The Lonely Soldier

The rain drops were striking my shield like the deadly barrages of enemy arrows that had clouded the skies so many times this very day. The once blue sky was darkened by low, hanging clouds, and the sun was obscured by billowing pillars of smoke. The cracks in parched ground were now red rivers as the rain forced the blood to flow rapidly. The mud was ever thickening as the individual dry particles of dust merged into one, sloshing cesspool of gore.

Water sprayed as a screaming blade tore through the downpour and clanged against my shield. The crashing blow jarred me so hard I nearly dropped my shield and fell over. My arm hurt from the enormity of the blow. My foe swung again, but I cut him down with my own sword before he could follow through; he fell beside me dead and bleeding.

The enemy had been coming in like flies to a dead, decaying carcass since early this morning. We were not yet dead, and we had been successfully swatting the flies, but the swarm was overwhelming, and we did not know how we were going to overcome. Soon we might become that dead, decaying carcass for them to feed on.
Literal flies gathered in a cloud that wafted in like a black fog. They began eating away at the dead and twisted bodies of fallen warriors, once glorious in all of their armor. Because of the excess of blood forming into puddles and rivers, it had splashed upon us as we sloshed through the ever deepening pool, and flies were having trouble distinguishing which of us were dead or alive.

The air was thick, sticky, and malodorous. The fetid stench was nearly unbearable. Scorched flesh, decaying meat, animal waist, burning wood, and stagnant blood permeated the air with a malady of smells.

It had been like this for days, and it wasn’t getting any better. It was my love and loyalty for the king that kept me going. Ah, my king; this was a beautiful, wonderful, warming thought, especially in the bleakness of battle. It is nothing but pure, unadulterated loyalty to one’s king to fight in this kind of mayhem. Our king was wondrous. He was the most amazing person one could ever or dream of ever knowing. His might and power were famous throughout the world, and considered infamous by our foes. His majesty was unmatched by any king before him and will never be equaled by any to come. From what I have seen he is a very personable man. It has been said, and I have seen myself, that he knew every subjects name. No one knows how, but he does.

I remember the day when he spoke my name. I was standing on the street side watching the parade with all of its banners, colors, excitement. The king’s honor guard was coming around the bend, and the street was rumbling in time with their stomping feet. As I stood there in the midst of the crowd, the great king rode up in all of his glory. It had been rumored through all the land how wonderful he was. His steed was above all others, with a pelt of the purest white. His hair was the same color, not because of age- it was just that way. His eyes, I still can’t describe their colour, the pale, translucence of his eyes were unsettling, ever changing, and comforting. The colourless, yet opalescent eyes traversed the crowd and found a resting place in the steady gaze of my hazel eyes. That’s when it happened; he bent down over the towering shoulder of his magnificent steed, for what seem like eternity. “Lance.” He paused to stare into my astonished face and said my name again. “Lance, you will make me a fine soldier some day, and remember this always, Fight Lance, Fight!”

My reverie was cut short by an agonized scream. I whirled around, the Great king’s voice still resonating in my mind, to find Feygor, my best friend, falling to the ground. His scream was now nothing more than a bubbling, gurgle of blood, as he grasped desperately at the arrow lodged deeply in his exposed throat. I saw his shield cast to the side, its encumbering bulk must have been too much for him, but the ultimate end of his seemingly helpful maneuverability was his death.

“Fight, Lance!”

I faltered at the words. The words had been there, but there was no voice. I knew those words. Those words were the words of the Great King. With great resolve I turned and swung my sword sawing my enemy asunder, sending him to the darkness from whence he came. I plundered the next ten scums which crossed my path to victory. My newfound resolve was deflated as quickly as it billowed within me. Gregory another friend had fallen to the sword of one of the detestable flies.
As I frantically glanced around me I found what I hoped, no, prayed that I would not find, but it was there; death, inexorable death. Despite the desperate pleas death continued ravaging what was left of my regiment. Death had surrounded me embodied by the grotesque enemy of the king. My heart was downtrodden.

“Fight, Lance, Fight!”

That voice again….no there wasn’t a voice before, but I could have sworn I heard it. No, it couldn’t have been, it was just the vestiges of a memory long since dead as I was soon to be. I looked forward to see Terrance hewing away at the monstrosities like they were the branches of an ugly, knotted tree. One of the branches he had not felled lashed out at his un-helmeted skull with his razor edged blade that rived into his head with a sickening crack of metal against bone. With a smile on its face, the monster reminded me of a butcher who had just cleaved a prize piece of meat from one of his kine. Terrance fell, becoming one of the countless waves in the sea of fatalities. I screamed out in rage, agony, and aloneness.

With one mighty blow I separated the beast’s sneering face from his gnarled shoulders, as he had separated Terrance’s soul from his body. It was so menial of a victory compared to the enormity of the onslaught that lay before me. Tears welled in my eyes, cascading down my face converging with streams of raindrops, forming a river that poured like a waterfall off of my chin.

“FIGHT!”

Another of the enemy fell from my sword. I was screaming at the top of my lungs.

“FIGHT, LANCE!”

Laughing, sneering, cursing, so vile was the discourse that emanated from these creatures that I was helplessly warding off. My sword dropped from my loose grasp and splashed deep into the bloody mud as I covered my ears futilely trying to block out the obscenities. “Everyone….dead.” I managed to sob out on my knees, not caring that the antagonizing swarm of flies was coming to make me their final dung hill to infest.

Soft, and gently the voice spoke again, yes, soft, but most emphatic. “Fight Lance, please don’t give up. Please! Stand, fight, I will give you strength,” more forcefully now, “FIGHT, Lance FIGHT!”

“Why?!” I half screamed, and half cried back

“Because, I am your king, and I love you Lance, I love you.”
More tears came.

“FIGHT!”

“I CAN’T!”I could see the first of the vermin closing in on me

“YES YOU CAN! FIGHT, LANCE!!!”

Where was my sword?! It had become lost in the slosh. One of the creatures was almost there, sword drawn and blade raised high. It arced towards my head as my fingertips found the hilt of my own weapon drowned in the murky soup that the ground had become. I thrust upwards killing my surprised assailer. With vengeance in their eyes they stormed towards me, the thunder of their footsteps mimicked the rumbling of the clouds, yet I stood and fought; I fought hard, for how long, I know not. I was fighting and I was killing these insects!

What? The ground was shaking, when it had not been only a second before. The enemy, once solely focused on me noticed it too. As I hacked away I ventured a glance to the east. Funny, it seemed it was getting lighter, the clouds were dissipating. The freshly shining sun was glinting off of something. Armor? Yes, it was armor!

Seemingly out of nowhere the king and his army was in the midst of us, his horse was spackled with crimson from the blood of slain abominations. He rode to my position and smiled at me a bright smile that shown through the bleakness. He reached down with a gloved hand and drew me up onto the back of his royal steed, and we fought together for the duration of the battle.

Above the tumult I could hear him say, “Well fought Lance, well fought.”