Warrior King: Warriors - Book 1, page 16
Illa, the commander of the emperor’s forces, spoke Renvallian to Yarif but already knew he spoke Delletinian. However, to the rest, she spoke Cormiran, though they wore Delletinian uniforms. Based on the old bloodstains, they’d been taken from soldiers who no longer needed them.
Her swearing at her subordinates under her breath in Delletinian and Renvallian might mean they didn’t understand those languages. So, they weren’t from Renvalle or Delletina.
May the deities punish them for robbing the dead for those uniforms. And for taking Yarif from his home. For what purpose? Illa boasted of her connection to the Delletinian throne but didn’t mention Yarif’s ties there. Was it possible she didn’t know? Mother’s family had done their best to keep others from learning the truth.
Did the king of Delletina know about this woman? How she played kings and countries against each other? Yarif heard her mention “when we get to Wren” to the man who appeared to be her top lieutenant—a Cormiran deserter based on overheard conversation.
The campfire crackled at Yarif’s back. He tuned out the moaning of at least two people coupling on the ground, reminding him of his one night with Draylon, though Draylon never strayed far from his mind.
Yarif and his captors entered the mountains proper yesterday, and the air grew chilly at night. Those from Cormira used to the heat of their homeland complained about what they considered cold, the rocky, uneven terrain that forced them to lead their horses rather than ride, and the thinness of the air, prone to cause headaches.
At least Yarif wasn’t draped over a horse now, shaken until his guts ached, though his thin blanket smelled of horse and unwashed brute
His guts now ached for different reasons. Commander Illa ordered her underlings to feed him and give him water, which he only received if she watched. When she turned her back, the jeering would-be soldiers divided Yarif’s portion among themselves, leaving him parched, hungry, hurting, and weak.
Or perhaps it was Commander Illa’s intent to make herself appear to be helping. standing between Yarif and those who would take his life. He’d read of fighting units using such tactics to capture a person’s mind as surely as their body.
Beat them, then offer comfort, breaking their spirit. Then send them home where they’d be tattooed, viewed with suspicion. Or even disowned.
He must hold on. While he’d never met the king of Delletina that he recalled, if Commander Illa intended to turn Yarif over to the court there, he’d possibly receive much better treatment.
But what if there’d been a coup and King Niam, known as a compassionate ruler, no longer sat on the throne?
Was Draylon pursuing, trying to get Yarif back? Yarif scoffed at his fanciful notions. No, Draylon and the emperor had accomplished what they’d set out to do—put Draylon on the throne and have Yarif willingly give up control of Renvalle.
Yarif stared at the stars. Deities lived among the shimmering lights, or so he’d been told while still in the nursery. If only they’d look down, see his misery, and help him.
Why would they? He couldn’t possibly be important enough for a deity to concern themselves with, not even the Goddess of Misery.
“I know you’re awake,” Illa said, laying her bedroll beside Yarif’s.
Yarif remained quiet. What game did she intend to play now? Couldn’t she sleep anywhere else?
“You know your husband isn’t coming for you, don’t you?” she purred.
Yes, Yarif did, deep in his heart, yet he still hoped.
“The emperor forbade him. You’re on your own, little princeling.”
King consort, but Yarif didn’t correct her.
“You’re only alive because of me,” Commander Illa boasted. “My men would sooner kill you than see your arrogant face one more day.”
Arrogant?
She laughed. “This time next year, I’ll be seated on my own throne, beholden to no man. Never again will I have to pretend some foolish man is wise and powerful to get what I want. Or have your pig of a father grunting over me. Though he was so easily swayed by a pretty face.” Illa paused, likely giving the suggestion time to sink in.
Father and Illa?
“Women shouldn’t be subject to men,” Illa continued. “We serve in the military. I’m a commander!” Grumbling from around them at least made her lower her voice. “You don’t know what it’s like to be treated as a pawn, coming from a once-powerful family, constantly reminded of your ancestors’ failings.”
Don’t I?
“I will be queen without a king and never have to serve anyone again.”
Why did she insist on telling Yarif her wild delusions night after night? Illa rambled on while Yarif lay in the darkness, planning.
