B5 Chapter 87 – Leeched of Life

Mage Captain Elinon stumbled through what was left of the battlefield in a fugue state. Having the curse removed from his body was like having the flesh stripped from his bones. The process had been agonising, and lengthy. The curse had spread far and wide throughout his flesh, and so far the only way the Healers had found to remove it was to burn it out.

When the process was finished, he had been left a gasping, sweat-drenched mess, but duty demanded that he rise and continue to serve, so he did so.

Seeing movement, he reached down and touched a fallen soldier on the shoulder.

“Do you live?” he asked, rolling the body over lightly and searching his eyes. “Can you blink?”

Some of the fallen were so weak from the curse infecting them they could barely move, unable to even call out to their brothers and sisters in arms for help. Elinon stared hard, eager to find some flicker of life, some hint of movement.

He found… nothing.

Determined not to give up, he reached down and stripped the soldier’s gauntlet, exposing his right hand. Snatching up his wrist, Elinon checked for a pulse while he pushed his magick into his comrade’s body.

It was repulsive. How this man had continued to fight while his body was riddled with this life-sucking curse was incredible, a feat worthy of song and celebration. Yet it had cost this Soldier everything to do so. There was no pulse, no sign of life at all. He was dead.

He’d thought his heart couldn’t possibly get any heavier, but found that, like so many times today, he had been wrong.

Another grain of sand on the scales. How many more until they broke?

Closing his eyes for a moment, Elinon gathered himself, then lay down the hand he held. He took a moment to cross the Soldier’s hands on his chest. A simple sign of respect, and also a signal to others searching for survivors not to check again.

Sighing to himself, Elinon stood. Never in his life had he imagined it was possible to be this tired.

Turning, he surveyed the field, still not quite able to believe what he saw.

Bodies lay everywhere, mingled with the shattered remains of skeletons. Skulls, still leaking dark miasma, lay strewn about, intermingled with the fallen Soldiers of the Golden Legion. In all of his career, Elinon had never seen anything like it. He and his comrades didn’t die. They didn’t lose.

They hadn’t lost here, either, yet it didn’t feel that way. Who knew how many would be declared dead by the end of the day. How many had they lost? Of the five thousand that had started the battle, perhaps two thousand had already fallen. With the medical tents full and patients in dire condition laid out on the ground like common cattle, who knew how many more would join them?

Elinon shook his head.

There was no point entertaining such thoughts. He didn’t have the energy to waste for things he couldn’t affect, the only thing that mattered was finding even one more survivor.

Again, he began to move, one foot in front of the other, slowly but surely, his eyes scanning the ground as he moved from one unmoving form to the next.

A flicker of colour caught his eye and he turned, then froze.

“No,” he muttered to himself, too exhausted to summon any emotion. He was simply numb.

Staggering closer, hoping each step would reveal his eyes had been lying, only to be betrayed every time. When he finally stood over her remains, there could be no question.

Mage Attendant Melissa Bertram had always taken care to tie back her blonde hair. She kept it short, tucked into her helmet and did not give the impression of being vain in the slightest, yet she did take very good care of her hair.

Now it was strewn about in the dirt, stained with blood, as she stared silently up at the Mage Captain, clearly dead.

Tears welled up in Elinon’s eyes, then spilled over and ran down his face. The scales broke, and he fell to his knees.

***

“Do we have scouts moving in the surrounding fields?”

“We have… a few. What few have proven fit for duty.”

General Crow scowled, then checked himself.

“Make sure we aren’t taking anyone at their word. I want them cleared by the medical staff before they return to duty.”

“Yes, General,” one of the nearby officers said, then hesitated. “Shouldn’t… you be resting, General Crow?”

Crow levelled the officer with an icy stare.

“I was not involved in the fighting. Do you truly believe I can ask those who were to continue in their duty while I rest in my tent? Don’t be a fool.”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

In truth, he knew he was far from his best. He had refused to be treated for a long time, knowing he hadn’t suffered from the curse nearly as badly as many others. Only when forced to had he begrudgingly accepted healing, and now he felt that if he released his two-handed grip on the table before him, he might well fall over.

“Do we know where the undead have scattered to the north?” he demanded, pointing to the map spread across the table with his chin.

“Not entirely, General. We know a significant number of the more advanced undead moved through the graveyard once they had crossed the river, but where they went after that, we can’t be sure.”

It shouldn’t matter too much, but he hated to leave loose ends. Without the Necromancer to fuel them with magick, his minions should fall apart on their own, given time. Until then, it was possible they might launch a counter attack to try and rescue their fallen master, which was why he had been moved back to the fortified camp as soon as possible.

Even thinking of the captured mage was enough to cause fury to bubble up in his chest. This battle was nothing less than a stain, not only on his own record, but on that of the entire Golden Legion. A single man had slain thousands, thousands of them. Only the intervention of Honoured Stennis at the behest of Lady Herimar had snatched victory from the jaws of defeat.

It was galling, embarrassing, infuriating.

But even that anger paled in comparison to the rage he felt at the desecration of his Soldiers’ remains. That even a single one had died was one too many, that they had been butchered, the flesh stripped from their bones and their souls forced into servitude, was an insult to The Five Divines themselves.

He would enjoy watching that Necromancer burn. Not just his flesh, not just his bones, but his very soul, burned to ash so that he might never rise again.