A Veteran Returns Home: Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty One

The sun crept higher into the sky. Nemo had found the end of the tunnel. Or the start of freedom. The pale earth, growing paler everyday, teased him onwards. Confined by the cold stone walls of the city the tunnel proved uneventful , as Nemo hoped, unguarded and unpatrolled. Derelict and rotting. Old fallen bricks lay strewn about the passage and a healthy stench of rotting flesh fumed the tunnels.

People use it for waste, and why not? Nemo thought nearing the escape. He was underneath the fortifications of Tanussi. Thirty metres of unscalable wall. Doesn’t matter when the gate is open.

He shielded his eye as he approached the golden arch at the end of the tunnel. It could be a trap, the thought vanished as soon as it appeared. Convoluted and the gate down to this tunnel had been hidden behind a cluster of buildings. Well hidden from the main thoroughfare that ran the length of the wall.

Earth and dirt shifted under foot as he stepped out into the wider world. All he saw was a blinding white light . He turned away to the clarity of the dark tunnel, now a series of glowing spots in his vision.

‘Hey,’ a woman called.

Nemo looked back into the light and saw a blurred figure, about shoulder height with dark hair.

‘We thought you weren’t going to make it,’ the blur said.

Nemo squinted and her face split in focus. Vispa.

‘Well, Frya thought that. I knew you would make out,’ Vispa stood triumphant.

‘You were crying,’ a stern voice said.

Vispa gasped, ‘I did not,’ eyes looking anywhere but Nemo.

The blue sky separated from the tan landscape as Frya stepped into view, holding the reins of a horse.

Nemo noticed Vispa held reins too. Simbar standing behind sniffing the ground with a snort.

‘Here you go,’ Frya passed Atars’ reins to Nemo, ‘is it done?’

‘It is.’

‘Surprised they haven’t raised an alarm.’

‘They will but silently. Or until the wall patrols see us two galloping off.’

‘Galloping isn’t a crime,’ Vispa said.

‘True,’ Frya said, ‘but leaving Tanussi may be.’

‘And murdering a governor definitely is. Regardless of his crimes,’ Nemo added.

‘You talk as if you are going to fail this small hurdle,’ Vispa said.

Nemo shrugged and showed Atars the back of his hand. The horse pushed his muzzle to Nemo’s hand and dutifully turned his ear to Nemo. The bounty hunter scratched the horse where it pleased.

‘That’s because he probably has,’ Frya made a condescending sound. She walked passed Nemo, brushing shoulders.

‘He’s dead. You can leave, but you won’t. Best of luck not getting caught.’ Nemo said.

‘You too,’ Frya said.

Vispa followed the resistance leader with a scowl.

‘Mount up. We’re leaving,’ Nemo climbed on Atars. His thigh throbbed and threw up a thick wad of blood.

‘Right, she hoisted herself up. ‘Are you okay?’ She threw a look at Nemo’s thigh. The trouser leg soaked in blood.

‘I’m fine. Get ready to gallop as fast as he’ll allow. And take this,’ Nemo clicked his tongue and turned Atars around while passing Vispa his bow. ‘I hope you know how to use it.’

She took the bow and Nemo handed her the quiver of arrows from his saddle. 

‘I guess so,’ Vispa answered holding the bow in one hand, and quiver in the other.

Nemo whipped the reins and Atars neighed and broke into a gallop northward. He pulled on the string to ready his wristbow and loaded a bolt. Only six bolts. It’ll be enough, he told himself.

Vispa yelped behind him and heard her shouting at Simbar to ‘Go, go!’

Within seconds the bells of the city walls rang out.

A series of fast paced and high pitched dings not from one or two towers but all of them. The bell ringing became a constant high pitched screech.

‘Faster Vispa. We need to be out of archer range,’ an arrow thudded into the ground ahead as Nemo shouted the command over his shoulder. Atars wobbled and huffed.

‘Should I zig-zag or something?’ Vispa shouted back.

‘Are you insane! Just as far away as fast you can,’

Ziz-zag. What the hell, Nemo cursed.

Dirt bloomed around him as arrows pierced the earth. He felt his hair whip around his ear and felt earth hit his calf. That was too close, he thought as he drove his heel into Atars side urging the horse to gallop faster.

A horn blast sounded and the arrows ceased. Nemo looked over his shoulder, Vispa was close behind him, and the gates of the city were opening. Slow and ponderous, the enormous steel barred oak gates opened. Through the gap between the gates Nemo could see horses scratching the dirt with their hooves. Armour hanging off their sides and blinkers on their eyes. Riders held bows with arrows knocked. The first rider launched himself out of the gate and others followed single file before the gate had fully opened.

Warhorses well rested and fed chewed up the road without a care. Five riders shot out of the gate, two armed with lances and three with bows. A bowman took point, lancers at either side, and bowmen behind them in a diamond formation. The five thundered towards them yelling war cries and threats. 

‘Start thinking about that bow,’ Nemo growled to Vispa as he turned his attention ahead. He turned Atars back onto the steady and even ground of the road. Atars agreed and sped up into a rhythmic ride.

Nemo lifted his wristbow and took aim only to see Vispa behind him, ’Keep to my right or left so I can aim,’ he shouted at her.

She pulled Simbar to his right and knocked an arrow. She struggled to guide the arrow to the string and Simbar turned left and right as she shifted her weight.

I should have taken the bow, Nemo lamented and sighted a lancer over his wrist. The lancer continued barreling towards them. Too far, Nemo thought and returned his focus to the road.

The first arrow whistled close and pierced the earth behind Vispa. Dread descended upon Nemo. With every step the riders neared in their pointed helms with chainmail neck guards and leather armour with plates of metal stitched to the front and back.

‘Halt! Or your lives are forfeit,’ the lead bowman yelled in broken Tanussian.

Doesn’t leave us much choice, Nemo turned in the saddle, looping the reins around right arm aiming with his left.

Vispa loosed an arrow. It rose over the horsemen. Nemo counted the quiver. You only have five yourself, he thought pulling the string attached to his finger. The bolt flew straight at the lancer to the left. The lancer rose his left arm and blocked the bolt with a pat of his half shield. A round iron shield with a crescent missing from the top where the lance could rest in a charge. 

Nemo fumbled for a bolt. His fingers dripping with sweat and his throat dry. He swallowed feeling his mouth and throat stick and part. He pulled the bolt free of the leather and wound the crossbow back. The bolt fell into the small groove.

The twang of the bowstring and the next moment the squeal of a horse. The rider screamed as his horse crashed to the ground, an arrow planted in its thigh. He arced through the air and landed with a skid on the ground. Arm twisted, hand hanging limp, as he tried to stand. He cried out in pain.

‘Bravo!’ Nemo shouted to Vispa a brief smile splitting his solemn expression.

‘I was aiming for the rider,’ she admitted.

