Blood, Steel and Holy Fury (A Short Story)

Blood, Steel and Holy Fury.

Marcus Arenitus of the Grevontian Holy Army held the spear in his shaking hand. The air he and his comrades breathed seemed harder to swallow then just a few minutes ago. But whether that was from the scent of blood and cut flesh attacking his nose or the holy golden magic that swirled around Arch-Priestess Valytan as she stood behind the main shield wall, he did not know. Their commanding officer, Raftlon Volostin, was yelling orders of "HOLD STEADY MEN!"  Followed by "READY YOUR MAGIC PRIESTESS!" and "PROTECT THE CAPTAIN!" over the chaos that was but 20 feet from them and closing. Suddenly the wall of trees and shrubs on each side of the path that seemed so comforting before, now looked more like a greeny-golden deathtrap for them.

Marcus, and likely his fellow soldiers too, were under no illusion of what was coming their way now. Marcus had been told they were primitive people, little smarter then apes. The Dontunmen they called themselves. Northern Barbarians was what they were. Their superiors said to them that they wouldn't even have to worry as the Dontunmen were disorganized and savage. Just as likely to kill their own as they were the enemy.

That didn't look like what was happening as the blood of his comrades painted the dirt under their feet. None of the soldiers spoke, all watching their comrades being slaughtered in front of them. Marcus wanted to charge forward and join the fray with his allies. But he stayed put. It was agonizing to watch people he had known be slaughtered with help but a stones throw away and not being able to move forward.

"Marcus..." the rough, gravely voice that drew his eyes away from the battle in front of him, belonged to the soldier on his left, Galis Harenton. He was a young 17 year old boy but his face was hard and his stance strong. He looked like a warrior, not a boy.

"Yes Galis?" the two had meet when they'd signed up with the same recruiter. They couldn't be any different, Galis was confident and a good swordsman, but lacked the true will to fight for the empire. Marcus on the other hand, was weaker, less sure but ok with a spear and willing to die for his King. They'd formed an unlikely friendship over their training and were stationed in the same squad as a consequence. Now they were going to die together too. He'd hit Raftlon for this. Dead or alive.

"Promise me, when this is all over, that you'll help me string up Raftlon?"

"Ha, I was thinking the same thing" the words were accompanied by a hollow laugh, a traitor to his calm expression.

"Hey" Galis said, his voice less hard "if we are to die today, it will be a glorious death in the name of our King"

"I guess you're right" the laugh that followed this time was genuine.

"MAKE READY!"  His attention was drawn back to the bloodbath ahead. Oh...Marcus nearly puked as the body of a Heavy Spearman fell to the dirt, an axe in his neck. He could see the enemy now, there were more of them than Holy Soldiers. Bodies littered the floor, caked in blood. It occurred to Marcus that, he had just been joking while a battle raged in front of him. It felt weird. Like he should feel something but didn't.

Marcus realized his spear hand was shaking, clattering against his shield before he stopped it. Trying to breath deep.

The barbarians wore savage expressions, and carried even more terrifying weapons. Scars, both old and new, littered their muscled frames, plenty of skin showing between their simple fur and cloth clothing. Marcus tried to steady himself but choked on air. The enemy neared, bearing down on the captains shield wall like raging, deadly moths to a flame. Only to be cut down by  the magical bolts that flew overhead. It seemed the Arch-Priestess magic was working at least. Marcus didn't even realize when the two forces met, instincts taking over from his frightened brain.