Homecoming

HOMECOMING

"You've got no right, old man," Mirana snarled. "I am an officer of --"

"--The Grand Duke's Imperial Guards," Kir cut in with a gap-toothed smile. "You've told me."

Mirana glared at him while pacing the length of the bare wooden cabin. Like so many of the structures in the village it was nothing more than a one-room shack with a tiny fireplace and a meager fire to keep out the bitter cold. Spartan even by a soldier's standards, it probably housed an entire family--when not being used for interrogations.

Mirana took a deep breath and tried to focus. He's an old man. It's the middle of the night. He probably thought she was out to steal his pigs--a simple misunderstanding. She turned smartly and allowed the toe of her right boot to stamp down on the wooden floor. Parade-ground manners always impresses the peasants. "Why did you arrest me?"

Kir sat in the room's only chair. Thin, scraggly, and with a week's worth of grayish stubble upon his chin, he looked like somebody's grandfather--until you saw the crossbow on his lap. "Why were you spying on the village?"

"I was not spying."

"What were you doing?"

"None of your business," she snapped.

Kir shook his head. "Normally, I wouldn't pry. But when you're fighting a war you tend to get a little nosey."

Mirana hesitated. "War? What war?"

Kir arched an eyebrow as if he expected her to know. "Bandits have been raiding the outlying farms for over a month. At first they stole food and horses but last week they killed a man. We've brought everyone into the village in order to defend ourselves."

Now Mirana understood what was going on. Under the circumstances she couldn't refuse to answer his questions. "I was born here," she said. "Every now and again I...visit."

Kir waited. When she offered nothing else he began to scratch his head. "That's it? You're visiting?"

Mirana gritted her teeth. "Yes, that's it. Can I go now?"

Her response should have provoked several more questions but instead he accepted her words and stood up. "My apologies. Here are your weapons...and though the Duke didn't send you, I'm glad for the help." He slid her dagger and sword across the table to her.

Mirana was surprised by his reaction, but never one to question her luck, she grasped her weathered sword harness and began to strap it on. It wasn't till she felt the familiar weight of a weapon against her hip that it occurred to her. "Help?"

"Against the bandits."

Panic swept through her. "Ah, I'm not here to fight bandits. I was on my way back to the city. I'm late as it is and I'll be lucky if all I get is a month of double duty for my tardiness."

Kir frowned. "You're not going to help defend your village?"

Mirana hadn't expected this entanglement. "I'll file a report when I get back. The Duke has probably sent men to deal with the bandits already."

Kir swore. "And I'm sure we'll be grateful when they get here. If there's anybody left to be grateful."

Mirana stopped. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know the drill. If these bandits are raiding farmhouses for supplies that means they don't have any. How long till they just decide to take the village? Have you seen what happens once a village becomes a winter camp?"

Mirana had. "Move out. Take what you can and burn the rest. The bandits will move on."

Kir gave her a humorless smile. "That's the first thing I suggested. Damn pumpkin-heads won't go."

She would have guessed that. War, plague, famine--nothing could make them leave their land. "Then fight and pray the bandits move on to easier pickings."

Kir watched her carefully, gauging her reaction. "Oh, my farmers will fight," he said. "But they'll be using farm tools and hand axes. Tell me, Lieutenant, how do you think they'll do against swords and pikes?"

Mirana avoided his eyes. "I'll be listed as missing. It could cost me my commission."

Kir's patience snapped. "If it's money you want, the villagers will pay!"

Mirana was stunned. A City Guard could not be bought. "Is that what's holding you here? Not everyone is a mercenary."

Kir didn't look away. "At least I'm not abandoning people who need me." Mirana's hand dropped to the pommel of her sword. Her hand trembled as she clutched the metal.

Kir saw the effect his words had but it wasn't what he wanted. He sighed and turned his back on her. "If you're leaving, then go. No point in losing your commission if all you're going to do is argue with me."

Mirana unclenched her hand. "I'll file a report," she said as she reached for her cloak.

At that moment, the door to the cabin burst open and a redheaded ten-year-old boy barreled into the room. "They're coming!" he cried, snow flying off his clothes.

Kir spun around. "Who, Robert? Who's coming?"

