Original Submissions by Gorbei

• 

  Scaien Wall, The
  Added on Feb 2, 2005

  A Byn Runner's experience at the battle of Luir's during the rebellion.

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  Part 1

  Another day, doing chores for my trooper masters. I'm standing in the mess hall, sweating by the stoves, making another big batch of stew. I look around the filthy stone room. I'll probably have to clean it later. I go back to stirring the pot with a big wooden spoon absently and I lose myself in thought about my upcoming graduation for a short time. I look to the left, out the big mess hall doors to where the sergeant and troopers from my unit are gathered for the contract today. I turn back to the stew and watch it bubble as I stir it slowly, waiting for the horn to blow. I feel a tap on my shoulder a few moments later and turn to see a stocky bald man. He's one of the troopers. "'ey, sergeant Kaleb say we need one more."

  I immediately toss the spoon to the head cook Cailin, rip off my apron and jog out of the mess hall, chuckles from Cailin and the trooper following me.

  My unit and I leave the compound as soon as I am ready, and sergeant Kaleb, a grizzled, gray skinned dwarf, briefs me on the mission. "Tha templarate's hired us ta go ta the Northlands fer a couple o' months," he tells me as he grimaces, "Seems hey got a little rebel infestation they want us ta look at. Ya can ride, right?"

  No, not really. "Yea, of course," I reply with confidence. We walk the rest of the way in silence.

  When we get to the stables we see sergeant Steiner there with his runners and a couple of his troopers. "Hello, Kaleb. Heard about your contract and I thought I'd take my runners along for some desert training, you mind?" says Steiner, with a grin that folds the long scar on his cheek.

  Kaleb looks for the bunch of nervous runners with a wry twist of his mouth. "Faugh, if ya gotta, but we en't waitin. fer 'em." Kaleb shakes his head with a mutter.

  Both Steiner and Kaleb pull out a handful of stable tickets, and most of the troopers produce their own. As the stable hands rush to locate everyone's kanks, Kaleb approaches me and shoves the reins of a large, twitchy, yellow kank into my hands. "Hope ya can keep up, runner," he states, before turning to distribute kanks to his troopers that don't own their own.

  I nervously look the kank in the eye, glance around at the others in the stables, mount the beast, and quietly try to get it to move, with no success. Fuck.

  When we leave, Kaleb immediately notices my troubles and covers his face with a hand and mutters angrily. "Ya said ya could ride!" he angrily exclaims to me. He points to two troopers, Bjarne, a large, brown skinned man, and Racoi, a tall, cocky elf, and orders, "You an' you, ride in the back wit' him, keep him outta trouble."

  We leave the gates shortly and I ease my half-spear off of my back as I struggle to make my mount keep up. The two troopers assigned to me ride easily at my sides, watching the bland desert scenery in boredom. Later, we see the group stop and wait for us, far ahead, for the third time. The troopers glance sidelong at me from their kanks, and I sigh and kick mine, trying futilely to speed it up. Suddenly, a dark red blur dashes over a dune and slams into the side of my kank. My mount rears up, screaming, and drops me on my head as my guardians leap from their kanks, yelling battle cries. The scrab scuttles over to me and I woozily try to keep its pinchers away from my body and neck with my short spear in one hand as I fumble at my belt, trying to free my long dagger, with my other. Bjarne charges the vicious animal and bashes it away from me with his large hammer. Racoi is close behind, his swords already drawn and slashing. I scramble to my feet and circle the creature. The scrab squirms as I slide my weapon into its body, under its shell. Racoi takes this opportunity to jab his obsidian sword into the scrab's neck. Bjarne uses the pause to slam the scrab on the top of its head, hard. Racoi's sword snaps at the hilt as the scrab falls, shuddering, lifeless to the ground. Racoi sends me a withering glance and discards his stone hilt. I rub my stinging hand. Then, our comrades finally arrive. Steiner moves to the fallen scrab and gives his recruits a quick lesson about skinning one, and where to hurt it best. Kaleb approaches me and asks, "Ye all right, lad?" with more concern than I would have expected from him.

