Chapter 10-4

He arose late in the evening, hardly feeling rested. Garkhen quickly went through his daily preparations and left his quarters, wondering what he would find occurring. 

The city seemed oddly quiet now, without the thunder of war echoing through it. And as far as he knew, he did not have any current orders to be anywhere. It was... odd, as if he suddenly had no direction or purpose. Yet he did, for he was a Warder of Bahamut, and a member of Telarnen's Company. He was simply... waiting, right now.

He made his way over to the mess, and found a few other soldiers there. Garkhen was pleased to discover that meals were being served as requested, rather than at set times. Apparently the recent events had shaken up schedules so badly that even meal times were no longer certain. He sat alone to eat, and tried to listen to the few conversations around him. He gathered little, other than that rumor said they would be marching out soon to face more undead and demons. 

He could tell that there was an undercurrent of fear to the discussions. These were soldiers trained and prepared for fighting men, not monsters, and the horrors of the past days only reinforced the terror of what they faced. But those inclined to desert had, for the most part, already done so. 

For his own part, Garkhen found himself feeling oddly calm. While he had never fought before his experiences of the past few days, yet he knew this was where he was meant to be. A Warder lived to be a shield between the defenseless and such monsters as these. And with the gifts of his birth—strength, hardiness, claws, and lightning breath—he felt he was best suited for battle rather than some other path. Yet he still found it odd that he felt so little fear, now. Garkhen wondered if, perhaps, the courage was another gift to him—a gift from Bahamut. The stories spoke of such things, after all. 

He ate alone, in silence save for his own thoughts. Just as he finished his meal, he saw Sgt. Gerim coming toward him. Garkhen stood to meet him.

“Private Garkhen,” the Sergeant began, “It's good to see you up.”

He shook his head slightly, with a bit of a grin. “To be honest, after that hit you took last night, I'm surprised you're up and about. That's some armor you have.”

“Thank you, sir,” Garkhen replied, quietly, wondering what he was getting at.

The human nodded, then said, “We've gotten our orders. We march out tomorrow... towards Elifort.”

It was Garkhen's turn to nod. That came as no surprise to him, of course, but from the way conversation ebbed and then re-surged around them, it seemed that others nearby had heard the news. 

“I will be ready, sir.”

“Very good, Private.” Sgt. Gerim paused a moment, then asked, “Have you seen the rest of the squad?”

“No, sir, I fear I have not,” Garkhen replied.

The sergeant looked around the mess, shook his head slightly, said, “Thank you, Private. Report at the morning trumpet tomorrow,” then departed.

They departed the next morning, as the sun rose. The former Rebel army awaited them on the plain. After a tense moment and some shouted commands, the two armies joined into one column, marching along the road to the northeast. They marched hard striving to reach Elifort as quickly as possible. In the evenings, they did their best to prepare for the battles ahead, discussing tactics and practicing techniques for defeating Infernals.

It quickly became clear to Garkhen that this war would not come down to armies—normal steel had proven ineffective, and there were too few wizards and priests to enchant or bless so many weapons. Instead, it seemed likely that the battle would come down to a contest of champions. The best warriors of the army, supported and aided by all the magic their forces could muster, would have to stand against whatever terrible foes they would face ahead.

And Garkhen was surprised to find he was considered both a priest and a champion. He thought he should protest that he was unskilled in warfare, but he had seen what combat against the Infernals was like. His armor and Bahamut's power might well be more effective against such foes than years of experience, for what was knowledge of swordplay against a flaming beast whose claws could rend steel?

And so they marched for many days, until they saw mountains and reached their foothills. Cautiously their column followed the road as the land rose, and the highway meandered, seeking the easiest way through the increasingly rough terrain.

Finally, they crested a hill and saw a walled city in the distance. And in front of it, an army camped, such as had not been seen on their world since the times of story. The Infernals were waiting. 

**************

Apologies for the late post. I had fine ideas about how I was going to write a lot over break and give you some nice, long posts, but... well, at least this post finished out this chapter.

This was one of those "I know where I'm going, but I'm not quite sure how to get there" bits here. So, if it feels a bit disjointed, that's the main reason why.

Chapter 10-3

“As we agreed, the threat of the undead... and these demons, it would appear, is greater than our civil war. And while we have won this battle, we have word from our forces in the east that they are facing similar foes and faring... poorly.”

One of the Rebel generals nodded and added, “That matches with our reports. What you may not know is that we also have word that Elifort has been conquered by the same sort of demons we fought this night.”

A ripple of shock flowed through the Loyalist side of the discussion, Garkhen included. Elifort was, in all but name, the headquarters of the Ferdunan Rebellion. Its mines provided both wealth and metal for the war effort, and its duke had been among the first to turn against the king. If it had fallen, the civil war was all but over... and if it was now controlled by Infernals, this new war might be even more terrible. 

For a moment, all were silent, then the Rebel leader who had first spoke quietly said, “In light of these events... we have agreed that we will submit ourselves to your command, so long as you will fight this terrible evil that has come upon our lands.”

Silence again. After years of war, none had anticipated the end to come so suddenly, nor in such a manner. Finally, the lead Loyalist general replied, “We shall have to discuss the details of this... arrangement, but I accept. A have no doubt that the King will approve my decision. This threat is not just a danger to our nation, but to our world as a whole.”

Nods and murmurs of agreement filled the pavilion. None could disagree that the demons were a threat to all. 

And so, the rest of that night was spent in planning and organization. Captain Telarnen kept Garkhen with him, but he felt like he contributed little. Some little he had learned in reading, but in truth, the ordering of men was beyond his knowledge. But the Captain seemed to appreciate what little he said regardless of the young half-dragon's feelings of inadequacy. 

When finally he was dismissed, the sun was already rising. Garkhen made his way quickly back to his quarters and collapsed into a deep sleep.

*******

There, short make-up post.

No Post Today

Sorry, I just don't have enough written to feel like it's worth posting tonight. Sorry. I'll try to post sometime during the week to make up for it.

Chapter 10-2

The Loyalist armies were gathering outside of the gates, soldiers standing around uneasily as they waited for further orders. As the group Garkhen was in joined them, he heard rumors already floating around. He hid a small grin at the odd bit of familiarity in what had been a night of unearthly horror. 

“Hurry up and wait. That's army life,” a soldier near him grumbled, shifting around in his armor.

“Quiet,” another one growled. “I'd rather be here than disemboweled by one of those things.”

A general rumble of assent followed that comment.

Sgt. Gerim worked his way over to Garkhen's side. “Private,” he said, quietly, “Glad you were with us. A lot more men would have died without your magic.”

Garkhen shook his head slightly. “Not mine. Bahamut's. My god's.”

The Sergeant shrugged slightly. “Don't think we would've gotten it without you, so either way, glad you were around. Can't say I fancied getting my head torn off by a flaming claw, either.”

