10
Apr
Shorter than I would normally like, at only 850 words, but I didn’t quite seem to have it this morning. A pity, that, but no matter. Still glad I was able to write a little. I think perhaps it might have had to do with trying to write the comedown after a battle, and back into the ‘connection’ piece between Horaim and Niam Liad. Also, while reading/writing, I had an alternate idea for the ending, and I’m not sure which one to use.
Eight Veryan soldiers set out, Rhyfelwyr in the lead. Another had died while they recovered in the market. Rhyfelwyr looked about and his small unit, blood spattered, staggering, and at less than half strength, and wondered why he did this. Why did he lead young men into battle over and over, only to watch them die? He feared he knew the answer: he could do no other thing, that he was such a soldier he could no longer exist outside the strictures of the army. Perhaps he couldn’t, at that.
Shaking the dreary thoughts from his mind, Rhy turned his weary eyes to the road ahead, glancing back and forth at all the openings in the buildings looming overhead, the hidden spots on the roofs where archers could hide. If they encountered any more Lianese troops, any more, they’d all die. Why knew his squad was too exhausted to even retreat, and wondered if he should hole up in some basement, and wait for a day or two, discover the outcome of the battle afterwards. Something inside wouldn’t let him though, and Rhy could see it in the countenances around him: they had come too far to stop now. There would be an end to it this day.
Stride by stride the Veryan soldiers approached the warehouses, and although the sounds of fighting drifted over the city towards them, their passage through Horaim was untroubled. Sticking to the back-alleys and hidden ways of the city, Llofruddiwr lead from his station high above them, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, appearing at junctions to point the way. How he had the energy for such exertions Locsyn would never know, for he had been forced to drop his shield entirely, no longer able to stand the strain it placed on his wound. The shield was lying back in the rubble of the market, so much detritus.
The sun was touching the horizon when the squad arrived at the first warehouse, tucked away on the south side of the city. The squad had fought and marched their way across all of Horaim, arriving wounded and tired, battered and nearly broken. Letting the other slump to the ground around him, Rhy motioned Gwyth forward. “Open it.” The brute nodded, and a mighty blow from his sword cleft the chain holding the door shut. Running his fingers along the edge of his blade, Gwyth pulled out a whetstone and began to grind the nick from his sword.
Pulling the doors open, Rhy smiled as he saw the fully stocked warehouse before him. “Everyone, eat your fill. Don’t make yourselves sick, though. Taflen, when you’re done eating, take inventory.” Taflen nodded, his eyes glancing over the stacks and barrels of food. Patting Locsyn on his unwounded shoulder, the historian pried open a cask and handed the dried meat within to his wounded friend.
The other soldiers set to with a will, and Rhy stationed himself at the door as a sentry, gratefully accepting some meat to chew on while he waited. As the twilight laid a thick blanket over Horaim, he pushed the doors closed, barring them from the inside and falling asleep on the ground. Around him, his squad slept, content in their lot.
The morning arrived late and groggy, the squad struggling to rise in the dim confines of the warehouse. Unbarring the doors and pulling them open, Llofruddiwr and Gwyth were greeted by the site of other Veryan soldiers, standing and sitting in the square before them, organizing supplies being taken from the stockpiles. Llof turned to Rhy and pointed, and the sergeant sighed and shook his head. “I’ll go report, shall I?”
Report made, Rhyfelwyr returned with orders that they were to assemble at the south gates at noon. They would then be given quarters in the city, and two days leave, after which they were expected to be well-rested and able to march down to Niam Liad. “There’s something else though, something they weren’t talking about. We lost a third of our men here. You could see it at assembly, whole banners missing from the rows. We also lost about half the storehouses. They were fired before our soldiers could get there. We have enough for the trip down, and perhaps some of the trip back, but not all the way across Bedwar Barthu Dirio. Looks like it’s Niam Liad or nothing.”
Taflen spoke. “A third? We must have crippled the Lianese as well.”
“Oh, we did. Their forces in Horaim were shattered. But how many more do they have in Niam Liad? I wonder.”
“Given how many fought us here, they can’t have more than a few handfuls left. The emperor never let them keep or train many soldiers, so we’ll probably be going against farmers with pitchforks.”
“Pitchforks and a twenty foot city wall. Anyway, off to assembly.”
The squad marched on, their heads filling with thoughts of leave and sleep.
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Steve Green on 10.18.2010
I am still enjoying this story very much.
I don’t mean to be critical or pedantic, but these words would slip through the spell-checker…
3rd paragraph – Why (should be Rhy ) knew his men…..
8th paragraph – greeted by the site (should be sight)
Another small observation (bet you wished I hadn’t started reading now don’t you ? 🙂 )
Some of the phrases seem very modern for the era, for example “Hole up in some basement”
Onwards……
The Four Part Land on 10.19.2010
The joy of first-draft material. Eventually, when I finally finish the material for “Unfolding a New Continent”, I’ll polish this up. It’s supposed to be the centrepiece, or at least one of them.