(Whipped up another flash fiction piece, also not quite close enough to what I need for the magazine submission but getting closer to the mark. Also, I think I'm going to write more with this character in future)
Fyrn couldn’t say when exactly the child turned up.
Somewhere between the last town and the start of the canyons, certainly. Plenty of small settlements in the region, preyed upon by bandits and kingcloaks alike - wouldn’t be unheard of for some wise parent to send their littles into the hills when such a party arrived.
But for one to turn up on the trade road? Alone? That didn’t sit well with Fyrn.
She’d been hired to guard the caravan from thieves and such, serve as a living warning to any kingcloaks that might turn up. Didn’t mean she couldn’t leave a bit of food behind when they got rolling each morning. Or drop her spare blanket at the edge of camp one night, outside the route walked by the pair of sentries. Her meals came free, after all, and there would be plenty of merchants to buy another blanket from at the end of the journey.
The child did well to keep out of anyone else’s sight, but Fyrn kept on catching glimpses, once or twice a day. A messy head of thick black hair ducking into a cliff crevice. Dirty hands darting to scoop some water from a horse’s bucket. Wide, dark eyes that twice met Fyrn’s own, staring for several seconds before their owner scooted out of view once more.
Several days into the sprawling canyons, Fyrn pretended to misplace her waterskin. The next morning, she awoke on her bedroll to find a tidy pile of small, bright yellow flowers laid on top of her sword. Smiling, she threaded each one into the laces of her jerkin. A few drivers tried to snicker, of course, but leaning close into one’s personal space with her lips pulled just a little too wide to be called a smile shut them all up soon enough.
She didn’t like when they almost all fell out during the fight some hours later.
Four and ten kingcloaks came riding down the road, spared one look at the heavy merchant wagons that pulled off to one side to let them pass, and promptly declared they needed to ‘inspect’ the goods for any ‘illegal’ items. The merchants took offense. Fyrn stepped up, planting herself in-between the dismounted party and the wagons.
Four and ten against one, and she still managed to kill half before taking a single wound.
After that, the fight turned uglier, some of the wagon drivers needing to take shots with their crossbows to finish it. Fyrn stabbed, she twisted and lunged, ignored the spreading burn in her shoulders and legs and gut. Her blade flashed as it swung, singing with each strike, until the last kingcloak went down.
Some of the merchants came out from hiding behind their wagons. They praised Fyrn, promised extra payment for her valor, guided her stumbling form to the half-empty supply cart. Two climbed up to help her in, cleaned and dressed her wounds, offered to fetch whatever she needed.
Fyrn only asked for a cloth to clean her sword.
After a time, the attention ceased, as merchants and drivers dispersed to bury the kingcloaks and ‘inspect’ their own belongings. Leaning back with her eyes closed, Fyrn kept her breathing steady as she waited for the pain to ease.
A light thump drew her attention.
Eyes snapping back open, she almost lunged upright, sword still in hand. But a pair of dark eyes made her freeze instead.
The child waited until Fyrn eased back against the sacks of grain and vegetables. Cautious steps eased forward, and little hands unfolded Fyrn’s spare blanket to drape across her legs. She huffed. Then plucked the sole remaining flower from her jerkin, to tuck behind the child’s ear.
When one of the drivers returned to announce they were about to resume travel, he stopped short and stared at the small figure curled up beside Fyrn. A single arched eyebrow made the man stammer out his message; a curt nod sent him on his way.
The child giggled. Fyrn tugged on a strand of curly hair, smirking.
No one else bothered to say a word or spare a glance at the caravan’s new tagalong, who proved to be very helpful in playing step-and-fetch for everything she needed. By the time her wounds healed into some impressive new scars, Fyrn decided she’d look into buying a good quality dagger at the end of their journey for her new student to practice using.
