Vol.4, Ch.5, P.9
“Lise, casualties?” asked I. The 3rd’s splinters were gone, routed by the arrival of our chief host. Forces rejoined, a great work had just begun on securing Balasthea, quenching the keep’s fires, and surveying all the damage wrought. And amidst the bustle did I at last meet Lise again upon the bailey.
“Several’ve taken wound,” she answered. “No Edelkrieger counts amongst the corpses, that much I’m happy to report. Fighting within the walls gave us great advantage. And Sig himself—well, no small boon he was, I admit.”
“Can’t be just that, I’d reckon,” said I. “Your braves, they’re fine fighters, after all, each and every one. But, if none of theirs are dead, as you say…”
“Yes…” Lise said gravely. “Remember when first we arrived here? Well, by then…” Lise next let her gaze fall before repeating, “…by then, ’twas already too late. The fort-defenders… many of them now lie silent.”
That a rogue force from the 3rd would strike Balasthea was no move any of us had anticipated. Not I, nor any of the other war-chiefs. The result: many, many graves now to dig. And a great many more again who would grieve them in the nights and winters to come.
“Rolf, you… we have excuses enough,” Lise said on, softly now. “The realmers, sacrificing fief for fortress? No… that’s a madness beyond all our sight to see.”
Making excuses—nay. That was not Lise’s intention. Rather, her words sounded more for my solace. A heaviness had been on my brows, I think, and in perceiving them, she perhaps thought I needed some nursing. Such was the gentle soul she was.
“You comfort me, Lise,” I answered, gracious, though no less grim. “Still, no excuse ought acquit me of thought—of retribution for the fallen, of peace for the lost and forlorn.”
“…No. Of course not,” Lise conceded.
At that moment, memories of Mt Godrika sprang to my mind. Many, too, had perished there—squad after squad of unsuspecting knights crushed and brutalised by the catoblepas when it appeared out of the depths. How she had wept for them, Emilie. Nights of sobbing in secret, after the day’s burdens of conciliation and condolence. She was their mareschal, after all; a fledgeling leader who had unwittingly led them all into the shadow of death. The self-blame, the self-anger—what torment it must’ve been, enough to leave her screaming mad, I’m sure. Only, she never did. But in turn were her tears all the more bitter.
These things I finally understood full. Her hardships, her heart—an empathy bought now with vain sacrifice.
…
…Emilie.
Where be you now? I wondered. Are you yet well?
“And… what of her?” Lise asked, looking at Mia who was yet in my arms. “A civilian she is? One you’ve saved? Or…?”
“Indeed,” I answered. “Mia’s her name. I’ve sent a search for her elder sister; we hope for fair news soon.”
“Er… well, dear Mia,” said Lise. “’Tis safe and sound now; why not come down?”
To that, Mia only shook her head, and rather vigorously, at that. In spite of Lise’s assurance, the little girl perhaps felt yet rattled by the day’s ordeal, for not once since our escape had she dared part from my arms. I could hardly blame her. Like as not, she dearly missed the security of her sister Eva, who, by her words, had come to the fort alongside her and was yet unaccounted for to this moment.
Apparently, they had fled up the keep with the other Nafílim civilians when the 3rd had appeared in force. And it was at the top storey where they had separated: Mia, taken by the knights; Eva and all the rest descending the keep and then stealing out of the fort proper via the waggon-gate. So compelled the search for the latter, lest they be left to the fleeing knights like lambs to wolves.
“Fräulein, Herr Rolf,” called another voice. Coming nigh was Monika, Lise’s aide. Not for long had I known her, yet already did I mark her a perfectionist in her profession, and thus a most dependable hand in such after-battle business as we now found ourselves in. “Glad tidings I bear,” she said with a smile. “The civilians—they are found, and they are safe.” Sure enough, a ways behind her was a press of Nafílim, all huddled together, with many gaping at the smoking husk of the keep from which they had fled. “Outside the walls they were,” Monika explained, “and taken in by our main host in their march.”
Upon hearing those words, I let Mia down, who immediately looked all along the civilian crowd. And as though having spotted a familiar face amongst them, she cried, “Sister!”
