The Death Wish

by Jules Marks

  For his part, Larkin looked me up and down and then ducked his head in a respectful nod.

  Hugh then gestured towards Ioan, who’d been taking in the scene while seated on a bed placed on the opposite side of the room.

  “In yon corner is Ioan, son of Lloried. Should you need instruction in swordsmanship…or in swimming…he is the man to ask for guidance.”

  Larkin cocked an eyebrow. “In swimming?” he asked, as if that was the furthest thing from his mind.

  Hugh nodded his affirmation. “In swimming.”

  Larkin was still staring at Ioan, whose eyes were eerily reflecting the lamp’s light. Ioan moved his hand to his brow in a gesture of salute or dismissal…I couldn’t tell which…and Larkin seemed to get the message, for he bowed to Ioan, and then turned back to Hugh.

  “Tomorrow morning, then?” he murmured as he edged back towards the door.

  “Do you have a place to sleep?” asked Hugh.

  Larkin’s shoulders rose then fell. “Actually, Sir Hugh, I’ve been sleeping in the stables. The weather has been mild, after all, and it’s not so bad…” He paused and his voice trailed away.

  “Would you like to sleep in comfort one last time before we set off?”

  “Certainly, Sir Hugh, but I wouldn’t want to inconvenience anyone.” The lad’s eyes were downcast, but his voice was hopeful.

  “Go to the innkeeper and tell him that I request another pallet for our room. I believe he will do my bidding without argument.”

  “Thank you, Sir. You are most generous. I won’t give you cause to regret this.” That said, Larkin bowed once more and left the room.

  Hugh stared after him. “Is it that I am getting old, or does he seem terribly young to go to war?” he asked no one in particular.

  “It’s nothing to do with your age; he is too young,” was Ioan’s reply.

  “No younger than Hugh was when he first saw battle,” I argued as I punched at a lump in the straw. I harrumphed. “Young people these days…always being coddled. Did you take a good look at him? He seems the sort who would waste time daydreaming while others work.”

  “Do not begin your grumbling, old man,” said Hugh. “This boy will serve your purposes better than my own. Won’t you enjoy the opportunity to have someone attend you, for a change? He can saddle the horses, gather wood for the fire, draw the water…I’m certain you’ll find him helpful.”

  I was not so easily convinced. “That…or he may prove to be burdensome, as so many young people are today.”

  Hugh sat down upon his bed; his shoulders sagged. “We shall see. For now, I suggest we enjoy our beds and our rest. Our journey could take a hazardous turn once we reach the Uplands.”

  Even before the end of Larkin’s second day with us, I begrudgingly admitted that I’d been wrong: if he was a dreamer, he did it on his own time. Larkin was energetic, ever helpful, and efficient, sometimes fulfilling a task that I hadn’t even thought to set before him. Thank heaven he wasn’t a chatterbox; he seldom spoke unless spoken to, but he was always genial and eager to please. I imagined he’d been a good squire to Sir Kerrick, and I knew that once we reached Beckman, it would only take a few words of recommendation from Sir Hugh to find him service with someone else.

  On our third day out of Beechfeld, the weather turned hot. We’d ridden hard all day; by late afternoon our party, horses included, was ready for a break. Ioan had been scouting for a watering hole, and when he rode back to us, I could see from the smile on his face that he’d succeeded in finding one.

  “There,” he pointed west. “Just beyond that rise…there’s a lake, a beautiful lake at that. We can rest there.”

  “And you shall get a swim in, I’ll warrant,” I added.

  “Most certainly,” Ioan agreed with fervor.

  Ioan tried to talk the rest of us into joining him, but all declined. We rested on the verdant bank just at water’s edge, and Hugh and I positioned ourselves where we could observe Larkin as he, in turn, watched Ioan swim. Finally, after seeing Larkin’s expression move from wonder to alarm and then to incredulity, Hugh decided he should explain about Ioan. He first swore Larkin to secrecy, and then told him about the Hydorians.

  “You do realize that to break your promise could cost Ioan his life?” Hugh cautioned him. “There are still men who would want any living Hydorian killed on sight.”

  Larkin nodded; his solemn expression was a good indication that he took Hugh’s warning quite seriously. He glanced out towards the water for a moment, and then looked back to Hugh. “He lost his entire family?” he murmured.

