A Mercenary's Price (Final Draft)

Esrek gazed out into the campsite. A damp-dirt smell filled the night – normally a good omen for a plentiful harvest. But there were thousands of men moving through the sea of tents. They were more like ghosts instead of soldiers: silently deserting.

“Where are they going, Troeg?”

“They’re leaving … to fight for them.” Troeg replied, never lifting his gaze from his hands. He was caressing his dark-blue uniform: the colors of the Kingdom of Kanta.

Esrek was silent. An emptiness formed right above his stomach.

“The surviving scout reported that the enemy has …” He paused, “thousands of swordsmen, hundreds of cavalry, and eleven sorcerers.”

A knot formed in Esrek’s throat. “S-sorcerers?”

“Warlocks. Five times more deadly.” Troeg extended his arms as if to drop his uniform. He closed his eyes. Then he threw it to the ground.

“What are you doing?!”

Troeg lifted his gaze to the moonlight. He silently stood, hefting his sword and in one hand and a small pack in the other. “There is no way we can win this. I’d rather live to see another sunset than die for a lost cause.”

“You too?” Esrek knelt next to the uniform covered in dark soil. “You c-can’t leave me. I …” he fumbled, “I never even k-killed a man. Without you … Don’t leave me again.”

“Father didn’t love me as he did you, Esrek.” Troeg snapped to face him. His voice was deep and harsh. “Besides, there was no wealth in his inheritance. No future.”

I loved you. Esrek wanted to say, but the tears were already coming so he quickly turned away. He couldn’t show his brother. Esrek still loved his brother even though Troeg caused their mother such pain that she fell ill and died a month after he ran away, or that their father grew somber and never smiled again.

“Leave it in the past. Come.” His hand was outstretched towards Esrek. “There’s no hope for Kanta.”

Esrek sat, staring at his battle-hardened fingers. The emptiness grew from behind his chest to envelop his entire body. Nothing could fill it. Kanta was going to loose the battle. Half the army was defecting to fight against it.

“Why?” His voice quivered and shook. “Why are they leaving?”

“To survive.” He paused. “To feed our families.”

“What?”

“They offered me double.” His voice became hushed. “I can’t stand to see my children miss a meal again.”

Esrek choked on the knot in his throat. Greed. All that these men really cared about was money. Even my brother, Troeg.

“But your family lives in Kanta ...” Esrek glared up at Troeg, not caring for the tears gently flowing down his cheeks.

“Don’t lecture me, Esrek.” His face grew stern again.

“You’re willing to fight against your own family?” They were traitors against their king. Traitors against their families.

“I know what I’m doing!” His voice strained. He instinctively brought his hand to the hilt of his sword. “I fight for my family.”

Esrek slowly stood up. He could feel his heart beating faster, harder, louder.

“Which family?” He was shaking.

Troeg stood motionless. His breathing quickened. He brought his eyebrows together into a sharp angle.

It won’t be too difficult for him to abandon his family, like he did mine. And for what? A few extra gold coins, maybe? It would cause just as much pain and hurt to them as he did to our parents.

Esrek glanced at his spear leaning up against his tent. But he couldn’t. He still loved Troeg.

But.

“Enough. If you remain here; then I will not stay my sword on the battlefield.” He was frowning. Troeg was serious. As he always had been.

“Don’t hurt them, the way you did our family,” Esrek sobbed. “The way you did me.”

“Goodbye, little brother.” He shouldered his pack and turned to join the procession of deserters.

A wave of heat began to fill Esrek’s emptiness; coursing through his arms and legs. He grasped his spear, gazing at it with wide eyes. Then in one chaotic motion he stabbed his brother just below the shoulder blade. Troeg coughed blood and fell, yanking the spear out of Esrek’s trembling hands. A silent moment passed between them. Troeg’s eyes grew dim; then alone.

“I’m sorry big brother.” Esrek burst into another stream of tears. Kneeling he cradled Troeg’s head in his quivering arms. “I can’t let you hurt anyone else.”

Another sob.

“I loved you.”

