Liam was hastily woken in the morning by Jorren, half-dressed, uniform unbuttoned in the front. Jorren had a wild look in his eyes that scared Liam more than being woken unexpectedly.
“Wake up and get dressed!” Jorren yelled at him.
“What’s going on?” Liam sleepily demanded.
“We’re being attacked!”
Liam shot off his bedroll and gathered his supplies, following Jorren out of the tent city. He could see the fighting had started not long before he was jolted awake. He could see hardly any dead piled at the side. Lines broken, Salatians and Anatalians intermixed into a hoard of clanging metal. Liam steeled himself and unsheathed his blade, charging into the thick of it, where the sounds of swords and screams surrounded him. He and Jorren were not in the battle long before their swords connected with the enemy.
Liam’s heart thudded rapidly in his chest, feeling as though it would burst any second. He could hear the screams of his fellow soldiers intermingling with the enemy’s as casualties of both sides fell. Liam screamed himself, the involuntary action giving him a boost of courage as he ran forward to plunge his sword into the last of the adversaries in his line of sight.
Bile rose in Liam’s throat as his enemy fell off his sword, turning to reveal a man younger than he. The boy had had so much to live for, but Liam had stolen that from him. He could hold his stomach no longer, the acidity of his regurgitant burning his throat and nose.
Liam struggled to breath, hands on his knees. They had been promised they would see no battles firsthand, clearly a lie told to Lord General Crompton’s detail to make them less apprehensive about the war.
“Liam!” Jorren yelled out to him, running to Liam’s side. Jorren took a defensive stance, ready to fight off any other attackers that came near the two.
Liam gasped for breath as his stomach continued to lurch, unable to straighten.
“Hurry up and finish,” Jorren yelled at him as more attackers came at him.
Gasping for breath, Liam was finally able to stand as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He faltered slightly but was able to stay upright. There were few combatants left, most of them retreating behind their camp lines. The battle was over, most of the fallen men wearing Salatian uniforms. Come morning, Liam was sure there would be a surrender from the enemy’s commander, and the Anatalian soldiers would be on their way to Chenalieu in Salatia to take the city in the name of King Sorren of Anatalia.
Oliphant smirked at the pair returning. “Have you quite recovered?”
Liam glared at the pompous lord, whose clothes showed no signs of fighting. No doubt, he had stayed in the back to ensure he did not dirty his hands. Liam stayed quiet, unwilling to quarrel after a long battle. He hadn’t the energy for it.
“Would you like me to gather your petticoats?” Oliphant taunted, the smirk deepening on his cretinous face. “Or perhaps find you a lady’s maid to put you to bed?”
Jorren grabbed Liam by the shoulder as he turned to confront Oliphant, pulling him toward their tent. “He isn’t worthy of a reply.”
“You should have let the lady die, Jorren!” the lord yelled after them, his laugh dancing behind them as they retreated.
The men set up camp on the edges of Chenalieu to rest for the night before they waged war on the morrow. Liam helped set up the lord general’s war tent with Jorren, weary from a long day of travel.
“Get over here!” The lord general bellowed at the two of them. Crompton wiped his forehead, glistening with sweat from the heat of the afternoon. He had a closely cropped beard that made his cheek bones look severe on his already thin face.
Jorren gave Liam a look and went to their lord general. “Yes, Your Grace?”
“This is the wrong spot,” he seethed. “Find somewhere else to set up my war tent.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Liam quickly said before Jorren could respond. Jorren had a penchant for letting his mouth run and getting himself in trouble.
Jorren glared at the Duke of Rivack’s back. “Arrogant ba—”
“Jorren!” Liam cut him off. Despite Liam disliking their lord general’s overwhelming arrogance, he would not hear his fellow soldiers disrespect their superior.
Jorren rolled his eyes at Liam but went to take down the tent nonetheless. He helped Liam bring the tent one hundred feet farther back. The soldiers grunted with their effort to drive the stakes into the ground.
As they finished, Liam wiped his brow with the back of his hand as he stood. “Will there be anything else, Your Grace?”
Crompton curled his lip, looking at the disheveled soldier. “No. Now get out of my sight.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Liam said through clenched teeth. He clapped Jorren on the back as he led him away from the lord general’s tent. “Let’s get some of the slop they call food.”
Jorren chuckled and followed Liam to the line for their dinner. They were the last soldiers in line, and it was starting to get dark. Jorren curled his lip at the taste of the swill the military thought appropriate to serve the soldiers. Liam felt the same, but he had to eat. There was little point in starving to death in a war. He could hear others muttering their disgust as they ate their rations.
Liam laughed openly at Jorren as he lifted and dropped the lumpy white substance that landed with a hard plop, causing the rest in his bowl to jiggle. “Do you not like the taste of our gourmet food?”
Jorren dumped the rest of his slop out onto the ground. “Sleep well, Liam, we battle in the morning.”
