The King's Warrior (Pict King Series Book 2) Read online

  The third time her head hit his shoulder, he ordered, “Leave it there.”

  Verity had no trouble obeying him, leaving her head to rest comfortably on him.

  Wrath preferred silence when he rode through the woods. It allowed him to hear everything that went on around him. Not that he expected to hear anything now when the snow was heavy on the ground and few traveled the land. But he would take no chances. While the Unification of Tribes had united the many tribes and settled the constant warring between them, there were still those opposed to a King, at least the present King. But there had been none as strong or as sharp in mind to reign as King Talon.

  Until those who opposed him where stopped, there would never truly be peace among the tribes.

  An occasional sound stirred in the silence, though nothing that caused Wrath alarm. There had been no time for food this morning and while he had been trained to go without when necessary, he had Verity to consider. She had been denied food by the Northmen and he would not see that happen here among her own people.

  He smiled when she stirred awake, her insides grumbling. He had been right about her hunger, but then he was getting to know her well.

  Verity raised her head. “How long have I slept?”

  “Long enough for hunger to wake you.”

  Her insides grumbled again and she rested her hand to her middle. “I cannot deny I am hungry, but you must be as well.”

  “There is a farm up ahead and the couple will be only too glad to share with us.”

  “You know them?”

  “Kinnel and Shona. They chose to farm land away from the stronghold. They often have a good harvest and pay their fair share to the King.”

  “Do they not fear living so far from the stronghold?”

  “Since the Unification of the Tribes there has been little to worry about, but if trouble threatens King Talon sends warriors to escort the outlying farmers safely to the stronghold where they remain until the matter is settled.”

  The farm came into view and as they drew closer, the sight that greeted them had Wrath urging his horse forward. He came to an abrupt stop, hurrying off the horse, after ordering Verity not to move.

  Verity could not do that. She had to see for herself. She had to know if the man and woman lying on the ground, the snow red with their blood, were the two from her vision. She eased herself off the horse and approached the two bodies. The man laid on his stomach, his hand stretched out to the woman lying on her back, her head turned to him and her hand reaching for his, the tips of their fingers touching.

  He had crawled to his wife to be beside her in death and tears filled Verity’s eyes. She had seen it all in her vision. She had watched him crawl to his wife and her struggle to stretch her hand out to him before she died.

  “Do not move!” Wrath ordered.

  Verity could not if she wanted to. Pain and sorrow had robbed her of any movement. Why did she have to see such horror? Why could she not prevent what her visions showed her?

  She murmured a silent blessing for the couple and looked away, her tears still falling, out of sorrow and helplessness not only for them but for not having been able to prevent their deaths. She turned away, wiping her tears away and saw Wrath searching the ground. He was looking for tracks, looking to see if he could find anything that would let him know who did this.

  Wrath looked to see Verity standing by the two bodies, her eyes wet with tears, and he quickly went to her side. His arm went around her and he guided her away, toward the dwelling. “I must see to them.”

  “What will you do? The ground is too hard to bury them.”

  “I will place them inside the small shed behind the house and secure it so that no animals can get to them. Once we return to the stronghold, I will send men to see to them. You must see what food you can find for us, then we will be on our way.”

  “We return to the stronghold?” Verity asked anxiously, knowing it was the wisest thing to do, but after seeing what happened here she was more concerned for Hemera than ever.

  “No. There is a small tribe, the Raban, more farmers than warriors, not far from here. They traded often with Kinnel and Shona. We go there to see what they know and to send one of them to the stronghold to return with a troop of warriors. Now go inside and see what food you can find for us to take.” He opened the door and ushered her in, not giving her a chance to protest.

  Verity stood, staring at the room. It had been torn apart as if someone had ransacked it and a sudden chill ran through her. Some Northmen were known for such destruction, searching for anything worth something. But there was little of worth here and as she looked around she realized that there was no food, not a morsel, to be found.

  The door opened and she jumped.

  “Easy, Verity, you have nothing to—” Wrath stared at the room.

  “They took all the food,” Verity said and turned to him. “I see no weapons either.”

  “We leave now,” he said and took her arm to hurry her out of the dwelling.

  “You worry they are near?” she asked since the thought also concerned her.

  “They got what they came for. They will not return.” He had her out of the dwelling and both of them on the horse quickly.

  “What if the food and weapons were not enough?” she asked.

  “We need to get to the Raban Tribe.”

  Verity did not need him to say anymore. He was concerned it was only the two of them and if that was so, it was because Wrath suspected there were more warriors than he could deal with on his own. The Raban Tribe would provide them with shelter and safety until the King could be alerted to what had happened and a troop of warriors sent.

  They rode in silence, Wrath vigilant to every sound he heard.

  Verity did the same, keeping watch over their surroundings and hoping that the visions she had seen that were yet to come to pass meant they would not meet their deaths this day. She wondered if she could be wrong when she saw the dark smoke rising in the sky in the distance.

  Chapter Nine

  Verity watched as the billowing smoke grew darker and spread higher in the sky the closer they got and she feared the worst, that the whole tribe had been slaughtered. Screams ripped through the cold air at the same time a lad stumbled from behind some bushes and ran toward them.