‘Horse is just as good a target,’ Nemo said.

Arrows zipped through the air. Each remaining archer loosing and knocking with a fearful speed. Nemo lowered himself to the saddle and tried to outrun the scatter of arrows.

Atars stumbled, his rear right leg quivering for a second, the horse snorted and carried on. Nemo peered over his left shoulder and saw the telltale feathers jutting from Atars’ rear. 

Simbar and Vispa appeared at his side, she loosed another arrow before pressing down to the horses neck her head lost in its mane.

Neither saw the effect of the arrow. Both heard it. The cry of pain, the thud of a body hitting the ground. That was enough. Three remained.

Nemo readied his next shot. A scream. He lost aim. His bow was in the road behind him. His heart dropped as he saw blood soaking through Vispa’s shirt. An arrow piercing her shoulder. She slumped in her saddle, threatening to topple off. He guided Atars nearer and placed a hand on Vispa. She spat and gripped the reins with a renewed fury.

Nemo turned and loosed the next arrow. The lancers head was thrust backwards. He remained mounted and pulled himself upright with the reins. The horse reared as its head was lifted to the sky. The bolt was buried in the lancers cheek. The other two, lancer and archer, pulled their horses to a halt. Are they giving up so easily? He thought. Sweat ran down his forehead and nose. Why? Dread remained where joy should have been.

‘Vispa, you need to sit up,’ he said.

Vispa coughed and pushed herself up, her left arm hanging by her side. She reached for the reins getting half way before wincing and shrieked. She wound the reins around her right hand.

The riders where still gathered far behind them. Dismounted and seeing to injuries. One had galloped back most likely to check on the other two. One was certainly dead. Nemo scanned the horizon for a place to rest.

‘There,’ he said.

‘Huh,’ Vispa breathed.

He tapped her on the leg, ‘Head there,’ he pointed towards a copse of dead and dying trees. Pockets of trees survived north of Tanussi and around Beargarth. Few and far between and within a few years all would perish.

The duo dismounted under the patchy shade of tree branches and leaves. Nemo hurried to Vispa as she clambered off Simbar and lost balance. She fell and landed against Nemo’s chest. He hooked her knees over his arm and made sure to avoid moving the arrow protruding from her back. Her face was covered in a sheen of sweat and her eyes closed.

Nemo lowered her to the ground underneath a tree, sitting her up against it he pinched her chin. She jolted awake.

‘Stay awake and don’t touch, move, or break that arrow in your back,’ Nemo said with a firm point.

She nodded even as her eyes were drooping.

Atars limped and sniffed the ground. Unaware of the arrow and only its effects. Nemo hung the reins of the horses over branches. 

He rummaged through the saddlebags Vispa had packed. At least he hoped she had packed them. Frya and Humaya would have loathed donating supplies, food or otherwise, and not medical by a long shot.

Nemo felt the soft rolled up trim of a roll of cloth. He pinched it between his fingernail and finger and pulled. An apple tumbled out as he wrenched the bolt free. Bandages, he rejoiced holding the stark white cloth in hand. He sullied it as he turned it over in his hand covered in flecks of drying blood and grime from the road.

Unhooking the bag from the saddle he wondered at the arrow stuck in Atars’ rear leg. The muscle spasmed as if trying to dislodge flies. Aside from that Atars showed no concern or, more likely, didn’t realise what happened. No point worrying him, Nemo decided striding over the Vispa who lay in the shade of a leafless tree. Her head lolled against her shoulder. Saliva gathered at the corners and edges of her lower lip threatening to drool. Parched soil and dry sand drank hungrily from the blood that trickled from the bite of the arrow in her shoulder. The dark red pooled under her thighs growing ever wider and more menacing.

Nemo covered his eye from the glare of the sun and squinted into the distance behind him. Back to the city of Tanussi. The horizon was clear. For now. He was certain another group would chase him. More numerous and better armed. But right now Vispa and him were alone.

He opened the bag and searched for other supplies. Vispa had packed it. He was certain. A whole bolt of bandage as wide as his hand was long, apples, a bottle of healing wine, needle, and thread. At least she stole useful things, he thought tapping the glass of the bottle.

‘I need you to turn around,’ Nemo said.

Vispa failed to answer. Her mouth moved but nothing came out save for drool. She slurped and returned to her semi-conscious state.

Poison? Nemo was out of his depth with anything passed a simple tight bandage. He prayed the needle and thread would remain in the saddlebag. His needlework as poor as his thievery had been. All he needed was a good seamstress to show him how it was done. Though his suspected skin did not behave quite like cloth.

Nemo moved Vispa onto her side. Pulling her away from the tree and lowering to the ground. His hand cupped her cheek as he lay her down on the ground. He sat behind her with one leg over her to stop her squirming. He had seen the unconscious squirm when an arrow was removed. Short and fast in a straight pull. No twisting, tugging, or pushing. Straight out. Like how it went in, he released a tight breath hissing between his teeth and placed one hand against her shoulder blade. The arrow had entered beneath the bone. He ran his thumb along the edge of the bone to make sure. Vispa moaned.

He tore her shirt around the wound and saw thin trickles of blood emerging from the wound. So much damage for something so small. The entry point was no larger than his thumb nail. Nothing else to do now.

Nemo pushed against her shoulder with one hand and gripped the arrow with the other. Vispa groaned and tried to shrug and roll over. Nemo had his leg, bent at the knee with his heel digging into her stomach, preventing her from moving. He pushed his back against the tree trunk and pulled.

Vispa howled as the oval tipped arrow slid out of her. A spurt of blood followed. A third of the shaft was lined with blood. The arrow had likely cut through muscle and bone. Nemo had no way of knowing without sticking his fingers in the wound and he had no desire to cause such pain nor, selfishly, wanted to experience such a thing. 

He tossed the arrow aside and unstoppered the bottle of wine, mixed with boiled water and vinegar. Tearing of a strip of bandage he balled up and held underneath the wound. He poured a fifth of the bottle over Vispa’s wound. She twitched and sucked her teeth. The wine soaked into the bandage as it passed over the bloody flesh. The muscle quivered and danced as the dark burgundy liquid passed over and into the wound. Nemo placed the bottle to the side and pressed the soaking bandage into the skin. He held it there for a few moments ignoring Vispa’s sounds of pain. Then, he rubbed the wound with the bandage cleaning around the wound and a small amount inside. Tearing off a clean length of bandage he folded it into a square and held that in place with his finger and thumb on opposing corners. Blood beaded through the white cloth.

Tearing the shirt from her shoulders he held the end of the cloth near the wound and looped it around her shoulders and neck. Over one side and under her arm on the other. He pulled it tight and layered a second length of bandage against the arrow puncture and repeated the action. He tied the bandage off with the free end and tried to slide his finger underneath. He managed the first knuckle but the bandage was too tight for more. Good. Now we pray for no infection.

