Chapter 1: The Call

The mere thought of what was to come was enough to kill me before the day even began. It was the reason I didn’t get any sleep at all last night and it was the reason why I didn't want to leave my tent at the sounding of the war horn. If I could I would stay inside of here forever.

A shower of light flooded the tent, purging the darkness (along with my eyesight). It was alarming to say the least but the sudden figure that shifted into the area was far more frightening. A panicked cry escaped from my mouth as the figure grabbed me by the shoulders before I could reach for my sword.

"Wakey, wakey, Yearn! You know what time it is!" Tristin exclaimed, darting out of the tent without further word.

"Oceans." I muttered, taking a deep breath to calm my nerves; I wasn't successful.

I reluctantly removed myself from the warmth of my blankets and night clothes, substituting them for a full set of leather armor instead. After fastening my sword scabbard to my waist and attempting to take a couple more breaths, I finally mustered up enough courage to take a step beyond the shelter of my tent.

The entire camp was in motion from the moment I got out. Soldiers clad in armor rushed past me from every angle, fueled by the prospect of the battle that was soon to come. How anyone could be this eager to go and throw away their lives was beyond me. I chalked it up to insanity. Everyone here was a bloodthirsty fiend. It was just my luck to get thrown into the brigade with all the psychopaths. Granted, pretty much every brigade in the entire Scendan army was some form of psychopath.

My body tensed harshly as a hand slapped my shoulder from out of nowhere.

"At last, Yearn! We're finally heading out for battle. Can you believe it?" Rolen exclaimed with glee.

"Nope. Unbelievable."

"I can't wait to test out my aim with this new bow." Rolen said, ecstatically. "I had it specially crafted back at the kingdom."

I flinched as Rolen notched a black arrow into the bowstring of his weapon and released it into a nearby tree.

I blinked twice. It was the fastest projectile I had ever witnessed. I didn't even notice the arrow as it left the bow. As soon as Rolen had let go it was already embedded into the bark of the tree. Just seeing a weapon capable of such devastating power was enough to make me shiver, but what truly frightened me was Rolen's ability to use the weapon with that level of proficiency. Would my enemies on the battlefield be equally ferocious?

"Fast isn't it?" Rolen chuckled.

I gave a timid nod in response, adding in a slight grin to hide my trepidation.

"I paid a lot of money to have it made from Sklinwood." Rolen continued. "Shit's expensive. But who can pass up a weapon that's fucking blue?"

"I'd definitely hate to be on the receiving end of it."

"It will certainly serve me well during today's battle. I can't wait to use it on something living. Anyway, you'd better grab your helmet, we're going to be leaving soon." Rolen informed, “I'll see you on the battlefield! No better feeling than getting a chance to put the Scarra in their damn place!"

"No better feeling."

Rolen left after recovering his arrow from the tree. I decided to heed his advice and look for some headgear once I was able to shake most of the jitters from my body after seeing Rolen’s display of archery. I had lost my helmet on the way here before we had set up camp so I would have to look in the armor racks for a spare.

Along the way there I noticed three of my commanding officers huddled around a campfire with faces full of laughter and glee as they drank from huge steins of ale bigger than my head, as if they weren't headed towards their deaths. Or perhaps the contrary to that. Based off of everyone else's ecstatic attitude towards the mere notion of war it wouldn't be an unlikely possibility.

I increased my pace as I walked by so that they wouldn't engage me, but it was already too late.

“Yearn!" Commander Bentree called to me, stopping me in my tracks. “We were just talking about you. Come, warm yourself by the fire."

"I'd love to sir, but I really must prepare for battle-"

"Don't worry about it." Bentree assured. "We've got some time before we set off. Come have a chat with us over a nice pint of Adris."

I approached the campfire and took a seat on the log right next to Bentree as he handed me a chilling stein of ale so large that I needed both hands to hold it; the drink itself did little to soothe my nerves. Being around the campfire didn’t help either. I didn’t like fire. If I was cold then I would bundle up with several blankets, like I did last night. Never would I light a fire to keep myself warm.