Liam had his back pressed against Jorren’s, Salatian soldiers coming toward each of them. He felt Jorren push off first, bellowing as he charged the enemy soldier. Liam charged his own combatant, sword raised. His leather boots splashed through the puddles of blood as he ran, swords clashing against each other. Liam’s muscles strained as his enemy tried to overpower him, their weapons grinding heavily as they warred.
The soldiers fought as the sun sank in the distance, many tripping on body parts severed in battle. Liam himself stumbled several times as he made his way toward the oncoming Salatians, letting out a strangled yell when he stumbled on the head of one of his fellow soldiers. He could feel his muscles starting to strain the longer he fought. He came across a Salatian holding a bloodied scythe, one the enemy soldier had more than likely used for harvest. The beast of a man greedily turned toward Liam, bloodlust in his eyes, raising his scythe with a battle cry.
Liam tried to pull back, the bloodied blade catching him in the chest. Pain erupted as blood soaked his shirt. Not without effort, Liam raised his sword to meet the second swing of the scythe, wincing as the weapons met viciously. They battled against each other for a time, neither gaining ground. Liam slowed as his wound throbbed, panic rising when the larger man pushed Liam farther back. He could take little more fighting with his wound draining the strength from his arms. The Salatian raised his scythe high to finish off Liam. He stiffened as Liam’s blade stabbed him.
Liam let out a relieved breath, removing his sword. He looked about the darkened battlefield, hearing both sides call for a retreat. There had been countless losses on both sides; no doubt, the Salatians and Anatalians both needed to regroup before they could continue their battle. The lord generals would call for a truce to last the night so the men could collect their dead and send their spirits to rest as they had the previous nights.
“Jorren?” Liam called out, worry gripping his stomach. He could not find his companion, having lost sight of him during the battle.
“Jorren! Where are you?” He yelled louder, turning around in circles as he searched for his friend.
“Watch where you’re going,” Oliphant growled when Liam accidentally ran into him. “Now I have to have my servant clean my uniform again.”
“Not like it got dirty in the first place.” Liam winced in pain as his chest burned with the new contact.
“What did you say to me?” Oliphant shoved him farther away, landing a blow that caused Liam to grunt in pain.
“Not like it got dirty anyway,” Liam reiterated with his hand on his sword.
Oliphant rammed his first into the bloody spot on Liam’s shirt, causing him to yelp. His chest burned and throbbed from the assault. Liam glared at the noble, clenching his fists at his side.
“Don’t speak to me in that tone, peasant.” Oliphant turned to walk away.
Liam grabbed Oliphant by the scruff of his neck, throwing him to the ground. He looked over the now-dirtied uniform callously. “You should have paid more attention to your training, Oliphant.”
Rubbing his chest, Liam returned to the campsite they had made the previous day. Many tents would be left empty that night. The soldiers who had seen the brunt of the fighting were either dead or severely injured. Liam’s own large gash on his chest needed to be sewn back together in order to heal. He would look for Jorren in the healer’s tent before he would allow himself to panic.
The healer’s tent was over capacity when Liam arrived, many of the men sharing a bed by lying head to foot. His eyes sought out the familiar face of Jorren. Liam had not yet seen him when he was pulled onto a table to have his wound doused with alcohol to sanitize it. His cry of agony joined the chorus of the other men being treated. A healer gave Liam a strip of leather already marred with teeth marks from others to bite on for the pain. He bit down hard as a large hooked needle plunged into his chest to close his wound. The healer finished by rubbing a foul-smelling paste on Liam’s wound.
Liam tried to sit and put on his bloodied shirt, but the healer pushed him back down. “You need to stay here and rest,” the healer said.
Liam looked at him through squinted eyes. “I’m taking up a bed that could be used by someone in need.”
“You need the bed,” the healer protested. “You need to wait to see if you have an adverse reaction to the poultice!”
Liam rolled his eyes and waited until the healer was distracted with a new patient before he rose and left the tent. He was able to walk and did not want to take a bed for someone who could not. His eyes searched the crowd for Jorren as he traveled toward their shared tent. Panic gripped him as he thought about the possibility he might not see Jorren again. He could not find his friend anywhere. Liam did not want to admit it was even a possibility his friend could have been slain.
Lord General Crompton was exiting his tent when Liam passed by on the way to his own lodging.
“Your Grace,” he called out respectfully.
Lord General Crompton looked disgusted at the sight of Liam’s bloodied shirt, his high forehead looking even higher with his brows raised. “Clean yourself up before you speak to me.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Liam winced as he bowed, going back to his tent.
He was still anxious to find Jorren. He was really the only friend Liam had. Liam lay in his tent and tried to get comfortable with his wound. He closed his eyes, remembering the day vividly.