“Ah... you are welcome,” Garkhen replied, uncomfortably. 

Sgt. Gerim nodded, then looked over as a loud voice rang out above the commotion. For a moment, the army was silent, then whispers started moving through the ranks. There were messengers coming from the generals.

And one of them came to Garkhen.

Again, Garkhen found himself ushered in next to Captain Telarnen, in the corner of a huge pavilion tent. On one side, the representatives of the Rebel army sat and stood. They were a diverse lot, reflecting the nature of the Rebels. The Loyalist side looked more homogeneous, but Garkhen could tell looking at them that there were differences hiding just underneath the surface.

One Rebel in particular caught Garkhen's eye. She seemed half-wolf, in much the same way he was half-dragon. The Loyalists all seemed to watch her warily, and the space around her spoke of distrust even from her own side. But to Garkhen, there was... something about her. He suspected she was a priest of some sort, and of one of the goodly gods.

She met Garkhen's gaze briefly, and gave him a small, respectful nod. He nodded back, surprised, and then she looked away as one of the generals began to speak.

*********

Meet Whitepaw, leader of the Wyre pack. As far as I know, Garkhen never crosses her path again. Maybe someday I'll have to write a Wyre story... but not for a long, long time at this rate.

Chapter 10-1

Chapter 10: Against Fire and Death

“There are few things that can truly unite the disparate peoples and creeds of our world. Necromancy is one of them. The summoning of Infernals, another. That someone had done both made the many grievances of the Rebels seem small.”

“Yet blood shed and the anger of battle are not easily forgotten. Those were tense days, both because of the foes we faced... and the allies we had to rely upon. For the question always remained with us—who had done this?”

Across the battlefield, Garkhen could hear the sounds of combat dying. Clearly, the scene before him now was being repeated several times throughout the blasted landscape. The soldiers around him stared nervously at their counterparts a bowshot away. A few days ago, they had been the enemy. Were they still?

Then someone broke the silence. “Well, you at least look better than something with flaming red scales.”

A ripple of uneasy laughter cut through the tension, and soon the two groups of soldiers met. Their leaders shook hands, some jokes were shared, and then the call came to assemble back near the gates. Similar orders came to the Rebel forces, it seemed, for they marched back the way they came soon after Garkhen's group turned southward.

********

So, on to the next chapter! And it's late, so good night.

Chapter 9-7

The Infernal bellowed, stumbling backward, but it was too late. Garkhen's squad-mates surged forwards, and soon the huge beast toppled, its back making a loud thud as it struck the ground. And then it... disintegrated, its body turning to dust and blowing away in the wind. That got the attention of the other Infernals nearby, all of whom roared and charged.

Garkhen had, by now, recovered from being knocked around by a giant Infernal. He felt a great anger swelling up in him as he looked at the charging Infernals. These evil beasts had already killed many men, and if they were the source of the undead, also, they had killed many more with their servants.

Before he knew it, a deep growl built in his chest, growing in volume until it became a roar to match that of the charging demons. And then, with a great crash, they met the line of soldiers. Their charge was fierce, but the line held, and blessed steel made short work of the Infernals. One survivor sought to flee, but an arrow to the back of its neck brought it down.

“Good you're here, Private,” someone behind Garkhen said, but before he could turn to look, shouted orders came down for them to quick march towards the next group of devils. They reached them to find their comrades faring somewhat better than the first group they had reinforced, but not well. Their arrival changed that rather quickly. Several more Infernals fell. 

Twice more, they sped to the aid of other groups of soldiers. Twice more, they slew demons. And twice more, the order came to go further. Garkhen by now was starting to feel fatigued, the combined effort of maintaining the blessing on his comrades' weapons, the speed of their march, and the exertion of battle wearing on even his hearty constitution.

But then, as they neared the next group of soldiers, other reinforcements reached them. Before they arrived, the demons were destroyed. And then they realized—the other soldiers were not of their army. They were Rebels.

******

There, finished up the chapter. Huzzah!

Chapter 9-6

Great masses of flame fell from the clouds above and burst in the midst of the undead army. Soon, the air was full of thick, greasy smoke, and the stench of burning bone and charred flesh. For a time, the walking dead at the wall continued trying to assault the defenders, but soon turned back. As for the fate of the black-robed necromancers... they could not be seen in the smoke and flame, but Garkhen could only assume they were faring as poorly as their minions. 

The storm of fire continued for several minutes, then ended as abruptly as it had begun, leaving only the smoldering corpses in the scorched field behind. Except... there was movement. The robed figures still lived.

The Loyalist forces seemed frozen with shock for a few moments, but soon, a great shout went up as they sallied. Some of Garkhen's squad seemed inclined to follow, but Sergeant Gerim's stern gaze kept them in place. 

They didn't hold position for long, however. Soon, orders came to gather at the gate. A rushed commander looked over them as they arrived, then handed them off to a lieutenant, who slotted them into place with a few other squads in the gathering formation. Then a shouted order sent them marching out of the gates.

It seemed to Garkhen that they stepped into a different world. While the battle on the walls had been bad enough, this... this was like gazing into the Abyss. Charred remains smoldered around them on ground burned clean of grass. Smoke drifted around the fields, lit by weak moonlight filtering down from above mingled with the light of dying fires below. Garkhen could hear the retching of those soldiers who lacked strong stomachs above the clink of weapons and armor.

A shout arose ahead, and soon after flashes of light and the crash of weapons. Garkhen quickened his pace, trying to keep in step with the faster cadence of his formation as they marched towards the sounds of battle. Soon enough he could see, through the smoke, a small group of armored soldiers... and a handful of large, fiery figures battling them. The soldiers were losing ground quickly, retreating before the face of their foes. Towards Garkhen's formation.

As they drew closer, he could make out these foes more clearly. There were perhaps half a dozen of them, varying in size from only slightly taller than a human to twice as tall. All were terrifying, misshapen creatures, vaguely resembling different races of Men (and trolls), but horribly twisted, with auras of sickly flame about them.

“Infernals,” Garkhen breathed.

Infernals, or demons, or devils, or... there were more names for them than reliable sightings. While he had read of them in tales, yet the more trustworthy religious and scholarly texts generally agreed that such creatures never came to the world—or if they did, only in small numbers, and with the blackest of dark summons. Supposedly, they were the end fate of souls so twisted and evil that they changed after death into monsters. Seeing them, Garkhen could not help but think it was true.

Their power, however, was clear. The once orderly retreat of the soldiers they were marching to reinforce had become a full-on rout, as they fled before the fell creatures. The largest of them swatted a man aside with the back of one hand, sending him flying several feet before landing and laying still.

