A Soldier's Life

Chapter 30: Losing a Friend

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Our mage was out of commission, and it looked like the storm giant was unhappy with our interruption of his rest from digging. I hustled down the slope and slid on the mud to the downed archers. With the three potions in hand, I quickly administered them to three different men who appeared alive on a quick inspection. I was too focused to be affected by the gore and strewn body parts as I worked. The metallic smell of blood filled my nostrils but that was because I had pieces of flesh on my face and armor.

Getting more archers back in action, in my mind, was important. I wanted to move away from the congestion of soldiers in case the storm giant decided to explode someone else with a bolt of lightning, so I worked quickly and then separated myself from them as they recovered.

The archers were already organizing and started firing arrows again. I quickly looked and noticed the storm giant attack with an overhead swing. The blow from his sword crumpled the soldier with the tower shield, driving the legionnaire into the ground with a sickening thud and crunch. I imagined it as a foot crushing an aluminum soda can.

Shit. There was no way I was going to risk getting close to the giant to use my dimensional space with that sword’s reach. I started running away from the battle. The mud made it difficult to sprint, but I built up some speed. I just hoped the freaking mage was still alive when I reached him. With the screams of men and the clash of battle at my back, I ran. I pulled out two full healing potions out of my space.

I tried to mimic the storm giant’s slide as I reached the mage. The ground may have been muddy, but it also had many rocks. My canvas pants tore, and the rocks dug into my flesh, but at least I stopped in the perfect position to administer the potions.

Fuck! He was bleeding from his mouth and eyes. His arm was at the completely wrong angle, too. I would be wasting two potions on him if he was already dead. It looked like blood was still flowing, so maybe his heart was still beating—fuck it. I popped both seals on the vials and poured them into his throat. He gurgled, and then he started coughing. Before the healing got too far, I wrenched his arm back into the mostly correct position. He grunted in pain but didn’t wake.

I could not wait for him, and I was off running again. I thought about running up the muddy crater and into the swamp but decided maybe we could win if the mage got back on his feet. Also, with the giant’s long legs, it would be very easy for him to catch me in the swamp.

As I ran, a flying head nearly hit me on my sprint back to the archers. I recognized the head as it flew by. That was Leonidus with a shocked expression on his face. I looked at the main combat; only three shieldmen remained and six spearmen. Nope, one of the shieldmen was missing the top of his shield and his head. The body crumpled with no brain to give it direction. Rest in pieces, Leonidus, my friend.

The storm giant had dozens of arrows in him and half a dozen spears. He looked like he was speeding up and not slowing down. His rich red blood flowed from his wounds, but when you are twenty-five feet tall, you have a lot of blood to spill. Two archers I had not tended to were dead when I reached them. Another groaning archer took a healing potion as I forced it down his throat. The swordsman unit was still intact but had not advanced on the storm giant.

I couldn’t blame them; their smaller round shields were useless against a telephone pole-sized sword. Even the body shields of the shield wall were useless. They could have hampered the flanks of the giant and helped their companions but had remained here. I guessed it was because Durandus was not here to give orders.

Finally, everyone was attended to that was alive. I figured out that the archer who had exploded was the archer unit’s leader, one of the four lieutenants. The storm giant had chosen the optimal target. Since it had this much intellect, I was reconsidering staying. I watched as the giant executed the last shield and spear men, and slowly turned toward us, bloody and angry. I had dropped my own spear long ago when I had been knocked to the ground by the lightning bolt. Well, maybe not that long ago, I laughed somewhat wildly uncontrolled in my head. It had been what, maybe two minutes? Fuck, I was losing it as I did not think I was going to live through this.

Then the ground under the giant heaved, and tendrils of muddy ice started to work their way up the giant’s legs. Durandus was back on his feet. Well, mostly on his feet. He looked unsteady as he directed his magic. The giant called another lightning strike down on the mage, and it dissipated into the ground, not affecting him. He took a step toward Durandus, and I thought there was no way ice was going to hold the storm giant. That was not the mage’s plan. Durandus had made massive mud ice cubes on the giant’s bare feet.

The giant stumbled at the awkward footwear. Durandus screamed at us, “Advance, you fools! This will only hold him till I run out of aether!” They hesitated for only a moment before obeying. The remaining archers were building up a steady rhythm of arrow strikes, even if the arrows barely penetrated. I was a spectator and moved up the slope of the crater to get some weapons from the fallen archers, as close-range combat was not on my mind. If the giant reached the mage, running would be my only choice. Hopefully, the giant would be too injured to pursue.

Duramdus had not used any lightning attacks on the giant, which was probably smart. If it could call lightning itself, it probably made sense it was immune. The giant was struggling but was getting closer to the mage, who was not remotely healed yet. His arm was still hanging loosely, and he was swaying on his feet. The giant paused a heartbeat, considering the advancing swordsmen, the mage, and the pesky archers. He made a decision that surprised everyone. He flung his massive sword helicopter-style at the tight formation of swordsmen.