He said a quick prayer and sat there staring at Vispa’s back. She lay, unmoving in the dirt, his leg over her torso. He willed it to not be infectious. Prayed and wished for it to heal. It’s not going to do anything while you stare at it, he told himself. He pulled himself to his feet, stoppered the bottle of vinegar, and stepped over Vispa and shuffled her back towards the tree. Making sure she could not roll onto her back and soil the bandage.

He watched her sleep as his own thigh ached. His trousers stained with dried blood.  The wound beneath needed a fresh bandage and rest. He perched himself on a rock and untied his trousers. The bandage underneath was sodden and not an inch was white. He cut through the cloth with his knife and peeled the wet bandage from his skin. Hair was matted to the cloth and to itself. Beads of blood covered his skin like freckles.

Pouring some wine onto a cloth he cleaned his thigh and the injury. Fresh pink skin split in parts and held in others. He applied a fresh bandage and dressed. 

I should rest, he envied Vispa in her slumber. He groaned, but I can’t. Someone has to keep watch. I could have used that bow… the weapon now lost on the plains.

He loosened the strap of his wristbow. Two bolts remained held in the sleeve. He removed one of them. It was about the length of his thumb to little finger. A thin length of wood of uniform carving with a point coated in metal and a pear shaped disc of wood slid into the bolt at the other end.

Not too different from an arrow, Nemo thought feeling for his knife. He collected fallen branches from beneath the tree and perched himself on a rock near Vispa. Placing the bow near his foot. Leg stretched out as to not disturb the healing injury he set to work whittling a branch down to the size of the bolts he had remaining.

Stripping back the bark to reveal the pale, solid, wood inside the stick began to resemble a bolt. He held the two side by side. Right length, a little slimmer but not too different in weight, he nodded at his work and set about carving the end into a sharp point. No metal to weight it and keep the point sharp but the speed alone should be enough. He pushed his knife along the quarrel in slow movements peeling off slim curling strips of wood each time.

The trimmings of the branch fell by his feet. A pile of golden twirls. He held the bolt up to the horizon and checked the bolt was straight. Turning very slowly he tensed the muscles around his right eye as if closing it and looked with his left. An old habit. The eyelid under the bandage twitched. Straight. Now for the end of it.

Nemo searched for a larger branch or part of a trunk he could break into parts and carve into pear shaped discs. He compared the size of the bolt from Ramascus to a cluster of dried wood. One branch was a good length and width. He peeled back the bark, jammed the knife into the wood, and split the branch into thirds. The dry wood creaked and snapped. 

Cutting a piece down to the size of a disc the diameter of his thumb he began to round the edges and flatten the faces. Dragging the knife along the face to grate thinner and thinner slices each time till it was the width of a dirham coin.

Next he carved a harsh line from the midpoint of the circumference to one end turning the coin shape into a pear. It’s like a wooden feather, he thought not that he was aware of why the bolt needed it.

He cut a slit into the end of his self-made bolt and slid the finished end into it. Nemo pulled the wristbow on and looped the strings around his fingers like rings. The bow sprung into action and his bolt slipped into the narrow groove. Taking ten paces away from the copse and turning to aim at a tree he clasped his fist. The bolt shot from the bow with similar speed to the Ramascan bolts. Though it drifted rightward and glanced the side of the tree.

Well, better than I thought. Didn’t drop too much, he wandered into the copse, passed Vispa, to retrieve the bolt. Its head was flattened and frayed. He returned the point to it with his knife and sliced a length of wood of one side no thicker than a leaf.

He returned to his testing position and planted his feet. Aiming and firing within seconds of each other the bolt flew and spun in the air, again to the right. This time, however, it struck the tree and snapped before falling to the ground. Better, he thought fetching the broken bolt. The pear shaped end unbroken and good for another bolt. He returned to his rock perch and whittled down the rest of the branches he had gathered.

The sun reached its zenith and the shade of the trees grew thin. The leafless branches casting trickles of shadow down on him and Vispa. She remained still under the tree. Her lips parted and her breathing shallow. Nemo pressed the back of his hand to her forehead and felt neither the clammy sweat of a fever nor the scorching heat of one. He breathed a sigh of relief and stepped out into the sun.

He held a bundle of bolts in one hand. He slid a few into the ringlets on the leather gauntlet of his wristbow and placed the rest on the ground save for one. Loading the bolt onto the bow he aimed at the tree dead ahead, well away from Vispa, and shot. The bolt struck true, embedding itself into the trunk with a crunch. 

‘That’s more like it,’ he said to himself, sliding a bolt from his gauntlet. The wooden feather dislodged. He pushed it back in and took his knife from his belt.

He held the bolt up to the horizon and looked down the shaft. A small bump rose midway down and the end was uneven on one side. The bump moved. A flicker of a thin spike rose and fell. 

Nemo focussed into the distance. His vision blurred from the close work he squinted and shielded his eye from the sun. On the horizon, on a rise in the ground was a horseman with his spear raised into the air. From below its tip flew a blue strip of cloth.

The horseman turned and galloped away. Back towards Tanussi.

Nemo paused. Damn it. I was hoping they had given up, he gathered the bundle of bolts and threw them into the saddlebag resting beside Vispa. He attached the bag to Atars’ saddle and returned to Vispa.

‘You need to get up,’ he said shaking her leg.

Vispa moaned and blinked once. ‘I’m tired and sore,’ she slurred.

‘Yes. Well if you don’t up you’ll be shackled and tortured. Get up,’ he had no time to be soft.

Vispa cleared her throat and pushed up to her elbow. She unfurled her bandaged side and tried to rise. She collapsed into the dust.

Nemo put his arms under hers and pulled her up. ‘You can’t ride in this state. And not with that shoulder,’ he put an arm around her and guided her towards Atars.

She peered out from squinted eyes and murmured something about her shoulder hurting.

‘You don’t have a fever and you weren’t poisoned. I don’t think. So get on with it,’ Nemo hoisted her up by her waist.

Vispa caught the stirrup with her foot and mounted Atars.

‘Slide to the front of the saddle,’ Nemo tapped her leg and mounted behind her. He held Simbar and Atars’ reins in one hand.

Vispa slouched forward and steadied herself with Atars’ mane losing her fingers in the thick, long, hair. Nemo rolled the two sets of reins around his right hand and placed his left around Vispa holding her tight by the abdomen. Pulling her back towards him.

She whined as her shoulder pressed against his chest. He loosened his grip, but only a little.

‘Yahh!’ Nemo roared again and again.

The two horses frenzied into a gallop, the saddles rubbing side by side. The copse faded behind them as Nemo rode north by north east. Beargarth was close, a half-day’s calm ride or an hour or so at a hard gallop. Atars’ could do it, he was warhorse stock. Simbar, however, was small by horse standards.

