Garinor looked all around and realized he wasn’t meant to oversee these things. He understood that, in time, he could be trained to deal with such issues, but he didn’t enjoy the thought of spending his entire life burdened by them.
He strode around the camp seeking the prince, who was already aligned to such matters. It didn’t take long to find him, mixed in with other foot soldiers and striking up idle conversation. He seemed happy not having the fate of the army sitting on his shoulders.
Garinor called him aside and he went immediately. They took refuge inside the tent Garinor was using as his own and there he made his plea.
“It’s too much for me,” he finished. “Will you accept it back? All of it? Can we go back to your original offer? I can’t take this responsibility.”
The prince considered him for a time. “Under such circumstances with a merchant, reneging on a deal like this would leave you much worse for wear than if you had agreed outright. But this is different. I can see that you are truly troubled and I cannot blame you for wanting to try it for yourself. I will uphold my end of the bargain as we originally spoke, and I will accept the duties for which I have been trained.”
Garinor heaved a grateful sigh and thanked the prince heartily. Soon after, the prince swept into command and the whole regiment was on the move toward the north. Garinor stayed back with the supply wagons to keep things underway there. There wasn’t much for him to do and it was a relatively peaceful part of the journey.
But it didn’t last for long.
At some point, a scout darted into sight and reported animatedly to the prince. Things went into a blaze of action. Garinor watched as the prince shouted orders, seemingly five at a time. He would speak and groups of men immediately sprang into action. It was amazing to watch. Soon the army was divided into four main forces. One force split off to the east, apparently to set up an ambush. One was left to lag behind, and Garinor was grateful to be part of that, while the remaining two groups pushed to the front, led by the prince himself, swords poised for battle.
The main forces crested the rise and ran pell-mell into the fight. Garinor listened to the cries and shouts of pain and he found it difficult to imagine being at the front of such a thing.
It was some time before he lost patience and he crept up to the hilltop to peer down at the carnage below. The sight was difficult for him to take in, with bodies strewn about and more falling by the moment. Standing there, with the sky as a giant glowing backdrop, he was highlighted well, and when he was seen, some of the enemy forces broke off to hunt him down.
Garinor realized in a panic what was about to happen. He dashed back to the supply wagons and called out for others to protect themselves. Grabbing a short sword, he whipped around and met the first man who dove forward. Their swords met in a shower of sparks, but the man was bigger and stronger and Garinor knew he wouldn’t last long.
Garinor crunched his foot down on the man’s toes, causing him to withdraw for a moment. Garinor didn’t think. He swung forward his blade, sinking it deep into the man’s stomach, and as his hands were washed in blood, so too was his innocence washed away.
After that, Garinor caught the fever of the battle and he raced about from one place to another, digging his sword in to unsuspecting villains. Sometimes his scores were minor, but other times he felled them for good. His most difficult foe was a woman whose rage was unmatched by any he had faced so far. She was cut and gashed in numerous places, and when she turned her gaze toward Garinor, he knew his end was near.
She lunged for him with a blood-curdling cry that set Garinor shaking. He brought his sword up instinctually against her attack and barely blocked it. She didn’t pause. Placing one foot down, she lowered her arms and spun around in a full circle, using the momentum of her spin to strike. Garinor jumped aside in time, but the blade cut into his arm, nicking the bone. He crumpled at once.
He would have died then if not for the prince, who ran forward and caught the woman from behind. The gash across her back only slowed her a little, and she pushed with unbridled anger to fell her new opponent. The prince turned his strategy solely to defense.
The only thing that saved him was the arrival of his third contingent of men, who had circumvented the camp and came barreling in from the east. They rushed forcefully and angrily into the fray and their sudden presence distracted the woman from the battle. The prince didn’t hesitate to bring her down.
A while later, Garinor’s wounds were dressed and he was imbibing large amounts of heady wine. The prince visited him at last and checked the bandage that, even after hours of treatment, was stained with Garinor’s blood. He was weakened and it was a wonder he hadn’t died. It was clear he would need a true healer’s services if he was going to recover from such a wound.
The prince kept his tone respectful and low as he commended Garinor for his actions that day. “You fought like a noble warrior,” he said. “And I am grateful to have you among my army.”
The conversation was shortened by the arrival of a messenger who informed the prince that some of the prisoners had managed to escape.
“Forgive me, as I must attend to these matters,” he said to Garinor. “Drink well and sleep off the deepest aches tonight. For me, duty calls yet again.”
Garinor settled back down. He was grateful the call to act was not his to answer. He was relieved he had turned control back over to the prince. With a deep sigh, he let the effects of the wine take over and he fell asleep.