Untitled
You wake up to the familiar sounds of a raging battle. With a heavy sigh you get off the cot and dress quickly in the dirty rags that had once been a uniform. You buckle the swordbelt to your waist and emerge out of the tent to be greeted by the rising sun. Dawn, with it's orange glow, the promise of a new day, a new beginning. You see the last of the leather clad Uriguians retreat to their camps in the wastelands of Ocas, stretching in front of you. Only to attack again, and again,and again like they had been doing for the past two months. A tall, lean faced soldier in a heavily patched tunic and a dented helmet jogs towards you. A nasty scar runs along his cheek, terminating just below the left eye. A bloodsoaked bandage is tied around his left arm.
"How many, Yoshnic?" you ask him.
"Seven of ours and around fifteen of theirs, sir. Three dead and four wounded." the man named Yoshnic replies. You nod idly, your eyes fixed upon the ramparts where the attack had been repulsed. You could see what was happening, the Uriguians were making little progress but as each day passed, your numbers dwindled. Slowly but steadily you were losing men while the Uriguians seemed to have no dearth of forces. Their numerous failed attacks seemed to not affect them even a bit. They always came back, fresh and confident. to bloody the pass and melt back into their rocky lands. Yoshnic lingers near you, he seems to be hesitating.
"There is more. What is it? Speak up."
"Sir, its Ritwell, he's dying. Bastard Bulls cut him pretty bad. Stabbed in the stomach." Yoshnic says. "But he didn't let those whoresons get away. Took three of 'em down with him, sir." he adds with fierce pride.
Your heart is wrenched by a sudden pang of grief. Ritwell, young Ritwell. The poor farmboy who had come seeking gold and glory, only to die a horrible death in these god forsaken lands. "God damn those bastards." you mutter through clenched teeth. "God damn them."
"Take me to him."
Yoshnic nods, leading you to a large crude tent erected along the western edge of the pass. A dozen men are sprawled on rags spread upon the ground where they are attended by your medics. You see young Ritwell in a corner, lying in a pool of his own blood. One of the medics is kneeling beside him, washing the wound with a bloodstained cloth. The youth smiles weakly upon seeing you. "Am I going to die, sir?" You grasp his bloody hands. "Yes." you say "I am afraid you are, son."
The smile is gone, replaced by deep sorrow. "I failed Ma. I promised her a big house and lots of new dresses." he rasps. "She only has two. I know she always wanted a new dress." His face twists in agony, groans of pain escaping his lips. You stroke his honey blonde hair. "You did her proud. You did us proud. Never forget that. You fought like a man. Like the best of 'em." But he is gone. You close his eyes with a sweep of your hand and rise up, your heart heavy with sorrow. "He was just a boy who wanted a new dress for his mother damn it. He was just a boy."
You turn to the medic."Don't dump him with the rest. We'll give him a proper burial tonight."
----------------------------------------
It is mid-day and yet there has been no attack since dawn. Usually the Uriguians attacked once at dawn, once before noon and one last time before sunset. The afternoons were peaceful for even the Uriguians were not crazy enough to launch an assault in the searing heat of the Ocas plains. And the Uriguians have never missed a single assault. The three customary attacks were always made, like clockwork.
The hours pass and the sky turns a blood red as the sun sinks into the horizon. Yet no attack. Now you are concerned. You emerge out of your tent and beckon Yoshnic towards you. "Summon all the sergeants to my tent." you order him. Soon all six sergeants are gathered in your tent.
"I suppose you know the purpose of this meeting." you say to them. "The Uriguians have only made one assault today and it unsettles me."
"Maybe they are trying to outflank us." Yoshnic suggests.
"The nearest pass is ten days from here. I am sure they realise we are bound to get suspicious if they don't attack for so long." countered a grizzled old veteran by the name of Wester.
"We can know for sure what's going on if we send out scouts." suggests Estveyn, a short, barrel-chested sergeant with a balding head and a shaggy black beard.
The sergeants look at you. You are their leader. It is you who will make the final decision.
"How many, Yoshnic?" you ask him.
"Seven of ours and around fifteen of theirs, sir. Three dead and four wounded." the man named Yoshnic replies. You nod idly, your eyes fixed upon the ramparts where the attack had been repulsed. You could see what was happening, the Uriguians were making little progress but as each day passed, your numbers dwindled. Slowly but steadily you were losing men while the Uriguians seemed to have no dearth of forces. Their numerous failed attacks seemed to not affect them even a bit. They always came back, fresh and confident. to bloody the pass and melt back into their rocky lands. Yoshnic lingers near you, he seems to be hesitating.
"There is more. What is it? Speak up."
"Sir, its Ritwell, he's dying. Bastard Bulls cut him pretty bad. Stabbed in the stomach." Yoshnic says. "But he didn't let those whoresons get away. Took three of 'em down with him, sir." he adds with fierce pride.
Your heart is wrenched by a sudden pang of grief. Ritwell, young Ritwell. The poor farmboy who had come seeking gold and glory, only to die a horrible death in these god forsaken lands. "God damn those bastards." you mutter through clenched teeth. "God damn them."
"Take me to him."
Yoshnic nods, leading you to a large crude tent erected along the western edge of the pass. A dozen men are sprawled on rags spread upon the ground where they are attended by your medics. You see young Ritwell in a corner, lying in a pool of his own blood. One of the medics is kneeling beside him, washing the wound with a bloodstained cloth. The youth smiles weakly upon seeing you. "Am I going to die, sir?" You grasp his bloody hands. "Yes." you say "I am afraid you are, son."
The smile is gone, replaced by deep sorrow. "I failed Ma. I promised her a big house and lots of new dresses." he rasps. "She only has two. I know she always wanted a new dress." His face twists in agony, groans of pain escaping his lips. You stroke his honey blonde hair. "You did her proud. You did us proud. Never forget that. You fought like a man. Like the best of 'em." But he is gone. You close his eyes with a sweep of your hand and rise up, your heart heavy with sorrow. "He was just a boy who wanted a new dress for his mother damn it. He was just a boy."
You turn to the medic."Don't dump him with the rest. We'll give him a proper burial tonight."
----------------------------------------
It is mid-day and yet there has been no attack since dawn. Usually the Uriguians attacked once at dawn, once before noon and one last time before sunset. The afternoons were peaceful for even the Uriguians were not crazy enough to launch an assault in the searing heat of the Ocas plains. And the Uriguians have never missed a single assault. The three customary attacks were always made, like clockwork.
The hours pass and the sky turns a blood red as the sun sinks into the horizon. Yet no attack. Now you are concerned. You emerge out of your tent and beckon Yoshnic towards you. "Summon all the sergeants to my tent." you order him. Soon all six sergeants are gathered in your tent.
"I suppose you know the purpose of this meeting." you say to them. "The Uriguians have only made one assault today and it unsettles me."
"Maybe they are trying to outflank us." Yoshnic suggests.
"The nearest pass is ten days from here. I am sure they realise we are bound to get suspicious if they don't attack for so long." countered a grizzled old veteran by the name of Wester.
"We can know for sure what's going on if we send out scouts." suggests Estveyn, a short, barrel-chested sergeant with a balding head and a shaggy black beard.
The sergeants look at you. You are their leader. It is you who will make the final decision.