To Cheat A Curse

Chapter 2: A Horse with no Name

The wound was hindering everything.

The arrow had come out clean and the packed bandage helped, but that didn't mean it stopped hurting. He had also been convinced to accompanying the thief to a nearby town where he could find a doctor for the wound, and both of them could stock up on supplies. It hadn't been such a bad idea at dawn, but now that the heat of the day was building, he regretted it.

Being from the south, he was used to humid plains, baked clay, and burning sun. So, the fact a little noon warmth had him sweating bothered Myghal. He let his horse ride alongside Ira, tender with his shoulder as he pulled off his tunic. Draping it on the saddle, he tugged at his undershirt trying to circulate cooler air. Ira made no snarky comment.

In fact, it had been awhile since he had said anything.

For the past few days there was nothing but quizzical conversations with Ira. Wanting to know about Myghal's home, the wars he fought in, what sort of weapons he could use. They were odd questions, details no one ever asked. Yet, Ira hadn't spoke in nearly half an hour.

Myghal leaned forwards in his saddle, casual at first. He pretended to pick something out of his horse's mane, stealing a glance at Ira. His hood was still on, head slightly bowed, but he made no notion to turn and look. Leaning further still, Myghal stood in the stirrups in for a peek under the hood. Ira's eyes were closed, swaying with each step, mouth slightly open and face lax.

"You asleep?" Myghal whispered.

There was a moment of delay before Ira's dark eyes slid open. He blinked, uneven in a flutter as they rose to the road before them. "I was," Ira mumbled. "Is something wrong?"

"You're supposed to be guiding us, for starters."

"This road leads straight to Felmire. As long as Berma is moving, I know we'll get there." His eyes closed again.

"Berma?"

"My horse." Myghal glanced to the horse, and only then realized he didn't know the name of his own. "Isn't always safe to sleep at night, and some of us have been on the road for over a year." Myghal was starting to realize Ira wasn't going to let that go, as if it had been his fault he was stuck in the Arctic Ridge.

"Berma? Like the Berma river."

"Yes," Ira hummed.

"A scrawny thing like that named after the biggest river in Awin?"

"The fastest river in Awin," Ira corrected. "Ever heard of that?"

"Well, yeah. So swift and deep it's swallowed ships whole. It's what keeps the Empire out of the Southern Plains." He made no notion he heard, head still bowed, rocking along with Berma's casual stride. "How can you sleep and not fall off?"

"Practice," Ira sighed, lifting his head as he pulled off his hood. He scratched at his short, dark hair, swiping his hand upwards at the back of his head a few times to displace sweat. "So, what were you doing with the Northmen?" It didn't take him long to start back with questions.

"Fighting. Wasn't much else to do," he shrugged.

"If you lived in the south, what are you doing all the way up here? You didn't just join the Northmen, I take it."

"No," Myghal laughed. "I'm a solider back home, and, sometimes, instead of being killed, you're captured. The other side gives you a choice, that you can join them and turn on your family, your country, or they can get rid of you."

"And, yet, you're not dead."

"They meant sell me," Myghal glared. Ira considered this, jaw working as he thought. "They wanted me as far from home as they could get me, so I couldn't help my family anymore. Their solution was to send me to the Arctic Ridge and I was forced to be a solider for a Northmen Warmaster." Ira was quiet until he glanced to the sky.