  "Yea, I think so," I reply, before looking down at myself. I see that the attacker managed to rip a respectable chunk of flesh from my hand while it was on top of me. I suppress a moan before it can escape.

  A portly, pock marked trooper named Raul steps up from the sergeant's side and takes my hand to inspect the bleeding wound. "Bah, 's not so bad," says Raul with a grim grin as he wraps my hand with a thin white bandage. He then gives me a pair of armored gloves to protect my hand and keep the bandage in place. I smile shakily and thank him before we all mount up and start moving again.

  We are almost to Luir's Outpost, and I'm looking forward to the rest. I just sit and watch my kank's head bob, occasionally flexing my hand. I look up and scan the barren desert road for a moment before returning my eyes to my mount's head. Wait, something's missing. I look up again and think for a moment before sitting upright and searching the horizon. The main group is out of sight. I shout to the bored troopers at my sides that we have to hurry up and start kicking my kank in desperation. Racoi grins over to Bjarne and nicks my kank with his sword, causing it to run at speeds faster than any I had ever traveled at in my life. I clutch the reins tightly, and my face must have portrayed something comical to the troopers, because they laugh heartily as he ride easily beside me. "Careful, runner!" Bjarne calls to me.

  Abruptly, the road turns sharply at the edge of a gorge. The kanks scramble frantically on the gravel at the lip, but their momentum carries them inevitably forward into the chasm. My mind gets blurry snapshots of Bjarne's tightly shut eyes and Racoi's wide, fearful mouth. The irony strikes me only slightly before the ground does.

  I lay on the rocks, my vision swimming, only slightly aware of some movement near me. I blink slowly, my eyes rolling independently, and try to think of anything. I blink again, the sun jumps slightly in the red sky. I'm suddenly aware of some figures on kanks, shouting from the top of the gorge. I part my lips, I taste blood. I blink again, and he figures are gone. I look around myself and notice that I hurt. I see Racoi stumbling around and Bjarne lying on the ground near me. Three kanks, one large and twitchy, are scampering around, trying to crawl up the steep cliffs. There is a sand-scoured, broken down wagon some distance away. I slowly sit up and find the figures again, standing over a different part of the gorge that looks less sheer. One of the mounted men rides his kank slowly to the edge, pauses, and two of the other figures heave the kank and rider over the edge. As the flailing kank carries its rider down the steep scree slope, I chuckle, and taste blood again. I frown and look down at myself, seeing that the skin not covered by armor is a mass of small cuts and growing bruises. My face is probably not much better. I stiffly try to stand, then think better of it and prop myself up against a rock instead. Bjarne starts to stir. I turn back to watch the spectacle of the falling riders. As I see the second-to-last kank to come off the cliff, my mouth drops open. The kank catches itself on a dip in the terrain as it's pushed over the edge, causing it to flip over. The person and the mount tumble into the valley, smashing each other into the ground. At the bottom, the kank claws the air, trying to flip itself over and off the rider. The last figure quickly urges his kank down as I try my best to stand and limp over to the scene.

  The figure that fell was sergeant Steiner, and now he's lying on the rocks, unconscious and badly injured. His troopers are already in the process of making a makeshift stretcher for him out of their brown Byn abas, and sergeant Kaleb, the last figure down the slope, is darting around at a surprisingly quick pace, trying to find good shelter. He pauses for a moment when he spots me, screams furiously, and then takes off once more.

  Four troopers carry Steiner to the broken wagon on Kaleb's order, as two more herd a family of jozhal from the main room. Racoi, Bjarne and I follow them in. We make ourselves comfortable as one of our medics sees to our wounds, and watch Steiner being laid out carefully while the other medic scurries around him. Everyone but the wounded and the medics leave the cabin of the wagon to find a way out of the gorge. Kaleb gives me a seething glare as he stomps out. Our medic soon leaves to go help with Steiner and I lay back on my pack to recover and wait for the others.

  I wake up. It's later, and I'm feeling slightly better now, so I decide to get up and see how the others are doing. I walk stiffly down the creaky ramp, out of the wagon, and see an odd performance by my colleagues. The kanks couldn't climb the cliff walls, so it seems that the strongest of the Bynners took on the task of dragging the kanks against their will by the reins through a small tunnel to he west. The bandaged form of Steiner is leaning on a crude crutch, speaking with Kaleb, and I overhear part of their conversation.