A Mercenary's Price (4th draft)

Esrek gazed out into the campsite. Hundreds, no, thousands of men were weaving through the sea of tents. They were like ghosts; leaving. Deserting. A strong damp-dirt smell filled the night. Normally a good omen for a plentiful harvest.

“Where are they going, Troeg?”

“They are leaving, to fight for them.” Troeg never lifted his gaze from his hands. He was holding his dark-blue uniform. The colors of the Kingdom of Kanta.

Esrek was silent. Emptiness formed in his stomach. Something was terribly wrong.

“The surviving scout reported that the enemy is unbeatable.” He paused. “Tens of thousands of swordsmen, hundreds of cavalry, and eleven sorcerers.”

A knot formed in Esrek’s throat. “Sorcerers? How?”

“I didn’t believe it either.” He extended his arms as if to drop his uniform, then stopped. He pulled it back to his chest and closed his eyes. Then without warning he threw it to the ground.

“What are you doing?!”

He lifted his gaze to the moonlight. He silently stood up hefting his sword and scabbard in one hand, and a small pack in the other. “There is no way we can win this. I’d rather live to see another sunrise than die for a lost cause.”

“You too?” He knelt next to the mud-stained uniform. “You can’t leave me. I … I never even killed a man. Without you … Don’t leave me again.”

“Father didn’t love me as he did you, Esrek.” He snapped to face him. His voice was deep and harsh. “Besides, there was no wealth in his inheritance. No future.”

I loved you. Esrek wanted to say, but the tears were already coming that he quickly turned away. He couldn’t show his brother. Even though Troeg caused their mother such pain that she fell ill and died a month after he ran away, or that their father grew solemn and never smiled again. Esrek still loved his brother.

“Leave it in the past. Come. There’s no hope for Kanta.” His hand was outstretched towards Esrek.

Esrek sat, staring at his hand. The emptiness in his stomach grew to envelop his entire body. Nothing could fill it. Kanta was going to loose the battle. Half the army was defecting to fight against it.

“Why?” He sobbed. His voice quivered and shook. “Why are they leaving?”

“To live. To survive.” He paused. “To feed our families.”

“What?”

“They offered me double.” His voice became hushed. “I can’t stand to see my children miss a meal again.”

Esrek choked on the knot in his throat. Greed. All that these men really cared about, was money. Even my brother, Troeg.

“But your family lives in Kanta ...” Esrek glared up at Troeg, not caring for the tears slowly flowing down his cheeks.

“Don’t lecture me, Esrek.” His face grew stern again.

“You’re willing to fight against your own family?” They were traitors against their king. Traitors against their families.

“I know what I’m doing!” His voice strained. He quickly brought his hand to the hilt of his sword. “I fight for my family.”

Esrek slowly stood up. He could feel his heart beating faster.

“Which family?” He was shaking.

Troeg stood motionless. His breathing quickened. He brought his eyebrows together into a sharp angle.

It wont be too difficult for him to abandon his family, like he did mine. And for what? A few extra gold coins, maybe? It would cause just as much pain and hurt to them as he did to our parents.

Esrek glanced at his spear leaning up against his tent. But he couldn’t. He loved Troeg.

But.

“Enough. If you’re not with me; then I will not stay my sword on the battlefield.” He was frowning. Troeg was serious. As he always had been.

“Don’t hurt them, the way you did our family,” Esrek sobbed. “The way you did me.”

“Goodbye, little brother.” He shouldered his pack and turned to join the procession of deserters.

A wave of heat began to fill Esrek’s emptiness, coursing through his arms and legs. He grasped his spear, gazing at it with wide eyes. Then in one chaotic motion he stabbed his brother just below the shoulder blade. Troeg coughed loudly and fell, yanking the spear out of Esrek’s trembling hands. A silent moment passed between them. Eyes locked.

“I’m sorry big brother.” Esrek burst into another stream of tears. Kneeling he cradled Troeg’s head in his quivering arms. “I can’t let you hurt anyone else.”

Another sob.

“I loved you.”

A Mercenary's Price (3rd draft)

A shadow passed by the tent. Esrek jumped out from under his blanket. He forgot that he was no longer on his farm. Icy wind blew the flap open with a loud clap.