Lack of food and water left him too weak to run and nowhere to run to anyway, not knowing his surroundings. Though even if he fled and died, he’d take pleasure in denying this scheming commander her prize.
Once more, he pretended to sleep when a nightwatchman approached Illa.
“What is it?” she snapped, sitting up in her bedroll.
“Our scouts spotted a camp behind us.” The man spoke in Cormiran
“How many?” Illa snapped.
“Seven or eight people.”
“How far?”
“A half-day’s ride.”
“Are they wearing uniforms?”
“No, milady.”
“Damn it! Don’t you know how to give a report? Must I pull every bit of information out of you? Tell me, do they have horses?”
“Yes, milady.” The man kept his head bowed, voice a bit wavering. Illa commanded through fear, not respect.
Illa sighed and rolled her eyes. “It’s so hard to find good lackeys. Is there a huge black horse among their mounts?”
“No, milady. Just sturdy mountain mules.”
Illa paused for a few moments. “Probably traders, but keep a watch. And for the love of all the gods, learn how to give a fucking report. You should’ve said, ‘Our scouts saw seven or eight riders perhaps a half day’s ride behind us. They’re dressed as ordinary folk and riding mules.’ That would have told me all I needed to know—that they aren’t a pursuing army. I’ll speak to the scouts later about not knowing an accurate number. Now get out of my sight.”
The man nodded, fidgeting for a moment before blurting, “We’ve also lost two more men. We haven’t seen them since making camp.”
Illa swore but shook off her agitation. “More money to divide between the rest of you once we receive our reward.”
Reward? Seven or eight people following? Would someone intent on a rescue bring so few? Without uniforms? Surely the emperor, or Draylon, would send out legions if they wanted Yarif back.
Yarif’s heart sank. They didn’t plan to save him. No one would come. The travelers were likely traders, like Illa said. What would become of Renvalle? The twins? Would Draylon now choose a more suitable consort, perhaps a woman who could give him heirs?
He’d stood before the cleric, the deities, and witnesses and swore to protect Yarif. A lie designed to keep Yarif amiable, no doubt.
But what if it wasn’t a lie?
Hot tears stung Yarif’s eyes and clogged his throat. He hadn’t felt so alone since his mother’s death. He allowed his tears to fall in earnest when Illa wandered off.
Yarif sank into a fantasy of first laying eyes on his wooly barbarian. Then seeing Draylon again, cleanshaven, with a nasty scar Yarif kept meaning to ask about. The curve of Draylon’s smile and his gentle, callused hands. Yarif imagined Draylon draped over him, the way he groaned when he came…
The barbarian was the emperor’s legitimate son, yet spoke fondly of May and didn’t talk down to his men. So many facets to the man. How sad that Yarif wouldn’t get to learn the rest of them.
He stared up at an exceptionally bright star with blurry eyes. Deities, please take care of Adrina and Emile.
Because Yarif’s heart wouldn’t let him do otherwise, he added, And Draylon.
Chapter Twenty
Draylon perched on a precarious ledge, studying the dwindling party below. Seemed they’d lost a few of their number. Were they in the woods, scouting? If so, they’d been gone a few days now.
If not for Rufe, Draylon would have charged in, sword raised, never mind the consequences.
Soon, Yarif. I’ll have you back soon.
Jayra crept beside Draylon, seemingly unperturbed by the height of the precipice he perched on, the air that didn’t satisfy his lungs, or the chill morning.
“They’re down to sixteen now,” Jayra said, watching the group make their way up a steep incline. “Most aren’t trained fighters, except two soldiers nearly too old to lift a sword and a couple of deserters the Cormiran forces are well rid of. The old men grumble a lot. They also spit after saying the name ‘Commander Illa.’ I’ve only heard Cormiran spoken so far. According to the elders while keeping guard, seven of their number have deserted so far. There is no loyalty to this Commander Illa, and I’ve seen kinder snakes. Where loyalty lacks, allegiance can be bought.” She flashed a grin. “The mercenary code.”
