TheRedKing (22 page)

“Yes. Have you heard any word about it?”

“Not for over a week now. We heard from a traveler that
armies on both sides were massing, but we didn’t know the fighting had started.
What happened?”

“I’m not quite sure myself,” he admitted.

“I need to bind your arms to stop the bleeding.”

She found some clean cloths and cut them into strips that
she used to wrap his forearms. It took several layers before he stopped bleeding
through.

“Didn’t you have armor?” she asked.

“We were taken by surprise. A nighttime attack,” he replied
jerkily. He was still shaking, his teeth chattering despite the warmth from the
fireplace.

“You need to get out of those wet clothes,” she said. “Jase
left an old pair of trousers. He wasn’t as tall as you, but he was heavier. I think
they’ll fit.”

She retrieved the trousers and placed them on the chair arm.

“Can you manage?” she asked.

He nodded and she turned away, giving him privacy. His
groans of pain drew her back to where he struggled to remove his boots. The
arrow in his shoulder must have been excruciating.

“Here let me help you.” She kneeled at his feet, pulling off
his boots and socks.

She lifted her gaze to his and he glanced at her, his face
gray and drawn, but a look of shame in his soul-stealing eyes.

“I’m going to the village to get the healer,” Mira said.
“I’m afraid my skills for such things are meager. She’s a better choice to
remove the arrow.”

He nodded slightly, his eyes unfocused.

“Sir, are you still with me?” She touched his good shoulder.

Had he fainted? He’d lost a good deal of blood and she had
no idea how long he had been injured before she’d found him.

“Still here,” he murmured.

“Excellent.”

A wry smile tugged at his lips. “Isn’t it though?”

She smiled back. “At least you’ve kept your sense of humor.”

Mira helped him pull off his trousers. She worked quickly
and efficiently, not wanting to make him more uncomfortable. A strange tattoo
of a serpent wrapped around his hips. She also couldn’t help noticing his
build. He had magnificent legs—long and hard with muscle. Other parts of him
were long too, though not hard at the moment.

She chastised herself for even noticing this poor man’s
cock. He was wounded and depending on her for help, yet it wasn’t every day
that a Zaltanian soldier sat half-naked by her hearth.

A moment later, they had pulled Jase’s trousers onto him. As
she’d guessed, they were too big around the waist and far too short, but at
least they were warm and dry.

The shirt he wore was in tatters and covered in blood. She
used shears to cut it off him, not wanting to jar his arrow wound. His sinewy
torso was scraped and bruised, probably from both the battle and from being
washed downriver. A small black tattoo of unfamiliar symbols marked his left
shoulder. The right side of his chest bore a tattoo of the symbol of Zaltana—a
crossed sword and dagger over a half-sun half-moon.

She draped a quilt over his shoulders to keep him warm.

“I have to get the healer. I don’t want to leave you, but—”

“Go. I’ll be fine,” he said, his voice rough.

She nodded, pulled on her cloak and hurried outside. A light
snow had begun to fall. Luckily it was only a couple of miles to the village.

On her way, it struck her that she hadn’t asked the soldier
his name.

Delia stayed by Areus well into the night, leaving only to
visit the privy. Sir Crag kept vigil as well. The Knight was as knowledgeable
as Seth regarding the use of herbal remedies. Delia assisted while he treated
Areus’s wounds with a cleansing mixture, then a salve. When his fever spiked, Delia
bathed his face and neck with cool cloths.

Weak from his ordeal, Areus slept deeply for most of the
night.

It was quite late and Delia had nodded off in her chair when
Crag lightly touched her shoulder and said, “You should get some proper rest.”

“I don’t want to leave until he’s out of danger.”

“He’s strong and we’re giving him good care. If anyone can
survive this, he can.”

“Still, I’m fine right here.”

“I thought you’d say that, so I had a page bring you a pallet
to sleep on.” He pointed toward the hearth near which the pallet had been set.

Truly Delia was exhausted, having traveled from Lortia that
morning.

“Thank you, Sir Crag. You’re very kind.”

“My wife is as stubborn as you are.” He smiled. “I don’t know
what I’d do without her.”

“I’m sure she feels the same way about you.” It was nice to
have conversation. Sir Crag had been so quiet and Cosma, who had also stayed
for most of the night, had been too worried to talk. Delia didn’t doubt for a
second that she cared about Areus, but she knew the woman was also thinking
about that bastard Hypatios. Delia tried not to let that anger her. Hypatios
was, after all, her son, but Delia had never hated anyone as much as she hated Hypatios
for what he’d done to Areus.

“Did you meet her at home or while on assignment?” Delia
asked, hoping he would keep talking.

“We met not far from here,” he said. “In the village of
Tanek, during the war a few years ago. We were barely holding our own in that village
before Areus stepped in to help. I was a Knight apprentice and it was a trying
experience. There were few healers and many wounded. Lily had come to us for help,
but she ended up helping me far more than I helped her. If not for her, I might
not have found the courage to actually become a Knight.”

“She sounds like a good woman.”

“The best. She hated me at first, though. Many people in
Tanek did, because I’m Zaltanian by birth.”