Robert was gasping so hard it was difficult for him to get the words out. "Th-the bandits. I saw them. Up on the hill."

"How many?"

Robert held up two little hands that had gone blue from the cold. "This many." He held out all of his fingers.

Kir nodded. "Get the others. Tell them the time has come." He ruffled the boy's hair. "Good job, soldier."

The boy turned with obvious glee at being complemented. In his excitement he hadn't noticed Mirana and practically ran into her. Pulling up short, his sky-blue eyes opened wide. He was so surprised by the presence of a City Guard that all he could think to do was salute. Then he turned and disappeared into the night. He was a handsome little boy whose features seemed strangely familiar. Mirana wondered if his father had been one of her playmates.

"No more than fifteen," Kir mumbled, "We can do it."

Mirana looked at him. "The boy said there were this many." She held out her hands and spread her fingers.

Kir chuckled. "Robert doesn't count so well yet. Two hands means at least ten but not as many as three hands. I should know; I taught him his numbers."

Before Mirana could comment, hurried footsteps announced the arrival of Kir's troops. Mirana tensed, wondering if she'd recognize them--or if they'd recognize her.

The villagers arrived in a frantic stream and they all recognized her. It's odd to see childhood friends standing before you in their middle years. No less odd for them, she thought. At least they'd become what had been expected of them. She was quite a sight in her black leather jerkin, divisional colors, and battle harness. But there was no recrimination in their eyes, no accusations. They were just grateful for what they thought was her help. Kir wasted no time outlining their strategy.

"Barricade yourselves in the public house. Archers cover the windows. I'll stay outside and snipe at the bandits from the alleyways. If we wound four or five they should move on." It was a pathetic plan and Mirana told him so once everyone had left.

"What do you care, you're not going to be here."

"Kir," she begged him, "talk to them. Convince them to flee to the next village."

"You convince them," he said as he readied his weapons, "you're the returning hero." The bitterness of his words surprised her. "You'd better go. Things are going to get hectic and I don't want to shoot you by accident. Hate to waste a good bolt."

Mirana cursed him and stormed towards the door. But upon reaching the doorpost, she stopped. They were going to get wiped out. Without experienced fighters the plan couldn't work. Mirana gritted her teeth. It wasn't fair. They had no claim on her.

"And don't forget to file that report," Kir said to her rigid back. "Be a shame if that squad of brave City Guards didn't get here in time...to bury the dead."

He really knew how to twist the knife. Mirana turned to face him. "You know, Kir, you're a real bastard."

It took a moment for Kir to realize what had happened, but then his scowl became a grin. "So my mother told me when I was five."

***

The full moon, now past its zenith, cast long shadows across the sparkling snow. It was in one of these shadows, tucked between two cabins, that Mirana and Kir waited.

Leaning against one of the walls, Mirana allowed the cold to seep in through her cloak. Why did she come back? In fifteen years she'd entered the village only once: to bury her mother, and they hadn't spoken since the day she picked up a sword. Mirana wondered if her mother approved of her now.

"What's the joke?"

Mirana jumped. "What?"

Kir looked at her from beneath a wide-brimmed farmer's hat. "You laughed just now. I wondered what's so funny."

"Just life."

Kir nodded. "Then I know the joke."

Mirana turned to look at the old man. "Kir, who the hell are you? You're not from here and you talk like a professional."

Kir smiled and there was a twinkle in his eye. "Sgt. Kir, Western Division, Retired...at your service." He gave her a parade-ground salute just to prove it.

"Why you--" Mirana bit off the rest. "You knew what I was. Why the hell did you arrest me?"

"You refused to state your business," he replied sheepishly. "Besides, you City Guards tend to get uppity. Decided to teach you a lesson." A boyish grin broke out across his face and Mirana didn't know whether to scream or laugh. She decided to laugh. Kir joined her.

When they'd calmed down, Kir apologized, but Mirana waved it off. "I deserved it. So, you've worn a uniform. That doesn't explain why you're here."

Kir stopped grinning. "Came looking for a quiet place in which to retire. I guess, given the circumstances, I should have kept looking."

Mirana heard the irony in his voice, but before she could respond, the whinny of a horse caught her attention. There were riders approaching from the north.

