The Ippos King (Wraith Kings Book 3) by Grace Draven

Author:Grace Draven [Draven, Grace]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2020-10-05T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

A beautiful butterfly with the sting of a hornet.

There wasn't a bit of flesh on him that didn't hurt, and his insides didn't fare much better. Serovek had been in more than his share of fights in his lifetime and wore the scars as badges, but he'd never endured the kind of beating Chamtivos and his men had doled out to him. If he didn't piss blood or spit out a couple of teeth, he'd be amazed. If he and Anhuset lived through this fun little excursion the warlord had planned, he'd consider believing in merciful gods.

Once assured he wasn't going to die on her in the immediate future, Anhuset had sprinted down the slope, fleet as a deer. Chamtivos hadn't extended his particular brand of hospitality to her with the same zeal as he did to Serovek. Though it galled him, Serovek knew he'd serve her best by staying behind. He had to clear his head, pry open both eyes, and make himself useful to the woman who carried him across her shoulders over difficult terrain to get him to safety.

“Ugly you might find me, firefly woman, but I think you're beginning to like me,” he said to the stately firs surrounding him. Serovek smiled despite the pain it caused as he imagined Anhuset's expression had she heard him.

He took the damp cloth she'd used to give him water and clean his face, and soaked his right eye, glued shut by scabs. Hot threads of blood trickled down his cheek as he broke the scab and forced his eyelid up. The world remained blurry, but his depth perception was no longer skewed. He wondered if Brishen had dealt with the same when he lost his eye and how long it had taken for him to adjust.

Scooting closer to a young tree, he used the trunk as support to leverage himself first to his knees, then to his feet. He breathed hard, lightheaded from the exertion as well as the pain in his ribs, lower back, and face. Resting against the sapling for a moment, he rode out the first few waves of agony until his body accustomed itself to the discomfort enough that he didn't feel like bellowing with every movement. Leisurely convalescing wasn't an option. He had to move, had to walk, and at some point, would probably have to fight. He already considered himself a detriment to Anhuset. He wouldn't be the means by which Chamtivos would find it easy to kill her.

She'd left him the eating knife for defense, but knives were tools as well as weapons, and after what felt like a thousand years, he managed to scavenge a few sturdy sticks of decent length and thickness and staggered back to where Anhuset had left him. His mobility might be limited from his injuries, but his enemies hadn't broken his fingers. He settled down to craft crude but effective weaponry with the eating knife and sticks.

The day had aged into late afternoon by the

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