The Swordsman of Tanosa: A Short Tale of the Middle Sea Read Free Page A

you?’
    Bafion nodded but said nothing. He knew that if he had any sense he would have done it quickly—no chat, no time for thoughts or memories or anything else to get in the way. He found himself wanting to talk though, and he couldn’t explain why.
    ‘We were told you were killed at Dorry’s Ford,’ Nicolo said.
    Bafion wondered if the reaction was too theatrical to be genuine. It was a lie. It had to be. He knew damn well Bafion didn’t die at Dorry’s Ford. He had to know about the letter Bafion sent home afterward, after he had fled to Tanosa.
    ‘Sadly, not the case,’ Bafion said. ‘But you already knew that.’
    Nicolo’s face flushed, but he continued as though Bafion hadn’t spoken, something he often did in the past when caught out on a lie. It usually worked. Even knowing the tactic, Bafion questioned if his old friend’s surprise could be genuine.
    ‘They told us everyone was killed there,’ Nicolo said. ‘Everyone but the First Lord.’
    Easier to believe a simple lie than a difficult truth. ‘I was the only other to survive. I woke up a few miles downstream from the ford, leaking from a dozen holes and half drowned. I was on my feet long enough to see the First Lord run as soon as it looked like things weren’t going our way, though.’
    ‘But no one saw you again. The Bannerets’ Gazette listed you as killed in battle.’
    Too much talking. It was foolish but Bafion couldn’t stop himself. He had kept it bottled up for too many years. ‘When I finally got back to our lines, the First Lord had made it clear that the defeat was caused by the cowardice of his men; nothing to do with him turning tail at the first splash of blood. It’s an easy thing to make accusations against dead men, and when you have his connections and influence it seems it isn’t much harder to make them against live ones either. I was given a choice: return home in disgrace or disappear with a purse of crowns, a new name, and my old reputation intact; the only officer who stood firm in the face of inevitable defeat, tragically killed despite his bravery. The only disgrace was not standing up to his lies.’ Bafion wondered if she had shown him the letter, if he already knew the details.
    ‘How long have you been back in the city?’
    ‘A day.’
    ‘And where—’
    ‘Does it matter?’
    Nicolo smiled. ‘No, I suppose it doesn’t. You didn’t have to go, you know. To the war, I mean. Caroline didn’t want you to. I didn’t either.’
    Bafion shook his head and looked away, but said nothing. She didn’t want him to go, but she didn’t want him enough to live a quiet life with him either. She wanted to be the wife of a soldier, a war hero. Like a fool, Bafion had tried to live up to those notions, and marched out of the city beneath all those colourful banners, to the sound of drums and bugles and cheers. In that moment, he had been everything she wanted, but war wasn’t colourful banners, pretty uniforms, and heroic deeds, it was a stinking misery of blood and pain. He had only learned that for himself later. When he staggered back to his camp and heard the First Lord’s lies, he knew that no matter what, he could never be what she wanted again.
    Hope died hard, though, so he had written the letter. He told her the truth, and where she could find him. He heard nothing back. It seemed the First Lord’s lie was a more attractive option for her. At least she had the consolation of pretending he had died a hero, and the sympathy that would earn her.
    After months of silence, he had gone back to the city to make sure she got the letter, but it seemed that Nicolo’s sympathy was what she valued the most. The moment he saw them together, Bafion knew why the letter went unanswered. He had left the city immediately, thinking he would never return.
    ‘When I first saw you there, lurking behind the bush, I thought you were here to kill me.’ Nicolo laughed, but there was tension in it that suggested he wasn’t