Seemingly to emphasize my feelings, several of the soldiers in the Boulton army laughed. My face burned with embarrassment, a raging fire that not even the cool waters of the falling rain could smother.
Suddenly, there was a thwip from behind me, and before I knew it, an arrow lodged in the chest of a Boulton soldier.
Accompanying the thwip was a gasp of surprise… an indication that whomever had fired the arrow had not meant to.
‘Hold your fire!’ I screamed, but it was too late — the soldiers of Boulton, consumed with rage at our seeming audacity, were charging.
I had no time to think about our impending doom — drawing my shortswords, I instinctively twirled them in my hands, as I always had during sparring sessions. My only hope was to kill each soldier before more could get to me, a futile task at best.
The battle happened too fast for my mind to even process. I was dodging, slashing, kicking — doing whatever I could to defend myself while creating more space to take on the next soldier.
But it was pointless — I was fast becoming overwhelmed.
Suddenly, a voice in the distance screamed. ‘Hold it! Stop fighting! Back off, you blighters!’
But I wasn’t about to stop fighting until they did, and that was good judgment too, because at least one soldier wasn’t following orders. The large soldier charged me with his giant spear, catching me off-guard because of the angle he was coming from. When I finally did see him, my first instinct (for whatever reason) was to lean straight back to avoid the spear.
I didn’t quite lean back far enough.
The spear caught me a glancing blow in the face, knocking me off-balance and to the ground. For a moment, I didn’t think the spear had caught me — until I felt a stinging pain near my eye. I put my hand to my face and saw nothing but blood.
I was in a compromised position, unable to defend myself, sure I was about to die…
I heard a commotion, and a body hitting the ground.
A soldier, who I could only assume was the commander, had thrown his fellow soldier on the ground. ‘When I tell you to stop fighting, you stop fighting, damn it!’ He then turned away from the soldier and strode toward me, which instantly scared me — this man was in a rage, and I had no idea what he was going to do.
But it wasn’t me he wanted — it was the spear.
For a split second, I was sure that this commander was about to murder the renegade soldier. When the commander reared back to throw the spear, I was sure it was the end; so was the renegade, who shrieked in fear. But the spear was planted in the ground just inches from the fallen soldier, causing him to scream in panic and plead for his life. The commander then kicked him for good measure.
‘I’ll deal with you later,’ the commander growled. ‘Now get out of my sight.’
The soldier scurried to obey.
Taking a few minutes to compose himself, the commander (or at least, that’s what I was still assuming that he was) then turned his attention to me. He had green eyes and a long, blond beard that was well-kept, and almost blended into his pale skin. He held his hands up to assure me that meant to harm.
Good for you, I thought. I’m not sheathing my weapons.
‘I am Commander Hardlow,’ the soldier began. ‘Are you alright?’
I didn’t answer.
‘What is your name, soldier?’
Still breathing heavily from the stress and exertion of battle (not to mention still wary of the other soldiers around me), I took a moment before I answered. ‘Aidan.’
Hardlow nodded. ‘I am very impressed… you fought very well, better than the rest of your unit.’
It was only then that I realised that I was the only one of the unit still alive. As I stared at their bloody, broken bodies, I became short of breath, and failed to express a gasp of horror.
‘What are you going to do to me?’ I whispered harshly, knowing that I was now nothing more than a prisoner.
‘Not a thing,’ Commander Hardlow answered brightly. ‘You have suffered enough for one day — after all, you were, for whatever reason, sent to your death.’
I stared at him, uncomprehending, although I had an inkling of what he was talking about.
‘We saw your scouts yesterday,’ Hardlow explained. ‘They approached us from the south. How they made it through those rock formation is anyone’s guess. We know they saw us as well, for they sat and watched us for some time. Only a fool of a commander would send a unit, such as yours, straight into our clutches, which leads me to believe that someone wanted you dead.’
