The Wounded Guardian Read Online Free PDF Page A

yourself more and more,’ he muttered.
    ‘Aye, but it’s only a problem when you start answering yourself,’ he decided.
    Still he hesitated, but the thought of the girl waiting forlornly for her family to return, then finding them dead before wandering off to die herself clinched it. He strode off the road before he could talk himself out of it, then crashed through the woods, trying to count the paces carefully, and trying not to think too deeply about what he was doing. He moved slowly, keeping his eyes open for the camp, which he guessed would be in some sort of clearing.
    As he walked he listened for the sound of a young girl. He had no idea what that might be, but he presumed it would stand out from the forest noise. Not that there was much of that. His progress seemed to have scared away any creatures. Then, about where his counting told him it would be, there was a camp. He walked closer, but could not see anyone. He spat in disgust at the smell and the filth. To a man who had spent years making rough camps, this one looked particularly pathetic. The fire was out while a few blackened pots and pans were stacked messily near it. Packs and blankets lay on the ground, waiting for owners who would never return. The family’s possessions seemed pitifully small, which was probably why they had been unwilling to let him pass.
    ‘Hello the camp!’ he called in his friendliest voice. There was no answer.
    Martil was not paying attention to where he was going, so he stumbled over a tree root and nearly fell into the remains of the fire. Flies buzzed hungrily around the pots, which held only some crusted, blackened scraps. He looked around carefully for a small girl, perhaps hiding under a tree or in the bushes, but could see nothing. He even peered at the family’s crude latrine pit, dug far too near the camp for his liking, before coming to the happy conclusion that there was nobody here.
    ‘Maybe she already ran away,’ he pondered, testing the theory and liking it. After all, he had tried. It wasn’t his fault she had already run off. He could ride to the next village, report the attack, and leave it to the local militia to sort things out. Their job was to keep the peace. She would probably walk out to the road, find the next traveller and be taken to her uncle that way.
    Feeling as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders, he turned with a broad smile and started walking back towards the road. But he had only taken two paces when he nearly fell over a small figure that appeared in front of him.
    ‘Who’re you? What’re you doing in my camp?’ she demanded. ‘My Da and brothers’ll be back soon.’
    Martil had to flail his arms for balance and only then had a good look at the little girl. It was not an encouraging sight. She was wearing what appeared to be one of her brothers’ old tunics, which stretched down to her calves and was belted with an old piece of rope. The sleeves were far too long and seemed to have been hacked off with a dagger. She wore no shoes and the bits of her that stuck out from the crude tunic were filthy. Martil could smell her from where he stood, a combination of woodsmoke, old food andleaf mould. Her hair was tangled and appeared to have a small stick stuck into it. Yet there was something about her. Edil had not been a handsome man. But his wife must have been a beauty. The little girl had a snub nose, smudged with dirt, while her hair was probably blonde under all that muck. What struck him most was her eyes, big and brown and staring directly at him.
    They seemed to capture his attention, although he could not mistake the fact she was also holding a rusty frying pan as if it were a weapon.
    ‘You must be Karia,’ Martil said, then wondered how there could be any other little girls wandering around the forest.
    ‘Who are you? Da’ll be back soon!’ she warned.
    He tried to marshal his thoughts. As a war captain, he had had to deal with plenty of town councils and