Page 60 of King's Warrior

“I don’t care who told you to do what. You work for me. You don’t leave without my permission.”

Rufe studied the boy’s face in the lantern’s glow and stepped into the light.

The boy let out an “Eep!” of fright and darted out the back door. Rufe ran faster.

The boy whirled, pitchfork in hand. “Don’t come any closer.”

The stable master barreled toward them. “What is the meaning of this?”

“This boy just tried to kill King Niam!” Rufe snarled.

“No! I was only supposed to scare him!” The boy slapped both hands over his mouth, dropping the pitchfork.

Rufe pulled the dagger, a homemade blade with an elk horn handle, from his tunic. “Never pull a blade unless you intend to use it,” he hissed in Delletinian.

Smash!Something hard hit Rufe’s head, knocking him sideways. Damnation! He’d just lamented Niam’s lack of awareness. The boy ran. Rufe turned on the stable master, who raised his wooden bucket again for another strike.

Rufe grabbed the bucket in one hand, sending the portly man off-balance. A right hook put him on the ground, out cold.

Rufe tossed the bucket and took off after the boy, at a distinct disadvantage in unfamiliar surroundings. So many obstacles, so many places to hide. He stopped, listening. Nothing but the breeze rustling the tree limbs. He drew his sword. How foolish of him to come out here alone, no one knowing where he’d be. No telling where his dagger went. He couldn’t recall even dropping it.

That no one knew his actual position or reason for being in Delletina could be used to Rufe’s advantage. People likely wouldn’texpect a diplomat to hold his own in a fight, though anyone paying close attention would see his callused hands and notice the scars and tattoo—hardly the marks of a noble used to soft living, even a Cormiran barbarian.

Rufe stole quietly through the woods along a path, slowly, as the quarter-moon provided little light under the trees, and many hooves had churned snow into slush with no discernable footsteps. A blur caught from the corner of his eye made him spin just in time to avoid a dagger to the throat. Instinct took over, Rufe’s finely honed reflexes kicking in. He dropped the sword, grabbed the man’s wrist above the hand holding the knife, and tugged, pulling his assailant off balance and landing a punch to the soft midsection.

“Oof!” The man dropped. Rufe landed behind him, wrapping one arm around his neck and yanking back.

The man grappled with both hands, fighting against Rufe’s hold—so no knife. Rufe rose, pulling his attacker along with him. Shouts came from the direction of the barn. He waited to see what might happen before hauling his quarry in that direction. There could be more enemies.

“Let me go!” the man in Rufe’s arms screamed. No, not a man. The boy from before.

“Lord Rufe!” called a voice he recognized as Casseign’s.

“Here!” Rufe reached down for his boot knife. One couldn’t be too careful. No wait. He’d given the knife to Niam.

Thudding footsteps heralded more than one person approaching. Casseign and another soldier appeared, a lantern in one handand a sword in the other. Rufe stood aside, allowing Casseign to approach. Was the captain as loyal as Rufe thought? He held his breath. More guards arrived, forming a loose semi-circle around Cass, Rufe, and the stable lad.

“Take his captive,” Casseign ordered.

The man with Cass sheathed his sword and stepped forward, grasping the struggling stable boy by the arm.

Rufe lifted his chin. “He made an attempt on King Niam’s life. I want to question him personally.” He wasn’t in much of a position to bark orders under the guise of a foreign dignitary without his sword to back up his word.

Casseign nodded. “So you shall.” He retrieved the fallen sword and handed it to Rufe.

The guard raised a brow. Oh, right. He didn’t know Rufe as Casseign did.

“Lord Rufe has experience in interrogation,” Casseign explained. “Take the boy to my office. We’ll be there shortly.” He pointed to the other guards. “Go with them.”

Rufe waited until they left to tell Casseign, “The stable master attacked me with a bucket.”

The edge of Cass’s mouth twitched. “Defending the boy, most likely. His nephew.”

The uncle should’ve taught his nephew better. “The boy didn’t scheme to kill Niam on his own.”

Cass sheathed his sword. “No. He’s a bit gullible. Someone definitely commanded him.”

“The stable master?”

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