A Soldier's Life

Chapter 31: Aftermath

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The mood was somber as we grabbed our packs from up on the muddy ridge while Mage Durandus searched the storm giant and where he had been focusing his digging efforts with magic. The stormy sky slowly cleared, and the sun started sporadically showing through the clouds. The men left back at the road would know we had succeeded when there were no more storm clouds. Exhausted from the fight, it took a lot of energy to climb the muddy slope multiple times to get all the packs down. As Durandus recovered his aether, he healed himself and the most severely wounded men.

After setting the camp up, the grizzly job of digging the graves started. Durandus told us to bury them on the far side of the crater, well away from the dig site. The soft, muddy ground made it feasible with our terrible tool set. We made crude shovels from destroyed shields and spears. The dead men were stripped of their legionnaire gear, placed in shallow graves, and then covered. The ten of us were exhausted as the night rolled on us with no warning since we were essentially in a massive hole. We lost daylight earlier and faster than expected. Durandus was still studying the dig site well into the night and got irritated when disturbed.

I did not even bother setting up my tarp tent. I just laid out my oiled cloak and bed roll. Others did the same, and the night watch was going to be a single person at a time, a one-hour shift each. I was even woken to take my turn. Not that you could see anything other than Durandus with glow stones mounted on spears driven into the ground at the dig site.

The morning came, and my hip and thigh throbbed. The rocky slide that had torn up my canvas pants and the damaged flesh was probably infected. As the camp stirred, a legionnaire noticed and said, “Have Durandus heal that. His aether should have recovered by now.” I nodded and took out a meal bar, unwrapping it and nibbling on the cracker outside. It was like a dam of hunger had burst, and I consumed the bar rapidly with a canteen of water. It was one of the best meals I had ever eaten, but I knew it was just my body telling me I was starving for calories.

After the meal, I limped over to the mage and asked him, “Mage Durandus, can you heal my leg? I think it is infected.”

I waited patiently while he continued to stare at the ground. Finally, he spoke with some excitement, but not looking at me, “There is an entire city covered under the swamp. A city built for giants!” He knelt in the mud, pressed his hand to the earth, and whispered to himself, “What was it searching for?”

I asked again, “Can you help with my leg? I think it is infected.”

He looked up, irritated at the interruption. He put his hand on my thigh, and I felt the familiar feel of aetheric healing. I focused on it as the warmth spread and dirt and tiny stones were pushed out of the flesh. I thought I had cleaned the wound well, but I was wrong by the amount of material being extruded. Next time, I would save a potion for myself. When he was finished, he returned to studying the ground with whatever magic he was using. I returned to the others who were setting up their tents and going through all the gear from the comrades. Laying out weapons, personal items, and bulky gear in three piles. The two men looked up, their faces black with dirt. My own face could not look much better. One man said, “Besides the coin purses, you can take what you want. We will get the coin to their families through the Legion Hall.” I walked over and picked up the best spear of the bunch and the spear I had brought with me and dropped when I had been thrown back when the archer exploded in front of me.

“I am glad someone thinks so,” I looked quickly at the mage to indicate who I was talking about.

A grunt of agreement, and then he said, “We never experienced a defeat like this before.” I would not contradict him, arguing that it was a victory since the giant was slain. It certainly felt like we had lost. “We have sustained heavy injuries before, but Durandus usually heals us right after the fighting.”

The other man added, “And he has never been injured that badly in battle.” He picked up some small black bags in a pile. He whispered to me, “Want some glow stones? If you pawn them, they are worth over a gold piece, and we will not take them all.” I still had the one from Leonidus but bent down and scooped up seven. The stones were the size of a small chicken egg and maybe four ounces each. He smirked and nodded as I brought them to my pack. I felt like he was offering me a reward for my efforts in the fighting. Two pounds of glow stones was a fair amount of weight, so they would be added to my dimensional storage later. I returned and sat with them.

“Do you think we will be heading back tomorrow?” someone asked another man. I was happy that they were talking around me. Surviving the near-death experience had brought me into their trusted circle.

“Probably. He might have spells to see deep into that muddy earth, but he doesn’t have a single one to dig,” his fellow said with some malice directed at the mage.

I asked, “Does he always loot the legionaries for essence when they die?” They looked at each other and then back at me.