"Okay," Kir said in a whisper, "we'll wait until they start looting before culling the pack." He withdrew further into the shadows.

Mirana, though, did not move. There was something odd about these riders. As they drew near, she could see that they were a motley group of shabbily dressed men. Their weapons and armor were those of scavengers: mismatched and battered. But they rode slowly, three abreast, and in complete silence. You would have thought that marauders would charge the village or, if more disciplined than that, there would at least be some talk among them--laughter. But these men kept silent, their eyes straight ahead, as if they were riding in formation...in formation!

Mirana turned around. "Kir, come here, something's wrong."

Kir came running back. "Do they smell the trap?"

"Take a look out there and tell me what you see."

Kir didn't argue. He peered out and watched the riders draw near. "Odd-looking bunch," he said under his breath. Then, suddenly, his face contorted into a frown and he let loose a string of profanities that were nothing if not imaginative.

The last row of riders had come into view. Two of them were coarse, dangerous looking men. The third was different. He was taller and held his head at an arrogant angle. His horse was purebred and his armor showed meticulous attention. He was also wearing, though worn and faded, regimental colors.

"He's one of ours," Mirana gasped.

"No," Kir corrected, "he's one of yours. He's City Guard."

This changed everything. They were expecting a band of backwoods bandits--cowardly, ignorant men whose thievery was due more to laziness than to any concise effort. But as they watched the dark-haired soldier wheel his horse to the front of the halted line, they knew that this was something totally different.

"Could he have stolen the uniform?" Kir asked.

Mirana shook her head. "He's got them riding like cavalrymen. Probably a deserter. Kir, they're not going to be scared off by a blustery show of defiance."

"I know."

Mirana felt a pang of sorrow for the old man. He'd believed in his plan. Now, the thin strand of hope he'd clung to had broken. Anger rose up in Mirana; anger for Kir, anger for what was about to happen to the village, anger for not being able to do anything about it. Here she was all set to help and one deserter changed everything--or did he?

A thought occurred to Mirana. Watching the bandit leader review his troops, she realized there was something she could do. The irony was that only she could do it. Mirana had fought in three wars, a dozen border skirmishes, and achieved the rank of Lieutenant, but it took a visit home to give her the chance to become a hero. Her life had come full circle.

"Kir, I know what to do."

Kir looked up. "What?"

"I'm going to challenge that deserter to single combat. Winner take all."

Kir's eyes looked as if they would leap from his skull. "What? Those are bandits out there, not members of the officer's club. There's no honor in that bunch. No, we fall back to the Public House, get the others, and set up an ambush. If we can get the leaders in a crossfire, the rest might scatter."

"And if we don't? Where do we fall back to then? No, there might be no honor in them, but there should be some pride in him . If I challenge his authority as chieftain, he'll have to face me."

"And if you lose?"

"Then you can try your ambush, Kir." she replied. "But I might be able to win this war."

Kir cursed her. "It's your neck. But don't be surprised if he cuts you down before you get a chance to make your challenge."

"He won't."

"Why not?"

"We're wearing the same uniform."

Mirana didn't know why she was so confident, but she was. The Guard was her life. Few ever achieved their ranks. Those who did were very proud of that fact. Mirana was gambling that the bandit chieftain still had that pride.

Standing up slowly, she undid the clasp on her shoulder and let her cloak fall to the ground. The sudden loss of warmth sharpened her perceptions and she could hear the soft hiss of her sword clearing the scabbard. She dropped the scabbard as well.

Kir looked very unhappy. "It doesn't have to be this way. No one will disown you if you fall back to the Public House."

Before she could answer, a cry went up from one of the bandits. They'd seen her. "Kir," she said, not daring to turn her head. "If I don't win this fight..." She let her voice trail off. She didn't really know what she wanted to say.

Kir was already retreating into the darkness. "Just win the damn fight," she heard him whisper. Then, he was gone.

Mirana stepped into the street. Holding out her arms so that the colored ribbons woven through her jerkin could be seen, she hailed the bandits in a loud voice. "Stay where you are!"

Her bravado was met with an odd mix of concern and disbelief. The bandits weren't expecting one of the Grand Duke's Guards. Attesting to their training though, they held ranks. The bandit leader turned his horse so that he could face her.