The archers in Garkhen's formation halted, took aim, and loosed. The arrows flew true, arcing over their allies and striking the Infernals... to no effect. They ricocheted off the abyssal creatures' skin as if off steel. Remembering something, Garkhen focused, calling to mind a spell-prayer he had once read. Holding aloft the symbol of Bahamut, he called on his god for holy power. A silver-white glow formed on the weapons of the soldiers closest to him.

“Now we may harm these creatures!” Garkhen exclaimed, pulling his mace out as their fleeing companions reached their ranks. They let their injured comrades through, then closed ranks again just in time to meet their foes.

A troll-like Infernal, with red-black scaly skin and huge claws, the largest of the six Garkhen could see, was first to meet their lines. It locked its eyes on the Warder and, with a roar, swept its clawed hand down. Garkhen raised his shield and braced himself. The black claws of the Infernal bit into his shield, cutting down to his arm, but was stopped by his armor. The half-dragon grunted at the impact as his left arm was borne downwards by the blow, but he managed to keep his feet. Somehow, he got his mace up and struck down at the creature's arm as it started to pull it back.

It roared in pain as a holy light flared around Garkhen's mace. Quickly it pulled its hand back, but just as quickly it lashed forward with the other. Garkhen stumbled backwards, the Infernal's claws again thwarted by his armor, but the force of the blow no less for it. But by now the soldiers around him were at work, and several blades cut deep into scaled arm.

*********

So, yeah, sorry for the disgusting scenery, but... mass fire spells make a mess of things. And also apparently don't work on demons.

Chapter 9-5

He awoke again in the evening, feeling better rested, but very hungry. Lt. Ailill gave him a quick check-up, and once he had agreed the half-dragon was well, a young aide led him to a small table, then quickly brought a hearty meal. Garkhen ate quickly, feeling himself reviving. 

Once he had finished, Ailill came in and inspected him more thoroughly. Finally, after several minutes of questions, exercises, and so forth, the elf reluctantly agreed that he was well.

“I'm quite surprised you recovered so quickly, Private,” he said, “But I suppose I should expect no less, given your heritage.”

Garkhen nodded. “I owe... much to my parentage, though there are some aspects of it I would not have chosen.”

For a moment, Lt. Ailill seemed like he would say something about this... but then the moment passed. It took yet another moment for him to say, “Private, you're well enough to report for duty. I suspect your squad will be glad to see you.”

They were, indeed. Sgt. Gerim smiled when he saw the armored half-dragon approaching. 

“Private Garkhen! I didn't know you'd be able to make it in time for tonight.”

“I was not certain I would, either,” Garkhen replied, “But it seems I have recovered from last night's exertions.”

The Sergeant waited for Garkhen to take his place with his fellow soldiers, then said, “We were just reviewing our orders. We've received word that we might be sallying tonight, if the Rebels are as good as their word and attack the undead after nightfall. Until that happens, we will be manning our posts on the wall.”

“If the order comes to sally, we will join up with the rest of the Company at that gate,” he pointed to the east, “With all possible speed. We will march out and take our place in formation. And we will kill whoever's been raising these corpses.”

That brought ragged cheer from the squad. The thought of striking back, after the grinding battle of the last nights, was certainly an attractive thought. 

There was a lighter mood amongst the assembled soldiers at their evening meal. Talk of what they would do to those responsible for the undead army that night filled the air. Garkhen felt rather... odd, around so much talk of violence. While he could clearly see the necessity here, yet he still shrank from the thought of actually raising a weapon against another living being. The walking dead, those he could destroy. It was a mercy, a release from the terrible magics that held them bound to this life—if even there was anything vaguely sentient in the animated corpses. But even a necromancer was another man.

He strove to push such thoughts aside as he took up his accustomed position on the wall. Again the undead army advanced as night fell, and again he had to hold his wards against their initial barrage of destructive magics. It was not so intense as the night before, as if the attackers had exhausted themselves as thoroughly as the defenders. Whatever the reason, Garkhen was glad enough to not be facing such an assault again.

And then, when night had fully fallen, a sudden light appeared in the distance, beyond the throngs of walking dead around the walls. A flame, with a dark shape behind it. Garkhen peered at the sight, wondering. Was it a fire-breathing dragon, flying low and burning those on the ground? 

Then he noticed something else. Where it had before been a clear evening, without a cloud in the sky, now the stars above them were steadily disappearing behind an expanding blackness. The magical assault faltered, as if their foes were also noticing and wondering at the meaning of these things.

And then, the skies began to rain fire.

*******

Oh, look, a rain of fire. No big deal. Happens all the time, right?

Chapter 9-4

If anything, the rumors going through the troops were wilder when Garkhen returned than when he left. It was... telling that he received only a few questions, despite his rather conspicuous departure and return. What few questions he received were from his fellows in Telarnen's Company, and these he easily deflected. It seemed even they were not fully comfortable with him, still. Or perhaps they simply knew that it was sometimes better not to have their questions answered.

The undead started moving earlier that evening, just as the sun was reaching the horizon. Whether it was a new tactic, trying to catch the defenders off-guard, or something more arcane still, no one could say, but they moved so slowly the soldiers had no difficulty in preparing themselves to repel the assault once again. 

Which was not to say that night's battle was easy. There seemed to be more of the hooded figures, and this night, their barrage of spells was particularly fierce. For what seemed like hours, Garkhen held his wards over his section of the wall, fire, lightning, and more exotic elements blasting against them. When finally the magical assault dwindled and then ended entirely, the half-dragon collapsed to his knees, nearly blacking out from exhaustion. 

He was only half-aware of the sounds of battle around him, his eyes closed as he tried to focus through the waves of fatigue that assailed him. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder and heard a voice. It took him a couple moments to realize it was calling his name. Wearily, he opened his eyes and looked up.

Sergeant Gerim was looking down at him with concern. “Can you stand, Private?”

Shakily, Garkhen tried to lift himself off his knees, but no sooner had he started to rise than he crashed back down again. Mutely, he shook his head. 

He could hear the Sergeant walking away, but he couldn't sort his shouting out from the din of battle. He simply stayed as he was, barely clinging to consciousness for some reason he was too tired to identify. Then he felt many hands grasping him and lifting him. He was being taken... somewhere. But he was pretty sure they were friends, so it was all right.

The last thing he remembered before he lost consciousness was the odd feeling of being carried down stairs.

Garkhen awoke to muted sunlight through windows and a voice that seemed familiar. Slowly, he sorted through his memories, trying to figure out where he was, feeling the bone-deep weariness that even now seemed to press him down into... the bed. Yes, he was laying on a bed. 

He opened his eyes. Recognition tickled at the back of his brain. This was... yes, this was where they had most recently been treating the wounded. But why was he sleeping here? Shouldn't he be up and working now?

He got partway through sitting up before he realized why he wasn't. Not only was he no longer under Lt. Ailill's command... he also hardly had the energy to sit. So he collapsed back into the bed.

