Misted - The General

Part 1 :)

I wanted to share one of my favourite chapters I have written in a while. I finished this last month and had to take a couple days away from it, after getting quite emotionally invested in it. It’s obviously part of a much larger story, but it’s placed to introduce two major characters and a major conflict and so on, so I think it’ll be fine to read with no prior context. I might share some other chapters from this story soon, but I have been struggling with finishing any short stories I have started in the past couple weeks, and I want to share more on here to feel less apprehensive about my writing!

Keeping it short, I hope you enjoy The General (I haven’t read through this so don’t be surprised if I end up editing the post :)):

Tireth had never realised how difficult it was to cut through a neck until he had joined the army. As he separated Arin soldier's head from his body, blood spraying across his face, Tireth thought back to when he didn't know the screams of dying people. The ground around him was littered with corpses, men and women forced to slash and stab at each other, fighting as proxies for their nobles.

Another soldier jumped forward, square shield covering his face, short, brutal sword pointed at Tireth. He parried, his longsword batting aside the Arin's lunge with ease. In one smooth move, the young man swung his longsword around, the tip glinting in the sunlight as it passed above his head. He slammed his sword down on the back of the soldier's head. The other man dropped his sword, the shield hanging loosely from his other hand. Tireth kicked him to the ground, readjusting his grip and driving his sword down into the back of the man's neck. He grimaced. Tireth hated war. He hated fighting. He hated killing.

'Tir, watch out,' came a shout from behind him.

He ducked, instinctively dropping down on one knee as another sword swung above him, where his head had just been. A soldier had run up to him, hoping to take advantage of the young man's distraction. Tireth launched himself at the soldier, his shoulder slamming into the other man's jaw. The soldier yelled, landing on his back with Tireth piling on top of him.

Looking down, he could see the Arin soldier had been winded as he landed. He looked up at Tireth, the hardness in his eyes softening, replaced with a jolt of fear. Then the soldier looked his hand, grasping for the sword that had fallen from his grip, now sitting just outside his reach. Tireth ripped off the man's helmet, raising it high above his own head. Gritting his teeth, he brought it down on the man's face, driving the sharp edge into his neck. He slammed it down again and again, shouting as the soldier below him screamed, gargled and fell silent.

Tireth sat back, the helmet in one hand, the other hanging by his side. He looked up at the sky, a cloud drifting lazily above him. He couldn't catch his breath, his throat swollen from shouting. He gagged, choking on his own spittle, sweat running down his face. His heart was thumping, pounding so loud in his ears, she could feel herself swaying back and forth with each pulse. He sat there for a moment, trying to gain his composure. He closed his eyes and tried to calmed his breathing, willing his heart to slow. Someone grabbed his shoulder.

'Tir.' It was the same voice as before. He knew that voice. Tireth opened his eyes. 'Tir, get up, we need to go.'

He staggered to his feet, grabbing the hand on his shoulder as he dropped the bloody helmet.

'Hazes Tir, you look awful.' It was Darlo. Tir's eyes focussed on his face.

'So do you, love.' They both smiled. Then Darlo frowned.

'Are you crying blood?' Darlo asked, reaching up to wipe Tireth's face.

'Crying? Probably. The blood is his though.' He motioned behind him.

'I think,' Darlo said, looking back at the corpse, 'we should go.' He led Tireth away from the frontline, a chorus of screams and shouts surrounding them.

'You're shaking Tir. You need a break.'

'No, they need me.' He tripped as he said it, his boot catching on something below him. As he fell, Tireth look toward his foot, where a hand was wrapped around his ankle. The woman who had grabbed him was smiling, blood dripping the corner of her mouth. Her legs had been crushed by something. She pulled herself toward Tireth as he landed on his hands, his wrist audibly popping. The woman swung her other hand at Tireth, the short black knife she was holding angled at his chest.

Tireth pulled the foot she was holding toward himself, as Darlo kicked out with one of his feet, hitting the woman square in the jaw. A tooth flew out, the woman groaning as the short spike on the tip of Darlo's boot tore through her cheek. He flicked his foot up and forward, snapping the woman's neck. Tireth gasped, his left wrist beginning to ache.

