Blaze (16 page)

"I don't want any trouble," Blaze said, though some loud, unfamiliar voice deep inside him shouted for a fight.

"That's right," the innkeeper said nervously. "Nobody wants trouble here. Ease up, Bert."

"Shut up, Lundy," the black haired man snarled, glaring at Blaze. "I don't like the look of this fellow."

Shrugging off Bert's hand, Blaze continued toward the door. He led his horse to the stable where he removed the tack and began drying off the gelding and rubbing him down. There were two other horses, several cows, chickens, and pigs sharing the barn. Some of the animals gazed at the newcomers with curiosity.

Suddenly Bert stepped inside. Continuing to run the brush over his horse, Blaze glanced at the troublemaker.

"That's quite a sword." Bert nodded at Blaze's weapon resting against the stall. "Where did you steal it?"

"Why are you having such a problem with me?"

"What does it take to get your temper up?"

"Isn't it stupid, trying to start a fight with a total stranger?"

"Who are you calling stupid?"

Blaze sighed. This man was really starting to get on his nerves. "I don't have time for this."

"Good. Then we'll get it over fast. Pick up the sword." Bert unsheathed his weapon. One of the horses and several chickens scattered.

Glancing at his sword, Blaze realized his hands were itching to pick it up. Instead, he fixed his gaze on Bert and shook his head. "Not tonight."

"Good. Then hand over your weapon and the rest of your money."

A smirk twisted Blaze's lips. "Definitely not tonight."

Letting lose a battle cry, Bert lunged at Blaze, swinging his sword. Blaze dodged the blade with little difficulty. Bert might be as strong as a team of oxen, but he was clumsy, relying on muscle instead of skill and intelligence. Within seconds, Blaze had disarmed him and kicked him face first into one of the stalls.

"Son of a bitch!" Bert snarled, wiping blood from his nose. He picked up a hoe and attacked Blaze with it.

Out of habit, Blaze dropped the sword and defended himself with hands alone. Within seconds he gained possession of the hoe and Bert was on his knees sporting a broken arm. Though the man had been no challenge to speak of, Blaze's body tingled with battle lust. He pressed the hoe to Bert's throat. On his knees, the man shuffled backwards until he reached the side of a stall. He swallowed hard as the edge of the hoe pressed just below his chin.

"What shall I do with you, Bert?"

The man's face paled and he tried to push further back, but he was trapped.

"Are you ignoring me?" Blaze goaded, flinging Bert's words back at him. "Are you deaf?"

"What do you want?"

"I want you to never start trouble like this again, but somehow I doubt that will happen, unless I kill you."

"I wasn't going to kill you. I just wanted—"

"To steal my money and my weapon."

Bert forced a smile. "A man's got to make a living."

"Why don't you try earning one instead." Blaze flung the hoe aside. "Get out of here. I don't want to see your face while I'm at this inn."

Bert scrambled to his feet, holding his injured arm. Bending, he reached for his sword. Blaze stepped on it. "Leave it."

Nodding, Bert hurried out of the stable. Blaze finished with his horse, then picked up both swords and returned to the inn.

The innkeeper and guests stared at him in surprise. He guessed they had seen Bert at work on travelers before.

"Anything I can get for you?" the innkeeper asked. "A meal? Some wine?"

"Fine. What are my chances of getting a bath?"

"I'll have the serving girl prepare one in your room while you're eating."

Nodding, Blaze approached the fire. The other guests glanced at him. Several moved away and sat at tables.

An old man, bent and thin, turned to Blaze. "Where are you from?"

"Right here, actually," Blaze replied, removing his drenched cloak and releasing his hair from where it was bound at his nape. It clung to his neck in thick, wet tendrils.

"You're a merchant?" The man winked. "I can tell."

"No." Blaze couldn't help smiling at the old man's nosiness.

"Not a pirate, are you?"

"Not at all."

"So you're returning to the homeland from?"

"The south."

The man chuckled. "Don’t like to talk about yourself, do you, boy?"

"Not much."

"I was born and raised here, myself. Name's Crosby."

"Good to meet you."

The innkeeper brought a bowl of stew and a hunk of hard bread. Placing it on the table beside Blaze, he glanced at Crosby. "Why don't you leave him be? If it's not that thief Bert hounding my customers, it's you with your questions."

"Come now, Lundy. You're as curious as I am about the only man who's ever managed to scare off Bert. He took off like he seen a ghost, broken arm and all."

"As long as he didn't bust up my inn, I don't care where he comes from or what his business in Warefield is."

"You can at least give me a name." Crosby looked at Blaze with a hopeful expression.

"Blaze."

"Blaze. Blaze." Crosby's brow furrowed. "Odd name. Only knew of one other man with that name."

A strange feeling swept over Blaze. It was like a cross between anxiety and rage. He knew he had been named after his father.

The old man studied Blaze carefully. "Looked a bit like you, too."

"Where is this man now?"

"Dead some fifteen years."

"I see. What sort of man was he?"

"The sort whose demise was celebrated, I'm afraid."

"Why is that?"
Other than the fact that he shoved his first born son into a stinking madhouse.

"He was the most vile tempered man in these parts. Quick to start a fight and usually vicious enough to finish it. The name Blaze certainly fit him, as it apparently fits you."

Drawing a deep breath, Blaze looked toward the fire. That's exactly what he was afraid of.

"Are you related to him in some way? A nephew, perhaps?" Crosby asked. "I know you're not his son, since the only one he had died in a madhouse some thirty four years ago."

Died in a madhouse. His family had despised him so much that rather than admit he had been taken by the Ruby Order, they had said he'd died.

"No," Blaze said. "I'm no relation."

