Alarik's Crusade

Chapter 35: Honour and Glory

A small taste, after several hours of marching. What magic they infused into the elixir they gave him was well beyond his understanding, but positively invigorating nevertheless. There was no sense in denying what he felt. He could see how if he were to drink the entirety he would have the strength of ten and the endurance to match, and the beckoning call was almost too much for him to deny. Adilash’s warning rang in his head time and time again, keeping the urge at bay.

His pace through the rainforest was twice that of what it was before. The stiffness and pain in his legs subsided, and the old, aching joints felt new again. There were times where he would laugh, so shocked he was by the sudden, incredible change.

And followed were the pangs of guilt first, and then of fear. Every moment of celebration, no matter how fleeting, would lead to remembering all he had left behind as he travelled forward. The lives lost, the families ruined, the pain and despair upon each individual. And then, the understanding that he could so easily be one of them, so easily fall into the same trappings. The elixir’s effects were good, and he craved it more, and knowing it was there, constantly, at his side, each moment having to resist, made the very act of living a test of will. Of that, Adilash was undeniably right.

The days passed without seeing any of the three. Majad, Jathi and Adilash were all notably absent, save for the occasional fleeting glimpse in the shadows that may or may not have been their blind soldier and courier. Suddenly, the feeling of reaching the end was not only a vague, hopeful concept, but a true and probable reality, and one that posed a series of problems on its own.

What was to happen to captain Alarik, returning once more to failure on his crusade?

--

Adilash returned to the camp to find Jathi pacing in nervous anticipation and Majad sitting still as a stone. The former ran up to him the moment she saw him, bending down to embrace his frail form and squeezing with all her might. “Careful now,” he laughed, “I’m not as tough as I used to be.”

“Did you do it?” she asked excitedly. “Is it done? Oh, I was so scared. I was worried you would never walk through those trees again.”

“I spoke with him. I gave him the potion. I told him all that we have done and all we had hoped to achieve.”

“I beg your pardon?” asked Majad, who did not so much as shift when Adilash returned, was certainly animated now.

“We spoke honestly. Both of us, from the beginning to the end. He is not a foolish man, and I did not wish to lie to him. I fear even if I did, he would see through it all.”

“You told him we killed their crusaders…” Jathi whispered, putting a hand to her mouth. Her cheeks flushed, and she had to kneel down for a moment. “All of our plans, all of our work - it could destroy us all! What have you done, Adilash? Why would you do this?”

He shook his head. “I have destroyed nothing, but instead maintained our very integrity. We are not murderers, and I told him as such. We offered, they partook, and they overindulged. We warned them of the danger. I made all this clear.”

“He could be stronger than us all,” Majad warned. “This was reckless.”

“No, Majad. It was righteous. It provides us with the safest path to peace. I spoke with him at length, and I trust him. I doubt he will call his people to arms.”

Jathi took two deep, calming breaths, doing her best to settle her nerves and not speak rashly. “Very well. What’s done is done. The safety of this place is in his hands now. Oh, how I wish you’re right, Adilash. And how I wish they are the last Vanderik to come here.”

--

The rains poured ceaselessly upon him in the final leg of his journey, as if the rainforest was issuing a final challenge. However, after all Alarik had been through, he was welcoming the deluge. It gave his skin a much needed reprieve from the insects, and the muddy ground, while difficult to traverse, was at least softer on his aching feet. Another small taste, and he was on his way again, trudging through the muck. Now, he felt indomitable.

He had lost track of how many days it was that he had spent in the rainforest. They blended into one another, separated more by grand events and deaths rather than individual passings of the sun over the horizon. It all seemed to end so suddenly. One moment, it was just another march, until finally the rainforest’s trees and endless canopy gave way to clear, open fields and emptiness. With great triumph, he crossed over the strange, definite line that marked the Hashai rainforest and the outside world. His crusade was finally over, and once more, he stood as a survivor where so many others had perished. The guilt pounded down as surely as the rain.