  "I'm gonna fekkin' kill 'im!" growls Kaleb, his eyes burning.

  "Get a hold of yourself Kaleb. No one died. No harm, no foul," Steiner states calmly. He flexes his sling-bound arm, lifting and turning it, to prove the triviality of his injuries. "He probably hurts more than I do."

  "No one died, but they could've! An' we wasted mos'o the morn." Kaleb spits out, before noticing me.

  "YOU!" screams Kaleb as he stomps hastily over to me, waving his weapon menacingly, followed slowly by sergeant Steiner. I stand paralyzed, trying to decide whether or not to flee for my life. Kaleb could defeat me with minimal effort if he decided to use his heavy stone axe.

  "WHAT under Krath's fekkin' heat were ya THINKIN', runner?!" shrieks Kaleb, his diminutive form seeming to tower over my above average height.

  Racoi and Bjarne arrive from the wagon as I reply, stammering, "I lost sight of the group, so we started to hurry, but lost control around the corner, sir."

  I take a step back as the sergeant begins to sputter, his eyes angrily wide. Racoi steps in to save me. "It was my fault, sarge."

  Kaleb lets out a yell of frustration, slamming his axe into the ground, before turning to storm to the tunnel. His expression causes most of the runners, and some of the troopers, to scatter out of the way.

  Bjarne bends to pry the angry dwarf's axe from the ground, stating in his muddled northern accent, "Don' wurry too much, 'e won't 'arm ye, an' e'll cool off inna couple o' weeks." Racoi chuckles, nodding knowingly at Bjarne.

  After the last of the kanks have been forced through the opening, I help Steiner hobble to it and we all duck though, crawling through the darkness to the other side. We emerge, blinking, then move to calm the jittery mounts. Sergeant Steiner's runners surround him and they begin the ride back to Allanak.

  I watch them depart, and then turn to find Kaleb standing in front of me. "Steiner ain't 'round ta save ya now, runner," he growls.

  I swallow and prepare to dash into the desert. Sergeant Kaleb takes his axe from Bjarne's hands and waves the hefty stone weapon in my face.

  "If ya EVER endanger my troops again, I'll kill ya. Got it?" he rasps to me with his deep, gravelly voice.

  I nod silently, trying not to vomit. Kaleb turns and goes back to the mounts. I shove my hair into place under my helm and quickly straighten my armor before following him. We all jump onto our kanks and set off along the cliffs beside us. The mounts can't go as quickly along the rocky surface as on the road, and I have less trouble keeping up.

  After backtracking for an hour, we finally make it around the cliffs and back to the road. Kaleb stops in the shade and puts up a hand, telling everyone to give the mounts a rest. My kank is inexplicably spooked by something and scampers around the corner of the mesa that's granting our shade.

  I hear a deep, gravelly shout of protest and urge my mount back to the group, just in time to see the sergeant furiously fling his axe over the road. He jabs a stubby finger at Raul. "Get that fer me, trooper."

  Kaleb runs up to me, grabs me by the leg, and hauls me off my kank, slamming me into the ground on my back.

  "I told ya never ta ride ahead again," Kaleb reminds me as he squats on my chest with a finger hard under my chin. "Ya got an eight count ta tell me what ta do with ya, 'cause if ta leave it ta me, yer a dead man."

  I start to stammer and look to the troopers. Most are pretending to be engrossed with taking care of the mounts, some are just watching a short distance away. Raul returns with the dwarf's weapon. Kaleb's fifth finger drops. My eyes widen and I begin to panic. Between terrified breaths, my voice strained by the weight of the dwarf on my breastplate, I plead, "Make me walk the rest of the way to Luir's!"

  Kaleb steps off of me and lifts me roughly to my feet by my breastplate. "You're runnin' the way ta Luir's, boy," he says to me. Then, turning, "'ey! Get up! We're leavin' fer the Outpost! Raul, lead the way."

  The chubby trooper looks down at me with a hint of sympathy from his kank, and starts to ride slowly down the road. Everyone else follows as soon as they are ready.

