The Servant Crown: Ice Dragon Tales, #3

by Hurri Cosmo

  And even if a few words written in a book bypassed all that in Diagus’s case, due to his kind, loving, sweet, and beautiful brother, Diagus, as king, would not allow that kind of deceit again. Deception of that degree, and the need to keep it in the dark, was the very reason Diagus’s mother lost her mind and fell to her death, nearly toppling Blade Rain right along with her.

  No. Rewriting the royal books, while it was a brilliant solution back then, would not work again. Ever. Hence, Diagus’s very unfortunate situation now. As vile as the prospect was, he would have to produce an heir the old-fashioned way.

  It was no wonder with the direction of Diagus’s thoughts that he was taken by surprise. The two ruffians were upon him and had him out of his saddle long before Diagus could even react.

  He hit the ground hard. They had obviously laid in wait for him. And he would have rolled to cushion the impact if he had any amount of wits about him, but that didn’t happen. So not only did the fall knock the breath from him, he hit his head. Then the two men were right there kicking him, most likely in an effort to keep him on the ground. However, gaining his feet with his head spinning was going to be an effort all on its own. Especially when one hard toe got him in the right cheek and another to the back of his head. All Diagus could think to do in that moment was to tuck himself into as small a ball as possible until he could gather his thoughts and figure out what to do, while more vicious kicks rained down on him. Thankfully, desperation turned into anger, and with the next foot that came at him, he grabbed and twisted, causing the man to scream in pain and fall. But his own ordeal had him moving incredibly slow because when he untucked to scramble to his feet, he met the crazy gaze of a man wielding a small but sharp dirty-looking knife.

  Looming over Diagus, the thug quickly bent and shoved the knife within inches of his left eye. Luckily Diagus was able to duck out of its path. But being on the ground did not leave him with a lot of escape options. It would only take a swift accurate move from this lout and Diagus would be dead. And it looked like it might be precisely what the idiot was after anyway. Could he buy time? He needed to have time to think.

  “Are you after my purse?” Diagus shouted as he rolled to avoid another jab. “You want coin? What makes you think I have wealth?” He again dodged the thankfully poor aim of the large man stumbling to keep up with him. Diagus had one thing in his favor. The ruffian was unskilled. Even if it was his purse they were after, they seemed intent on killing him first. Which, honestly, was peculiar. It took more effort on their part than to simply grab what they could find and run. On this lonely road, no one would catch them.

  He should just tell them who he was, the mighty King of Blade Rain, put the fear of God in them. Revealing that fact would probably get him killed just as fast, though. Besides, claiming to be the Blade Rain King on Claymoor land, without his guard? Even he wouldn’t believe such a ridiculous sounding tale. However, if the situation wasn’t quite so serious, Diagus would have laughed because his attacker hesitated after hearing the question. It was as if the man was trying hard to conceive of an answer to Diagus’s rhetorical inquiry. As predicted, he quickly became frustrated that he couldn’t come up with a single intelligent response, due to his most likely ale-addled brain.

  “Just hold still, ya snivelin’ pig!” He lashed out again with the knife, making it clear his talent with it was nonexistent.

  Except, unfortunately, when Diagus jerked his head back and threw up an arm to fend off the stabbing blow, he felt the blade slice through his sleeve and into his flesh. Not deep, but it stung and would be bloody, not to mention, would eventually leave a scar.

  If he lived through this encounter, that was.

  He glanced up and saw that the man was already pouncing on him yet again, obviously still intent on ending Diagus’s life, so he rolled quickly to his right. Alas, it was the wrong way. Somehow the lout had anticipated the move. He felt a bright pain in his side. Damn! Did the scoundrel stick him after all? That would not be good. What was with him today? Why the hell was he moving so slow? But he had seen the knife and the way his enemy had been wielding it. He calculated the length of the blade and the angle the man had thrust in and knew it wasn’t a killing blow. Yet. But if he didn’t get off the ground and he gave this villain another chance, the next one very well could be.

