“They say Barrowtown’s haunted, you know?” Rilan whispered in a purposefully lower tone.
“Oh, is that right?” Tomas said, rolling his eyes. “Quit trying to scare me, it isn’t gonna work.”
“No, no. I’m serious.”
Someone was howling off in the distance. A dying man? Someone having a wound tended to? Tomas did not know, and did not want to know.
“Heard some of the other soldiers whispering about it in line for our supper,” Rilan continued. “The locals say the spirits of the dead buried in the barrows walk these lands at night. The barrows can only hold them during the day. They leave the entrances open each evening to let them out.”
As Tomas thought about it, he realised the entrances to the barrows buried beneath the rolling hills did have their entrances left open.
Could Rilan be telling the truth?
Tomas brought his shoulders to his ears to fend off the bitter breeze and looked around at the gloomy camp. A low fog descended over Barrowtown, only adding to the haunting atmosphere.
Tomas made sure to not let Rilan see as he focused on soldiers and healers and workers, studying their faces, and ruling out any ghostly apparitions that may have infiltrated them.
It’s just a story. It’s just a story.
Tomas stared at Rilan’s bloody bandage, realising it was still moist. “Are you gonna get that looked at?”
Rilan glanced up, away from his stew, towards where a group of nurses were holding a man down as a surgeon uses a bonesaw to amputate a man’s mangled foot. His screams were so loud. He failed to fight them off as the bonesaw sliced.
“Not right now. It can wait.”
Tomas nodded; others needed the healers’ attention first. Tomas recalled seeing what was left of the Barrowtown battalion heading back into town only a few hours earlier. He never wanted to see that much widespread agony ever again.
A boy missing an eye.
Another had had his ear bitten off.
Men with their guts hanging out and limbs cut off.
The images were seared into Tomas’s mind. Even when he closed his eyes to escape them, all he could see were their faces and their wounds.
He visualised the man he had killed, seeing him clear as day. His green and black armour and his organs spilling out. He could hear the moans as he lay dying.
Tomas clenched his teeth, trying to avoid the anguish.
All his life, he had grown up hearing stories of how glorious war was. Knights riding into battle atop their graceful steeds to defend their people. The magnificence of defeating your foes and returning to your bannerlords having won to receive the highest of praises.
But Tomas had never expected this level of carnage. The smells. The sounds. All the pain. He knew those who had died would transcend to the æther, to be reborn again in the afterlife, but he failed to see beauty that came with it.
Tomas sighed, putting his bowl down and sinking his face into his hands. And yet here I sit unscathed, while they suffer and die and get devoured by crows. All because I was too scared to fight properly.
Tomas looked over at Rilan. His friend was in a clear amount of pain. Perhaps I can be useful now?
“Let me have a look at it, at least. We don’t want it going rotten or anything.” Tomas was direct in his statement; he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
Rilan appeared unsure but nodded anyway. He felt something needed to be done, too.
Tomas peered over into the rucksack he had brought from home. He rummaged within it for a second before pulling out an old bottle of old ale. He was careful not to let any of the other soldiers walking about spot it, lest it become a communal drink.
Rilan chuckled. “And where on Eos, my good friend Tomas, did you get that?”
Tomas popped the cork off and took a swig of the cool, tangy drink before handing it to Rilan. “Grabbed it from father’s stash before we left. Figured we’d need it more than he would.”
Rilan laughed as he took a sip. “Right you were, Tommy, right you were.”
“Drink up before anyone finds it. You are gonna need it for the pain.”
Rilan’s face went from a smile to a frown. Tomas carefully began to unwrap the makeshift bandage as Rilan sculled the ale.
The bleeding had stopped for the most part, but the wound was left open and grotesque. Nothing about it looked clean or easily fixable. Tomas sneered at the sight. Rilan looked the other way to avoid emptying his stomach.
“Well,” Tomas began, “I don’t think it’s gonna be growing back soon.”
Rilan chuckled and sneered in pain, spitting up some of the ale. “Piss off.” The two laughed.
“We have nothing to clean it with, so I think we need to burn it. Unless you are willing to give up the rest of that ale?”
Rilan belched as he finished off the drink, tossing the bottle backwards over his head with a smile. “Fuck no.”
Judging by his attitude, Rilan was already feeling the effects of the drink.
Tomas went over and grabbed a clean dressing in amongst the healers’ supply boxes, as well as a small dagger and a bottle of honey. Most of the salves had already been used on others. He placed the tip of the blade into the fire. Once it was hot, Tomas took it out, and studied the wound again.
Rilan laughed nervously. “This is gonna hurt, isn’t it?” he muttered. His speech was becoming slurred.
Tomas sighed, before getting an idea. “Do you remember that time, when you and I were playing