  Despite the slow pace, I still have to jog to keep up and quickly become tired in the intense desert heat. Whenever I lag behind, though, Kaleb whacks me with the flat of his axe from atop his mount. At one point, I stumble and fall. Kaleb pretends to accidentally drop a water skin, which I grab from the dust and drink from, greedily. A few minutes later, the sergeant reaches down and hauls me to my feet by the hood of my aba, then makes me run twice as fast to catch up to the others.

  When we finally make it to Luir's Outpost, my face is blood red, my throat is raw from breathing heavily in the wind-blown sand, the inside of my armor is sopping wet, and the sun is low in the sky. The sergeant says to Raul, "Give 'im some water, make sure he don't die."

  A few troopers go to stable the kanks, one walks down the street to secure rooms at the inn, the sergeant leaves to search for a contact, and Raul approaches me, saying, "You ran good today, runner. There's a lot of troopers that wouldn't have made it as far as you."

  Wheezing, I nod my gratitude to Raul as he helps me to the inn. After he assists me in bandaging my badly blistered feet, I sleep soundly until morning.

  It's a clear morning, with only light sands blowing in the air, as we leave Luir's Outpost to the north. I am riding a large gray kank this time, who is much more docile than my last mount. I have a much easier time keeping up. Kaleb talks loudly as we ride, telling us the information on the contract that he learned last night.

  "We'll be livin. in the Northlands fer at least a couple months," he calls to us, "guardin' the gates from rebels, an' routine patrol. Should be easy 'sid, if ya don't get homesick."

  The journey continues without much incident. My mount follows the others on its own, so I get to watch the red desert setting slowly include more plant life and become greener. We arrive at our destination late in the afternoon.

  Part 2

  We've been in the Northlands for over a month, helping the local soldiers with the rebels. Most of the time it has been pretty easy, standing guard at the gates, chatting with the locals, except for one night, when the rebels somehow slipped poison into my water skin. I got violently ill, and my muscles seized up. There wasn't any lasting damage, but the troopers all had a good laugh. Another duty of ours was a routine patrol outside of the walls. At first, I wasn't allowed on most of these, because sergeant Kaleb still didn't trust me on a kank. A few weeks after our journey up here, though, the rebels managed to ambush and kill him while he was on patrol with Bjarne and Racoi, as they reported afterwards. Raul received a message from out lieutenant that he was to be promoted to our new sergeant, which Racoi and Bjarne seemed a bit bitter about. Raul let me go on patrol more often, which I enjoyed because patrolling is slightly less boring than guarding the gates and it gave me the chance to leave the flat stone roads and half-constructed buildings of the city to see the lush countryside.

  I stop reminiscing about my time here and snap back to the present. I stand in a row with the rest of my T'zai Byn unit, a step behind my sergeant. An aged templar is giving us a speech, which I just missed most of. I look around myself. To my left is another unit of Byn fighters who have just arrived, with a recovered sergeant Steiner at the head. To my right are ranks and ranks of Allanaki militia; heavily armored half-giants and some of the most battle-hardened men I've ever seen (aside from my colleagues and I, of course). I smile and wonder why they even bothered to hire us. I turn my head back to Lord Templar Sathis, who is now moving toward us, and my stomach rumbles. The small pile of obsidian coins I brought with me recently ran out and I haven't eaten in at least a day and a half.

  "These mercenaries," Lord Sathis calls to the gathered crowd of Allanaki soldiers, with a wave of his arm, "have been hired to aid us in the fight against the rebel force." He turns toward us. "Until victory, you are no longer mercenaries, but are soldiers of Allanak. I expect that to be your attitude," he tells us, with a severe glint in his eyes that may or may not be magick.

  As the old templar shuffles away and begins a new string of speech about national safety, I shake my head and let out a small chuckle. Raul turns slightly toward me and silences me with a harsh glare. I sigh quietly and my eyes start to wander again. They fall to my plain, stiff leather sleeves and I start thinking of the stripe that's waiting for me back home. Suddenly, everyone is moving again. I blink in surprise, and then run to where my unit is already getting ready to leave. I ask Raul what's going on, exactly. Raul responds with a snorting chuckle, "Weren't you listening, runner? The rebels are coming, with an army. We're stationed at the vineyard."

