Page 45 of King's Warrior

Sleeping rough couldn’t be doing Rufe’s injuries any favors. The trampled leg and the cuts he’d earned defending Niam’s keep, doubtlessly, still ached.

The few Delletinian guards who’d remained with Niam in Renvalle kept close, not letting Renvallian soldiers too near their king. One might have even growled. Niam had felt safe in Renvalle until someone had tampered with Rufe's saddle—a brand new saddle, a gift from Niam.

Zanial brushed past the guards, arms laden with gear. “I don’t trust these foreign soldiers, Your Majesty,” he said, disdainfully eyeing Vihaan.

Vihaan merely watched from his place by the door, an amused smirk on his lips. Maybe he understood some Delletinian, but Zanial’s sneer needed no interpretation.

Vihaan gave a lazy grin and winked.

Zanial flushed. “Well, I never!” He flounced to the other side of the room and laid out his bedroll.

“And it shows!” Vihaan snapped in Delletinian. Ah, so the old soldier knew the language. Niam best remember that.

He would’ve insisted on Zanial sleeping elsewhere if he’d known how badly the man snored. For his part, Niam slept fitfully on the floor of the abandoned cottage Casseign deigned in good enough condition to house his king. What had the people who’d lived here been like? Where were they now? Could he have done something to prevent them from abandoning their homes?

Niam had been a young ruler when Renvalle cut trade, allowing the nobles to convince him they should stay neutral. But the Craician threat grew, as did Niam’s understanding of what Delletina needed. He’d grown as a person and a king during that time.

Owls hooted outside the window, and a wolf howled in the distance. A mule snorted. Murmured conversations drifted through the window, but Niam couldn’t pick out Rufe’s voice.

Rufe should be here now, wrapped in this blanket. Never had Niam felt so alone in his life.

Captain Casseign distributed Delletinian winter clothing to those who didn’t possess their own. Niam had guessed right about Rufe’s sizes, and he appeared vastly different in a woolen tunic, trousers, and the fur-lined hat and gloves specially made for him.

Niam's heart lurched. Rufe almost appeared Delletinian-born, dressed as one of them. However, his dark hair, eyes, and complexion belied the illusion, a reminder of his Cormiran ancestry and that Niam couldn’t keep him.

Plate armor wasn’t conducive to distance riding, so all the soldiers in the contingent wore chain mail beneath their cloaks. With any luck, they wouldn't need the protection.

They plodded through softly falling snow; the drifts masking the mules’ footfalls. Zanial shivered, remarking for the hundredth time, “It’s so cold!” And he called himself anortherner.

Invigorating, more like. So much freedom to be had away from the castle, so much beauty to behold. The air was crisp, cold, and clean. Steam formed from Niam’s breath, eerie wraiths dissipating into the gloom. Ice coated the tree branches, and red birds sought berries in the shrubs. Rufe smiled his way every so often, warming Niam down to his soul.

Two days later, they came to a ghostly nothingness of burned trees and home after home destroyed, new evergreens pushing through the carnage from a past fire. They would likely find people on other roads, but this route gave Niam the best chance of anonymity.

The company grew silent as their mules trudged by the carnage. Late summer lightning strike? Untended hearth fire? Enemy incursion? He pulled his mount closer to his advisor’s. “Zanial, did we receive any word of what happened here?”

Zanial glanced around, jerking as though just now seeing the destruction. “There was a fire.”

Niam fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, but what caused the fire? How many victims? How many people did the fire displace? Where are they? Do they need the crown’s help?”

Zanial flushed an unflattering shade of purple. “They were burning off fields for planting last spring. The wind swept the burn out of control.” The words came out practiced.

“And?”

The confusion on Zanial’s face appeared genuine. “And?”

“What happened to the people? Do they need help to rebuild?”

“The treasury sent funds,” Zanial mumbled.

Well, if they had, the money hadn’t gone toward rebuilding. “I want to see the records as soon as we arrive home.”

“Y… yes, Your Majesty.”

How odd, and something Niam needed to look into. He relied on his advisors and secretaries for so much, trusting them implicitly. Perhaps they needed more oversight.

The fifth day found the party climbing higher into the mountains, slowing down as lowlanders dealt with headaches and other highlands-related maladies. They encountered their first sinkhole. Half the road appeared to have simply collapsed, leaving a gaping, ragged hole and a steep drop down the side of the mountain. They rode single file on the undamaged part. There’d be no repairing this route, which might have been a deciding factor in the abandoned villages they’d found thus far. A new road must be built.

Rufe pulled his mule next to Niam’s when the road widened again. “Did it collapse all at once?”

---