Joshua Simon - Forgotten Soldiers

Hamath gestured down and across to the two crossbowmen, making sure I not only saw my target, but could get to him easily enough. I nodded. The man was about ten feet away, weapon butted up against his shoulder while he stared out toward the point the rest of my unit would be forced to attack from. Neither he nor the man next to him seemed to care what could be lurking on either side of them. Lucky for us.

Not long after we got into position, a small pebble sailed into camp, landing in the fire. It sent a tiny burst of ashes into the air, causing a few of the men to curse the “squirrels” they heard moments before.

I knew better. Dekar and Ira were ready.

Hamath and I drew daggers as we burst from our cover. Our signal for the rest of our unit to attack was the sounds of us engaging. We pounced on the crossbowmen.

Our targets swung toward each of us, letting out hollers. Panting, my man hurriedly loosed his bolt. Thankfully, the bolt went wide. Some things boil down to luck, which, at least then, I had. At that distance, there was no such thing as dodging a crossbow bolt.

I heard the rest of my unit reach the campfire as steel sang and men screamed. I ignored them to focus on the task at hand.

I was hoping my target would make another mistake by trying to pull the sword at his waist. He didn’t. There was no time in the short distance between us and he knew it.

Instead, he changed the grip on his crossbow and swung it. I ducked under the attack and thrust up with my dagger. He turned enough so the blade caught only his arm.

He screamed as the crossbow came back around. I grabbed the weapon by the shaft, and stabbed. The blade entered his gut. A wet moan passed through his lips. His grip faltered on the crossbow. It hit the ground a second before he did.

I finished him off with another thrust through the chest and then looked to Hamath. He stood over the limp form of his man. We gave each other a quick nod before turning toward the fire. Every one of the Geneshans lay dead.

Over in a matter of seconds, the attack went about as well as one could hope. We hadn’t lost anyone, which is always a relief.

Ira called out, anticipating my question. “No injuries, Ty.”

“I hope it stays that way,” Hamath said, walking over.

“Me too.”

I don’t think either of us really believed it would.

* * *

“Molak, that hurts,” I hissed in the early morning light.

We hid among several empty supply wagons while tending wounds. We had managed to knock out three other targets before arriving at our current location, a small officers’ posting.

“Keep your voice down,” hushed Ava.

“And quit cursing the Father, Sarge,” said Gal, absently rubbing the spot on his chest where his pendants once hung.

No one ever had a problem cursing Xank. As the god of death, people felt he deserved it. However, religious or not, if you cursed the Father people got pretty uncomfortable. That put me at odds with most everyone since if I cursed any of the gods by name, it almost always ended up being Molak. The way I figured it is if Molak did exist, the old man was more responsible for all the pain and death since he created Xank.

I opted against another religious debate and clenched my jaw as Ava worked on my arm, cauterizing the wound. She wasn’t much of a healer, but she could at least stop bleeding, and in a bind, buy time until someone more specialized in that form of sorcery saw to the injury.

However, given my resistance to sorcery, she had to be creative in how she treated me. Her creativity involved heating up a dagger and placing it over the wound. A small grunt passed through my lips as the skin on my arm seared beneath the blade’s touch. I tried not to gag on the smell of burnt hair and flesh.

“Done,” she announced.

I eyed the rest of the unit. Each of us nursed our own injuries. The information we received from General Balak became less accurate with each target. There had been no mention of one of the enemy’s elite soldiers, a D’engiti, guarding the officers.

D’engiti usually stood about seven feet in height, some taller. All muscle and a lot of it. From what we know, the enemy’s Master Sorcerers, or High Mages as we called them in Turine, helped create the blasted things through magic and experimentation on their own men.

Thankfully, there weren’t a lot of D’engiti as the process was both time consuming and a drain on resources.

I was thankful our side hadn’t created such things. Something seemed inherently wrong about the whole process. I doubted our higher ups shared my view though. More than likely, they tried their hands at creating something similar, but failed.

Regardless, we weren’t expecting to face one of the monstrosities.

Despite its size, the thing had snuck up on us while we fought the others guarding the post. It killed Jachin, a private who’d recently joined our unit, before Dekar and I brought it down. Dekar nursed quite a few of bumps and bruises after the confrontation.

I rose to my feet, wincing at a pull in my side. Sometime in the fight, I must have bruised a rib.

The rest of my unit looked toward me as a false dawn crept across the sky. The dim gray brought a threatening glow over the pale faces of the dead.

We needed to get moving, and my men knew it.

“What’s going on with the other units?” I asked Ava.

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I can’t reach them. They must all be engaged. . ” her voice trailed off.

Or dead, I thought, finishing what she refused to say. I couldn’t blame her. No one wanted to say that out loud.

Small pockets of angry noise grabbed our attention, fighting from somewhere else behind enemy lines. Other units had been discovered. Flashes of purplish lightning and orange flame erupted in those areas, illuminating the dreary morning landscape.

Ira grunted. “Well, we know some of them made it.”

“For now,” said Dekar.

I was glad that the other units had managed to hold off on using sorcery as long as they had. However, those displays would draw the enemy like flies to honey. It would also put the rest of the Geneshans on edge, looking for others like us among them.

“Let’s get back to camp,” I said.

“You mean that’s it?” asked Ira.

I nodded. “Yep. This was the last post we were supposed to take down. Ava, you’ve got point with Hamath. Keep us hidden. No sense in refraining from sorcery anymore. The Geneshans are going to be on high alert.”

She grunted and bent over, hands going to her head.

“Ava? You all right?”

She held up a hand for silence while the other rubbed her temple. She opened her eyes a moment later wearing a look of disgust. “Plans have changed. Balak just sent orders via the High Mages on a new target. It’s high priority.”

Hamath swore as did the others. “We never get off easy.”

“What’s the objective?” I asked.

She gestured to a small rise several miles away decorated in patches of trees. “There’s a post near the top.”

“You gotta be pulling our legs,” said Ira. “We’ll be lucky if just one of us gets there alive.”

Ava squinted at the rise. “Balak said that capturing it could end the war.”

Ira snorted. “He’s said that about every mission he’s sent us on since the war began.”

That warranted a few grunts of agreement.

“So what are we supposed to do once we get there?” I asked.

“There’s a small box inside one of the tents,” said Ava. “They said we’d know it when we see it.”

Hamath started to chuckle.

I cast him a look. “What is it?”

“I just realized what’s waiting there for us. I overheard the captains talking about it yesterday.” He raised an eyebrow and faced Ava. “That’s their Master Sorcerers’ command post, isn’t it?”