  I frown and nod. We soon start the hike south.

  We arrive at the gates in the early afternoon where a small section of the militia is waiting for us. The two sergeants go to discuss our strategy while the rest of us sit on a ridge just outside of the gates, and prepare to wait.

  We've been here for several hours; it's now the middle of the night. I'm looking into the sky, watching the two moons ride silently past, and I realize something. "You know," I state to no one in particular, "I'm twenty-two years old, right now."

  "Happy birthday," says Raul, tearing the paper-wrapped honey-cake he is eating in two, then tosses me half. I smile and devour the morsel.

  I watch a shaggy half-giant trooper play with a set of small wooden soldiers.

  Drums. My eyes flick open and frantically scan the dawn-dyed horizon. Many, many loud drums, in the distance. I scramble and scoop up my obsidian headed halfspear and long bone dagger. I stand and watch the sky nervously, my eyelid twitching with each slow, collective beat.

  Some of the veterans around me have frightening expressions of twisted calm, which is almost comforting to see. Sergeant Raul is wearing a deadly grimace. I can't find Steiner's face in the group, and the enemy appearing on the horizon ends my search.

  At first, it's just a thin black line, barely visible over the immense, dusty yellow plain. Gradually I can begin to discern individual shapes in their ranks. Tribes and tribes of savage plains-men run shrieking at us. Some are riding huge beasts of war, some are beating massive hide drums in time.

  Much more terrifying is the front line. Hardly recognizable figures of all shapes and sizes. Mutants. War mutants. My mind shudders as I attempt to interpret them. There is one, the biggest one, I think: huge, muscular and gangly, it's literally bristling with barbed spikes. Lumps of muscle pulse under its grainy gray skin. At its feet, I notice another: almost hidden in the cloud of dust being raised, I spot this small energetic beast. It looks like some pathetic botch of necromancy, all arms and legs. Tumbling and hopping, it is barely keeping in front, and is lacerating itself with its oversized, hooked claws and teeth in the process.

  I blink, quickly shake my head and sweep the line, trying to take it all in before they reach us. I get only a general impression, of sharp fangs, violent features and inhuman noise. It seems that some of the creatures were made with unholy racket solely in mind, spinning and shrieking with endless zeal.

  I clench my weapons and teeth tightly. I put a growl in each breath, trying to raise courage. Then, everyone's together. I can't hear; blood is pounding in my ears as I jab at my opponents. I notice Steiner's arrival from inside a large bush, nearly decapitating a reptilian humanoid with the first strike of his glittering obsidian daggers.

  I slowly become almost detached from the battle as I mechanically move from opponent to enemy to opponent, helping my friends and allies with well-placed attacks. Duck, step, strike, step, strike. I observe the violence and conclude that sparring was never like this. Step, step, strike, duck, strike. Next, a painted, muscular woman. Step, strike. Rivulets of blood run down her colourful chest as she drops to his knees. I spin around, my eyes painfully wide. My nose begins to bleed softly of its own accord. Duck, walk, step, strike, step, strike, parry, parry, dodge, parry. A spear-like arm rips past my head, under my helmet and splits my ear in two. The mutant retracts its arm and I am shoved harshly back into my body. I shiver and let out a cry when I realize that a tribal and two mutants are trying to kill me. There are no allies in sight. I frantically parry their attacks as best I can, each one getting closer than the last. Blood is starting to leak from the bottom edge of my helm. My arms already burn from berserk exertion. The spear-armed thing jabs me in the shoulder, lightly. My aba is abruptly soaked with blood, and the weight of the mutant brings me to my knees as it flings itself at me. I only fully realize that most of the blood isn't mine when Sergeant Steiner intercepts the other mutant, a small, clawed, bird-like thing. I disentangle myself and turn to the savage, then give a fast sigh of relief. Steiner calls out intensely, "Keep with the group, runner!"

  The man sneers at me and sends a boot into my breastplate. He takes flight as I stumble. With a smirk, I assist Steiner and we dispatch the remaining creature quickly. Back to back, we scamper to return to the others.

