T Lain - Return of the Damned

“Use your feet, you big sack of meat,” chided Whitman from behind Regdar. “You’re not the only one who’s hurt, you know.”

Regdar breathed a sigh of relief and lifted with his uninjured leg. Once supported by Whitman, the big fighter looked around.

At least fifteen of the attacking soldiers lay dead in the mud along the small, northern embankment around the sally port. The wizards still lived, however, along with at least thirty more black-clad soldiers, all of whom seemed to be granting Regdar and his men a wide, clear space. Farther down the wall, some had managed to secure a pair of heavy ladders against the bastion, but their attention was fixed on Regdar and his irregulars.

A loud crash turned Regdar, Tasca, and Whitman to their left.

An attacker tumbled sideways down the slope and splashed into the water. Clemf burst through the space where the soldier had been standing. The burly, tattooed human bulled his way toward Regdar, slashing and clubbing anyone impetuous enough to try barring his way. Clemf’s dress uniform, already missing its arms even before the battle, now hung in tatters. He looked like a wild man raised by wolves, dressed in the rags of his formerly civilized clothing. Cuts and bruises covered his body. Sweat drenched his brow and dripped from his limbs. With an enormous swing, he cleaved one more soldier in two, then stepped up next to his three compatriots.

“Where’s Krunk?” he yelled, turning his back on Regdar and menacing the approaching soldiers.

“I thought he was with you,” replied Regdar. He scanned the battlefield. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the dwarf. Krunk was lifting himself onto the raft, directly beside the wizards. “There!” Regdar shouted, pointing. “Krunk made it to the raft.”

As if they’d heard Regdar’s words, both wizards turned to face the dwarf with their spells.

“Damn.” Regdar hopped forward, trying to keep weight off his injured leg while preparing to cut a path through the enemy soldiers between him and the raft.

Whitman and Tasca rushed ahead of him toward the advancing line of enemy troops. Clemf stepped beside Regdar, and the four men moved as one. Before they had advanced two steps, however, the enemy soldiers surrounded them.

“This is all your fault, elf,” Whitman declared as he stood back to back with Tasca.

“If it wasn’t for me, you’d be dead now, you brash, tumbling fool,” responded Tasca. “Now shut up and hit something with that hammer for once.”

The circle of swords surrounding Regdar and the others grew deeper and tighter. The tip of a blade flashed out and caught Regdar across the forearm. He pulled back, swearing at his slow reaction and his bleeding arm. The attacker regretted his bold action a moment later when Clemf’s sword sliced through his knee.

With the sounds of battle ringing all around, Regdar studied the slowly enclosing noose surrounding them. Krunk was still on the raft, his mace raised high in the air. He didn’t move, and the wizards had again turned their backs on him. Regdar realized the dwarf was frozen in time.

A dull blow to Regdar’s chest brought his attention back to his immediate danger. He’d been saved from what might have been a very serious slash by Tasca’s parry, which turned the attacker’s blade sideways.

“Well boys,” Regdar yelled, “it’s been an honor and a privilege.” His greatsword jabbed through the eye slit in a black helmet and punched through brain, skull, and steel at the back of the helmet. The blade bit tightly into the metal and refused to break loose when Regdar yanked it back, so he pulled the weapon sideways and hammered the protruding tip through a second man’s breastplate. The weight of two dead men bore the weapon toward the ground.

From somewhere a mace crashed down on Regdar’s blade and tore the grip from his hands. Bodies pressed forward, waving weapons toward the fighter. Before he could be overwhelmed, strong hands pulled him backward, and he tumbled to the soft ground.

Again, he was grabbed in friendly hands and dragged away from the fight.

“Lying down on the job, I see,” said a familiar voice.

Regdar wiped muck from his eyes and looked up into the face of Captain Gohem Masters. He chuckled and lay back on the mud as, at last, the duke’s elite guard rounded the corner and charged into the remaining invaders. Within moments, they overran the black-clad attackers and captured the raft.

Regdar looked up at the ceiling from his cot. He rolled onto his stomach trying to get comfortable but he couldn’t—too many wounds. Even after the army’s clerics partially cured him, his leg ached, and he still had a painful burn on his face. There weren’t enough healing spells to completely cure everyone in one evening.

So the big fighter suffered. He hadn’t slept most of the night, despite his exhaustion. Chances were he’d have another sleepless night before the bureaucracy got back around to spreading more healing warmth his way. He rolled onto his back again.

Yep, still hurts, he thought. “Ugh,” he moaned, more out of frustration than real pain. “May Pelor see fit to send me a cleric.” He rolled to his side. “Any time now,” he added.

The sound of heavy boots on the wooden floor of the barrack made Regdar sit up.

He glanced toward the sky. “That was fast.”

Light from the early morning sun eased through the door to the chamber, followed by the hulking figure of Duke Christo Ramas. Regdar struggled to rise from bed.

“No, no,” said the duke, crossing the room, Captain Masters beside him. “Please rest. There’s no need to get up.”

Regdar smiled. “Thank you, sir.” He relaxed again on his cot. Somehow, it felt more comfortable now.

“It is I who should be thanking you, Captain Regdar.” The duke stopped beside his cot. “I’m told that your heroic efforts allowed my guardsmen to get most of the party guests to safety.” He reached down and patted Regdar’s shoulder. “For that, I am eternally grateful.” The duke slid his hands inside his cape and rocked back on his heels. “For your bravery and service to New Koratia, I should be presenting you the Koratian Medal of Honor.” He glared down at Regdar. “But instead I’m mad as hell.”

Regdar blinked.

“Did you hear nothing I said to you last night?” demanded the duke. “Were my words not sharp enough to pierce that thick skull of yours?”

“I… I…” stammered Regdar.

“Yes, yes, your actions were brave, blah, blah, blah.” The duke pulled his hands from beneath his cape, waving them around in the air. “But you damn near wound up dead.” He glanced to the gnome by his side. “I’m informed that if it hadn’t been for Captain Masters here and the rest of my elite guard, you’d be resting in a pine box—which I’ll tell you is a lot less comfortable than that cot.”

Regdar adjusted himself again, looking away from the duke. “I’m not so sure about that.”

The duke’s eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to get yourself killed, Regdar? Are you really all that wound up over this woman, Naull?”

Regdar jerked his head up in surprise.

The duke smiled. “This old man hears more than you might think,” he said, pointing to his own chest with his thumb. Then he knelt down next to Regdar’s cot and lowered his voice, talking close to the big fighter’s face. “I know what it’s like to lose someone close.” He nodded and looked around the room. “Every good soldier has lost someone.” He took a long, deep breath. “Or worse, been lost by someone.”

Regdar nodded, looking away again.

“But we go on,” continued the duke. He stood up and raised his voice. “And I expect you to do the same, Captain Regdar.” The duke turned and walked toward the door.