Page 10
Story: King’s Warrior (Warriors #2)
Niam grew up at court, with servants and courtiers groveling for his attention, heaping on insincere flattery. This man didn’t have the conniving glint in his eyes to say he lied. Did this mean that the patient didn’t know Niam’s identity ?
“I’m Ned,” Niam said, using a name he employed for sneaking out among the people.
“Rufe,” the man said, not providing his rank. Better to appear a simple, ordinary man while among what could be the enemy, Niam supposed. He couldn’t fault someone for doing the same.
Niam stepped closer to the bed, noticing red staining the bandage on Rufe’s arm. “I need to check your wounds.” While no expert, he’d trained with his mother enough to perform minor healing duties. She expected him to tend to his sons’ injuries when required.
“Are you a healer?” Rufe quirked a brow.
Ah, he must think Niam a mere servant to bring his meal.
“Here in the mountains, we sometimes find ourselves isolated for days. We must learn how not to die in that time. I can set bones, change bandages, and know the proper herbs to treat minor ailments. I learned which trees make the best firewood and how to cook with whatever is available.” He’d been told his rabbit stew was the stuff of legends, but Alyss had always been too kind to say otherwise.
Rufe extended his arm. Niam retrieved the small basket by the window that he knew held extra healer’s supplies. Next, he brought over the water-filled pitcher and a cleaning cloth. While Rufe might be a warrior, some patients shrank at the sight of blood. Niam washed his hands before starting.
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 broken ribs 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.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10 (Reading here)
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
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- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59
- Page 60
- Page 61
- Page 62
- Page 63
- Page 64
- Page 65