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!” 

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