| War and History Fiction posted August 18, 2022 | Chapters: |
...22 23 -24- 25... 
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Colton get his first taste of battle.
A chapter in the book Rise from the Fall
Marked
by Rinshikai
The author has placed a warning on this post for violence.
| Background Colton Arverni is an auxiliary soldier in service to the Empire. When an aspiring new commander jeopardizes the northern frontier, Colton's life is changed forever. |
Colton
You fool, Why did you charge me? You should have run. From tip to the hilt, my blade is dyed red from the sheath that now lies at my feet. My hand goes to my face, the fleshy mask protecting me from the green haze that clouds the area. Like many villages we've passed, the aftermath is hard to bear.
I look at the carnage all around me. Crimson tears fall from the cheeks of villagers, weeping at their untimely end at the hands of our foes. We couldn't save them. But we managed to avenge them, at least.
"What did I teach you, Colt?" Hahaku stands next to me, admiring my kill.
"Quick and clean."
"Quick and clean. Treat it like hunting; you never prolong the suffering. Out here, it's you or them. Ok." Hakaku gives a reassuring shoulder squeeze, and we join the rest of the unit.
In the village square, bodies of friends and foes litter the ground. Our losses are few, but the pungent smell threatens to blind me. One of the men takes a knife to his fallen comrade. Ready to take his bladder for himself. I go to stop him, but Hahaku stops me, shaking his head no. These masks are worth more than gold, but to take one from your dead friend. That's hard to watch.
We salvage everything usable from the dead, blades, armor, and whatever else we can find. In the hand of one of the villagers, a vial of green dust catches my eye. I carefully remove it, marveling at the craftsmanship. Showing it to Hahaku, he pockets it for the time being.
"They shouldn't be here." I look at the northern warriors among the dead. "How did they get past The Scar?" If they managed to get this far south, there's no telling if Bloodcrest is even standing.
A firm hand grips my shoulder. "I need you to stay focused, Colt. If they are this far south, we need to report to Iona." He whistles for everyone to gather. "Everyone. We're moving out, gather the wounded, and burn the dead."
"Is that wise?" I say.
"Colt, look around you. We've searched everywhere. There's no one else alive." We pile the dead, gathering what little hay we can spare to ignite the pyre. Offering a prayer, I look at the woman who charged me. Among the dead, her expression is peaceful. Or that's what I tell myself, the guilt gnawing at me like a rat. They're right; it's nothing like the capital; you know where you stand with others. Out here, it's so grey.
With the houses starting to burn, I grab my share of the salvage. We climb the hills to the south and make for our camp on the edge of the woodlands. A deep woosh grabs our attention. Flames rush into the sky, sending debris across the village. What in the world could have done that?
We arrive to the sounds of merriment, and a few camp followers offer to take our gear. Unburdened, we remove our masks and can breathe again. Among the tents dancing in the wind, the scent of smoked meat teases us. You'd mistake us for nomads rather than an army.
Cheers echo between the tents, ushering many to gather. Following the crowd, we find the source of the commotion. At the center of it all, Aunt Iona and Captain Locke are fighting. No weapons, no armor, just a bare-knuckle brawl between them.
Locke has reach and experience, but she has flexibility and youth. I marvel at the bout; Iona manages to evade most of Locke's strikes. However, when it did hit, it sent her flying. Yet, she keeps standing, learning, and anticipating Locke's moves. He'd go for a punch she'd evade. He'd go for a grab, and she would strike him. She's wearing him down till they're both on their last leg.
Locke leaves himself open, and she takes the bait. Like a snake strike, he grabs her by the throat, lifting her, only to throw her down like a rag doll. Knocking the wind out of her, she grasps for air, fighting to free herself. Through a bloody smile, she struggles, unable to push Locke off her. Then she wraps her legs around his neck, sending them both onto the ground.
For a second, I thought Iona would come out on top. But Locke manages to get her into a bear hug. With her arms restrained and feet off the ground, it's a victory for Locke. Nose to nose, he coils tighter. "Yeld Iona. You're trapped." He says. Getting a knee in the groin, he stumbles, yet, he manages to stay on his feet.
