Fourth Tale

Chapter 5

5

He dreamt of Lizzie that night. A dream that didn't belong but had reminded him that despite his age (he was forty-five (or was it six? Or four?) this winter), he was very much still a man. He shifted uncomfortably on the bed.

They'd been married ten years (and fruitless the entire ten years) before she'd gotten with child, and his body remembered that last year... she'd been insatiable for him, and he'd...

The bed creaked as he sat up and put his booted feet to the floor. He rubbed his face wearily with both hands.

Light he missed her... So much... His heart broke.

She'd been all he had ever wanted his entire life (he'd fallen in love with her when he'd been but a lad of ten years of age). He'd never set foot back in the family home after she'd died there, he'd moved to the barracks the very same night. He'd never lain with another either after she'd passed (He wasn't a sentimental fool, the opportunity had never presented itself).

Lizzie. His Lizzie.

The Siren had used her against him, and he'd been powerless to stop her.

He clenched his eyes closed tightly as he deliberately recalled the damnable hope that had reared its ugly head (it was still there, lingering). He'd never been the brightest, but Lizzie had breathed her last two decades ago. Why had he believed it could have been her ?

And Amani... he blinked. Was that the first time he actually thought of her name? He blinked again and gave his head a shake. It was .

He got to his feet quietly and left the barracks (he grabbed his mace and shield, never left without either). He didn't bother with a torch. He knew where he was going, he could walk it blind.

He needed to beat a dummy into tinder (maybe two, he was in a mood). He was on a sword's edge and this was the only way he could think to assuage his stress, and that damnable erection he'd sported all night.

That the Siren had known that only Lizzie had ever called him 'Barry' bothered him, and the more he thought about it the angrier he got. How had the demon known ?

The night was pitch black but Barristan moved determinedly through the empty streets until he reached the training ground. He was surprised to find the place lit up with multiple torches. Apparently he wasn't alone in thinking the dummies needed a good pounding tonight.

His eye found the lone figure near a couple of the targets and he made his way towards them slowly. He was surprised to note that it was Amani that was working up a sweat, her dark skin glistened with it.

He paused for a moment before making his way towards his anvil and putting his shield down beside it. His blue eye kept glancing back towards Amani. She was using her rounded shield as a weapon, but nothing else.

"Lass," he called to her when she stopped to take a breather. She must not have seen him for she jumped, startled.

"Sir," she nodded towards him, her hand rubbing at her chest fretfully.

"Come here," Barristan motioned to a wooden barrel close. He nodded for her to sit which she did.

"Sir?" she questioned.

"How did it happen?" his eye flicked to her stump.

"I did it," she answered slowly, her accent heavier. He arched an eyebrow at that.

"Why?"

"It was that or die." She was matter of fact.

He scratched at his goatee and harrumphed. She kept her night black eyes on him and he stared right back.