A Soldier's Resting Place

[JamesBond_007]

The battle was over. They had won or so it might seem to those who didn't know any better. The Army of Darkness had been defeated. Every last goblin, orc, kobold, and draconian was dead. The only problem is that only one individual lived. A warrior named Erythron.

A tall elf, in his mid 120’s, he was slender but strong looking. Erythron's black hair had silver streaks in it giving him the look of a grizzled wolf. His emerald green eyes were dull this day and his shoulders slumped from fatigue.

They may have defeated the great Army of Darkness and saved the villages of the Ogoron Valley but at what cost? How many people had died? In the end, however, Erythron know it was worth it. Better to have lost an army of 10,000 than an entire planet numbering in the millions.

With a heavy sigh, feeling like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, Erythron stood and gazed around him. Thousands of dead soldiers lay scattered on the battlefield. Body parts lay strewn about and pools of blood not yet congealed gleamed in the sunlight.

All this because of him or so he believed today. It was he who had found the tracks of the evil army, his words that fired the hearts of the men and boys, who eagerly took up arms to defend their villages.

Who was he to have spoken so? What right did he have to demand that they fight and save their few belongings? Once more Erythron wondered if he had been right or wrong. But then again he thought they would have had to fight anyway. The enemy would never have let them live.

It was time for him to go. He had to return to the villages of the Ogoron valley. They must be informed so they could come and get the bodies of their loved ones. Erythron said a quick pray to Legoliath, the god of the dead, to protect their souls and send them to the White Valley where peace and happiness would comfort them.

He slowly picked his way past the dead and mangled bodies. His heart was heavy with the death of so many, tears threatened to fall.

Past most of where the heavy fighting took place, he turned toward the opening in the Grey Cliffs of Baldoon. A passage of tall rock with an opening only three feet wide. It was the only way into the valley. Moving closer he began to make out a large number of goblin and kobold bodies.

What had happened here he wondered? Had something happened while he was focused in the melee of fighting around him? Who had killed these fierce monsters? Whoever had done it had fought a mighty battle. The bodies were piled high.
Erythron spied a piece of metal shining in the dirt and went to investigate. It was the broken blade of a saber. A few feet further he saw the broken shaft of a spear.

It was then he began to hear moaning. Gurgling moans choked with blood. It came from somewhere deep in a pile of bodies. Erythron moved forward and saw an astonishing sight. Beside the pile of monsters there was a boy, dying from gaping wounds. About sixteen or so he was pale and his tunic was covered in blood from the chest down. In his hand was a three-foot wooden pole with a bloody spear point at the end of it. This was the other end of the broken spear he had seen.

This boy must have been the one to kill all the monsters. To a veteran like Erythron the story seemed simple yet amazing. The boy had discovered that a band of goblins and kobolds were trying to get through the pass. He turned and went to defend it.
Somewhere along the way his saber broke and he was run through his chest with the spear. The boy must have broken off part of the spear and pull it out, using it as a weapon.

Quickly Erythron fell to his knees beside the boy. Laying the boy's head in his lap Erythron wiped matted hair from the boy's face. Blue eyes, like the sky on a summer’s day, opened and with trouble the boy spoke.

"The battle?"

"Don't talk lad. It will just make it worse. The battle is over and we won. I suppose you could call it that, with all but us two alive. Here take some water."

Erythron took his waterskin out of his pack and pulled out the stopper. He tilted the boy's head slightly and put the waterskin to his mouth. After a couple of swallows the boy lay back. It was easy to see from the look on his face that he was in great pain.

"Wait here lad. I'll get my horse and…"

"No please don't leave me,” the boy interrupted, “I don't want to die alone.”

At first Erythron thought about lying to the boy to try comforting him in his last moments. He glanced over the boy's wounds. Besides the hole in his chest there was a long gash from the bottom of his right ribcage to his left hip. He didn't have to look long to know it was the one killing him. The boy’s entrails had not spilled out but if he was moved too much they surely would. Since the boy had fought so bravely Erythron felt he deserved the truth.

"Not much longer lad.” He said in a soft tone.

"Thank you, sir,” the boy gasped, “I don't mind dying as long as someone is here with me at the end."

"You fought bravely lad. Your father would be proud." Erythron stated, his voice threatening to break. It wasn't much comfort, he knew, but it was all he could think to say. He had never been good with words, especially ones of comfort. But he felt the boy should have someone say something good before he died.

