Page 2 of The Barbarian’s Claim (Not-So-Savage Barbarians #4)

Two

MATTHEW

T he journey to the barbarian village took a few days.

They kept us all fed and gave us plenty of water.

The only one who was treated with any roughness was the angry man, who shouted curses at them whenever they removed his gag to give him water, and tried to kick them when they put it back on.

I was relieved when we finally stopped. It was hard to get sleep when someone was yelling through a gag right next to you.

We were led to a large tent in the middle of the village.

Rugs covered most of the ground, and a few lanterns hung from the ceiling on ropes to provide light.

I wasn’t sure what would happen next, but we were left alone for a little while, with only a few guards standing outside the tent.

Then, one by one, barbarians showed up and pulled tributes to their feet, leading them away.

The more people disappeared, the more nervous I got.

When the angry one snuck away, I almost wanted to go with him.

I didn’t get a chance before another barbarian came in and strode over to me.

He helped me to my feet, and his grip on my arm was gentle as he led me out of the tent and away from the village center.

He brought me to a new tent, this one closer to the edge of the encampment. There wasn’t much inside, just a pallet of blankets and furs, a small table, and a wooden chest. He nudged me toward the table and sat me down before getting comfortable beside me. He pointed to his chest.

“Orn.”

My brows furrowed. I didn’t know what he meant. Did he want something from me?

Like he could tell what I was thinking, he shook his head, pointing to the table instead. He said something, then pointed to the lantern next. It took me a while to figure out what he was doing. He was naming things. And when he pointed at himself again, he repeated the word he said before.

“Orn.”

That was his name. I nodded to show I understood. Then he pointed at me. Ah. He wanted to know my name.

“M-M-Matthew…” I murmured.

He leaned closer with a frown, and I forced myself to speak a little louder. I didn’t like to. I didn’t use my voice often after my family died, and I wasn’t very chatty before that either. Thankfully, he heard my second attempt and repeated it to show he understood.

After introductions, someone showed up with bowls of food, and he pointed out words in his language as we ate.

I tried to remember as much as I could, but he spoke too fast, and it was hard to wrap my head around it.

He didn’t make me repeat him, so he didn’t realize I wasn’t keeping up.

I’d never been very smart. Learning a new language would be hard for me.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t be too mad about that.

The first day was spent alone in the tent.

Orn stayed with me, teaching me words and encouraging me to speak.

I wanted to do as he said, but he was still talking too fast, and I was too embarrassed to say anything.

I wasn’t even sure he could understand me if I did.

He hadn’t spoken in any other language but his since we met.

The following day, I was brought back to the first tent we had stayed in while we waited for the barbarians who would take care of us.

I figured that was what Orn was doing. He didn’t force himself on me or hurt me.

He fed me, brought me to the trench to relieve myself, and pointed out words in his language.

Even as we slept, he gave me space and faced away from me.

It was odd to share a bed with a stranger, but after days of iffy sleep, I eventually succumbed to exhaustion and slept through the night.

I had time to wake up and eat before we left, so I was wide awake and curious as I looked around the group.

None of the other tributes seemed any different from how they had been when we arrived.

A few looked tired, but not everyone woke up in a good mood.

They weren’t hurt or overly disheveled. I relaxed a little. Maybe they wouldn’t hurt us after all.

A smaller man joined us at one point, a timid smile on his face.

He was dressed like the barbarians, but he didn’t look anything like them.

He was smaller than me, with short curls instead of braids, and his hair was only shaved in a smaller spot on one side.

He had a thick leather book in his hand, and he introduced himself to us as a former tribute.

“My name is Finn. I hope everyone has gotten some rest. I’m going to be teaching you the language of the clan to make life a little easier for you. I’m sure your barbarians have done some of the work so far, but?—”

He was interrupted by another warrior, who led the angry tribute inside. He wasn’t shackled or gagged anymore, his expression petulant as he glared at our instructor.

“Oh, you’re here.” Finn smiled gently at him. “Good. Welcome. We’re learning the basics of the barbarian language today. There are some cushions to sit on, if you want to make yourself comfortable.”

The tribute made a face of displeasure and immediately tried to leave. His barbarian stood behind him, a solid wall of muscle blocking him from the exit. “I don’t want to be here,” he snapped. “I don’t care to learn.”

Finn took a step closer, his face full of understanding. “It’s okay to still be upset. There’s a lot I can explain if you’re worried.”

“How long have you been here?” the angry man demanded.

Finn looked confused but answered honestly. “About a year now? I arrived last year. I was the first male tribute, so I understand how you feel and?—”

That seemed to make the angry one stiffen, and outrage filled his face. “Hold on. Say that again.”

“Which part? It didn’t take me a year to learn the language, so if that’s what you’re thinking?—”

The angry one interrupted again, waving his hands wildly. “You said you were the first male tribute. Of this clan? Or ever?”

Finn shrank back a little at the angry tone. I felt bad for him. I wouldn’t be comfortable with that kind of confrontation either. “U-uh… Ever, I think. At least, that’s what I’d been told. I’m gathering the clan stories, so if there’s one from the past, I haven’t heard of it yet. Why?”

“Why? What do you mean, why?” the man screeched. “I heard about you! You had a chance to get out! Your family came for you! You chose to stay, and now the rest of us have to suffer for it!”

He gestured to me and the other man who sat nearby. I ducked my head immediately. I didn’t want him drawing attention to me. I’d asked to be here. I’d volunteered. But I was too scared of his reaction if I spoke up about that.

