The instant he saw the first droplet splatter on the leather pouch in his hand, he cursed.
Rain began falling in thick icy sheets from the roaring clouds hovering above Roveu, wrapping the small village in a cocoon of gathering fog. The wind wept and howled and curled their malicious fingers around abandoned wheelbarrows and empty crates to fling them high into the air and sent them crashing down into an explosion of splinters and dust.
Ryoma stuffed the pouch deep inside his breach pockets as he wrapped his cloak tighter around his body and broke into a brisk run. He could hear the deep rumble of thunder in the distance as he navigated his way through the darkening streets of the village. Sensing a fluttering motion behind his head, he quickly ducked sideways to dodge a piece of bed sheet that had somehow gone astray from the washing line it was attached to, and didn't spare a second glance at it as the pale fabric sank into a dirty puddle and the oozing mud immediately gobbled up the thin material.
As he rounded the corner of the blacksmith shop, he suddenly froze at the sight of a commotion in the distance, just on the side of the road leading into the village. There were three men, burly in build with voices as raucous as a saw grinding on his eardrums. A scar that ran diagonally from the forehead to just below the nose distorted the features of the largest man, and the muscles in his right arm bulged as he tightened his grip on a frightening looking axe, which he had poised over a bundle on the ground with a look of dark menace on his grotesque face.
A bundle with two feet sticking out.
His first instinct was to step back into the shadows of the streets and seek an alternative route to the village inn. He has long since learned from experience not to draw attention to himself in situations like these – especially when the odds of escaping unharmed seemed particularly dire. In this day and age, robbing for riches and killing a few who stood in the way sadly was not uncommon. As much as he felt sorry for the victim lying limply on the ground – probably some poor fellow who had been foolish enough to let slip a flash of gold coins in his moneybag or seemed too comfortable in his fine fur-trimmed coat – he did not want to try his luck confronting four grown men with nothing but his bare fists and the cloak around his shoulders.
Especially when the man already seemed well and truly dead.
Ryoma slowly inched back as he watched two of the men bend down and begin groping around the bundle, and the other two men cackled with delighted laughter as something that looked like a small pouch was pulled free from the neck of the victim. The loud jingle of coins rang deliciously clear even through the symphony of rain. Ryoma turned and was about to mutter a quick prayer for the unfortunate soul before retracing his steps when he was stopped cold by a blood-curdling scream directly behind him.
An undoubtedly female scream.
He whipped around and narrowed his eyes when he saw one of the men slip his hand underneath the fabric of the bundle – which had started struggling and kicking violently against their iron grips.
The next thing he knew, he was racing towards the circle of bandits. He bit his lip as one of the men looked up just as he shot out a kick. The contact between his boot and the man's face made a sickening crunch as the man was thrown backwards into the mud. Ryoma spun around as the other men's faces registered surprise and anger, and he felt a hand seize the hood of his cloak soon followed by a crushing blow to the side of his ribs. He could feel the air knocked out of his lungs with a great "whoosh" as he fell, the bitterness of mud filling his mouth as he landed face-down in a mound of mud. Gasping, he rolled to the side and ripped off his cloak, then flung it across the enraged faces of the two men who lunged towards him, smothering their twisted mouths which were furiously spitting out words more dirty than the muck that covered Ryoma's breaches. As the men struggled to untangle themselves from the wet clingy fabric, Ryoma picked up a loose branch that had been trampled into the thick mud in the road and whacked it into the temple of one of the men with all the strength he could master. The branch splintered in half as the men let out a gurgle of pain and fell into the cloudy puddles without another sound.
Panting for breath, Ryoma swayed and almost staggered into the sharp axe as the scarred man swung it towards him with an enraged roar. Ryoma twisted out of the way at the last minute, feeling the cold blade slice through the skin of his upper arm before he felt himself hit the cold mushy ground once again. The dark eyes of his offender smoldered with malice as Ryoma forced himself to look up into his distorted face. He felt a stab of dread, but quickly shook his head to clear it both from the trickle of fear and the fog of pain. Bracing himself for the next blow, Ryoma gritted his teeth and glared as the man flashed him a hard toothless grin. Yet just as the man was bringing his axe down - and a split second before Ryoma was to spring up and tackle him - the man let out a confused grunt and the axe went askew, landing and sinking into the soft earth inches from Ryoma's thigh.