"I was just telling these fellows about your training and how you're a real natural with the short sword." Bentree proclaimed, slapping his huge hand onto my shoulder nearly making me jump. Oceans, what was everyone’s obsession with touching my shoulders today?

"I throw no caution to the wind when facing the one with a short sword," Captain Auslin remarked. "Most people don't regard it as a real arm so they don't view it as a threat. But every so often you'll run into a tricky bastard who knows how to use one and can turn it into a real nasty piece of work."

"I do alright with it, I suppose." I said weakly.

"Nonsense!" Auslin proclaimed. "Bentree's been using that big mouth of his to ramble on about you more than he’s been using it to drink. You must be pretty stellar to get him to do that."

"Uh-h, thank you, sir."

"Which is why I've deemed you worthy of being placed in the vanguard for today's battle." Bentree stated.

"What!?" I exclaimed, spilling some of my ale onto the fire and shying away from the flames as they flared upwards.

“It's nothing to be afraid of; I'm sure you'll be fine out there." Captain Long stated, feeding some rummage to the fire. "I was in the vanguard during my first battle. Being out on the frontline really gives you the experience you need to enhance your understanding of combat."

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"It also enhances your wallet." Auslin responded after chugging down some of his ale.

"Ah, yes." Bentree confirmed. "Vanguards have deep devotion, but even deeper pockets. You'll find out during the victory feast after the battle. I think this will be good for you. It'll give you a chance to mature as a soldier and really tap into your potential."

"Besides, there's no need to worry, you won't truly be on the frontlines. The Gales have already engaged the enemy to reclaim Anthryn. We're merely their auxiliary." Long reassured. "We'll get you back alive."

"And trust me, you'll want to be back alive for the celebration, boy." Auslin said confidently. "That's the real reason you're fighting. Just coming back to a hall filled to the brim with the biggest turkeys you've ever seen and whores with even bigger tits makes all of that sword swinging worth a damn. Or cocks if you're into that sort of thing like Long here."

"If I was into cocks I wouldn’t have paid your wife a visit." Long shot back.

“Oh, that’s right!” Auslin began, “I recall Talia telling me about when you came over. She said you were a real pleasure in the bedroom while the two of you were threading sweaters and gossiping over tea.”

As the two captains continued to bad mouth each other, Bentree turned his attention back to me.

"It's going to be alright. War isn't all that bad once you get accustomed to it. And you have nothing to fear as long as you use your... talents."

"I'm not sure that I can, sir."

Bentree shrugged almost in defeat. "Well don't worry about that. No matter what happens on the battlefield you'll always have a place in our army." He took another long sip of ale before placing a hand on my shoulder yet again, looking me straight in the eyes while he spoke, making sure that I heard him with the utmost clarity as he finished speaking. "After all, there are always positions available for soldiers who can’t kill."

My entire body locked up as those last few words escaped from his mouth. The blood drained from my face and I went completely numb. I felt petrified in that moment and all I could do was stare into Bentree's eyes as his gaze completely devoured me. Bentree simply chuckled after seeing my frantic expression and sipped on his ale again.

"Well, I think I've had enough talk of cocks for today. We'd best be on our way, Auslin." Long stated. "We don't want to get too drunk to swing our swords."

"Even then we'd still manage to beat the craven that we're up against." Auslin remarked. "Those cunts couldn't swing a sword for shit if their life depended on it and I hope they’re ready because it will depend on it today."

"I best be off as well," Bentree nodded to me as he rose from the log, "I've got big expectations regarding your performance today. Don't let me down. Oh, and don't forget your helmet."

"Will do, sir." I said meagerly. Snapping out of paralysis, I raised my vessel to my superior.

Bentree produced another grin, this time of approval, clinking his stein with my own and finishing its contents.