  I can't tell how much longer the skirmish lasts for, my mercenary comrades and I guarding the gates in a knot. The battle ends even more suddenly than it began, the enemy in abrupt retreat. There is a collective sigh, which releases the tension. It's late morning, and light sand is whipping though the air.

  With Raul standing beside him, Steiner calls out, "Take what you want from the bodies, but be quick about it! They may come back."

  My hunger grips me again, I had forgotten about it during the fighting. I wander over the battlefield for a few minutes before seeing a bag strapped to the back of a scruffy feather-clad tribesman. I pluck it from his stiff body and find a bundle of vegetables and nuts. I wander slowly back to the group, snagging various treasures and chewing a handful of seeds contentedly. I finish those and reach into the bag for a thick, green tuber. I take the first bite, but before I can swallow I cough the plant particles in front of me in a spray. I rip off my bone breastplate and fall to my knees, clutching the left side of my chest. My blood is on fire!

  The two sergeants hear my moans and come running over. Steiner kneels in front of me and quickly assesses me with his hands and eyes. He then snaps a hand into a pouch on his belt, pulling out a red, thumb-sized tablet. He pushes the tablet past my chattering teeth and clamps a hand over my drool-smiled mouth. The tablet tastes terrible, and I would have spit it out if not for Steiner's hand, and his rough growl: "Swallow!. I swallow, and I can track the tablet as it abrasively makes its way o my stomach. Steiner releases me and lays me on my back. My head rolls to the side and I watch scavengers pick over some corpses as I wait for my blood to cool.

  I let out a shuddering sigh, and begin to feel light-headed. "You may feel light-headed for a while, but you'll be fine, runner," states sergeant Steiner as he stands to he feet.

  "Didn't your momma tell you if you don't know what it is don't put it in your mouth?" chuckles Raul as he helps me up. I nod absently in response.

  "He did it again, boys!" cackles a nearby, bushy-bearded trooper.

  My head feels like it did in the gorge. I seem to have my balance, though, and Raul leaves me to go greet Racoi and one of his elven friends, who each seem very agitated. After a brief chat, filled with rapid hand gestures directed at the city, Raul turns and bellows, "Everyone back inside! They've broken the gates!"

  I closely follow everyone into the walls and watch dumbly as two half-giants barricade the partially constructed gateway, as I try to shake the clouds from my brain.

  I turn back to my group and a messenger is explaining the situation in more detail. Apparently, the rebels have access to a small group of magickers, who blew down the western gate with ease. The attacking army pushed through, and the war is now inside the walls o the Northlands. Our unit is suddenly smaller by quite a few men. Raul picks up the dropped weapons and loudly curses the deserters, who are scrambling through the gate, over the makeshift barricade. I stand my ground, because I know that if it gets too dangerous, our sergeants will tell us to get out of here. Besides, my mind is still too befuddled to grasp the full concept of magick.

  We then see a lightly armored unit march around the corner, far down the road. They see us at the same time, and quickly form a line facing us, drawing arrows into the bows they are carrying. These are the first true rebels that we've seen, and they are all wearing shabby red and white veils. As everyone around me dives for cover or ducks behind their shields, a huge man at the end of the line shouts soundlessly and waves a signal with his sword. A volley of arrows is launched. I squeak in fear and throw my hands up to guard my face just in time.

  An arrow pierces my hand and nicks my left eyebrow. Three more heavy missiles slam through my breastplate, into my abdomen. I wobble, peering at my transfixed hand, during the brief respite as the second volley screams at us. Two final arrows slide into my right leg, one in the thigh and one in the ankle, and bring me crashing to the ground face first.

  I sneeze through my nose. Sticky blood is now covering my chin. A boot lands heavily beside my head. I rest my face on my arm and begin to stare listlessly, trying to look dead.

  Almost immediately, though, strong hands grab me under the arms and start dragging me on my back. I shift my eyes slightly to view my captor. It's the shaggy half-giant trooper, and he drops my in an alley, away from the fighting, near sergeant Raul. Raul wordlessly drops to his knees, shaking his head as he pulls the arrows through my hand, thigh and ankle. He leaves the ones through my breastplate alone. I let my head roll while he works, to look across the street. I notice a small girl watching me from a window. She smiles just before a terrified parent hastily pulls her away.

