The Fallen

The tiny drops of blood flew out in a lazy three foot arc from the monster’s shoulder where Lukas had cut a fresh new valley. The mountainous gray-skinned beast hung still for a moment as his blood lost momentum and fell like rain on the scattered stones of the ruined peak. After a long pause, gravity decided to drop him in a heap and he fell like he was always meant to lie in a meaty pile at our worn and beaten feet. I staggered over and watched the last of the malicious light drift from his wicked eyes. Then I raised my sword and with a couple of swings, separated his knobby head from his shoulders just to be sure.

“I thought that troll would never fall,” Victor said.

“Are you sure that wasn’t an ogre?” Simon deadpanned.

“Yeah, he’s sure.” I groaned as I weaved away from the last of the battlefields. All across the outpost, the granite was slippery with the life that had dripped and flooded from us over the course of the last half hour. Sticky battle axes and scorch marks and armored dead bodies dotted everything in sight and the wind was bringing us the fresh scents of the sea making the whole scene a little unreal and distant.

Picking a trail through the dead barbarians, I ended the short walk at the cliff’s edge where Taylor and Swain had fallen. Taylor had dropped across his ally and they were resting eternally within easy reach of the climbing rope back down to the rowboats that we had used to come over to the reedy shore. Taylor was staring up at me with dead accusing eyes. Kneeling, I looked into his eyes for a moment and found no spark of life. Letting go of my wounded belly, I closed Taylor’s eyes with my left hand, not wanting to let go of the sword in my right. I said a quick prayer for their souls in the Celestial tongue of my faith.

Oberon made his way up behind me. “Walther, are you all right?”

“No,” I croaked is a low voice.

He put his hand on my shoulder. “Did you know them well?”

“Well enough.” I pointed at Taylor. “He had a couple of elderly parents that he was helping. He worked on their farm a couple of days a week. He was from Prendor like us.”

“What about the other one?”

“Swain had a wife and a couple of kids. It’s all on a piece of paper in his belt. I wrote it down for them last night after we finished going over the plans for the invasion.” Using the sword point as a brace, I stood and stared down at the two. “By my count, there are seven of us left.”

Oberon pulled me back a few feet to a nearby stone and sat me down. After opening up a leather carrying case that resembled a small bed roll, he started examining my wounds. “That seems right. How many wounds do you think you have?”

“I dunno. Four or five bad ones.” My eyes were still fixed on the dead men in my charge. “I feel like I need to do something for them. I’m not sure what the plan was, but I want them prepared for funeral and taken home to Prendor.”

Oberon pulled a black lacquered wand from his case and checked the inscription on the narrow base. “The fallen were to be prepared and buried at a holy site here.” With a kindly smile he waived it across my shoulders for a moment.

“Maybe we can make some sort of accommodation. Anyway, I want to give the families 100 coins each. It’s not enough to make up for the loss, but it’s important. I want to show my respect, my esteem for these two. They were good soldiers and they died like men should.”

Oberon smiled as he checked the bite marks on my shoulder. “I always thought old age would be a good way to go.” He moved the breastplate to get a better look into the wound. “This one is pretty deep.”

I turned my head and let him work. Long- necked sea birds had landed on the freshly dead bodies of the barbarians and they were making quick work of the flesh still left on the bone. Newcomers hopped sideways along the still cocked catapults looking for a place at the dining table. “The worst of the lot is along my belly.” Looking back at Taylor, I unbuckled the left side catch and pulled the chest plate back a little.”

Oberon blanched. “When did this happen?”

“When the archers along the low wall opened up on us, I made a run at them. I didn’t know that they had battle axes behind that thing, but we needed a minute to regroup.”

“There is a lot of blood here.”

“All mine,” I quipped.

Oberon moved to get a better look at the injury. “Are you sure you have any left inside?”

“Just enough.” Our presence was keeping the carrion feeders away from my men. “Look Oberon, I owe you an apology. I was getting furious at you guys back there.”

“When we were bringing the rest of the men up the ropes?”

“Yeah. I was watching those savages work the catapults and I wanted to rush them. This team sank two ships as I watched.” A shooting pain ushered in a clingy cold across my stomach and I knew the wound was closing. “But if I had rushed them, I’d be as dead as Taylor.”

“I would imagine so.” Oberon refastened the catch on the breastplate. “Your stomach wound should be good as new in a few minutes.”

“I’ll try to stay off of it for a while.”

“At least you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

“No, but I know why old soldiers have that particular look in their eyes.”
We looked out across the open water for a long moment before he spoke. “Why?”

“Old soldiers have seen things no one should see. And they know that they have managed to survive only by the grace of God. Behind that is just a touch of guilt for the ones left behind.” With a flick of the wrist I slung the last of the fresh drops of blood off of the end of the blade. “I suppose we should go through that last tower so that we can give the all clear signal.”

“I think we have time enough,” Oberon said. Looking across the battlefield, he said, “Victor seems to need me for something.”

“Yeah. He almost got knocked out of the saddle. Thanks for the mending, Oberon.” As a reply, he smacked me on the shoulder and then he was across the field checking a wound on Victor’s side. The wind drove a fresh scent across the carnage of the field and under a bright blue sky, I looked for something to cover the bodies of the fallen.

-- by Bill