After finishing his meal, Blaze walked to his room above the inn.

When he stepped inside, a plump young woman was pouring a bucket of water into a tub. She gazed at him, a coquettish smile on her lips. The plain brown dress she wore had a scooped neckline that revealed her ample cleavage.

"That was the last bucketful. Water's nice and hot. Need someone to wash your back, love?" She winked, brushing against Blaze's arm.

It wasn't uncommon for tavern maids to earn extra coins by pleasuring guests. Blaze found the practice rather sad, and while the girl was pretty enough, she wasn't Melody. Just thinking of his betrothed made his cock twitch, but he'd rather sate his lust with his own hand than with a tavern trollop.

"I just want to be left alone. Thank you." Blaze stepped away from her touch. He offered her a silver coin. "For bringing the bath."

She snatched the silver and hid it between her breasts. "Are you sure there's nothing else I can do for you?"

"The door, miss." Blaze pointed toward the hall.

She wrinkled her nose and shrugged. "Suit yourself, love."

The girl left, slamming the door behind her. Blaze walked to the hearth and removed his damp clothes. The fire's heat felt good against his skin, but the hot water would feel even better.

Lowering himself into the tub, Blaze smiled at the relaxing sensation of the warm water against his flesh. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head against the wall. The only thing missing was Melody. He imagined sharing the bath with her, both of them hot, wet, and entwined in the small tub.

Desire shot through his cock and he reached down, caressing it once with a long sweep of his hand.

The door creaked open and the maid stepped inside, this time wearing only a thin shift over her ample curves.

"Forgot to bring you a towel." She placed the towel on the bed and approached the tub. Grinning, she stared at his erection. "Goodness, love. That cock is fit for a breeder bull. Sure I can't do something to, uh, take the swelling down?"

Blaze stood abruptly, grasped the woman's arm, and dragged her toward the door.

"Unless you want to pay, take your hands off me arm!"

Blaze released her, closed the door in her face, and locked it. Though he had encountered whores before, it was the first time he'd felt hungry for the carnal games she offered. However, substituting his betrothed for a trollop would be like exchanging the sweetest apple for a rotten

one.

Settling back into the tub, he began washing before the water cooled. His cock still ached from thoughts of Melody. Again he relaxed in the water and curled his fist around his rod. Stroking himself, he imagined Melody's hand caressing him. He recalled the ecstasy when she had licked his stiff cock from root to head, her warm, moist tongue laving and tickling. Blaze's breathing deepened and he squeezed harder, stroking faster. In his mind, he saw her wealth of curly brown

hair between his legs, caressing his belly. It smelled so fresh and woodsy. Her soft, naked body brushed his thighs while her soft lips danced over his cockhead before she took it into her mouth

and sucked.

Drawing ragged breaths, his eyes tightly closed, Blazed stroked until he spurted into the water. His heart pounded. Ecstasy ripped through him from head to toe, yet the sensations were empty.

Melody wasn't really there. Regret over leaving her, even for a short time, washed over him, yet he needed to get away from the Order and the people he cared about.

He needed to find out who he truly was. It was a pathetic thing, since a man of his years ought to know himself. Everything had always been so clear to him. He knew what he wanted and what he didn't. His own personal code told him what was right and what was wrong. Surely the events of this past month hadn't been enough to change him completely? If he was the violent sort of man he feared he had become, wouldn't he have killed Bert? Wouldn’t he have used a weapon against him, even if it would have been like slaughtering a calf?

Blaze stood and dried himself with the towel. He didn't want to think about it any longer. After checking the bed to be sure it housed none of the vermin that often dwelled in taverns, he slipped naked beneath the blankets. Gazing at the rain against the window, he tried to sleep. His thoughts wandered from Melody to his faction to the missing spirits. In the back of his mind lingered the memory of the battle and of the Zaltanian blood that would forever stain his hands.

Chapter Nine

At dawn, Blaze left the inn. The day was so pleasant that he packed away his cloak and tunic and wore only a vest and trousers. A warm breeze caressed him and his gelding as they made their way

down the well trodden road toward Vivondra. Lush green hills, randomly scattered with fruit bearing trees, extended in every direction. Pausing by a lake, he refilled his water pouch and allowed his horse to drink. He squatted by the crystalline water and dipped his hand into it,

swirling his fingers and watching several small fish scatter. He had only one memory of the island's beautiful landscape, that was the ride he had taken on the front of Mahir's horse on the day he had left the madhouse. Though part of him had been frightened about leaving his village, he had felt safe with Mahir. From the very beginning, Blaze seemed to belong to the Knights.

Why, then, was he returning to Vivondra? Learning about his father's death—he was certain the Blaze the old man had spoken of the night before had been his father—irritated him a bit. For some strange reason, he wanted to show his family what he had become.

A killer? A leader of madmen, as he was called by some of the Knights who thought his entire faction was insane?

Rather than ride his horse, he walked alongside the gelding for a couple of miles. The scent of sunwarmed grass and wildflowers relaxed him and his thoughts again drifted to Melody. Was she very angry with him for leaving without notice? He hoped not.

His thoughts were interrupted by children screaming and men shouting.

Mounting his horse, he kicked the animal to a canter. When he reached the crest of the hill, he saw a young red haired woman surrounded by a group of young children who were being held at sword point by leather-clad warriors.

"Get over here, wench," one of them growled, running his tongue over his blubbery lips.

"Either that or we start drowning these little maggots." The other man kicked a little blond boy who was hanging onto the girl's leg.

"Don't touch my brother!" Another girl of about seven kicked the warrior in the shin. He grasped her hair and jerked so hard that the child screamed in pain.