Cry of War
He woke up to smell the stench of the dead bodies. Hobgoblins and Azurites alike lied dead buried by the blue rocks. He got on his knees and began to get up; he took his hand to his right shoulder right away—he’d fallen on it.
Where am I? It was dark around, and the pile of bodies made it harder to get on his feet. He felt around and found what he was looking for right by his side: his Halberd. He started walking around, listening with disgust to the echoing sound his metallic boots made when they stepped on the pools of blood. He was inside the outer fortifications of the city. Large rocks blocked the way. He knew the city’s fortifications well, better than anyone in fact. Every since he was a young boy he’d dream of being part of Azure City’s militia, an Azurite warrior. The entrance that was blocked was the only one in this block, he’d have to make his way to the southern block and rejoin the fight from there. He felt it was ironic, painfully ironic. When he was younger, he couldn’t begin to count how many times he’d sneaked into the militia’s headquarters and then wondered around the outer fortifications of the city; he even managed to get into Lord Shojo’s Castle once or twice. He’d been caught most of the time (he was even presented to a Paladin once for judgment on what his punishment should be) and every time he remarked how easy it had been to sneak in, that if a kid could get past anyone could. The guards always replied they had better things to do than look out for a mischievous kid. Indeed, the Paladin remarked that the city was the best fortified in the continent and that you would need a couple dozen thousand foot soldiers to get past them. Now the couple dozen thousand had trespassed, as predicted, the city’s defenses.
He made his way through the darkness instinctively and saw a dim light. He knew that had to be the corridor that led to the southern block. Suddenly, he felt something grab his ankle. He gasped and fell against the wall. “Help me…please…help.” The sordid plea came through as an imperative order. He could feel the cold hand squeezing his ankle harder and harder. He bent and tried to see who it was. He heard the soldier breading and struggling to break free from the boulder crushing the larger portion of his body. “Hold still, I’m going to move the rock so you can escape.” He tried to move it again and again, doing his best to ignore the faint shouts of pain of the soldier. “Stop…stop…it’s no use.” He was sobbing along with his fellow warrior. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” “It’s ok, you must go back. Don’t let the city fall.” He heard how the slow panting of the wounded soldier began extinguishing, merging with the quiet of the dungeon. He fell on his knees and cursed it all.
How could all this have happened? Lord Shojo is dead; the city is being invaded by an army that outnumbers us three to one; and a stupid group of adventurers trying to be heroes, who would sacrifice the city if it meant accomplishing their own goals, were in charge. “I swear I will avenge your death.” He grabbed the face of the warrior to swear an oath of vengeance, but when he saw whose face it was he was grabbing, he flinched and begun to cry. “Kenji…KENJI! You’re not dead, right? Answer me Kenji, wake up. WAKE UP!” He embraced his best friend, his brother, and, again, cursed all that could be cursed. The warrior drew his last breath, coughing blood: “R…Ryoma, you survived. I…am…glad…” Kenji let go of his legs and died with a smile on his face. Ryoma let go of the man who had been part of his soul for half his life.
Why did you have to die Kenji? WHY?! The anger whirled within him as the last words his friend had spoken resonated in his mind.
He had met Kenji before he enlisted himself in the militia, even before his father traded half that year’s harvest for his treasured halberd and told him it was his destiny to become a warrior. It had been a cold, rainy autumn afternoon. Kenji saved his life that day. His mother had died when he was young; and his father had nothing besides the family farm that barely made enough for them to survive. The day before, a harsh hail had ruined the storage house and every supply stored in it.
My father had no idea how we were going to make it through the winter. “The Gods must hate us to have sent hail this early in the season.” He decided to sneak into the city’s storage building.
I thought it couldn’t be much harder than sneaking into the militia’s headquarters. He chuckled and let out a soft laugh. He couldn’t believe he was remembering all this in the mid of a battle, but he couldn’t help it. He remembered the storage was heavily guarded that day. Must have been because of the hail. I bet they figured someone who suffered a fate like mine would steal it; no, I bet they knew someone was going to try to steal it. The dozens of guards didn’t stop him from trying. He got caught trying to break in, and the two guards that saw him would’ve killed him if Kenji hadn’t showed up. He knocked both guards out and unlocked the warehouse.
“Take what you need, nothing more.” He helped me take the three sacks of corn that saved us from starvation all the way to the farm. “Where to?” “I live right outside the city, by the eastern walls.” He always wondered why no other guards had come, and why Kenji had helped him so readily. He found out later that Kenji was one of the leaders of a group that was planning to sack the city’s warehouse in the first place.
I would’ve died twice if it hadn’t been for him. From that day forward, he became family. He had been going forward all this time and had finally reached the southern entrance. He stepped out, grabbing his trusted Halberd with his left hand and lifting it high.
This is for you, Kenji. I swear I’ll live, and I’ll fight for our city until every single hobgoblin is gone. And with that, tears on his eyes, and a cry of war that was heard by every single Azurite, Ryoma charged back into the battle, refusing to dye, refusing to let the city fall.
Re: That Guy with a Halberd