  Wrath reined the horse to a stop and slipped off, hurrying over to the lad who had fallen to his knees, breathing heavily. “What happened?” Wrath demanded, crouching down beside him.

  The lad looked up startled, not having realized Wrath was there. His eyes almost bulged from his head as he looked Wrath up and down. “You are one of the King’s personal guards. You are skilled with a weapon. We are no match for the mighty warriors who pillage our village. Please! Please help my tribe.”

  “How many are there?”

  “Five and we are no match for their superior strength and skill. I left as soon as the attack started. It is my duty to go to the stronghold for help and to warn our friends Kinnel and Shona.”

  “Your friends are dead. You are to go straight to the King’s stronghold and tell him what happened here and that Wrath needs a troop of warriors.”

  The lad stumbled to his feet. “You are the mighty Wrath?”

  “I am,” Wrath said, “and I will save your tribe and you will take my horse and not stop until you reach the King’s stronghold.” He went and lifted Verity off the horse and helped the young lad on it. “Do not stop,” Wrath ordered once again and the lad nodded. Wrath laid his hand on the horse’s rump and commanded, “Home!”

  The horse took off and Wrath turned to Verity, grabbing her arm and propelling her into the woods. “You will keep your distance from the village until I come for you.”

  “What if you do not come for me?”

  “That will not happen.” He stopped, released her, and rapidly began stripping off his garments until he stood completely naked.

  Her mouth dropped open and she stared speechless at him. He was an impressi
ve sight to behold. There was no softness to him, only hard muscle. It was as though he had stripped down until his raw strength and power were completely exposed. And along with it came a rage so pure and tangible that it could be seen in his taut muscles growing ever tighter with his every movement and in his dark eyes that raged with such potent anger that Verity took a step back.

  “Stay put!” he warned with an animal-like growl and grabbing his sword and knife off the ground, he took off running.

  She stared after him, his every muscle rigid and ready for battle as he ran, letting nothing stand in his way. With ease and skill, he ducked under branches, leapt over rocks, and dodged anything in his path that tried to stop him.

  Verity shook away her daze, grabbed his garments, hoisted her garment so she would not trip, and hurried after him. It was nearly impossible to keep up with him, so she followed his tracks. She stopped abruptly when he suddenly let loose a horrifying roar that shook the snow off the nearby trees and she shivered, knowing he must have broken past the edge of the woods and into the village.

  She hurried forward and stopped when she spotted the village through the trees and she crept closer, careful not to let herself be seen. She watched, stunned by Wrath’s fearless actions as he ran right into the heart of battle, straight for the band of warriors. As soon as she saw the warriors’ reaction to Wrath’s sudden appearance, she understood why he had stripped naked. They stood staring at him, their mouths agape, their eyes wide just as she was doing now. Their shock of him naked and roaring like a demon ready to devour them froze the warriors long enough for Wrath to kill two so quickly that she had not even known he had caught them with his sword until they fell dead to the ground and blood began to pool around them. The other three suddenly came to their senses, but were no match for Wrath. Never had she seen a warrior wield his weapons with the extraordinary skill and swiftness that Wrath did.

  The last warrior to fall stared in shock at the blood running from his chest, one last word spilling from his lips as he fell forward. “Wrath.”

  The people stood staring in silence, their mouths hanging open at the five slaughtered warriors lying around Wrath.

  “Your leader,” Wrath ordered curtly.

  Once again Verity found herself shaking her head to clear it, finding it difficult to believe what she had just witnessed. The Northmen were skilled swordsmen, but they were nothing compared to Wrath’s astonishing ability. She hurried and entered the village, no one giving her a glance. They were too busy watching the mighty Wrath talk with their leader a man who wore his age heavily upon his face. His good arm cradled his injured arm and he spoke with respect and gratitude to Wrath.

  Verity eased her way around the villagers to hand Wrath his tunic.

  He took it, slipped it on, and continued speaking to the leader. “The injured need tending as does the village and the dead need to be seen to after which we will talk, Harran.”

  Harran, chieftain of the Raban Tribe, nodded and turned to address his people.

  Wrath stepped aside and spoke to Verity as he finished dressing. “Did I not tell you to wait until I came for you?”

  “You did, but I could not help but follow to see what you would do and...” She bit at her lip, stopping herself from continuing.

  “And?” he asked, draping his cloak over his shoulders.

  She had stopped the thought that was about to spill from her lips. It almost had alarmed her, for she did not want to admit to him, or to herself, that when she was with him she felt the need to remain close to him and when she was separated from him she felt a strange ache that was only appeased when she was with him again. It was odd and she did not know how to explain to herself, so how did she explain it to him?

  “To see you save the village,” she said relieved something had come to mind for her to say.

  A slight grin touched the corners of Wrath’s mouth and he leaned so close to Verity that she saw the rage in his eyes had turned to hot embers that could easily spark to life if even slightly provoked.

  “You lie,” he whispered, “and one day I am going to learn all your lies and you know what will happen then?”