His skin color was olive and his eyes were dark. A handsome man, his age wasn't readily apparent until you noticed the puffiness around his eyes and lips. It wouldn't be long before he'd start to let himself go. That was in time. Right now he was fit enough and he wasted no words. "You're alone, aren't you?"

Mirana's face remained emotionless. "My men are hidden. If you threaten me, they'll shoot you down with their crossbows."

The bandit leader smiled. "You are alone. If you had any troops, you'd bluster with a show of force or attack me outright." He leaned over the pommel of his saddle. "You probably got separated from your unit. What happened, little one, get lost?" The bandits laughed at his suggestion.

Mirana kept her eyes on the leader. "I could ask the same of you."

She knew her retort stung because the bandit leader sat bolt upright and the laughter of his men died instantly at his withering glance. When his gaze returned to Mirana, it was very cold.

"For the sake of that which we share, I'll allow you to withdraw. I claim this village by right of arms. All who oppose me will die."

Mirana took a fighting stance. "Unless, of course, you die first."

Her behavior baffled him. "What are you doing? I can cut you down right now. Take the opportunity I'm offering you and go."

"But you won't cut me down," Mirana replied, "unless you're a coward. Was that why you were dismissed from the Guard--for cowardice?"

His response was swift. In a single fluid motion he was off his horse with sword in hand. His stride was long and Mirana guessed that his reach exceeded hers. He halted in front of her.

"I'll say this just one more time. Leave."

Mirana shook her head. "A Guard never retreats."

He struck at her without preamble. The thrust was straight and swift, and she deflected it easily. The sound of their two swords meeting rang clearly in the night air. They both withdrew a step and began to circle one another. Mirana, conscious of the line of bandits, resisted his attempts to get her to turn her back on them. She'd trust his 'pride' only so far.

"You should have accepted my offer," he said to her, as he began to weave a rhythmic pattern with the tip of his sword. "You would have been much happier." He lunged at her eyes.

Mirana anticipated the move and, using his height against him, dove under his thrust with one of her own. The bandit countered by driving his sword down and narrowly turning hers aside. The tip of her sword carved a shallow furrow along his ribs, below the breastplate. Mirana dove away as he tried to brain her with the ornate pommel of his sword. The two of them parted, each having taken the measure of the other.

Mirana had drawn first blood and that was good. That always plants doubt in an opponent's mind, and doubt kills. The bandit chieftain, however, wasn't so easily beaten. He ignored the wound and his face showed resolve and determination. He made a feint to the right but when she moved to counter rolled his blade down under her steel in order to reach past her guard. Mirana reversed the direction of her sword to block but slipped. The tip of his sword caught her shoulder as she turned to avoid the blade. They separated again.

Mirana didn't bother to check the wound. She knew from experience that it was no great harm. But the bandit leader grimaced from having extended himself. Mirana took note of that and the next time he lunged retreated rather than parried. He pursued her and realized his mistake too late. He screamed as torn muscles were stretched wide. A murmur arose from his men. He halted, clutching his side.

Mirana waited. The feral intensity in his eyes warned her that he was far from spent. "You don't have to do this," she said to him in a low voice. "This village isn't worth dying for."

"I was about to tell you the same thing," he replied. His breathing was labored. "Why fight me? These pumpkin-heads are hardly worth the shine on your boots."

"I have a duty."

"Ah, yes, duty," he echoed. "I remember the word. It is often used in the same sentence as 'honor', and 'pride'. The Guards are fond of those words. When it suits them." He lowered the point of his sword. The weight of the weapon seemed to drag him down.

"You were also fond of those words," she said to him. "Why abandon them now?"

He took a shallow breath. A puff of smoke formed as he exhaled. "Because I grew up. I learned that the world doesn't really care about such things."

Mirana wondered if that was true or if he just wanted it to be true. She indicated his clothes. "Is that why you keep the uniform?"

The bandit leader grimaced as a twinge of pain registered on his face, but he seemed to be thinking about what she said. Then, with a roguish smile and a shrug of his shoulders, he replied, "I keep it because it still fits." And flung a dagger at her.

It was such a practiced move that Mirana barely had time to react. Bringing her sword up she deflected the blade and caused it to barely flick past her face. But that was all the Bandit Leader needed.