“Mia!” a voice soon cried back.
And at once, Mia raced off to the crowd, from which appeared Eva just as speedily. Meeting and embracing at long last, they wept together and rejoiced in their safe reunion.
Sisters. Siblings. How heartwarming to see. And yet how envious to behold. Though it was perhaps hardly my place to. No; not after having turned my back on my own blood…
It was then that whilst embracing her little sister, Eva looked to me, and there, smiled and nodded in gratitude. Without a word, I returned the gesture.
“What of the others?” I then asked, turning to Monika. “The Mennish folk—they’re nowhere to be seen.”
“Safe, too, they are,” Monika answered. “For them, the knights had some heart; we found them locked in the crofts.”
“Is that right? I’m glad,” I said. “Speaking of knights… what of the north?”
“None there we found. None heading to Hensen,” Monika confirmed. “Scouts search now to make certain, but we may be at ease, I think.”
“Oi, ya nose-pickers,” barked a gruff voice. And there was Sig in approach, dappled in the blood of his enemies. The look on his face, however, was tinged with trouble. “Come lend this poor sop an ear, aye?” he urged us, and sure enough, we saw that the former mercenary had not come alone: following him swift and unsteady was a Nafíl, who bore wounds and had about his head a band of red-stained linen.
“You’re… with the defence?” I asked him after glancing at his dishevelled gear.
“I-I am!” he answered, loud but weary. “Hevo, south rampartsman! B-but never mind me! My sons! My little sons!”
“Sons…?” I murmured, stunned for a second. Sons, and little, at that—certainly not the sort to belong on the battlefield. Apprehension grew in me at once. “Come, be at ease and speak plain,” I bade the distraught father, soothing him as best I could.
“A-apologies,” said Hevo. “With the vanguard I was, to fend off the realmers as they stormed the gates. But… j-just in the throes of it, I was bludgeon’d, and—shames me to say—I… I swoon’d… then and there…”
As I looked at him, his face drooped down. And then his lips and brows both frowned and quivered; tears started in his eyes. “What shame?” I debated. “With but small numbers have you risked life and limb to shield the innocents you see there. Stand tall, good Hevo; it is valour you’ve shown today.”
“Y… you’re too kind…” he said, looking up. “But, rub is, my sons—they were with those very innocents.”
As Hevo then explained, his young sons had paid him a visit here at Balasthea, that they might see for themselves their father’s place of employ. Only, it was on this day of all days that they had come.
Any decent soldier would be desperate to save innocents at his back—all the more so were he a father to any of them. But for Hevo, it seemed such desperation had got the best of him, one that only grew when he had awoken to find the battle long-ended.
“H-horrify’d I was, to hear that the first defence had fail’d,” he recounted, “that the knights had breach’d the line and let themselves in. And so I… I…”
…began worrying for his sons, and then searched for them, filled all the while with dread. But to no avail…
I turned a glance to Eva, who had been watching the scene unfold whilst holding Mia tight. Her face grew grim.
“I… I am sorry,” she spoke out. “I hope to be wrong, but… those who have fled the fortress, they… they all stand here as you see.” To the press of civilians I then looked, and try as I might, not amongst them could I spot any lads little enough to be Hevo’s. In fact, no child was amongst them at all, save only for Mia herself. “Anyone?” Eva asked them. “Has anyone seen any other children? Small boys; sons to this brave here?”
An uneasy silence followed. The civilians all glanced amongst themselves and about the bailey, but as they did, the fruitlessness of their efforts began to show on their faces. At the last, they shook their heads.
“Monika!” Lise said asudden. “Were there not more found!? Any at all!?”
Gloom passed over the aide’s eyes. “Fräulein… Not from within the fort, no…” she answered. “We have braves searching the burnt wreckage as we speak. But hitherto, none have reported aught…”
I turned to Hevo, expecting… nay, dreading the despair that would visit his face. But instead, I found him wide-eyed, his lips mumbling without sound. It would seem some memory was returning to him.