I heard the whoosh, whoosh as it spun, and two men were hit squarely. One man was cut in half, his intestines spraying the field, and the other was struck by the handle and thrown away in a crumpled mess. The blade did not slow as it continued into the row of archers. The blade had rotated, so it struck flat-side into the concentrated archers. Men screamed as they were flung aside like rag dolls. I was in shock and paralyzed as the hope of victory seemed snatched from us.

The mud-ice prison was creeping up the giant, who was now on his knees. The remaining swordsmen were close to the giant, and we had four archers still upright. “He is immobilized and unarmed!” Durandus yelled weakly. “Finish him!”

I was spurred to make a decision. I grabbed a bow, and two quivers moved to help the archers. When I reached the downed men, I pulled out more potions to heal who I could. Now that the sword was gone from the giant, I could get close to the monstrosity and kill it with my dimensional space if the opportunity presented itself. The last six swordsmen engaged just out of its reach, and the archers fired steadily. One arrow pierced an eye, and the giant lunged in anger to grab a man, uncaring about the sword blades stabbing his massive hand.

The giant fist squeezed, and the man popped and oozed out of his armor like crushing a grape. The dead soldier was also now a projectile. The giant looked at the mage quickly before throwing the body at the closest swordsman, who had no chance to dodge. The throw’s speed told me he would not live through the impact. Both bodies rolled thirty feet before skidding to a stop in the mud. The giant made the hand motion for lighting again, but what he called was tiny compared to before. The swordsman struck had no defenses, though. Mage Durandus was too focused on encasing the giant to shield him from the lightning. The swordsman did not explode, just crumpled to the ground, charred and smoking.

I gave an injured archer a potion. We had three swordsmen and five archers remaining. Mage Durandus was focused on the giant who was waist-deep in frozen mud. The giant looked pitiful in his rage and started slamming his fists into the icy mud. But it was like concrete, and he only took small chunks off with his bloody fists. If he did free himself, we were all fucked. I looked at the mage; he looked pale and no longer had energy to scream orders.

I took my bow and quiver and joined the fight. At thirty yards, I missed my first five shots. I was rushing and not aiming as my heart beat crazily in my chest. The other archers were searching for arrows in their companions’ quivers. Each archer had two small quivers, a total of 34 arrows, to start, and now they had run out.

I finally hit on my sixth shot. It was a shoulder strike that barely penetrated. I was useless as an archer. I dropped my bow and moved toward a spear nearby. With the creature immobilized, I moved to its flank, looking for an opportunity. It was not needed as the giant slowed, leaking from dozens of wounds. It was all about making sure it bled out now. The archers continued ranged attacks until we ran out of arrows.

It wasn’t pretty what we did to the creature. But it eventually stopped moving. Durandus ordered a man to stab his uninjured eye. He moved cautiously, and the sword sank in without resistance or movement. We had won the fight.

I looked around the battlefield and promptly vomited. It was not from the gore but a pent-up emotional release of being alive after running on adrenaline for endless minutes. The landscape had body parts, and innards were everywhere. The mud was red with the giant’s blood, which had apparently run out. The shieldmen and spearmen bodies had been brutalized. It was a literal meat grinder. My canteen was up at the lip of the crater, so I just spit to get the taste of vomit out. Durandus hobbled forward eagerly with his essence collector in his hand. His device was only the size of a dinner plate, smaller and more intricate than the one Castille used.

He placed it on the chest of the giant. The device worked, drawing in a blue etherally smoke from the body. The mage murmured in delight, even though only seven of his men remained alive. I knew by its size that it was an apex essence, and I guessed by its strong glow it had a magic affinity. It disappeared in the mage’s mouth as soon as it had fully formed on the collector. His broken body savored the essence as it was consumed.

I sat down heavily. I may have played the role of support, but we would have all been dead if I hadn’t gotten the mage back on his feet. We would have all been dead if the giant hadn’t also been near aether exhaustion when we launched the initial attack. I couldn’t fathom why the mage risked the lives of forty men for an essence.

After the essence was consumed, Durandus started giving orders. “Give me the rest of the healing drafts,” was the first. He consumed half of them before giving the rest to the injured men.

Durandus then moved among his dead men and used the collector on them. I could tell the men found this slightly off-putting. We all just worked on stripping the bodies of their gear and getting ready to bury the men. Durandus pocketed every essence he was able to collect.

I looked forward to going back to the city. We were not returning, though. Now healed and functional, Durandus addressed everyone still alive. We had one spearman, who had lived through the massacres, five archers, and three swordsmen. “Well fought today against imposing odds. That was a creature of immense power, and our teamwork brought it to its knees and ended its life. Now, for the good of the Empire, we will spend a day trying to figure out what the giant was digging for. If we do not find anything in a day, we will return to Macha.” I think I was learning to appreciate being in Mage Castille’s company.

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