The forward camp from which he was originally stationed was not a far distance. Gradually, he could see the vague outlines of Vanderik tents and patrolling soldiers. In the centre of the camp flowed the bright banner of the hammer atop an anvil, coloured the vivid orange of the working forge, standing tall and imposing. The soldiers he passed stopped to watch him, mouths agape, stunned at the man that entered their midst. They had long assumed he and his crusaders had died out there, and to see one lone dishevelled man hobble into camp was like witnessing the dead rise and travel right past them. A few managed awkward salutes.

Alarik stumbled right to the main tent, knowing that Willamar’s fat form would still be inside, presiding over the area from safety. Just outside stood a young man fumbling with any number of scrolls he had seemingly still never gotten a handle on. He looked up to see Alarik, having the same reaction as the soldiers; one of disbelief. “Ca- captain - I don’t think the colonel expected you, I… oh, dear - please, if you could take a seat and wait for-”

“No,” Alarik said, brushing past him and entering the tent.

Inside, Willamar was sitting at his station, signing whatever papers made soldiers move from station to station, choosing where he wished for men to live and die. “I said I’m busy!” he boomed, not looking up from his maps. “How many times must I-” His eyes caught the glimpse of dirt and grime, a sight he would accept in his tent only under the strangest circumstances. “Captain Alarik,” he said. “You’ve returned. By the forge you’re filthy.” All semblance of shock wore off quickly. “Report, soldier,” he said, preoccupying himself with whatever work he was doing before.

“Dead. They’re all dead. Lost to the rainforest’s heat, its lack of food, its terrible beasts and whatever wasting diseases that we came across. We reached the land of the Rukara to find the path forward was near impossible to traverse. The mere prospect of finding a route through the rainforest is so far beyond reason to be anything but laughable. I can only express my deepest regrets at having lost so many fine men and women in the attempt to reach our goal.”

“Your only regret-”

“Additionally,” Alarik boomed over him, “I wish to say that our guardian, Farmund of Eryx, fell while valiantly defending our good lady Edda who tragically passed as well. Both were of the finest that Vanda has to offer. Hilda, our shaman, died in service while attempting to craft weapons for the hunt. Our navigator bravely strode through the rainforest alone, finding his final adventure through the rainforest but ultimately gone as well. Lastly, our Khorsuli performed admirably, and deserve our full respect. The inhabitants offered what help they could, but ultimately the rainforest is too savage to tame. It is not worth the effort to travel that route.”

“All dead?” Willamar asked, keeping his head down.

“Yes, sir.”

“Hmpf. Very well. I will send forward the report as a failure to achieve the necessary ends. The loss of a noble will not be kind on your prospects in the military, captain.”

Alarik stared at the colonel for a time. The scratching of his pen on the scrolls as he scribbled whatever nonsense he was writing was the only sound between them. He wondered if he recognized if he was still in the tent with him, or if his presence was so unimportant that he was even registering as a living, breathing soldier. “Is that all?”

“Dismissed,” the colonel mumbled. “Report back tomorrow morning with a written report of your actions. And an explanation as best you can provide,” he added as a warning.

Alarik’s teeth grinded so strongly against each other that they threatened to shatter. The call of the potion was so strong now that he had to hold his one hand with the other to ensure they did not betray him. He knew what he could do. He could drink the entirety, leap over the table, beat the man senseless and take his sword before the guards would even be upon him. He’d leave the place a wreckage of broken bodies and shattered limbs. All of the pain, all of the rejection and disgrace, he could harness into his very being and send it out as a force of reckoning.

Alarik closed his eyes. He drew a breath. “Very well,” he said.

Captain Alarik - just Alarik now, truly - walked out of the tent. He did not ask for his quarters, not for a jug of water from the scorching heat, not for a meal, but rather returned directly from where he came. Taking one final taste of the flask, he poured the rest out on the grass beneath his feet, and walked out of the camp back to the rainforests of Hashai. He would find Adilash again, and ask for what he was promised.

A home.

Taking one final look at the banner of the anvil and forge, he knew that he was no longer of the empire. He would find his place elsewhere.

Honour and glory in the Hashai rainforest, he thought.