The Tales of Ahrdin
The rain began to form puddles around the men strewn among the trees. All dead, save the one woken violently by the water he inhaled. He lifted himself to his hands and knees, his lungs uncontrollably expelling the offending fluid, gasping for breath between spasms. His coughing lasted for many long moments before he began to slowly control his breathing. Once he had begun to control his breathing he looked about him and saw the bodies all around, and he remembered. He remembered the uncounted attackers bursting from the forest shadows, forces he knew shouldn’t have been there. With the oncoming memory, he wept over his complete defeat. This was the type of command that led to admission to the Gentry, an opportunity now utterly out of his reach. It was he, and his men, who were to have the surprise advantage, strike unexpectedly where the enemy was weak. But how could he have believed he could command these men, how could he have had the hubris to convince them he could lead them, protect them, bring them glory. He wept in deep sobs for the life he would never have, he wailed for the lives of the men that had trusted him.
Visions of each of the men he had commanded, had killed, came to him as his sobs calmed into shallow breaths. He moved to sit against a tree trunk, head bowed as the rain fell upon the nape of his neck. The phantoms of his dead men paraded before his closed eyes, all the while his breath shallowed. He slipped into the semi-consciousness of his own personal hell.
***
“OI! This’un here’s not dead!” the stout figure shouted as it staggered back from the man slumped against the tree.“Aye, he breathes, but naught’s in his head it seems. He didna even flinch at yer howlin,” a second dark figure responded. “An he’s one o’ the Red Legs. Must be near to a hundred count of them dead here. I ain’t seen mor’n four of another color here. They was done in good.”
“So, what ought we do with him? The Red Legs’ve all moved t’the south, cain’t send him back with them. Might as well take as we can from the dead, but what about him?” the first voice asked.
“Aye, tis best to recover what we can from the dead. I s’pose we ought ter take him back to Matron an see as what she can do.”
The two quietly busied themselves in finishing their search of the dead before bringing the cart around to the catatonic soldier to carry him away.
As they lead cart away from the dead bodies, one of the figures spoke, “This fightin couldn’t have been much more’n a day ago. Cain’t see this here soldier could last much longer with them wounds of his. Tis a wonder he’s alive at all.”
“Aye, but cain’t hurt nothing to have Matron take a look. A life’s a life, even if he’d a mind to throw his an his men’s away like this. Tis reckless officer’s as him as try for glory attackin where the enemy’s strong.”
“Why you think these men marched straight fer the Tal? The rest o’the Red Legs were goin’ south last night. Del says ain’t no Red Legs left in the valley, well, save fer them’s that’s dead back there.”
“Aye, who’s to know why these reckless officers run off insane fer glory as they do. Like to be he thought he could win a war all by hisself.”
“The valley was supposed to be clear of the Tal. No one was supposed to be there,” the soldier quietly whispered from the cart. “The Captain said all the scouts saw no sign of Tal for miles.”
The older of the two men turned to look at the soldier, “Is that so? What yer name, soldier?”
“The Tal were gone, Captain said. The Gentry, it was to be. . . Oh Gods! My men. . . all dead. . . dead.”
The man turned back to his companion, “Aaah, if’n this soldier lives, it’ll be a struggle to save his mind. One way or t’other, Matron’ll sort it out.”
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