Page 75 of King's Warrior

“Are you sure about this?” the lieutenant asked.

“Very sure. Travel five days south, then return home.” Ten days would allow plenty of time for a lone rider to reach the Renvallian border.

“Yes, Ambassador.” The lieutenant saluted with an arm over her chest.

Rufe checked the saddle before swinging onto Princess’s back. “May the gods watch over you and keep you until we meet again.” He ventured into the woods, leaving the soldiers behind. Enemies would watch the road. Rufe would travel through the woods, arriving at the deserted village where he’d once taken shelter with Draylon after rescuing Yarif.

A map Niam provided showed many abandoned villages where Rufe could find shelter on his journey, though his heart ached. The map might be all he got to keep of the king he was coming to love more with each passing day.

It seemed like old times as Rufe spread his bedroll on the floor of what might have once been a trapper’s cabin. Princess chuffed nearby, munching dried grass. With no other place to keep her, they’d share quarters tonight. An owl hooted in a tree, answered several seconds later by another. Rufe missed the snores of fellow soldiers or Draylon's gentle ribbing.

As much as he’d loved being a part of something larger than himself, he’d also enjoyed being alone until he met Niam. What was Niam doing now? Sitting on the raised dais, having dinner in the viper pit of the aristocracy? Did he miss Rufe?

Most of all, in the frost-touched hut, Rufe missed warmth. The sun, a warm bed, Niam’s body heat. Niam’s love warming his heart. Though whoever provided Rufe’s clothing ensured he wouldn’t freeze to death. He curled into his bedroll near the hearth, where he’d coaxed a fire into existence. The chill caused old and not so old injuries to throb.

A twig snapped somewhere outside. To the left, maybe. As stealthily as possible, Rufe slipped from the bedroll, lifted the dagger he’d left lying nearby, and crept through the askew door and into the darkness by a tree. He remained still, listening to the night. Another twig snapped, this time to the right of his camp. So, possibly two enemies. A rustle of leaves from another direction brought the total to three. They weren’t too stealthy in their approach, likely believing three-to-one good odds. They’d soon find out commanders of Cormiran forces weren’t easy prey.

Shuffling sounded near his tree. Rufe braced, muscles bunching. One more step… two more… He reached out, slapped a hand over theintruder’s mouth, yanked them against his chest, and put his blade to their throat.

Wide, glittering eyes stared up at him, and the man gave a muffled grunt. Rufe tightened his grip, pressing the blade more firmly into the man’s neck. Whoever paid them to waylay him didn’t pay them nearly enough to die—no matter the wages.

He caught the glint of a knife in the moonlight as his captive tried to slash his leg. Rufe drew his dagger across the brigand’s throat. The body dropped to the ground with a heavy thump. If the man didn’t want to admit defeat, Rufe would choose for him.

Moonlight filtering through the tree leaves highlighted a shadow a few feet away.

Princess screamed, hooves clattering on the cabin’s wooden floor. Princess! Someone was trying to steal her. Rufe gave up stealth, dashing across the clearing and into the cabin, pausing long enough to trade dagger for sword. Princess shrieked again, followed by the scream of a human throat. The human scream cut off abruptly.

Footsteps sounded behind him. Rufe whirled, lifting his blade. Steel rang against steel. He listened, anticipating the next blow and blocking. Fighting in the dark made no sense. He went low, slashing at the attacker’s leg.

A man howled, dropping to the ground. The sword fell.

Rufe reentered the cabin and approached Princess. A woman lay at her feet, hair matted with blood, eyes staring at nothing. “Princess, you’re getting an extra grain ration when we arrive—” He started to say “home,” but hehad no home.

Lying in Niam’s arms was the closest he’d been to a home in ages, a sanctuary he’d never have again. He dropped and searched the woman’s clothing, finding a small dagger but nothing else of value.

He lit a branch to use as a torch and returned to the man sprawled outside, blood forming a pool beneath him. There was something familiar about him, only he appeared dirtier and thinner than before. Someone unused to Delletinian winters and yet he’d somehow survived. Bleeding, but not dead yet.

The memory came clear. One of Illa Trandores’ men, who’d likely deserted after confronting a pissed-off Draylon last season. “You kidnapped Yarif DiRici.”

“Not me,” the man moaned, clutching his injured leg. The amount of blood squeezing through his fingers said he wouldn’t have long to endure the pain.

“Who are you working for? Why did you attack me?”

“Not you. Just…” The man gasped. “Wanted. Mule. Supplies.”

Rufe stepped back, lowering his sword. If this man tried to escape, he wouldn’t get far. The light slowly faded from his eyes, leaving Rufe alone once more.

Torchlight let Rufe locate the first man who lay where he’d fallen. No valuables hid in the men’s pockets nor the woman’s. Poor bastards seemed to be common thieves, after all. They survived bleak Delletinian weather only to attempt stealing from the wrong man.

Listening didn’t alert him to the presence of others. A few of Illa’s mercenaries had escaped from well-trained soldiers and amountain bent on taking lives. There still might be more about. Rufe packed his belongings, saddled Princess, extinguished the fire, and resumed his journey, leading the mule. Best to put distance between himself and the bodies in case of other survivors.

Or wolves.

Chapter Twenty-eight

An old friend met Rufe at the border, surrounded by a dozen soldiers. “Commander Vihaan!” The commander—or whatever his current title—personally greeting Rufe spoke volumes about the stressful nature of Rufe's presence. Vihaan now served the emperor directly and couldn’t have been at Renvalle more than a day or two before getting sent back to the border.

“This is quite the honor.” Rufe eased himself out of the saddle. Riding hard for days on end left his muscles screaming. He eyed Vihaan’s fur hat and fur-lined cloak with envy.

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