By Dan Willis

Some Warriors are more than the sum of their parts.

The way of the warrior is solitary and should only be shared with the most trusted of companions.

- Mirdow’s Laws
Bronze Canticles, Tome II, Folio 8, Leaf 27

The scent of frying bacon roused Mirdow from his nap.  He’d been aware of Shira’s voice nagging him to check on the meat for some time, but he’d been ignoring her.  Sometimes sleep was the most important thing.

“All right,” Mirdow said, pushing his hat back on his head and fumbling for the fork. 

With a deft motion born of much practice, Mirdow scooped the bacon from the pan and set it on his simple wooden plate.  Normally he wouldn’t eat meat so late in the day.  It had a tendency to sit heavily on his bowels.  Still, his nose had told him that if he didn’t cook the bacon tonight, it wouldn’t be good for anything by morning.

“How’s the sun?” Mirdow asked, dipping his hand into the sack full of apples.  Those, at least, would last a while, he’d picked them just that morning.

“Almost down,” Lorin replied. 

Lorin was the tallest of Mirdow’s companions, thin and strong and always ready to help.

Mirdow withdrew an apple and began peeling it with his knife. 

“Watch your thumb,” Bin called out.

“You don’t want to get cut again,” Tin added.

Bin and Tin were twins.  Short, round, and jovial, they were indispensable.  They were old, and wise, and Mirdow heeded their advice.  Of all of Mirdow’s companions, only Escera was more helpful. 

Escera was Mirdow’s protector, and his love.  Even now as he ate the apple and the bacon, Mirdow could feel her next to him.  She didn’t say much, she never did, but her familiar presence spoke volumes.

It was times like this Mirdow regretted his blindness.  He didn’t really know whether he regretted it or not, of course.  He’d been blind his whole life, and, as Escera was fond of saying, it was difficult to miss something if you’d never experienced it.

“How’s the fire?” he asked.

“It could use another log,” Lorin said.

“It will be warm tonight,” Bin added.  “A blanket should suffice.”

Mirdow finished his dinner and reached into his pack.  He withdrew a heavy, wool blanket.  It was coarse in spots and worn in others and Mirdow knew it by heart.  He’d walked from Vasskhold to the Chebon Sea and back with it.  The blanket was a trusted companion, like his sword or his walking stick.  Carefully, he spread it on the ground, making sure not to lay it in any mud.

“None of that,” Shira said as Mirdow contemplated lying down.  “I’d like to get some time to cool off too.  That means you need to clean up.”

Shira was the last of Mirdow’s companions.  Hard and strong, Shira was all business.  Mirdow was loath to admit it, but of all his companions, it was Shira who kept him going.  Without her to motivate him he’d probably have found a warm beach to while away his time on – and maybe a nice young lass to while with him. 

Mirdow had made more than enough money in his career as a swordsman.  He could settle down any time he chose.  The way of the wanderer, however, seemed to permeate his existence.  No where he’d ever been seemed able to hold him down – nor any woman.

Mirdow sighed.  Maybe it was time to retire.

“Daydreaming doesn’t get the work done,” Shira said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Mirdow sighed again and set about cleaning the heavy frypan he’d used to cook his bacon.  With that done and his gear stowed, Mirdow stretched out on his blanket and drifted off to sleep.

*****

The quickest way for a warrior to die is to assume he understands what he sees.  Even the most innocent of appearances can hide the face of death.

- Mirdow’s Laws
Bronze Canticles, Tome II, Folio 9, Leaf 3

Mirdow stopped on the road to take a long pull from his waterbag.  The day had crawled on past noon and already he could feel the first cool breezes of the approaching evening.  It seemed to have a refreshing effect on the entire wood, as if the forest were letting out a pent-up breath.

Drawing in a deep breath, Mirdow could almost smell the sea.  If Lorin’s guess was right, they’d be in Southport in a week.

Mirdow took another pull from the bag and was about to replace the stopper when a smell tickled his nose.  Dry, acrid smoke assaulted him and he could taste the metallic tang of blood on the air.

“Up ahead,” Tin answered Mirdow’s unasked question.  “Not far.”

“You’d better hurry,” Bin added.  “There’s four of them and they’ve got a girl.”

Mirdow felt his chest tighten and his hand mimicked it, gripping his heavy staff.  Bin and Tin were very perceptive and he trusted their instincts implicitly.

“Let’s go,” he said.

Mirdow quickened his pace, hurrying along the road.  The smell of smoke and blood was much stronger, and Mirdow covered his nose.  He didn’t have to be able to see to know what had happened.   Bandits had attacked some travelers. 

He heard the bandits long before he reached them.  They were laughing and tormenting and obviously terrified girl.  From the sound of it, they were working themselves up to defile her. 

“She’s young,” Lorin said, finally able to see them.  “The men aren’t wearing armor,” he added in an amused whisper.

“Let me handle them, darling,” Escera said, her throaty voice eager for battle.

