Alarik's Crusade

Chapter 23: Across the River Lies Glory

Alarik fished through his bag, checking the same pouches and the same pockets for the seventh time. Somehow, he had convinced himself that if he made it eight, there was still a chance. With each passing attempt, his movements were more frantic, his muscles more tense, his hair feeling like it went more grey by the minute. He set the bag back down in a huff. Shaking his head, he came slowly to the point of acceptance that he had, indeed, lost the bandages for the whole crusade.

Scowling, he clasped his hand down on his arm where the blood was seeping. It wasn’t much, just a small scab he had scratched to the point of it reopening. A bandage would soothe some of the perpetual, enraging itchiness it caused, and hopefully would prevent some ghastly infection to form in this forsaken rainforest. If there was one thing he learned as a commander, it was that weapons killed only a handful. The real danger lies in wait at every turn in the form of shoddy logistics and disease.

While his back ached from leaning forward over the bag for so long, he opted to check again. Perhaps when he threw it, the bandages dislodged from somewhere, or… something. After another few moments of fruitless effort, he slammed the bag down in the dirt again, this time a little harder. Death by infected bug bite, he thought. Honour and glory in the Vanderik Empire.

He hadn’t even noticed Farmund was standing over him. An impressive feat considering the man’s shadow cast more shade than a tree and he wore enough armour to protect the king’s finest warhorse. The missing bandages had truly become an obsession, as they were the one possibility of relief from the incessant assault of the smaller denizens of the rainforest.

“Something I could help you with, captain?” he asked in his typical, rigid formality.

Alarik pressed his lips tightly together in a grimace and rested his chin on his clenched fists. “Only perhaps forgiveness for my own stupidity,” he replied while still staring at the bag, seemingly trying to will the bandages back into it.

“What would you need forgiveness for, if I may ask?”

“Well, it appears that the bandages - the only salvation from this enraging plague of insects - have vanished.” He threw up his arms in frustration. “I can’t even fathom how. I’ve been rationing them carefully, as we’re not yet at halfway and I thought we could manage this far without them. I was pleased with that. And now my best explanation is that some wretched animal has run off with them for little reason beyond spite.”

“I understand, sir,” was all Farmund said. His face showed little more emotion than if they had a simple conversation about the weather.

Alarik turned back to him, having to crane his neck to look at the soldier standing above him, posture flawless, armour somehow immaculate in spite of the rainforest’s dirt and grime. “No anger? No cursing your captain’s name?” he asked.

“I would never dream of it, sir.”

The captain was almost in awe of it. He knew a man like him once, in Khorsul. Died of some wretched disease from when they ran out of boiled water, on the run from Khorsuli skirmishers. Drank whatever refuse he could find after the slightest of rainfalls. Dead within days, withering away like a piece of rotten fruit. Bloody logistics! It matters more than bloody battles.

“I… hmm,” Farmund began, hesitating. “Perhaps it’s a good time for a confession, if I may, captain.”

“Might as well,” Alarik said. Bad news tended to have a way of piling on, and he found it best just to embrace the tide rather than fight against its tide. Get it all over at once, like ripping a bandage that’s stuck to the wound. He grimaced, remembering he had no bandages to be stuck to.

“I’m afraid you’re not the only one who has lost certain supplies,” he said, shifting side-to-side nervously, looking as close to a child as a stern, giant, armour-clad man can. “Somehow from between the last few camps and now, my helm and my chain mail have gone missing. I cannot…” His whole body nearly shook in frustration. “I cannot fathom how they could have gone. I place them so meticulously at the end of every night - you know this, surely you’ve seen it, captain!”

He told the truth. He placed his gear with the same reverence one would with age-old relics of the greatest kings of Vanda. “Well, I’ve got good news for you, lad,” Alarik said with a smile at the absurdity of it all. “I’ve got my doubts how effective chainmail and a metal helm would be in the rainforest anyways. It’s a testament to your wherewithal that you’ve not managed to ditch them in a stream somewhere halfway through this blasted crusade. Consider yourself lucky, son.”

Farmund still looked disappointed. Ashamed, even. Growing up as a farmer on the outskirts of the city, items such as that would have been worth more than half a year’s work. To have lost them was an embarrassment. “Sir, I accept full-”

“Really now, Farmund, this is pointless!” Alarik interrupted, his patience with this issue wearing thin. “You’ve found a spot of luck, now accept it and move on. Whatever took your gear, be it your own negligence or some metal-stealing Hashadi, you’re free of it. Now these bandages, however, that’s a much bigger deal.” He fell backwards into the dirt, feeling utterly defeated.