He continued berating poor Finn, who soon started crying.

That was when the barbarian stepped in, his voice harsh as he asked Finn questions.

He didn’t even notice the angry man stalking out of the tent.

No one noticed at first. When a few more barbarians came into the tent, they swarmed Finn, patting his shoulder and speaking in soothing tones.

It wasn’t until one of the biggest barbarians I’d ever seen came in and picked Finn up like an infant, cuddling the man close, that the one who came in with the angry one noticed he was missing.

He raced out, and Finn was taken away a few minutes later, too upset to begin his lesson.

Orn came back for me, his expression dark.

None of the barbarians were happy about what had happened to Finn.

They obviously cared about him. It gave me hope that I would be okay here. That I would be safe.

I was wrong. At first, everything was fine.

Finn eventually started his lessons, and he spoke slower than Orn, so I could pick up a little more than before.

I still struggled with it, though, and made sure to sit as far from him as I could so he wouldn’t notice or call on me to answer a question.

When I wasn’t in lessons with Finn, I was in Orn’s tent.

According to Finn, he was supposed to be there with me to teach me things, but after a few days of silence from me, where I was too embarrassed to try and replicate his language, he started spending more and more time outside his tent.

He wasn’t unkind, and he always made sure I was fed and warm, but he didn’t want to spend time with me.

I’ll admit, it hurt more than I expected, and I spent most of my time silently berating myself.

I would end up in the same situation as before if I didn’t learn to be more open.

When he started bringing me out of the tent and to a small fire, I tried to force myself to interact with the others there.

But every time I opened my mouth, my anxiety picked up, and I couldn’t speak around the tightness in my throat.

After days of trying, they ended up ignoring me as well, and I spent my time listening and picking out words I understood.

I was doing this again one night when I saw someone creeping towards the camp.

At first, I thought I’d imagined it, but he peeked around a tent, and when he noticed me looking at him, he put a finger to his lips with a sinister grin, telling me to stay quiet.

He wasn’t anyone I recognized, and his clothes weren’t even remotely similar to those of the barbarians who took me in.

I remembered hearing about another clan visiting in my first week, and how it went badly after one attacked Simon.

He was the angry tribute. I wasn’t allowed to be there for that confrontation, but something told me this guy had something to do with that.

Shouts from the village center had everyone standing at once.

Orn didn’t even look my way before grabbing his weapon and running off.

My heartbeat picked up, and I tried to call out to him, but he left before I could get the words out.

No one paid me any mind. And no one knew about the man hiding nearby.

He came out of the shadows, his gaze glued to me.

He said something in his language that I didn’t understand, but it sounded threatening.

I took a step back, my eyes darting around for help.

There was no one here. The barbarians spent time in small clusters around fires around camp, and this one was the farthest from the village center.

They probably wouldn’t hear a thing with all the current chaos.

I was going to run and hide somewhere, but Orn and a few others came back before I could decide where.

Relief flooded me as Orn came straight for me, but it was short-lived.

He barked at me with a glare, his words harsh, and jabbed a finger toward his tent.

He didn’t notice the man behind him. I squeaked, pointing a shaking finger.

He spun around just in time to block the swing aimed at him.

The other two raced forward to help, but more newcomers spilled out of the forest, and their odds evened out.

I stood frozen, like a frightened animal, until Orn was cut along his arm and blood splashed on my face.

It startled me, and I jumped, taking a few steps back.

Orn didn’t die, but he finally noticed I was still there and shouted at me to get me moving, his common tongue accented and rough.

“Run! Go, now!”

I did as he asked, racing away, but I wasn’t sure where to go.

Not toward the village center. I could hear the fighting from here.

Not to Orn’s tent. I’d have to pass through the fighting to get to it.

I heard footsteps chasing after me, and I panicked, darting into the last tent on the forest’s edge.

The barbarian who stood inside, with long scars on his face and an enormous sword in his hand, spun around with a snarl, and I yelped, skidding to stop myself from running into him.

I collapsed at his feet just as the person who’d been chasing me ducked inside.

To his credit, the barbarian I’d barged in on didn’t hesitate to take action. He lunged at the one who’d chased me, cutting his head clean off effortlessly. I bit back a scream, watching his body collapse and his head roll a little away.

The new barbarian spun around, eyes wide with fury. “What is happening?” he demanded in the common tongue.

My mouth opened to reply, but I couldn’t get the words out. “I-I-I?—”

Stalking forward, he kneeled in front of me, cupping my cheeks in both his hands and forcing me to look him in the eye. I gripped his wrists on instinct, worried he’d hurt me, but while his hold was firm, he didn’t squeeze or cause me pain.

“Breathe. Like me. Do this now.”

I copied his breathing, my gaze trapped in his. I’d seen him before. Many people were afraid of him. But when he growled again, I didn’t feel like he was going to hurt me.

“Try again. What is happening?”

Forcing the words out was hard, but I had to do it. Someone had to help. “I-I d-d-don’t know. They’re att– att–attacking. M-m-most are at the v-village center. They d-didn’t see the ones s-s-sneaking in the b-back.”

That made him snarl, and he shoved to his feet, grabbing a few weapons as he headed for the tent flap.

“Stay hidden,” he demanded, and disappeared.

A part of me wanted to follow him. I didn’t want to be all alone, but I didn’t want to get in his way either.

I tucked myself into a small ball in the corner of his tent after dragging a heavy bag in front of me to block me from sight.

Then I stayed there until the screaming stopped and the world went quiet again.