Bellowing, he charged her. He didn't lunge, but held his sword out in order to slash at her throat. Mirana backpedaled, trying to gain the necessary space to wield her own sword. But he was already on her. There was little she could do.

But Mirana also refused to die easily. Using her smaller size to her advantage, she did the only thing she could think of; she allowed the bandit's rush to knock her down. Using the momentum to roll onto her side, she pulled her sword across her body and braced it against the snow, propping the point up with her knees. The Bandit Leader could not stop himself and fell on top of her, impaling himself upon the sword.

Mirana lay gasping for a moment, uncertain if the trick had worked. But when she neither died nor screamed out in pain, she decided it had. Slowly, and with deliberate care, she rolled the body of the Bandit Leader off of her. Warm blood soaked her tunic and she rose shakily to her feet.

Facing her, the bandits sat silently on their mounts. Then, one of the two men who had ridden with the leader wheeled his mount forward and declared, "Kill her."

Mirana's eyes opened wide as four of the bandits raised crossbows to their shoulders. "Why you motherless sons of--"

A cry broke out all around them. Mirana instinctively raised her sword and wheeled about as a line of villagers ran out of the dark and past her. Throwing hand axes and firing bows, they charged the bandits.

Most of the missiles missed, but the few that didn't had a devastating effect. Four of the bandits fell dead. Several others fought to keep their mounts from bolting. Kir ran up to Mirana. "You didn't expect us to let you have all of the fun. Come on girl, do what you get paid for!"

In the end, with the entire village against them, only three of the bandits managed to escape.

Come dawn, Mirana stood in the street as Kir attended her shoulder. It was the only wound she received in the battle. All around her people celebrated. It wasn't often that farmers gained the upper hand on soldiers and it would be a victory they'd long remember.

"It's a scratch hardly worth talking about," Kir declared, tightening the bandage.

"That's what I said when you asked me about it," replied Mirana. But she was glad for his assessment. She needed to ride back to the city and explain herself. A group of farmers approached them, so Kir refrained from responding. Mirana vaguely recognized the leader as a third cousin.

"Kir, Mirana," he began, "thank you. This is a great day. In appreciation for your service, we'd like to give you this." The plump farmer produced a sack of grain and a side of pork. Mirana was speechless.

Kir stepped forward. "Friends," he said, "we are humbled." Mirana was about to say something rude when his hand shot out to grasp her elbow. The look in his eyes told her to be silent. The villagers, all grins and happy faces, bowed respectfully and departed.

Mirana waited until they were beyond earshot before declaring, "A side of pork! We save their entire village and they reward us with a side of pork!"

"What did you expect," Kir said as he turned to face her, "gold and jewels?" Mirana was so confused she could barely speak. What did she expect? She knew these people. They didn't have anything else. Kir, however, hefted the food onto his back and headed up the street.

"You'll be wanting your gear," he called over his shoulder. "I told them to put everything in the cabin."

Mirana stared at his retreating back and then at the cabin for which he was heading. It was a ramshackle old structure in which sheep would have refused to shelter. The roof needed patching, the walls were barely standing, the little picket fence was nearly gone, the...the little picket fence? Mirana's face lost its color. Oh gods, of all the...

Some believe that life is a circle; you always return to where you began. Others believe in fate. Mirana believed things happen. You just deal with them as best you can. But there were times when she wondered.

Mirana trudged up the path after Kir and past the little garden gate that hung by one hinge. No great loss, she thought, it never swung right to begin with. Entering the shack, she could see that Kir was already working on a fire. She closed the door behind her and shivered, not from the cold, but from the memories.

It hadn't changed much. As bare as a cavern, the only things in it were a stool and a rickety old table on which her bags had been laid out. Directly across from her was the doorway that led to the back room. That room was where her mother had died. Without even planning it, Mirana had come home.

"Feels empty, doesn't it?" Kir asked, turning slightly from his fledgling fire to look at her.

"What does?"

"Being a hero. Not what you expected is it?" Mirana closed her eyes and nodded her head. "I wouldn't be too hard on them," Kir continued. "They know what you've done and they are appreciative."