“It’s alright, Esrek.” Troeg’s voice was a whisper.

“What is it?” His heart was beating quickly.

“It’s over. We’re leaving.” his voice was calm but hushed. Hiding something. Neither a frown nor a smile on his face. He was strapping on his well-used uniform. Such an honorable and prideful uniform.

Troeg silently slipped out of the tent. He stood motionless in the yellow moonlight. His hand rested instinctively on the hilt of his sword. He appeared so majestic.

Esrek scrambled out, almost tripped. After regaining control he pulled a ripped and torn  brown tunic over his head. He then looped a dark-blue sash over his left shoulder. The military sash of the great Kingdom of Kanta. Allegiance.

He gazed out into the campsite. Hundreds, no, thousands of men were weaving through the sea of tents. They were like ghosts silently moving away from the camp. They were leaving. He shivered.

“Where are they going?” his voice quivered, and cracked.

“Away from death.” He took a deep breath.

Esrek was silent. An emptiness formed in his stomach. Cold, he hugged himself.

“They heard the report from the only surviving scout.” Troeg answered his thoughts, “The enemy is unbeatable.”

A knot formed in Esrek’s throat. “So they’re leaving us?”

“Yes.” Troeg paused and unclipped his dark-blue sash. He held it for a moment, hesitating. Then without warning he threw the sash to the ground. A small cloud of dust rose and fell, lightly covering the dark-blue color of Kanta.

“What are you doing?”

“Don’t lecture me, Esrek.” He was still looking at the defiled sash, now tattered with splotches of brown dirt. He took a deep breath.

“You can’t leave me.” Esrek knelt to the ground and picked up Troeg’s sash in his shivering hands. “I never even killed a man. I need you.”

“I know what I’m doing.” He turned away from the sash.

“But … but, you’re the most brave swordsman I know.” Troeg stood silent for a moment. His breathing quickened. “Why leave?”

“How dare you call me a coward!” He snapped around, eyes narrow and focused. Esrek jumped backward, bringing his arms up to protect his face from Troeg’s towering gaze. “There’s no hope for this army! See? I want to live!”

Esrek dared not answer him.

“You won’t understand.” A minute passed. Two.

Esrek was shocked. Troeg was leaving his post. His duty. His honor in order to survive. Selfish. Yet, Esrek longed to agree. To desire life and liberty. But that’s what they were fighting for, wasn’t it?

“You coming?” Troeg’s voice was quiet and firm again.

“Where?”

“To them.” It was a whisper. A dark cloud covered the moon, pouring a dark, cold shadow over the camp. A sharp painful shiver ran up Esrek’s spine.

He couldn’t believe it. These men weren’t just running. Not only cowards. They were deserting their king only to back stab him. They were disgracing their wives, and their families.

Troeg too.

Greed for survival, or worse yet; a higher pay. They dishonor their families, and for what? A few extra gold coins?

Esrek choked, coughed, and spit sour bile onto the ground. Disgusted. How can Troeg do this? He disgraces even my family. For money and for fear, he has become my enemy. Tonight. My king’s enemy. My family’s enemy.

The dark cloud silently shifted, allowing the moonlight to pour onto the camp. Esrek could feel his heart beating faster. A single drop of warmth coursed through his torso, his legs, his head, his arms.

Esrek lifted his spear and gazed at it for a moment, hesitating. Then with a single movement he impaled Troeg just beneath his shoulder. He toppled over, yanking the spear out of Esrek’s shaking hands. Troeg’s face was twisted, in ruin, and strewn with hate and fear. A silent moment passed between them. Staring.

“I’m sorry big brother.” The tears began to silently glide down Esrek’s face. Silent as the procession of the deserters making their way to the east. Kneeling he cradled Troeg’s head in his quivering arms. “But my family comes first.”

Another sob.

“So sorry.”

A Mercenary's Price

A shadow passed by on the outside of the tent. A chilling breeze passed with it, dispelling all tiredness from Esrek’s frail body. He flinched and curled up under his blanket. Cold.