Nemo interrupted himself to glance over his shoulder. The horizon was clear. For now.

‘Why are we rushing off?’ Vispa slurred. 

‘I saw a rider on the hillock over there. A scout most likely. We are being hunted,’ Nemo said.

Vispa groaned.

‘It was bound to happen. I’m surprised it took them as long as it did,’ Nemo said knowing her concentration was frayed with agony. Her bandaged side drooped and her arm rested against the pommel of the saddle awkwardly.

‘Where’s your bow?’ Vispa leaned to her left and right peering lazily down at the saddle.

‘You dropped it when you were pierced by the arrow,’ Nemo said. He squeezed Atars with his legs and guided the two horses to the right.

‘Oh. Sorry,’ Vispa mumbled.

‘Forgiven. You were shot. Not much else you could have done. You can make me a new one when we escape from all of this,’ he looked behind them. The horizon remained clear. No. At the very end a flag waved and a beam of light reflected off a spear tip. ‘They’re giving chase,’ Nemo alerted Vispa.

She tensed at the news.

‘Beargarth is only a short ride away,’ Nemo said. A half truth at best.

‘How will that help?’

‘It’s home. Lots of people. Plenty of old fighters,’ Nemo said.

‘Let’s hope so,’ Vispa said. She rested her head against his shoulder. She sat up as soon as her head touched him. The jerking from the ride making it impossible to rest. She had to ride without riding. ‘What if they’ve sent a whole unit out to catch you?’

‘Us,’ Nemo corrected. ‘They won’t have. The governor is dead and commanders are too sensible to over do it.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘I fought against them. Discipline is how they won. A solution for every problem before it even occurred. At least it felt that way,’ Nemo said twisting in the saddle. The rider he had spotted had lowered his lance into a charge and five others followed him. ‘See, only six.’

‘Only six!’ Vispa said. She began to say something else that Nemo didn’t catch as she began chewing her lip.

Nemo sighed remembering past fights. When has it ever been a duel? He failed to remember a single one. Duels aren’t interesting, he decided. His lack of memory was a lack of excitement. Not that he enjoyed fighting but his body did. He supposed that meant he did. The face of the boy soldier from the valley leading to Ramascus flashed in his mind. His scimitar cutting across his neck because he wouldn’t surrender. Grief banished all else. Senseless, he thought.

‘What’s that?’ Vispa pointed ahead.

Nemo squinted at a block on the horizon. The fuzzy edge blurred and focussed with the rest. ‘Home,’ he exclaimed. His mouth turned upward. He whipped the reins and yelled for Atars to gallop faster.

Atars and Simbar raced onward. Each outpacing the other in small bursts. Simbar’s flank bashed against Nemo’s leg leaving a sheen on his trousers. He urged the horses towards Beargarth.

‘What will you do when we get there?’

‘We will have some time to find people and organise a defence. Or I can hide and they say we charged through,’ Nemo said. ‘Those lancers are heavier than us. Travelling slower but have better horses, probably. We can’t outrun them forever.’

Beargarth grew on the horizon. Buildings emerging from the blue sky. Just a little further.

Vispa lolled in the saddle. Her shoulders slumped forward, and she threatened to topple. 

‘Not yet,’ Nemo nudged her with his elbow. 

She startled and grabbed at the reins. Nemo allowed her to hold them. Before her shoulders slumped with a sigh a moment later.

‘Look. See how close we are,’ Nemo nodded towards Beargarth. The village was in clear sight. A sprawling village with no rhythm to its construction. Bulging and shrinking in unison with the number of merchants and mercenaries on the road in times past. Many outskirt buildings lay empty even before Nemo left for war. Now they appeared to be collapsing. We should demolish those and reuse the materials, Nemo thought picking out one dilapidated house on the edge of town. The roof a jagged mess even from his view miles away from the village.

The lancers edged further away from him. At one point the rear rider dipped back over the horizon. He soon crested into view again when Simbar started to tire. Atars led the duo the final mile into the village. Simbar began to lag behind. Nemo patted the horse on the neck, it had done well to keep up with Atars.

Luckily, for Simbar, Beargarth was within walking distance. The streets were barren. Cobbled, well worn, but devoid of life. Doors remained closed and windows shuttered and barred. Maybe they are hiding, Nemo thought.

‘Where is everyone?’ Vispa asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Nemo said. His throat parched. His lips dry.

Atars galloped into town. Thankful to be on the steady ground of the road. Unhappy it was cobbles the horse danced back and forth. Nemo clicked his tongue and Atars cantered down the road. Towards the well of Beargarth.

All around stood cottages with low roofs. A few had annexes beside them. All stood alone with a ring of free land. Land that once shone with vibrant petals and fruit trees was now barren and withered. The ashen remains of dead plants and fallen trees skittered along the ground caught by the wind.

The squeak of a door hinge welcomed them to the square of the well. The centre of the town and the source of its wealth. An ever spring well of Anavatat blessed by fortune himself, Kethus. A perfect balance of location and serendipity reduced to abandoned homes and a decaying village.

The more Nemo searched the more frantic he became. The more locked doors he saw the more he worried none would open. He dismounted and helped Vispa down. She slipped off the saddle and lost her balance once her feet reached the stone. Nemo helped her to the well and sat her down with her back against it. The shade of the pavilion over the well preventing the worst of the midday heat. Nemo tied the two horses to the hooks bored into the well stone wall.

‘I need to check on someone,’ he told Vispa as he handed her a water skin from the saddle of Simbar. He drank from his own as he ran off through the village towards the only place he knew to go. Home.

He ran further into Beargarth, away from the well square and up one of the many roads leading from it. Not the main road that joined cities together but a small road filled with taverns old and new and inns that had only rooms, no bar and no food. Nemo always found that odd for a place to only offer a bed and nothing more but they had succeeded and the taverns around them did too as travellers needed to eat and drink as well as rest.

Hitching posts stood unused and carriages nor carts were anywhere to be seen. Where are the merchants? Have they stopped travelling because of the war or because of the peace? Nemo dashed down a side road that curved back on itself.

The story repeated. Closed doors and empty homes. His own was no different. Half way down the small curving street no wider than a hand pulled cart stood a stone wall house. The door was closed and windows shuttered. A handful of tools lay against the wall, shovels, hoes, trowels, used on the strip of land around the home and the farm land a short walk out of the village. Like most villagers the town of Beargarth had grown in the centre of a group of farms sharing the water supply. Few were farmers now and worked other trades. The few farmers produced enough for themselves and a small stall at market. Nemo married into such a family. A lone daughter, Mani, whose father gifted the lands to Nemo and Mani upon the death of his other children, sons and daughters alike. Mani was not the oldest and did not expect to inherit a thing. Instead she learned the skills to tend to a farm for the advantage of her future husband. As luck would have it twisting from misfortune she now tended the lands she had grown up with and taught her children, and Nemo, the same.

