Connor scavenged the bow and dagger from the dead bandit's bodies. Without a word, he went past Osmond back to the wagon
Osmond stood there stunned. He remembered the face of the boy with the short sword right before his death. He saw the splattered head of the long sword man. He saw the bone splinter poking out of the skin.
He thought only monsters were monsters. Now he knew that men could be monsters too.
"Boy," Connor called him.
Osmond snapped back. He went back to the wagon with his head facing down. He couldn't remove the scene from his head. The scene of blood and screams.
Osmond sat on the wagon. He thought of the way his father sparred with him. The way Connor fought was unlike his sparring with his father.
It was brutal, bloody and gory.
Moonlight was pouring into the wagon and so he decide to close his eyes.
He saw the same nightmares.
But this time he couldn't get up. There was a heaviness to his body as if he was tied to the ground. He felt his body heating up. Saliva dried up his mouth.
"Mom," He muttered in his sleep.
He felt a hand feeling his neck and forehead.
"He has a fever," Connor said.
"Women, do you know how to take care of a sick boy?" Connor shouted at Kira.
"Ye... Yes, master," Kira said.
"Then get to it," he gave her space.
Kira closed into Osmond and felt his temperature.
"We need to cool him down," She sounded worried.
Connor clicked his tongue.
"What do you need," Connor asked.
"A cloth and some water, master," She said.
The wagon moved for some time and came to a halt. Connor got off the wagon. Kira heard him talking to someone and then he came back. He threw a bag in.
"Here is what you said. There are some cooking utensils also in it. I presume you know how to cook," Connor said.
"Yes, master," Kira replied.
Osmond felt the cold water over his chest, neck and head. He felt his temperature dropping. He felt himself falling into a slumber. This time he dreamt a different dream. This time he dreamt of his father.
He saw him wearing a clean white tunic and black pants. A brown belt was tightened across his waist and he wore a leather boot.
They were in the backyard of their manor with other children watching. It was a summer morning. Sunlight kissed his skin and the wind blew softly.
Viktor and Osmond both had wooden swords in their hands; Osmond's being smaller.
"Come at any time," Viktor tapped his sword on his shoulder.
Osmond ran towards Viktor. He swung his sword blindly. Viktor did a sidestep and his sword touched the air.
"Watch your opponent," Viktor shouted.
Osmond focused on himself. He looked at Viktor and said to himself that this time he will hit. Osmond dashed and struck Viktor, this time in the sword. But it was blocked perfectly.
"Watch your opponent and think," Viktor said.
Osmond was gasping. He looked at Viktor. He readied his breath and dashed again. He swung his sword, Viktor readied his sword to block, and Osmond changed his course and went behind Viktor swinging.
"Good," Viktor said.
Viktor moved his sword behind and blocked again.
"But you can get better."
Osmond couldn't go anymore. He was only six and what he did was impressive for a six year old. He gasped for air.
"Class dismissed," Viktor said.
The students went back, resolved in striking Viktor the next time they fought.
"Come, son," Viktor said.
They sat on steps behind. They were father and son, yet they spoke rarely. Moments like these were precious to them.
"Why should I fight? It hurts and I am not good at it," Osmond whispered.
Viktor looked at him. He needed to say something.
"Do you like studying son?" He said.
"I love it. It doesn't hurt and I get to know new things," Osmond sounded cheerful.
"You will understand one day son. When you grow older and when you have things to protect. That is when you need strength."
"But you will always be there father."
"No son. We all die one day."
Osmond didn't believe that. They have been sparring for a year and not once had he managed to hit Viktor.
But in a year, Osmond would have wished. He would have wished to go back and get stronger. He now knew the importance of strength.
"Only if I was stronger," he muttered in his sleep.
"His body is cooler now," Kira said, her voice relieved.
"You are a lot of trouble, boy," Connor said.
Osmond didn't know how much time had passed but when he woke up, it was morning.
He sat up, hungry and tired. He coughed out loud.
He saw Kira coming to him, a plate in hand.
"Here, master," She said politely.
Osmond saw Connor looking at them.
Kira poured a spoonful into his mouth. He felt vegetables, salt and water. He chewed on them and swallowed, filling him with strength. He had a couple more.
" Thanks, I had enough," he said.
Kira was shocked. It was the first time she heard thanks after being a slave.
He tried sleeping and thought of his father's words.
"When you grow older and when you have things to protect. That is when you need strength."
What did he have that was worth protecting now?
Even though he didn't want to sleep, Osmond was tired and couldn't help himself. When he woke up, it was night. He sat himself and looked around. He found that Kira and the baby were asleep. He saw Connor was still awake.
"Better now, boy," Connor asked.
Osmond nodded.
"Good. At the pace we are moving, we will reach the first town in two to three days. I don't want you dying before then," Connor said.
Osmond looked down. He checked if he was really alright. He checked his throat because he needed to ask something.
"Was there any need in that?"
"In what" Connor seemed confused.
"You know, killing them like that. So brutally. With your strength, I am sure you could have done it without making it so bloody," hiis face was still facing down.
"Look at me boy!" Connor said.
Osmond looked up and met with Connor's glaring eyes.
"What are you trying to say, that I should be nice to barbarians?"
"If we did it like that, what is the difference between us and them?" he countered.
"You didn't see the cruelty 'them' are capable of and do you think that being kind will have helped us?" Connor's voice was cold.
Osmond didn't say anything.
"Listen to me boy and take this as a lesson," his voice was like a dagger.
"Sometimes men also have to be monsters."