The Spoils of War

Dalmani felt his fingertips drown in the blood that flowed its way down the sword pierced through the boy's throat. He clutched the sword at its hilt and drew it back as the child clawed at his forearm in a desperate attempt to deal one final blow to his killer, an attempt that even he knew would be in vain.

Dalmani stepped back as the corpse fell to the ground, above all the others. He breathed heavily, exhausted after the week of fighting in the forest. He hadn’t seen the sun in days, as the thick canopy combined with the endless rain kept him from seemingly impossible natural light. 

He let the rain wash the blood off his armor and face, trying to enjoy the quick moment of calm the sound of falling water brought.

It didn’t take long for the sounds of screams and metal clashing to bring Dalmani back to the ground, where he now rushed through the foliage and overgrown wood towards the sounds of conflict. 

After only a short run, he leapt through a bush, bursting into a skirmish where his people were clearly losing. 

For only being his fifth battle, Dalmani thought he was doing very well. But that didn’t matter if his entire company ended up as food for the roots of the forest. 

He rushed in to help his men as more were slain. It was now four versus seven. Dalmani spent no time formulating a plan and instead rushed to the farthest guy, drawing the group's attention away from his men and instead on to him.

Their shock allowed the storm of a man to make it to his destination, where he drove his sword through the shoulder of his opponent. He screamed in pain giving Dalmani the opportunity to withdraw his sword and bring it to his neck, slitting it in a cut so clean the chefs would have hired him on the spot. 

One down. Six to go.

The three other men on the same side of Dalmani were frozen just like the enemy, but they broke the ice that kept them still and immediately moved to attack the soldiers closest to them in a way similar to how Dalmani rushed the now corpse. 

Dalmani kept up the attack from behind as he entrusted the front to his comrades only a few feet away. Dalmani moved to the nearest soldier, but the enemy expected this and had a well-placed block prepared for his thrust. 

Dalmani’s sword bounced off the face of the blade and sent the edge of his weapon heading off to the left. But he let this weight carry his shoulder into the chest of his opponent, causing him to stagger, but not before he got a good cut over Dalmani’s ribs.

They both stepped backward, Dalmani clutching his side where blood now seeped through the cloth connecting his armor together, and his opponent huffing trying to regain his normal breathing pattern. What felt like minutes of recovery, was truly nothing but a second before both soldiers stepped towards each other for another attack. Dalmani kept his sword at the ready to counter, anticipating his enemy to attack first as a way to end him quickly. 

He swung in an arc aiming for Dalmani’s neck, coming from the side he was injured on to hopefully take advantage of the slower reaction time. But Dalmani wasn’t fazed by something as light as a cut to the ribs. 

The man ducked down, having the sword swing over his head, the movement rippling his hair. And with both hands clutching the hilt of the sword, Dalmani used his legs to spring his body upwards, causing the tip of the sword to enter through the chin and out the skull of his enemy. Another one down.

Dalmani spun to face the soldiers he entrusted the rest of the battle to. And they did good, there was only one enemy left, but no allies were to be found either, their souls now having left their eyes. Instead, they lay on the ground, unmoving, now lost to this battle as well.

The remaining enemy turned to face Dalmani, and he could see that his comrades did not leave him without a parting gift, as one of their blades was lodged deep within his chest. The man staggered towards Dalmani, attempting one last attack. 

When he raised his sword, Dalmani simply stepped to the side as the man brought it down to where he once stood. He collapsed as soon as the weight of the sword hit the dirt. 

Now, Dalmani was once again alone. He felt the rain assault his back, and he could feel the blood from the fight and the blood from his wound mixing as it seeped down his side.

He took a step back and placed his body against a tree and slid down it, dropping his sword from exhaustion. As his head leaned back, his mind drifted off as the sound of the rain became something soothing to his staggered brain, and in this state, he fell asleep. 

Even storms couldn’t carry on forever. 

Dalmani woke up with a start, realizing he had passed out and now once again aware of the dangers that could befall one who closes his eyes on the battlefield. He quickly stood up, causing the cut at his side to ache in pain from the sudden motion. 

He gritted his teeth as the pain shot through the side of his body, but he kept moving. Dalmani reached down and picked up the sword, now soiled with blood and dirt from the ground.

As he let the sword wash off by placing it on a tree branch where the rain could reach, Dalmani went to the bodies of his fellow soldiers and removed the sigils embroidered on their clothes. Their families deserved some evidence that they had not died in vain. Dalmani had seen what would happen to parents and spouses if there was no evidence except for the words of the ones who were fortunate enough to make it back. 

That was always the worst part. Making it back to see the disappointment that you survived, but they didn’t. Dalmani had been blamed because some people thought he didn’t do his job, when in reality, he had, but he failed just as they had.

With the sigils collected, Dalmani picked up his sword and put it between his bicep and forearm, and wiped it dry before putting it in his sheath. He knew where he must go next. There was a hill that the opposing general sat on, and Dalmani needed to make sure that he never left that hill.

However, he could tell that the sky was orange now, despite the setting sun being covered by the rain clouds. Before the light was lost, he knew he had to make it to that hill. So Dalmani began to walk as best as he could, ignoring the burning sensation of the cut at his side. At least it had stopped bleeding.

The hill wasn’t too far, about three-quarters of a mile from where he stood. Dalmani trudged through the mud and grass, over roots, and under fallen trees. The walk was quiet, not even the sounds of wildlife choosing to join in on the rain pattering of the forest floor. It was more eerie than peaceful, and Dalmani wondered if anyone was even still alive after the week's battle.