The door resisted his attempt to open it. Hinges stiff from lack of use. How long has it been? He wondered barging into the door with his shoulder. The door burst open into his home. The air flitted with dust and darkness and the sweet stinging scent of rotting food.

Nemo threw open the windows. Flicking the locks out of the way in the manner he had everyday for over a decade. The house shied away from the light. The rooms shrank, the furniture shivered, and the few possessions cried. A house without life. A house robbed of life.

‘Hello!’ Nemo shouted. He dashed through the house. It was only small. A table to eat at one end and a fireplace to the other. A door at the back led through to the bedrooms. Mani and his, and the children’s. Nemo shouted again. His heard raced and he feared the worst.

His bed was undisturbed. His children’s too. There was no blood or signs of struggle. Only the emptiness and absence of life. His stomach rolled. Bile rose in his throat. He fell and caught himself with his palm against a wall. Vision blurred and breathing became stiff. Truly. They are gone. Like the rest. With Avaya? Beyond my reach? It cannot be. He bellowed. Eyes warm and wet he bellowed again. What else could he do?

On the kitchen table lay a doll. Nemo picked up the straw stuffed doll. Its hair cut from a horse’s tail and old black buttons used for eyes. Delara had called it Asha. Now more house mascot than beloved doll still sat overlooking the family from its perch above the kitchen archway. Why is it down here?

Asha wore a blue dress cut from the hem of one of Mani’s old, thread-bare, skirts older than Delara. With boots of leather off cuts to finish. Nemo stroked the doll’s hair the way Delara had. She used to brush it too. Maybe the brush is still in her chest, he started towards the bedrooms. Delara and Avaya shared a room next to the original bedroom. Nemo had spent days building a new room to their home when Delara was old enough to have one. And he was sure he would be doing the same for Avaya in a summer or two. 

He stopped. In the distance he could hear a thundering of hooves. He turned, doll in hand, and ran out of his home and headed back towards the well.

As Nemo rounded the corner towards the well he could see horseman in the distance. Out of formation and hurtling into Beargarth. Nemo readied his wristbow and hurried to Vispa. She sat where he left her against the well. 

‘You need to get up,’ he said passing Vispa.

Vispa fumbled and failed to stand.

‘Actually, don’t. Stay there and don’t make a sound,’ he said stowing Asha, the doll, in a saddlebag. He drew his scimitar and marched, wristbow aimed, towards the horsemen charging him.

The lead soldier was thirty or more feet away. The tip of his lance levelled at Nemo’s head. The rider roared. Thirty feet is not far for a horse, Nemo thought and pulled the string around his finger. The bolt he had made hissed through the air with a slight rightward spin.

Blood fountained as the bolt pierced the rider’s thigh. Driving deep across the flesh and carving a long wound in its wake. The lance bent as it fell. The steel clapped against the stone cobbles. 

The rider faltered and peered down at his leg. Screaming followed. His horse neighed and skidded to a halt before rearing up. The lancer toppled off the back crunching against the road.

Nemo reloaded his wristbow. Pulling out an arrow with his teeth and dropping it in the groove. The bolt rolled into place. He lifted the string taut and hooked it behind the metal pin that the string around his finger pulled down.

The rider struggled to his feet. Blood pouring down one leg. He pulled the bolt from his leg with an ease that disappointed Nemo. Not deep enough, he thought. The rider drew his own sword and limped towards Nemo.

More riders charged from behind the limping soldier. Nemo loosed a bolt into the distance as he walked towards the wounded man. The bolt dove between the riders and broke as it hit the road. 

Nemo grunted and shifted to a two handed grip and swung at the man his arrow had hit aiming right to left. His blade sang through the air. The rider hopped backwards yelping as his injured leg gave way and he fell to the ground.

Nemo stepped over him and planted his boot on his enemies sword hand. The man roared and kicked the side of Nemo’s knee. His knee buckled and his weight shifted to the man’s hand. Nemo felt the bones snap under his foot. A blood curdling scream erupted from the riders’ lips. Spittle flew over his upper lip and the sword slipped from his grip with nary a clatter.

The bounty hunter stumbled away, his knee clicking from the kick. No need to kill him, he hoped. A broken hand is punishment enough, he lifted his sword in a high stance as the next horseman neared.

The lance shone as it pierced the air. Its tip a beacon of light. Nemo held his stance. His feet rubbing against the uneven stones of the road. The hooves clattered against the road. Slower. Slower. The warrior cried out something in Thesusian. He thrust the lance at Nemo. 

The veteran of the Stained Plains slid his right foot backward and spun on his left, sidestepping the lance. He brought his sword down onto the lance in the same movement. Metal struck metal in a great clang and the soldier lost control of his weapon. The head of the lance dropping to the ground and twisting in his grip.

Nemo continued his swipe down and stepped into the galloping horse. The sword bit true and crimson welled along the horses’ flank and thigh. The horse neighed and shivered. The horse faltered, the rear leg hovered and failed to touch down. The rider yanked the reins left and the horse fell right. The lancer tumbled to the ground, his lance landing a good distance away.

Nemo checked his rear. The next soldier was close behind. The remaining three grouped in tight formation. The third had dismounted and thrown his helmet to the ground. His hair, dark and long, hung free behind him as he hurried to the side of the man whose hand Nemo had crushed.

A groan and the shuffle of boots caused Nemo to turn back to the rider he had dismounted. Standing with sword in hand he seemed to have suffered little on his unceremonial alighting. His helmet covered his cheeks and forehead ending in two points below his chin. A short nose guard intersected two almond shapes for the soldier to see out of. His face shadowed and indistinct from any other Nemo had seen. His tabard went below his knees all leather with plates of iron sewn on. I imagine that’s quite heavy, Nemo thought rushing to close the distance between him and his assailant. 

The Thesusian swung first. A heavy swing aimed for Nemo’s head, or, failing that, his shoulder. Nemo stepped aside the swing and sliced across the soldier’s leg. He missed and struck an iron plate. Thunderous hooves rattled behind him.

The straight sword twisted and slashed across Nemo. Nemo parried, holding the sword near his head pointing down, he pushed outward and stepping back to open space between them.

His enemy, in heavy armour and helmet, lunged with his straight sword. A heavy weapon suited for quick kills Nemo thought. Unlike the scimitar which could be made to dance and parry endlessly thanks to a slim blade and curved end. Nemo batted the oncoming weapon aside with a swipe that rattled his sword. A heavy blade could snap a weaker one. Swiping down he heard the grating of metal as the curved blade struck iron. He followed the strike through and soon the sword severed leather and tasted blood. A slim trickle crawled down the end of Nemo’s sword. Too little to win but enough to cause his enemy to falter.