It was too much. My initial assumptions had proven correct, and my fury caused my body to shake intensely. If I hadn’t been so blinded by my visions of glory, I would have seen through Norvin’s transparent facade.
‘Out of respect for your fighting ability, which is substantial,’ Hardlow said, glancing around at all of his dead soldiers, ‘I bid you return to your army, and settle your dispute with whomever you have angered.’
I remained silent — my mind was completely numb.
‘Go back, young man, and get that eye looked at,’ Commander Hardlow said. ‘I cannot promise you this type of courtesy again.’
With one last glance at Hardlow and his army, I turned and started to walk away, before spinning around one last time, looking Hardlow in the eye. ‘Thank you.’
I worked my way down the steep, now very slippery hill as carefully as I could. The rain was now coming down hard, and it coincided perfectly with my mood. All that was missing was some thunder and lightning — but there would be plenty of that when I returned to camp.
I was back to camp twice as fast as it took me to journey to Boulton’s army. I heard the men standing watch report that I was coming. I marched right past them, ignoring their comments about my bloody face, right toward the commander’s tent. Norvin, upon hearing of my arrival, appeared outside his tent.
There was a faint expression of disbelief on his face.
One of the soldiers in his little band of rats was suddenly in front of me. ‘Aidan. What can I do for —?’
In my rage, I shoved him aside, knocking him to the ground.
‘You bastard!’ I yelled at Norvin. ‘You set me up, sent me out there to die!’
Derrick suddenly appeared, and the men were beginning to gather around us.
‘Where are your men?’ Derrick asked.
‘Dead!’ I said, fury dripping from my voice. ‘We were ambushed by Boulton’s army, which stands waiting not one hour from here!’
‘Aidan… I assure you I had no idea —’ Norvin said, in his best whiny-puppy dog voice.
‘Don’t give me that!’ I yelled at him. ‘The commander of the Boulton army told me that he saw the scouts yesterday! I find it hard to believe that they lied to you.’ I was seething in anger.
‘You… spoke to the commander of their army?’ Norvin asked, apprehensive.
‘Yes, I did… Commander Hardlow, a respectable man — a trait that is sorely lacking in the commander of this army.’
‘Aidan, settle down —’ Derrick pleaded.
‘Yes, Aidan, settle down,’ Norvin said, gaining in confidence. ‘You are getting dangerously close to treason.’
‘What are you going to do — arrest me?’ I said, in a challenging tone. ‘Please do — then I’ll have to stand trial, and everyone will know the truth then, won’t they?’
‘You seem to be missing something, Aidan… I think the word is “proof”,’ Norvin retorted.
He wasn’t quite wrong, I realised, but he wasn’t going to get me that easily. I took a step closer to him and stared him in the eyes.
‘Everyone knows our history,’ I said, speaking in a low voice, ‘and everyone knows what a greasy piece of garbage you are. Maybe, just maybe, that’ll be all the “proof” I need.’
Behind Norvin’s eyes, I could see him searching for an answer — and finding none. ‘Aidan, you are clearly under a great deal of duress. Why don’t you get some rest, and when you are don
e, head back to Delmar? I think you’ve seen enough of this war.’
‘Not a chance,’ I responded, with no hesitation. ‘You couldn’t even carry me out of here.’
Norvin could have made it a direct order, and I would have had to follow it — but for whatever reason, he didn’t. Finished with him, I headed back through the congregation of tents, in an attempt to find some space to sit and cool off for a while. On the way through, I saw the faces of the men as they watched me pass. Their expressions were so different than they had been; they were respectful, sympathetic.
I found a tree that provided me some shelter from the pouring rain, and collapsed under it. A healer came by and cleaned up my eye. He said I was lucky to still have use of it, but there would be a scar underneath.
After the healer had left, I thought first of how excited I’d been when we had set off this morning, all the way to the realization that I’d been set up. I was a fool to have believed that conniving little sewer rat. I thought of the men who’d gone with me, who despite their lack of respect for me, had still stuck with me, because they’d been ordered to. One minute, they were alive, and the next, they were dead.