Eventually, after about an hour of walking, Dalamni reached the hill. The sun's orange glow now broke through the rain clouds and was painted upon the side of the hill. As Dalmani struggled his way up the incline, he could see the raindrops on the grass. It reached up to his knees, and he felt the water from the sky seep into his gloves as he brushed his hand along the grass. 

Dalmani reached the top and saw a destroyed campsite. Bodies hid in the grass, tents had been set ablaze but were clearly put out by the rain, and there was not a single soul left on this hill.

Except one.

The opposing general sat on a portable stool soldiers often used in war during the night when bonfires were starting, so that way they didn't have to sit on wet ground.

And here, the general sat on one unmoving. Dalmani couldn’t tell if he’d been noticed, but then he saw that the general had arrows piercing his shoulder and back.

Dalmani approached and sat across from the man. In the center of them was a firepit that must have been left over from the previous night. As he looked around, Dalmani could see the bodies of both his army and the enemies, all now lying together as if their loyalties and allegiances didn’t matter. 

The general looked up slowly and made eye contact with Dalmani. He sighed and said, “So, I’m not the last one.”

Dalmani leaned forward on his elbows and said “Did you think you were before I arrived?”

“Of course I did. Look around kid, you hear anything? See anyone? No. It’s just me and you now.”

“So,” Dalmani put his hand on the hilt of his sword, but did not draw it, “Am I going to have to kill you?”

“Bah!” The general responded, scoffing at the seemingly funny statement Dalmani had just made. “Son, I took an arrow to the knee, then the chest, then the back, then the shoulder. They killed me long before you did. You talk with a ghost now. Nothing but a specter waiting for his Goddess to come and collect his soul.”

Dalmani removed his hand from his sword and leaned back on his elbows again. It was silent for a couple minutes, the general's labored breathing and Dalmani’s exhausted sighs being the only sounds that filled the air. 

Eventually, a question entered Dalmani’s mind. “Who won?” He asked.

The general once again looked at Dalmani, seemingly inspecting him as if to try and find the correct answer because he himself also wished to know. But then he looked back to the ground and said with an almost annoyed tone, “Look around, and tell me who you think won.”

Dalmani took a quick glance around and said, “Me. Our side. I’m the last one alive,” he eyed the man sitting across from him, “In about five minutes, at least.”

“The last one remaining and you consider that a victory?”

“Well, what else would it be?” Dalmani asked, genuinely curious.

“It is slaughter, boy, of all sides. There’s no denying it.” The general said, squinting his eyes as he looked at the young man sitting across from him. “Victory and defeat are merely labels assigned so that way they had something to help carry the guilt.”

“So you’re one of those people who thinks we should just talk our way out of everything, huh? Why are you even a general then?”

The old man sighed. “I don’t think that, the people who do think that are just a different type of fool. Sometimes fighting is necessary, there’s no denying that either, but that doesn’t mean I can’t detest it with my every being. I hate getting wet, but I must walk through the rain if I ever hope to get anywhere.”

Dalmani blinked at him, then said, “And being the general of an army? Why did you choose that?”

“Because,” he started, “I could lessen the slaughter that was necessary. If I just had the right mind, the right people, I could make it so war was a little less… war.”

“And how’d that work out for you?”

“Spectacularly. Until now, at least.” The dying man looked to the now darkened sky. “Tell me,” He said, “Do you know why you fight?”

Dalmani looked towards the ground, trying to explore all of his memories to find the reason for everything this war had been.

He was born into a time of war. It’s been going on for twenty-five years, so Dalmani wasn’t around when it started. And as he grew up, the idea of being a soldier was seared into his brain. 

And now that he thought about it, he couldn’t remember the reason after all. Did he even want to be a soldier?

“I can see you’re struggling with your answer,” The general said, waking Dalmani from his stupor, “The reason is land. Every life you end is another inch added to the territory of your kingdom. And the more land you have, the stronger you are. If you can manage it all, at least.”

“And you wish for us to fight for something ‘greater’? Sorry, but what am I supposed to do about that?” Dalmani asked.

“Nothing,” the man said, “I just thought you should at least know why you fight.”

“I fight, because my king told me to. For my people need me to because they cannot fight for themselves.”

“Not a bad answer, albeit a little basic-”

“What do you want from me, old man? Why do you keep asking these questions, saying these… things?” Dalmani asked, now fed up with the supposed games this man was trying to play. 

“I just want you to think, that’s all. Think about why things happen, why you do what you do. Maybe then, your answer might become a little more personal.” The man let out a breath, then fell over on the ground, hitting the grass with a thud. 

Dalmani rushed over to his body and knelt beside him. He began to speak, but the general shushed him and instead said, “Quiet boy, let an old man rest. Just this once.”

His eyes were closed, and they then never opened again. 

Once the man stopped breathing, Dalmani was left there alone with nothing but the words they exchanged to keep him company in his mind. 

Eventually, the young soldier picked himself up and found a fire starter in the remnants of the base camp. He made a makeshift tent out of leftover wood and unburned pieces of cloth and fashioned a place for him to sleep tonight. He made sure there was still an opening in the roof however, as Dalmani started a fire inside the tent so that smoke may escape and signal to someone, anyone, that he was still here. 

But for now, Dalmani found himself alone once again, and that was permanent this time.

He laid down on the bed that someone once called theirs and began to drift off. He thought about it all. Victory and defeat, his reason for fighting, but thinking made Dalmani tired. 

So he lay there, the sole winner of this battle, if you could even call him that. He certainly did not feel like a winner, as he was left with only an aching body, a blood-stained uniform, and the dying words of an old man. And as sleep overtook him, Dalmani just wished for something to stop the pain at his side.