The Tale of the 31st Foot Company

We had been marching for near on five months. The conquest of the Kianis was showing its success and each message hawk brought news of a new battle won and a new pocket of rebels caught and executed. But that was farther north. The southern armies were hard pressed by the retaliating Kian nomads, forcing us into constant movement. Our supply lines had been cut off three weeks ago, and ammunition was low. The food rations were nearly depleted and our water barrels had been empty for nearly a week. In the hot arid wastelands, it seemed that we would perish-- if not by the dark-skinned bastards then by the lack of water and sleep deprivation.

We were the 31st Foot Company, the forefront of the battle. We now numbered less thanone hundred and fifty; more than half of our numbers were the remnants of the 17th Foot Company and the 8th Horse. We had long since stopped burying the dead, lest the Kiani rebels ried an attack. The morale was low over the troops, but it was kept from dropping any farther by the efforts of Master General Merrin.

It was the third day of the fifth month when we set out once more into the desert. Our compass pointed nor’ nor’ east, towards the rugged mountains in the distance. Our scouts had found a possible source of water as well as an encampment of nomads. We readied ourselves for another grueling day under the sun, but our hopes were high.

We had another full day to find the source before night fell, bringing with it the bold jackals and their ghoulish companions. The desert spirits had claimed the lives of many of our troops, haunting us with their nightly visitations. Their reek of rotting flesh and the sound of crunching bone was enough to alert the night watch into action, but even a full clip of bullets embedded in their moving corpses was not enough to keep them down. Only the high noon sun and the burning kiss of rain or running water could keep them at bay.

The afternoon sun and the third moon, Æinn, found the army moving quickly over the scrub land. Five glasses had passed since we had first set out and the half of another when the two mounted scouts rode in. The company ground to a halt as the scouts spoke in hushed tones with M. General Merrin. After several long minutes of talking, the scouts fell into line near the rear of the company and we started moving again.

This time, we turned three degrees west and after several more glasses, the terrain had changed once more. Instead of the dark, dry soil of the desert, the earth had grown to a loose, sulfurous yellow sand. There was no plant life. The sun’s intense heat was almost unbearable, but we continued marching guided on by the scouts’ words and the General’s direction.

A deep, constant rumble soon arose over the sound of the soldiers and horses. The noise was new to our ears, and I noticed several brows furrow in silent confusion but no word was spoken. The older veterans soon recognized the sounds we heard and a new spring in their step and twinkle in their eyes became apparent. It took only a little longer for the rest of the company to identify the source of the rumble.

In the near distance, a mighty river flowed marked by some terrifying drop. A waterfall.

The closer we got, the louder the sound grew until it was a deafening roar. A misty haze fell over the wasteland and a scattering of scraggly pine trees sprouted up from the ground. So close we were to the life giving water we could almost taste it. At last, our desperate search would be rewarded and we could continue our march to the sea, no longer in danger of falling victim to the sun’s perilous heat.

At a hundred l into the pine forest, the land suddenly dropped into a deep gorge to our left. The trees disappeared as the earth fell away into steep ridges and treacherous pitfalls that no man could survive. Cautiously now, we edged closer to the drop to view an awe-inspiring sight. Whatever fears we had at the gorge below us vanished at the sight of the one thing that we so desperately needed. Water.

“By Allah,” I heard a seasoned brigadier whisper. By Allah, he was right. A broad river cascaded over the sheer drop to the bottom of the gorge, some 300 l below us. The muddied water collected in a steaming, writhing pool before rushing on towards the ocean. The massive columns of mist hung thickly in the air, fogging our vision from clearly seeing the far bank. Despite this, the dark colors of a lush forest beckoned and called to us, offering us the food and shelter that we lacked. The mists and deafening roar of the tumbling river dampened our senses to the outside world, but we didn’t notice until later.

The long moment of silence broke. The Master General’s orders were being passed along and then carried out. Our platoon would head west, upriver of the waterfall, to replenish the water supplies while the scouts went ahead to find a safe crossing. From there we would set up camp and settle in for a much-needed rest. We would be safe their from the Kiani bastards and the desert ghouls. At least for the time being. There were greater things lurking in the night shadow than the moldering carcasses of ghouls.

Glasses later, we had managed to cross the river but had suffered losses as well. The water was waist high and the current strong—one man stumbled and fell, by the time we saw him again his body was plummeting over the falls. We couldn’t save him. Several packhorses slipped, losing us the last box of ammunition and three spare rifles as well as the remaining food supplies.

