Varus found himself only half right when it came time to eat. Tuesday and Hannah’s little faces were smeared with bits of apple juice from the honey preserved fruits…and stray bits of honey on their cheeks which they did their best to pretend were not there when Varus set out a bowl of stew in front of each of them. ‘The apples were meant for dessert but…why not indulge a little bit? They’re only children after all.’ He thought and watched them look with hungry eyes at the last few untouched sticky golden apples which sat in a little wooden bowl just barely out of their easy reach. They were still standing on the long seat to eat, though, and that reminded Varus of something more important.

“I know I said you could stay here, but this cottage isn’t really meant for more than one person. That seat,” he gestured to the couch they were standing on, “made do for a pinch, but I have nothing else except for a simple bedroll that I brought with me when I found this place, and I doubt that’s in any shape for use today.”

Both girls' ears lowered and little frowns smeared with brown stew formed on both their faces. It was Tuesday who broke that moment of silence when she felt Hannah’s hand close over hers, and both their tails bristled a little from the quiet tension of the moment. “We’ve had worse, we had to sleep outside in big tree branches, and we kept having to hide from the more dangerous creatures out there. The couch might be old, but it’s still soft, and it’s safe in here, you’re…not as scary as we thought at first.”

It wasn’t quite an apology, and perhaps she knew it, because she hung her head, “I’m sorry for being scared of you when we met. We weren’t very nice even though you saved us from those wolves…” Her eyes welled up, but before she could go on, Varus cut her off.

“If you’re about to offer something like, ‘send me away, just look after my sister, there’s no need.” He said and waved his skeletal hand with casual dismissal. “I was just thinking we’d need to make a few chairs, even if you’re not here for that long. And a bed…or at least some proper bed rolls.”

“So we will have to go?” Hannah chimed in at last, her head hung too, though she eyed the securely shut front door with dread as she thought of the dangers that lay beyond, just waiting for her to move among them once again. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have taken those extra honeyed apples…’ Her thought trailed off when Varus answered her in turn.

“I’m an undead. An Elder Lich. And when I was alive, I was a knight. I have no idea how to take care of children, and I couldn’t imagine anyone worse suited for it than myself.” He exhaled reflexively through the empty space where his nose used to be. “It’s best that you grow up with the living, they can teach you how to be, give you a future, give you a life…no pun intended. What can I do?” He asked and shrugged. “I barely remember how to make stew.”

The two young girls pouted and their eyes were then both on the dreaded door to the outside world.

“The stew is good.” Tuesday said in a small, little girl voice.

“Very good.” Hannah added in turn. “Um…how’d you die?” She asked as she snatched on the very first thing she could think of to keep her host from pondering sending her away.

“Ow!” She squeaked a little when she felt Tuesday’s foot kick her shin.

“That’s rude.” Tuesday rebuked Hannah’s question, and the catgirl’s ears flicked at Tuesday’s words, then her face turned red with embarrassment.

Before she could apologize, Varus shook his head. “It’s fine. I don’t mind. It was a long time ago now.” The red light went out of his eye sockets as he cast his mind back to the last day he could properly feel the warmth of the sun on his skin.

“Remember, we’ve got to hit them hard, no retreat, no surrender! We need to draw as many of them away from camp as possible or the Hero’s plan will fail! Everything depends on us!” Varus shouted as he walked past the band of knights. Scarlett pennants flapped in the breeze and the mud squelched under nervously shifting feet. Here and there, horses scratched at the muddy ground as if they knew as surely as he did that they might not see tomorrow.

The shining sun cast down its rays and a thousand suits of shining armor gleamed so brightly that as he reached his horse it was a relief to not be caught in its glare once he pulled himself into the saddle.

“On this day, the Dark Lord loses everything, or we do! So remember this, in front of you are those who would strike down everyone you care about, behind you, is everyone you care about, there is only one place for brave men and women to be on a day like today, and that’s right here…” He drew his shining blade into the air and shouted, “in the way!”

A roar came back, and he spun his horse around, sheathed his sword, and guided his little host toward the secret mountain pass the mages had spent so much mana both creating for him and hiding from the Dark Lord. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of the remnants of a cottage, the roof was burned, the door was gone, but the frame was mostly intact.

‘Quiet place, that one.’ He thought to himself as the thud of heavy hooves churning up the moist ground continued at his back. ‘One more battle, then maybe I can get back to a place like that one and write the novel I’ve always dreamed of writing… I just need peace, quiet, and time… if we can just end this threat, I should have all three of those for the rest of my life…’ He snorted.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

‘Fat chance of that.’ He mused, this was a hopeless task, to attack the Dark Lord’s camp with just enough force to make him think the strike was coming from somewhere completely different. Get him to draw his army away, and then the Hero could hit him at the weakened positions. One good, hard blow, and with the Dark Lord himself in the camp, it was a real chance at ending things forever.

