Read The Wounded Guardian for Free Online

but cowering away from him. At that sight, his anger drained away, replaced by self-loathing.
    ‘If I didn’t hit you when you tried to stab me, why would I hit you now?’ he wanted to know, genuinely mystified.
    ‘Your voice. That’s the sort of thing Da used to say, right before he hit me.’
    Martil remembered the bruises and shuddered. There was no way he was going to hurt her. It was time to prove he was a better man than the one who had killed her father and brothers.
    ‘I wouldn’t hit you,’ he said gently. ‘Now finish getting dressed and we’ll start on our way.’
    Warily, she belted the rope around her waist, thentried to pull the long sleeves of the tunic back as far as she could. He helped her roll back the sleeves until her hands were actually visible.
    ‘Time to go,’ he suggested.
    He let Karia go first, just in case she found another knife, and directed her through the trees until they reached Tomon, hobbled by the side of the road.
    ‘Is he yours?’ Karia asked as soon as she saw Tomon. ‘Can I pat him?’
    It was the first real interest in something she had shown, and he was eager to encourage it. ‘Of course. He won’t bite.’
    ‘Can you lift me up so I can touch his mane?’ she asked.
    Martil shrugged, then picked her up around the waist, so she could reach over and pat Tomon’s head. He was struck by how light she was.
    ‘What’s his name?’
    ‘Tomon. He’s named after an old friend of mine,’ Martil explained.
    ‘Is he dead? Did you kill him?’
    Martil ground his teeth. ‘I did not kill him.’
    ‘But you are a murbeler.’
    ‘A what?’ Talking to her was like trying to catch a butterfly with your hands.
    ‘Da told me about them. Said if he was killed, it would either be militia or a murbeling maniac.’
    ‘Murbel…that would be a murdering maniac,’ Martil worked out.
    ‘That’s what I said. Now, can I feed your horse?’
    Martil tried to make his brain follow the leaps in conversation. ‘Not now. He ate this morning, and will eat again this evening. We have to go if we’re going to get to the village of Chell before nightfall,’ he told her.
    ‘We’re going to Chell?’ she squeaked excitedly.
    ‘Yes, that’s what I said,’ he admitted, wondering if this was anything like murbeling.
    ‘Then I can see Father Nott!’ She clapped her hands together.
    Martil had no idea who this was, although it was most likely the village priest. Why the daughter of a bandit would be excited about visiting the local priest of Aroaril, he had no idea. But if it got her on the horse and him away from here, she could visit the bloody Archbishop for all he cared.
    ‘Of course. And if you want to keep patting Tomon, you can sit in front of me and stroke his neck while we ride,’ Martil offered.
    She thought that was a good idea, so he lifted her up into the saddle. It took a little while to sort out the reins and to make sure she did not fall off as she patted Tomon, but eventually he was able to urge Tomon into a brisk walk. Up close, she was particularly fragrant.
    ‘Who’s Father Nott?’ he asked, more to distract himself from her smell than anything else.
    ‘When my mother died, Father Nott took me in. I grew up with him, and only went to live with my Da about six months ago, at the last Feast of Aroaril.’
    Martil felt his hopes rise a little.
    ‘He has a family, then, this Father Nott? His wife and kids would be pleased to see you again?’
    ‘I don’t think so. He’s very old. Older even than you.’
    Martil sighed. It sounded as though her life had been stranger than his own.
    ‘At least there’s still your uncle,’ he offered.
    ‘I don’t want to see him. I’m going to stay with Father Nott!’
    Good. The sooner I get rid of you, the better , Martil thought. And perhaps then I can get some peace.
    But then he shook himself. This whole trip was about his new start, away from the fighting. The deaths today were regrettable, but they would be the last. He