That got the Lieutenant's attention. Garkhen heard footsteps coming toward him, then saw the elf's familiar face.

“Private,” he began, then paused. After a moment, he continued, “I am glad you are putting your talents to better use. But I would prefer that you not return here due to doing so.”

The hint of a grin played across Garkhen's lips. “Yes, sir.”

Ailill hesitated a moment longer, then said, “Now rest. You spent far too much energy last night.”

Garkhen's exhausted body and mind were glad to obey that order.

*******

Garkhen has a distinct tendency to overexert himself. He gets better later... but really, he just builds more spellcasting skill and stamina.

Chapter 9-3

But then the rumors started. Someone had been let in the front gates. A small group of emissaries from the Rebel forces, if what was said could be believed. Garkhen himself, overhearing the conversation as he had his evening meal, did not know what to make of it. It seemed speculation was rampant over what it could mean. Were they delivering an ultimatum, revealing their alliance with these dark forces? Were they proposing an alliance against an unexpected (and very dangerous) third side in the war? Or were they here for something else entirely?

Garkhen was not sure he even believed anyone had come, much less some of the rumors about the group. But then a messenger from Captain Telarnen arrived, ordering Garkhen to come meet with him. He could feel the eyes of all present on him as he followed the messenger out of the hall they had claimed for their mess.

It wasn't far to where the Captain awaited Garkhen. The messenger lead him to a door, knocked on it, and spoke briefly with a guard. Then he was let in. The half-dragon saw several of the Loyalist officers he recognized, as well as many he did not. In one corner of the room, a small, mismatched group sat. They looked to Garkhen rather like 'Irregulars'--the term he had learned for adventurers in military employ.

All in the room were focused on a semi-transparent robed man standing in the middle of the room. At first Garkhen thought him some sort of spirit, but he soon realized the truth of the matter—it was a magical sending, an image of a man who was actually some distance away, speaking through means of spells.

“Clearly, we have no way of proving to you that we have no affiliation with these undead abominations,” the sending was saying, “But I can say this: our strike on their rear will be quite... visible. It will be clear before you sortie that we are not betraying you.”

One of the Loyalist generals snorted derisively. “Well I suppose we'll just wait for that proof to make our move, then.”

The guard who had let Garkhen in quietly steered him to Cpt. Telarnen's side. The Captain saw his soldier approach, and leaned over to speak with him.

“Rebel emissaries,” he nodded at the odd group in the corner. “They have put us in contact with their generals via this wizard.”

Garkhen nodded, to show he understood, then whispered a question. “Why have you asked for me, sir?”

The sending was speaking again. “That would be acceptable, yes. But our attack will be much more effective if your troops are prepared to sally when we strike.”

Captain Telarnen took a moment to listen... or perhaps to think. “I thought that your... unique perspective might be useful in this situation. Tell me if anything occurs to you.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Ferdunan Grand General's voice cut through the room. “Then we will be prepared tomorrow night. But our soldiers will not move from our walls until we have seen this proof you promise.”

The sending nodded, then seemed to stare off into space. After a moment, he looked back at the Grand General. “Then it is agreed. You will again grant our messengers safe passage?”

“Of course,” he replied, seeming almost insulted at the suggestion he might do something else.

“Then we are agreed,” The sending said. “If you must change the plan, your mages should be able to get a sending to us, but we suspect there may be some amongst those controlling the undead who might well be able to intercept these messages. It would be best if we were not to depend upon sendings.”

And with that, the sending disappeared. Captain Telarnen sighed quietly and turned to Garkhen.

“I suppose I called you too late. Unless you have something you wish to say, Private?”

Garkhen shook his head slightly. “No, sir.”

“Then return to your unit. And keep this quiet for the time being. It's best not to spread tales until they must be known.”

********

So, Garkhen finds out something about the Rebel forces. But are they telling the truth? Or are they actually in league with the undead horde? Tune in next week to find out! :D

Chapter 9-2

Despite sleeping away much of the day, Garkhen hardly felt rested when he finally arose. The eyes of his fellow soldiers told a similar tale about their feelings. A hearty meal helped somewhat with their fatigue, however, and drills forced them into wakefulness.

The undead assaulted again at the fall of night. The battle was as terrible as the night before. While the defenders were now better prepared, yet there was something... terrifying about their mindless relentlessness. And while the Loyalist forces suffered few casualties, yet it seemed they were hardly reducing the size of the host before them.

Garkhen was more conservative in his use of priestly magic and draconic breath during the battle. He healed only when necessary to save lives, and used his lightning breath only once, near dawn. Yet he found himself as exhausted as before. His squad seemed to be suffering similarly. Perhaps, for all that the dead seemed to be attacking them ineffectually, they would win through grinding fatigue. 

Two more days and nights passed similarly. The third day, the mood amongst the defenders was gloomy. Many men had deserted the first night, with a steady trickle over the last several days, and those remaining were feeling the strain. These were not men who had marched from their homes anticipating facing the undead and whatever fell wizards had animated them. Many could not face such horrors. Those who stayed... recognized that the horrors would soon reach their homes if they were not stopped here.

*****

Next week's post will hopefully be longer, since I actually *don't* have a paper due next week.

Chapter 9-1

Chapter 9: Long Night

The rest of that night passed in a haze of exhaustion. Garkhen could only remember a vague, faceless stream of undead, climbing up ladders to meet his mace. Every now and again they managed to throw one of the heavy ladders down, but always another took its place. 

And yet, for all of their exhaustion, their lines held. The walking dead gained no foothold upon the walls, and their arrows and the spells of the hooded ones found few weaknesses in their armor. There would be much work for healers that day, yes, but little work for gravediggers, save for reburying the corpses of those whose eternal slumber had been disturbed. 

The tide of the dead ebbed before the sun's first rays. By the time the sun rose, the army of undead were already miles distant, camped to the west of the walls. But the keenest-eyed among their lookouts could make out another army to the north—the Rebel forces had made camp some miles from the city. Rumors flowed faster than the river. Were they waiting for their undead allies to grind the Loyalists down before retaking Garnot? Were they simply waiting to see what happened? Were they as surprised by the appearance of this army of walking dead as the Loyalists?

Other rumors spoke of what their forces might do. Would they try to strike at the undead during the daytime hours? Would messengers be sent to the Rebel army? But these things held little interest for Garkhen at the time. As soon as Sgt. Gerim dismissed him, he stumbled his way to his quarters and collapsed into a deep, dreamless sleep.

*******

Sorry for the late post. I had a group project to work on over the weekend, so most of my writing was going towards that.

Chapter 8-8

“Private Garkhen!” Garkhen looked over at the source of the shout, and saw Sgt. Gerim running up to the wall. “Let's get this off of here!”

He had sheathed his sword, and set his hand to the top of the ladder as he reached the wall. Garkhen saw what he wanted, slid his mace into its belt loop, and stepped forward.