The Thesusian cursed and roared as he unleashed a savage chain of slashes and swings. Nemo dodged some and parried others. The one-handed swings becoming wilder. He’ll tire himself out, Nemo thought and stepped back taunting the soldier toward him.

Instead the man halted and panted. He grabbed at his helmet with gloved hand and picked it off his head by the pointed crown. It clattered to the ground and the man rolled his shoulders and changed to a two handed stance.

The soldier was short haired and lacked wrinkles or scars. More young men sent to die for greedy fathers?Or do they think they are advancing some great glory and reaping its rewards? Nemo decided to let his sword speak for him. Swinging from low to high and high to low making the young invader twist and turn.

Nemo drew his knife in his left hand and stepped into the circle of his opponent. Swords were useless so close. Cumbersome and impossible to control. The knife slipped through the young man’s guard. Between his arms no less. An embarrassing failure. The straight sword held at ankle near Nemo’s shin bone, ineffective unless he had stepped back. He hadn’t and the knife slipped between two iron plates in his tabard. The young man gasped, the whites of eyes widened. He smiled red and foundered. Straight sword crashing to the ground Nemo retracted the blade and blood spurted free. The young man fell backwards and gurgled as he landed.

Nemo wiped his knife between his elbow and sheathed it once more. He turned aware of the four remaining soldiers so eager to die for a dead governor.

He raised his scimitar and charged at the soldier aiding the rider with a crushed hand. The long haired soldier dragged and pulled at the man to move him to the edge of the road. Nemo roared. The long haired soldier dropped his comrade and drew his own sword. The injured man groaned in pain and turned over onto all fours.

Nemo swung hard not even bothering to slow down. Dark hair flicked around the soldier’s face as he hurried to parry the blow. Nemo followed the strike with another, and another, and another, each faster than the last.

His enemy retreated step by step. Warding off each blow but backing himself against a wall. Nemo pressed on aiming for thigh, upper arm, neck, anywhere even remotely exposed or where the gap in iron was wide enough for a blade. The Thesusian would make a mistake. Nemo was sure.

To his side crouched the other man. Cradling his hand to his chest. The fingers bent wrong, thumb flat against his palm. He held his sword with his left hand attempting to draw it. The end caught in the scabbard, he twisted to his right and the tip of the sword rang against the ground as it fell free.

Nemo continued his assault pushing the long haired soldier against the wall. He felt beads of sweat drip down his ribs. The thundering of hooves didn’t help either. Reinforcements were near. Seconds away, a minute at most. Nemo willed his opponent to make a mistake. Failing to see he stepped closer when the long haired soldier refused to step back. The effect was immediate. The Thesusian twisted the straight sword from a parry on his left to a swipe on the right. From high to low. Nemo winced and stepped back. Blood ran down his arm and coiled around his wrist and hand following the lines of his veins and tendons. Nemo passed a glance to his upper arm. His jacket had been cut through and blood puddled out. He tensed his arm with a sting but that was all. Not deep. Not life ending, he swore.

The man on the ground stood up and held his sword up at Nemo in his left hand. Nemo turned, batted the sword out of his grip. The man watched as the sword flew through the air, his crushed hand pressed against his abdomen. Nemo followed with a strike across his neck. The curved tip of his scimitar biting clean and deep through muscle, vein, arteries, and throat.

He mouthed something but blood welled up from his throat and poured over his bottom lip. He may have lived had he stayed down. 

Nemo returned his attention to the long haired soldier refusing to be backed into a corner. He swallowed hard and tears welled along his eyes. He screamed and with eyes of fury launched himself at Nemo.

The veteran bounty hunter blocked and parried but found himself stepping back with each successive blow. Each strike sent shivers up to his elbow. These northern swords are too heavy, he thought. The soldier panted, his hair becoming drenched in sweat and sticking to his face. He paused his assault and sucked air. Rolling his shoulders the iron studded tabard rose and fell on his shoulders causing them to stoop. Too much, Nemo smiled and waited. 

Nemo flicked a look towards the cavalry appearing at the end of the road. Entering into the town proper, trapped either side by stone houses. 

The long haired warrior restarted his attack swinging wild as if brute strength could win him the day. Not this time, Nemo thought as his enemies blade sliced mere inches in the air in front of his neck. Nemo struck the blade pushing it wide of its mark and in the same movement thrust forward. Tears mixed with blood as the scimitar sliced into the man’s eye crushing through his eye socket and into his brain. Blood exploded from the wound and a short sharp scream emanated from the man. Cut short by death. The body hung on the end of Nemo’s sword and the knees buckled. Nemo pressed a boot onto the shoulder of the dead man and wrenched his blade free.

Three more galloped up with lances pointed at him with angry eyes peering out of pointed helmets.

He ran across the cobblestone road towards a home and the one next to it. Between them was a narrow passage of sand and rubble. Nemo pushed himself inside and found he could turn around inside and didn’t have to press himself against the wall. Here he waited. Aware the horses could not reach him and nor could the lances. 

The galloping drew nearer. Neither did it quieten or soften but continued on its relentless pursuit. The three horsemen rumbled passed him licking up dust and grit as they charged. Nemo heard the riders call out to each other and the horses whiny as they were pulled to a halt by thoughtless riders. The horses trotted about for a second before Nemo picked out the distinct sound of a boots striking cobbles. The riders had dismounted.

Nemo pressed his fingers to his upper arm. He was lucky it was his left. Making a fist he felt blood pulse out of the wound. Okay, worse than I thought but still not that bad, he pressed a finger into the gash, grimacing as he felt only torn muscle. 

The soldiers shouted to one another as they searched. They saw me go here, Nemo knew. Planning something.Vispa? He thought to where he had left. Facing away from the fighting, her back against the well. The soldiers had dismounted before the well but it was still too close.

Nemo darted out from between the buildings. 

‘There!,’ one of the soldiers shouted drawing his sword. The two others followed, one dropping his lance. The solid iron rod clanged against the cobbles.

The three began to encircle Nemo taking small steps and holding their swords in a cross guard stance. Their faceless helms stared at him. Shadows cast over their eyes leaving bug like eyes peering out at him. Can’t let them trap me, he thought attacking the one to his left with a swift swipe. He twisted on his heel and struck to his right. Both guarded with ease. Nemo stepped out of the encirclement leaving the third too far away to do anything. At least for a second or two.

He blocked a low swing at his calf and drew his knife to deflect a stab at his torso. The lunging blade hissed passed him. Nemo moved into the blade feeling the edge along his rib through his jacket and shirt. He thrust with his short dagger at the soldier’s hand. The man fell back as the knife glanced his skin showing between leather glove and cloth sleeve.