There was a sound that caught his attention the second he rested his head on the soft dirt.

“Do you hear that?” Alarik said, holding up a hand to stop Farmund from moving. “Listen - listen carefully, you can just make it out!”

“I don’t believe I know what I’m listening for, sir.”

Alarik held up a hand. “Just… there! Just a…” He tilted his head, as if having his ear a minute distance closer would make all the difference. “It’s water. I swear it. It’s the river, what else could it be?”

Farmund mimicked the same foolish looking motion of leaning his ear in the same direction. “Why… I think you might be right, captain.”

Alarik sprung to his feet, resulting in a few cracks in his joints that he would certainly live to regret, but not caring in the slightest in this brief moment of triumph. “Gather everyone! Bring them here, and tell them to pack quickly! With any luck, by nightfall we’ll be feasting on fish, right before the turning point in our journey! Cross that river and we’re practically there!”

---

With renewed vigour Alarik trounced through the rainforest towards the sound of the rushing water. The many bites and scratches, so many that they looked like stars in the sky, deterred him not in the least. In fact, his determination was so strong to see his way to the river that even his anger and frustration for having lost the bandages had all but dissipated.

He almost went too quickly. The rest of the crusade were struggling to keep up. In fairness, Farmund was carrying a tremendous amount of supplies - and his remaining armour, even if his load had been mysteriously lightened - and was enough to burden even his great might. Edda was performing admirably thus far, but never having lifted a finger prior to this expedition surely added to the trial.

Inaya, meanwhile, was still circling around them all, still casually hunting while pressing forward just off the path they cut. She hadn’t been asked to, and in fact, Alarik much preferred to have her close to sense any would-be predators with her particular set of talents. However, she insisted they find food along the way. He let it pass without argument; she had been especially standoffish as of late, and seeing she was still clearly in a mourning phase over her friend, he didn’t wish to press it further. Morale was as important as near anything in an expedition - save, of course, for logistics. Bloody logistics, bloody bandages.

Curiously, he noticed Edda’s hair was fully down. It was something in most circumstances he wouldn’t have taken note of, but what made this a point of interest was she always had it either tied up or pulled back and held in place with a brooch. It was clearly one of great expense, made from the metalworking shaman of Vanda. While it seemed foolish to bring it with her on a crusade through a rainforest, it seemed even more foolish to abandon it now, after it clearly served its purpose, albeit being much more expensive than necessary. She instead tied it with twisted branches from the rainforest - innovative, but clearly less effective as she was incessantly fiddling with them.

Should take a hint from me, he thought, noticing that his hair was falling out at a rapid pace now. Of course, it had clearly weighed on them all. Even Edda, once plump with the riches of Vanda, was slimming now. Her pale skin was tougher and growing tanned, even in the shade of the rainforest canopy.

Even a duchess finds her way to looking like a peasant when on the march.

Ignoring his musings and focussing again on the task at hand, Alarik heard the water crashing so close now he thought for a moment he could feel the refreshing mist upon his weathered face. It was one of the few things they knew about this rainforest before entering it; a river would pass through it, and the river would be near the end of Hashadi territory. Shortly after that, it’s Rukara land, known by trade through the passing of ships manned by Osvuldur merchants - a high cost, and the reason for the crusade in the first place. If Vanda could find a way to Rukara without the need of the Osvuldur, it would mean far, far cheaper trade.

Every step brought him closer. Closer to the river, closer to the midpoint of the expedition, and closer to…

To what, exactly?

Nearing the point of success had him question the purpose behind it all. Redemption, maybe. If anything, he’d want redemption from the people that had lost their lives under his supervision, of which there were many and haunted him still. It was certainly not glory. He was never one for the speeches and grandiose performances of Vanderik marches after victories. Nor did he want his title back, as higher ranks bring their own set of stressors.

Instead, it was simply an underlying desire for some variety of success. He had sacrificed so much for the Vanderik Empire. He had given it his youth and his strength, both now sapped from him, and he had such little to show for it. The results of his efforts did not satisfy those above him, so he had been reduced to a lesser position. In many ways, reduced to a lesser person, his very name tarnished. Yet, in some perverse way, it made him crave success even more. Just to show that he was no failure, but a good, loyal soldier, destroyed not by his incompetence but the product of his circumstances. Long did he believe that had they placed the greatest commanders of all time in his stead in Khorsul, with the lack of supplies, foolish planning and lack of foresight from those above him, they would have come to the same fate.