  How foolish he had been to not only go on this inane chase after rumors—rumors, mind you—but to do it alone? Kings did not make these kinds of errors. At least, not kings who lived very long. Plus, to have his brain wandering, thinking of wishful and fanciful things? It sounded more like what Joron, his love-sick brother, would do, not him.

  Yes, yes, he had done a lot of pondering on the fact he had to settle down; actually brooding upon the unfortunate circumstance “settling down” for him would have to be with a woman. He would be one of those kings who married for purpose, power and peace, not for love. No more looking for the perfect man, his soul mate. Of course, he still believed that person was Joron anyway, and his beautiful brother was never going to be his. As much as his heart hurt because of it, it did not mean he needed to go and court death. He could very well lose his life right here and now. And for what? A rumor of a blue-eyed being? Was he so desperate that he would risk life and limb? He was a king!

  But this scoundrel looked to have his way, king or not.

  “Stop or I will run this arrow straight through you!”

  Someone else had happened on the scene! The voice wasn’t loud, but it was commanding. And sexy. Damn sexy. Diagus ignored the request, though, and continued to roll out of reach of that damnable knife. Given his situation, he was hoping that lovely voice belonged to a man who would be of a mind to save him. Mainly because he suddenly realized that the blood flowing from the wound in his side had already soaked through his garments. The blow might not have been enough to kill him outright, but if he didn’t stop the blood flow, he would still die. And because of it, if he had to continue to fight off even one rogue at this point, he would surely lose. So, it would be very good if the new stranger was there to rescue him.

  “Who da fuck are you?” came the voice of one of the attackers. Probably the one holding the knife. Out of the corner of one eye, he saw that the other one, the one Diagus had downed in the first moments of the battle, was only now gaining his feet, limping. Good. Diagus obviously had managed to inflict some damage.

  “What matter is it to you? All you need to be concerned with is this arrow pointed at your throat. If I let loose, you will die, drowning in your own blood.”

  Oh, that’s a lovely thought. The wonderful man was there to save him. Diagus could remain on the ground now a few more minutes, gathering his scattered wits. He pressed a hand to his wound, using the thickness of the fabric to help with the pressure. Damn, but that fucking stings! Just why, he was unsure. He was fully prepared for pain because it was a stab wound, but this. Something was not right. But at this point, his priority was to stop the bleeding. Setting his teeth against the pain, he applied more pressure, knowing he wouldn’t be able to maintain it. Not with his strength quickly draining away. Not to mention, if he ended up passing out, the pressure would be gone completely. And he would die. Fuck. His brain was fuzzy, and he knew it wasn’t only now from the hit and kicks to his head.

  And then a thought struck him. If he was going to die, he should at least see who it was that had attempted to save him. He finally raised his head enough to see who that sexy voice belonged to.

  Damn. Another reason his imminent death was wrong and just could not happen. The man saving his life was gorgeous. Pale skin, pert nose, delicate fingers holding the string of his bow. Handsome, so beautiful. He was also small, petite, too skinny, but that light-brown silky hair hanging in his eyes was shining in the daylight, as if it had been kissed by dew. It was almost a halo. His fierce expression, those pouty lips, high cheekbones, large puppy eyes. Even though Diagus’s brain was beginning to wander, he could feel his manhood responding. His small rescuer s
hot a quick glance at him, and Diagus’s heart leaped. He tried to smile. But he was sure it ended up in a frown. Or a grimace of pain. Because he hurt. A lot.

  “Are you wounded badly, sir?” The man’s gaze darted back to the ruffians.

  Oh, yes, keep your eyes on them, my little champion. And his voice. How would it feel to have that sweet voice whispering in his ear? Or maybe his tongue in there… but the beautiful man did ask a question, didn’t he?

  “I do believe I am…” But how could Diagus think about the pain when there was such a light shining around the young man’s head, making him seem as if he were an angel. A beautiful spirit. Oh! Maybe that was what he was here for. To accompany Diagus to heaven. Yes. Dying, then, wouldn’t be so bad.