“What is it, Troeg?” his voice was muffled, chilled, and broken. He shivered in the breeze.

Troeg was strapping on his uniform in the moonlight. That uniform has seen many many battles. It has brought his family much pride and honor.

“It’s over, Esrek. We’re leaving.” his voice was calm but hushed. Hiding something. Yet he was serious. Neither a frown nor a smile on his face.

Esrek sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “What’s going on?”

Troeg frowned and silently slipped out of the tent. He stood motinoless in the yellow moonlight. His hand rested instinctively on the hilt of his sword.

Esrek scrambled out into the night and slipped his mud-stained brown tunic over his head. Esrek held a dark-blue sash in his hand, ready to clip it on over his left shoulder. It was the military colors of Kanta, that distinguished friend from foe. Allegiance.

Shadows of men in the moonlight glided through the white tents, weaving their way to the east, towards the eminent battlefield. Like ghosts. Soldiers. Peasants. They were leaving. Some had their small packs on their shoulders. Others still clung to their spears.

“I never thought I’d do this.” Troeg unclipped the sash from his uniform. He held it for a moment, hesitating. Not sure of what he was doing. Then without warning he threw the sash to the ground. A small cloud of dust rose and fell, lightly covering the dark-blue color of Kanta.

“What are you doing?”

“Don’t lecture me, Esrek.” He was still looking at the defiled sash, now tattered with splotches of brown dirt. He took a deep breath.

“You can’t leave me.” Esrek knelt to the ground and picked up Troeg’s sash. He patted the dirt off. “I’ve never even killed a man!”

“I know what I’m doing.” He turned away from the sash.

“But I don’t.”

“Stay, if you wish to die.” His voice was harsh and bare.

“But ...” The procession of retreating shadows continued to grow. Half of the army must have joined the departure. Another breeze swept through the tents sending what felt like shards of ice into Esrek’s spine. Shivering did nothing to relieve the icy heartache now in his stomach. The yellow moonlight darkened, covered by black clouds.

“But, what?” he picked up his pack.

“But... you’re the most brave swordsman I know.” Troeg stood silent for a moment. His breathing quickened. “Why leave?”

“How dare you call me a coward!” He snapped around, eyes narrow and focused.

Esrek took a step backwards and bowed his head. “Sorry sire.”

“I want to live. There’s no hope for this army.” His voice was silent but strong. A minute passed.

“Then, where are we going?” Esrek hefted his spear and leaned it against his shoulder.

“To them.” It was a whisper.

Desertion. These men aren’t only cowards, but they lack all sense of honor and national pride. They had greed. Greed for survival, or worse yet; a higher pay. Esrek couldn’t believe it. All these honorable men who had beautiful wives and families were now disgracing them. Deserting them! And for what? A few extra gold coins? Their own selfish life?

Esrek choked, coughed, and spit sour bile onto the ground. Disgusted. How can he do this? He disgraces even my family. For money and for fear he has become my enemy tomorrow. Today. My nation’s enemy. My family’s enemy.

The dark cloud silently shifted, allowing the moonlight to pour onto the camp. Esrek could feel his heart beating faster. A single drop of warmth coursed through his torso, his legs, his head, his arms. Troeg turned and began walking towards the east.

Esrek lifted the spear off his shoulder and gazed at it for a moment, hesitating. Then with a single movement he impaled Troeg just beneath his shoulder blade. He toppled over, yanking the spear out of Esrek’s shaking hands. His face was twisted. In ruin strewn with hate, surprise, anger, fear, and loss. A silent moment passed between them. Staring. Their eyes locked.

“I’m sorry big brother.” The tears began to silently glide down Esrek’s face. Silent as the procession of the deserters making their way to the east. Kneeling he cradled Troeg’s head in his quavering arms. “But my family comes first.”

Another sob.

“So sorry.”

The Last Night

“Esrek!” A firm hand shook his dream-filled body. “Esrek, come on. They’re leaving.” The world was dark. The tent filled with shadows and rays of moonlight streaming through the entrance. A dark silhouette hunched over Esrek, hand extended. He stirred, coughed and attempted to waken his dormant soul.

