A Soldier's Life
chapter-44

I was seated between Brutus and Wylie when the city guard announced the enemy had arrived. Brutus murmured, “Damn, they must have run here to arrive so quickly.”

Wylie gave his opinion, “No, it is probably just the lead elements. Two days and mounted men could have easily made a hundred miles on the road.”

Brutus jested, “While as long as the horses can’t fly, it won’t matter. The regulars can hold the walls. It will all come down to how many mages they brought with them. Eryk, you were not here when Castile and Gregor were arguing over the city’s defense. Durandus may have been a greedy fool, but he was a powerful wizard. From the shouts raining down the stairs, I guess things are not pretty.”

Wylie added, “Do not worry, Brutus. I am sure Castile has a plan to keep most of us alive,” he added jovially, while shoveling food into his face. I disliked that Wylie said, ‘most of us.’

During the meal, Castile left with Adrian for the lower city to further strategize with Gregor and the Army’s General at the Legion Hall. After dinner, my patrol was merged with Firth’s patrol to give us eight legionaries. Firth took the lead, so I was removed from having to think too much. We did not talk much as we walked. I was slightly caught off guard when Firth did not lead us to our assigned patrol route of Venus Street and Vesta Street. Instead, we went into the lower city, and Firth guided us into an alley.

He talked softly to the seven of us, “I know where some Bartirdian collaborators are. I know you all want to get some revenge for Flans’ death.” Murmurs of agreement answered him. “Good. Now we will go in and search the house for the unaccounted-for Bartiadian soldiers.” Nods of agreement and excitement swelled among our number. Firth added, “Hold your blade unless attacked. No killing unless necessary.”

We left our spears in the alley, and Firth’s plan was simple. Four of us would rush to the second floor, and four of us would search the first floor and then the basement. I was part of the second group with Brutus, Mateo, and Wylie.

We walked out into the street, leaving our spears in the alley as they would be difficult to use in a house. Firth walked four houses down and indicated a door. The houses in this section of the city were well maintained but not opulent like our patrol routes in the upper city. Brutus and Mateo rushed the door together and shouldered it open, storming into the dark house. Those of us who had glow stones held them for light.

Footsteps and curses could be heard on the second floor. Brutus went right, and Mateo left as they started their search of the first floor. I found the basement door while Firth and the others thundered up the stairs.

The basement was locked, and as I shouldered it, I could hear harsh whispering below. Just great, we had struck gold. I was at the forefront again. I heard fighting on the second floor as I struggled with my own door. Mateo arrived and heaved to no success. He pulled a hand axe on his belt and began hacking around the hinges, taking chunks of the door with each swing. Wylie and Brutus arrived as well, the first-floor search complete.

I whispered loudly, “Definitely some people down there. Last time, there were seven, and we took them unaware. They know we are coming.” I looked at our small bucklers and wished we had taken the medium shields for the patrol. There was no time. The two hinges were free of the frame, and we removed the door from the other side.

A quarrel bolt thudded into Wylie’s stomach as the door cleared the opening. Brutus did not hesitate to go first, tossing his glow stone and racing down the stairs after the man who shot Wylie. Mateo was behind him, and I quickly kneeled next to Wylie. It looked like a straight gut shot. “Don’t move Wylie. Just lay down; you don’t want the head shifting around inside of you. After the fighting, we can get the last healing potion from Linus and get you patched up.” He nodded and moved to get comfortable.

I focused on the fight. I hurried down into the basement. A man with a crossbow was dead at the bottom, with a slash from shoulder to hip, and a stab wound in his heart. The wall was to my left, so the entire basement was open to my right. Brutus was cutting down another man, and Mateo was engaged with two more. A fourth man on the far side desperately tried to load a crossbow but didn’t seem to know how. I rushed the crossbowman, and one of Mateo’s opponents broke to stop me.

It cost the man a slash from Mateo on his shoulder, but that was all the help he could give as his other opponent pressed him. The man blocked my path, and his shoulder wound was not serious. I needed to get to the crossbowman quickly, or one of us was going to take a bolt. Two exchanges with the man blocking me told me I was not getting by. I bull-rushed him, taking him by surprise as I drove his sword up and drove my shield into his face. I had assumed he would fall back and give me a path to the ranged threat, but the asshole grabbed my clothes and pulled me to the ground with him.

I released my short sword and went to my belt for my knife. He had the same thought, and we tried to hold each other at bay with one hand while trying to stab the other with a dagger. I was stronger and had the body position. The fear in his wide brown eyes as my blade pressed into his throat shook me a little. I was killing without hesitation.

A man doesn’t die when you cut his throat. He bleeds and drowns in his own blood. I had to hold him down or risk his vengeance with the blade. I held him at bay as he choked on his blood and sprayed it into my face as he fought till his end. During my struggle, Brutus had finished his man and stabbed the crossbowman in the chest. Brutus hit a lung, and the crossbowman was foaming at the mouth as he struggled to breathe and desperately held the wound closed to prevent blood loss.

Mateo’s opponent was injured and now outnumbered. My own foe was dead, and I stood, and all three of us faced the last man who slowly backed toward the stairs. A twang of a crossbow and then a thud to my back spun me around hard. Mateo swore, “Fuck, he must have had a healing potion.”