  A chill raced through her as she shook her head, her voice caught somewhere in her throat.

  He brought his lips close to hers and whispered softly, “I am going to make you pay for each and every one of them. You would do well to remember that before you tell me another lie.”

  “Wrath! Wrath! Wrath!”

  Verity jumped, startled by Wrath’s name shouted repeatedly as the tribe honored him, with cheers of his name, for saving them. He turned to the people and let their shouts continue, though not for long. He raised his hand and silence fell quickly.

  “It is the King you should cheer, for I serve him and his people. King Talon will see this made right.”

  King Talon’s name was raised in cheers and Verity warned herself to remember Wrath’s words. He served the King and would do whatever the King commanded. He would have no choice.

  Wrath silenced the crowd and spoke once again. “Tend your injured, see to your dead, and rebuild what has been destroyed in their honor.”

  Nods circled the crowd as they began to disperse when a woman called out, “You will not leave us yet?”

  All stopped and turned fearful glances on Wrath, frightened of what they would hear.

  “I will stay here until King Talon’s warriors arrive.”

  The crowd shouted his name once again before dispersing to see to the difficult tasks ahead.

  Wrath turned to Verity and she was quick to say, “I have tended wounds. I can help.”

  “Do what you can, but stay where I can see you.”

  Verity nodded and went to do what she could. She kept her head turned away as a few men dragged the bodies of the attackers to the outskirts of the village. Her offer of help was gratefully accepted and she soon found herself tending minor wounds. She shed tears with women who had lost their mates and one woman who had lost her son. She watched as the men cleaned away the carnage, pushing away the blood-soaked snow, gathering weapons to be cleaned, and making preparation to burn the dead, since there were too many to keep until the ground thawed.

  Verity rubbed at her lower back, a dull ache having settled there after tending the last of the minor injuries. She was about to sit on one of the benches that had held an endless stream of wounded when a scream ripped through the village. All eyes turned to see a mother trying to calm a small lass as she fought to hold her arm for the healer to prick at with a fine bone needle.

  The little lass fought with surprising strength and broke free to run straight to Verity. Her red curls bounced around her head as tears ran a path through the grime on her chubby face. She threw herself at Verity, clinging desperately to her leg with all the strength her little fingers could muster.

  “Please! Please, help me. They are hurting me.”

  The lass’s mum approached as did the healer.

  “Help us hold her down so we can get this done,” the healer ordered Verity.

  The little lass looked up at Verity with such fright that it twisted Verity’s insides. She looked to the healer and asked, “What is the problem?”

  “She has a deep splinter in her arm and it must come out,” the woman said.

  Verity could see that the healer was tired from tending the many wounded and had no patience for the frightened lass. Her long, dark hair sprinkled with gray had fallen loose from its braid, stray strands hanging limply around her face. Blood marred the front of her garment and dried blood stained her hands and was thick under her nails.

  “Why not let me see to it? You have far too many wounded who need you,” Verity said.

  “That I do,” the healer agreed. “But it will not be easy since Neva is a crier. Cries over everything she does. “

  “You hurt me,” Neva said boldly, peeking out from behind Verity’s leg.

  “There is much pain in life, child. You need to learn that now and suffer through
like everyone does.” The healer turned from Neva to nod at Verity. “She will hurt you just as I did and when she cannot remove the splinter, you will come crying back to me just as you went crying to her.” The healer shook her head, handed the needle to Neva’s mum, and walked away.

  Neva’s mum was quick to defend the woman. “Cora is a good, kind healer. She is simply burdened by so many wounded.”

  “It understandable,” Verity said. “It has been a difficult day for all.” She looked down at the lass. “So, Neva , shall I have a look at your wound?”

  Her brown eyes widened. “Will you hurt me?”

  “Sometimes pain is necessary.”

  The little lass paled not at Wrath’s strong voice, but at the sight of him stepping around her mother to stand in front of Verity. Neva quickly slipped beneath Verity’s cloak.

  “Hiding will do you no good,” Wrath warned and reached down and lifted her up into his arm. The little lass looked ready to burst into tears. “Do not cry!”

  Neva’s chin trembled as she fought to keep her tears from falling.

  Wrath sat on the bench, placing Neva on his leg. “Now let Verity remove the splinter and be done with it.”

  Neva looked up at Wrath and nodded while her chin continued to tremble.

  Verity sat on a small bench that she placed it in front of Wrath.

  “Your arm,” Wrath ordered, looking down sternly at the little lass.

  Neva held her trembling arm out to Verity.

  “Did you get this wound in battle?” Wrath asked.

  Neva nodded and flinched when Verity touched near the wound.

  “Tell me how you got it.”

  As young as the little lass was she knew a command when she heard it. Her chin quivered the whole time she spoke. “The bad men struck Mum and she did not get up. I could not find Da...” Her tears started to fall.

  Verity took the needle from Neva’s mum, dipped it in the bucket of water beside the bench to clean the blood off it so she could see the point more clearly and began to gently prick at the splinter in Neva’s arm.