Yet they blamed him to cover their own hides. His greatest contribution to the empire was falling on his sword.

And here he was again, out in a rainforest, body falling to pieces, his crusaders withering away with each passing moment. Everything given again, not for conquest but for a trade route. One they already have, of course - but just a possibility of a faster trade route, and one that is uncertain and highly against his recommendations. Yet if he returned and reported those facts? Another failure. Incomplete summary of the assigned territory. Disgrace. Dishonour. Reduction in status and standing.

He would find that river and cross it. All for people that will benefit through no risk of their own, to be dismissed immediately and change nothing, but it would be a success because that was what he was tasked with. Like a true soldier, unquestioning. He was the ever-shifting piece on Willamar’s board. A human chess piece, and just as relevant. Honour and glory in the Vanderik Empire.

“Do you see it?”

It was Edda. She had abandoned tying her hair back, and opted just to let it hang at her shoulders, the delicate blond colour bleached by the sun and dirtied by debris. “See what, exactly?”

She pointed forward through a gap in the trees. “Can you really not see it? Certainly you can hear it! The river, just ahead!”

Alarik peered through just as she had. He could have fallen to his knees and cried tears of joy, just at the sight of its glimmering waters so close to him now. It was the final hurdle, and while it was just the first half of the expedition, everything else was simply a retracing of steps. It was within his grasp, whatever it was.

“I see it, Edda. It’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”

He carried on further, finally breaking out of the trees to see the river in its full glory. The sky seemed to open up before him, bathing him in sunlight and removing from him the claustrophobic tightness of the rainforest depths. Here was openness, emptiness, a space to breath and revel in his triumph in reaching at least this point in the journey.

Yet even now, as Inaya and Farmund caught up to him and surveyed the view for themselves, their awe turned to worry.

It was beautiful, yes. The sun glittered off the passing waves, like flecks of gold sprinkled by nature herself. The sun was just beginning to set towards the end of the river, turning the sky brilliant hues of red and yellow, and giving the air a coolness that brought relief to the tired crusaders. Yet the river was fast and deep, much more so than they would have thought or anticipated.

“Another hurdle,” Alarik said, realising now that he was terribly out of breath, the many bites and scratches he’d accrued over the course of the expedition were more aggravating than they ever had been, and the mental fatigue returned as strong as it ever was. “Another hurdle,” he repeated.

“Your plan, captain?” Farmund asked.

Alarik cleared his head. For now, it was just a plan to delay. “Rest, for now. We’re by the river and that’s a ready source of food. We’ll move out in the morning.”

“Captain,” Farmund said hesitantly, “if the end of our journey is just beyond the river, then surely…” The words were slow out of his mouth. He wasn’t sure if he even wished to offer them.

“Out with it,” Alarik said, seeing the path he was taking and not at all liking the destination.

“We know the result. Crossing the river now would just be confirming what we already know. Rukhara lies just beyond, and the rainforest is exceedingly difficult to cross. We’ve done what we’ve come for. Can we not now return, for the sake of the safety of…” he took a slight glance towards Edda. She caught it and bit her lip in frustration, seeing he had hardly changed his protective ways. “For the safety of all of the remaining crusaders who have already given so much.”

“No,” Alarik said without a second thought. “We shall not do that. We’ll cross in the morning at the nearest juncture.” He turned back towards the river again. “We’re this close. Across that river lies… glory. Glory, Farmund. If you go this far and refuse to finish, I can assure you you’ll feel the regrets of your failure for the rest of your days.” Believe me on that, son, he thought.

“Camp, then,” Farmund said with a nod, showing no disappointment. It was out of character for him to even dare put forth the suggestion, and there was no way the loyal soldier would push the point further.

“Indeed. Edda - Inaya - you’re to set up camp. Farmund - you and I will head to the woods. In our supplies are hooks to tie bait as well as basic twine. We’ll find something for fishing rods, and considering we should have fish soon, enough dry wood for a fire. A moment’s rest from hunting holds some appeal, does it not, Inaya?”

All of the snark and wit had left her since the passing of Shal. She just stared back at him now. He wasn’t even so much as sure that she heard the comment.

“Very well, then,” Alarik mumbled. To Farmund he said, “Let’s plant our things and move out. The sun is setting and the hours we have are few. It’s a long day ahead tomorrow, but I can feel it now.” He looked out at the river, the sun twinkling off the water like a path paved with gold. “We’re almost there.”