Page 16 of King's Warrior

Best to keep the patient distracted. “Where are you from, Rufe?”

“Cormira.” Single-word answers wouldn’t provide the necessary distraction.

Niam unwrapped the wound, hiding a wince. A ragged gash the length of Niam’s hand marred Rufe’s forearm as though he’d tried to block a blow. Mother’s neat stitches held the wound closed. No angry red of infection, nor did the surrounding flesh feel hot to the touch. He wet the cloth and gently dabbed away dried blood. The seepage had stopped. Good. He wouldn’t ask why Rufe was here, as he already knew. Besides, a mere servant would be rude to inquire. If Niam truly wished to get to know this man, he couldn’t be King Niam.

“You come from the warm lowlands. What do you think of our mountains?” Niam applied salve and gently re-wrapped the arm.

“Beautiful, but unforgiving.” Rufe paused before adding in defeated tones, “We lost most of our companions.”

Yes, the mountains were unforgiving, especially to foreigners who didn’t know mountain ways. Not that the mountains were any more forgiving to locals. “I heard you fought mercenaries.”

“We lost them, too, but I won’t mourn their passing. I only wish we could perform proper burial rights on our own.”

“The mountain mothers keep who they claim,” Niam responded automatically, having been told the same since early childhood. “We don’t bury the dead claimed by Mount Telaga and Mount Frane.” Niam quietly believed that the visible remains served, in part, as a warning to outsiders.

Rufe stared down at the sheets. “So they say.”

Niam gestured for Rufe to lift his left side. Bruises and scars decorated the flesh there, though Rufe didn’t grunt or wince in pain as he moved. Niam took stock of the damage—several brokenribs and a puncture wound that barely missed vital organs. Mother had packed the wound, and Niam would yield to her expertise. He did brush salve onto the visible cuts, scrapes, and bruises. One by one, he checked each bandage, marveling at how this man, this seasoned warrior, only showed signs of pain with a nearly inaudible gasp.

While Niam was no stranger to soldiers, having a king’s guard of his own, he admired the firmness of Rufe’s flesh, the dark whorls of hair on his broad chest, and even the bare places where Mother had removed hair to stitch wounds.

Rufe never complained, though his injuries must hurt him. After redressing the wounds, Niam sat in a chair by the bed. “You need to eat. If the food has grown cold, I can reheat it by the fire.”

Rufe shook his head, one side of his mouthing lifting. “You must think I’m very spoiled indeed if you think I’ll refuse food for not being warm enough.” He attempted to sit up, this time visibly wincing.

Niam rushed to help him sit, plumping a pillow behind his back. Once Rufe settled, Niam handed him the bowl of oatmeal sweetened with honey.

Rufe took a bite and moaned, “Goddess, I didn’t realize I was so hungry.” Bite by bite, he cleaned the bowl, downing the entire cup of tea in the process, which must’ve been tepid by then. He finished, and Niam returned the dishes to the table.

Rufe said, “Thank you, Ned.” He relaxed into the pillow. “Where are my… companions? The lady who attended me wouldn’t say.”

Niam paused before answering. He should’ve coordinated with the captain and Mother about how much to say. “To which companions are you referring?”

“Dray—” Every muscle of Rufe’s face stilled. “A man with dark features like mine, only taller, and a thin, pretty blond.”

“The healer is tending them. Your fellow Cormiran is fine, but the blond is recovering from serious injuries. Are you the cause of those injuries?” Niam narrowed his eyes, anger building for whoever was at fault.

“What? No! I’d never hurt him.” Rufe studied Niam’s face for a moment. “If you even suspected me of such cruelty, you wouldn’t be helping me now.” He spoke with conviction, a man confident of his words.

Niam whooshed out a heavy exhale. “You are correct. The blond nearly lost toes to frostbite. Recovery will be a slow process, but he’ll live. Sadly, the reminders of his repeated whippings will be with him for the rest of his life.” Lovely Yarif, now scarred. How could anyone harm such a gentle soul?

“Better alive and scarred than the alternative. Now, where are we? I was told we were being taken to King Niam.”

“This is his keep, yes.”

“What does he plan to do with us?”

“I don’t believe… he knows yet.” Niam caught his near blunder. “Not that a king confides in a lowly servant like myself.” He must find out what his mother told this man. He stood abruptly. “If you’ll excuse me, I must go.”

“Ned? I stand by what I said.”

Niam paused midway to the door and glanced back over his shoulder. “What exactly are you referring to?”

Rufe grinned, dropping the lid over one dark eye in a flirtatious wink. “I’m not too injured to notice how truly beautiful you are.”

Niam fled before Rufe noticed his blush.

Chapter Five

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