The three officers exited the campfire, each of them throwing around an array of orders to the crowd of excited warriors. I chugged the rest of my drink the moment they left.

My thoughts raced wildly as I traversed the battle encampment in search of head gear. Me on the frontlines? Seriously? I don't know what the hell Bentree was talking about, but I was no elite warrior and I certainly was not a swordmaster. How could he have thought that any good would have come from this? This wouldn't help me grow as a warrior. You can't grow if you're dead.

I came to a swift halt once I reached the armor racks. Within proximity, a large man sat placid on a rock, sharpening a weapon that was easily the size of my entire body, and not just in height alone. There was no mistaking what it was. The half-moon curvature; the thickness of the blade. Despite seeing these blades a stark few times, their visage still remained embedded in my mind and it always would. It was an executioner's scythe.

Shift. Shift. The sharpening resonated throughout the empty space as if the blade and the whetstone had voices of their own, singing a prelude of the death it was to bring.

"So where are you stationed today?" My voice was barely strong enough to remain audible as I asked the question to which I already knew the answer to. Anything to break the intensity of the executioner's malevolent silence.

Shift. Shift. Only the blade and the whetstone dignified my words with a response.

"Man, they had us up pretty early today. I'm not much of a morning person, but you seem pretty active right now so I'm guessing you are." I voiced, attempting to elicit a friendly response as I frantically scavenged for a helmet that fit so I could get the hell out of here. Oceans, where the hell were the small sizes?

Shift. Shift.

"Can't wait to go out and kill something. Can you?"

And with that, the sharpening stopped. I thought this would make me feel better but the silence induced more anxiety than the sound of the sharpening. Out of shallow dismay, I turned around to face the executioner only to be met a few inches from the edge of his scythe.

Trepidation transformed into sheer panic as I stared into the face of the blade. Its sharpened edge was a thing of perfection after so many carefully executed carvings with the whetstone. The reflection on the flat of the scythe was so white it could have been mistaken for the moon and its surface was so clean that I could see my reflection with more clarity than any mirror I had ever looked into. The reflection served a crucial purpose during executions. To allow those who fell victim to it to see themselves for what they truly were and why they should be erased from existence.

This was true perfection in the eyes of destruction; a bringer of ruin that would put a smile on devastation's face. Out of all of the scythes I had seen, nothing was quite like this one. Staring at it was the most terrifying experience of my life. To see the look of fear in my eyes was shattering; I couldn't stop my palms from shivering like leaves in autumn. The executioner's first and only words to me managed to weave the final thread of pure terror into my soul. After he spoke I regret ever opening my mouth to encourage him to speak.

"I'm itching for it."

After the sentence resonated throughout space, the executioner handed me a red-striped helmet. It was exactly my size.

"If you run into danger out there, you can always come back here." The executioner said calmly, as his mouth stretched into a crooked smile. "I'll be waiting for you."

After he said what he needed to say, the executioner departed from the area, leaving me alone with my helmet, thoughts, and shaking palms.

The war horn sounded off again, signaling for us to depart from our campsite in the forest. It’s piercing cry rung like quiet thunder in my ears for several minutes, even after the instrument was silenced. It called to a fundamental fear rooted deep within my gut that served as the foundation for every frightful moment I had experienced. It wrapped itself around me, sliding its cold hands down my body in a soft caress. This was different from the fear I had experienced while I was with the executioner. That fear was more direct. This fear was much more refined. Less immediate. It was a more looming fear, a  foreshadowing of threat that awaited.

The strength fled from my legs, forcing me to collapse onto my knees. The piercing anxiety felt like frost in my stomach. I began to vomit when I couldn't withstand the plethora of sensation any longer. I didn’t move at all after that.

“You coming Yearn?” A voice called. “We’re heading out now. You don’t want to miss the battle do you?”

After the voice pulled me from my thoughts, I shook myself out of the trance and forced my stiff muscles into motion.

“Yeah. Wouldn’t dream of it.”