One shook his head, “No. Well. Usually, a dozen monster corpses keep him busy, and we rarely lose anyone. I have been with him for almost four years. Although we rotate the men in our company, I think only nine,” he paused thinking, “no ten have died in all that time. Most of our missions are escorting some baron or baroness between cities. We typically just see a wandering monster or a few bandits.”

I nodded. “I am filthy. I am going to bathe in the swamp,” I laughed at the absurdity of it—going into murky water to get clean. “Can you come and guard me for a short while?” Both men struggled to their feet, and a few men joined us.

We stripped and bathed in pairs while the five others remained on watch. Four men remained to watch over the engrossed mage. The filth was real, and even bathing in murky water, I was thrilled to get cleaner. I pulled some things out of my hair that I cared not to identify and just flung them away.

I thought about taking one of the dead man’s pants or even pulling one from my storage. We had only stripped the bodies of armor and possessions, not clothes. We buried them with their clothes.

The man I washed with tried to start a conversation, “This water is not bad. I remember passing a swamp as a child with leeches as big as my fist!”

I noticed one of the black bottom-feeding fish scurry away from my feet, and I swore and kicked at it. Stumbling back, my foot caught on a root, and I fell in. The man laughed, but I did not appreciate his humor. He was one of the archers I saved with a healing potion. He continued to talk, obviously trying to make me uncomfortable, “You know, now that the storm and lightning have cleared, I bet the giant frogs will return with the other predators. Your company killed a big snake? Wonder if there are any more in the swamp?”

I played his game and acted nonchalant. “Yeah, took all twenty of us to bring it down, and it swallowed two men during the fight. They barely survived. With any fewer men, and without our mage, they would have drowned in the snake’s gut.”

It worked as he suddenly became more observant of the surrounding water. I finished cleaning as best I could and returned to my tent. I pulled all eight of the glow stones into my dimensional space. I was not going to carry the extra two pounds out of the swamp. Around mid-day, with nothing left to do, I milled about the piles of equipment since everyone had now picked it over.

Each of the dead men had their prized possessions whittled down to a small sack for their families. At least I would not have to help carry them out. Well, so far, I did not think I would have to. I probably would if asked. It felt too much like robbing the dead to me. This was not a fantasy game where looted people. Still, I searched for something more edible to eat. I had one bag of trail mix left and the ration bars. One canteen smelled like wine, but I was not in the mood. I found some wrapped sausage, which I munched on while I ate. I also found the heavy metal fishing line with the hook the soldier used. I pocketed it.

The soldiers had packed fairly light, so there was not much of interest. I added a small sewing kit; just a wallet of needles and heavy thread, a small jar of horse rub for chafing, and a small, wonderfully crafted wooden flute wrapped in an oiled cloth. I couldn’t play a lick, but maybe I would find the time, and it was a beautiful instrument. It would have been a shame to leave the flute behind weather in the elements.

As I returned to my tent to rest, the mage finally broke his gaze and returned to our camp. He seemed to be seeing it for the first time, his daze broken. He was completely healed and only looked slightly pale from lack of sleep and aether usage.

“We will be returning in an hour. You can pack everything up.” He looked over at the pile of gear I was standing at. “Take what you can carry.” With those words, he went to his larger tent that had been set up by the men and started to eat his own rations. He deeply thought about whatever he had found and ignored everyone as we picked up the camp.

An hour later, Durandrus packed up his tent and carried his backpack out of the swamp. The rest of the men were too burdened with gear to help him. We were going to have to stay the night on one of the small islands.

The mage was distracted as we made our way through, and twice, the men in the lead fell into deeper waters. Both times, Durandus had to save them with his magic from drowning with their heavy packs. When the sun set, Durandus chose an island, and we began to set up camp. As we did so, one of the giant frogs found us. A man had been shitting on the island’s far side, and the frog grabbed him and pulled him in and under with its rope-like tongue. Durandus scrambled from his position, but the frog was already in deep waters with its prize. Durandus fumed, “You are all getting sloppy! In dangerous terrain, it is three! Three men at all times together!” He continued yelling at the legionnaires, but they were numb to the verbal assault. When he was done with his tirade, they returned to camp duties, mourning the loss of their companion in silence.

I realized the man taken was the one I had bathed with in the swamp water. Well, he was right about one thing. The predators of the swamp were returning to their territory now that the storm had been dispersed.