Page 1 of King's Warrior

Prologue - The Making of a Warrior

Calling Ivy Path a village was rank flattery, in Rufe Ferund’s opinion. The shambling collection of twenty or so tiny cottages clustered around the narrow mountain road barely made up a hamlet. But The Stone’s Throw served surprisingly good ale and also drew quite a crowd for such a small village, though being on a direct trade route likely brought many travelers. A trade route Rufe and his fellow soldiers were here to protect.

Rufe sat at one of a dozen tables crammed into a room that would be tight for six, sipping a tankard of ale while the proprietor watched his company with wary eyes. Rufe would be wary too, living this close to the Craician border, but the locals had nothing to fear from Cormiran Empire soldiers.

Still, a skittering unease trailed up Rufe’s spine. He sat silently, pacing himself with a single tankard while watching his fellow soldiers drinking, playing games of chance, and seeing who could tell the biggest lies, the same as when they gathered around a campfire. They’d come in from the cold to a hearty meal and warmth, at leasttonight. In fact, the room was a bit too warm from the blazing fire and too many bodies.

A few of his company had cast interested gazes toward the barmaid for most of the evening. Wait! Where was she? When had Rufe last seen her? The tavern keeper and any locals seemed to be missing, too. Rufe’s comrades were the only people left in the tavern. The unease shifted from his spine to his belly.

He caught Captain Anjoix’s gaze from across the table. “Aye, lad,” the captain murmured, covertly scanning the room without raising his head. “I see. Be ready.” To the other men, Anjoix said, “Quietly, in ones and twos, exit through the kitchen. We’re about to be ambushed.”

Some of the men might’ve drunk too heavily to be of much help, especially being off duty. Why hadn't sentries sounded alarms if they were about to be attacked?

Because they’re dead, most likely.Which brought the company down to fourteen men and the captain.

Rufe’s heart pounded. He’d been involved in several skirmishes since joining the military, but this might be his first big battle. Seasons of training couldn’t keep his gut from twisting. He set his tankard down and wrapped trembling fingers around his sword hilt.

Several of their men stood, two disappearing through the kitchen door. Rufe sat tensed on the hard wooden bench, waiting for the captain’s signal. A scream ripped through the building. The soldiers rose as one, a collective rasp sounding as they drew their swords.

The scent of burning had Rufe glancing up toward the access to the sleeping chambers. Thick black smoke boiled down the stairs.

“They plan to burn us out!” Anjoix cried. “Men. Attack.”

They charged the doors and windows, swords in hand and a battle cry on their lips. More pushed from behind, desperate to escape as flames licked their way from above.

Rufe joined with the pushing, inching his way toward the front door. He followed Anjoix into the night, raising his sword and blocking what could have been a killing blow from a woman wearing leather armor and Craician green and blue. What were Craician soldiers doing in Draige?

Then all questions fled Rufe’s mind. Seasons of practiced moves clicked into place. He clanged his sword against the woman’s, more on instinct than conscious thought. The impact reverberated up his arm. She fought wildly, attacking repeatedly without finesse, as though with an unfamiliar blade. The clash of metal on metal and screams of rage and pain surrounded Rufe as flames crackled from the tavern, lighting the night.

His fellows shoved their way past him, escaping the blaze, many to meet their demise at the end of a Craician sword.

The heat grew nearly unbearable, and Rufe realized his opponent intended to force him back into the flames. Oh, Goddess, no! He doubled down, driving her back enough to escape the heat and the danger of falling timbers. The fire illuminated the arrogance in her icy blue eyes, the sneer on her lips. She snarled in heavily accented Cormiran, “Die, you Cormiran piece of shit.”

The woman had to be nearly twice Rufe’s nineteen summers of life, and clumsy, favoring her right leg. She’d the advantage of a mixture of leather and chain armor over Rufe in only a tunic, trousers, and boots. The bitter cold bit at his face.

Rufe parried, feinting a thrust, luring her into a defensive move. A little more… He drove the point of his blade through a gap in her armor. She screamed, swatting at her back.

Rufe jerked his sword free, barely blocking her next blow. She fought with one hand now, the other gripping the bleeding wound. She moved slower, her former superior sneer now an agonized grimace. Father had taught Rufe to be merciful. The life of a soldier taught him there was no mercy in battle except a clean, swift death.

His limbs grew heavy as they battled on, every motion an effort, but to succumb to fatigue meant to die. The captain and Rufe’s comrades depended on him to take down as many enemies as possible. He knocked the sword from the woman’s hand with a double-handed blow. She dove to grab the weapon, exposing herself once more. Rufe slammed his blade into her side. Her eyes went wide. Blood spewed from her lips. She died before hitting the ground.

Rufe wrested his blade from her flesh and whirled, ready for any other attackers, and found his fellow soldiers engaged in battle—far fewer than they’d started with. The roaring flames now fully engulfed the tavern. Had anyone gotten caught inside? Part of the roof collapsed with a woosh, sending sparks into the sky. Thescent of smoke, blood, and death assaulted his nose. Screams from wounded men filled his ears.

He backed away, nearly tripping over a body wearing the red and blue uniform of the Cormiran military. Young Ruperd’s eyes stared up sightlessly. He’d only recently turned twenty.

“To me!” Captain Anjoix called from somewhere to the left.

Rufe abandoned the soldier far beyond his help and ran toward his captain.

Pain crashed down onto his head.

All went dark.

Rufe woke slowly, head pounding and face pressed against fallen damp leaves. Frigid air chilled his skin, though something heavy on his back provided warmth. The scent of snow hung in the air. Where was he? Oh, right. Draige. No human sounds came to him, but hints of wood smoke drifted. Where had they been? A village? Yes, a village, a scouting party.

He blinked a few times to clear his vision. Dead eyes stared back at him from a few feet away. Oh, sweet Goddess! Captain Anjoix. Rufe jumped back, hitting his head on the tree trunk behind him. Fuck! That hurt! He rubbed a sore spot on the back of his head, feeling blood that hadn’t come from contact with the tree.

Something dark lay on the ground. Bearskin? Rufe pulled. Oh, a bearskin cloak, what must’ve kept him warm. Though whocovered him? His thoughts immediately turned to the Unnamed Goddess. Ridiculous. Goddesses didn’t come to earth to save someone like him.

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