“Now heave!”

With all his might, Garkhen pushed, digging the blunt claws of his feet into a seam in the wall for more traction. Slowly, the ladder started to tip back. Straining against the weight, Garkhen heaved with all his might. The ladder lurched outward, hung for an agonizing moment, and then steadily tipped further back, dropping into the dark sea of undead beyond with a great crash.

“Didn't... think... we could... actually... do it,” the Sergeant gasped. “Guess that... dragon blood's... good for... something... Private.”

Garkhen nodded at the grinning, gasping human, his own slight smile hidden by his helmet. Said helmet then saved him from another arrow. Sgt. Gerim brought up his shield, and Garkhen did likewise, as more arrows came raining down. Somewhere off to his left, Garkhen heard a cry of pain. He turned to look, arrows still rattling off his shield. One of the archers had not gotten to cover quickly enough, and lay on the ground with an arrow protruding from his chest. Another soldier crouched over him with a shield, protecting them both, but the wound was likely fatal.

Impulsively, Garkhen rushed over, trusting to his shield and armor to defend him from the arrows. With his free hand he grasped his symbol of Bahamut, chanting a spell-prayer. He reached the fallen man just as he finished it, and touched the now glowing symbol to the wound. As it began to close, Garkhen wrenched the arrow out. The flow of blood quickly stopped as his healing magic took hold.

Once he was certain the man would live, Garkhen stood... and nearly fainted from exhaustion. That had been a wearying spell. He had to remember to conserve his energy if he was going to last through the night. Two more ladders crashed against the wall, and Garkhen forced himself to go to the nearest and smash the skeleton which was just reaching the top of the wall.

******

Another short post. Sorry.

Chapter 8-7

Garkhen swung his mace down, smashing the bones of said hand as the animated skeleton was pulling itself up. Undeterred, it simply lifted up its other hand, which the half-dragon quickly treated likewise. Somehow, the undead creature managed to get its head above the level of the wall without its hands... so Garkhen knocked off its head. That sent what remained of it tumbling back down off the wall. 

Then an arrow ricocheted off his armor. Startled, Garkhen stepped back slightly and looked up, remembering that he had not only the ladder to worry about. Unfortunately, that gave the next skeleton time to get itself up the ladder. The young half-dragon just had time to realize his mistake before he had to block its first sword-swing. It struck his shield with surprising force, but it would take much more power to move Garkhen. He stood his ground and swung back, rather clumsily. The skeleton had only to move back slightly to dodge, and then it took advantage of his over-extension to stab its sword straight at his heart.

Garkhen felt the impact of the blade's tip on his armor, and then heard a loud snap as the end of the blade simply broke off, the force exerted on its rusted metal too great to bear. Now the skeleton was off balance, and so Garkhen could easily smash his mace through its attempt to defend itself, and then through its ribcage and spine. It disintegrated into a heap of bones, the magic that had once held it together crushed together with its bones. 

But now an animated corpse had already heaved itself up onto the wall, and another was close behind it. Garkhen realized that he was being to slow this way, and so, as he deflected the zombie's first swing with his shield, he inhaled deeply... then exhaled a bolt of lightning straight into its chest. The magical thunderbolt blasted a hole through the zombie, as well as through the neck of the zombie that was just mounting the wall behind it. To the half-dragon's surprise, a hole in its chest did not stop his immediate opponent from attempting an uncoordinated counterattack, but it was now so clumsy that he easily finished it off with a blow from his mace.

For just a moment, Garkhen had time to shake his head, trying to refocus. Using his draconic lightning breath always made him feel rather light-headed, and he could not afford something like that at present.

*******

Apologies for not posting last week. Grad school homework has begun in earnest. But, now we get to see Garkhen fight! He's not particularly good at the whole melee thing... but when you're a half-dragon priest in nearly impenetrable armor, you can afford to be somewhat clumsy against lesser undead creatures, apparently.

Chapter 8-6

Sergeant Gerim awakened his squad as evening fell. Garkhen arose with a bit of stiffness in his limbs, and a hint of fatigue irritating his eyes, but arose he did. Quickly he put on his armor, grateful for the magic that made that task much easier for him than his fellow soldiers, and then joined his squad for a hurried meal. 

What little conversation there was among them was subdued, and the relative hush around them suggested others also had little desire for talk. Once they had finished, the squad marched to its post. 

They lined up along the crenelations at the edge of the wall-walk, peering out into the gathering darkness for a hint of their foes. 

They did not have to wait long.

Garkhen's draconic eyes could pick out the advancing army of the walking dead, and even some of the hooded figures among them. Some of the undead carried ladders, and he thought he could see a long log, likely a ram, off to the east nearer the gates. Then he noticed some of the robed figures stop.

He had only enough time to realize what they were doing and chant a warding spell-prayer before the first spells hit. A ball of fire exploded in midair in front of Garkhen, blocked by his ward. He jumped slightly at the sight of it, and at the realization of how near it had come to striking before he was ready. Other spellcasters had thrown up similar defenses along the wall... but not everywhere.

But the half-dragon had no time to look around him. More spells came pounding in, and he found himself hard-pressed to maintain his ward, chanting and holding up his symbol of Bahamut. The twang of bows next to him startled him slightly, but he kept his concentration and the shielding magics it held. 

Finally the barrage ended, just in time for the first ladders to swing up to the wall. One clanged onto the stone to Garkhen's left, and he instinctively moved over to it, pulling out his mace as the archers made way. He was dimly aware that some of his squad-mates were following him, exchanging places with the archers who were less well-equipped for a melee.

He had just gotten himself into position when the first skeletal hand reached up to the last rung of the ladder.

*****

Hey, look, we're finally getting to the battle! Aren't you all so happy?

Chapter 8-5

Garkhen slept deeply, but soon he was awoken by a messenger with his orders. He read over them quickly. They were simple, ordering him to report to Sgt. Gerim, as the Captain had said, but helpfully containing a few concise instructions on where said reporting was to take place. 

Soon, the young half-dragon was handing said Sergeant his orders. The man looked at them for a few moments, then back up at Garkhen.

“Being reassigned to me, Private Garkhen?” Sgt. Gerim asked, then continued without giving time for Garkhen to respond, “We'll be glad to take you, but don't expect it to be easy. After last night...” 

He shook his head slightly. “We may want your healing abilities as much as your combat skills.”

“I would prefer to use the latter to preclude the need for the former,” Garkhen replied, quietly.

“Well, what's your specialty, then, Private?”

Garkhen thought over the question for a moment. “I am a Warder of Bahamut. I am trained for defense, by both physical and magical means. In addition, my armor is made of adamantine, despite its appearance, and is finely crafted and enchanted.”

The Sergeant's eyebrows raised a little at that, but after a moment's pause he asked, “And what can you do on the attack?”