Silently, Darlo helped Tireth back up and walked him to the infirmary.

Tireth hated this hazing war. Two years he had been fighting here, trying to beat back the Arin forces on the north west coast of Ivila. Aris had launched their attack 13 years ago now, annexing this part of Ivila. Isolated from the rest of the island by a narrow mountain range, it had been the easiest for their army to take and hold. And hold, they had. Tireth's father had been drafted early in the war. He had been an acceptable swordsman, but an excellent blacksmith. After losing a couple fingers to an Arin macebearer, he had been pulled from fighting. After a few years of regular smithing rotations, between the warcamps in the north and the eastern smithing city of Yald, near the border with Donia.

His father had even had a few years where he moved back to Aelburn, taking the time to teach Tireth some smithing and swordplay. He remembered sitting in the fields with his parents, watching insects fly by and being quizzed on their names. His father had walked him through the forest outside of town, showing him where all of his favourite plants grew and how they fed the animals that lived there. Sometimes, they would take some of those plants back for his mother. He would sit on the table next to her as she worked with them, telling him of all their uses. Like kids do, he soaked it all up.

And now here he was, sat in an infirmary tent on a battlefield in the north of his home country, his lover on one side and a surgeon telling him he had temporarily lost use of one of his hands.

'Hazing brilliant birthday,' said Darlo from his side. He gazed at Tireth, who turned to look back at him.

'At least you got that Arin soldier back for it.' Tireth leaned toward Darlo, touching his forehead. Thank you, he mouthed.

'Alright loverboy,' said the surgeon on his other side, 'you'll need to rest it for at least a month before-'

'A month?' Tireth cut him off. 'What am I meant to do for the next month?'

The surgeon shrugged and walked off.

'Bedrest for a month, doctor's orders,' said Darlo, resting his chin on Tireth's shoulder.

'Yeah' he answered, 'you'd love that.'

Darlo huffed into Tireth's neck, then stood.

'I'll check in on you later,' he said, and ruffled Tireth's hair. Some of the curls of brown hair on Tireth's head fell down into his eye, and he batted them away as Darlo left the tent.

'Keep him close,' came a voice from behind Tireth. He turned to see a woman, maybe mid-30s, lying on the cot next to him. She was at up, half her face bandaged, looking at the tent flaps past Tireth. 'He's a good 'un.'

'He is.' And with that, Tireth lay back on his cot, and closed his eyes.

An officer burst through the tent flaps to the infirmary, panicked eyes searching around. Tireth sat up with a start, pushing up onto his hands. A jolt of pain shot up his left arm and he collapsed into his shoulder. Hazes that hurt.

'Every able-bodied soldier on the field, now!' He pointed at several of the injured as he walked down the aisles, clicking as he flicked his hand toward the still ongoing battle with each point. He reached Tireth and pointed at him.

'My wrist is huffed sir, I can't use my sword.'

'You can walk, yes? And you still have one good hand? Go.'

Tireth scrambled to his feet, grabbing his longsword in it's scabbard from where it had been placed next to his bed. He went to strap it around his waist, then realised he wouldn't manage with just one hand.

'Leave the scabbard, son,' said the woman from before. 'It'll just get in your way.'

Tireth nodded at her and jogged out of the infirmary. His legs ached, the sudden lack of movement after the previous hours of battle shocking his muscles. As he passed through the tent flaps, he saw what had prompted the summons. The Arins had pushed the Ivilan army back several hundred meters, crushing the remaining soldiers between the Arin shield walls and the Ivilan barricade. The officer from before spotted Tireth and motioned for him to approach.

'You gonna be able to swing that sword with just one hand?' the officer asked, his thick southern accent slipping through in his hoarse voice. He couldn't have been much older than Tireth himself. Tireth nodded and the officer sighed, pointing through the opening in the barricade.

'Frontline then. Find a gap, fill it, and don't die.'

Tireth nodded again and launched into an awkward run. Between his stiff legs, one useless hand and the other holding the longsword, he struggled to keep his balance. As he neared the frontline, passing soldiers dragging wounded back and young children running supplies and messages, he spotted Darlo. He looked awful, even worse than before. Tireth stopped behind him, just as Darlo narrowly dodged one of the small rocks being launched by the Arin ballistae.

