Free The Wounded Guardian by Duncan Lay Page A

I…I swore to her half-brother!’
    ‘Again! Swear to me!’
    Martil could not look away. ‘I swear by Aroaril to take Karia to Thest,’ he gasped.
    As he said the words, Nott’s hand on his arm grew suddenly warm for an instant. The priest stared into his eyes for a moment longer, before smiling.
    ‘Now you must hold to that oath. The path to your only chance of happiness leads there. Understand?’
    He released Martil’s arm but did not move away. Martil managed to swallow again.
    ‘I’m not deaf, or stupid. You want me to go to Thest. Just tell me why!’
    Nott snorted. ‘You would not believe me if I told you. But I can tell you that breaking that oath will lead to so much misery that Bellic will seem like a fond memory.’
    Martil, thoroughly shaken by now, and overcome with guilt, simply nodded.
    Nott passed a hand over his face and scrubbed at it wearily before looking back at Martil. ‘You should leave early. This parting will be hard on Karia. Get some sleep. Are you hungry?’
    Caught off balance by Nott’s change of subject, Martil admitted he was, and Nott led the way into the kitchen, where he produced a plate of ham, and took off a pot lid to reveal turnips and swedes gently bubbling on the wood-fired stove.
    ‘Wash your plate once you have eaten. And you may sleep out here. I am going to bed,’ Nott announced. He seemed exhausted.
    ‘Is going to Thest really the only way for me?’ Martil tried one last time.
    Nott sniffed. ‘Only if you want to rid yourself of your nightmares. Sleep well.’
    Martil doubted that was going to happen, but said nothing. He deliberately did not think, just ate mechanically; the food was hardly tasty but to a man who had managed to stomach army rations for half his life, it was fine. He washed his plate in the deep sink, pumping the water in until it was clean, then looked out of the window to see Tomon in the paddock outside. It was like waking up. Part of him was saying he should just walk out now, saddle the horse and ride. He could leave gold on the table and let the priest fix the problem of Karia. But what then , the greater part of him said. Back to the drinking and the dreams? Hadn’t he sworn to change, then sworn an oath—twice!—that he would take Karia to Thest? What lay ahead in Thest? And what waited for him if he did not go? How had that priest managed to affect him so? He felt torn. Then, making a decision, he turned away from the window and the lure of a fast escape on Tomon. Yes, he wanted to run. Spending more time with Karia was not something he wanted to do. But he was desperate. After Bellic, after leaving Rallora, after the slaughter of Edil…things had to change. He found he liked the idea there was a path to happiness ahead. He would go to Thest and trust the old priest. He grabbed a cushion from a chair, a blanket from his bag and lay on the floor to sleep, hoping not to dream about Bellic.

3
    The inn was almost shaking, the singing was so loud. Soldiers’ songs, all about marching, loved ones back home, and the girls who liked a man in uniform. Every night it was the same. Drink too much, sing, and then get into a fight. And it was all the man once known as War Captain Snithe had to look forward to these days. Once this had been his home village but then the war had come and what was a man to do but fight? Now it was the same village he remembered, but he was a different man to the one who had marched to war. Many of the villagers avoided him when they could. At first, almost all of them had respected him, even if he was tainted with the blood of Bellic. But now many were privately suggesting the militia be called in to keep him quiet and some were even calling for him to be kicked out.
    He had consumed at least ten pints of ale and it was with great difficulty that he negotiated the narrow passage that led to the ramshackle wooden building over a deep cesspit. Once inside, he untied his trews with exaggerated care—then caught sight