"Are they?" Her voice held more bitterness than she'd wanted to reveal.

Kir nodded. "They do. It's just--" he gave a shrug, "life goes on. Unlike in the songs, after a battle there are still children who need attending, animals who need feeding, and chores to be done. There's just not that much time for a parade."

Mirana stared at a broken fingernail on her sword hand. "Oh."

Kir moved to the cupboard. He took down a bottle and couple of clay cups. "So what now?" he asked, as he filled a cup and handed it to her.

Mirana downed the clear liquid in a single gulp. It was a local vintage and lit a fire from her throat to her belly. She placed the cup on the table. "I'll go back and try to explain why I was late."

Kir nodded sympathetically. "Think they'll bust you?"

"Probably." Then, with a smile, she added, "Won't be the first time."

Kir laughed. "Then it won't be long until you get your ribbons back."

Mirana nodded and Kir happily poured them another drink.

"You're not going to believe this," she said to him as she took the cup, "but this used to be my family's home."

Kir didn't look at her. "I know."

Mirana was stunned. "You know? "

"I've always known," he said shyly. He turned to stare at the fire. "Unlike some, I wasn't born here. When I rode into the village I had neither friends nor family who could vouch for me. As you can imagine, nobody would put me up." Mirana nodded her head. Country folk were close-knit and strangers are always suspect.

"Anyway, I asked if there was a place I could use. The villagers pointed out three empty cabins. The first had belonged to a witch, the second to a politician, and the third belonged to a swordswoman who never visited. Well, you can imagine what I thought about the first two. So I took this one. I figured I'd work it out with the owner when she showed up." Mirana now understood the look he'd given her just before returning her sword.

Kir turned and looked her in the eye. "I'll get out by the evening. It's only right; this is your place."

Mirana shook her head. "This isn't my place. It hasn't been for a very long time."

Kir grunted and drank his drink. "Sure it is."

Mirana glared at him. "I just told you, old man. This isn't my home."

To Kir's credit, he remained calm. "And I'm telling you that this is your home now. You could have claimed it by birthright, or by rule of law, but it became yours when you fought for it. When you risked your life for these people and this village you earned the right to call this your home."

Mirana was stunned by the simplicity of his logic. "And what have you earned, Kir?"

Kir shrugged his shoulders. "I'll always be an outsider, but maybe now not so much as before. I'm sure I can have one of the other cabins."

Mirana thought about it for a moment. There was a certain irony to it all. She belonged but didn't want to stay. He wanted to stay but didn't belong. Together, they were a matched pair. "You can stay here," she said, "if you want to."

Kir eyed her warily. "I can't pay rent."

Mirana laughed out loud. "As if I could charge rent for this. No, tend it for me and that'll be enough."

Kir's face broke out into a grin and he looked as if he wanted to hug her.

Mirana took a step back. "I--I have to go," she told him, and reached for her cloak.

Kir, though, grasped her outstretched hand and embraced her like a warrior: face to face and with arms locked. At least, she thought thankfully, it wasn't a hug. Mirana embraced him back before grabbing her bags and heading for the door.

"The next time you visit," he called after her, "be sure to come in. There'll be a hot meal waiting for you when you do."

Mirana stopped at the door. That old fear of being a stranger in her own village crept into her gut. "I don't visit often," she said. "And when I do, I don't usually come down into the town."

Kir nodded. "I know. But I'll sit out in the woods waiting for you. When you visit, you come and stay the night. I'll know when you don't, so don't piss me off." Then, in a gentler tone, he added, "This will always be your home, Mirana."

Mirana grunted sharply before turning and disappearing into the dark. As she trudged through the snow, down to the corral she'd helped build, tears began to stream down her face. It felt good to be home.

The End

Arthur Sánchez is a writer of speculative fiction and
the Senior Editor of www.AstoundingTales.com . Arthur's
fiction has appeared in numerous e-zines and in print.
He presently has two collections of short stories
available in paperback from www.Lulu.com and is
working on a series of fantasy novels. To find out
more about Arthur, or his fiction, visit
www.ArthurSanchez.com .

"It is with tremendous pleasure and pride that I find
my story in Static Movement's first issue. I wish them
a great deal of success and hope to be submitting to
them for years to come."

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