Wayward Soldiers

by Joshua P. Simon

I gave Zadok orders. “Archers on the roof hold. Fighters on the ground hold.”

  “Red,” he whispered in return.

  The raiders moved cautiously forward. I was proud none of my bowmen loosed a shot early.

  “Time to begin.” I told my son. “Start with confusion.”

  “Blue.”

  Within moments after Zadok waved the flag, a hay-filled dummy careened out of a second story window near the entrance to town. It fell on top of one raider before bouncing to the ground. The dummy sent the entire group into a panic, especially the man who was struck. Heads whipped about as all stared at the windows facing the street.

  They found nothing.

  I grinned. Anything I could do to keep the raiders on edge while giving those in town a sense of confidence was a good thing.

  The leader of the group barked something while pointing at the building the dummy fell from. Men pulled out small canteens. They splashed the contents on the porch. Someone lit a torch and threw it. The porch went up in flames.

  The leader pointed at the first couple of barricades where I had hidden more dummies. Those were lit without hesitation. The square-helmed figure was not easily rattled.

  With the fires raging, I knew it would only be a matter of time before the townspeople began to lose faith. Like most well-laid plans, this one would never be fully realized. It was a good thing I expected that and made backup plans.

  The raiders moved slowly down Main Street, filling out its width as they avoided the fissures created from the second eruption. The leader pulled up at the last minute before succumbing to the first hidden ditch. He managed to warn the others of his group in time.

  Molak-be-damned, the man knew his business.

  Closer now, the leader yelled something. His muffled voice sounded strangely familiar, “You think these tricks are going to stop us?”

  I was proud no one in town fell for his bait and answered.

  The raiders continued on as before, some staring at the ground for the next trap, others scanning the buildings above.

  “Give me a quick flap of the red, followed immediately by yellow,” I told Zadok.

  Most of our barricades of seemingly random wood and debris sat in the middle of town. Behind those barricades were more than a dozen men, and another ten wooden dummies. Sivan was among that group. At my signal, he stood to engage the leader.

  I selected him as the town’s representative because I knew he’d not falter when facing such an intimidating situation. It allowed me to be where I could direct everyone from the better vantage point.

  I was glad Damaris wasn’t around to see my decision. She would have killed me for putting her father in more danger.

  “Best you boys turn around,” Sivan shouted, while coming to his feet.

  The leader slowed, but continued forward just as I wanted him to. I still couldn’t place his voice, nor did I recognize any of the men with him. I hoped that if I had known any of the raiders, they had been among those that ran off earlier by the displayed corpses. The last thing I wanted to do was fight against men I had served with.

  “We’ll spare your lives if you throw down your weapons and come out,” he said. “Keep up with these games and a lot of people are going to die today.”

  “You’re right,” said Sivan. “A lot of people will die. Yours.”

  I smirked. That old man had grit.

  Sivan gestured covertly with his left hand as it hung near his waist. Behind the barricades, those real townspeople stationed with him began propping up armed dummies, weapons and heads showing. Afterward, they made themselves visible though each was smart enough to keep their spears hidden. I doubted that all the dummies would fool the raiders, but I hoped they’d at least further confuse our numbers.

  I faced Zadok. “Signal Dekar’s bowman and Ira’s people into position.”

  The leader came to a stop, but I couldn’t make out more than a few words of what he was saying as he lowered his voice to speak with Sivan. It looked like he knew something was off and did not want to move forward just yet.

  I turned back to Zadok once more while sliding down the peak of the roof. “Sivan’s got this under control. Count to twenty after I leave and then signal Ira and Dekar to begin.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “We talked about this. Down. Things are about to get ugly.”

  “Let me go too.”

  “No. You’re up here for a reason. Just stay safe and be ready to move if things go badly. Understand?”

  I could see he wanted to argue, but to his credit, he gave a nod. I tussled his hair and went downstairs.

  I hated being blind to the goings on in the street as I ran down the stairs. Sivan and the leader’s conversation continued, their voices raising.

  The tension would hit its peak soon.

  Dekar must have sensed something for arrows descended just as I reached the first floor, before I counted to twenty. Not as many of the arrows found their mark as I would have liked. However, two raiders died in the first strike. A few more took injury.

  All talk between Sivan and the leader ended. As was usually the case in the heat of fighting, instinct took over and men acted on their own accord.

  Raiders pushed forward toward the barricades. Some peeled off to set fires where they could. Ira’s men came storming in from the sides to stop them. Dekar’s archers loosed another volley into the raider’s center.

  I made it to the street as a man on foot came charging up with a lit torch and open canteen. I slipped into his path and brought my boot into his knee. His eyes got wide with surprise. My sword entering his chest surprised him more. The canteen fell to the ground, its contents splashing against his legs. I smelled oil. The torch hit the spill. His last few moments of life were spent holding an open chest wound and gasping at the pain of his burning flesh.

  Another raider galloped toward me.

  In the past, I recommended never fighting a man on horseback if not also mounted. Advantages in reach and height went to the person in the saddle and a horse moving with any sort of momentum was not an easy thing to overcome, as it became a weapon itself. But I had learned a few tricks to counter the situation.