  “They are long dead; he lost all…as have we,” replied Hugh, just as solemnly. “The Creeping Death struck down our families in early summer. That is why we go to fight unencumbered by regret. Grief makes for a fearless warrior.”

  Larkin’s brow furrowed. “Both you and Gael, too?” He sighed. “Then we are, indeed, a sorrowful band, for my parents are now both gone to Heaven, and I am all alone in this world.” His chin quivered briefly, and a single tear spilled from his eye before he turned, embarrassed, to wipe it away.

  Hugh gave the lad’s arm a squeeze. “We are none of us alone…not now. You called us a band, and that we are. For a soldier, his brothers in arms become family. We are brothers, now…” He paused to grin. “Or, if you prefer, this old fellow next to me can be the father.” He leaned over and gave me a playful thump on the chest. Sensing that we all needed to lighten our moods, I took no offense, as none was intended, and instead decided to join in the repartee. First, I made as if to cuff him back.

  “A father, you say? Then show me more respect, boy, or I’ll give you a lesson in humility.”

  Hugh didn’t answer; instead he looked at Larkin, and though I didn’t see him give any signal, Larkin seemed to sense what he intended. They hopped up, jumped into the water, and immediately began to splash me. I couldn’t allow such impertinence to go unanswered, so I joined them there and we all went at it with gusto.

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  The terrain was changing. We’d finally passed the borderland of the great Horbold Forest and had, instead, moved into a rolling sea of tall grass. The clusters of trees had thinned, and as we moved further up into the rough, rocky moors, small farms and homesteads became fewer and further between. We rode several more leagues before the sun began to set, and then we stopped to make camp.

  The pleasant break that afternoon, plus the balmy weather, had put us all in happier moods. It seemed our tongues were loosed as well, for we talked late into the night.

  Larkin told us of his many travels with the knight, Sir Kerrick, a kindly old warrior who had taken Larkin on after Larkin’s own father, a knight in the service of King Ephraim of Saelmon, had been slain in battle. It was obvious that Larkin’s memories of his father’s untimely demise brought him great sadness, and Ioan, taking pity on him, attempted to distract him by asking about the foreign lands in which he’d traveled. When they found that both had visited the exotic kingdom of Peshta, their shared reminiscence of the place brought the conversation back to happier times.

  As one who had left home only to go to war, I enjoyed those tales of pleasurable travel and fantastic kingdoms. Yet, I diverted my attention from the two youngsters—I still couldn’t bring myself to think of Ioan as an ancient—and I watched Hugh during the evening’s conversation. He joined in now and then, but mostly he sat back, a wistful smile playing across his face, as he listened to Larkin and Ioan exchange marvelous stories of mysterious lands. Finally, he looked up into the starry heavens, thumped a hand on his knee, and brought the evening’s discourse to a close by announcing that we should get some sleep.

  Because we had moved into the wild and treacherous Uplands during the course of the day, Hugh proposed that we stand a watch until dawn. When Larkin asked about the order of the watch, Hugh frowned for a moment, and then suggested that the order be set by age, with the oldest taking the first turn, and so forth. Hearing that, I forced my aching bones to move: I
began to rise to gather arms and go check the horses, but Ioan gave my shoulder a gentle pat and gestured for me to remain seated.

  “Get some sleep,” he urged. “I shall wake you when your time comes.”

  He spoke those words, but he wasn’t being forthright. He didn’t wake me, but instead he stood my watch as well as his own, and he woke Hugh when it was his turn. Hugh, being the sort of man he was, took more time as well, and when he woke Larkin to stand the last watch before dawn, there was barely an hour left of darkness. Of course I knew none of this at the time, being dead to the world with weariness, but I learned of it later…after the attack.

  Chapter Five

  Larkin did not fall down on the job…not in the figurative sense, anyway. He’d been making a wide circuit of the camp when he noticed the horses were stirring, and he moved back around towards them to check on their welfare. Though the Uplanders were amazingly stealthy, Larkin heard them before they struck, and those few brief seconds we had after his warning cry of alarm gave us an all-important space of time to grab our weapons and prepare for an assault.