Garkhen's hesitation was more pronounced. “I have some few offensive spell-prayers... I have my breath, and a little training with a mace.”

Gerim sat back a bit, frowning slightly. “Hmmm...” He thought for a while, then seemed to have an idea. “Our squad supports an archer formation's flank. You will be on our flank right next to them. Last night, those walking dead tried to scale our walls. Make sure they don't get to the archers. Am I clear?”

“Yes sir!”

“Good. Now I'll introduce you to the rest of the squad.”

The introductions didn't take long. There were supposed to be a total of twenty-five soldiers in a squad, but right now they were at nineteen, with Garkhen. Two of the empty spots were just because Telarnen didn't keep all his squads at full strength, but the others were wounded from last night. Once they had been introduced, Sgt. Gerim ran them through a few drills. Garkhen... did not perform very well at them. Eventually the Sergeant dismissed them.

“You've never been a soldier.” His tone of voice made it clear he wasn't asking a question.

Garkhen answered anyway. “No, sir.”

“Well now is not the time...” The Sergeant shook his head. “But the Captain wouldn't have assigned you to me if he thought you'd be a liability. Just... make sure not to hit anyone on our side with anything.”

“I will not, sir,” Garkhen replied, stiffly.

“Dismissed.”

********

Garkhen is... definitely not a trained soldier. Nor even a trained warrior, really. He was much more interested in the more... scholarly portions of his training.

Chapter 8-4

Captain Telarnen wasn't hard to find. Garkhen simply had to follow the constant stream of messengers heading into the area that was now the headquarters of the Ferdunan forces, state his purpose to a couple sentries, and soon enough he was ushered in to see the Captain.

Telarnen looked closely at the young half-dragon as he entered. “Private Garkhen. I hadn't expected to see you today. What do you need?”

“I am requesting reassignment, sir,” Garkhen replied, holding out the message from Lt. Ailill. 

Silently, the Captain took the rolled-up parchment, untied the string, unrolled it, and read. After a few moments, he said, “I see.” Suddenly he smiled. “It seems that Lt. Ailill's hunch was correct. Though you lasted longer than he thought you would.”

“Sir?” Garkhen was taken a bit by surprise by this.

“He said from the beginning that you wouldn't be content to stay behind the lines,” the Captain explained. “Though I believe his explanation of why changed over time. Regardless, Private, I approve your request.”

He motioned to one of his aides, who soon brought inkwell, quill and parchment. As he did so, Captain Telarnen continued speaking.

“I will assign you to Sergeant Gerim's squad. You've met him, and his squad is taking a watch on the walls tonight. He'll no doubt appreciate another soldier in his squad, and he's been with the Company long enough he can fill you in on everything you may not have learned under Lt. Ailill. For now, though, you should go get some rest. You'll have your orders shortly, but you're not going to do anyone any good without some sleep. Tonight...” his voice dropped, “Will likely be another long night.”

*******

This was a fairly busy week, so I'm afraid you'll have to make do with a short post. It's a good section for a single post, though, since it's pretty much a single scene.

Chapter 8-3

Somehow, Garkhen kept himself at work until the first signs of dawn showed in the sky. By the end of the night, his fury was warring with his exhaustion for his attention. When they were finally relieved, he approached his elven superior.

“Sir,” he began, his tone quiet but intense, “I request to be transferred to the front lines.”

Lt. Ailill looked at the half-dragon, but not with surprise. “I'm surprised it took you so long, Private. Are not priests of Bahamut called Warders for a reason?”

Garkhen was too surprised by this sudden question to answer, but Ailill continued, “I won't ask why you came here, but it was clear to me from the first day that this was not where you belong. You were a passable healer, Private, but I suspect you'll do much better at keeping our men from getting injured in the first place.” 

He walked over to a bag, and, after a few moments of rummaging, pulled out a sheet of parchment, a capped inkwell, and a quill. Finding a suitable surface, Lt. Ailill sat down and wrote.

As he did, he spoke. “Take this to the Captain. He will do with you as he sees fit. I suspect that he will grant your request. Some of our men are on the walls, and he would no doubt like to have you with them.”

Lt. Ailill finished what he was writing. He glanced over it, then stood. “If there is anything you wish to gather before leaving, now would be the time. It will be a few moments before the ink is dry.”

“Yes sir,” Garkhen replied, reflexively. After spending a few seconds gathering his thoughts, he quickly made his way back to his quarters. 

It took some time to return to his quarters, gather his things, and then return to the Lieutenant. Garkhen had a bit of time to think as he did so. He realized that he was actually relieved to be taking this step, as if it somehow released some sort of tension that had been building up within him. Oddly, he did not view the idea of fighting the undead with fear. He did not anticipate battle with joy, either, but rather... determination. It was where he belonged, as Lt. Ailill had said. At the front, warding the others with his body, strength, and the power of Bahamut.

By the time he returned, Lt. Ailill was waiting with the parchment now rolled up and bound with a small piece of string. The elf gave his half-dragon subordinate directions to where he could find Captain Telarnen, and then added, “Good luck, Private. Keep me from being busy.”

“Yes, sir!” 

**********************

I suspect everyone saw that coming. There was no way Garkhen could sit around behind the lines forever, after all.

Chapter 8-2

Oddly, they did not receive the influx of wounded they expected. Instead, they eventually heard that the army was encamped outside the walls, between them and the Rebel army. Rumors spread quickly about what the connection between the two armies was, but in truth, all anyone seemed to have was rumors. 

The other Company healers arrived partway through the day. The sun had just arisen when the Ferdunan forces had reached the walls, and now it seemed they would spend a long, tense day upon those walls.

“They will attack after dark,” Lt. Ailill said, after checking all his patients yet again.

Garkhen looked up at him, surprised. The Lieutenant rarely spoke of battle, but rather of healing.

“Such creatures need no light. It seems that whoever commands them realizes this means they have the advantage at night.” 

Garkhen hesitated a moment, then nodded in agreement. He didn't know why Lt. Ailill was sharing these thoughts with him, but he had nothing to add to them. So instead, he simply replied, “Yes, sir.”

The elf gave his subordinate a bitter grin. “I sound like I'm just babbling to you, don't I, Private.”

Garkhen was taken aback by this, but the Lieutenant continued before he could respond. “Yes, Private, even I can be surprised. And sometimes when I'm surprised I'd rather think aloud. If you have anything to add to my analysis, do not be afraid to speak.”

The half-dragon was silent. After a moment, Lt. Ailill continued, “We had best prepare as much as we can during the day. Once we have done all we can, we will rest.”

Lt. Ailill's prediction proved true. The remainder of the day was quiet, save for the uneasy talk of the army outside the walls. Once night had fully fallen, the attacks began.

Garkhen could gather little about what was happening, but the injuries of the wounded spoke loudly enough. They were not so different from those received from the living, and yet... somehow, the young half-dragon found an anger building within him at the sight. Perhaps it had always been there, but now, this night, he could no longer ignore it.