Nemo smiled wicked and turned his attention to the man on his right who was swinging from overhead. Nemo blocked the blade high above their heads and closed the distance. The soldier, two hands on the blade, smelt of the road. His breath of dried meats and apple. Nemo glanced down as his knife scratched over an iron plate and found the soft leather behind it. He thrust the knife into the man. Warm blood erupted over his hand. The soldier roared. Spit landed on Nemo’s chin. He pulled the dagger free and stabbed him again, a little higher, a little harder. The soldier collapsed to the ground. Sword falling out of his grip and his hands helplessly pawing at the wounds as blood leaked onto the sand, grit, and cobble of the road staining it for good.

The two remaining soldiers shifted from foot to foot in a low crouch with their swords pointed outward towards Nemo. The one to his right was distracted by the man screaming on the ground. Bawling as blood poured out with an acrid scent. Nemo scrunched his nose at the smell. Nicked something vital there, he thought. 

The soldiers shared a look. Nemo didn’t know how, he couldn’t see their eyes for the shadow their helmets cast. Nemo raised both weapons.

Both lunged at the same time, the same angle and speed. He parried both. Both were feints. The swords dropped into slashes aimed at his legs. Nemo hopped back feeling his balance falter. He locked the sword to his right in place with a firm slash of his own and stepped out with his right. The soldier to his left missed and struck stone instead.

Nemo slammed his boot down onto the tip of the sword touching the cobble. The soldier pulled back and swiped at Nemo’s arm. Nemo broke off from his right and pivoted into a block on his left leaving his knife hand free. He blocked high and swung low making the soldier twist his grip to defend himself. 

Nemo saw an opening but the iron, stitched to the tabard, closed the gap as the solider twisted. He dashed through the space between the two soldiers feeling the wind behind him of a strong sword thrust. He spun round sword pointed to one enemy, knife at the other, and watched a sword skewer the air of where he had been.

He attacked the man to his right still turning to face Nemo. He panicked and blocked Nemo’s weak attack with a one handed grip. Instead of disengaging Nemo pushed his sword further pushing the soldier’s straight sword toward himself. Before the soldier could adjust his own sword was clipping the ends of his helmet by his chin. Nemo kicked his knee and heard the crunch of bone. The man tumbled to the ground.

Nemo grabbed the helmet from underneath the back of the soldier’s neck and pulled. The man cursed as the front of the helmet dug into his nose and cheeks. Sheathing his knife, Nemo yanked the helmet free. 

A roar from his left and Nemo jumped backwards. Steel rained down, startling him and he swung out with the helmet thinking it was his knife. The helmet rang like a bell as it batted away the sword. 

He tossed the helmet down the road. It landed with a clatter and rolled a few feet further. Pulling his knife free he attacked. Sword and knife whirling and slashing independent of each other.

Nemo heard coughing through the barrage of steel. He swung heavy with his sword and moved with it, pivoting on his right foot, his left sliding across the ground in a wide arc. His attack was dodged and he followed it through from his right to his left and clashed with the soldier’s sword that had been behind him.

Hair stuck to his forehead and the blood once trickling down his arm was dried and crusted over, his arm felt numb. Muscles ached and stung while they did so like he had rolled in a bed of stinging nettles. Can’t stop now, he thought and lunged at the helmetless soldier. His eyes betrayed his strain. His bald pate speckled with beads of sweat. He blocked three attacks from Nemo and stepped back only once. 

That was all Nemo needed. The knee he had kicked wobbled with the step back. Weak. Vulnerable. Nemo slid along the cobbles in two steps and booted the man’s knee again. The man swore and fell to one side. Nemo stepped over him and pinned him to the ground with his knee. His knife already tasting blood around the soldier’s neck. His skin brightened as blood rushed to escape. He screamed and his sword struck the ground in a mess of sound. His fingernails clawed at the cobbles.

There was nothing the other soldier could do. Too slow. Too far away. He yelled as he swung for Nemo’s head. Nemo dove under the blade and tackled him. The two fell to the ground. The soldier beating Nemo over the shoulder and back with the pommel of his sword. 

Nemo clambered up from the man’s hips where his shoulders had tackled and stabbed at his sword arm. The knife pierced once, twice, three times in a haze of blood and screams. Nemo dropped his sword and pressed the helmet down to the ground forcing the soldier’s head up revealing his neck. Nemo plunged the knife into the soft tissue up through his mouth. The helmet pricked blood on his wrist. He twisted the knife. The soldier failed to scream, his lips parting and groping for words, curses, any sound. 

Nemo pulled the knife free and spurt of blood followed. The soldier exhaled, his body withered into death. Chest falling, shoulders slumping, fingers curling. Nemo went to stand and fell on his back instead. Every bone and muscle screamed in agony. His breathing was deep and haggard. Mouth dry and hands sticky with blood. 

He screamed. Not in pain. Nor pity. He screamed for its own sake. For the madness of it all. For the simple aim frustrated every step of the way by things and people that had no right. He thwacked the back of his hand against the cobblestone road as he lay on his back. The bone shaking pain a dull and distant thing.

From his right there was a sob. A single sound more whimper than crying. A scratching sound followed. Then a grunt.

Nemo turned his head to the right. Less than five steps away was a man. A solider glad in an iron plated tabard. With one hand held to his guts and another clawing at the ground. A trail of blood and worse stretched behind the man. His cheeks were striped with tears and his upper lip coated in mucus. 

Maybe he’ll know something, Nemo willed himself off the ground. All he wanted was to bathe and sleep. But first. Answers.

Nemo collected his sword and knife and limped over to the man crawling somewhere. Nemo followed the soldier’s direction with his eye. No horse, only open road. ‘Will take you awhile to crawl to Tanussi. Probably die on the way,’ he said.

The solider whimpered and turned to face Nemo. The dying man squinted. Nemo smiled, a surge of will and energy appearing from within.

‘How about you answer a few questions before heading off?’ Nemo crouched down to the soldier.

The soldier shrank and pushed himself away. He moved a few inches before giving into the agony of his slow death. Nemo couldn’t offer him life, a gut wound was a slow and painful death, but he could offer him a quicker death. 

‘I… I… don’t,’ he coughed, ‘don’t know anything,’ the soldier whimpered. Spittle trailed down his chin and his eyes red with tears and hell.

‘I’m sure you know something,’ Nemo smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder.

The man winced and inspected Nemo’s hand, then his smile.

‘Really, I know nothing,’ he pleaded.

‘I will decide that,’ Nemo pursed his lips and frowned. ‘I offer you a quick death. That wound won’t heal even with a good surgeon at your side. Fail to answer and I will… make your death more agonising,’ Nemo said. How can you make this any worse, he didn’t want to wonder.

‘If I don’t know?’ He asked.

Nemo sighed and asked, ‘What is your name?’

‘Pyrrhus.’

‘I’m Nemo,’ he sat down resting his arm on one knee.

‘You’re a good fighter, Nemo,’ Pyrrhus said.

‘Thank you. The only reason I’m still here,’ Nemo said.