The next day of fighting was bloodier than the previous. Liam felt physically sick at the sight. He had taken more lives than he could count. He was covered in blood that was not his own, and the copper tang of it made him want to relieve his stomach of anything currently residing within. Jorren was still nowhere to be found, and Liam had no other choice but to believe his friend was dead, as all the other missing men from their army were presumed to be. Despite their losses, the Anatalian troops still thoroughly defeated the Salatian soldiers as they attacked Chenalieu.
Another halt was called to collect the dead from the battlefield for another massive funeral pyre. Liam searched each face brought in for his missing friend. None of them had Jorren’s features. None of them had any features, really; their faces were devoid of any feelings they might have had while they were alive. Liam pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes to fight back his tears.
There were no attacks during the funerals, and the pyres could be seen clearly between the two camps. Liam could not watch for long, his heart sinking at the useless loss of life happening because of this war. He imagined there would be many other occasions that he would see such a sight, but tonight, he could not remain to see the souls depart.
Liam returned to his tent, wanting nothing more than to return to the Duke of Rivack’s lands and escape to his parents’ home, where there was no talk of war or death, no being forced to murder men performing the same duty to their country he was. Liam lay in his tent with his blanket over his eyes, wishing for sleep to come.
No sleep came, however.
Liam shifted uncomfortably as he tried to relieve the burning in his chest; the wound had reopened in the day’s battle. There must be something that he could do to induce sleep. As Liam left his tent to have a look around the camp, he saw Lord General Crompton leaving his own tent without his guard. The wind picked up, and it smelled like rain was about to douse the funeral pyres.
Liam watched the lord general wave away the guards standing at attention around the perimeter of the camp, walking into the woods unattended. The lord general went past the line of camp toward the Salatian side. Liam’s brow furrowed in confusion as he followed Crompton. Liam heard another man call out a familiar greeting to the Lord General Crompton. Liam hid behind a large trunk to sneak glances at the two men meeting.
“Lord General Baur,” Crompton replied curtly, nodding.
Liam reeled back in shock when he saw that Lord General Crompton was meeting with their enemy’s commander. He strained to hear the lord generals speaking, catching enough to gather what was happening. Lord General Crompton was revealing to the enemy exactly where their forces would be over the coming weeks. It was information that would turn the tide of the war against the Anatalians, possibly even cause them to lose. That was not a possibility Liam wanted to entertain.
“Be there in the reserves with your best men,” Crompton told the Lord General Baur, a smaller man than he. “I’ll make sure my men are worn out before your soldiers take the rest of them.”
“Why are you helping us?” Lord General Baur asked curiously, his short hair tossed about by the strengthening wind. “What is it that you hope to gain?”
“Sorren is a disgusting lout who deserves neither to rule a country nor to live much longer. He’s more interested in his secret lovers than being a true king. Anatalia deserves better,” Crompton growled. “As for gain, that is none of your concern.”
After a moment of silence—clearly shaken by Crompton’s words, if Liam had judged correctly—Lord General Baur tossed Crompton the money he was promised. “My king thanks you for your service.”
“Tell him there are plans in place for Anatalian men to head for the capital from three different directions.”
Liam let out a strangled noise, unable to contain it.
“Who’s there?” Lord General Baur demanded harshly, looking at Crompton accusingly. “Is this your doing?”
“No,” he clipped. Crompton’s back was stiff as he scanned the tree line. “No one is there, my lord. I can assure you, I’ve been very careful.”
Liam sank down as far as he could behind the tree, looking frantically for a route of escape. His heart thudded against his chest as his panic grew. He pressed his body into the wood, almost wishing he could sink into it. There was no route that would not show him plainly to the lord generals. He tried to cover himself with branches as quietly as possible to keep anyone from spying him easily when they left.
Liam waited until he heard the two lord generals retreat before he relaxed. It felt like he was sitting there for hours, but it had likely only been minutes. He let out a breath and pulled the branches away from himself.
“What are you doing spying, dog?” a voice demanded, making Liam jump.
Liam leaped to his feet, unable to hide the guilt from his face. It was Lieutenant Alton Bryant. Liam didn’t know what to make of it—was it a plot to trick the enemy, or was it really what it seemed? “I was worried Lord General Crompton would be attacked being out by himself, so I followed…but you would have no reason to worry, though, would you? You’re working for the enemy!” Liam thought perhaps he could flush out their plot with an accusation.
The lieutenant rolled his eyes. “Stop acting like a child.”
Liam’s face scrunched in apprehension. He expected something from the lieutenant, excuses or rebuffing, but none came. He tried again, “You’re both traitors to our king.”
“You are wrong.” Lieutenant Bryant smirked. He took his dagger out of its sheath, pointing it at Liam. “You are the traitor. You came here to meet with Lord General Baur because you hate our beloved king and you want to see another on the throne.”
Realization dawned on Liam that he had gotten himself into a situation he couldn’t get out of. “But you—”
Lieutenant Bryant cut Liam off with a sharp rap to the temple with the butt of his dagger.