Joshua Simon - Forgotten Soldiers

My guilt increased.

“There are others who need your help more. Why don’t you see to them?” I asked.

“General Balak’s orders were to take care of you first.”

The weariness in the healer’s voice was so strongly pronounced I had to strain to hear him over all the moaning and despair. Mages skilled at healing were a rare thing, so they often suffered from severe exhaustion. After the day’s battle, they wouldn’t sleep for days. It wasn’t unheard of for a healer to die because of the toll their bodies endured while healing others.

And this poor fool got stuck with the task of healing me.

My headache continued to subside. I clenched my jaw in frustration, guilt gnawing at me even more as I watched a cutter walk by, cursing audibly. Blood bathed his leather apron. He held a saw in one hand and a severed foot in the other. He dropped the foot in a wheelbarrow with other severed limbs. Someone would be by soon to cast them into a bonfire.

Bile crept into my throat. I knocked aside the healer’s hands and rose to my feet, unsteady at first.

“I’m not finished yet,” he said.

“Close enough. I can walk on my own. Go help someone who needs it more.”

The healer gave me a faraway look that let me know he was barely there. Heavy bags under his eyes added to a sagging and tired face. I hurried out the tent as he sighed and began to stand.

I had plenty of sympathy for the wounded, but that didn’t mean I wanted to linger. The infirmary was the part of military life no one, including me, liked to think about. We faced our mortality every day on the battlefield. None of us needed to be reminded of it afterward.

Those in civilian life weren’t much better. Fairy tales described stories of heroics, maybe even a valiant death for those fighting in war. No one ever told the story of the poor cripple who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and was forced to find a new standard of “normal.”

It was night again by the time I started toward Balak’s tent. We had been stuck behind enemy lines for nearly half a day before someone picked us up. I lost one other member of my unit during that time. Omar apparently had internal injuries. He collapsed while laughing at one of Ira’s attempts at humor. Ava never even had a chance to look him over before he stopped breathing.

I tried to push my thoughts aside. It wasn’t easy.

The mood around camp changed drastically the farther from the infirmary I walked. If I hadn’t known any better I might have wondered if our army had suffered any casualties at all.

Men from all over Turine congregated around newly tapped barrels of ale. They laughed with half-full cups in hand, happy that there would be no more fighting. It didn’t matter who you were or what you looked like before joining the army, once you fought next to a man in battle, you became brothers.

I passed by the hangers-on attached to any army. Merchants near carts peddled indulgences of all types, trying to convince soldiers their coin was best spent with them. Lines twenty men deep stood in front of each cart. Victory loosened the purse of even the stingiest man, and the merchants smiled ever wider because of it.

Despite the activity at the merchant wagons, none of those lines could rival the rowdy ones waiting for the whores outside their tents. Many men wanted to celebrate the victory and release excess energy carried over from battle. Others just wanted the soft embrace of a woman after coming so close to death.

The guard outside of Balak’s tent pulled back the flap as I walked up. That was a first. Either the general was in a great mood and couldn’t wait to thank me or he needed someone’s rear to lay into and mine was his first choice. Thankfully, I didn’t see how it could be the latter.

Inside, Balak sipped from a glass of wine, looking pleased with the state of things.

“Tyrus. How’re you feeling?”

“Better, sir,” I answered as the flap closed behind me. “Congratulations on the victory. I hear your decision along the western front worked out for the best.”

He set the glass down and nodded. “It did. The Geneshans were hoping to flank us. They weren’t expecting to run into such resistance.” He grunted. “The mages are acting like the victory should be theirs though. Lazy fools finally decided to pull their weight around here and now they expect all the accolades I sweated years for.”

I chose not to respond. It was no secret that Balak and the High Mages didn’t get along. Both resented the other since they each answered to no one but the king himself.

I changed the subject. “I hear terms of peace have already been worked out.”

“Yes.” His smile returned. “Once they learned your unit had the artifact, they agreed to pretty much anything we demanded so long as we swore not to use the thing. Have you seen it?”

“No, sir. We thought it best not to open the box it was in.”

“Nothing wrong with taking a look. Here,” he said while going behind the table still adorned with maps.

He pulled out the wooden box we took from the Geneshans. It looked unimpressive. Made of oak, it held no engravings or paints.

He flipped the lid and I moved closer to peer inside.

The artifact was carved from the same wood as the box. It was ugly as sin with the body of a turtle and the head of some sort of insect with long antennae and big, round eyes. I had seen better craftsmanship from the merchants peddling their wares to our army.

“It doesn’t look like much, does it?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Is that supposed to be Beel?”

He grunted. “You know, I didn’t think to ask. If it is, I understand their religion even less than before.”

A strange pulse of sorcery radiated off the artifact. It made the hair on my arms stand up.

“Even with my resistance I can feel the power coming off it. Any reason why the Geneshans never used this thing on us?”

He took a sip of wine. “Because they’re scared of it. You weren’t here for the peace talks. I think they wish they never found the thing. Apparently, there’s some ancient prophecy that says if used, the artifact will end the world.”

“And now we have it.”

He nodded.

I snorted. “And they’re serious?”

His face grew stern. “You should have seen how quickly they agreed to terms. They couldn’t stop going on about how the sky would change color, the earth would shake, fire would rain down from the heavens. Plants and animals would change-”

“And us?”

“Lots of death. Lots of sickness. Chaos.” He paused and shook his head. “So long as we promised not to use the artifact, I think they would have crawled around on their hands and knees kissing our rear for the next year in order to avoid their prophecies. As it is, they agreed to become a vassal of Turine.”

I doubted anyone had predicted the Geneshan Empire ever becoming a vassal. I didn’t. Even though we had gained the upper hand in the war for some time, the empire had been too big for Turine to ever hope to conquer outright. At best, most hoped for peace and maybe a bit of land west of the Golgoth River.

Balak closed the lid to the artifact and the pulse of power lessened.

“So now what happens to it?”

He lowered his voice. “Well, according to the terms of our agreement with the Geneshans, we’ll bury the thing a hundred feet below ground and never think of it again.”

Something about his tone didn’t sit right with me. “That’s not what’s going to happen, is it?”

He drained the last of his wine and poured another glass. “No. Orders from the king said I’m to hand the artifact over to the High Mages. They’re going to bring it back to Hol to study.”

“And you don’t agree with that?”