Go For Stories

Rokyl trudged along, miserable about their upcoming mission. When he had signed up as a soldier of the realm ten years earlier, he had done so to protect his country. Now the Pyre he belonged to had been sent to “clean” a village that was suspected of harbouring rebel forces of the Natural Order. He had been on another such mission years ago and the barbarity of it made him sick. The soldiers, starved of excitement, would work themselves into a killing frenzy. When they reached the village, he knew they would sweep in and murder and rape anyone they came across. He would do his best to keep his unit under control, but it would not be long before they wanted in on the action.

This task he had been given – find the infiltrator that stole the artefact – had already proved to be more than difficult. By interviewing every single soldier from the Northern barracks, he was able to find a mere glimmer of information from a soldier he had never before seen that led them to the village they now marched toward. There was one villager in particular that had been singled out; a man with a long fringe and half a blue face. For some reason, that description seemed familiar to him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

A call came from further up the ranks for the Pyre to stop for a break. He held out his hand for his unit to see.

“Halt,” he called. The unit stopped under his instruction. “Short break. Stay close.”

He doffed his pack and sat it on the ground. As he sat on the pack, a thin soldier with messy hair came to him from the front of the march. He can’t have been much older than eighteen. He stopped in front of Rokyl and held his fist to his chest. Rokyl returned the salute.

“What is it, soldier?”

“The Pyre Leader has sent scouts to the outskirts of the village. They will return shortly. Then, we attack.”

Rokyl nodded. “Sit,” he said.

The soldier’s high brow wrinkled with confusion.

“I’m sorry?”

“Sit with me.”

The soldier shuffled from foot to foot. “I’m sorry, sir, I am under orders to pass on the message and return to the Pyre Leader.”

“And return you shall, but first I am ordering you to sit with me.”

“Yes, sir.”

The soldier knelt down on the ground at Rokyl’s feet. He looked around, unsure of what was expected of him.

“Tell me, soldier, what is your name?”

“It is Morgalin, sir.”

“That’s enough of the ‘sir’ business. Call me Rokyl.” He enjoyed the look of shock on Morgalin’s face. It was customary, but not law, for soldiers of higher rank to disassociate themselves from the lower soldiers. “Is this your first mission, Morgalin?”

“Yes, sir, I mean, Rokyl, sir.”

Rokyl smiled.

“I need you to do me a favour. I need you to promise me you will keep your sword clean unless attacking an armed man. I have seen what these situations can do to people. They go mad, Morgalin, and turn into something they ordinarily wouldn’t be.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Blood lust. I’m talking about blood lust. It is a horrible thing that can destroy your soul and eat at your conscience.” He looked around at his unit. “I have cleansed a village before, Morgalin. Five years ago, I was a shining new soldier with the Earl’s forces. I thought I was invincible, because I hadn’t really lived. I did well in my training and thought so highly of myself that, had I a pedestal, I would have stood on it wherever I went so my countless admirers could worship my very feet. Then the call came. A village nearby had refused the Earl’s commands and were not paying their tribute. We were sent to teach them a lesson.

“It was me that learned something, though. Being young and impressionable, I ran with the others, screaming and waving my sword about like a proxy for my prick. When we made it into the village, we went insane; killing and burning and destroying anything we could. I had just thrown a flaming brand onto a straw roof when I saw her; a girl, not too much younger than me.

“Oh, she was pretty and scared, so scared. By this stage, I had seen the other men take prizes of their own. I wanted some for myself, so I took her. Just as I finished, I pulled out of her and another soldier ran her through with his sword. He grinned at me. ‘Was she nice?’ he asked. I grinned back.”

“I don’t understand,” said Morgalin, “why would you tell me this?”

Rokyl took a deep breath and looked at the young soldier.

“I don’t know. You remind me of myself before all of that. I think it would be good if you could stay this way. Stay good, Morgalin, because if you don’t it will destroy you. The respect you have for yourself is the most important, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Morgalin stared at Rokyl, as if deciding whether he was mad or not. It seemed that he arrived at an answer, as he nodded his agreement.

“I will stay good, sir, but not for you. I will do it for that girl you raped.”

Rokyl flinched at the honest use of the word, but still had to hold back a smile. This soldier would do well.

“Now,” he said, “you may return to the Pyre Leader.”

Morgalin stood and offered a salute. This time, Rokyl rose before holding his fist to his chest in return. The young soldier ran off down the ranks as Rokyl watched. He realised now what was truly bothering him; he was worried that the blood lust would take him again.