'Surprise,' Tireth said, smiling. Darlo didn't react. 'Surprise,' he said, louder. He even raised his broken wrist and tried to shake his hand. Another jolt of pain. Darlo glanced over his shoulder, then looked back again.

'Radisa, they didn't,' he shook his head as he embraced Tireth, kissing his neck. Tireth tried to return the affection, but only managed to squeeze the man back a little with his elbows.

'Glooms, it's bad Tir, really bad.'

Another rock flew past, hitting a soldier who had been following Tireth. It crushed his face in, the soldier dropping instantly. Tireth's eye twitched, his breath catching.

Darlo forcibly turned him away from the sight, instead staring down the lines of Arin soldiers, their black blades glistening in the sunlight. He pulled Tireth forward, to look for a spot at the front to fill. The two of them often fought side-by-side. Tireth used his longsword to keep enemies at bay, separating heads and limbs from the more daring, or idiotic, of soldiers. Darlo wielded two short swords, with serrated edges and tapered tips. If anyone got inside Tireth's range, Darlo would dash forward and cut them down with those wicked weapons.

A gap opened in the frontline ahead of them, as a tall Arin soldier wielding two black blades cut down a couple of Ivilan soldiers, the women screaming as they dropped, before the Arin ran through their throats with his swords. Tireth began to run toward him, adjusting his sword to balance it better with one hand, but Darlo cut in front of him. Tireth saw the snarl on his lover's lips, the glare that could have melted the Frozen Delta itself. Darlo growled as he dashed toward the Arin soldier, now engaged with several other Ivilan soldiers that had rushed him. As he neared the tall Arin, he drew his swords, holding them in a reverse grip, his customary style.

Those swords, mused Tireth as he followed Darlo, were once painted a deep green. The two young men had spent hours working on the small details, each leaf and petal in a slightly different shade from the base colour. It was over those swords, as the paint dried, that they had shared their first kiss. Now, the paint was worn, replaced by dried blood and dirt. Even when Darlo scrubbed the metal clean, he could still see the red crusted into the metal.

As Darlo drew near, the Arin soldier spun, swords out, and cut down the ring of Ivilan soldiers that had surrounded him. As the bodies dropped, Darlo threw himself into the air, passing just above the falling body of one of his comrades. He drew both swords to one side, thrusting toward the Arin's exposed stomach. What was he wearing. Tireth couldn't stand soldiers that were too arrogant to wear armour. Darlo seemed to slow in the air, floating the Arin like the clouds in the blue sky above. The other soldier turned his head, peering down at the man flying toward him. He pivoted, parrying Darlo's swords with ease and bringing his knee up into the young man's stomach. Tireth opened his mouth to shout, but found himself moving slowly. Then Darlo was thrown backward, dropping one of his swords, and crashing into two Ivilan soldiers who had been stood behind him, waiting to replace those that had just fallen. Darlo crumpled to the floor.

Tireth shouted, regaining his normal speed. You hazing bastard. There was no chance Darlo could be injured. He couldn't let Tireth have anything, could he? The Arin soldier took a step toward the heap of Darlo on the floor, but an Ivilan soldier lunged for his back, a long spear in her hands. Without looking, the Arin knocked the spear to the side with one sword, throwing the soldier off balance. She stumbled toward the man, tripping and falling onto his outstretched blade. The man continued toward Darlo, flicking the woman off his sword, still focussing on the man.

More Arin soldiers advanced around the Arin with the two swords, trying to take advantage of the gap in the Ivilan line. Tireth's run slowed to a walk, as he turned to cut down Arins trying to pass him. One managed to glance a spear off his side, the hooked sides of the spearhead tearing through his leather aodach, splitting the skin across his ribs. Tireth returned the favour by cutting through the man's elbows, then using the momentum of his sword to push the point into the ground and fling himself toward his opponent. He slammed his feet into the man's chest, sending him toppling backward, spear and forearms dropping to the ground. As Tireth landed and glanced around, he saw the tall Arin soldier from before bearing down on Darlo. The younger man had got himself up to a crouch, remaining sword at the ready, a determined jaw set. Someone ran in front of Tireth, obscuring the other two men from his view for a moment. His next view was of the Arin, swords high above his head, Darlo looking up at him. Another body blocked his view. Then he saw the Arin swing. Darlo went to block. And the Arin cleaved his arm off, both swords passing through it. Tireth screamed.