“N-no, wait! My sons, they…!” he said in a gasp. “They wished to see what weapons, what gear we defenders use. And out of hand, I said to them, ‘We keep them elsewhere—all in the… armoury’…”
Lise looked to me immediately. “…Rolf!!” she cried, and at once, I dashed off.
The fort armoury—away from the keep was it situated, right next to the smithy. I much doubted that it had gone unassaulted by the knights. They were all gone now, of course, or as far as I could guess, but were it nevertheless so that they’d chanced upon Hevo’s sons during the battle… then there would all of us know anew the brutality of Londosius.
A rumble played behind me; others were following with just as much panick. And through my mind flashed a nightmare-to-be, the very worst that might full-darken all the day’s victories. Please, please, I thought over and again to myself. Please, let all these fears be unfounded. Please—let them be safe.
—Doom-die, doom-die, doom-die.
So pounded my heart; so stamped my feet as they grew heavier by the step, burdened by all the dread, afraid for the scene soon to unfold. Yet still I pressed on, racing as though to wade through mires of ill omen. Turning past the smithy porch and towards a small clearing at the base of the fort wall, I found it: the armoury entrance… and the very scene I feared most.
“What…” I gasped.
Bodies were strewn about.
There they were, with silver arms and armour, stilled and sanguine, glinting dull upon the ground: knights, all looking to have fallen whilst surrounding the armoury in assault. Stepping through them, I next found two more figures: Men, too, they were—and yet drawing warm breath.
Beside the blasted doorway they leant, downcast and seemingly dispirited. Held in their hands were bloodstained swords, drooping, though yet pointing forth. And as my eyes glared upon them, I realised it: armed though they were, these Men were no knights.
Their breathing was hoarse and haggard. Wounds riddled their bodies; blood issued from them all.
Noticing my presence, the Men both looked up and turned their tired eyes to me. Their faces—I knew them. Yes; I knew these fellows. Once upon a time were they Balasthea’s bulwark-men, subordinates to Order-exile and Acting Commandant Rolf Buckmann. And as though realising the same, they made no sign of hostility.
Quickly, I passed them by and entered the armoury, searching through the mirk till I found at last, huddled behind a heap of tousled gear, a pair of small children.
All the others now came in. Foremost of them was Hevo, who, with all haste, hurried to my side, and seeing what I saw, cried out, “Aah! J-Jochem! Peter!”
And answering him:
“Papa!”
At once, the three sprang and joined together, tearful and loudly relieved. Another reunion was had on this day; a family, found again and in full embrace. And by the look of them, the little sons were unharmed, thankfully enough.
Joy erupted from the others. Eased and gladdened, I exited and turned to my former subordinates in all their many injuries. And with Lise leaving to look for any healers at hand, I spoke to the Men.
“If my eyes’ve not fooled me,” I began, “then those were Nafílim lads you Men’ve saved. Why?”
Looking at me, they both grinned wryly. “Ah… C… Commandant…” said one of them. “Fancy seein’ ye ’gain…”
“It… it were th’reight thing t’do…” the other explained. “…Thass all we thoughts ’o it, really… Th’reightest thing…”
“Heh,” Sig huffed over my shoulder, having arrived and overheard the conversation. “An’ ya right gambled your ballocks on it, ain’t ya?”
I could not’ve agreed any more.
For far too long has some unseen seamster sewn and suffocated this world in threads of deceit. But on this day, at long last, had one such seam come loose: small but not insignificant, a dis-seaming centuries in the making.
It was a roster of hundreds that I’d commanded moons ago at this fort. And of them, only the two here had managed to break free from their Londosian yokes. A trifling share, I’ll be the first to admit. But all the same, I was glad. For afore me had they truly appeared: Men who’ve chosen harmony over hatred. Their wounds were proof enough of it, that it was a choice hard-made—that Sig and I were scarce alone in our rebellion.
This was what I’d long wished to see.
Not another scene of tragedy, but one of change.
Of charity.
With hope kindled hotter in my heart, I then looked bravely to the battles of tomorrow and on.
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Thanks for the chapter.
That was the good way to end the volume. Seeing Rolf among people who care about and respect him is a definite change for the better.