The enemy mage was struck through, armored warhorse laying over him, both of them entangled with the flesh mixed, evidence of some magic art gone wrong. Ampoules of blood were scattered among the pikes and the lip of the trench. Ben bent down and picked one up, rolling it around in his fingers.

He didn't see much of the Dorian wizard craft during the conflict. Lately, in his career he spent much of his time during battles on a hill, watching and relaying to this general or other what was happening and giving his advice on the situation.

But this time it was bloody. The enemy had broken the lines and the high staff mostly turned tail and ran. Ben felt obligated by his rank and uniform to stand and fight. Plus, he had been taking the military's money all that time and had spent a majority of it being bored or scared shitless. None of which, in his mind, spoke of a very good employee.

So he planted his feet on the grass and pulled out his sword. He remembered wiping the grass in front of him with the sole of his boot as if to rub some of the dew from the ground and make it more stable.

Ridiculous thing to do, he figured, as very soon after the hillside was drenched in blood. For as much as he spoke of hating violence, Ben was very good at it, and worse, he enjoyed it, which in his mind was a cardinal sin. Just another one to add to the pile of self-loathing, rightly or not. Not that it bothered Ben. He would have found any good deed he did and twisted it as evil so he could torture himself over it.

Back in the present, Ben kneeled over the edge of the trench and called out to the wizard. The man, to Ben's horror, seemed to be still alive, transfigured as he was halfway into his warhorse.

"Looking kinda grim there, fellow," Ben said.

The man's face was twisted in pain and covered in sweat. "I agree." He said in a hoarse whisper. His skin was pale and looked almost translucent.

Ben felt awkward just standing there. He patted his side, getting out the canteen, and carefully navigated the trench to where he was near the man's head, but far back enough not to fall.

There was some primal sort of disgust that showed itself when the high art was involved. This time was no different. Ben had to steel himself and force his legs to get closer.

"Here," he said, and pushed his canteen out. After a silent beat, looking down to see the man's arms twisted and vanished into the ground. Ben unscrewed the top and held it for the man so he could drink.

"Thank you."

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I-I don't want to die here." the man said.

"I wouldn't want that either. Is there anything I can do for you?"

The wizard looked around him and finding nothing that could save him, he began to weep.

"What's your name?" Ben asked him.

"Eventius." the man responded.

"Okay, Eventius, I'm going to place you under arrest, do you understand?" Ben asked, and quickly opened his coat, looking for his writing kit. He found it, pulling out two sheets of crumpled paper and a pencil. He kneeled and placed the paper on his knee as best he could, trying to make the writing seem, at the very least, legible.

"I-I'm no threat."

"No, I know that. It's not that you're a threat. Trying to make sure-- Well, I don't want you getting hurt. Something official makes people think twice."

Ben finished his writing and fished in his coat for a stamp. By mistake, the canteen was pushed and it tumbled into the trench, getting impaled by a pike, what little water remained, dripping over the wooden stake.

Ben frowned and got back to his documents.

"It's in duplicate. One for you and one for me." He rolled one sheet of paper and placed it down the wizard's collar.

"That says in a lot more words that you are a prisoner of war and anybody who lays a hand on you will face reprisals, so say I, Major blah blah blah. I've been demoted actually, but let's not talk about it more or it'll hurt my feelings."

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

"We're enemies." said the wounded man. "I don't know anything as far as intelligence, well-- Troop movements, I wasn't privy to those. As for magic, well," he noded down to his mangled body. "You'd rather live longer without my instruction."

Ben narrowed his teeth and looked at the man. "I'm not looking for anything like that. Nobody is going to hurt you, I believe I've said that before. And you're wrong, we're not enemies. The war is over. You've lost and your people have run off if mine haven't killed them all."

"So why are you protecting me for?"

Ben shrugged his shoulders. "Because you appeared in my way. I know of you now. That makes you my responsibility."

The magician coughed something red and stringy down on himself. "Liar, liar, liar." He started convulsing, eyes panicking and glazing over with fear.

"I'm not lying." The Major sighed and tried to think of something to soothe the dying man. He was also worried that in his death throes he might lose control of the power he wielded and birth some otherworldly monstrosity onto the field.

Most of the troops were ordered to march on the capital, witnesses to the signing of the surrender and the subsequent accords. That left the carrion troops left behind and a certain disgraced fool presently needing to pee very badly and wondering how much colder the mud could even get before he froze mid-crouch.

Ben tossed his memory back to months before when the nice new battalion secretary that used to deal with all the paperwork so nicely, turned out to be a dastardly spy.

And while the word dastardly imbues a certain charm about the person, that charm did not last long under the King's Information Office. Ben had to be present as the spy was caught with documents signed by a certain Major. The spy and the documents had found their way into the basement of a popular military tavern. The documents in the building and the spy in the Lady Emily who owned said tavern.