Nice to have Jayra on Draylon’s side instead of against him. He nodded. “Where is the best place to stage an attack?” He didn’t need to tell her how each moment cut into his soul, reminded him he’d been suspicious and resentful of Yarif. Draylon wouldn’t have cared what happened to Yarif a few weeks ago, judging him by his family instead of his own merit.
How many times had Draylon railed against someone doing the same to him?
“Tomorrow, they’ll reach Telaga Pass between Mount Telaga and Mount Frane, a narrow gap that will force them to travel singly in a line for a time. I know another way where they can’t take their horses, but we can take our mules. Two of us can lie in wait. We can pick them off as they emerge while others attack from behind. There will be no escape, and their greater numbers won’t be of much help.” The gleam in Jayra’s eyes faded. “Which means another day without your husband. I’m sorry.”
Draylon’s heart stuttered, but he wouldn’t let on the personal importance of getting Yarif back. After all, most people still thought the marriage purely political, and Draylon’s reasons for rescuing Yarif equally political. Even Draylon had yet to figure out his feelings. Jayra stared expectantly. “What is it?”
After a long moment, Jayra murmured, “Your consort appears malnourished and weak. He’s been beaten. You told me of his fighting skills, but he’ll be of little help once we attack. The man can barely walk.”
“They’re starving him, beating him?” Yes, Draylon had heard the screams while scouting the mountains above Illa’s camp, but hoped they’d belonged to someone else. Maybe a mercenary who’d defied the commander. Every fiber of Draylon’s being demanded he attack now, get Yarif to safety.
But they must have plans in place. Be ready. Strike when the greater number was vulnerable.
He’d been on too many campaigns not to know the cruelty some warriors meted out. If Jayra did the whipping, she’d been trained, as Draylon had, on exactly how far to take a flogging without inflicting permanent damage.
And how to inflict the maximum torment.
Jayra nodded, her hood sliding back from her bald head. She immediately pulled on a knit cap. “It seems that way. But don’t worry. Game is plentiful in the mountains at this time of year. We’ll catch rabbits and fish for him.”
Draylon pulled back from the ledge. Having to lead their horses slowed Illa down while the sturdy mountain mules gifted by Vihaan remained surefooted.
Even if the asshole assigned to Draylon liked to bite.
Another day. One more day. Hold on, Yarif. I’m coming.
Draylon didn’t sleep, tossing and turning in his bedroll until taking his turn at guard. Last night, Jayra reported more screams. Once more, Rufe kept Draylon from attacking without a plan. Sharp knives dug at Draylon’s heart.
Did Illa know he was here and hoped to force him to act hastily? No, judging by reputation, she inflicted pain for her own pleasure.
Draylon would gladly cut her down where she stood. She’d pay for harming Yarif. An old mentor once said the potential for good existed even in the vilest of people. Until Illa, Draylon hadn’t once doubted the words.
The sky hung heavy as dawn rose, gray clouds hiding the tops of nearby mountains.
The mountain guide approached while they broke camp. “Those are snow clouds. Snow falls fast and hard in these mountains this time of year. If the weather becomes ugly while those horsemen are in the pass, they’ll be trapped. We hope they sense the danger and hurry through. Have you ever fought in snow?”
A campaign against bandits in Herix came to mind. “Yes, but only a light dusting.”
The woman nodded. “If I thought you’d agree, I’d suggest we leave and let the mountains deal with them. Within hours, this snow can reach your waist.”
Abandon Yarif? Never! The horror on Draylon’s face must have shown, for the guide added, “We’ll have to move quickly if we’re to save your mate.”
“What happens when we defeat them?” Draylon would focus on when not if.
“There is an abandoned village nearby, with a few sturdy houses left intact. It’s a defensible position. There’s also a keep farther on that appears to be occupied. Either will provide protection until the storm passes.”
“As much as I’d love to secure Yarif in a nice, warm keep, we cannot let our presence be known.”
The woman nodded. “This is why Captain Jayra has men clearing two village houses and laying in supplies and firewood. We will be ready.”
“How many men?”
“Two. Once the fighting starts, we’ll leave one man in the village.”