  Once they knew we’d been alerted to their presence, the enemy gave a blood-curdling war cry. I’d never heard the like: it was a high-pitched howling sort of scream. Had I not heard it before we began killing them, I would have thought it a man’s death agony.

  I had always considered myself a bowman, and in the many wartime battles in which I’d fought, it had been my weapon of choice. Unfortunately, with what seemed an entire horde of wild-men attacking us in man-to-man struggle, my bow would serve little use. Still, I had trained with the sword, and had, in fact, helped train Hugh, so I felt capable, if not expert, in its use.

  I wish that I could have watched the engagement: to study two sword-masters such as Ioan and Hugh in actual combat would have been instructional…and thrilling, to boot. But all was deadly chaos, and I was in the middle of it.

  The first slender fingers of light and warm colour were shimmering in the east, but the purple darkness around us made fighting difficult…and even more dangerous. The Uplanders came at us with clubs, knives, and spears. As far as I could tell, no more than one or two of them had a long sword, and this worked to our advantage. I know not how many there were—Hugh later estimated as many as fifteen—but they came at us in such a frenzied mass, I could only guess their number. It seemed as if there were more…many more.

  I slashed, drove, spun, and stabbed at churning limbs, torsos, and heads. I was moving so fast and hard, I could scarcely breathe; unfortunately, taking the time to stop and catch one’s wind would be lethal. I knew for certain that I had dispatched two men, upon whose lifeless bodies I trod as I fought their living comrades, and it was one of those very corpses that tripped me up. The deathly swing of a spiked club nearly took off my head; I ducked, and then fell over backwards, sprawling. The Uplander attacking me gave a triumphant shout, and he moved in for the kill even as I struggled to roll away. He swung once to my right; I rolled to my left, attempting at the same moment to rise. Once more I tripped and stumbled upon the corpse, and in those seconds, as I found myself on my hands and knees upon the ground, I believed that I was done for. It came as quite a surprise when one moment later, the head of my assailant plopped onto the turf beside me. I glanced up in time to see Ioan flash me a wild smile; he pumped his fist up in the air, as if he was having the time of his life, and then disappeared into the swarm of fighting men as quickly as he’d come.

  It is passing strange how the fighting instinct works: for almost two weeks, since Hugh had come to me with his drunken plan for the two of us to die in one glorious final battle, I’d thought about how I would go down. One swift sword stroke, one final grunt of pain…or satisfaction…and I’d be dead, restored to my Sarei at last.

  But a lifetime of training was not easily ignored. I wasn’t going to go out of this world meekly; the primitive urge to fight back and survive was too great. Instead, I fought in a typical frenzy; the battle-lust took hold, and I reveled at the chance to strike out at a deadly foe, to kill, to seize the opportunity to vent my seething rage at the unfairness of life. It worked: I was deadly, as were my comrades. I cannot say how much longer we struggled, but by the time the dawn had broken enough that we could actually see one another without much difficulty, the few enemy that could still move were on the run in full retreat while we stood, panting and leaning upon our bloodied swords, surrounded by the bodies of the fallen foe.

  Ioan was the first to move.

  “Larkin! Where are you, lad? Larkin?” he called as he began circling among the bodies.

  “When he cried out…at the first…he was near the horses,” I managed to get the sentence out even as I gasped for breath.

  On hearing that, Ioan hurdled over one body then another as he sped towards the horse’s line. Hugh followed, though not as quickly, but I remained in place, surveying the fallen forms around me, looking for movement or some sign of life. Two of the Uplanders were moaning and stirring, but feebly, and I stood there, waiting, hoping they would die; I didn’t like the idea of killing a foe after the battle.

  I looked towards the horses, where I could hear some commotion.

  “Gael!” Hugh called out. “Come quickly. We need you!”

  When I reached them, Ioan was seated on the ground, cradling Larkin’s motionless form in his arms, while Hugh stood over them, looking sorely troubled and at a loss as to what he should do. Blood was still seeping from a messy gash above Larkin’s left ear, and seeing that was something of a relief: at least he was alive; his blood was still pumping.

  “How bad is it?” I asked as I carefully tipped Larkin’s head so that I could have a better look.

  “I doubt that we’ll know until he comes to,” murmured Ioan. He shifted some of Larkin’s bloodied curls from his face.

  “There’s so much blood…are there any other wounds?” ventured Hugh.