  There was a movement from somewhere, Diagus wasn’t sure from where or from whom. A small part of his brain that was still able to function thought it was the big lout lunging at his beautiful angel, that dirty knife coming forward again. But it didn’t matter. His brown-haired spirit was an angel after all. Besides, the darkness was taking all the pain away…

  The larger man had leaped at Tama but then screamed. Tama thought more from fright and surprise than from pain, though, as the arrow he let loose grazed the left side of his throat on its way, surprisingly, to also graze the right side of his companion’s throat. Then it continued into the woods a fair distance, but Tama would still find it. He would have to. He didn’t have enough arrows as it was.

  The larger of the two would-be killers, the one who also held a knife, frantically clasped at his throat with his free hand, sputtering nonsensical words. By the look on his face, Tama realized the man fully expected to encounter a fountain of blood spewing from a gaping wound on his neck, when, in fact, the wound was hardly even a serious abrasion. But it was enough to shatter their confidence. To the point the one who held the knife screamed yet again.

  “You…You…you’re a sorcerer!” He stared, wide-eyed, at Tama as if he couldn’t believe he was still able to talk. He also had witnessed that his partner was doing the very same thing with the same results. “No one can do that!” he shouted at Tama. “Kill two with only one arrow!”

  Except, of course, he was still standing, not dead at all. Confusing for them, surprising for Tama. Not that Tama had meant to kill anyone. He had no stomach for such a thing. But he had believed his aim was true, and at this distance, missing his mark was deplorable. Of course, he had been startled into letting the arrow loose.

  “Only someone directly from the devil can do that!” the man continued to shout.

  Devil, huh? He could use that. “Well, then, maybe the two of you should be gone before I turn you into some unpleasant creature that has no legs or eyes!” By that time Tama had loaded and set another arrow, and it was aimed back at the bigger man, the larger threat. Tama would have laughed at his own attempt at sounding forceful if he wasn’t so very worried about the man lying so still on the ground behind him. Was he too late? But he couldn’t turn his back until these two were either dead or gone. Not knowing the circumstances of this encounter, he would deal death only if it were necessary.

  “No legs or …?” the large man repeated, his eyes growing wider yet. Suddenly he was tripping over himself to get to his horse. “No amount of coin is worth that! He’s a dead man anyway.” He yelled at his partner who seemed to be moving far too slow for the other’s comfort. Once mounted, though, with a hard kick to their horse’s sides, they both quickly disappeared into the thick forest, dragging with them a third horse. Tama assumed it belonged to the wounded man behind him.

  Damn. That was too bad. He could have used the horse.

  Tama stood his ground for a few more minutes, just in case it was a ploy to get him to lower his guard and they were going to double back. But the sounds of the two crashing through the woods became fainter and fainter as they put distance between Tama’s “evil” and themselves.

  Sorcerer. Tama sighed. He had never been called that before.

  He finally let his bow drop and put his arrow back in his quiver, noting again the thicket he would have to search to find his lost arrow. Then he knelt by the downed man’s side. Was he dead? No. He still breathed. The robbers were wrong. Providing, of course, they were indeed robbers. He hoped he would not come to regret saving this man’s life. He had no idea what was happening or what had been said or done before he arrived to this lonely spot on the road. But it made some sense that those two were attempting to rob this stately dressed man. However, the vast amount of blood told him they were also trying to kill him.

  He pulled the man’s coat and undergarment up and away to look at his wound. Tama had seen the small knife, and, now, after he had given himself a little bit of time to think about it, he even believed the large ugly man had dropped it when he scrambled to mount his horse. Even so, he kept a wary eye and ear out to make sure they could not sneak up on him while he was tending to the wounded man.

  Tama drew in a breath when he saw the wound. Yes, as he feared, it was made by the knife. But, even though it was quite bloody, it was a simple in and out jab. Not all that deep. The scratch on his arm, although ugly, was just that, a scratch. That was good. He could deal with this. His limited knowledge of herbs, plants, and poultices only really worked at reducing fevers, could stop bleeding, help with pain, and could bring out the healing properties of the body. Not much more than that. Except, he had also made a discovery that a wound first doused in clean water often did far better in the long run. The cut on the man’s arm was superficial, although it had bled quite a bit. All Tama decided to do for it was clean it with water. The bleeding had already all but stopped.