A shadow passed by on the outside of the tent. A chilling breeze passed with it, dispelling all tiredness from Esrek’s frail body. He flinched as if someone had thrown something at him. Curled up in a ball on his blanket.

“What is it, sir Troeg?” his voice was muffled, chilled, and broken. He shivered in the breeze.

“It’s over. We’re leaving.” His face was illuminated for a brief second by the moonlight. He was serious. Neither a frown nor a smile. His crooked teeth gave the scene a gloomy feel.

“I don’t understand.” Esrek sat up rubbing his eyes with both hands, trying to eliminate his troubles and fears as well as the sleep from his eyes. “Is this retreat or a night mission?”

Troeg frowned and sharply turned away to exit the tent. He stood outside facing the bright yellow moon. He folded his arms. Tapped his foot rhythmically on the grass. Somehow he was the only patient one with Esrek. Troeg really was the only one who didn’t look down on him because of his class.

Esrek scrambled in the dark out into the night. He slipped his tattered brown tunic over his head and reached for his belt. Troeg unclipped the dark blue and green sash from his uniform. It was the military colors of Kanta that distinguished friend from foe. Allegiance. Esrek had one attached to his belt that would loop around his left shoulder.

“I never thought I’d do this.” Troeg's gaze turned to the sash in his hand. He held it for a moment, hesitating. Then without warning he threw the sash to the ground. A small cloud of dust rose and fell with Esrek’s breathing.

“What are you doing?”

“I have to. There’s no hope in victory let alone survival.” He was still looking at the defiled sash, now tattered with splotches of brown dirt. His right hand automatically glided to the hilt of his sword at his waist. He took a deep breath.

“No hope?” Esrek put a hand on his shoulder. “Come now, there’s always hope. ‘As long as you fight for your family, your nation, your pride and a few pints of ale.’ Remember?”

He laughed. A faint but weak smile. “I was ignorant then. So were they.” He waved his hand towards the camp. Shadows in the moonlight glided through the white tents, weaving their way to the east, away from the eminent battle. Like ghosts.

Another gust of ice-cold wind blew past.

“Well, what happened?”

Troeg finally lifted his gaze to face Esrek. “Only one scout returned. One out of twenty!” There was fear in his eyes. Dark and cold and empty.

Esrek tilted his head. “And...”

“Aghh! That’s bad.” He half grunted and half sighed. “That means the other nineteen are dead!” he tightly gripped Esrek’s shoulders and stared glaringly into his eyes. His hands were ice cold. They were shaking.

“Oh.”

“Do you even know who the enemy is?” Troeg shook him. He was breathing hard.

“I supposed we were fighting the Gourontin Empire.”

“That empire never existed. How can you still believe in those fairy tales?” He paused to let go of Esrek’s shoulders.

“The recruiter told me if I did not fight, our whole kingdom would be destroyed by endless fire. The Gourontin Empire is the only ...”

“The recruiter feared that no one would volunteer if they knew the truth.” He interrupted. He turned to face the countless individuals slowly weaving through the mass of tents. Their shadows stretched across the camp. A silent pilgrimage.

“What truth, Troeg?”

“The enemy is more than human. Their swords are of lightning, their bows scream thunder. Their horses are made of pure steel and yet they fly like the bluebird.” He took a deep breath. His hands continued to shake. “Against them, there is no victory. No life. No hope.”

“May the gods have mercy on us.” Esrek’s voice was faint and soft.

Troeg turned his head to face Esrek. He frowned. His chin appeared to twitch.

“I believe that they are the gods.” His jaw tightened. His hand tightly gripped his sword. “And their wrath has been kindled. It’s over. We’re running.”

Esrek stood in shock. His mouth carelessly hung open. His gaze shifted to the yellow moon. A dark cloud slowly made its way across the sky to block the moonlight and cast the world into shadow. Shadow and bitter cold.

“Are you coming or not?” Troeg waited for a moment, looking him up and down. Finally he turned and shouldered his small pack and joined the procession of shadows.

Esrek dropped his gaze from the now covered moon to the dark blue sash gripped tightly in his hands.