Remembering how she had thought when she’d learned about his
origins, Delia felt a twinge of guilt.

“I’m sure there are good Zaltanians who hate living under
Hippolytos’s rule.”

“He’s a tyrant. I think he fancies himself the infamous Mar
Maska reborn. The things I’ve heard about his son aren’t much better. I never
served under Hypatios because he was in the south at the time, but from what Areus
said, it seems most of the rumors about him are true. I do know that most men
who meet Hypatios in battle don’t live to tell about it.”

“Areus has. He might even have killed him.”

Areus groaned and Delia moved to sit on the edge of his bed.
Crag also stepped closer.

The wounded king opened his eyes. Lantern light illuminated
their green depths. Seeing Delia, he smiled ever so slightly and weakly reached
for her. She took his hand and kissed it.

“I can’t believe you came,” he said.

Her brow furrowed. “Why? I left home as soon as I heard.”
She held his hand in both of hers and squeezed it gently. She leaned forward and
kissed his forehead, then his mouth.

He sighed and closed his eyes again. She thought he’d fallen
back to sleep, then he said, “You’ll always be taken care of, Delia. I’ve
arranged for it with Etor and Simon.”

It took her a moment to realize what he meant—he had
prepared for her upkeep, should he die.

He was
not
going to die from these injuries.

“Areus, you’ll take care of me and I you. You’re going to heal.
I’m carrying your heir.”

His eyes opened, a spark in them that hadn’t been there
before. “Truly?”

Delia smiled and nodded. “I’m with child. Your heir, Areus.”

“Then I have no choice but to heal. Lortia will be his, not
Hypatios’s. Not Hippolytos’s. It’s ours and it will be his.”

“Or hers?”

“Of course.” He smiled faintly then closed his eyes again.
This time he fell into a deep sleep.

* * * * *

“It’s good of you to give up your bed for this man, but I
fear he’ll die in it,” said Edith, the village healer and Mira’s friend.

When Mira and Edith arrived from the village, having ridden
on Edith’s mule, they found the soldier on the floor, a ladle and a puddle of water
beside him. He must have risen to take a drink, then collapsed. Mira had
scolded herself for not having offered him water before she’d gone.

Though they managed to rouse him, the women had difficulty
moving him to the bed. Edith had instructed Mira to hold him while she removed
the arrow. Though weakened from blood loss and fever, he had bellowed in pain
and knocked her to the floor, leaving her winded and bruised, but not seriously
harmed. She realized he hadn’t meant to hurt her, but reacted instinctively to
the intense pain. After picking herself up, she held him again so that Edith
could complete her task. By then he’d lost most of his strength and remained
docile as a kitten while the women bound his shoulder and arm tightly to stanch
the bleeding. Edith had also cleaned and rewrapped his forearms, treating them
with salve.

Finally they settled him into bed.

“The position of the wound isn’t as bad as some I’ve seen,” Edith
said. “If he survives, he might lose some mobility on that side, but nothing
that will hinder him too badly. It’s infection that worries me. He already has
a high fever. Not a good sign. It’s entirely possible he’ll die by morning, if
he has blood poisoning.”

Mira looked horrified. “Are you sure?”

“No. I said
if
. He’s also lost a lot of blood.”

“But there is a chance he’ll survive?”

After all he’d been through, the thought of him dying broke Mira’s
heart. He obviously had a strong will to live. Many men would have given up in
the river.

“There’s always a chance. Keep him warm. Try to make him
drink and eat some broth to keep his strength up. I’ll be back in the morning
to check on him.”

“Thank you for coming.”

Edith’s thin lips twisted into a smile. “I’m a healer and
your friend. You’re a good woman, Mira, to take him in like this.”

“I couldn’t leave him. I know what it’s like to be alone.
When Jase left, if it wasn’t for you and some of the other villagers, I might
not have survived.”

“You would have made it, Mira. You’re a determined girl.” Edith
patted her arm.

Edith left and Mira sighed, glancing at the stranger asleep
on her bed.

Though Mira had few skills needed by common folk, she sewed
very well and since moving to the village she had made her living making and
mending clothes. She kept her fees low and often added beautiful needlework,
free of charge. Most of the time people paid her in food or other services,
such as making repairs around the cottage. This system worked well for her and
she lived comfortably.

While watching over her unexpected guest, she went about her
daily work, sewing at her table by the window.

The soldier slept until midday when he started tossing
fitfully. Mira approached to check him. Horrified by how his fever had spiked,
she felt helpless as she tried to calm him. The healer had said to keep him
warm, so she brought another blanket to cover him.

He weakly grasped her arm and stared at her with wide green
eyes. “Don’t kill him.”

Startled, Mira asked, “Kill who?”

“Father, please, don’t kill my cat. I’ll do whatever you
tell me. Don’t!”

Mira realized he wasn’t seeing her. In his delirium, brought
on by the fever, he was apparently reliving his childhood.

“I know you ordered me to flog the page, but…I’ll take the
lashes myself if you don’t kill him. Don’t punish him because of me.”

“It’s all right,” Mira said, cupping his scarred cheek. “No
one is going to kill him—the cat.”

