Page 13 of Prize of the Warlord
“No.”
“But you just said—”
“I said you could not bear it. Come with me, fool girl, before any otherjäkelfind us.” He clamps a hand around my arm and starts walking, and then he stumbles and releases me, with a cry of real pain.
“Faen,” he barks. I think it’s a swear in his tongue.
“Are you hurt?” I ask.
He glares at me, and I wince. Stupid question—he’s bleeding from a dozen different wounds, not to mention the acid burns on his arm. “It’s nothing,” he growls. But when he takes another step, he says, “Faen” again and drags apart the thick leather on his right thigh. It’s been split by claws, and dark blood is soaking through. More blood gurgles out as he probes the wound.
“Stop poking it,” I say, cringing. “You’re making it worse. Where’s your horse?”
“Just outside the ravine. I didn’t want to risk him down here, with those creatures.”
“Kind of you. Tell me exactly where he is, and I’ll go get him and bring him down to you.”
He presses a palm against the wound, a groan grating between his teeth. But when his eyes find mine, distrust roils in them.
Of course. He’s afraid I’ll steal the horse and leave him here to bleed out.
What a good idea.
“I’ll come back,” I tell him, with the most wide-eyed, innocent look I can manage. “The mouse has learned her lesson. I can’t survive out here alone, and I can’t make it back home by myself. No more escaping—I just want to go back to camp and sleep. After all, you saved my life. I owe you this.”
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After a moment’s hesitation, the Warlord nods, apparently deciding to trust me. “Walk that way about twenty paces, climb the left side of the ravine, and walk another ten or twelve paces straight into the forest. You’ll find my horse tied to the big leaning tree.”
He unbuckles one of the belts from his waist and loops it around his thigh, tightening it just above the wound.
I pretend to hesitate, confused. “So I walk east, and then—”
“No, not east. North. That way.”
“Oh.” I blink my lashes, inwardly gloating because he just gave me the directions I need. “I’ll hurry.”
I follow his instructions, walking along the ravine, trudging up the bank, and locating the horse. The enormous stallion tosses his head and eyes me malevolently.
“Shh, hush,” I murmur. “Remember me? I rode you before, with the Warlord. Your master’s hurt. I’m taking you to him.”
I edge closer, talking quietly until the horse calms. Then I step on a nearby branch, and with a gasping, flailing scramble, I manage to get astride the saddle.
And I laugh because I have a horse now, saddled and ready. This horse can take me across the Bloodsalt to the mountains. The Warlord is incapacitated in a ditch, so he can’t follow me.
I reach over and untie the knotted reins from the branch. Then I lift them and urge the horse forward. He obeys without throwing me off.
Because I want the Warlord to know that I’ve bested him, I ride along the edge of the ravine until I can look down and see him there, leaning against the wall of the gully. He glances up, and our eyes meet. I allow a cocky smile to spread across my face—a smile I don’t use often, because it feels more like Joss than me. But in this case, it fits.
“Go,” I tell the horse, squeezing my legs and leaning forward, lifting the reins. He responds at once, moving on through the trees, away from his master.
The Warlord will bleed out in the frigid dark, between the carcasses of the beasts he killed. He’ll die like the animal he is, like a thief and a murderer.
I don’t owe him for saving me. If he hadn’t stolen me in the first place, I wouldn’t have needed saving.
On we ride, through the dark forest, in a southerly direction. Once we’re out of the trees, we’ll be able to pick up the pace. But the horse has been going hard for days now—all the way to my family’s fortress and back again, carrying two people for the return trip. I’ll have to take it easy on him so he doesn’t keel over. Maybe, when I get home, I can give him to my husband-to-be. Prince Havil would appreciate such a magnificent animal, and there would be a satisfying justice in giving the Warlord’s prize stallion to the prince he ridiculed.
Yes, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll give this horse to Havil. But first, I have to make it across the Bloodsalt and find a way over or through the mountains. My father has outposts at every pass—I simply need to locate one, and the guards there will help me.