Ben testified for her and narrowly saved his friend from a terrible death but it had cost them all dearly. No tavern, no more savings, no more property, cast out who knows where. And Ben had been demoted.

The spy, a certain Sergeant Graves was drained of information and dropped from a moderate height with a rope around his neck to catch his fall.

In the memory, Emily was smudged at the corners. The crowd was suffocating and much too big for any kind of realism. Faces melted together, groaning and moaning and all the eyes staring straight at Ben.

The trick to doing memory magic was the trick to everything else, practice, practice, practice, and knowing somebody to teach you and lots of money. It was also a gateway to your worst thoughts. Going into your head turned out to be more art than science, and more nightmare than dream.

Ben pushed details about that day to the forefront. How full of hate Emily had been, at herself more than at Graves. How Graves wouldn't look at her or Ben but just closed his eyes as the verdict was read. How the crowd booed and laughed, cursed and whooped.

The sun was too strong, giving Ben a headache and making him feel sick. Focus. This isn't the right moment.

The image stayed the same, but Emily's face split, the bottom half from another memory. It was when she told him about Graves, about what he was and how this doomed them all.

Ben felt an echo of the relief he had felt back then that life was over before the horror settled back onto his shoulders. Before the responsibility for all the lost lives that had been snuffed out because he did not pay attention to a scrap of paper one night and a spy had gotten his hands on it.

Emily's sectioned face cut up and made of different moments of time was stained with tears of rage. She said, "And with time, even great marble crumbles. That was his key phrase for those wretched little traitor notes. He must've set it up himself, the pompous ass. It must have been quite the experience, yes, give him quite the rush to destroy me and you together, Ben."

"I'm not destroyed. I'm only demoted."

"Have you told your wife?" Emily asked.

And then Ben cut off the memory and tried very hard to return to the present.

Back in the freezing mud, Ben saw that only a few seconds had passed. The dizzying effect of that nearly toppled him, as it always happened.

"Listen," he said. The mage looked pale and as if he was barely hanging on to life. For a second, Ben wondered why he was doing any of this. It wasn't as if he particularly wanted to save this man. Sure, it was the right thing to do, but he was already mostly dead. Did he think that saving an important enemy might get in back in the good graces of the generals?

No, he told himself. Ben just could not help himself, and he repeated the words that drove him all his life. Doing something is always better than doing nothing.

"Listen." He repeated. "I'm with you. I'm on your side... Er, our side, I mean. I'm a spy."

The mage coughed some more and gave a small laugh. "Gods, why did you think that was a good idea?"

"No, listen."

"Would you stop saying that? Just give me some water and put me out of my misery. Not doing me any good."

"I misplaced my canteen," said Ben.

"Oh. It hardly matters then." And the mage put his head back, trying to catch his breath.

"Do you remember the code phrase they taught you in the intelligence meetings?"

"Why? Is that going to prove you are on my side?"

"It just might."

Eventius used his limited strength to wave his hand in dismissal, a curious thing to use with his remaining moments of life. Ben thought often of what he would do when his tame came, and he hoped it would all have more meaning.

"I don't remember the phrase. It was a long time ago and I thought much of spycraft. No offense, but with the present circumstances, you can't exactly blame me, can you? You weren't much good at winning us the war."

"Neither was anybody else," Ben said.

"Oh, gods, what would my family think of me now? I don't even know how this works." Eventius started ripping at his sleeves, and beyond the coat, Ben saw that the man's forearms were covered in some sort of golden bandages.

"I was supposed to pass on our Gift to my son, but I was so selfish. After the war, son, I told him. After the damned war? I could not share glory or power, could I? What did I do this? I was scared and I wanted it all to be done with. I wanted to back. I hated this province. Bloody hills with their sheep and the herders and their dogs and their smells. I told... I told her I didn't want to vacation here. I... "

Ben held in his breath and waited for the man to continue talking. He felt very stupid, making up ideas about spies and getting lost in memories. Hearing the man talk about fear was something that he understood, for Ben was terribly afraid all the time. Not knowing what else to do, he just told the mage the code phrase, but it was too late as the man was dead.

Eventius stared at the sky, his body twisted and broken on the battlefield. His hands were glowing golden and the power that was his birthright was preparing to find its next host.

Ben did not like the glow in the mage's forearms. It looked like coiling snakes ready to pounce. He most definitely did not like the humming noise that kept getting louder with each passing second.

The young soldier tried to get away, but before he could, the mage's corpse jumped at him, dead hands grasping Ben's head and forcing him into the mud.

The light and the noise both kept getting louder until Ben could hardly see or hear. The dead man's head lolled at an unnatural angle, looking quite peacefully at a spot on the ground while his cold fingers dug into Ben's skull.

They struggled, but because of the angle, Ben could not reach for his dagger, but could just feel the pressure building in his head, while the dead man's fingers snaked into his brain. Ben screamed and the world went sideways and began breaking at the seams. His last thoughts before he fell into the dark were of the home he left so long ago.