  I chose not to let the heat of battle get the best of me, and charge after my opponent. Rather I backed up three steps onto the porch and let the raider approach. The extra two feet in height did plenty good as his sword came sweeping in. I moved aside and his missed strike threw him off balance. He drew back on the reins quickly to avoid what he expected to be a swipe of my sword. Instead, I pulled a dagger and rammed it into the neck of the shuffling mount.

  It was a cruel thing to do to an animal, but much like Ira’s advice to Zadok, cruel things were generally effective in staying alive. The key was not to make a habit of them lest they begin to define me.

  The horse fell immediately, throwing the rider. The man fell harder. His leg bent in a way it had no business bending. He reflexively reached for it. I hurried over. My sword whipped across his throat.

  For the briefest of moments, I was on an island, taking in the chaotic scene of battle. Whether on a massive field against a foreign enemy, or in my old hometown against people that had once been my countrymen, the elements of war remained unchanged. People died, some quickly, others with a great deal of suffering. Fires burned, animals wailed, angry words were shouted.

  From a distance, it was easy to move pieces and bark signals as I had with Zadok’s flags. But in the middle of it all, it was just easier to kill the first man I came across not marked friend.

  I came to the aid of a nearby townsman wielding a makeshift spear. He was barely holding his own against a raider until my sword slashed the flank of the raider’s mount. The horse reared and the townsman’s spear stabbed out, lancing the gut of the raider. I finished him off with a hack to the face.

  Arrows continued to flit down, targeting raiders not engaged with townspeople.

  The raiders gave just as well as they got. The square-hel
med leader led his men toward the center barricades where Sivan and eight others stood firm. Sivan’s crew held overly long spears butted into the ground, but the horsemen maneuvered around the obstacles.

  The square-helmed figure knew his way around a sword.

  I swore. If Sivan’s men fell, the likelihood of us holding would diminish as the raiders would make it unchecked to the opposite side of the town and regroup.

  I sprinted to the nearest barricade and leaped onto the uneven pieces of wood. I took several quick steps to the closest raider and dove at him. The raider managed to turn his head just as my sword cut into his side. I dumped him from the saddle, gained control of the horse, and bolted toward the raiders pressing Sivan’s group. Two other townsfolk followed my lead, jumping up and dragging raiders from their mounts before seizing control of the animals. They came up beside me and together we placed enough pressure on the enemy to prevent their progress forward.

  I killed another raider while pushing toward the square-helmed leader. He was the key. Like most decent leaders, his men rallied around his presence. If I took him down, the others would run.

  I shouted, “Hey! You Molak-be-damned coward! Try to take me down!”

  It worked. He looked my way, actually pausing in the middle of battle to stare at me through his visor as if the fighting around him no longer existed.

  That seemed careless and out of character for a man who knew the business of war. Of course, I could only guess what was going on inside his deranged head. He probably expected another easy raid, not the blood bath we had given him and his men.

  Sivan woke him from his stupor with a thrust to the shoulder. The square-helmed man pulled back, knocking away the spear. His head whipped about, taking in the carnage. He saw something he didn’t like and began backing away.

  “Retreat!” his voice rattled inside his helm.

  He and the surviving raiders, more than two dozen men, peeled away from the press of battle, fleeing town any way possible.

  We kept fighting them as they ran. Arrows struck several of their retreating backs.

  Molak-be-damned. Somehow, we had won.

  CHAPTER 7

  The joy of victory never lasted long in the army. Sometimes it barely lasted a breath.

  For some, the first victory was the worst because they didn’t know to expect the ups and downs of emotions that followed.

  People would raise their hands over their heads and squeeze tight bloody swords. Hoarse, adrenaline-filled screams followed. For those caught up in the moment, a few intelligible words might have even slipped through the guttural roars.

  It was easy to feel like a god in that moment.

  Then the victors would turn to their brother, friend, or squad mate, looking for someone to share the moment with. When no one was there, confusion would take hold.

  Sometimes the victor would still be so overcome with emotions they’d grab whoever was beside them in a hug and the thrill of conquest lasted a bit longer. Who cared whether they knew the man or not? He was on their side, right?

  Other times when confusion would hit them, the joy would flow out of their body and panic would take its place. Frantically, they’d start searching for that person who was supposed to be next to them.

  Then panic would turn to fear and the search would move to the bodies at their feet.

  Covered in blood and gore, frantic hands would drag away dead soldiers, enemy and friend. Sometimes, these men would ignore the wounded because, gods be cursed, they had to find that friend they had expected to see next to them, the one who would make the joy of victory last.

  Most of the time the person missing was found. Sometimes, the person was alive and looking for the soldier searching for them. Those were the good times as relief washed over both. Other times, the person missing was injured and carted off to a physician. But at least they were alive. Some joy could still be had.

  It got worse when a soldier didn’t find much left—limbs missing, guts spilled on the ground. But at least there was closure in that, a grim sort of peace they’d choke down before saying a last goodbye.

