I’ll be honest. When I saw the bulk of our forces appear headed onto my property, I felt one very strong emotion. That feeling was anger. They were clean. They looked well rested. Several people were joking with each other as they walked, at least until they saw the grim burden that we carried. Internally I raged. Where were you when we needed you? This was your fight, too! Couldn’t you move a little faster? Some of these people would still be alive. Lapina might still be alive.

Then I looked at the people who had stood for me, for us all, up on that hill. Most were wounded to one extent or another. They were worn down, fragile, barely holding it together. After marching all day and running and fighting all night, they still cared for their fellows, even in death. Most had haunted looks in their eyes. Many stared vacantly off into the distance, not really attuned to what was happening around them, going through the motions of living without really being present. They were not trained for this. They were just a bunch of farmers’ kids and townies who got caught up in the furor of the moment. And every one of them, of us, paid a price.

When the people at the front of the disorganized mob of our main force started to get the barest inkling of what had happened, the joking stopped. My slaughtered livestock littered the property. The front of my house was charred and burnt. And the grim toll of our night’s work was carried between us, young people who had lost everything that they were, everything that they ever would be.

Anxo finally made it into the yard. After taking a few seconds to survey the scene, he approached me, his face hard.

“What happened?” he asked.

So I told him. I didn’t try to spin anything. I walked him through every decision I had made, every mistake in my judgment that I remembered. I didn’t leave anything out. I told him that eleven of our people had lost their lives, ten people from town and one of my own. I let him know we had a few more seriously wounded in the house fighting to stay alive. Then I stopped talking, staring into his eyes and prepared for the weight of his judgment.

“And the bandits?” he asked.

“Dead to the last,” I responded.

Then, he surprised me. Stepping forward, he reached out to shake my hand.

“We were always going to lose some people,” he said. “That was as inevitable as the sunrise. With untrained forces, you managed to destroy a bunch of hard men. Men that would happily kill us all and take what we had. Could you have done some things differently? Did you make some mistakes? Absolutely, you did. Any one of us would have, me included. Should you have run away and decided not to make a stand? No, you shouldn’t have. If those men had slipped away, they might have come back. Maybe when they came back they would have brought more scum with them. More people might have lost their lives and their livelihoods. And if it wasn’t us, it would have been some other village that paid the price. They were never going to stop. Leading men and women, sending them into harm’s way and having some not walk out on the other side is hard. Doing it without adequate preparation, training and experience is harder still. But we can’t change the past, son. I’m proud of you.”

Proud of me? What the fuck? How could he be proud of me? I had made bad decisions at every turn, buying time for relief that never showed up.

“Don’t be proud of me, be proud of them,” I said, gesturing around the yard at the people who had fought in the battle, both living and dead. “You raise them with courage around these parts. I have to ask, though, why are you just getting here now? I thought for certain you would all arrive sometime in the middle of the night.’

“We would have but some people couldn’t keep up the pace. We were getting too strung out. We had to stop for a couple of hours to rest and regroup. I’m sorry.”

The look of shame on his face paired nicely with the one on my own. Two peas in a pod, we were.

I walked around in a daze for the rest of the day. I hadn’t slept in something like thirty six hours at this point and my mind started playing tricks on me, lapsing into small snippets of dream while I was still awake. The dead and wounded were quickly headed back to town on wagons and sleighs drawn from farms and ranches in the area. People stayed and helped process the dead livestock that littered the grounds, saving the meat and hides that were still good. Then, we burned the rest of the animal remains in a large pyre well away from the house and the barn. Someone, I never found out who, helpfully knocked together a small set of steps from some lumber that was stored in the barn, so we could conveniently access the front door. The debris from the porch was cleared. With the wounded gone, the windows and doors of the house were thrown open in a futile attempt to air it out. All the while, I seethed. I wasn’t certain who I was most angry at, myself or the people that couldn’t march for two more hours to make a difference.

But I took time to talk to every one of the survivors of our battle who were willing and able to talk to me. I told each of them the same thing. If you every want for anything, if you ever need help, send for me and I will come. I owe you, and I repay my debts. I received a variety of reactions, not all of them good. Some of the young orcs were very thankful while others clearly just wanted to get away, thinking that I was spouting empty words to make them feel better. I understood. They did not really know me. Sometimes, I felt like I didn’t know myself.

Late in the afternoon, almost everyone else had left. Goulug had looked despondent all day. His animals were intermingled with mine and he had lost them all. I assured him that I had enough resources for both of us to rebuild and even if we had to hike to the livestock sales in Westfield to do so, we would.

“Why would you do that for me, for my family?” he asked.

“Because you’re part of my family now, too,” I replied, shedding a few of the tears that I had held in for too long. Looking up, I saw tears sliding out of his eyes of well. Of course, that’s when the rest of my people and Goulug’s family returned, catching us in our Hallmark moment.

They had obviously received word that Lapina had fallen because they were somber, some stoic and others fighting back tears. I don’t know who was the worst off, but I thought it might have been Werner. I think somewhere in the back of his mind he thought he could still win Lapina over with his questionable charms. Now, there was no chance at all and he looked devastated.

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We milled about, exchanging hugs all around. And by all around I mean Goulug’s wife and children as well. Everyone was hurting. Seeing the empty pens, coop and barn and the damaged house brought the reality of the situation home that no amount of talking could have. Even the people who were trying to act stoic were starting to break down a little. As heartless as this may sound, it was gratifying to see. It means that they cared about each other and what we were building. Mariam walked up to me, and after we hugged she pressed the pouch of gems back into my hand.