A wet crunch, and both of them land hard. Locke, flat on his back, covering his face. While Aunt Iona lands on her ass, rubbing her forehead. Clever, going for the nose. I kneel next to my Aunt. Who looks at me in a haze. They're both panting, soaked in sweat, unlikely able to continue.
Offering my hand, "You ok?" She nods, allowing me to help. "Captain Locke, you ok?" He sits up, snapping his nose back into place. Spitting some blood, he smiles through bloody teeth. Unable to stand on his own, Hahaku helps him to his feet.
"Yeah. I'm fine. Fuck, that hurt." Locke says.
The crowd starts booing, demanding more blood. "Come on. I have money on this!" One of them says, rallying the others behind him. With a simple gesture, Captain Locke offers the man the circle.
"Knock yourself out."
"What?" The crowd throws the man and one of his friends into the circle, chanting for them to fight.
Deciding it would be best to get Iona and Locke to the healer, we leave the crowd to their fun. Moans and whimpers dance in the air, creating a song no one wishes to hear. We enter the camp's hospice, and it's a grim sight to behold. Bed after bed lay the victims of our northern foes. Their only reprieve coming from the faithful crazy enough to have joined us.
We head into the back. Yanna, another survivor of the purge, sits at her table, mixing one of her brews. Fireflies trapped in her lanterns create an incredible light all around us. But, it does little for the cold wind blowing through the hills.
The wet chop of meat draws my attention to the corner of the room. Triana hunches over a corpse. Its chest is wide open, blackened organs oozing pus, the stench turning my stomach. Helping Iona sit, Yanna gives her something for her headache.
Drawn from her work, Triana drops her tools, eyeing me like a piece of meat. "Ah, the brave heroes return. Did you bring me a present?" Her hands explore my body, only stopping when Hahaku clears his throat. He pulls out the vial I had found, and I'm forgotten instantly. "You boys always bring me such lovely jewelry." She pops the top, and I cover my face with my mask. "Don't worry, little soldier. I'm just going to use a pinch."
She sprinkles a pinch of the dust onto a candle, and its flame glows an eerie green, then quickly returns to normal. It's as we feared. The Northerners have made their way past The Scar.
I look at the carnage all around me. Crimson tears fall from the cheeks of villagers, weeping at their untimely end at the hands of our foes. We couldn't save them. But we managed to avenge them, at least.
"What did I teach you, Colt?" Hahaku stands next to me, admiring my kill.
"Quick and clean."
"Quick and clean. Treat it like hunting; you never prolong the suffering. Out here, it's you or them. Ok." Hakaku gives a reassuring shoulder squeeze, and we join the rest of the unit.
In the village square, bodies of friends and foes litter the ground. Our losses are few, but the pungent smell threatens to blind me. One of the men takes a knife to his fallen comrade. Ready to take his bladder for himself. I go to stop him, but Hahaku stops me, shaking his head no. These masks are worth more than gold, but to take one from your dead friend. That's hard to watch.
We salvage everything usable from the dead, blades, armor, and whatever else we can find. In the hand of one of the villagers, a vial of green dust catches my eye. I carefully remove it, marveling at the craftsmanship. Showing it to Hahaku, he pockets it for the time being.
"They shouldn't be here." I look at the northern warriors among the dead. "How did they get past The Scar?" If they managed to get this far south, there's no telling if Bloodcrest is even standing.
A firm hand grips my shoulder. "I need you to stay focused, Colt. If they are this far south, we need to report to Iona." He whistles for everyone to gather. "Everyone. We're moving out, gather the wounded, and burn the dead."
"Is that wise?" I say.
"Colt, look around you. We've searched everywhere. There's no one else alive." We pile the dead, gathering what little hay we can spare to ignite the pyre. Offering a prayer, I look at the woman who charged me. Among the dead, her expression is peaceful. Or that's what I tell myself, the guilt gnawing at me like a rat. They're right; it's nothing like the capital; you know where you stand with others. Out here, it's so grey.
With the houses starting to burn, I grab my share of the salvage. We climb the hills to the south and make for our camp on the edge of the woodlands. A deep woosh grabs our attention. Flames rush into the sky, sending debris across the village. What in the world could have done that?
We arrive to the sounds of merriment, and a few camp followers offer to take our gear. Unburdened, we remove our masks and can breathe again. Among the tents dancing in the wind, the scent of smoked meat teases us. You'd mistake us for nomads rather than an army.
