So Much Lost

“What’s taking so long, boy? Not getting soft on us, are you? There’s no place for softness here. I could give one of the others a try… they could start with you.” The man’s sneer was ugly, plastered across cheeks rosy with too much drink. The boy in question stuttered, wiping the glistening blade on cotton pants. He was a macabre sight at this point. Blond hair no longer golden in the sun but almost brown with the tragedies of the day.

“No sir, I was just fascinated by his weapon. May I keep it?” Though his voice was forced and rough, his hands did not shake. His new role was too important for that.

A twisted, jovial huff of laughter escaped with the putrid breath of the officer as he crossed to his quarry, placing a rough and dirty hand on a slight shoulder.

“Sure, my lad, of course, you may take anything you find from the dead. It’s not as though they’ll need it any longer. But if there’s money or ale to be found, you know who that goes to. Right, lad?”

The unfriendly squeeze on the boy’s shoulder left no room to wonder where his place was. Scum on the bottom of the army’s shoes.

“Yes, sir” Straight faced and respectful, the boy grimaced inside, horrified by what he had just witnessed, done… heard. He doubted the screams would ever leave his nightmares if not his waking thoughts. But this man could see none of that. Not if the boy were to survive.

“Good kid, you just keep remembering that.” The stumbling saunter in the man’s step as he drunkenly wandered away was greeted by cheering for a fight well won by equally inebriated comrades.

Fight well won… right… well won. Don’t count the lives lost, the treachery necessary to make their victory assured, the cloak and dagger in the dark. Don’t hear the wails of the lost and broken, the pleading rasps of the dying. Don’t smell the iron tang, don’t taste it on your tongue. Don’t look at the death, the needless loss.

For what? All for a battle well won, they say. Most knew better. Knew the deception was in vain, that figureheads rule a country and a people of lies. We won, at what cost, for what? Nothing, that’s what. Victory for the sake of slaughter. Nothing gained and so much lost.

The boy knelt back down at the dead man’s side. He plucked a weapon from the dirty ground beside and stood with a new purpose and resolve. The boy couldn’t even say that his life had just become more dangerous, because all who still drew breath were bound to be dragged into the perils of the coming night. At least now the child had a reason to step foot into that night with the slightest glimpse at the far off dawn.

She was plain. Colorful, but not extraordinary. No visible talents, magic, or links to speak of. Just plain.