“Alright,” I said. “You can see we have suffered a pretty substantial setback. Our livestock is gone. Our house is damaged and will need to be repaired. Most importantly, though, today we lost one of our own. To think that I will never hear Lapina chattering away, spouting out every thought that crossed her mind leaves a hole in my heart. To the last, though, she was a fighter. She fought for what we believe in. A home. A place to feel safe. A place to prosper.”

By this point, Goulug and his family had become accustomed to the eccentric way that I related to my “slaves.” They knew I treated everyone like family, and they didn’t seem to mind at all, or if they did they never said anything around me.

“If we give up now,” I continued. “If we don’t rebuild. If we don’t prosper, we will be wasting her sacrifice. I don’t want to waste her sacrifice. We are diminished, but we will continue on. We will repair our house and rebuild our herds. And by our herds, I mean both of our herds. I have enough resources left to make sure that happens, even if Goulug and I have to walk back to Westfield to make it happen. But all of that is for the future. Tonight, we celebrate Lapina.”

We spent the night eating, drinking and mourning. The next day, we built a pyre and cremated her body. I stood out in the cold until the fire burned down to nothing. Never forget, I chided myself. Learn. Grow. And if there is a next time, do better.

Goulug and his family returned to their home the day after that, but I saw them again later that week at a memorial service for the fallen back at the village. When I walked into the village, the Barony’s soldiers were packing up to leave. I encountered a pair of them walking down the street.

“Why, if it isn’t the general,” one of them scoffed at me in a snide tone. I wanted to keep walking right on by, but I couldn’t. His comment enraged me, and the anger I had been holding on to had finally found an outlet.

“Where were you?” I asked in an angry voice.

“What?” he replied.

“When we were eliminating a threat to the people of the barony, which I believe is your sworn duty, where were you? I’ll tell you where you were. You were here, cowardly hiding in town, bouncing a young woman on your knee and telling her how tough, how mighty you are. And you were doing that while people fought, bled and died doing your job. The job you were sworn to do. But oaths only mean something when they are convenient, right?”

His face clouded over with anger and his hand reached down to the hilt of the sword in a scabbard at his waist. “Coward! I might just teach you a lesson, farmer.”

“Please do,” I replied. “Please draw that sword. I may be hung or beheaded after you die but at least nobody else will ever have to rely on your oath to keep them safe.”

His sword had just started sliding out of his sheathe when his buddy grabbed his arm.

“Let it go, Mug,” his buddy said. “You started it. You know you did. If you draw that sword, he has the right to defend himself. Then, I will have to draw mine. There are a lot of angry people in this town. You might be able to kill him, but then what? None of us get out of here alive. You think you can outrun an arrow?”

“I will remember this,” Mug said.

“Oh, so will I,” I responded. “Any time you need directions to where I live, just ask around. Someone will be glad to provide them.”

Then, they hustled down the street back to their unit. Within a short time, they were all headed out of town. Good riddance.

I tried to compose myself on the way to the memorial ceremony but I was having a hard time. Dylan Thomas exhorted us to “rage, rage against the dying of the light.” Raging I was.

But when I reached the ceremony, that rage sputtered away when I was smacked in the face by the grief of everyone present. I wasn’t the only one who lost someone I cared for. All the families of those who had died were gathered in a special area. There were eleven families, as one of the wounded had succumbed to his injuries the day after battle. I wanted to do nothing more than slink away and hide under a rock. I still blamed myself. Instead, I squared my shoulders and walked over to the area.

Some of the faces became guarded as I approached, but surprisingly many of the people met me with open arms. I walked from family to family, listening to them tell stories of the lost. I apologized to them all. I told them that I should have done better. I told each of them that I owed them a debt that was impossible for me to repay, but if they gave me the chance I would try the best I could. Several people stomped away from me in anger. The others, though, the more empathetic among them, could tell that I was suffering right alongside them. Some of them even tried to say things to help me feel better. I had not expected that level of grace. It touched me.

Soon, the ceremony itself started. Before the ceremony, I had found Goulug and his family and we stood together. Things started with a recitation of the names of each of the fallen. Then there were speeches. Every two-bit politician or person with political aspirations had to get their say in. We were bombarded by platitudes that didn’t make anyone feel better except for the person speaking. Then, Anxo was asked to speak. His speech was exactly two sentences long.

“We didn’t get there in time. I couldn’t be more sorry.”

Surprisingly, I was called up to the platform to say a few words. I had not expected to speak and had not prepared to say anything but when duty calls you answer. My legs were shaking as I ascended the platform. What did it say about me that I was more confident fighting to the death than I was addressing a grieving village?

I cleared my throat a couple of time and then began to talk.

“I am new here. It’s been less than a year since I moved here. I moved here to build something to call my own. I chose this place because I liked the people and there was property available. Nothing has made me regret that choice. I didn’t know anyone when I got here. I know a lot of people now. Some are my friends and some of us just haven’t become friends yet.”

“When I look out into the crowd, I see the lucky ones,” I continued. “I see those of us who did not lose their lives fighting criminals, fighting killers, on a cold and lonely hill in the dead of night. Living and dead, I owe you all. Without hesitation, you came to my aid. And eleven of you paid a price that can never be repaid. I had never led people in battle before. I fervently hope that I never will again. I tried my best, but I made mistakes. If I had made fewer, maybe some of your friends and family would still be standing beside you today. Every night, I dream about what happened. Maybe instead of taking a stand we should have run. But we didn’t, because in my hubris I thought I was clever enough to handle what was coming. I wasn’t, and a price was paid in blood. As I said, I owe you all, and I don’t forget my debts.”

The crowd was silent as I stepped down from the stage.