After the massacre of the knights, the Marradi had retreated behind their walls, and 5th division’s commanders had let them go. While they had won the engagement, the sheer brutality of it all had been a shock to them as well. The fortress tried to punish their retreat with fireballs and ballista bolts, but the mages used what mana they had remaining to get out of range with minimal casualties. Now that the gruesome pictures of the fight were slowly sinking into the morass of the past, the mood in the Harvand camp was recovering. Edwin had even heard some singing and laughter emanating from third battalion’s side of the camp earlier. Harrick’s men had been hungry for revenge, and now their fallen brothers could rest in peace. That in itself was a victory.
Edwin sighed, closing his eyes and letting the rain wash over his face and down his bare chest, to the belt of his already sodden trousers. After the unparalleled brutality of the battle, the clouds had opened up with a ferocity, almost as if the heavens themselves were trying to wash away the tragedy with a deluge of cold water. The moist air was slowly chipping away at the persistent stench of burning bodies that refused to leave Edwin’s nose, and he once again cursed Walter’s choice to enhance all of his senses, not just his eyes. He let the raindrops massage his face and shoulders for a few more seconds, then he resumed his walk, slowly making his way through the sleeping camp.
He loved these nightly walks. Darkness enveloped him like a blanket, making him feel as if he wasn’t surrounded by thousands of others. The camp was quiet on a regular night, but the rain had chased even the most tenacious night owls into the dry tents and wagons, leaving only those unlucky few on sentry duty and Edwin. Knowing that he was unlikely to meet many people, he had left his shirt and boots in his tent. He only had so many changes of clothes, and without knowing when the rain would stop to allow for them to be hung out to dry, saving every dry piece of clothing like it was spun from gold was a habit quickly adopted by most who spent long weeks in the outdoors.
In truth, he also simply enjoyed the feeling of the rain on his bare skin, and ever since the war began, there had been little opportunity to do things simply because he enjoyed them. The raindrops played a steady beat on the tents, joining in with those falling on the wooden wagons and splashing into the puddles on the ground for a calming concert. Only the main roads of the camp were reinforced with wooden boards, and the side paths Edwin stuck to had turned into mud that pleasantly sucked in his bare feet with every step. The unchanging nature of his body didn’t allow him to grow callouses, so Walter had reinforced the soles of his feet into something akin to leather. If he stepped on anything actually sharp or pointy it would still penetrate, but uneven rocks or soggy wooden splinters didn’t pose a threat in the same way that he didn’t have to worry about catching a cold.
As Edwin wandered, so did his thoughts, unerringly returning to the day’s battle. Piles of blackened corpses. A horse writhing on the ground, trying to scrape off a fireball’s magical flames to no avail. The cries of a man trapped under his dead mount, his legs shattered. For the first time in either of his lives, he felt like he had gotten the tiniest glimpse of the terrors of the Mage Wars. Most of the spells used back then – by both sides – had been destroyed after the war, deemed too inhumane to ever be used again. The ones collected in the Codex were what remained. To the mages who had seen the end of the Mage Wars, fireballs were an acceptable and humane way to fight. It was a sobering thought, one that put the stories he’d read into perspective.
I can understand why they created the Inquisition.
We always agreed with them, Walter spoke up in his mind. We always knew that people could not be trusted with this power. Like any power, they will unerringly use it for evil.
Aside from us, of course.
Every rule has exceptions. Who is exceptional if not us?
He was so caught up in his ruminations, he didn’t hear the approaching footsteps over the rain until he stepped out from the shadow of a wagon and onto a crossing, almost bumping into the leader of a squad of soldiers entering it from his right. Several of them jumped, the sudden appearance of a tall, pale figure from the darkness causing their hearts to beat quicker.
“Evening,” Edwin said with a smile, stepping back to allow the patrol to pass.
“Evening.” The squad leader’s voice was gruff. He eyed Edwin for a moment, then continued on his way. Thinking he might not have recognized him; Edwin slicked his hair back and waved at the half-dozen passing soldiers.
“Have a good watch.”
Instead of responding with a friendly greeting or cursing the pouring rain, the soldiers passed by without a word.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Poor guys, Edwin thought. It’s got to be tough for regular humans to stand guard in this weather for hours. At least it’s summer, so even with the rain it’s not too cold…
Pictures flashed through his mind. The faces of the soldiers as he stepped onto the crossroad. The sideways glances as they walked past.
Something is off.
“Wait a moment.”
The patrol was already a short distance down the path and didn’t react to his words.
Didn’t they hear me over the rain?
Edwin started after them. “Hey, wait!”
Finally they stopped, the leader stepping out of the formation to face him.
“Is there something you need?”
Edwin studied the faces of the soldiers. He didn’t recognize any of them, though that wasn’t a surprise. There were thousands of soldiers in the camp after all.
“What unit are you with?”
