I have been a member of the Black Lion Mercenaries for most of my life. Over the years I have fought in countless battles and won many spoils. My life has been one bloody slaughter after another; however, there is one bloodbath that will haunt my dreams until death finally catches me and pays his due for all the grisly work I have given him.
Two years ago I was involved in an operation based out of the town of Gludin. Our mission was to eradicate the Ol’Mahum soldiers that had settled in the area after the latest war with Gracia. At the time I was recently promoted; an officer of fifty beardless boys recently arrived from their training in the fighter and mage schools on Talking Island.
I remember clearly that hot summer day, standing in the square of Gludin, surrounded by a throng of mercenaries. Excitement shown brightly in the face of my men as the thought of their first deployment overwhelmed any fear they might have had at the prospect of impending death. The youthful generally felt invincible, untouchable, but the blood that would be spilled today would bring these poor souls a sense of mortality not commonly felt by the average person.
Like the other few veterans fighting with us, I knew my face was grim. I could feel only fear as I stalked down the line of my men inspecting them for any loose straps or un kept equipment.
“All right ladies, get those dung eating grins off your faces and form a column four abreast!” I bellowed as I settled my helmet atop my head and fastened the straps.
Columns formed up all around the square and after a short wait three horn blasts signaled the start of what I could feel in my gut was a tragic mistake.
Dozens of villagers lined the square cheering the marching soldiers, hope in their hearts at the sight of the avenging angels sent to end their recent suffering. Hope is a dangerous thing.
Snaking out of the town onto the road, the segmented column began the two hour trip that would bring it to the defensive military camp settled by the Mahums. I know in a disembodied way that I went through the motions of leadership, yelling at stragglers and upbraiding several men who had failed to properly dress down their kit. What I remember more clearly were my thoughts at the time.
Fear gnawed at my insides as they did before any engagement. Disturbing images of my death and more so the deaths of the young men who would look to me for strength danced morbidly in my mind. I thought of the vicious man like creatures who would soon be rending the flesh of my men with sharpened steel, slashing claws, and wicked teeth. Once I had seen one of the brutal Mahums rip a mans arm clean from its socket and use the gore covered appendage as a club.
A shudder wracked my body and daydreams of a peaceful life flooded my mind. What would it be like to live in a world where people did not kill each other on a daily basis? How would it feel to have someone to start a family with, that I could watch grow and prosper?
Suddenly my musing was shattered by a bestial growl. Realizing my lapse of awareness, I scanned the road ahead and discovered the source of my disruption. A group of Mahum scouts ran full speed up the road, fleeing to warn their brethren of the approaching sport.
In what seemed mere seconds but what must have been much longer, we rounded a bend in the road and were confronted by a flood of Mahums rushing to form lines across the nearest entry to their camp.
The officers, including myself, snapped into action as my melancholy and fear of a moment before was replaced by a steely resolve to see as many of my men through the imminent carnage as was humanly possible.
The men were rushed into a ragged line and the charge was called, hoping to reach the growing enemy force before they could prepare a proper defense. Running at the front of the ranks, I felt an intense searing heat as dozens of balls of fire flew over my head to crash into the front lines of the enemy, sending Mahums sprawling to the ground, burned and blackened by the magic wrought fire. The smell of melted fir and flesh was sharp in the air as the two forces collided.
I was caught in a maelstrom of chaos, pressed on all sides by a tide of flesh. Becoming lost in the endless bash and stab of combat, I kept enough awareness of the battlefield to know the fight was already going badly.
Hundreds of Mahum archers lined the dirt mounds that served as battlements for the camp. As quickly as they could they rained black shafts into the attackers to be deflected by armor, and much too often to bring grisly injury and death.
More balls of fire erupted on the mounds, creating huge gaps in the archers only to have the fallen replaced by double their number. Meanwhile on the ground in front of a large opening to the camp I found myself facing an extremely skilled Mahum soldier. Stepping forward I bashed the beast with my shield sending him off balance. Lifting my sword to deliver the fatal blow I slipped in a pool of blood and felt a searing pain erupt in my midsection. Losing the grip on my sword to spreading numbness I looked down. A foot of steel jutted from my stomach only to seemingly retract into my body as an unseen Mahum ripped the weapon out of me.
I fell. My body was numb. The sounds of battle seemed distant. My vision seemed dull, as though I was looking through a window of cloudy glass. All around me lay the hacked remains of bodies. Humans and Mahums sprawled together, gory testaments to the grim realities of war.
Summoning my failing strength to lift my head I could see what remained of our forces push into the opening, threatening to break through the Mahums defenses, only to be thrown back by a renewed surge of enemy reinforcements. The remaining Black Lions faltered and were pressed back, their numbers thinning more quickly, the will to fight giving over to despair.
One of the remaining officers called for a withdraw and the few soldiers still on their feet started to steadily back step, fighting with and admirable frenzy the whole time.
I watched, blood warmly leaking from my nostrils and leaving a tangy copper taste in my mouth as it pumped thickly up my throat, and saw that my brothers in arms were almost upon me. An icy force slammed into my body. It coursed through my limbs, streaked into my veins and collected in my abdomen, unbearable in its intensity. I recognized the feel of a priest’s healing touch.
Blackness over took me, and my vision faded. I fell into unconsciousness and awoke in a bed.
The battle was a complete disaster. It was sometime later, still confined to my bed that I learned just how badly it went. Of the six hundred mercenaries that started the day full of confidence and high spirits, fewer than thirty shattered souls remained.
The terrifying events of the day were over, but the sight of so many young lives cut short, while I live to remember them wounds me deeply still.