I noticed the sound first.

A whirring whizzing displacement or air just before the brief cracking sound, reminiscent of an egg breaking.

Immediately after that, the spray of blood that hit me across the face.

Only then did I spot the arrow. Wooden and feathered, metal tip lodged deep into my assailant’s skull.

A thud that shook my vision.

In hindsight, that must have been my own failure to catch my body falling backwards, as the hand gripping my hair failed to receive message from the brain that formerly operated it.

All else seemed to slow, as my heart beat through my chest in a rhythm I wouldn’t have had the audacity to sing to, for no dancer would be able to keep up. Around me men spun on their heels, swords clashed, and arrows flew. Amidst it all I clung to my instruments as if they could possibly offer me a lifeline.

I dared not close my eyes, nor could I keep up with the battle around me. I am sure there were heroic deeds happening which I inexcusably failed to register at the time. But having never witnessed this intensity of violence before, I cowardly curled into a ball until the commotion had ceased and a firm hand shook my shoulder.

“Are you okay?” a gravelly voice sounded above me.

I looked up to find a broad-shouldered man with a fearsome jaw and a scruffy beard looking down at me. His brow was furrowed and his gaze caring.     

My throat had gone so dry, no words came out when I opened my mouth to answer. So instead, I swiftly nodded. Honestly, neither my physical state nor my mental well-being at this point could be considered truly okay. But I was happy to have arisen from this hellish situation with my life, so ‘okay’ would do.

“Can you stand?” The man asked me, holding out his calloused hand for me to grasp would I need assistance.

I took it and pulled myself up to demonstrate, if only to myself, that I was still capable. I winced as the pain in my torso and hips caused me to sway slightly. But I clenched my teeth, using the pain as a reminder that I was actually alive with my hands and face left intact, which was more than I could have hoped for. 

I faced the man that had come to my rescue, and only then noticed his armour. A soldier then. Soldiers, I realised as I looked around. At least five.

I had not consciously been holding my breath, but as the notion dawned on me that I was truly saved, I let out an involuntary breath of air.

I must have sounded extremely relieved, for three of the soldiers chuckled at the sigh escaping my lips.

“Are you a musician?” The bearded soldier that had helped me up inquired, gesturing at the lute I had still clutched tightly under my arm.

I nodded again. Then realised that however struck I was with horror, the great minstrel Prince Vivace would not welcome his saviour with mere silence.

“Prince Vivace, at your service kind sir.” I croaked out, then made up for my uncooperative vocal cords by adding a slight bow.

“And he speaks.” The man chuckled. “Sandor Perry” he added, giving a short bow of his own. “Is Prince your stage title or…”

“By the gods, Prince Vivace, it’s really you!” one of the other soldiers interrupted, practically throwing himself at my feet. “It’s so nice to meet you! I’m your biggest fan! I met my wife because of you!”

He was all smiles and enthusiasm. It would have completely put me back into after-performance-mode, were it not for the blood on his red-bearded visage that served as an awful reminder of the battle that had taken place only seconds ago.

“Stage name.” I quickly answered Sandor. “But please, call me Viv. I consider you friends. After all, without your honourable interference I would not be alive to play another note.”

“Can I really call you Viv? Oh, I can’t wait to tell my wife! Could you maybe sign her handkerchief with your autograph?”

“Lay off the man for a second Gareth. He almost died.” Sandor intervened. From the tone with which he addressed the other soldier, I could infer he was his superior.

“Sorry captain, I didn’t mean to bother him.” He replied, confirming my deduction and shooting me a guilty glance before retreating.

“I will.” I told him, resulting in a such a cheerful expression, one would assume the red in his face were the result of having just devoured the most delicious cherry pie, instead of having disembowelled several rogues.

The notion swiftly passed as I beheld the scene around the campfire. Five of the bandits lay dead on the ground, at least one of them seemingly having fled the scene. My insides turned at the gruesome sight of their mangled bodies, and I couldn’t help the violent physical reaction that prompted my empty stomach to instantly expel a stream of sour bile.

