by A G Rosai
respected, just to name a few. The list of false masters is almost endless. Mine was adherence to tradition—but now I’ve broken free.”
I sat there speechless, thinking about what had been said. I saw the truth of it, and how it applied to most people I knew—but what about me? Was I also a slave to some of those false masters? I’d certainly been born free, and up until then I’d been thinking of myself as a free man with a free will. I felt as if my mind were torn into two pieces that were arguing with each other. I’m free. No, you aren’t. You fight the kobolds, even though you don’t want to. They’re a threat. They live beyond the far side of a vast desert, and they’ve never done any harm to you. They pose a threat to the Kingdom. Do they really? Have they ever attacked Kingdom lands without provocation? No. But … I’m a soldier, and I need to follow my orders. Do you really want to be a soldier? Not that much. But what else could I do? See, there you go. Are you afraid of changing your life, of doing something else for living? A bit. See, there you go. Does being a soldier give you some benefits, such as pride or feeling that you are important? I think so, yes. See, there you go again. And it kept going on like that; the kobolds were just one topic in my inner conversation. In the end, I had to reluctantly accept that I did, indeed, have my false masters—many of them, actually—and that I was a slave to them, just like the others.
“Thank you for sharing this with me,” I said after a while.
“No, I thank you for listening to my thoughts. I saw that you were thinking hard about them, so they must’ve fallen on fertile ground. I almost believed that nobody on this earth would ever be interested in them. I’m glad that I could tell somebody. Now, you only have to survive this ugly desert so you can pass them on,” he laughed. “You’re fortunate that I could grab two large canteens of water during my escape, and that I saved their contents for later use.” He chuckled again.
“What was your plan? Did you try to cross the desert on your own?”
“Yes, I hoped I could reach the far end of it.”
“But you knew the bolt was poisoned and that it’d kill you anyway …”
“There is an extraordinarily talented healer living at the south end of the desert, who treats everybody, being human or orc, kobold or giant, doesn’t matter. It was a long shot, but I hoped that she might have something that could help me—like an antidote unknown to anybody else.”
“I think I heard rumours about that woman … or that witch, actually. I thought she was just a legend.”
“No, she’s real. I know about an orc whom she brought back from the edge of the grave.”
“Then you must keep your water. You may still make it.”
“No, as I said, it’s too late for me.” I wasn’t entirely convinced about that. “But you, on the other hand, can reach her with a bit of luck.”
“Impossible. You say the witch healer lives in the south. I need to head west to reach our closest outpost so that I can pass on the Army General’s request for reinforcements.”
“Forget it. To the west, the desert stretches for more than a fortnight’s strained march; you stand no chance. But the healer’s place is only four or five days walk from here. And I heard she has homing crows which are just as good as homing pigeons. They could carry your message.”
“And you? You will just stay here?”
“Yes,” he said determined. It was an improbable situation; he, dying, but still caring more about my survival and success than his own passing away.
“Before I leave …would you like me to help with your … problem?”
“You mean to save me from the rest of the suffering? No, thank you. I will face my destiny myself, alone. If the pain intensifies so that it is unbearable, all I have to do is to lean back hard against that rock, pushing the bolt and inch deeper. That will do. But let’s talk about other things. We still have plenty of time until sunset.”
So, sitting underneath the large rock, we talked for the rest of that day about various topics, including orcs and humans, life and death, wisdom and foolishness; I enjoyed every minute of it, despite the heat attacking us from outside of the shadows. He knew a lot about the ways of the world and also possessed a profound and practical wisdom.
At sundown, I said goodbye to him with a quite heavy heart and took my leave. With the help of the two canteens of water and the good instructions that I’d received from him, I just managed to reach the healer’s hut. She treated my dehydration quickly and efficiently; and yes, she had homing crows, just as the orc said. They carried my precious message. In a few weeks’ time, I got back to the Kingdom and learnt that my message had arrived, and the reinforcement had been dispatched; our army was saved. I asked for a relocation from the Eastern Armies to the personal squad of our stubborn Supreme Commander, and my request was granted. Three years later, when the kobolds proposed a peace treaty once more, he accepted. I like to think that it was partially due to my telling him about my dreadful war experiences, gently and inconspicuously influencing him towards a peace agreement. After fourteen blood-soaked years, the war with the kobolds had finally ended.
I often thought about the orc and whether he had survived. I knew he’d told me that there was no chance for him to stay alive, but I still hoped that by some miracle he had made it.
Many years later, I retired from the military and became a caravan escort guard. One day, as our large trade caravan crossed the wastes of the Great Desert of Doom, I unexpectedly glimpsed a rock formation. Large rocks. Those rocks! I recognised them promptly. I asked for a minute of rest, and with my heart beating fast in my throat, I walked beneath the protruding rock. There was no skeleton there.
The End
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A G Rosai