But the chance of survival wasn’t good. ‘All the stories I wanted to tell, and they’ll never get told… maybe… just maybe, if I get reborn into another world, I’ll get the chance to tell my stories then. But what am I saying, a man only lives once, and I have made the choices that brought me to this place and time… all I can do now is make the world a little safer for the storytellers of tomorrow. But…perhaps the gods won’t mind if I spend my last free hours day dreaming of a second chance to do what I’ve always wanted…’

So that’s what he did. Varus imagined each story out from beginning to end, he dreamed of the smile on his face each time he held a bound up copy of a finished text, he imagined what the covers might look like, whether the words would have that beautiful gold lettering, or whether he might hire an artist to make a picture to represent the contents. He dreamt of seeing his many works passed from hand to hand and the emotions so many people might feel as they watched his characters live within the pages he would fill…

He saw it all in his mind so clearly that he lost track of time until they’d emerged from the hidden tunnel, and his right hand woman tapped his shoulder. “Sir, I can hear them, they’re over the hill.” Her elven ears twitched, and she lowered her lance.

Varus looked to his left and right, the pennants moved and his little host formed up into the shape of a crane’s wings.

He reached for his trumpet, brought it to his lips, and blew.

The long noise pierced the tranquil air and his small host let out a shout as they went from a walk to a canter as they approached the peak of the hill.

The noise stirred the enemy camp to life, even before seeing them, it was clear the demons were far, far more numerous than his own numbers, not that it mattered.

He’d caught them flat footed.

The drums of the demons and their ilk went up to call for the order of battle, but by the time the instructions were relayed Varus and his host had crested the hill and begun their charge. He took up his lance from its place secured on his saddle and lowered it. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the others of the front ranks doing the same. Caught unprepared and ill-formed for the fight, the knights trampled over everyone in their path, their armored horses barely noticing the unfortunates who were cast down or flung away as they pierced the sudden front line.

Lances broke as one by one the knights used their first and most devastating weapons before drawing swords and taking to the work of war on foot. Horses cried out and the smell of terror came from all sides.

‘Almost… we just have to hold out a little longer, the Demon Lord is rash, if we can just draw the others away from their position…’ Varus’s sword moved like an extension of his own arm as they went deeper and deeper into the encampment, fire and smoke rose together, spells flew back and forth among the magic users, caught by surprise, the Dark Lord’s magic casters overcompensated, burning through mana as if their supply was unlimited…

‘Just a little longer.’ Varus told himself as his body began to weaken while the injuries and exhaustion piled atop one another with each passing minute, in the midst of the chaotic melee he saw the mass of distant pennants of the Dark Lord, and a smile traced his bloody lips.

‘Yes… yes… he’s moved them! He’s moved them!’ Varus thought with glee as the Hero’s plan showed its good effects, and in his exaltation, he briefly forgot that this meant his end was certain.

Behind him, he could hear his knights diminishing in number and the demons gutteral voices growing, drowning out his own. ‘It doesn’t matter… we fight to the last!’ He told himself as he struggled to raise his sword one more time, his lungs burning as he forced himself to stay alive just a little bit longer while his army was reduced to little knots of men and women fighting on all sides until they fell…

“Varus!” He heard his name called out from somewhere, his mouth opened, he wanted to shout, to speak, to say something, but there was a burning pain in his chest.

‘It’s hard to breathe.’ He thought, ‘The ground is rising up to meet me… why? No. I’m falling…oh no, I’ve been hit.’ He thought with a kind of detached calm. His eyes could only see the movement of demon feet in front of him, ‘Where did they get me from?’ He wondered, the feet were closing in.

‘I had such wonderful stories to tell…such…wonderful…stories…if only I had more time…’ He thought, and felt his eyelids get too heavy to hold open any longer.

They closed, the sun passed between two that were closing in on him, he could feel the warmth of it all, the breeze on his face, and the red light when the sun passed through the thin skin over his now closed eyes…

A trumpet blared from far away, the hero’s horn, and then, Varus heard nothing.

“And that’s the last thing I remember.” Varus said as the two little girls licked their bowls clean.

“And the hero? Did he win the battle?” Hannah asked.

“What about your knights, did any of them make it?” Tuesday asked, “And how come you’re unalive now?”

“Undead.” Varus corrected her. “If someone is unalive, they’re just dead.”

“Well? Did they make it?” The pair asked again, brushing aside his critique of language, their tails lashing back and forth, their hands were flat on the table and they leaned forward as if to hear his answer just a hair sooner.

Varus glanced away, the names and faces of those days passing by his ancient memories like snow blown along in the winds of a blizzard, and he lost his will to speak. From the little window in the wall he saw the sun was long since gone, it was dark out.

“Another time. For now, you should get some rest, the couch will have to do again for now, but tomorrow I’ll go out and get you some furs and make some bedrolls for you.” He promised, and with that, he took away their bowls and ventured out of the cottage to get water to wash their dishes and let them get whatever sleep they could, even though their single word…

“Awww…” Followed him out the door.