Guarded by Kim Fielding Read Free Book Online Page B

weren’t more. Some of them might have been absent from the torture and rape session. So now he watched carefully, taking note of each one’s features, trying to get an accurate count. He also assessed their weaponry. Each had one of the thin, slightly curved swords beloved of the Juganin, and Volos knew each man was well versed in the use of his blade. Volos used a straighter, heavier sword, one that would soon tire a soldier unless he was very strong. But Volos was strong, and his weapon had the advantage of a longer reach. If Volos wielded it well, a Juganin opponent would be dead before the curved blade struck Volos.
    But that was the rub— an opponent, singular. He was badly outnumbered here, and even the best warrior held little chance against seven or more.
    Eight, actually. He watched all day and concluded there were eight. And when the sky darkened again, he was no closer to rescuing the prince.
    Well into night, Volos crept out of his hiding place. He stretched his muscles carefully and took a few handfuls of water from the pump, which leaked. Feeling as if he might be sick, he peeked into the cellar window.
    Of course the Juganin were drinking again. They’d have little to entertain them here except ale and their prisoner. Oh gods, their prisoner. Berhanu’s upper body was tied to the table, this time face-up. His arms were stretched cruelly— even from afar, Volos could see the strained muscles and tendons. The front of his torso was as badly injured as his back. Maybe worse. Nothing was left of his left nipple but a blood-crusted wound. His legs were trussed in a complicated manner, spread, and held high by ropes attached to the ceiling beams. One of the Juganin was fucking him so hard that the entire table shook. But the worst part was Berhanu’s bruised face, because although his eyes were open, he stared expressionlessly upward. If it weren’t for the hitching of the prince’s chest, Volos would have thought he was dead.
    Volos could break into the house and slaughter the men in the cellar. But he’d never kill all of them before they stopped him. And two of the men were missing, no doubt elsewhere in the house.
    Gods, I know I don’t deserve your grace. But please, I beg you. Show me how I can save him.
    The gods didn’t answer his silent prayer. But just when he’d decided he’d rush into the cellar, suicidal as that attack would be, his gaze was caught by the pile of empty bottles that littered one corner of the room. Perhaps it was divine inspiration. In any case, he formulated a plan.
    He took off running for the village before the voice in his head could convince him how stupid the plan was.
    ****
    “You look as though you earned your dinner tonight. I hadn’t realized exploring a village was such strenuous work.”
    Mato sat opposite Volos in the inn, watching him devour a huge plate of food. The door to the inn had been closed when Volos arrived, breathless, but after a few heavy knocks Mato had opened it for him and hadn’t complained about stoking the fire and heating some food.
    “I wasn’t exploring,” Volos said with his mouth full. He took a generous swig of water and let out a deep breath. “I lied to you. I’m not here on behalf of an eccentric employer.”
    Mato raised an eyebrow but didn’t look angry. In fact, his eyes sparkled with excitement. “Why are you here then, my friend?”
    Gods, if Mato couldn’t be trusted, all was lost. And he was a Kozari, dammit. During the war, the Wedey soldiers said Kozari were lower than snakes— spiteful, malicious, demonic. And although Volos had known better— his father was a good man— he’d believed what he heard. Yet Mato… had been nice .
    Volos gave him a long look. “Are there other strangers staying in Chorna now, Mato?”
    “Not in Chorna. Nearby, I think. They come into the village now and then.” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you one of them?”
    “No. Gods, no. Do you know who they are?”
    Mato shook his