As he did, a small space around him cleared, the soldiers moving back. A path to Darlo and the Arin soldier appeared as well. Tireth charged, yelling as he did. No words came out, just a guttural, primal sound. He wouldn't let some filthy Arin hurt Darlo. A gust blew behind Tireth, cooling the sweat he had built up and pushing him forward. He crossed the space in a matter of seconds. It wasn't enough. As he crossed into the clearing around the two men, littered with bodies, the Arin lunged, driving his black blades deep into Darlo's chest. And the young man burst into flames.

Tireth stumbled, dropping to his knees. He wasn't sure what he was watching. Flames ran up the Arin's swords, wrapping around his arms. It streams up his neck, across his face and into his nose. The soldier inhaled deeply, eyes closed, head back. Darlo's body dropped from the swords, slumping to the ground, still burning. Tireth shouted, choking on the sound.

The Arin soldier opened his eyes and turned toward Tireth, flames dripping from his swords, singeing the clothes of the corpses around him. The man stared at Tireth, frowning. Then he gasped.

'You,' he shouted, pointing with one his blades. 'It's you.'

As he moved toward Tireth, the younger man looked to his lover's body, the flames dying down now. He looked back at the Arin. And yelled.

A tempest erupted around Tireth, lifting him as he rushed to his feet, charging toward the Arin soldier. He grabbed his sword, the one his father had made him, with both hands, raising it high over his head as he jumped. The other man raised his swords in answer, catching Tireth's as he landed. Tireth dropped and rolled to the side as the swords met, not giving his opponent a chance to throw him off balance. As he rolled, a sword plunged into the ground where his head had just been. He rolled back up to his feet, meeting another gust of air, this one stopping his momentum. Looking up, he saw those flaming blades swinging down toward him. He parried just in time, catching them on his crossguard. The Arin soldier growled, sliding his swords forward until hilt met hilts. As he did, the flames on his swords flared up. Tireth tried to lean out of the way, but one of them licked his cheek. He didn't even feel it, but he wasn't sure if that was the adrenaline or that his nerves had been burned away instantly. Darlo was always saying Tireth would suit a scar or two on his face.

Thrusting forward, Tireth pushed the Arin soldier backward. The taller man stumbled as he went, almost falling over one of the corpses he had collected moments earlier. Tireth lunged as he did, aiming for the Arin's exposed face. Something about him did seem familiar. The falling soldier managed to bring one sword up, knocking Tireth's lunge to the side slightly. He tore along the Arin's cheekbone as he leaned into his strike. As he did, the fire on the Arin's swords and arms burned out, the last pieces vanishing into his nose as he hit the ground.

Overextended as he was, Tireth struggled to recover quickly. His opponent was down, he could end this quickly. Trying to pull back and spin his sword tip downward, he lost his footing and had to throw his arms out to steady himself. As he did, he looked to his left, where a smouldering corpse lay. Darlo. His sword was still there, the metal now partially blackened. Tireth's breath caught in his throat. The wind around him died, and a jolt of pain shot up his left arm. He plunged his sword into the ground as his legs began to shake. No, his body was shaking. Tears welled up in his eyes as he dropped to his knees again, staring at that corpse. To his right, the Arin soldier pushed himself to his feet, looking down at the younger man.

'That,' he spat out, 'belongs to my brother. I'll remember you, thief.' He hesitated a moment, as if he was about to swing at the Tireth again. Then, realising how badly he himself was wounded, he fled, calling for a retreat as he did.

Tireth turned his head, and spoke one word, softly.

'Run.'

The tempest returned, knocking the soldier to the ground again. The wind blew so strong, it sent soldiers up and down the battlefield to the ground. It became stronger and stronger, until there was no sound but the rushing air, no sensation but the biting cold as it whipped across their faces and hands. Tireth still stared at Darlo, tears streaming down his face. He was alone again. Happy hazing birthday.

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