‘The army doesn’t teach you what you know,’ Pyrrhus shook his head.

‘No. Young men shouldn’t join the army if they want to fight. They should go hunt brigands and criminals. Learn some real fighting skill, then join the army. More would survive that way,’ Nemo grimaced and judged the sun to be entering the mid afternoon.

‘Is that what you did?’

‘It was. I was on the Plains of St Iseltor the Stained when we lost. You won. Most died. I don’t know where the survivors went. I doubt I’m the only one,’ Nemo said.

‘We heard about that battle. Unlike anything ever seen. Both armies crippled. We only won because we had more armies marching south. Like mine,’ Pyrrhus said.

‘Which army? Where did you camp?’

‘My army is under the command of Arridaios of Kossalia famed throughout the Republic for leading more campaigns and gaining more victories than any other,’ Pyrrhus began.

‘Why wasn’t he leading at the Plains?’

‘We where in the east pacifying other lands up to the Black Wall,’ Pyrrhus coughed and spat blood over his fingers as he spoke. ‘We were sent to round up the spoils and pacify the coast from Tanussi to Regas. I was meant to ride out tomorrow with the baggage trains,’ he croaked.

‘Baggage? What baggage, Pyrrhus?’

Pyrrhus sighed, ‘I guess it doesn’t matter now,’ he lifted his hand to look at his own insides, ‘all the spoils and new slaves. My unit was heading home while General Arridaios marches on the coastal towns and ports with orders not to loot or take hostages.’

‘Slaves from here? This town?’

‘I don’t know. Probably. Stipi and his men chose them, we are just the escort,’ he pressed his hand to his gut and blood bubbled between gritted teeth. ‘It won’t stop bleeding,’ Pyrrhus cried.

‘Pyrrhus. I can end that pain. But one more question.’

‘Anything.’

‘Where is the camp?’

‘What? If you don’t know I shouldn’t tell you. I should be trying to kill you if I can’t capture you,’ Nemo watched his eyes flick over his shoulder and back. ‘Where is that woman you were supposed to be with anyway.’

‘You are in no position to fight,’ Nemo said as he focussed his hearing. What did he see?

‘You won’t get away,’ a voice behind Nemo said in broken Tanussian. 

Nemo spun on his heels and tried to draw his sword in time. Another soldier stood over him with a sword held high.

Before Nemo had a chance the attacker’s face drooped. His sword arm fell, the sword ringing against the ground, and the man collapsed. Dead.

Vispa stood behind him, a long knife in hand and bloody up to the hilt. Her chest rose and fell with large gulps of air. ‘I did it,’ she panted, ‘He didn’t hear me.’

Nemo turned to Pyrrhus with a scowl and knife ready in hand, ‘Now, where were we?’

Pyrrhus touched his forehead to the ground and muttered to himself in his own tongue. He was praying to gods Nemo didn’t know.

‘Where is that camp?’

‘Will you kill me?’

‘Yes. But if you tell me, Pyrrhus, it will be quick,’ Nemo promised.

‘Head back towards Tanussi for half a mile then leave the road and head towards the coast. You’ll see it before sundown if you leave now,’ Pyrrhus said. Blood curled around the edge of his lip and formed a droplet on his chin. 

‘Thank you,’ Nemo said and lifted Pyrrhus’s head up with his palm on his forehead. He pulled the knife along his neck with a swift, deep, cut. Pyrrhus gurgled and drowned in his own blood, dead before his head even struck the cobblestones.

‘What if he lied?’ Vispa said still standing with the knife in two hands. Her eyes wide open staring at the blood pooling in the creases of her hands.

‘Then we ride into nowhere and we are no worse off,’ Nemo said wiping the knife of blood.

He sheathed it and approached Vispa with slow, deliberate steps, ‘How about you clean the blade before the blood dries.’

Vispa looked up at him and swallowed, ‘Yeah. Yeah I’ll do that,’ she moved with stiffness and gathered up her shirt and pulled the blade along it.

‘Good, now sheath it,’ Nemo said.

Vispa slid the knife into her belt.

‘Okay,’ Nemo relaxed. ‘How is your shoulder?’

‘Awful,’ she answered. ‘I couldn’t think of that before though. He was going to kill you and I couldn’t let that happen and I still had my knife on me so. I thought I had hit the armour at first but I hadn’t,’ Vispa mumbled at speed.

‘I know,’ Nemo put his arm around her.

He was drenched in blood and sweat and she was too. A bath would wait. No, it won’t, Nemo gripped the rope dangling over into the well.

A bucket brimming with water shuddered to the top. He lifted it out and tipped it out over himself. Every muscle tensed and he blew air between his lips creating a spray of water.

‘That’s a big waste,’ Vispa scowled.

‘Not here. This well is blessed,’ Nemo tapped the stonewalls rising up to his waist. ‘The next ones for you,’ he dropped the bucket down the well and heard the splash echo upwards within seconds.

He retrieved the bucket, now full, and chucked the contents at Vispa.

‘No,’ she feebly resisted as the water hit her face and shoulders. She gasped as water ran down her face and drenched her down to her toes. A pool of water gathered around her and hastened to cover the cracks and mortar joins of the road. She wiped the water from her face and blew air between her lips. She pouted and burst into laughter. Droplets of water flew from her fingers 

Nemo laughed too and refilled the bucket and dipped his head inside to wash the blood and dirt from the road from his hair and face. He heard scraping and cursing and looked up to see Vispa struggling one handed with the rope. He emptied his bucket and dropped it down the well then heaved the others out for Vispa.

‘Put two out for the horses to drink,’ Nemo pointed to Atars and Simbar.

‘I will wash Atars and then—An army camp is nowhere for you while injured,’ Nemo said.

‘I can fight. I can come with you,’ Vispa protested. She raised both arms to show and cried in pain. Her injured arm fell limp at her side.

‘See. You need rest otherwise the muscle won’t heal and you will never be able to use it again,’ Nemo said.

‘But—.’

‘No,’ Nemo interjected, ‘I won’t be the one to risk your life unnecessarily. Stay here in my home and rest up. I will be back in a day or two. If I’m not… find everything worth anything, sell it, and buy some land or a fishing boat on the coast,’ Nemo flung an empty bucket down the well and lifted up another. He couldn’t bare to look at her. 

‘Fine,’ Vispa said. ‘I’ll clean Simbar then seeing as I won’t be riding for a few days,’ she turned and placed a bucket haphazardly down for the horses to drink from. She found a brush in her saddlebag.

The horses butted muzzles as they both tried to drink from the same bucket. Nemo placed another next to the first and guided Atars head to it. Both drank deep.

‘When are you leaving?’

‘After tending to your wound and showing you my home,’ Nemo said cupping water in his hand and drinking. ‘Fill up your waterskins and I’ll lead you there. It’s not far,’ he said walking in the direction of home.

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