Norvin may have set it all in motion, but in some strange way, the deaths of those men were on my head.
And in that vein, I remembered what Garridan had told me about death — that it was all I’ve ever known in life.
I couldn’t help it. I started crying.
CHAPTER 8
Not long after we were roused from our sleep the following morning, Derrick found me.
‘Are you alright?’ he asked, concerned.
After a night of sleep broken by bad dreams and more tears, I was in a mood. ‘No.’
‘He’ll get what’s coming to him, Aidan,’ Derrick said reassuringly.
‘That’s not it,’ I responded, turning to look at him. ‘I —’ My inner turmoil was making things much more difficult. ‘I should have seen it coming, Derrick. Why did I trust him?’ My arms were outstretched. ‘Why did I believe that he was willing to give me a chance that, quite frankly —’ I struggled to admit this ‘— I wasn’t ready for?’
Derrick took a moment before he answered. ‘You’re not the first to be duped, Aidan. Norvin is devious, selfish, and he’ll do whatever it takes to get what he wants. How do you think he got to where he is? It certainly wasn’t because he’s a hard worker.’
‘But the problem is, I knew that,’ I responded, shaking my head at my own stupidity. ‘I knew all of that. And yet… I believed him. Now, ten good men are dead.’
Now that I had finally revealed what was truly bothering me more than anything else, Derrick’s face sank into sorrow. He took three bold steps forward, standing right in front of me.
‘That’s not your fault, Aidan, there was nothing you could have done. That’s his fault. It’s on his shoulders, not yours.’
My head sank, and I stared at the ground — through it, to the other side of the world. At least, that’s what it felt like.
‘It sure doesn’t feel that way.’
There was a short silence. ‘Norvin’s going to march on the Boulton army today,’ Derrick said finally. ‘Are you going to fight?’
There was little question in my mind — regardless of what I had been through, we were still fighting for our country. ‘Yes, of course.’
Derrick nodded, his face relaxing into relief. ‘You’re a good man, Aidan.’
I sighed. ‘Again, doesn’t feel that way.’
‘You’re a better man than me,’ Derrick said brightly. ‘I would have thrown Norvin against a tree by now.’
I glanced at him, and then I chuckled in spite of myself.
‘He’ll be dealt with when we get back to Delmar, Aidan,’ Derrick continued. ‘Right now, we have to do what we came here to do.’
I responded with a nod. ‘That’s how I feel. Norvin can try all he wants to keep me out of this fight, but it’s not going to happen.’
‘You know, there’s a lot of rumors going around about your eye,’ Derrick mentioned casually.
‘Oh?’ I replied, barely interested.
‘Yeah… some of the men are saying that since you are the only survivor of yesterday, that you must be indestructible. Others are saying you cried so hard over the loss of your men that your eye started to bleed.’
I looked at him in disbelief. ‘None of that makes any sense.’
Derrick smiled. ‘But that’s how legends get started — nonsense.’
I chuckled. Only Derrick could have come up with something like that.
‘So how did it happen?’ Derrick asked. I told him the whole story.
‘Hmm,’ Derrick said, rubbing his beard. ‘Hardlow sounds like a good man.’ He was quiet for a moment. ‘So… what else is really bothering you?’
I hesitated for a moment before I answered. ‘Sir Garridan once told me that all I know in my life is death.’
Derrick didn’t respond, and before I knew it, I was launching into the full story.
***
I was fourteen. Life was becoming more and more difficult. Father’s age was beginning to wear on his body. He couldn’t yet be considered an “old man”, but the amount of hard work he did every day for years and years had made him look much older than he was. He never said a word, but it was painfully obvious. Knowing that he would remain silent about his declining condition, I quietly took on more and more work on the farm. Now older and a little wiser, I came to realize that all of the hard work I put into the farm would be good for my body, helping myself to get into the condition I needed to be in. Eventually, it began to show. By fourteen years of age, I was well built for my age, and my endurance was improving drastically.
