Heart of the King Read Online Free Page B

to go.”
    The magician, more fleet of foot and graceful than Khirro, was several yards ahead. Khirro dared a look over his shoulder and saw the horsemen gaining, weapons drawn and ready.
    They’ll ride us down and slaughter us like animals.
    Khirro skidded to a halt, unsheathed the Mourning Sword, and faced his pursuers. The red runes on the black blade glowed, the sword already sensing blood in the air. With both hands gripping the hilt, he held the weapon up defensively, awaiting the arrival of the horsemen. He didn’t know if Athryn heard him, if his companion also stopped or kept going, but either way, he refused to die running away with a sword in his back. He may not be a great warrior, but he deserved a better fate than dying like a coward.
    Six men on horseback approached, each wearing leather armor, helmets, and the colors of Kanos upon their chests. The first reined his horse to a stop beyond the range of Khirro’s sword as the others arrayed themselves around him, encircling him.
    “Who are you?” the first man asked.
    Khirro understood the Kanosee tongue—it  wasn’t so different from Erechanian—but  didn’t answer, knowing his accent would give him away.
    “What are you doing here?”
    The man’s horse pranced and stomped its feet but Khirro held his ground, unflinching, the muscles in his arms contracted and ready to attack or defend. His eyes flickered from one man to the next, but didn’t stay long on any for fear one of the others may move on him.
    “Speak or die, dog. What are you doing here?”
    “Passing through,” Khirro said in his best Kanosee.
    Where is Athryn?
    All of the riders focused their attention on Khirro; none seemed to have noticed the magician. Nor did Khirro see Athryn anywhere as his gaze flickered from man to man. The lead man’s eyes narrowed.
    “What did you say?”
    Khirro stared back at him, jaw set.
    “ What did you say ?”
    “I said I’m just passing through.”
    He spoke the phrase in Erechanian knowing any charade to conceal his accent to be pointless. The lead man growled and slid off his horse, the point of his long sword directed at Khirro as he did.
    “An Erechanian. I should have guessed. No Kanosee in his right mind would be in this part of the kingdom.”
    Khirro half-smiled. “I guess that makes you not in your right mind, then?”
    The soldier didn’t see the humor of it. The corners of his mouth pulled down in a frown for a second before he lunged. Khirro side-stepped and the tip of the man’s sword cut empty air. The other five Kanosee dismounted.
    Where are you, Athryn?
    They took turns swinging their swords at him. Khirro parried and blocked, pacing a slow circle from one man to the next and with each time one of their blows glanced off the Mourning Sword, pride and confidence grew within him. Here he was, a dirt farmer less than a year ago, holding off six trained soldiers. A smile crept across his face.
    “Ha!” he cried blocking another blow struck by the lead man, a tall fellow with a wide pink scar marring his otherwise neatly trimmed beard. It struck Khirro that these men didn’t look any different from himself or his fellow countrymen, they simply lived in another kingdom, were ruled by a different ruler, lived by different laws.
    The men quickened the pace of their attack and Khirro’s smile faded as it became difficult to keep up. He deflected one blow with his sword and it grazed his arm without cutting. The flat of one man’s sword caught him across the back making him stumble, but he kept his feet.
    They’re toying with me.
    The attack continued, bringing beads of sweat to Khirro’s brow. The bearded man with the scar laughed and some of his companions chortled along with him. Khirro’s arms grew heavy with the fatigue of defending himself.
    He barely blocked an attack aimed at his legs and ducked under another blow. His breath came in short, heavy gasps; his heart beat fast with exertion and fear. He tried to bring the