Safer now on the forest side of the river, our men were able to relax a bit. Tents were pitched, hunting parties were sent out, and sentinels were placed around the camp. It was the usual procedure, but the atmosphere was lighter than it had been during the long march across the desert. Master General Merrin sent out the scouts again to patrol the area; they were to return at three glass’s time.

The hunters soon returned, bringing with them three fat does, two bucks, several quail and fish from the river. Foragers brought in enough greens and tubers to feed the entire camp. The food was split between the soldiers; fires lit, and water boiled. Someone broke out the last of the mead. To say the least, this was the first enjoyable night we had had since the start of the campaign.

Night fell quickly over the land and the fires were slowly dimming. The scouts had yet to return. I took my position as night sentry, relieving the guard at the southern end of the camp. Everything was quiet, I noticed. Even the insects had stopped their chorus. The effects of the alcohol were wearing off, but my senses were still slightly distorted. Perhaps taking the mead had not been the best thing to do. I had shouldered my rifle uneasily, even through the haze of my weary mind I could feel another presence in the shadow of the forest.

A twig snapped. My eyes widened as if trying to see the noisemaker through the darkness. I found my gun in hand now, my fingers unconsciously rubbing the smooth concave line of the trigger. Then another sound. This one became a muffled fwmp, like the impact of a hammer striking against a soft, fatty meat. I should have realized by then what was happening but in my drunken stupor, my mind’s eye had slowed to a desperate crawl.

Another noise, this one closer. Crouching down, I held my rifle at the ready. I saw a dark figure moving towards the camp in the same silence and skill as that as a feline hunter. There were more, I saw. But it was in that very moment that all hope was lost.

The soft sound of arrows rubbing against a bow and the creaking of the bowstring filled my ears. And then they were loosed. Swooping down into the camp like silent bolts of thunder, they struck and killed their intended targets. I realized too late what was happening. We were being attacked.

I lifted my voice to raise the alarm, but found it suddenly filled with a thick, alien fluid. A piercing pain struck my back, felling me. I was hit, struck down by the enemy, useless in warning my comrades against the foe, helpless against Kiani attack. I couldn’t move my body with out intense pain and my breathing became hard and ragged. It was blood that filled my mouth, coursing now down my cheek. The warmth of spilt blood spread across my back in defiance to the sudden cold that claimed me. With every heartbeat, more of the life-giving fluid escaped my from my body. It was then that I knew all was lost.

With dim eyes I saw the painted Kian nomads strike down my fellow comrades, doing their work efficiently. One by one I saw them fall murdered in their sleep by the bastard rebels. There was a gargled scream issued from one of the tents. Perhaps, I thought wearily, with the death of one the rest would be saved. And so my hope seemed to come to life. The soldiers suddenly burst into action, rifle fire echoed now in my ears. But even in my slow, dying mind I knew it was too late.

Struggling forward, I tried to ignore the pain that danced up my spine. I could feel the flighted shaft of the arrow move against the muscles. I tried to stifle the agonized cry, forcing my scream into a pain-laden gasp and then a panicked gargle as I choked on my own blood. Ignoring the pain as best as any mortal man could, I urged my limbs to complete their master’s final task.

My fingers moved like sodden beams, stiff and at first unmoving, reaching desperately for my rifle. Then in the dark corners of my mind, I could feel the hardwood stock against my hand and automatically I reached out to pull it in. Then another sensation tickled my nerves. Instinctively, my hand stopped its movement, the fingers brushing hopelessly against the familiar grain of wood that now felt so far away.

Something cold was being pressed against my throat. My eyes turned upward and saw the hideous painted face of a Kiani warrior, its mouth twisted in a contorted grin. Its hand moved down like lightning, completing its task in one easy movement. The steel blade plunged deep into my throat, spilling my blood to the soft loam.

For a moment I felt nothing, my nearly sightless eyes looking past the figure and beyond the treacherous trees that had hid the enemy, searching to see the faint glimmer of stars in the heavens above. A single thought drifted into my mind then in the brief moments I had to live. I had failed my friends, my commander, my country. And for my failure I would die alone.

My body convulsed suddenly, spraying blood from the severed arteries. Then last kisses of pain swept across my body, banishing all thoughts of life and living. And then it was gone, swept away into an eternal darkness. A darkness from which I could never return.