He nodded, relaxing. His eyes closed and he was quiet again.

Mira dampened a cloth in a basin of water and bathed his
burning face.

It was uncomfortable, seeing a man such as him in this
condition. When she’d first found him, though wounded, he had seemed so rugged,
almost frightening with his sinewy build and scarred face. It was hard to
imagine he had ever been a child. Apparently he was well born, if his father
had servants. It seemed that his father had been as brutal as her own. No
wonder this man had become a warrior. At least it was an outlet for his violent
nature that wouldn’t harm his wife and children. Her own father should have
spent more time on the battlefield. Their house might have been a happier one.

That day Mira didn’t get much work done since the soldier
required her attention. He faded in and out of delirium and several times
almost rolled off the bed while fighting imaginary enemies. If he fell off, Mira
doubted she could get him up again, not to mention he might reopen his barely healed
wounds.

She gave him water whenever she could coax him to swallow
it. It was late afternoon when she tried to feed him some broth, but he vomited
it in the water basin.

Wrinkling her nose in disgust, Mira brought the basin
outside to wash it and refill it with fresh water. When she returned, he was
sleeping fitfully again.

Mira had her share of difficult experiences, but this was
probably the worst day of her life. By nightfall, the soldier was too weak even
to sip water without assistance. The bedclothes and straw mattress were damp
with sweat and she doubted she’d ever want to sleep there after he’d recovered—if
he recovered. She started to think Edith was right about him not surviving
until morning.

She stayed with him throughout the night, occasionally
drifting to sleep in a chair she had dragged by his bedside.

In the morning, she awoke with a stiff neck and general
soreness. She rubbed a hand over her face, then glanced at the soldier. He was
so still and pale that she thought he’d died. Sweat beaded his waxy face and
she saw a pulse beating along the side of his neck.

Should she wake him to get him to take more water? She had
no doubt he needed it badly, yet maybe letting him sleep was better, at least
for a while.

She rose and went to fetch fresh water. Snow had fallen
overnight and flakes still floated from the sky. Despite the cold, Mira usually
loved winter. Everything looked so beautiful covered in ice and snow, but this
morning she couldn’t appreciate it. She was too concerned about the man in her
bed. She brought the water inside, started a fire and washed up quickly. After
brushing her hair, she wound it into a single fat braid down her back—fast and
simple.

She was about to attempt giving the man water when she heard
hoof beats approaching.

Mira opened the door to find Edith on her mule in the company
of Joshua, the village blacksmith, astride his thickly built brown mare. Relief
washed over her at the sight of them. She could use a friend or two right about
now.

“I brought Joshua in case we needed to move the body,” Edith
said.

“He’s still alive,” Mira replied.

Edith’s brow furrowed. “You look as if you haven’t slept a
wink, girl.”

“I scarcely did.” Mira stepped aside for her guests to
enter.

“I can’t believe he’s still alive. With the fever he had and
the look of those wounds, I was sure he’d be dead by now.”

“His fever is worse. He was delirious all day and night. I still
don’t even know his name.”

“I’ll tell you his name.” Joshua stood over the bed, staring
at the soldier with surprise. “That’s Hypatios, that is. Son of Hippolytos and
leader of the southern army.”

Edith and Mira exchanged shocked glances.

“Hypatios,” Mira murmured in disbelief.

The irony was almost comical. She had fled her home to avoid
this man and here he lay in her bed.

“Are you sure?” Edith asked.

“Of course I’m sure,” Joshua replied. “Before I moved north,
I was a foot soldier in his army. I’ve seen him many times and believe me, even
if his face wasn’t scarred, you don’t forget a man like him. He’s the greatest
warrior I’ve ever seen.”

“We should send word to his men. They’re probably searching
for him,” Mira said.

“I’ll ride to the border,” Joshua volunteered. “Friends of
mine still serve under him.”

“No!” Edith grasped Joshua’s arm. “Think about it. He’s in a
very bad way, most likely he’ll die by tonight. We’ve tended him. There’s a
chance they’ll blame us for his condition. King Hippolytos certainly would. He might
be our leader, but he’s a mad wolf for certain. From rumors I’ve heard, so is
Hypatios.”

“If he is a mad wolf, I can understand why, having a father
such as that,” Mira said. The words were out of her mouth before she could stop
them. She’d spent the night listening to Hypatios’s ramblings and his memories.
Some of the abuse he’d suffered at the hands of his father and teachers hired
by the king had made her own father seem almost decent and he was a most
disagreeable man.

In his delirium he had also spoken of a woman named
Cassandra, whom he must love deeply since he softened considerably whenever her
name passed his lips. In most of his ramblings, he was either a frightened or
angry child, or a man hardened by his violent life. He seemed to have a great love
of animals, which didn’t surprise her now that she knew his identity. Most
everyone in the Western Continent knew Hypatios preferred the company of beasts
to men.

“It’s more than that,” Joshua said in a hushed voice. “He
has strange powers. He has unnatural control over animals. I’ve witnessed it.
And it’s rumored he speaks to the dead.”

“My point is, if he dies, we don’t want to be blamed for
it,” Edith snapped.