Seeing Father in his physically deteriorated state was hard for me; every day, I would grow more and more concerned as he limped into the house after a day of work, clutching his back, groaning in pain. He would collapse into a chair, slumped, breathing in shallow breaths. Eventually, I took on dinner duties as well, and then sometimes (more often than Father would admit, I’m sure), I helped him to his bed. But still, the thought never entered his mind to stop working and let me take over… he wouldn’t even entertain the notion. On those nights, I would come back to the table in the kitchen area, sit and think about how proud I was of my father — he had worked so hard his entire life, not even stopping when he lost my mother, although I know the emotional strain had to be unbearable. He raised me as best as he could, and always did what he could for me, no matter how I was acting or what trials we were facing. I knew now that it was my turn to take care of him, and I did it with same grace and dignity that my father always exhibited, or at least, I tried to.
One day, in the winter months of the year 199, I came inside the house from the barn after a day of mending tools (or attempting to), only to find Father already inside, slumped in a chair. This wouldn’t have been too unusual, except that he seemed much wearier than usual — far too weary. His head was practically hanging from his shoulders.
‘Father?’ Seeing him like that made me immediately apprehensive.
His head turned slowly toward me. It seemed like it took a great deal of effort; more strength than he actually had.
‘Aidan… something’s wrong,’ he whispered.
Alarmed, I rushed over to him. The first thing I thought of to do was put my hand on his head.
His skin felt like it was on fire.
‘Father, you’re sick,’ I said, my tone urgent — I had never known my father to be sick, ever. ‘Come on, let me move you to your bed.’
Ordinarily, this plea would have been met with a great deal of protest, but this time, Father was almost unresponsive as I draped his arm across my shoulders. I had to practically drag him to his room; his legs were moving feebly as he attempted to walk, but they didn’t seem to be under him.
I laid him gently down on his bed then, after taking a short moment to catch my breath, I rushed to the kitchen to find a cloth I could soak in cold water,
for his head. I had trouble finding a clean one, but after a frantic search, one turned up — in my room, of all places. After dousing it, I hurried back to my father and laid the cloth on his forehead. He sighed slightly in relief, but I knew that one cloth wasn’t going to cut it. Quickly, I went around the house and gathered up a few dirty cloths and cleaned them as best as I could. I had no idea just how right I would be — when I returned to my father, the cloth on his head had already grown warm.
I didn’t take long to figure out that cloths cooled with just water wasn’t going to be good enough. If one thing worked out in my favor, it was that it was winter — I dashed outside and tore some icicles hanging off of the roof of the house (standing on a bucket to help me do so) and hurried back inside, wrapping a big piece of icicle in one of the cloths. But even that wasn’t good enough — within a couple of hours, the ice had completely melted.
‘Father, I have to go into town and get a healer,’ I said, scared.
If anything, he seemed to be able to speak a little easier. ‘It’s… freezing outside, you don’t have… the supplies,’ he whispered. ‘Even if you… did, you… know we don’t have the… coin.’
‘There has to be something I can do,’ I pleaded.
Father was quiet for a moment, and then he said, ‘Stay with me.’
His deliberate tone frightened me, but I had to concede that he was right. If Agatha were still around, I could have gone to seek her help, but I didn’t even have that option.
I was so frightened for my father that I couldn’t even think straight — my mind couldn’t form a single coherent thought as to how I could help him. Finally, after my father gasped for water, I started to pull myself together. After I got him the water, I thought that some broth might be good for him, and then I decided that I would try my hand at a healing potion (although my skill has a healer was somewhat equal to my inept skill in mending tools). Interestingly enough, I knew the recipe for a rudimentary healing potion from Agatha — years ago, when I had been sick, she had helped my father tend to me. I had asked her what was in the potion, and she told me, as well as how it was made.
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