the woman spoke.

“Who are you?”

 The words startled her, but Emeline did not reply. The woman leaned forward in her saddle.

“I said: who are you?”

This time, the words broke the spell mesmerizing her and Emeline blinked rapidly a few times, then looked over her shoulder.

“You,” the woman insisted.

Emeline faced her again, fighting an uncomfortable feeling in her chest as she did. She pulled the blanket tighter around Iana.

I shouldn’t have come. I should have listened to Lehgan.

“I’m no one,” she answered finally.

“I see that.” The woman settled back in her seat. “But why are you here? I saw some of my soldiers bring you in.”

She raised her hand and gestured. A horse whinnied and Emeline heard the sound of hooves on stone, but she didn’t turn to look.

“They found us on the road. They--” She looked away as the rider the woman called reined up beside her. He smiled, showing the gap where one of his teeth was missing and Emeline’s words caught in her throat.

“But why were you on the road? Did you not know a war is being fought?”

Emeline tore her gaze away from the man who’d raped her and hesitated, unsure how to best answer the woman’s question and extricate herself from this awkward interrogation. After a second, she shook her head feebly.

“Ha!” The woman’s laugh might have been the bark of a wild dog. “You did not know there is a war. Do you know now?”

Emeline nodded, her eyes flickering to Hektor still smiling at the Archon’s side. The woman leaned toward her with such suddenness, Emeline thought she might dismount. Instead, she stared at her through narrowed eyes as Emeline’s heart leaped into her throat. The woman’s lips pressed together hard enough to turn them whiter than her pale complexion.

“Who are you?”

“She’s my wife.”

The woman looked away from Emeline and down the ranks of people lining the courtyard; Emeline followed her gaze, disbelieving what she knew she would see. Lehgan stepped out of the crowd and into the courtyard, the fear on his face outweighed by stern determination.

“Our farm was not producing this season and we feared that, with our new child, we might not make it through the winter. We left for Achtindel to find food and work when your men took us. That man.”

His voice cracked on the last words, but he stood his ground doing his best to appear brave and defiant. Emeline watched, part of her wanting to run to him, hug him, tell him how brave he was and how she loved him. Another part wanted to tell him to run, get away before the soldier or the woman hurt him. She did neither. Above all else, she felt the need to keep Iana safe.

Emeline looked back to the woman and found she was no longer looking at Lehgan but at her, and fear jumped into her muscles, making them feel soft and inadequate, barely able to keep her standing.

“Do you know who I am?” the woman asked her.

Emeline nodded.

“Say it.”

“You’re the...the Archon.”

“And I know who you are.” The woman’s expression softened, turned to satisfaction. “You would be lucky if Archon was all I was. I feel you and I may meet again.”

Emeline’s breath caught in her chest as she waited for the woman to say more, or to ask her about the ghost woman, or Khirro, but she didn’t. Instead, she put her heels to her horse’s side and prompted him on as if nothing happened. Before following, Hektor leaned toward her.

“Sorry I didn’t visit, love. I’ll come see you when we’ve put down your army.”

He urged his horse forward and the rest of the column followed. Emeline shivered and looked back down the lane to see Lehgan step back to the edge of the crowd, disappearing out of her sight. She waited for a row of undead soldiers to ride past, then leaned out to see if Lehgan was all right.

The Archon stopped again as she reached him; Emeline gasped.

“No,” she whispered and took a step down the row toward her husband, but the man who had offered her his spot grabbed her, stopping her.

“There’s nothing you can do, lass.”

She watched in horror as the woman pointed at Lehgan and the soldier who raped her dismounted and drew his sword. Emeline pulled against the man’s grasp, attempting to break free and run to her husband’s aid.

“Think of your child,” the man rasped in her ear as he encircled her waist with his arm.

Hektor approached Lehgan, who didn’t move. Instead of fleeing, he stood his ground, rigid and erect, head held high. The rapist’s blade went in through his belly and came out his back. Lehgan lurched forward, then the soldier drew the blade upward.

“No,” Emeline screamed. Iana woke with the sound and began to cry.

Hektor jerked the blade upward again and Lehgan went limp. He yanked the blade free and let the body of Emeline’s husband tumble to the ground.

The Archon shifted in her saddle to face the crowd and spoke, raising her voice for all to hear. “We ride to meet your army, on their way here from the capital.”

A murmur rolled through the crowd, drowning the muffled sound of Emeline sobbing against the man’s arm.

“The uprising will be squashed before it begins,” she continued and a smile crept across her face. “Do not think to aid them. I will leave enough soldiers here to kill you all if need be.”

She surveyed the crowd, her expression seeming to dare them to defy her. No one did. The woman nodded toward Lehgan’s body.

“Bring him. I may have use of him,” she said and urged her horse on.

Hektor slipped his bloodied sword back into its scabbard, picked up Lehgan and threw him over his shoulder roughly, then grabbed his horse by the bridle and led it away, following the woman.

“No,” Emeline said, the word shaken by sobs.

Her legs gave way and the man holding her let her slip gently to the ground. She sat in the dirt sobbing with Iana held tight to her chest, the baby crying along with her, as the procession of soldiers continued past. She noticed none of them.

When Emeline’s sobs finally waned and she looked up, the crowd had dispersed and the line of horsemen and the foot soldiers who’d followed them were gone but for a group of Kanosee who remained at the center of the courtyard, pikes and swords in hand. In Emeline’s arms, Iana gurgled and blew bubbles, the baby’s tears long since stopped. The young mother drew a shuddering sigh and struggled to her feet.

