Alarik's Crusade

Chapter 33: Soldiers

The two marched in solemn quiet. Gone were the days of a full party moving through the rainforest, needing a captain to lead and maintain the peace between them. Alarik was far too exhausted to hold a conversation, where Farmund spent most of his time devouring whatever he could.

Alarik understood fully now, although he had suspected it for some time. He heard talk of the flasks from the others along the way. This one was Farmund’s, and it seemed to be spelling his end as well. His muscular form was rapidly in decline, now. One could have expected his growth to continually increase, but his hunger had become so great that he had given up the idea of eating selectively. Whatever was at hand that at least vaguely resembled food he would consume as quickly as he could. When no animals were in close proximity, he would devour leaves or chew on the bark from the trees.

The strange, inhuman diet was beginning to cause him great pain. He would stumble along the trail, vomiting intermittently, before filling his mouth with whatever was at hand again. His appetite was so voracious that even his sickness would not hold him back further. Alarik watched the ordeal unfold with the concern of watching a friend die right before him and being unable to do a thing about the ordeal. He was too weak from the trials of the crusade to try to reason with or slow him. Gradually, his body was withering, unable to keep the food that was not food within his stomach for long.

“We need to make camp here,” Alarik said at the end of a long day of marching. His feet had more blisters than they ever had, and every step felt wet with the sensation of a small amount of blood in his soles. “I cannot go much further.” Thinking about the distance he had remaining, it felt true for more reasons than one.

“I’ll set to foraging,” Farmund said without a second thought.

“We need to talk about that,” Alarik said while removing a boot that was little more than wrappings worn down to nothing. The insects that plagued them at any one time seemed almost an afterthought now, in spite of the constant grievance they caused.

“Ask away, captain.” Farmund had the respect of a military man, waiting to have the conversation with his superior but still very clearly eager for it to end to hunt for the sustenance he craved so desperately. It hardly showed, however. The only hint was a slight twitch of his eye and a near constant tapping of his fingers.

“Which one of them gave you the flask?” Alarik asked, to which Farmund looked slightly past him. “No sense mincing words now. You drank from a flask you did not have before immediately upon defeating the panther. You’ve been eating so much you’re retching with every few steps. You might as well tell the whole truth.”

Farmund nodded, pursing his lips. “Majad. The warrior of the three. He confronted me in the rainforest.”

“Confronted you.”

“More or less. He made me an offer.”

“An offer…” Alarik repeated.

“An offer of strength.” Farmund blushed. Hearing it out loud made it sound almost foolish. “He said if I wanted to…” He reddened further.

“You’ve the strength of two men together already. What more did you want?”

“I wanted to be a protector.”

Alarik almost laughed. The whole image of it - this sickly giant, his body rapidly losing its weight, explaining himself with his head down like a punished child. The gravity of it, however, prevented any mirth.

Alarik put his hands behind his head and stared up at the canopy. “So this potion they gave you. It makes you hungry, then.” Again, it sounded like speaking to a child complaining they didn’t have enough to eat for supper. “And the hunger, when sated, makes you… well, your muscles spoke for themselves, didn’t they?”

“I suppose it does. For a time I felt incredible,” he said, holding back a wave of sickness and almost falling to one knee. “But that time has long since passed. It’s been a blessing and a curse. It is my fault. It has been all of our faults. You have been the only one strong enough to withhold.” His head hung low. “I feel I’ve failed you.”

“No. It is I who has failed you,” Alarik said truthfully. It was a disturbingly casual conversation about what they knew was his oncoming death. As two soldiers, they had long kept the grimmest fate near at hand, but with the bell so close to ringing, there lies little comfort. “I feel you weren’t the only one that fell to whatever cursed mixtures they’ve offered. Hilda, suddenly attacked by a swarm of beasts, Shal, falling to some strange malaise, Cendric, wandering off into oblivion…” Listing the fallen, again. Khorsul, again. “So what are our options going forward, then?” he asked rhetorically. It would always be him to make these decisions anyway.

“Push on. No other choice. I will do what I can.”

Admirable, Alarik thought. A true soldier to the end. He further understood the choices he had made with Inaya, now. To Farmund, there really was no other life. This was what was before him, this was what he was, this was what he was to be. If it was in the empire’s interest to have him die, then he was to die. It truly was that simple. “You can barely walk, Farmund. By the forge, you can hardly stand.”

“Then I suppose I’ll be dying here.”

It was Alarik’s turn to look away. In Khorsul, he had spoken with the medics they had brought through the desert. They would tell him of the triage they’d have to perform as they retreated through the desert. Their most difficult task was not to choose who would live or die. Instead, the difficulty lay in what to tell the ones they’re leaving behind. Their answers were varied. Some would moan or cry or curse the medics, others would fall into a catatonic state of acceptance, others still just refusing to believe it. No option felt acceptable. He never asked how they broke the news. He wished he did now. The captain never gets advice.

