Alarik's Crusade

CHAPTER 17: A GIANT’S FEAR

​For once, Alarik was happy for the endless chorus of animal sounds the rainforest provided. Otherwise, a very uncomfortable silence would have fallen between him and Farmund now that Edda had left. Worse yet, it was Alarik’s job to break it. Part of the job of being captain was watching over the mental well being of his crusaders, as well as the physical health. A soldier that was broken physically was no better or worse than one broken mentally. A listening ear to a giant in a rainforest. Honour and glory in the Vanderik Empire.

​“Oddly enough, I know how you feel,” Alarik said.

​No response. All Farmund did was stare off into the rainforest. It was the first time he felt the man looked truly afraid. Prior to this, he didn’t think he could feel much in the way of fear at all.

​“Whenever you lead a crusade - typically one with more than seven people,” he added with some degree of venom, “you’re given a great number of ‘green’ troops. They can’t all be wily veterans that know where to be and how to stay alive. Worst part is, they tend to be the youngest. The fresh-faced youths that have never seen a drop of blood, let alone bleed it themselves. Then, as captain, general, major - it doesn’t matter really - you send them into the fray as any other soldier. You know some of them don’t have a shot in hell. You know even better that a great number of them are going to come back covered in blood, or not at all. Yet off they go anyway, and while you weren’t the one that started the war, you know you were the one that sent them out there. It weighs on you. You see the faces, you know. You see them every time you close your eyes. You can’t think of anything else beyond the lives they’ve lived, or the lives they didn’t get to. The older ones… I don’t know, you feel they’re more responsible for themselves. But not the fresh recruits. Those ones stay with you.”

​Farmund nodded. For a time they just sat, listening to the sounds of the rainforest.

​Farmund breathed in deep. “It makes me feel weak, sir.”

​“Weak,” Alarik repeated.

​“Yeah. Yes,” he corrected.

​“Never would have thought that from you.”

​“I wouldn’t have either, sir,” Farmund said with a sigh and a shake of his head.

​“Weak how?”

​“I understand what you said. All those men, all those lives. I’m watching over one,” he said, holding up a gauntleted finger. “Just the one. And now she’s wandered off, and I can hardly handle myself. I’ve never felt powerless in this way.”

​“You find ways to cope,” Alarik said honestly. He had, over the years. The thoughts still plagued him, and the most insignificant things would occasionally send him reeling back into a battlefield years ago, reliving it pointlessly, endlessly. Still, he managed to move on. He was here, after all, leading another crusade. “You’ve got to learn to separate yourself from the situation. Now, you’ve taken a lot of responsibility on yourself - and that’s good. That’s what leaders do, Farmund.”

​“I’m no leader, sir. I’m a-”

​“Enough of that. You’ve dictated the life of a noble for the past… how long now? Long enough. Your job was no less critical for your life than mine. If I made a big enough mistake, I would be dead. And you would find the same fate if you failed at yours.”

​“The stakes are not so high with me,” Farmund retorted.

​“Can you be so sure?” Alarik asked, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows. “I’ve heard stories about some pretty savage reprimands being given for those that would let a noble fall to harm. Say if you make a particularly egregious error, let your guard down-”

​“I would never do that!” he said, Alarik smiling on having finally found the fire in him rather than this piteous self-loathing he found uncomfortable.

​“If, Farmund. If. I can safely assume that your feet would be swinging just a few feet off the ground if something were to happen to her while you weren’t paying attention.” Alarik had spent enough time in Vanda to know how justice was administered when it came to the royals. It would be more than just a single pair of dangling boots at the gallows if a noble fell to harm. They’d burn down the city if it meant the ash from the fires would choke the criminal along with it.

​“Are you saying they’d hang me?”

​Alarik looked him over. There wasn’t any fear, at least not for his personal well being. He’d never met anyone quite like Farmund. In a way, he was the perfect soldier. There was a dedication to his duty that he’d never witnessed before in all his soldiering. His only concern was for the well-being of his charge. “No. I’m not saying that. She gave you a direct order. Worst comes to worst, I’d vouch for you. What I was saying is that the stakes are just as high for you as they are for me. Lives do not cost the same from person to person in Vanda.” Alarik began to realise the conversation had veered. How he began comforting the man to saying he may well be executed was not his most brilliant display of captaincy.

​Farmund nodded. “So what do I do now? How do I… accept what fate has in store?”

​Alarik shrugged. “Mostly, it’s just recognition. Think about who Edda is. A full grown woman. She is more than capable of making her own decisions. I would assume you agree?”

​“Of course. She is an admirable woman.”

​“Then let her make them. Be a counsel, not a ruler.”

​“A counsel… not a ruler…” Farmund whispered. “Thank you, captain. I must… I must apologise for this, uh…”

​“Save it. Get some water. Rest, and relax. For the first time in your entire career as a soldier, take a moment and relish in being off-duty.”

​“Yes, sir.” He saluted sharply, an action that seemed to miss the point, and retreated to his section of the camp.

​Leaving Alarik all alone. After having asked Farmund for an opinion once before, he felt he had repaid him well. Still, he wished he could’ve asked him just once if it really would be wise to turn back now. But he knew he was close. Just make it to the river.

​He closed his eyes, weary now. The thoughts in his head began to take him away.

It was weeks into the campaign. He wanted to sit, but the desert sand was so hot he’d preferred to stand. The Khorsuli would be arriving soon, again, as they always did, all arrows and screaming and yelling and pain and wounded soldiers. If he marched his troops, they’d be susceptible to a rout. No army fights particularly well in a retreat, especially off home territory and even worse when they were as beleaguered as they were. If they dug in, they risked running short of supplies, being completely surrounded, and left to die in the heat. It was a question with no right answer.

​Alarik blinked and returned to the present day. He looked back at Farmund, who clearly was far from resting, still feeling much the same inner turmoil. He’d realised then that he lied to him. He said he’d learned to cope, had learned to deal with the crippling pain of loss and the endless questions of what could have been. The thoughts never ceased. They hardly ever slowed. Now he found that history was repeating itself, swapping a desert for a rainforest and a glorious crusade for a piteous one. The same fate, but without the dignity and pride of a high station.

That fateful day in the desert he chose to retreat. It was every bit he feared. Men speared in the back as they ran. Arrows fell upon them like rain, but not the kind they prayed for. He’d lost so many they didn’t have enough living to bury the dead.

Perhaps he missed an option back then in the rainforest. He could have refused to call the retreat. He could have refused to dig in. Instead, he could have charged. Bring the fight to them instead, perhaps. A third option he didn’t see, but likely just as doomed as the others. But that’s the premise of what-ifs; a lack of definitive answers.

He made his choice. He gathered his things. On Edda and Inaya’s return, they’d press forward. If the Hashai were going to nip at their heels, then so be it.