I went down hard on my knees, a bolt tip protruding from my chest a few inches. It had struck my right shoulder and passed partway through me.

I quickly got my senses, though. I told myself I had endured pain this intense before. My right arm was useless since the bolt had ripped through the muscles in its path through my body. Mateo had returned and was ending the man who had shot me, and Brutus was handling the man close to the stairs. We won—I could rest. I reached and touched the tip of the bolt protruding from me in slight disbelief and shock.

My first thought was it was sharp. My second thought was, why did he have to shoot me? There were two other targets. In a daze, I turned to ask him, but Mateo had killed him with a blade under his chin, and into his brain. Mateo saw me approach and explained, “I am looking to see if he has any more healing potions on him, Eryk. He has to.” He frantically searched the man’s pockets and was getting frustrated.

I knew I was in mild shock, but my mind was crystal clear, “He doesn’t have any potions on him, Mateo. He was a healing mage. There are no vials around his body. He didn’t take a potion to heal himself, he used magic.” Mateo swore and stood, seeing the truth of my words.

Brutus joined us and was inspecting the bolt through my body. I ordered him, “Go and find Linus in the city. Wylie needs that healing potion. He should also have a healing salve. We can pull this out and close my wounds with it on both ends.” He hesitated, but I said angrily, “Go, Brutus!” He nodded, turned, and ran up the stairs.

“Mateo, go upstairs and help Firth and the others, it sounds like there is still fighting up there. I will be fine down here.” I sat on a stool next to the dead healing mage to prove my point. He rushed up the stairs a few heartbeats later. My only thought was—healing mage? I only heard muted sounds from two floors up. I pulled my collector out of my space, painfully bent over, and placed the disc on his body. He was slumped against the wall, so the disc was angled as I activated it.

The familiar blue mist left his body and coalesced into a sphere. I marveled at the white misty pearl with swirls of gold and silver. It was beautiful. Then, it rolled off the collector and across the room. Shit, Castile had told me that would happen. I was too injured to get the body prone, though. My luck was terrible as the sphere rolled right between two crates filled with coal.

I walked cautiously and stiffly, as too much range of motion really fucking hurt. The shock from the injury and my training had killed the pain momentarily, but it was slowly magnifying with time. I found a broom and used the handle to tease the ball out from between the crates. I held it in front of me and admired it, getting lost in its soft glow and the movement of the metallic swirls. The allure of the power it contained was muted slightly by how I had obtained it. The wooden stairs shook as someone descended, and I sent the apex essence and the collector to my space. I could have gotten more from the warriors if I had not dawdled.

It was Firth coming down the stairs, and he voiced his anger on seeing my injury, “Bloody harpies tits, three injured. Castile is going to be pissed.”

“I sent Brutus to find Linus,” I said with effort.

“Good man,” he looked around the room. “Well, that makes eight total. This might have been the last of them in the city, so there is that. Didn’t expect to find them here, though. I just hoped to get information on where they were hiding from the collaborators.” He shook his head, “Let us get you upstairs with Wylie and Lysander. Lysander got stabbed in the thigh, all the way to the bone. He can not walk.”

I hobbled up the stairs carefully to find Wylie lying on the kitchen table, still with a bolt sticking out of his stomach, and Lysander sitting with a bloody wrap around his leg. Wylie chuckled, “Come to join the infirmary?”

I gingerly pulled a stool and sat carefully. “Yep, looks like no one died. Should we wrestle for the last healing potion?”

Lysander scoffed, and Wylie clucked with mirth, “The way our night has gone, it was probably already used on someone else.”

Linus came rushing in a few minutes later and assessed all of us before dealing with Wylie first. He cut the shaft, pulled it through, and then administered the last healing potion to him. He came to me next, “Eryk, that was a broadhead quarrel. It missed the bone, but your muscles are cut to shit, and the bleeding might drain into the chest cavity. If you have trouble breathing, let someone know immediately. You need a full healing potion for the extent of the damage. If we used a lesser potion, then the muscles might not knit themselves back together properly.”

He turned to Lysander, “You will not be doing any cooking on that leg,” he smiled at the terrible cook. “One of the lesser potions should heal you up as just one muscle was sliced. Castille keeps one on her person; if not, we will find one in the city.”

It was almost two hours before Castile, Adrian, Delmar, and Konstantin arrived. They had been hunting for the very men we found. Castile was beyond angry at Firth. She knew the healing mage was still in the city and planned to capture and use him during the siege to heal our men. Now, he was dead.

I did learn that two hours was too long to wait to harvest essence, as Castile did not even try. After Castile yelled at Firth in a lengthy tirade, she said to everyone present, “I am going to go beat some potions out of Gregor. Get these two to the villa in a cart.”

As dawn broke, I was seated in a wagon being pulled by a mule. Lysander was sleeping in the wagon bed and somehow snoring, even with the bumpy ride and his wound, he was still able to sleep. I watched the civilians braving the morning streets to stare in awe at me while sitting on the tail of the wagon. I still had a frigging arrow through my shoulder.