sharp edge
of metal pricked the back of his neck.
“Not much of an army are
you?” mocked a gruff voice. “Just you out here, is it?"
The Soldier breathed
deeply and threw himself to the side, twisting and swinging the blade
double-handed with all the weight of his body behind him. He had owned a sword
once that could have cut through stone. He had named it something suitably
grand, yet now, like so many other things, he could not remember what it had
been. If he had been holding that sword
then he would have cut through both the legs of his attacker and still had
enough momentum to decapitate another. This sword was not like the other.
Nevertheless it hit the sentry just below his knee with enough force to break
his leg with an audible crack, before glancing off the dented plate and flying
from its wielder’s hands into the shadows. The sentry screamed and fell,
tumbling down the shallow rise.
The Soldier rolled on to
his belly and squatted, gasping with pain yet ready to spring into action. A
man flung himself from the darkness of the forest and tackled him. They both
fell, limbs flailing, to land a few feet from the first sentry, who was
clutching his shattered leg and howling with agony. Three more sentries ran
down the incline and surrounded the two struggling men. The Soldier struggled
under the weight of the brute atop him yet managed to bring his knee up into
the man’s groin. The man hissed in pain and rolled away, giving the Soldier the
chance to stand and face his enemy.
By now, more men were
running from the campfires, come to see what all the noise was about. The
Soldier knew it was over. His mind was a fog of exhaustion and torment and he
tottered on his feet, yet he still stood. That
is all you can do, he told himself. Stand. Don’t let the bastards see you fall.
A fist caught him in the
back of his head and forced him to his knees. He put his hands out to steady
himself and screamed as the stump of his finger dug into the soil. He fought
back a sob and looked up as he heard the sound of galloping hooves.
A knight. A leader.
Somebody to make a decision. It would soon be over. He would feed the crows
after all. His world began to spin and he felt as if the ground was coming up
to meet him.
“Out of the way! Stand
back!” a muted voice called, a voice given to command. “Back! Back I say!
What’s going on here?”
The Soldier could taste
the dew on his lips and it tasted as sweet as nectar. The pain in his body
began to fade.
“Well? What is going on?
Who is this man?” A gasp. “Callistan?”
Callistan , thought the
Soldier. That sounds familiar. And
for the third time in one day, darkness took him.
It felt like going home.
“Careful. Be careful
with him.” Strong hands lifted him gently and laid him on something soft and
downy. He breathed in the scent of fresh flowers, and for a brief moment he
imagined that he was in a familiar room, in a familiar setting, surrounded by
familiar people. However the stab of pain in his leg soon brought him round
with a start.
“He’s awake! He’s awake!
Stand back, stand back!” As his eyes focused in the dim firelight, the Soldier
recognised one blurry silhouette more than the rest: an elderly, needle-thin
man crouching uncomfortably close. A cool, dry hand gripped his arm. “Lord
Callistan, we thought you had fallen. We searched for your body but it was as
if you had disappeared, but now you are back, you’re back and the men will be
so glad, so very glad. They’ve missed you terribly. Terribly!” he emphasised
this last by raising his eyebrows and smiling paternally.
Callistan cleared his
throat and immediately succumbed to a hacking cough. A man whom he did not know
held a bowl of steaming water scented with something leafy and fresh under his
nose for him to spit into.
He sat back upright and
grimaced as nausea fought for control. Breathing deeply and slowly he spoke to
the thin man in front of him. “You… you know me?”
The
of metal pricked the back of his neck.
“Not much of an army are
you?” mocked a gruff voice. “Just you out here, is it?"
The Soldier breathed
deeply and threw himself to the side, twisting and swinging the blade
double-handed with all the weight of his body behind him. He had owned a sword
once that could have cut through stone. He had named it something suitably
grand, yet now, like so many other things, he could not remember what it had
been. If he had been holding that sword
then he would have cut through both the legs of his attacker and still had
enough momentum to decapitate another. This sword was not like the other.
Nevertheless it hit the sentry just below his knee with enough force to break
his leg with an audible crack, before glancing off the dented plate and flying
from its wielder’s hands into the shadows. The sentry screamed and fell,
tumbling down the shallow rise.
The Soldier rolled on to
his belly and squatted, gasping with pain yet ready to spring into action. A
man flung himself from the darkness of the forest and tackled him. They both
fell, limbs flailing, to land a few feet from the first sentry, who was
clutching his shattered leg and howling with agony. Three more sentries ran
down the incline and surrounded the two struggling men. The Soldier struggled
under the weight of the brute atop him yet managed to bring his knee up into
the man’s groin. The man hissed in pain and rolled away, giving the Soldier the
chance to stand and face his enemy.
By now, more men were
running from the campfires, come to see what all the noise was about. The
Soldier knew it was over. His mind was a fog of exhaustion and torment and he
tottered on his feet, yet he still stood. That
is all you can do, he told himself. Stand. Don’t let the bastards see you fall.
A fist caught him in the
back of his head and forced him to his knees. He put his hands out to steady
himself and screamed as the stump of his finger dug into the soil. He fought
back a sob and looked up as he heard the sound of galloping hooves.
A knight. A leader.
Somebody to make a decision. It would soon be over. He would feed the crows
after all. His world began to spin and he felt as if the ground was coming up
to meet him.
“Out of the way! Stand
back!” a muted voice called, a voice given to command. “Back! Back I say!
What’s going on here?”
The Soldier could taste
the dew on his lips and it tasted as sweet as nectar. The pain in his body
began to fade.
“Well? What is going on?
Who is this man?” A gasp. “Callistan?”
Callistan , thought the
Soldier. That sounds familiar. And
for the third time in one day, darkness took him.
It felt like going home.
“Careful. Be careful
with him.” Strong hands lifted him gently and laid him on something soft and
downy. He breathed in the scent of fresh flowers, and for a brief moment he
imagined that he was in a familiar room, in a familiar setting, surrounded by
familiar people. However the stab of pain in his leg soon brought him round
with a start.
“He’s awake! He’s awake!
Stand back, stand back!” As his eyes focused in the dim firelight, the Soldier
recognised one blurry silhouette more than the rest: an elderly, needle-thin
man crouching uncomfortably close. A cool, dry hand gripped his arm. “Lord
Callistan, we thought you had fallen. We searched for your body but it was as
if you had disappeared, but now you are back, you’re back and the men will be
so glad, so very glad. They’ve missed you terribly. Terribly!” he emphasised
this last by raising his eyebrows and smiling paternally.
Callistan cleared his
throat and immediately succumbed to a hacking cough. A man whom he did not know
held a bowl of steaming water scented with something leafy and fresh under his
nose for him to spit into.
He sat back upright and
grimaced as nausea fought for control. Breathing deeply and slowly he spoke to
the thin man in front of him. “You… you know me?”
The
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