THE ROGUE KING’S TERRITORY
The storm had ended days ago, but the land still bore its scars. The lands were waterlogged, the soil eroded, and half of the few crops drowned in mud.
Even before the rain, the fields were dull with withered plants. The land was cursed. Every season, the inhabitants asked for more of it, but it gave less. Men walked along the edge of the land, examining the storm’s damage.
"The storm took half of our crop." One of them said angrily. "We’ll be lucky if we have food this winter."
"The storm took more than that." Another said with a sigh. He pointed to a far end where a foul stench rose from. "The drainage is broken again."
Both of them, Tomas and Redd, moved towards the broken drainage. The drainage was nothing more than a crude channel cut into the earth, used to divert dirty water. The storm had ripped it apart, leaving it clogged with debris.
At first it looked like a heap of soaked branches and leaves tangled together, but as they stepped closer, their eyes widened. They caught sight of pale skin, a limp hand sticking out, a boot. They exchanged puzzled glances before stepping low and shoving aside the debris, revealing a man’s body.
The man’s face was swollen and his neck was snapped. "He’s dead," Tom grunted. He tugged at the ankle and dropped the corpse into the mud.
Another figure was noticed behind the dead man, wedged against the broken wood.
"Wait, there’s someone else."
They pulled away the sticks and mud until the second body slipped out— a woman. Her clothes were torn, her hair clung to her face in a tangled mess. Her lips were blue and skin pale. For a moment, they almost disposed of her, thinking she was dead.
Then her chest rose faintly.
The rogues exchanged wary looks. "She’s breathing."
Other rogues scrambled closer at the scene.
"Kill her already. We have no bread for ourselves, much less some stranger." For more chapters visıt novel{f}ire.net
"She can’t be alive."
Their voices debated as they circled around her, arguing what should be done. One bent to study her face.
"She’s not a rogue. She’s packborn" He murmured.
That only sparked more anger.
"This is worse. If she’s packborn, she’ll bring us more trouble. The packs hunt rogues and it’s worse if we have one of their people."
"Let me end it quickly." Another spat, pulling out a dagger and reaching for her throat.
"No." Tomas snapped, stepping between. She breathes. We can’t just..."
"Can’t just?" The man snarled. "What use is she to us? More burden? Let her rot beside the dead man."
Tom stood his ground. "Why kill someone without the King’s permission? Let the king decide her fate?"
That earned a bark of laughter. "We all know the king will kill her. I’ll end it now!" The men around him muttered in agreement, but the younger rogue stood his ground.
"Let the king decide." The younger rogue repeated. If he says kill, it’s done."
The one about to kill hissed in irritation. In the end, the younger one got his way. They lifted the woman between them and headed to the tower where the king lived.
The rogue king, Trevor, was already out of the palace, ready as if to head somewhere. He stopped in his tracks when he saw his men advancing towards him.
They dropped the unconscious woman’s body with a thud.
"This fool." One of the men said, shoving Tom forward. "He insisted we bring her here. If you wish my king, say the words and I kill her with my dagger, or my hands."
Trevor squatted closer to the body, a frown etched on his face. She looked oddly familiar, but he couldn’t place it.
"How was this possible?" He asked himself as something stirred in him again.
He rose from the floor. "She’s alive."
"Then let’s be done with it. Alive or not, she doesn’t belong here."
"Let me kill her now." The man said as he shot Tomas a triumphant smile.
Trevor’s voice cut through. "Silence!"
They quieted instantly, though still restless for his decision. Trevor crouched again, brushing his fingers against her throat until he felt a faint pulse.
"What of the healing herbs?" He asked his men.
A man replied. "Only the last portion remains. It was saved for whoever falls sick during the drought."
"Bring it." Trevor ordered.
Shock spread across their faces, with murmurs of disbelief spreading across the crowd.
"For her?" One demanded. "Surely you don’t mean..."
"We will keep her alive and use the herbs on her." Trevor interrupted.
"She’s not even one of us!"
"Better to spare the herbs for our sick people."
Trevor’s eyes narrowed. "And tell me, who is the king?"
Their voices fell into an uneasy silence.
"You are." They muttered finally.
"Then do as I command." Trevor ordered.
The mouth of the man who wanted to kill her opened as if to argue, then closed. The supply box was fetched and handed to the king.
Trevor crouched again, unwrapping the herb bundle, and mixing the paste with warm water. Some of the rogues wondered why he did it himself, instead of sending someone to do it, but they just watched, saying nothing.
The paste was pressed against her lips and forced into her mouth. Trevor remained kneeling for a while as he studied her features, at least she was still breathing.
He lifted her into his arms and stood up. "You can leave." He addressed his men, while still holding her.
The people dispersed with puzzled thoughts in their mind. Their king always said they must kill or imprison any stranger that came into their land, so why was he saving her? Maybe he planned to kill her after she wakes—some of them murmured.
She didn’t wake, but her breathing got steadier. He took her to a room, placing her on the bed, then pulled a blanket over her to shield her from the cold.
He had questions to ask, but they could only be answered with her being awake.