  However, the place where the blade had entered the man’s side needed more attention. Oddly, that wound appeared to have an unusual yellow tinge to the edges, as if from being stabbed through yellow fabric. Except the man was not wearing anything yellow as far as Tama could tell. What kind of fabric could make that happen anyway? Yet, he would take no chances. He took his drinking pouch again and poured it on this open wound as well, washing away the blood and that yellow residue. As he did, the blood seemed to really pour from the wound.

  Yes, he would need to stop the bleeding for sure. And soon.

  He grabbed at his pack and pulled out a fat pouch. Opening it, he rummaged through until he had what he needed, King's Eslifria, a precious leaf that when preserved properly and applied liberally would stop the blood flow quickly. The man had to be in some pain so he also took out crushed Black Spur and sprinkled it directly on the wound. From experience, he knew the herb would temporarily deaden the wound site. He next gently unfolded the Eslifria and pressed several to the wound, holding them firmly in place. It was a known property of the plant that it reacted with exposed blood to thicken it and help to form a natural covering. He would sew the slit together later, when the bleeding was under control.

  The man moaned but did not wake up. Tama sat next to him as he continued to apply pressure to his wound and finally had a chance to see who it was he was helping.

  Tama drew his breath in again. This time due to the man’s beauty. He couldn’t be much older than Tama. His hair was dark, almost black, thick and long. Probably shoulder length, by the look of it. It appeared touchably soft, and Tama had a strong desire to do just that. But he thankfully had his hands busy because to start fondling an unconscious man, even just his hair, was wrong.

  The man’s face was strong, his expression set, and with very defined cheeks, he appeared as if he were someone who was naturally in command of everything around him. He could almost feel the power pour off the man, even though he was lying helpless before him. Maybe it was the beginnings of a beard, but just that stubble on his lower cheeks and chin even gave off an air of authority. And the man had an amazing body. So strong, thick, and large. Powerful. He even smelled manly, a fragrance Tama found himself wanting to rub all over himself, lose himself in. So much so, Tama shivered.

  And just look at those full kissable lips.
/>
  Kissable lips?

  Tama giggled.

  Tama was surprised at himself for thinking such things. Especially of an injured man. He had always known he was attracted to men and not at all to women. But he had been able to keep his imagination in check. Except he was, this very minute, having trouble not imagining himself being kissed by this man. How wonderful to be wrapped in his strong powerful arms, held tightly against that chest, unable to escape or resist…

  Stop. He was injured. And unconscious. Not to mention most men did not have such inclinations about other men. Certainly, this man would not, and besides, he was a nobleman, maybe even a duke. His fine clothing spoke of wealth and status, and someone like that would only laugh at the likes of Tama.

  Just like they all had at Kelay.

  Tama shook free of his thoughts and lifted his hand from the leaves laying on the wound. The leaves held. Tama nodded and looked around their immediate surroundings. He would have to move the man from the path for sure. Not just for his safety but for shelter. Even though night was hours away, it would be chilly, and Tama thought for sure the battle for the man’s life had only just begun. But to move him could jar the wound and start it bleeding again. He would sew it closed, but he wanted to get the man off the beaten path first. He was going to have to build a quick travois that he could load the man on and pull. It would be hard. The man was large and he looked heavy, but it would have to be done.

  It took over an hour, but Tama finally was able to settle the man under a large overhang of rock a small distance off the path. The rock blocked the wind on three sides, would be completely dry, and the sand beneath was soft. Even so, Tama unrolled his sleeping bag and moved the man to lie on top of it, to help retain his body heat. The ground would suck warmth away as surely as any cold wind.

  Except, it wasn’t long and Tama noticed signs of fever.

  He fished out his herbs and plants again. He wasn’t going to let a fever to take hold. He built a fire, even knowing it would be seen by any passersby who might then become curious. He had no choice. He next poured more drinking water into the pan he had brought with him and placed it over the fire. The hot water would be used in making the tea that would help with pain and to bring down a fever and in making a poultice that he would put directly on the wound after it was sown shut. Within another half hour, he had his concoctions ready.