Joshua Simon - Forgotten Soldiers

We set up camp that night just past dusk. Everyone looked like death and moved like it too. If a man wasn’t still nursing a bad hangover, he was tending to the injuries he had picked up during his escape. Most soldiers, including myself, did both.

I cleaned up the scrapes I earned after choking down, and keeping down, the stew of the evening. Others did the same. The mood around the campfires had changed drastically.

Conversations that had dripped with optimism and anticipation were filled with dread, uncertainty, and even fear. Many wondered if their hometowns would match that of Damanhur. I didn’t really share their worry. I knew the people of Denu Creek too well. The community was too close-knit for them to act that way.

I left our fire and maneuvered through camp toward Captain Nehab. He sat with bent knees, back against a large rock. He stroked his thick mustache while looking over a map of Turine.

He glanced up as I approached.

“Sergeant.”

“Captain.”

“Have a seat.”

I took a spot next to him.

“You have any idea what caused that mess back there?” he asked. “I’ve heard so many varying stories that I can’t make sense of what’s real and what’s not.”

I told him what little information I managed to gather from the man at the bar.

He muttered a few curses. “Heck of a way to show their thanks, isn’t it? Without the army’s efforts, we’d be paying tribute to the Geneshans right now and dealing with that madman of an emperor they have.” He grunted. “Who knows? We might have even been forced into learning the language. That’s what happened to the other nations they conquered before they came after us.”

“If you’re looking for me to make sense of it, sir, I’m afraid I can’t help you. I don’t understand it either.”

He sighed. “I know. I need to get that message back to General Balak about what happened so he can give the next groups passing through ample warning. Just wanted to run through everything with you first.”

“You think this was a one-time deal or is every town going to be Damanhur all over?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, Sergeant. That being said, I’m not taking any chances. We have enough supplies to avoid any cities for a while. Plus, we won’t reach anyone’s home for at least a week. No reason not to just stay to ourselves.”

I nodded. “Makes sense.”

He sighed. “It’s getting late, Sergeant. Go get some rest. I’ve still got a letter to write.”

“Yes, sir.”

I went back to my unit’s fire.

After a quick search through my things, I pulled out a bundle of letters tied with a piece of old twine. I removed the twine, unfolded the top letter, and began reading. I had long ago memorized all the letters Lasha had sent me over the years, but I still liked to read them in her own hand from time to time. Something about it allowed me to hear her voice in my head. It was like she sat next to me, leaning on my shoulder.

My beloved Tyrus,

There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t wish I was at your side and you at mine. Even under present circumstances, I’d brave whatever the enemy offered if it meant I could see you again. To say I miss you dearly is an understatement. I say this not to bring you down, but instead to give you reassurance that I love you even more today than I did when you rode away in that wagon five years ago.

We will be together soon. I can feel it.

And when you return, be prepared for the best night of your life.

I leaned back and sighed. Gods, that was five years ago. “So much for a woman’s intuition,” I muttered under my breath.

Shaking my head, I returned to the letter.

Anyway, enough with the romantic stuff. I know you were never as fond of it as I am. Let me tell you what Zadok got into just the other day. .

Oddly enough, the romantic stuff I was never fond of is what I went back to the most. The assurance of Lasha’s passion and love brought me joy on even the darkest of days. After the upheaval at Damanhur, I needed a little more joy than usual so I skipped to the next letter and focused on the romantic stuff there as well.

After the last letter, I retied the bundle and leaned back once more. Heavy in thought, my mind eventually drifted from Lasha and the kids to Ava. I wondered what my sister was up to. Based on my last conversation with Balak, I hoped she was at least keeping an eye on the High Mages from doing something stupid with the Geneshan artifact.

Regardless, her presence in Damanhur would have been a big help to us. Still, a part of me felt that she had made the right decision.

As a mage, she had always felt like an outsider in Denu Creek.

I sighed. Maybe in Hol she’d find her place in the world.

Just three days later, the well maintained roads we had been traveling turned into old, beat up paths.

We came across a priest of Molak with warm brown eyes and a smile that shown bright under the overcast sky. Due to his wrinkled forehead and graying hair, I guessed him somewhere around his mid-fifties. Tattered at the hem, his red robes had faded to a light pink. Many of the symbols usually adorning the front and back were faint outlines that I only saw by squinting.

Under normal circumstances, Captain Nehab would be the one in charge of addressing the wayside traveler. However, the captain was still anxious about Damanhur and had taken a small squad of five men to scout our back trail. I didn’t expect him to return for hours. Command fell to me.

“This isn’t exactly the safest road to travel, old-timer,” I called out as we slowed our approach.

The priest’s smile faltered at my lack of the proper address to someone of his station. If Hamath had been nearby, he probably would have jabbed me with an elbow for the casual attitude I used with the priest. Nehab had taken him though.

The priest recovered quickly. His smile returned. “Yet you travel the same road.”

“We have many to watch each other’s backs. You don’t.”

“I need only Molak to look after me.”

I grunted as I gestured for the driver of the wagon to stop beside him. “Is that so?”

He nodded.

“Might I ask where Molak was when the bandits attacked you?”

He frowned. “How do you know bandits attacked me?”

“Well, I don’t see any supplies nearby.” I pointed. “Not even the pouch at your waist where Molak’s servants usually keep their ceremonial dust for blessings. Plus, it looks like you’re favoring your right side like something or someone hit you.”

“You have me there.” He began to chuckle, which, in spite of his chosen profession, put him on my good side. “Perhaps Molak was tending to more important matters.”

“Perhaps. Where you heading?”

“Nowhere in particular. Wherever life takes me.”

“Well, life is taking us that way,” I said gesturing down the road. “There’s room in the back of the wagon and a warm meal if you’re interested in riding with us at least through tonight. My captain will have to decide how much further we extend hospitality.”

“Considering my current situation, I’d be a fool to say no.”

It was my turn to grin as I threw back a thumb. “Hop on then. My name’s Tyrus.”

He bowed. “You can call me, Kehat.”

* * *

By the end of the day I had begun to regret my goodwill toward Kehat.

I had known many of the men worshipped Molak. What I hadn’t realized was how starved they were to renew that faith.

During the war, men would say a prayer or mutter a curse to the gods as needed. However, few really devoted themselves to their chosen deity as there was little time for all the pomp and circumstance needed to do it properly. Balak allowed priests to come and go so long as they didn’t get in the way of men doing their jobs. Therefore, few men spent much time talking to priests.