Chapter 3 – Part 7

Carl wiped his brow as he threw the last shovelful of earth on the last makeshift grave. Some commanding officers wouldn’t do the physical work. As far as Carl was concerned, it was the least he could do.

And I may be the commanding officer, but I’m only a corporal, Carl reminded himself. Just a corporal.

Carl stepped back, and Henry came up behind him to quietly take the shovel. “You need to speak,” Henry whispered.

This Carl did not want to do, but he had known that he would have to do so, so he made no protest. He turned away from the almost two dozen graves to face the ten remaining men in blue who waited for him to give them an order, to make some sense of everything.

As Carl hesitated, Henry coughed behind him. Carl saw unease in the eyes of the Brelish soldiers. No doubt they wished Henry was their commanding officer.

“You want words from me to take away your pain,” he said, finding inspiration in bluntness. “I can’t. You probably want words to bring our comrades back, or some part of them. I can’t do that either.” He gestured to the pile of enemy dead. They still smoldered, having been tossed into a large pyre instead of being buried with markers as were the Brelish. “Maybe some of you want me to tell you that the shifters and irregular infantry who came at our south flank while we engaged the Aundairian light foot were really Aundairian soldiers, and not opportunistic Reachers who hate us as much as they hate their former masters.” Carl gritted his teeth. “I can’t do that either. We all know that there are plenty of Reachers who don’t want to be our ally, who don’t want to listen to their own leaders.”

Carl swallowed, and ran his hand through his hair, being careful not to touch the bandage on the side of his head. A shifter’s fangs had come very close to piercing his skull. “I can tell you this, though. Lieutenant Fromlay didn’t get a chance to tell me everything about our purpose here, but he told me enough. Yes, we were part of the larger alliance, but we also had a delivery to make, a special mission.”

“Something for the druidess?” one of the men asked. He was their best archer, and his eyes had gone very hollow since the battle. Physically he was untouched, but the man looked like he might crack with grief and fear at any moment.

“Possibly,” Carl said. “I don’t know for certain, and if I knew I couldn’t tell you.” He swallowed. “I do know that from the way Lieutenant Fromlay described it, it has the potential to –” He hesitated, not wanting to lie. “It may end this war.”

The men looked at each other, some skeptically, some hopefully.

“Forgive me, sir,” Henry said suddenly. “I actually know a bit more than you, Lieutenant Fromlay told me in case something happened to you.” Henry cleared his throat. “It’s true,” he told the men. “We’re not just another squadron.”

“So we have to keep moving, and join up with other Brelish forces,” Carl said, confidence sneaking into him. “But before we go,” he had to pause as he got choked up. “A moment of silence for the departed.”

The men bowed their heads. All were quiet, thinking of their lost comrades.

Carl was thinking of the spoiled rations that Bresbin Delavane had stolen, and apparently used to make a trail for a carrion-eating monstrosity. It did not make him feel better to know that the three who died were Aundairian.

After a moment’s time, the men picked their heads up again.

“Company fall out!” Henry called.

“Weapons ready at all times,” Carl said loudly.

He turned and began to walk northeast through the forest, heading to Riverweep.