*****

Hmmm... now what might Garkhen do here shortly? There definitely isn't any foreshadowing in the chapter title... <.< >.>

Chapter 8-1

Chapter 8: Awakening the Dragon 

“What is it to be a dragon? A dragon is a creature of power. In size, strength, and magic, a dragon knows it is unmatched. Though they are few and dwindling in our times, yet their pride is unbroken.”

“While dragons are as individualistic and varied as any humans, yet this is constant among them—what they seek, they expect to gain, whether that be wealth or to defend the helpless. And while the Races of Men are ascendant, they still must walk wary of awakening the true wrath of dragonkind.”

Lt. Ailill soon set up a new healer's post, expecting the worst from the rumors. Garkhen had gone with him, and already they had started treating those few who had been injured in the crossing. Their casualties had been surprisingly light, but neither of them expected it to last.

Already news was filtering back to them of the approaching forces. What was said almost could not be believed. An army of the walking dead, interspersed with black-robed figures. While necromancy was not unknown, its practitioners were so universally hated and hunted that the gathering of such an army in secrecy should have been impossible.

But clearly, it was not.

******

Sorry about the short post again, but hey, I'm building suspense! Honestly I should have forshadowed this a bit more (there were rumors about grave robbers going around that I forgot to mention), but... meh, next draft.

Chapter 7-4

Garkhen would not have thought he could have been more fatigued than he had been the past weeks, but he discovered quickly he was wrong. The Mage-Commander drilled him and the other wizards and priests as hard as any drill sergeant, and Garkhen's duties as a healer were in no way lightened to make up for it. He could barely drag himself to his quarters each evening, and sometimes found that he hadn't entirely made his way to his cot when he awoke in the morning. 

Somehow, he continued on, drawing on reserves of energy and resolve he didn't know he had. He could tell the strain was wearing on the others, as well. Fortunately, they did not have long to wait—the date set for their attempt was only a week after they had begun their training. 

That day, Garkhen received orders to conserve his energy, and to retire to his quarters early. They would work their ritual in the dark of night, and could afford no mistakes from fatigue. Despite his considerable anxiety, Garkhen was exhausted enough to fall asleep as soon as Lt. Ailill gave him leave to retire to his quarters. 

A knock at his door awoke him. It took Garkhen only a moment to awaken and remember what this meant. He arose quickly, speaking the command for his armor, and emerged to see another Private waiting to guide him. The soldier led Garkhen down to the riverside, where the other spell-workers were gathering. They were just out of sight of the other bank, one half-ruined warehouse between them and the water. Once they were all assembled, a few of their number worked spells of concealment, and they quietly walked out to the edge of the river.

The ritual itself was lengthy, with all of them working arcane magics or calling upon their gods for aid in an odd sort of harmony. Garkhen himself was... uncertain if Bahamut truly wished to aid in this, but he knew not what else he was to do, no better way to aid in ending this terrible war. And so, he raised his voice with the others, noting only subconsciously the odd muffling of the sound caused by their concealing magics. He focused entirely on his part of the ritual, feeling the energies wash through him into the pattern of the spell.

Finally, it was done. Garkhen looked about him, and saw that some of the others had collapsed. He himself felt weary, but not to the point of unconsciousness. But what concerned him more was the seeming lack of result from their efforts—there was not so much as a slight bulge in the river.

No sooner had this thought entered his mind than he heard a low rumbling, soon followed by a large bulge in the midst of the river's flow. Soon, a wall emerged, entirely blocking it. Not long after he could hear the sounds of water rushing over the opposite bank, followed by distant shouts as the Rebel forces began to awaken to this sudden, unexpected threat.

The Ferdunan forces were prepared, however. Already Garkhen could hear the fighting on the bridge intensifying, and he suspected there were other plans already in play. 

“Can you march, Private?” Garkhen started slightly at Lt. Ailill's voice.

He turned to face his superior. “Yes, sir.”

“We'll be needed shortly. Come.”

The next hour was a blur to Garkhen. Somehow they were across the bridge, and there was word that their forces had driven the Rebels entirely beyond the walls. At some point their dam had collapsed, as planned, and so the water was receding from the city and the plains beyond. Garkhen had somehow kept up with Ailill, but in truth, he was feeling more weary every minute. 

Then there was a change. Whispers ran through the soldiers around him like wind through grass. The soldiers who had reached the wall had seen something—another army, coming from the west. Their victory might well be short-lived.

******

Don't think I mentioned that Garkhen had gotten his own room. It's small and simple, but he did. The mass evacuation of the city left a lot of empty rooms, and healers, even if they're just privates, are valuable enough to get one.

But oh, look, it's a cliffhanger! New chapter starts next week.

Chapter 7-3

They soon reached a small square in what had clearly once been an affluent neighborhood. Here, a large group of people was gathered, many wearing robes. Garkhen recognized some of the symbols they wore—they were priests of the different gods of Men, and wizards of some power. 

Captain Telarnen stood off to one side, and waved Garkhen over to him. Next to him stood a robed wizard, as the young half-dragon could discern from the markings on his robe. 

“Mage-Commander, this is Private Garkhen ze'Darkhen'Sem'dor,” Telarnen said. “He is the last of our men who will be joining this operation.”

“Private,” the Mage-Commander gave him a bare nod. “If you will take your place there,” he waved at a spot between one of the Company's wizards and a Priest of Mashano, “we will begin.”

Once Garkhen had taken his place, the Mage-Commander looked out over the group. “As you can see, we have gathered here a significant portion of Ferdunan's magical might here. No doubt you suspect we are planning a master stroke to finally defeat the Rebels. You would be correct, though you likely do not suspect what our move shall be.”

“Captain... Telarnen, here, noticed with some of his men,” he hesitated and glanced almost imperceptibly at Telarnen, who nodded slightly, “A useful feature of the terrain here. The land on this side of the river is slightly higher than on the opposite bank. As such, were we to redirect the flow of the river, it would first overflow into the Rebel's side of the city. We have, gathered here, the magical might to accomplish such a feat.”

“Now, this will not be simple,” he continued, talking over the sudden whispered conversations his words had started, “Which is why we have brought you here tonight. For the next several evenings, until I judge you prepared, we will practice our ritual. There can be no mistakes when we put it into practice, for any failure might well leave us exposed to a counterattack. Thus, if I find any of you disobeying my commands...”

The Mage-Commander somehow seemed to fix all of them with a steely glare. “Now, then, let us begin,” he said, after a moment.

********

Short post. Bed time. Sleep.

Chapter 7-2

The Captain quirked an eyebrow. “I do, Private.”

“Have you ever read of the Battle of Bocheru?”

Telarnen frowned in thought. “No, Private, I have not,” he replied, after a few moments.