  I knelt down and moved my hands over Larkin’s limp form. Though his many-layered clothing was a hindrance to a thorough investigation, that cursory examination revealed no other obvious bleeding or damage.

  “You know how it is with head wounds, Sir Hugh. They often look worse than they really are,” I answered.

  As if on cue, Larkin started, and then opened his eyes for just a moment. The lids fluttered, closed, and then opened once more.

  “Is all well?” he asked in a voice faint as a child’s.

  I could see the flood of relief in Ioan’s face. He practically hugged the youngster to his chest as he responded, “All is well, now that you are back with us.”

  Larkin, gaining more of his senses, immediately launched into an apology.

  “I’m sorry, Sir Hugh. They were so quiet! I didn’t hear them until they were upon me! I tried to…”

  Hugh touched a fingertip to Larkin’s mouth. “…And you succeeded. We were forewarned, thanks to you, boy. You need make no excuses; you did your job admirably.”

  “But I didn’t even manage to unsheathe my sword,” Larkin moaned in response. He reached a tentative hand to feel his bloody head and then pulled it away to stare in wonder at the crimson fingers. “I’m bleeding,” he murmured, as if surprised to discover that he’d been wounded.

  “Abundantly,” I added. “We need to clean and dress that wound.” I looked at Ioan and Hugh, who I could now see clearly in the light of new day. I thought perhaps Larkin wasn’t the only one who needed attending. Both warriors were blood-spattered, and though most of those stains were likely the enemy’s, there was more than a chance that Ioan and Hugh had suffered a hit. How did I know? …Because I’d received a knife slash or two myself.

  Ioan and I had both packed medical supplies. Our kits were similar: they included gut and long, curved needles for stitching…those needles worked for leather hides or people; there were multiple leather thongs to tourniquet the blood supply to a limb; rolls of linen bandages; sphagnum moss and lambskin to absorb blood or pus; clamps; and strips of wood to splint. We each
had an assortment of healing herbs, though Ioan’s stock was more extensive. The kit was wrapped up in a piece of leather hide that could be used in combination with the sticks to splint, or it could be pressed over a wound to stem the flow of blood. I’d used my kit scores of times, and judging by Ioan’s abilities as a leech, I assumed he had, as well.

  Midmorning found us a battered but triumphant band of warriors. We were stitched and bandaged—not too much the worse for wear—and the horses were packed and saddled, ready to go. We’d had the opportunity to examine the enemy dead…and, fortunately, they were all dead by that time. The Upland warriors were a sorry lot: their weapons seemed rudimentary; they were clothed in animal skins; their bodies and hair were un-kept, filthy. Their faces were crudely painted with ochre, and they had marvelously strange tattoos ‘round their biceps and upon their chests. They looked like some primitive force from another time, a distant era. That said, I felt no less fortunate to have beaten them, for primitive or no, they were huge, strong men, and I could see how a great party of them could make for a formidable foe.

  Having not the energy, manpower, or desire to bury so many bodies—there were ten dead Uplanders—we built a pyre and lit it up just as we were leaving. Even as we rode away, the stench of the burning bodies followed us. The bitter memory of that smell cast a pall upon my former good cheer, and I could tell by Hugh’s somber demeanor that he was affected, as well.

  We rode without speaking for several leagues, but, finally, Larkin broke the silence.

  “I still do not understand. Was their plan to kill us and take the horses?” He shook his head, and then seemed to think better of his action. “Ohhh, not a good idea.”

  I tapped my own scarred pate. “Give it a few days, Larkin, and you shall feel right as rain.” I looked to Sir Hugh. “What say you, Sir? Could you divine their intentions?”

  Hugh edged his mount closer to Larkin’s. “I suppose they see any mounted knight as an enemy now that they are battling Halwick. You see, Larkin, under normal circumstances their rebellion would be doomed to failure from the first. Organized, well-trained and armed troops could defeat them easily. But these times are not normal. All civilized regions hereabouts have been dealt this terrible blow: the Creeping Death has ravaged the land, leaving the people who have survived weak in number and morale. The Uplanders have always kept themselves apart—and this served them well during this latest plague. Their numbers are strong, while Halwick’s are weak; the advantage is no longer Halwick’s.”