“In the reports,” Farmund began, relieving Alarik of the responsibility of finding what to say next, “please… please make it clear that I tried. That I did what I could. That I did everything I could. Everything I did, I did for the empire. For Edda.”

Alarik nodded. “Of course.”

“I would have dove in the water to save her, you know,” he said, his stomach audibly grumbling. The twitches in his fingers were growing severe. “I would have gone after her no matter how grim. Even when you pulled me back, I would have gone. Perhaps I should have. Ever since, it’s all felt so… pointless. Just clinging to what was gone.”

“I’ll write it that way. If I get back.”

“You will,” Farmund said. “I don’t know how, but your sheer will… it’ll carry you back itself if it has to.” He managed a smile, but it faded quickly. Finally, the pains gave in and he shovelled a number of leaves and whatever plant matter he could find into his mouth. “I’m sorry.” He turned around as he chewed the leaves, the indignity too much to bear. “Could I ask for one thing, captain?”

Alarik nodded.

“Help me dig. I cannot be a burden any further.”

Alarik grimly nodded again. Picking out a spot, he got to work, using whatever he could to clear the dirt. Even through all the horrors of Khorsul, he never helped a man dig his own grave. Even when they knew death was coming, they were still actively fleeing. Bodies were, sadly, left wherever they fell, to be absorbed back into the elements. Few thought of their own burial, as no one could know where or when the arrow with their name etched in will find its mark. Yet here he was, in the rainforest, using a knife and his dirty fingernails to dig a shallow grave for the last of his crusaders. Honour and glory in the Vanderik Empire.

Their digging unearthed insects which Farmund ate whole, providing fleeting relief from hunger before the inevitable pains of his diet took their greater toll. He was rapidly reaching the point where there was no reprieve. Even as he ate he found himself still hungering for more, as if he was pouring water into a glass with a hole at the bottom. The potion’s strange effects left him a shell of himself. His body’s appetite wore away at him as quickly as he had developed strength just days ago. The former giant was now a tall but lanky creature, his cheeks gaunt and hollow, having eaten so many terrible things that even if he was given good food he would hardly be able to keep it down regardless.

The crunching of the dry leaves came to a halt. Farmund put a hand over his stomach, expelling the contents in another wave of nausea. He fell over on his side, not far from his own grave. “Captain,” he whispered.

Alarik knelt by him, listening closely. The effort of digging the grave was far more than he could bear.

“This is deep enough, captain. Thank you. Truly.” He coughed and heaved, but nothing further came up. The sickness, and the intense demand of energy from his body, left nothing in his stomach to expel. With a final effort, he rolled unceremoniously into his grave. “I think… I think this will be the place. Tell them I did what I could.”

“I will, Farmund. I… Hmm.” And he was gone, as simply as that. It was no fitting end for a soldier. But considering all that he had seen, perhaps it was. It was quiet, but self-sacrificing. His final act was in service. He lived and died as a man of the empire. “And look where it’s got you,” Alarik whispered aloud. “In the dirt with the rest of them, far from home, sacrificed for a pointless mission. Should’ve fought for something that cares for you.”

He pushed as much dirt as he could over Farmund’s corpse, rested for a moment to catch his breath, and honoured the man by saying a few quiet words above his impromptu grave.

“The first day I saw you, I felt so… fortunate. Cendric, wherever he might be, seemed like a boasting fool and proved it later beyond doubt. Hilda loathed me with every part of her body. Save her tongue, of course. The Khorsuli… well, they were Khorsuli. Couldn’t believe what I was seeing, when they came over the hill. Then, there was you, and of course, poor Edda.

I thought, ‘This was the pride of Vanda, the embodiment of what it was that made us strong, made us powerful, made us good’. I still keep that feeling. You had the strength but tempered by compassion, everything a commander could’ve asked for. And I didn’t listen. You put Edda over the empire as much as you could’ve, and I pressed on when you cautioned otherwise. Now, I’m in the desert again. Everyone dead, save for one lone, bitter captain. And yet I mourn the death of my career the most. I’m sick. I’m sick of myself, and I’m sick of this.

Had you been in my place, you wouldn’t have thought a moment for your position. You would’ve fallen on your sword in a heartbeat if it was required of you. I would’ve thought that was admirable, had you asked me before this expedition. It’s not. It’s foolish. It’s foolish, I’m foolish, and now you’re dead, and so am I, at least soon enough. Doesn’t matter anyway now, does it? They’ll hang me, probably. Edda’s death will be enough to sentence me.

So in that, we’ve given everything. Our careers, our youth, our lives. Never had children. Never married. And now we have nothing. Honour and glory, friend. You have it from me, if no one else.”

He patted the grave down with his hand, and pressed on. “In the blasted desert again,” he muttered.