She made her way down the courtyard on unsteady legs, heading toward the avenue that led to her dwelling, vaguely aware of the danger of the armed men at her back. A few yards from the street, she stopped and looked down at the muddied ground where her husband’s blood was spilled. It could as easily have been water as blood mixed with the dirt and churned to mud by stomping horses and marching feet, but she knew better. No matter how badly she wished it to be water, or ale, or wine—anything  other than what it really was—it  wasn’t going to change.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Iana cooed in response.

She turned away and made her way down the avenue before the sobs took her again. As she walked, she felt not only the pain of losing her husband, but the Archon’s words rang in her head:
‘I feel you and I may meet again.’
 

She hurried back to her hut, the tears of remorse and fear she held back forming a knot in her throat threatening to choke her. When she arrived, she collapsed on the bed and let it all free, sobbing to the world for her loss.

Khirro didn’t know how he knew Graymon was hiding behind the ferns, but he did. His boots had brought him through the forest unerringly to the fallen log, like they possessed special knowledge of the boy’s location that Khirro himself didn’t have. Once he’d found it, he watched the hiding spot for several minutes, debating how to get the boy out.

Memory of his transformation into the tyger was hazy at best, but he remembered holding Graymon captive with a dagger to his throat. That would be enough to scare a young boy and lose his trust. What would seeing the tyger have done? How would he react to seeing him now?

He decided on the gentle approach. If he went straight in after him first, the act couldn’t be undone, but if words didn’t work, he could still drag him out.

Khirro crouched beside the curtain of ferns and took a breath, muscles tense. He needed to be ready in case the boy tried to run.

“Graymon? Are you in there? It’s Khirro.”

He paused and listened, but heard no response at first, no indication the boy hid within. After a few seconds, the gentle rustle of disturbed leaves confirmed what he already knew. Khirro continued to wait, but heard nothing more.

“It’s me, Graymon. I’m alone. It’s safe to come out.”

The boy exploded out of his hiding place and jumped into Khirro’s arms in a storm of desiccated fern leaves and joyous cries. Caught off guard, Khirro lost his balance and toppled backward, the giggling boy on top of him.

Not the reaction I expected.

Khirro hugged the boy around his shoulders, his chest aching with the knowledge he would likely not ever hold a child of his own, then Graymon wiggled away.

“Where’s Af...Af...your friend?” he asked.

Khirro sat up and brushed leaves off his tunic. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Graymon shrugged. “He told me to run, so I did.”

“Good. Good boy.”

“Should we look for him?”

He stood and put his hand on Graymon’s shoulder, paused before answering in a solemn tone.

“I went back to where it happened. He wasn’t there. I hoped he was with you.”

Khirro thought back to his trek through the woods. After washing the blood off his face and arms in the sea, he’d made his way back to the place he’d changed into the tyger without knowing how he’d found it. Beside the tree, he found the undead monster and the body of the other Kanosee soldier, but no sign of Athryn—no  body, no trail, no sign anyone else had been there. The scene provided no explanation for where the magician had gone, and he didn’t know whether to think his absence a good thing or bad.

“He must have been captured again.”

“Then let’s rescue him.” Graymon ran a few steps, stopped and looked back to see if Khirro followed. “Come on.”

Khirro smiled. “Aren’t you afraid?”

The boy shook his head, his brown locks flying around his head like a halo.

“Why not?”

“The tyger told me.”

Khirro raised an eyebrow. “The tyger?”

“I dream about him. And the ghost woman. They said not to be afraid of you. They said you won’t hurt me.”

Khirro kneeled in front of him, grasped him gently by the arms.

“Of course I wouldn’t. Never. But you should know something about me.”

Graymon’s face broke into the kind of unbridled smile only a child can wear. “You’re the tyger!”

The boy shook off Khirro’s hold and bounced away into the forest, leaving him crouching by the log where Graymon had hidden, wondering how the tyger kept appearing in the boy’s dreams.

“I’m the tyger,” he said as he stood and followed the boy into the forest.

***

Therrador kicked at the rat, catching it in the side and sending it squeaking across the floor. “Get away from me, vermin.”

“Shh.”

He looked across the room at the ghost woman standing watch by the door. She’d done as promised, supplying him with sword and armor and a place to hide, but he didn’t know how they wouldn’t be discovered hiding practically in plain sight. The store room wasn’t used, but neither was it hidden.

He moved closer to speak more quietly.

“Why did you bring me here? We’ll certainly be discovered.”

She turned from the door and looked at him for a moment, her piercing green eyes holding him as surely as if they were shackles. After a few seconds, she raised her hand and pointed to the center of the room.

“That,” she said, “is where Braymon died.”

Therrador took three slow, measured strides to the spot she indicated and stood staring down at the dirt floor for a minute before he crouched. He reached out and touched the soil with the tips of his fingers.

“I’m sorry, my friend.”

“I didn’t bring you here to be sorry, Therrador. The Shaman protected this place with his magic while drawing the blood of the king. Remnants of his protection spell still remain.”

Therrador first nodded, then shook his head as he looked back to the place where his friend’s life ended because of him. “There’s no reason to be sorry. No one will forgive me, anyway.”

Elyea didn’t reply. Therrador watched her staring at the door as though she saw right through it.

Maybe she can.

A minute passed in silence. Therrador looked from the ghost woman back to the dirt floor at his feet and imagined he saw a stain where Braymon’s final blood flowed. He placed his palm over it and closed his eyes in silent prayer for the safety of the king’s spirit, no matter whether it resided with the bearer or had moved on to the fields of the dead.