Chapter Two

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I had failed.

In ten years of my forced servitude to King Gnarlug, I had never failed in my duty. Failure meant punishment. Not for me, but for my mother and brother held captive by the cruel usurper king who held our kingdom captive after the coup, a coup he swore he had nothing to do with and rescued us from. I had my suspicions but knew better than to voice out loud. Anyone who spoke of dissension or their thoughts on the coup found themselves silenced by me or others like me in the service of the king.

None were as long-serving as I was, though. Most had disappeared long ago, most likely dead, some even by my hand. I was so close to the end of my sentence. So close to being free, for me, my mother and brother, only to feel it slip right through my fingers like the native Raugaa in the Susgeo river that ran by our ancestral home. It had been so many years since I had been back, I could barely remember how they looked, much less tasted. For all I knew, they were gone from our waters, much like my family was gone from our lands. Hope dwindled that I could return and take up my father's seat and rule our lands again. But I had too much blood on my hands for our people to follow me, to respect me. Most only spat on me as a traitor to our true king. They didn't care about the reasons. It was easier to hate.

Now I will condemn my family and my people to death all because I couldn't buy a female for our king.

The auction house in the borderlands denied my attendance, knowing I came from the king despite my protests and my willingness to pay double or even triple the entrance fee. They were bold to reject the king's representative, feeling safe because they were not on his lands. If I were anyone else, I would have stormed in and taken a female, the fire-haired one that the king's seer had prophesied for him, but I was tired of being the hand of doom. Besides, it was me against her guards and even I couldn't fight off three mountain trolls alone.

My choices were limited. Track one of the winners from the auction and steal a female or admit defeat and hope the king was merciful. I do not believe King Gnarlug knew the word mercy in his vocabulary.

The fire crackled in the cool evening air and the smell of roast venison filled the clearing, but I felt nothing. My body was cold, numb with defeat. My warhorse, Mankala, grazing nearby, stamped his foot and shifted position. His restlessness was a sign that something or someone was close. Enemy or friend was still unknown, but I had learned to listen to his warnings. We'd been through many adventures and he'd saved me from stealth attacks, a vicious battle horse that I'd raised from a colt. He was loyal and hated everyone else. My only friend.

I sat still, listening to the forest around me. The insects and animals had all gone silent, as if in the presence of a predator. I slowly let my hand drop to the dagger strapped to my thigh. I eased it out of its sheath and waited for the footsteps I heard to come closer. I doubted it was an enemy. The tread was too heavy, too clumsy. But that could be a decoy for an attack from another direction. It would not be the first time that a group tried to assassinate me using trickery and subterfuge.

The rustling in the bushes grew louder and closer, but there was no sign that an attack was coming from another direction. I eased the blade into a ready position and waited, still facing the fire as if unaware of the approaching danger.

Suddenly, the figure burst through the bushes, stumbling, almost falling. "Excuse me? Hi, I think I'm lost. Do you think you can help me get back home?"

I froze at the voice. It was female. A human female. I almost dropped his dagger, and half rose from my crouched position by the fire.

She gave me a look of horror and promptly collapsed to the ground in a dead faint. Well, maybe the trip wasn't a total loss.