“No,” Mirdow said.  “I want to take them by surprise.”

“They’ve seen you,” Bin said.

“Excuse me,” Mirdow called out, tapping his staff on the ground to emphasize his blindness.  “Is there some trouble here?”

Mirdow heard three sets of footsteps approach.

“What have we here?” a nasty voice asked.

Mirdow often wonderd if men’s voices matched their visage.  If so then this must be one extremely ugly man. 

 “There’s one on your right and one on your left,” Bin hissed.

“The other is trying to move behind you,” Escera said.  “You’d better make this quick.”

“I’m in position,” Lorin said.  “Start low to your right, then reverse.”

Mirdow grinned and lashed out with Lorin in a curving, upward arc.  Lorin slammed into a man’s groin with a satisfying crunch.  Mirdow didn’t wait for the others to react.  He thrust the upper end of the staff out in a sweeping blow.  Lorin impacted the second man’s head with a resounding crack.

“Behind you,” Shira yelled.  “Turn left.”

Mirdow pivoted his body and heard a sword clang off the heavy frypan attached to the back of his pack.

“Ouch,” Shira complained, her metal still ringing.

“My turn,” Escera called.

Mirdow agreed.  He dropped Lorin and grasped Escera’s leather-wrapped hilt. 

“He’s coming again,” Escera said.  “Low and to the left.”

“I smell another blade,” Tin called from Mirdow’s left ring finger.  Tin was good with metals.

“It’s a knife,” Escera said.  “Step back then thrust.”

Mirdow obeyed, feeling the ruffian’s sword whistle by his face as he dodged out of the way.  As soon as the stroke passed, Mirdow thrust, running the thrid man through.

Someone was scrambling to their feet to Mirdow’s right.  He tensed and brought Escera into a guard position.  The fight was over, however.  The remaining bandits fled. could hear the frantic sound of running footsteps.

“They;re running,” Bin called from Mirdow’s left hand.  His comment was accurate if not somewhat belated. 

Mirdow wiped Escera on the dead man’s cloak and slid her back into her scabbard.  He reached down and groped for Lorin until someone pressed him into his hands.

“Are you really blind?” a soft, female voice asked.  There was fear there, but just a little. 

Mirdow nodded.

“Thank you,” he said as delicate hands helped him to his feet.  He didn’t need help, of course.  Lorin had told him where to reach and he was quite capable of standing, but it was nice to have a woman’s touch.

“You took on four armed men,” the woman gasped.  “That’s insane.”

Mirdow grimaced.

“Don’t say insane,” he said.  That was a word he scrupulously avoided.  “I’m Mirdow,” he introduced himself.  “What’s your name?”

“Yornith,” she replied.  There was a sob and she began to weep as the emotion of her ordeal overcame her. 

Mirdow wasn’t a stranger to women, nor to grief, but there was nothing anyone could do now.  He put his arm around Yornith and allowed her to cry on his chest.

“There, there,” he said, patting her on the back.  Her clothes felt sturdy and practical and her hair smelled of jasmine oil.  “It will be all right.”

“They attacked the coach,” Yornith gasped at last.  “Killed the driver and the other passenger.”

Mirdow had assumed it was something like that.

“I’m sorry,” he said.  “Were they your kin?”

He felt her shake her head.

“I was going to Southport,” she said.  “My brother has a house there.”

“What a coincidence,” Mirdow said, smiling in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.  “I happen to be going to Southport myself.”

“Can I travel with you?” Yornith asked, hope and relief plain in her voice.

“She’s cute,” Lorin piped up.

“And she thinks you’re wonderful,” Bin added.  Bin knew about these things.

“I guess it’s okay,” Escera said from her scabbard, though she sounded less than excited about the idea.

“Sure you can,” Mirdow said, silencing his companions.  “The more the merrier.”

“Thank you,” she said, stepping away from Mirdow and taking his arm.

“Do you have luggage?” Mirdow asked.

“Just a traveling bag,” Yornith said.  “I’ve got it already.”

With that, Mirdow allowed her to guide him past the burning wagon.  Bin and Tin were full of advice, which he resoundly ignored.  Mirdow knew better than to carry on a conversation with an inanimate object in front of others.

“What does your brother do?” Mirdow asked in an attempt to drown out the twins running commentary.

“He owns ships,” Yornith said.

A merchant.  That was good news.

“And what will you be doing for your brother when you get to Southport.”

“He wants to retire, so I’m going to run his business for him,” Yornith answered.  “I ran my father’s business before he died.”

At this the twins went wild.  Even stoic Shira was enthusiastic. 

Mirdow smiled as Yornith led him along, telling him about her life and her plans.  She was charming and kind and quite intelligent – to say nothing of the fact that she was about to inherit a shipping business.

To Mirdow, it definitely felt like the time to retire was at hand.  He’d miss the wandering life and the excitement of battling with a sword in his hand.

He hoped Escera would understand.