  The worst feeling came to those who never found the person they searched for. That happened often in the big battles with so many dead that the funeral pyres lit up the night sky.

  I’ve been in every one of those situations at one point or another, even the last. Maybe that’s why I gravitated toward those blazing infernos of flesh and bone. I was saying good-bye to all those people no one ever found in time to properly share in the victory.

  After the raiders fled, Zadok found me first. He wrapped me in a hug so tight I could barely breathe.

  Thankfully, there would be no unsaid good-byes between us this time.

  CHAPTER 8

  When the momentary exultation of victory passed, the townspeople began searching for the missing.

  One of the few solaces I had was that I wouldn’t have to say good-bye to anyone at the pyres because they couldn’t be found. Too few people were involved, and the field of battle too small for someone to be lost. I wanted to join the searches, but had to see to other things first. After my embrace with Zadok, I selfishly sought Myra, Ava, Ira, and Dekar with a fast visual. The clenching in my gut eased with each placement.

  Next on my list was Sivan. I had an idea where he might be, and after a quick search found him moving away boards and other debris camouflaging the blacksmith’s cellar. Like me, his thoughts went to his family first.

  How he managed to get through Ira’s traps unscathed was another matter. I chalked it up to his skills as a scout.

  Damaris embraced her father. Nothing seemed to be wrong that I could tell upon walking up. She saw me and her face brightened further. That made me uncomfortable. I staved off any chance for conversation with her by speaking to her father.

  “Sivan, I need you to go back out.”

  “Why?” asked Damaris. “They ran away. We won.”

  Sivan pried his daughter’s hands away. “Tyrus is right. They could come back.”

  “Exactly. Many turned away at the bend in the road before town. Their leader could try to rally and regroup. We are easy to take now with all our traps sprung and half our hiding spots on fire. Plus, they now can add revenge to the list of reasons why they should come at us.”

  “I’ll grab a mount.”

  “Take one that the raiders left behind. They look to be in better shape than the ones you’ve been using.”

  “Will do.” He gave Damaris a peck on the forehead and took off. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

  Damaris turned after her father was out of earshot. She wore a look of hurt. “You’re taking advantage of his willingness to help.”

  “He’s the best I’ve got.”

  “It’s not fair.”

  “I never claimed it was.”

  Damaris bit her lip, but said nothing. I probably should have said something to soften the tone I had been using, but too much occupied my thoughts.

  I cleared my throat. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I can. For now, get back in the cellar and keep everyone there. It’s not safe to come out until we hear back from your father.”

  She nodded. “I’m glad you’re all right.”

  She ducked inside. I covered the door again before leaving

  As in any situation, a commander was only as good as those beneath him. In my case, I had three of the best people I could possibly imagine at my disposal. Ava, Ira, and Dekar all had their own units during the battle and each continued that leadership role afterward, maintaining order while I saw to other things. There were plenty of tears streaking the grime-covered faces of the surviving townspeople. To their credit, they weren’t just sitting on the first available stoop with heads in hands sobbing.

  Ava had formed a bucket line around the burning feed store. It hadn’t yet succumbed to fire. Their efforts held off the spreading flames while three men ran in and out the door, hauling needed supplies out to the street.

  Ira and seve
ral others looked over barricades in the town’s center to ensure we’d be able to make another stand if needed.

  Dekar salvaged weapons and armor from the fallen raiders, gathering up swords, axes, and shields that would be a huge upgrade from pitchforks and hammers.

  Those not helping Ava, Ira, or Dekar, tended to the wounded or the dead.

  I didn’t have it in me to begin offering condolences just yet, so I opted to check in with Dekar first.

  He squatted over one of the raiders, staring at the man’s face. The man wore a mismatch of black and brown clothing over boiled leather. Blood oozed from a gash in his neck.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  Dekar sighed. “This is the third one I’ve recognized up close. He was one of the two sent around town while the rest were at the pyre.”

  He moved aside so I could get a look at the man’s face. I frowned at the thick mustache that overlapped thick lips. A week’s worth of stubble adorned the man’s cheeks and chin.

  “Achaz, right?”

  He stood. “Yeah. Ira said Achaz recognized him when they met and attacked anyway. He had to put him down.” Dekar clicked his tongue. “Cavalry captain. Only soldier to win the Golden Saddle pin twice for heroics in the same battle. People say his efforts leading the First Cavalry Unit saved the entire Fourth Division in the fight that led to Urtok’s Ridge. He was a legend. A hero.”

  My stomach churned with acid. “And he died a raider. A thief at best. A rapist and murderer at worst. Gods, what causes a man to change like that?”

  Dekar clicked his tongue. “What caused most of the country to turn on the people it sent off to war? It shouldn’t really be that great of surprise that the veterans changed.”

  “It didn’t change us into this.”

  “It could have. When I got back home and saw Adwa had remarried and wanted nothing to do with me, I was crushed. You know, I didn’t only come to Denu Creek to help you. I also needed you to anchor me and keep me from doing something stupid.”

  That took me aback. Dekar was a man of few words, but what he said often held great weight. Was there any greater weight than being someone’s conscious?