Confused, Ryoma lifted up his hand to wipe the water streaming into his eyes, thinking perhaps it was a play on his vision from the mixture of rain and sweat. Yet when he opened his eyes again, the burly bandit was still lying on the ground, groaning, as a girl stood over him with a pistol clutched in her trembling hands.
She was surreal.
Most of her long glossy hair had tumbled loose and was whipping wildly around her face in the wind. Her skin was so pale that it almost glowed in the stormy moonless night, making her black eyes huge and their depth even more difficult to gauge. What remained of her creamy yellow gown hung in tatters on her tiny frame, the once-soft fabric caked in thick slabs of mud. There was not a trace of blood in her lips as she bit them to stop her teeth chattering from the cold – or fear – and the small pistol gleamed eerily in the dim light as it shook with the unsteadiness of her arms.
The bandit had all but quieted at the sight of the pistol. There was a scowl of rage on his disfigured face, yet a glimmer of pain was also evident in his eyes as he lay as still as a rock in the pool of mud. His breath came in quick puffs as the girl took a step closer and pressed the pistol to his forehead.
Ryoma saw the pool of black blood pooling behind the man's calf and realised that he hadn't even heard the shot that the girl had fired. The shot had missed its mark by quite a distance, but it was more than enough to cripple the man for life. He struggled up just as the girl opened her mouth.
"Go, I don't want to kill you," She said in a soft trembling voice.
The man sneered. "Go ahead if you think you can, girlie."
Her hands tightened on the pistol, and there was a long pause. Then she swallowed and slowly lowered the pistol.
"I will let you off this time, but if you rob anyone again I will find you and I will kill you, I swear on my family's name - do you understand?"
Ryoma gaped. He would have laughed if the situation was not half so dire. Who did she think she was? His mother? But he had to commend her courage for saying so.
The man growled from the depth of his throat, which sounded almost wild. The girl took a step back, startled. And the man took this opportunity to lunge forward, reaching for the weapon in her hand with a crazed look in his eyes.
Ryoma leaped forward at the precise same instant that he saw the sparks shoot out of the pistol, and ignored the scream of pain that blossomed on his shoulder. He crashed down on top of the man and wrestled him back to the ground, pinning him as best as he could.
"Grab my cloak! Quick!" Ryoma looked up at the girl, who was staring wide-eyed at the two men tangled and grunting with pain before her. She hesitated for only a moment before hurrying to fetch the soaked material.
"Tie it around his arms – tight! Yes, that's it-" Ryoma could not believe how much energy it was taking him to immobilize this man. When the girl finally secured the final knot, he almost collapsed on the ground next to the cursing and spitting man. But this was not the place for rest. Not yet anyway, as much as he longed for a warm bath and a soft bed at that moment.
He stood up and glanced at the girl, who was shaking even more violently now. He almost felt sorry for her – obviously she was a girl from a well-off family somewhere. He had no idea how she ended up in this rural village in the middle of nowhere, but the way she had fired that pistol and talked to that man… he had a feeling she was going to be trouble.
"Oh My God – did I- did the bullet-" The girl stammered terribly, staring in horror at the blood soaking through Ryoma's left shoulder – whether it was from the shock or cold or fear – Ryoma did not know.
"It only grazed the skin, no big deal," He tried to sound aloof, but to his dismay achieved the opposite effect as he said it through gritted teeth while he was tying a piece of fabric around the wound to slow the bleeding.
"Do you have somewhere to go?" He asked her when he had cleaned himself up as best as he could, and gave the bandit leader another hard kick when his language became increasingly foul.
"I…no, I don't think so," She replied.
He sighed. Somehow he was expecting that answer.
"Then I guess you should come with me."