  Raul lifts me to my feet by my shoulders. "Can ya walk, runner?" He lets me go.

  I stumble into Raul and hug his thick, armored arm until my feet manage to scramble under me.

  I lift myself up and nod, and the sergeant tells me, "Get somewhere safe. You're in no shape for fighting," before striding out of the alley into the fray.

  I stumble, limping, out of the alley in the other direction, onto another side street, away from the skirmish.

  An hour later, I'm still trudging on one leg through the alleys and wide fields of the city, struggling against the pain.

  I've been trying to stick to the shadows, avoiding main roads and anyone I see. I'm moving steadily north, towards a tavern I know of. I think, "I'll be safe in the Sanctuary," through the haze.

  The arrows in my stomach aren't deep, but soon after I left my unit, I snapped each of them off and carefully removed my breastplate anyway. I've been carrying it with me since then, and now it slips from my fingers and clatters to the ground. I can't go on. I slip to the street beside my bone armor.

  After a short time of wallowing in self-pity, I notice a bald-shaven half-giant wearing trim linen clothing and a large leather pack round the corner to the south. I wait until he reaches me before croaking, "Help me," past blood encrusted lips.

  The half-giant leans over, peers at me for a moment, shrugs his massive shoulders and grabs me by the hood of my aba. As he drags me over the bumpy hard-pack, he says, "I got a friend," and I manage to pass out.

  I awake, having to forcibly open my crusty eyes. I'm alone, behind the bar of the tavern that I was heading for. A sharp burn in my midsection prevents me from sitting up, so I look over my bare chest. There are three enflamed incisions in my abdomen that are covered in sticky, white salve, and three bloody and broken arrows lie discarded beside me. I think of the giant.s friend and silently thank him or her. Thoughts of others vanish from my mind as I roll onto my side, slide a bottle of kalan wine and a full ginka pie out from under the bar, and have a long awaited meal.

  Once I'm satiated, I stand gingerly and find that I'm feeling much better. I straighten my filthy, torn aba around myself, and notice with a frown that several pieces of my armor are gone. I step into the room, where I see a few citizens taking shelter under tables. Finally, I realize that the sounds I had been hearing are the noises of distant battle.

  I poke my head out of the exit and my brows knit together at the sight. A few cords to the left of the door kneels Lord Templar Sathis of the Red, his carcass propped up by a javelin embedded in his spine. The wide road is littered with corpses of many different origins: from tribals to Allanaki soldiers, from scavengers to nobility. He air is gray with smoke from various burning buildings, and far down the road, I can see the smouldering ruins of the powerful gate. Near the gate flies the red and white banner of the rebellion, in place of the jade cross of Allanak. The only live allies I can see are fleeing a group of rebels in a small knot. I'm not safe here, I realize.

  I leave the tavern and begin to search the city for my unit, traveling in the same manner as I had before, keeping to the lesser-used streets.

  After an hour or two of gnawing fear, I come across a semi-constructed tower of stone by the city wall. Outside of the tower lies a bloody brown rag, similar to the one around my own body.

  I shudder as I step into the shadowed carnage within the skeletal building. Everywhere, bodies are slumped. Blood covers the unfinished walls and my friends. mangled remains lie silent in the red moonlight the peeks through the naked rafters. I whimper and let my stained aba fall to the ground. Several enemy corpses also rest with us, and I shakily procure a relatively clean, light brown dustcloak from one as a replacement. Without looking back, I slip from the tomb. As I walk south with my dustcloak held tightly shut, the only living people I see are wearing red and white. Some glance at me, but none look twice. When I finally reach the unfinished south gate, I give a shuddering sigh and begin the long hike back to Allanak. I wonder fleetingly if I'll still be paid for the mission.

  Part 1

  Another day, doing chores for my trooper masters. I'm standing in the mess hall, sweating by the stoves, making another big batch of stew. I look around the filthy stone room. I'll probably have to clean it later. I go back to stirring the pot with a big wooden spoon absently and I...

  
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