The Old Warrior

by Dale Broda, Jr

He felt her little hands thumping him on the back.

  “Let me help.” He watched her closely as she stepped into the water in front of him and using a bit of torn cloth, which left even less to her nightclothes, began to dab at his face, his chest, his exposed skin wherever she could.

  She went over his wounds so very gently. He wanted to tell her to stop, there was no winning this blood battle for her. Yet she kept at it. Cleaning the dried blood away only to have fresh spill back over. Her eyes grew stormy. There was even more worry when she finally met his. He shook his head as she opened her mouth.

  There was nothing she could say that he wanted to hear. Or didn’t already know.

  Frowning, she tossed the bloodied rag into the grass, cupped her hands into the water and brought it to his lips. As he sipped, he looked more closely at the nightmare. Clean, she was a beautiful little child. Maybe not so little really. Maybe not so much a child on second thought. Not yet old enough to be a young woman either.

  With the blood and the gore cleaned from her and those startlingly deep, sky blue eyes looking back at him, he knew some day she would be a sight to behold.

  Her pale porcelain skin, flawless from what he could see, was nearly glowing. Her golden hair sparkled and with the gore washed away, he could see naturally darker streaks patterned through it.

  Her mother must have been a beauty to behold. He shuddered to think what had happened to that beauty back in that city. In her own home no doubt. He had seen what lesser warriors did on the battlefield when all morals associated with humanity were thrown away and only animals remained.

  He did not let her see the knowledge in his eyes of what most likely befell her mother, then again, looking into those eyes filled with too much knowledge for one her age, he wondered if she hadn’t been there herself.

  That was a troubling thought. More troubling when she tilted her head and showed a sad smile.

  “I saw.”

  “What?” He still did not like the sound of his voice. The water helped only a little.

  “My mother and father they… I saw them die.” She blinked. “They fought hard. The men kept coming. My mother, she died first. An arrow through the window I think. Then my father he… he just stopped.” She blinked again. “Just stopped.” She closed her eyes. “Stopped.”

  The old warrior shocked himself by grabbing her and holding her close to him. What in the name of all the Gods was he doing? He didn’t know. He had not felt this feeling before. Not a feeling so much as a need. A compulsion.

  Was she a beast after all, finally laying her trap that drew him in? He thought quickly of grabbing his sword and running her through. This was not what he did. He never held anyone like this that he had no intention of bedding.

  Before he could decide if she had cast a spell on him or not, she gently pulled away and met his confused look.

  “They came for me but I… I ran. Tumbles helped. He was a good wolf. He gave me the time to get away.” She wiped away a tear. “He and father… are dead aren’t they? Yes. Yes I know. Tell me sir, what would they have done to me?” She looked at him with those eyes. “What are you going to do to me?”

  He frowned at that. She was a child in body alone now. No doubts. He had guessed it at the start. Now he knew it for fact. She had watched her life vanish before her in blood and death and violence. The old warrior knew what the men would have done to her. Could guess the looks they had when they came for her.

  “Tumbles?” Was all he could mutter.

  “We found him when he was a pup. He grew this much.” She held her hand up near her shoulder. “He attacked the men that came for me when father stopped moving. Father stopped moving after mother died. He just stopped. He didn’t even think of me. He didn’t. Tumbles did. Tumbles saved me. Then out in the streets I just… I remember you. Did you save me too?”

  Curious question. Did he save her? Or was he being lead to his death by this nightmare that had snared him with one look. He looked down into the water at his reflection. His own granite eyes staring back at him. His once black hair now mostly white. The frown lines etched deeply into his skin.

  She lifted his chin up so his eyes met hers. She seemed to study him for a moment before nodding to herself. A strange tension he had not noticed in her suddenly floated away.

  “Thank you sir.” She cupped more water and brought it to his lips. As he watched her, his mind lost in thoughts of days gone by. For her, days still to come. He sipped more. Again. A little more. Finally, he felt his stomach begin to protest.