Garkhen hesitated a moment before speaking. “It was fought in terrain much like this, with a river with a rise on one side. The side on the rise had many mages, and they used magic to dam the river in the night, flooding the enemy camp and giving them an unexpected avenue of attack. The two factors together were sufficient for them to successfully cross the river.” He paused again, before adding, “Sir, do you think we could...” He trailed off. 

The Captain was silent for a long moment, before barking a short laugh. “It's risky, Private... but it just might work. I'll have to think it over, then bring it up before the other commanders. But if it works... it could be just what we need.” He gave Garkhen an appraising glance. “I wouldn't have thought you'd be a military historian, Private Garkhen.”

Garkhen laughed a bit, uncomfortably. “I had... little to do for much of my upbringing beyond reading, Captain. It was simply fortune that I read that particular work.”

Telarnen shook his head slightly. “I'm not sure I believe in good luck, Private. But it's too early to be celebrating this—even if it is a good idea, the Ferdunan commanders may not agree to it. But if this works, Private, you may have saved a lot of our men's lives.”

“Thank you, sir,” Garkhen said, quietly, thinking to himself that he might also be the doom of many of the other side's soldiers.

Garkhen returned to his post as a healer the next day, with no news of any results from his conversation with the Captain. Another messenger came in that evening for the half-dragon, however. Again, he was led out with no explanation of what to expect. 

This time, though, the messenger led him not out of the city, but deeper in. This part of Garnot had not been damaged as heavily in the fighting, it seemed, and likely had been a wealthier district before the war. From what little he had heard of rumors, the higher-ranking officers of the Ferdunan army used these homes as living quarters.

******

Hmm, what's going to happen, eh? Will Garkhen's remembered plan work? Has it been tossed out? Find out next week!

Chapter 7-1

Chapter 7: Enough

“For every thinking man who sees such madness, there comes a time he must cry, 'Enough! I can stand idle no longer!' Whether it were sin to stand idle so long or not, it is certainly wrong to seek to ignore this impulse.”

Garkhen could not say how long he labored, how many days passed with the constant stream of wounded brought in and healed walking out. Weeks, certainly. Months... if he had been certain what season it had been when they had arrived, perhaps the turning of the leaves would have told him, but it seemed somehow as if the days he spent as a healer were unmeasurable, existing outside the normal flow of time.

But they did eventually end. One evening, just as Lt. Ailill had ordered their little group back to their quarters, a messenger entered the room. He walked over to the elven healer.

“Captain Telarnen requests that Private Garkhen ze'Darkhen'Sem'dor attend him.”

Lt. Ailill arched an eyebrow. “Requests? Very well. Private, you are at the Captain's service. I assume you are to follow this young soldier.”

The messenger nodded. “If you will, Private.”

Garkhen followed him out. He lead the half-dragon to the west, out of Garnot's gates and up a hill beyond. It was late in the evening when they set out, and by the time they arrived the moon shed more light on the land than the last rays of sunlight of dusk. A few Company soldiers stood attention at the top of the hill, and the messenger left Garkhen with them. One silently led him forward, up the steps of a small, ruined tower, to where Captain Telarnen was waiting.

“Thank you, Private Aholima. That will be all for the moment,” he said to the soldier who had led Garkhen in.

Once he had left, Garkhen said softly, “You wanted to see me, sir?”

Telarnen nodded. “Yes, Private. Come.” He waved Garkhen forward, then followed as the half-dragon walked out onto some kind of large balcony. 

The Captain pointed back at Garnot, where the flash of metal and occasional bursts of magical fire or lightning could still be seen on the bridge. “Our forces are at a stalemate—neither side can bring enough force to bear on the bridge to break through, and neither side can find a way across the Green without the bridge. And so we stay here, both sides sending in good men to die for nothing.”

Telarnen's voice was soft, but its bitter edge was clear. “So far, my men haven't had to do the dying yet, but if something does not change soon, we'll have our turn. And we'll go out and die, because that's what we've given our word to do. Unless something changes.”

He turned his gaze on Garkhen. “I've only met your dragon friend a few times, and every time, it's taken me a long time to figure out just why he visited. From what I've seen, he doesn't come down out of the mountains for something minor. So I find myself wondering, what part do you have to play in this, Private?”

Garkhen shook his head. “I do not know, sir.” Even as he spoke, he was still looking out on the bridge and the men dying in the darkness upon it.

He shook his head more vigorously. “It is madness, sir. Just... madness.”

Captain Telarnen nodded. “And it will keep going on unless we can put a stop to it.” He sighed. “I apologize, Private Garkhen. I...”

But something had struck Garkhen. He pointed. “Sir, do you see the slope of the land there, on the west of the bridge?”

*********

So, what's Garkhen realized that all the experienced military minds around him haven't? Tune in next week to find out!

Chapter 6-7

Garkhen slept poorly that night, his dreams a confused, disturbing jumble. He tossed and turned, his mind haunted by the images of what he had seen during the day, mixed and distorted by his dreaming mind. While he could remember little enough of the specifics in the morning, it was still more than he wished.

The next day was, indeed, worse than the last, both due to his poor night's sleep and due to the steadily growing stream of horrific injuries. Lt. Ailill ordered him to use his healing spell-prayers earlier and more often, and by the end of the day, the half-dragon could hardly stay on his feet. 

Over the course of the next several days, Garkhen settled into a sort of equilibrium, where he was able to keep himself functional enough that he could manage to get through each day without exhausting himself too early, though sometimes it was a near thing. And Lieutenant Ailill had been right—he had to conserve his energy to save as many lives as he could.

That didn't keep those who died from haunting his dreams.

For all that he knew he was doing all he could, Garkhen felt that somehow, he should be able to save all of them. That he should be skilled enough, should have enough endurance to heal every wounded soldier brought in. And sometimes... sometimes he thought that if he were there, on the front lines, perhaps they wouldn't have been injured in the first place.

In the rare moments that had to rest, Garkhen silently observed the other healers. The three priests of Mashano from Telarnen's Company clearly showed their fatigue. Lt. Ailill... he seemed increasingly brusque. Garkhen slowly came to wonder if perhaps his manner was, in truth, an attempt to hide his own fatigue and nightmares. As for the others... he soon came to realize how fortunate he was to be in the Company. It was clear the others preferred to keep their distance from him, and he heard, a few times, comments about the “monster in the other room”.

It was worst when the soldiers he treated reacted similarly. Those who were still lucid would usually disguise whatever surprise or fear they felt at his presence quickly, but those who were not... it pained him whenever it became clear their screams were due to his appearance rather than their wounds. 

Those screams haunted his dreams, too.

*******

Not exactly the most cheerful post, but, well, war is not a cheerful thing. As Garkhen is discovering.

This is the end of Chapter 6. The next chapter will be somewhat happier, don't worry. Well, for some people.