“That leaves us with only seven to take on sixteen.”
The woman’s mouth hitched on one side. “I know. Almost makes you pity the poor unsuspecting bastards, doesn’t it?” She strode away toward her mule, Draylon close behind her. How reassuring, her faith in her fellow mercenaries. Vihaan said they were the best. With his illustrious career and many battles, he should know. Convincing new lands to join the empire wasn’t easy, nor was fighting off Verlan’s frequent attacks.
Vihaan had survived both.
Rufe approached, holding his mule by the reins. “You know, this grouchy old beastie is growing on me.” He gave her an affectionate pat.
Draylon snorted. “Because you have so much in common. I remember a time when you said the same about me.” He clapped Rufe on the shoulder. “The mercenaries have found a village for us to hole up in until the coming storm passes. Promise me that you’ll take him there if you find Yarif first.”
All humor fled Rufe’s face. “I won’t leave you.”
“You can, and you will. Get him to safety. That’s our entire mission.”
Rufe held Draylon’s gaze. “You’re not rescuing him simply out of a misguided sense of obligation, are you?”
Draylon glanced away. Rufe gripped Draylon’s chin until they faced each other again.
No lying to Rufe. “No. We’re bound, but it’s more. I know I can’t rule a kingdom without him. I need him.”
“It’s more than that.” Rufe’s wide mouth lifted at one corner. “You’re coming to like him, aren’t you?”
“He’s not at all what I expected. In the past, lovers have wanted me to use my power, connections, and wealth to their advantage. Wanted me to take care of them. Yarif never stopped going to his office, working tirelessly for the kingdom. And he’d kick me in the balls if I even suggested he needed taking care of.”
“You hope that if you gain his admiration, he’ll do the same for you.” Rufe could be astute when he wanted to.
Draylon ground his teeth together. “I don’t want blind loyalty. I want to know he’s with me because he wants to be.”
Rufe reeled back as though slapped, then laughed. “Oh, ho! You love him.”
Fire raced up Draylon’s cheeks. “Maybe not now, for we hardly know each other, but I’m fond and can see that fondness growing over time.” As much as he would admit to right now.
Rufe saluted. “Then I’ll do everything I can to see you get your chance.”
“I hope to do the same for you one day,” Draylon quietly murmured. “I know you say you don’t want a mate, but I’ve seen it in you. Remember that I won’t let you be pulled in by anyone who isn’t good for you.”
“Why do you think I’m here by your side, helping you get Yarif back?” Rufe patted Draylon’s cheek with one gloved hand. “How long have I known you? You’re not gonna get anyone better, you old grouch. Yarif will be in your arms again by sunset. This, I promise.” He wrinkled his nose. “Though I’d suggest a bath first. You’re beginning to smell.”
“Better than that horrible cologne you were doused in at Renvalle.”
Rufe winced. “I’m inclined to agree. That stuff was hideous.”
Rufe’s mule shoved her big head into Rufe’s back, nearly sending him sprawling. He laughed. “Okay, foul beast. See if I ever sing your praises again.”
The mule sidestepped, trying to avoid being mounted. In the end, Rufe swung into the saddle, saluting before riding away.
Draylon finished packing his saddlebags, then scratched his mount’s long, furry ears. “Help me get Yarif back, and I’ll sing your praises all day long.” The creature answered by baring its teeth far too close to Draylon’s hand. Draylon jerked his hand back. “Oh, no, you don’t. I’ve learned your evil ways, my friend.” He missed Gryphon, but Vihaan was right. The sturdy warhorse wouldn’t have been much use along narrow mountain paths.
Draylon mounted the mule, carefully avoiding teeth, and fell into line behind Rufe, ready to reclaim his consort.
No, not his consort. Yarif.
The man Draylon had a sneaky suspicion he might come to love.
If they both lived through the next few days.
Chapter Twenty-one
The wall to one side of Yarif grew steeper, the mountaintops disappearing from view into lowering skies. Though Renvalle’s snow typically fell later in the season, he’d been told Delletina’s winters came early, staying long. If those clouds held a storm, this passage between two mountains might soon be impassable.