“Not used to death, huh.” Sandor concluded, placing his hand on my shoulder lightly. I shook my head as I tried to regain my posture.

This was not my best look. To think anyone would ever lay eyes upon me in this pitiful state would have been a most horrifying notion only yesterday. My hair and clothes soiled with multiple bodily fluids, possibly not even half of them my own. Yet, at this moment, I realised my life was worth so much more than my pride.

“How far until the next bath?” I quipped, trying to make light of the whole situation in favour of my sanity.

“We’re not getting back to town tonight, but we’ll make camp at the river. I think we’re all yearning for a soak.” He answered with a smile.

A river. In October. Not the hot and fragrant bath I wanted. No, needed. But its promise looked delightful nonetheless. My skin was already aching to get rid of the grime, have it torn from my body and hair by the violent current. I couldn’t wait to get there.   

As the soldiers ransacked the encampment, I retrieved for the greatest part my own possessions. My instruments were undamaged, as was most of my wardrobe. With a heavy heart I abandoned my most prized silken shirt, for it was covering the maimed torso of one of my former captors.

My fedora I found stained in blood, but I could not bear to part with it. I doubted there would be a laundress with the amount of skill necessary to clean the delicate fabric, but maybe that wasn’t such an insurmountable issue. It made for a compelling narrative, after all.

“Found some horses!” An enthusiastic voice called out. It belonged to a young, but square-built soldier, with ebony skin and a full mane of black frizzy curls that reminded me of my mother. How they had fit inside his helmet before, was beyond me.

He was walking towards us, leading a horse by the bridle. Three other horses were pliantly following the white mare. One of them was a bay gelding that brought a smile to my face.

“Andante!” I called out, as if the horse had any idea that this was his current moniker.

“Is that your horse?” the soldier with the white mare asked.

“Yes, er… No, not really. I borrowed him for my quest, but I’m adamant to return him to his owner after I succeed.” I explained.

He narrowed his eyes at me as he moved closer. He was only a slightly taller than I was, and likely a couple of years my junior, but I felt sufficiently threatened, nonetheless. Which probably had a little to do with the fact that he was so muscular, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he could single-handedly lift a horse.

“Borrowed, you say?” his low voice clearly bent on vibrating the truth out of me.

I nodded quickly, giving it my all to stand my ground. “Lord Abernath in Glaudran lent me the horse. I left my violin with him and his lovely wife as collateral. I assure you I did not steal it.”

The soldier’s attitude immediately relaxed. “Alright. That’s fine then. Good for you that horse likes my dear Sally, otherwise you’d never get your violin back. Name’s Lionel, by the way.” He stuck out a hand.

“Nice to meet you Lionel, thank you for bringing me my horse back. I’m Prince Vivace.” I told him, taking his outstretched hand and shaking it, biting back any comments about his hair and how his name was ultimately fitting. One never knows how a joke rebounds on an unknown audience, and for the life of me I did not want to be in this man’s bad books.

“So you’re a Prince on a quest. You’re planning to save a princess or something?” he raised a thick eyebrow at me.

“Actually…” I started conveying my excuse for finding myself in this bizarre situation, and unconsciously ran a hand though my hair. It came through sticky and tainted in no less than four different colours.

I involuntarily yelped. This had to be the filthiest my hands have ever been. Wildly shaking the goo off my hand, and getting nowhere, I voiced my disgust. “Yuck…”

Lionel watched me struggle and fail to get the muck off my hand. For a second he seemed amused by my desperation, then pity took over his expression.

“Ah man, that’s nasty… Just wipe it on the grass, that doesn’t mind.”

I did so without hesitation, grateful for the suggestion I should have thought up myself.

“You know what?” Lionel’s low voice sounded from somewhere above me. “Go get on your horse. We’ll be moving soon, to the river. My Sally needs a bath as well.”