Both Sides of Battle
Ok so I know that I haven't actually put anything on here in like...I don't even know how long but I thought it was about time I made a comeback and tried putting some of my writing major to good use.
Anyway, a little backstory to this lil ol' fic o' mine. Basically the story is a fantasy war fic told from the perspectives of two characters - one on each side. One perspective will be told in the form of journal entry and the other in the form of prose (just to make things interesting).
I think that's all you need to know at the moment. As always comment / questions are welcome and I hope you enjoy it ^__^
Journal Entry One
March 8th 537 A.C.
If you’re reading this then one of two things has happened, either I’m dead, or the war is over. For your sake, I hope it’s the latter. As I write this, our country sits in its sixth year of conflict. I wonder how many more will pass before my entries cease.
My name is Timothy Sharptalon and I’ve just graduated from Telfren’s Military Academy. After tonight I will be a true member of Heiran’s military and I will have my first tastes of battle, vengeance and victory. If nothing else survives the bloodshed that follows, then let this journal serve as a record of our nation’s first and greatest war.
You may be reading this with doubt in your mind so I’ll do my best to ease it. I don’t want my words disregarded in case they serve some importance in the future.
Our Kingdom, Heiran, is little more than 500 years old; a fledgling compared to the four great nations that surround its boarders. All kinds of people live here; we are a Kingdom of immigrants, a Kingdom of those who seek better than what they have. It is a good place with thriving cities and strong economies. Unlike our neighbours, our people value the efforts of those who tend the farms and fish in the rivers. Honest, hardworking people. People like my family.
To say we had a life as good as those who lived inside the Wall would be a lie but to say that our lives were not good at all would be a greater one. We were paid well for our efforts, even if the crops were bad one year we never went hungry. The land we worked belonged to us and us alone and it was the same for all who lived in our farming settlement. Our lives were peaceful. We knew nothing of the stress and tension of the city-folk save for what we heard from the trade merchants who visited us. We never heard anything from the other villages. That’s why the attack was so devastating.
They came at night after we’d finished taking in the harvest. We heard screaming and when my father went to look outside, one of them grabbed him. Two more came and forced us outside with their blades. They dressed like bandits in dark, loose cotton, their faces hidden beneath scarves. They moved us to the centre of the village where other families stood together shivering. Children clung to their mothers’ skirts or hid behind the legs of their fathers. The babies were screaming but no one tried to silence them. We were too afraid to speak. We didn’t know what they wanted.
A man came, riding a stallion of black deeper than I’d ever seen. He rode to where we all could see him then pulled down his scarf so we could see his face. He had deep, coffee-coloured eyes, thick, arched eyebrows and greasy, black hair. His nose was long and hooked over thin lips. There was three-day-old stubble on his chin.
“Listen up!” His voice was crisp and young though his face was worn with age. He settled his horse and spoke again. “I am here for your sons. You may keep those who cannot walk. Hand them over of they will be ripped from you.”
Those who were old enough to think rationally offered themselves; their parents sobbing in their wake. I knew I would have to go but my father, like many others, held me back. One of the bandits came over to him and threatened to beat him if he didn’t let me go. My father responded with words I’d never heard before and was knocked to the ground. The bandit kicked his face until it bled. When he threatened to break his ribs, I went.
The bandit led me towards their leader. I was trying so hard not to cry or think about the fact that I would never see my family again that I didn’t realise my mother had screamed “Ira!” until my escort howled in pain and dropped to one knee. My sister of nine years stood over him, his weapon in her hand. Blood dripped slowly off the tip. She ordered me back to my parents then kicked the gash she had made in the man’s left shin as he tried to rise. As he fell, she attacked him with language so vulgar it would have made our father proud.
I ran to my mother’s open arms.
Their leader went to Ira with what I could only describe as amusement on his face. She pointed the blade at him and told him bluntly, “You can’t have my brother.”
“I have to take someone.” He was completely cool. I remember thinking, despite the fear and panic that filled me, that he seemed pleased.
“You take me then.”
Our mother pleaded with her but I don’t think she heard.
“Gutsy for a brat.” He looked as if he was contemplating her proposal but deep down I knew he’d already decided. “You put down that new toy of yours and you can come.”
She threw down the weapon and took the hand he offered to her. He swung her onto his horse and placed her between him and the mane. From there my memory fails me. They gathered their hostages and left our village only to attack others; taking daughters as well as sons from then on.
That was ten years ago. Three years later, our Kingdom declared war on a still unknown enemy. Each one of our neighbours swore innocence but declared our affair to be an internal matter and offered us no support. Trade continued unhindered. Their carts were never touched by our enemy.
Ira and the other children were sold to slavers and the coins received for their flesh bought soldiers and weapons to bolster the enemy’s ranks. In my third year at Telfren our enemy was given a name: Bal’Tran. Roughly translated, it means Shadow Snake in the old tongue. It is a fitting title and once its head is destroyed I will watch with pleasure as the body withers and dies behind it.
Now you know the truth of things. I feel I should add more but my time is short and my wrist aches. It has been a long time since I wrote so much and never so honestly. I will end it here. The dinner bell will ring soon and after that the graduates will meet and display their skills in combat, riding and archery. The Captains that arrived yesterday will watch us and decide who they wish to take to fill the missing numbers in their squads. The rest will form new squads. By day’s end I will have my Captain and my barracks. I will put them here if I’ve strength left before sleeping.
*
My Captain is a man named Brightalon. Another soldier and I will be joining his squad at Celene Barracks. We ride there tomorrow. It will take three days. I can’t wait.
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It's too intriguing to stop expanding it.