Cheers echo between the tents, ushering many to gather. Following the crowd, we find the source of the commotion. At the center of it all, Aunt Iona and Captain Locke are fighting. No weapons, no armor, just a bare-knuckle brawl between them.
Locke has reach and experience, but she has flexibility and youth. I marvel at the bout; Iona manages to evade most of Locke's strikes. However, when it did hit, it sent her flying. Yet, she keeps standing, learning, and anticipating Locke's moves. He'd go for a punch she'd evade. He'd go for a grab, and she would strike him. She's wearing him down till they're both on their last leg.
Locke leaves himself open, and she takes the bait. Like a snake strike, he grabs her by the throat, lifting her, only to throw her down like a rag doll. Knocking the wind out of her, she grasps for air, fighting to free herself. Through a bloody smile, she struggles, unable to push Locke off her. Then she wraps her legs around his neck, sending them both onto the ground.
For a second, I thought Iona would come out on top. But Locke manages to get her into a bear hug. With her arms restrained and feet off the ground, it's a victory for Locke. Nose to nose, he coils tighter. "Yeld Iona. You're trapped." He says. Getting a knee in the groin, he stumbles, yet, he manages to stay on his feet.
A wet crunch, and both of them land hard. Locke, flat on his back, covering his face. While Aunt Iona lands on her ass, rubbing her forehead. Clever, going for the nose. I kneel next to my Aunt. Who looks at me in a haze. They're both panting, soaked in sweat, unlikely able to continue.
Offering my hand, "You ok?" She nods, allowing me to help. "Captain Locke, you ok?" He sits up, snapping his nose back into place. Spitting some blood, he smiles through bloody teeth. Unable to stand on his own, Hahaku helps him to his feet.
"Yeah. I'm fine. Fuck, that hurt." Locke says.
The crowd starts booing, demanding more blood. "Come on. I have money on this!" One of them says, rallying the others behind him. With a simple gesture, Captain Locke offers the man the circle.
"Knock yourself out."
"What?" The crowd throws the man and one of his friends into the circle, chanting for them to fight.
Deciding it would be best to get Iona and Locke to the healer, we leave the crowd to their fun. Moans and whimpers dance in the air, creating a song no one wishes to hear. We enter the camp's hospice, and it's a grim sight to behold. Bed after bed lay the victims of our northern foes. Their only reprieve coming from the faithful crazy enough to have joined us.
We head into the back. Yanna, another survivor of the purge, sits at her table, mixing one of her brews. Fireflies trapped in her lanterns create an incredible light all around us. But, it does little for the cold wind blowing through the hills.
The wet chop of meat draws my attention to the corner of the room. Triana hunches over a corpse. Its chest is wide open, blackened organs oozing pus, the stench turning my stomach. Helping Iona sit, Yanna gives her something for her headache.
Drawn from her work, Triana drops her tools, eyeing me like a piece of meat. "Ah, the brave heroes return. Did you bring me a present?" Her hands explore my body, only stopping when Hahaku clears his throat. He pulls out the vial I had found, and I'm forgotten instantly. "You boys always bring me such lovely jewelry." She pops the top, and I cover my face with my mask. "Don't worry, little soldier. I'm just going to use a pinch."
She sprinkles a pinch of the dust onto a candle, and its flame glows an eerie green, then quickly returns to normal. It's as we feared. The Northerners have made their way past The Scar.
Character List
Colton: Main POV character
Hahaku: Mercenary captain and friend of the family
Iona: Colton's aunt
Locke: Mercenary captain
Yanna: Old woman and healer
Triana: Old friend of Iona's who knows poisons
I ask reviewers to provide a minimum of one thing they liked and disliked. If you see errors or something that should be fixed, please don't hesitate to point them out. I can't improve otherwise.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Colton: Main POV character
Hahaku: Mercenary captain and friend of the family
Iona: Colton's aunt
Locke: Mercenary captain
Yanna: Old woman and healer
Triana: Old friend of Iona's who knows poisons
I ask reviewers to provide a minimum of one thing they liked and disliked. If you see errors or something that should be fixed, please don't hesitate to point them out. I can't improve otherwise.
Artwork by avmurray at FanArtReview.com
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