FROM THE SCRIBBLINGS OF RANY

The day of the battle began like any other.

I rose from my blankets, alone, washed my face with cold water from the basin. No hangover. Must still be drunk. I would have to take it easy today. No good being wobbly if the shit hit the fan.

Outside my tent, it was a normal morning. The sun was rising and bright on my bleary eyes. The mountain air was crisp and cold. Men ambled about, talking, eating, wrestling, playing instruments badly.

We had an army of two thousand, camped on high ground, not far from the valley. We could not be fooling anyone with our intentions. Surely the outlanders would not come.

I ate a quick breakfast – eggs and bacon on bread – and rode out to the ridge.

I peered down at the valley with my scope.

It looked peaceful and quiet.

I could see where the cave was supposed to be but not the cave itself.

Maybe I’d go down and have a look.

The ground sloped down into the valley, deceptively gentle.

The sun was rising high and the day began to warm.

I followed the path that our troops would take, through a strip of land about a hundred span wide that cut through the woods.

I was on foot. I had not bothered to take my horse.

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Something caused me to slow as I neared the valley floor.

I stopped and froze in my tracks.

It was too quiet.

No birds sang. No critters rustled in the brush.

I looked about at the ground around me.

Impressions in the earth. The ground wet in places. Traps, perhaps.

The trees to my right were far too quiet. I peered at them. I could see nothing amiss. That bothered me even more.

I could imagine eyes watching me. A dozen or more.

It suddenly seemed a good idea to get back to camp.

I turned around. I looked up at the slope. Less gradual going up than coming down, it seemed.

I began to carefully make my way back up, searching the ground carefully for spots where I could walk safely.

How stupid I was. I could have been in the camp right now, waiting to see if any action occurred, listening to my comrades make poor attempts at jokes and music.

Something that felt like a boulder slammed into my back, just below my right shoulder.

I fell to my knees. The ground suddenly appeared much steeper than it had. I collapsed, face down, my vision blurring. My right side was on fire. The point of a crossbow protruded from my chest. I coughed and spat, and blood poured out of my mouth. Shit. I was dying.

All I could think was, I was going to be the first fucking idiot to die in this battle.

“Hold fire!” someone shouted.

A man knelt beside me.

My face to the ground, I saw his shadow.

A rough hand turned me over.

“Drink this,” the man said.

He held a vial to my lips and I drank. A bit of color returned. Not much. My shoulder burned as much as ever.

“Hold still. I’m going to pick you up and carry you.”

He sounded oddly familiar but it took me a moment to figure it out.

“Handice?” I asked.

“You should not have come down here. What were you thinking?”

“Thank the gods you are here. Somebody shot me.”

“I shot you. Lucky for you my aim was a bit off.”