  She brought more water towards his lips, he shook his head. She drank it, not letting it go to waste. Her sky blue eyes never leaving his. Never blinking. He could feel himself drift into them.

  She released him with a blink.

  When she had finished, she came back to his side, sitting in the grass, letting the slow current wash over her bare feet. He watched the water swirl around her toes. Watched little fish come up and peck at them. The nightmare remained motionless when the little fish began to school between her feet.

  So she knew about these as well? They were skinner fish. Clerics claimed they took away any sickness and dead skin while replacing it with healthy, new as a baby’s skin. He doubted the child was old enough to have that worry, but it didn’t hurt to let the skinners’ take away any bits of debris or damage she may have had.

  And it tickled.

  Despite all she had been through, she giggled.

  The old warrior knew she was special. She was quick and now showing her strength of mind and spirit. She had lived through a hell not that many hours ago and yet she was already rebuilding her self from it. Layering new life over the old. He looked up quickly as the leopard moved.

  The great green cat disappeared into the shadows of a different tree. Listening closely, the old warrior could hear its quiet retreat. He smiled at that. Having two humans here would certainly make hunting impossible for a while. Most wild animals would steer clear of the smell and with the nightmare giggling, they would stay away from that knowing it was human.

  He began to stand and the world spun. It was only through years of such feelings that he was able to brace himself and straighten himself as best he could without showing he had almost went head first into the water. He glanced around quickly to see if anything had come within sight and noticed his weakness.

  He could see nothing. He was beginning to lose his hearing, a loud humming had begun, so he was not as sure of that sense as he had been even an hour ago. Next would be his sight. He knew it. He glanced at the bloodied rag. Dismissed it. Anything trailing him would have no trouble trailing him to this point regardless of what he did with that bit of bloodied cloth.

  “Here.” Her voice was soft. He glanced down at the nightmare, holding his swords up for him.

  He took them without a word, bent down slightly to let her get back onto his shoulders and he took a hard step down into the water. He had to cross the stream.

  For one, it would keep any supernatural creature that was near that might be lurking closer, away. Most could not cross running water of any kind. Two, it would break the scent trail for any creature following the smell of death. Three, he needed to get to the other side.

  He made his way steady as possible across the slippery rocks. Some of the bigger fish simply moved a bit to the side. Either not smart enough to be scared of humans, or big and strong enough to know they were no threat.

  At its deepest, the water was nearly chest deep to him. Well over the nightmare’s head. He hoped he wouldn’t fall. If he did, he hoped she could swim. He hoped nothing came by that actually preyed on humans. What would he do this deep in water and this tired? It was one thing to fight on land, another thing to fight in water. Even at the peak of his prowess, water had never been a favored battleground.

  All these worries and more went through the old warrior’s head as he crossed. All for naught as he stepped out onto dry land. It took him a moment to find a wider, more well trav
eled trail and then he was off.

  This time, as he ran, he began to stumble now and again. It was not a good sign. As he ran, as he wondered, as he began to question, he finally noticed it. The forest around him not only lightened but the smell in the air was unmistakable.

  He inhaled it deeply.

  Sandwood and cinnamon and a strange hint of vanilla. He never had asked why the smell was around them, he just accepted it and had always welcomed it. He had run into these people numerous times over the course of his life. They always seemed to know him. Did they come from the same land, or just run into each other often? Maybe they met in dreams?

  He had never asked.

  He wouldn’t now either. He smiled as the ground shifted to a soft, feathery kind of blue grass that took away every jarring impact he had been feeling. Almost. Almost there.

  He slowed himself to a walk.

  “Here.” He couldn’t bend or he’d fall. It was finally time to do what he had known would come. He dropped his swords. Both his long time friend and the one stolen from some nameless foe. Dropped the weapons of death to help the nightmare down.

  Swords left behind, he walked slowly into the clearing before him. It filled him with a warmth he rarely felt anywhere else. A kind of full being warmth that comforted and relaxed and soothed all at the same time. No words really fit the feeling.

  He started, looking down. At some point the nightmare had taken his