The soldier stood at attention. “Bannerman Wilbur and squad, second battalion, third cohort, second banner, returning from patrol!”
Edwin cocked his head. His nightly excursions were well-known, so it had been weeks since a sentry hadn’t recognized him – and his partner had made fun of him for it. ‘Freakishly tall guy wandering the camp at night’ was a simple enough description, after all. Certainly, nobody had ever mistaken him for an officer, which was the only explanation for why a bannerman would stand at attention when addressing him.
Once more, Edwin was stuck in his own head when he should’ve been paying attention to his surroundings.
A searing pain surged through his abdomen. His mind was still catching up with the fact that the tip of a sword was protruding from his stomach when the ‘bannerman’ whipped his hand toward him, cleanly slashing Edwin’s throat from side to side with a hidden dagger. Before he could recover from the surprise, a third man rammed a sword into his chest from the front, the blade impacting his ribcage and sending him reeling backward.
“Dump him under a wagon,” the leader hissed to the others as he turned, scanning the surroundings for witnesses. “Hurry, the others will alrearrrrghrgh!”
His speech was cut off when Edwin’s hand closed around his neck from behind. Slashing his throat had robbed him of his ability to breathe or call for help. Thankfully, he needed neither. The fake bannerman needed his head to be attached to his neck, though – a weakness that caught up to him as Edwin’s fingers closed like the steely maws of a vise, ending his victim’s struggle with a finality.
“What the… kill him!” The rest of the squad overcame their surprise and turned their swords on the half-naked man, but Edwin was properly angry now. As he dropped the dead leader, he threw his free elbow behind him. It connected with the backstabber’s head like a sledgehammer, tossing the man into the dirt. A quick punch folded another man’s nose into his brain as he was still busy drawing his weapon, then the remaining three came at him with a vengeance. Edwin wasn’t particularly good at swordplay, but he’d seen enough of it, both in training and fighting, to be able to tell that these guys weren’t beginners. What they were, however, was hopelessly outmatched.
Edwin blocked the first strike with his forearm, seeing the man’s eyes widen in disbelief as the steel blade was stopped dead by unyielding bone. A kick caught the second one in the stomach and catapulted him backward, while the third snuck his blade past Edwin’s defending hand, only for it to get stuck between his ribs once more. Edwin grabbed the assailant’s arm and tried to pull him off balance, but the slick mud beneath his feet didn’t allow him to bring his full force to bear, and both of them slid toward each other. Abandoning his effort, Edwin instead pulled himself towards the enemy. His free hand flashed forward, scraping along the top of the man’s chest plate before crushing his windpipe. He did need to breathe.
Weakling.
He had just begun to turn when the last attacker’s sword pierced his stomach, the man having realized that it was the one part of Edwin’s body they’d dealt any reasonable damage to. Edwin grabbed the weapon before the man could retract it, then sent a savage kick to the side of his leg. His knee bent sideways, and he went down with a pained scream that was swallowed by the drumbeat of the rainfall. Wincing, Edwin pulled the sword from his abdomen and knelt down over its previous owner. His wounds had already begun to heal, but even if it was a clean cut, it would be at least a minute before his throat was intact again.
“hhhhhOothhhaas… hhhWhhheeeeeeehhee!?” The man’s eyes almost bulged out of his head. Edwin could only imagine how he looked, a giant, pale white man, air whistling through his slashed throat while blood freely flowed from a number of gashes in his stomach.
“I-I-I-I-I…”
Edwin furrowed his brows, trying again.
“Oooothhheeeeeehhrrrss. hWheeeeehrrrrree otheeehrrsss?”
“The-the-the o-o-others?”
“hYeehhsss.”
“They-they-they’re going a-after the ma-mages!”
Edwin bared his teeth, placing the tip of the sword right above the man’s heart. He was panicking, his hands scrabbling in the mud as he tried to crawl backward, his words barely coherent.
“I-I-I swear! It’s us, a-and them, and another group going for the general!”
Edwin searched the man’s eyes for duplicity, but he didn’t seem like he had the presence of mind to try and spin a tale. Satisfied, he slammed the sword down and stood, surveying the aftermath of the fight. The corpses were littering the road, with the backstabber lying unconscious halfway under a wagon and another staggering to his feet, holding his broken ribs. Edwin quickly ended their lives too. Prisoners were good, but witnesses weren’t. That also meant that he couldn’t call for help – even if he’d been able to shout, he didn’t want anyone to see him while he wasn’t healed yet.
With a growl that came out as a whistle, Edwin turned on his heel and started running, his toes burrowing into the mud as he shot down the path. The central area of the camp was well-defended, with its own sentries that let only authorized personnel through, as well as the general’s own bodyguards that protected him around the clock. The mages on the other hand didn’t have any of those security measures – after all, who would be foolish enough to trifle with them?