"I just wished I could have died beside my father. We used to joke that one day we'd die together on the battlefield,” a pained smile on the boy’s face, “When I noticed the bastards heading this way, I cried out. I tried to get some of the others but no one heard and I knew I had to stop..."

A sudden fit of coughing shook the boy's slender frame. He trembled as blood gushed from his mouth. One of his hands, which had been holding Erythron's, squeezed harder as the pain washed over him.

Erythron choked back the tears that threatened to fall. The last thing the boy needed was to see a grown man crying, especially an elf. It was a struggle for him though. He had always been partial to children, especially human children. He felt the greatest amount of pain and sorrow when they were hurt or dying.

Though the boy no doubt thought of himself as a man he still seemed like a boy to Erythron. It’s such a waste that a boy this age would have to die slowly in a pool of his own blood, he thought.

"It hurts like hell, like a fire racing around inside me. Is it always this bad?” Not waiting for an answer the boy continued, “It’s never that way in the stories. The people who are killed, they die and there's little pain…but I'm feeling lots of pain."

"I know lad. I'm sorry. If there was anything I could do to help you I would."

"Then finish it." The boy said with sudden determination.

"What?! I can't do that." The elf was surprised by the boy's statement.

"You lied to me didn't you?" he stated, before another fit of coughing racked his body.

It was a simple statement, said without any harshness to it, yet it hit Erythron like a blow from a mace. He simply nodded as he struggled to keep the tears from coming. He knew what the boy wanted but he could not do it.

"Not exactly. I can't say when you'll die any more than the next fellow,” Erythron admitted, choking back the tears, “I've seen boys with wounds less than that die in seconds." He stopped there. He could tell from the look in the boy's eyes that he knew.

"Please do it. I don't want to suffer. I don't want to die but I don't want to suffer, either."

"I don't know if I can." Erythron shook as he spoke. The boy's green eyes were wide and pleading. “It’s one thing to kill someone in the heat of battle, but it’s another to kill an injured young man…even at his request. I'm not sure if I'm that strong."

Neither spoke after that. The boy had made his request and the pain in his eyes spoke volumes. The boy could suffer for hours still, and all because of Erythron's own weakness.

After much contemplation, Erythron slowly reached for his knife. It was sharp and strong. One quick thrust into the heart and the boy would die. He had slain enough men to know how to kill and even how to make it painless.

With his right hand trembling he drew the knife. It slid from the sheath with a whisper of steel that seemed like a hiss of death. Could he do it?

This was no steely-eyed, cold-hearted killer. It was just a fresh faced, bright-eyed boy. He should be swimming in the lake or walking along a forest path with his sweetheart not dying out here on some battlefield.

Blood poured form the boy's mouth and his body shook again as pain griped him. With tears threatening to come any moment Erythron laid the knife against the boy's chest. He tilted it just a little so it would go in just right.


“May all the Gods forgive me,” Erythron pleaded quietly.

The boy held up his hand as though he had something to say. Erythron held off so the boy could speak.

"Thank you, sir. My name is Logan Brightblade. Tell my mother, Siloqui, and the others that I fought bravely, please. Tell them not to cry. I'll be with father in the White Valley and I'll be waiting for them.” Logan paused for breath. Every sentence was filled with pain, “I know they'll be sad but make them understand that I died to save them. Tell my sister and brothers that I'll miss playing with them and watching them grow up. Remind them that in the White Valley we can see all that goes on and I'll be watching."

Logan put one hand around Erythron's and with the last of his strength shoved the knife into his heart. He twitched for a moment and then lay still finally free from pain.

No longer able to keep the tears from coming Erythron wept openly. His whole body shook as they rolled freely down his cheeks and splashed unto Logan’s chest.

Though the last thirty years of his life he'd known much pain. Even the death of his elderly parents ten years ago didn’t affect him like this young hero did.

With tears blinding him he wiped the blade clean and slid the knife back into its sheath. He put one arm under Logan’s neck and the other under his knees. He picked up the dead boy and turned toward the Ogoron Valley.

It was dark when Erythron reached Logan’s house. A crowd of follows moved slowly behind. They saw the elven warrior, tears still running freely, as he walked through the village of Valtor towards Logan’s home.

So it was he kept his promise to a dying young man and took his body to his family. Logan Brightblade was laid to rest with his father and no one in the village ever forgot the sacrifice he made for his friends and family.

[lanaia74]

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