I walked amongst the fallen with Ridley, still covered in the blood of our enemies, armor shifting uncomfortably as I stepped over fleshy mounds that used to be men, boots squelching in the blood pooled beside them. We searched their faces, their limbs, looking for movement, seeking out injured. I raised a leg, preparing to step over a particularly large tangle of men fallen one on top of another, when I heard a groan from the bottom of the pile.
"Ridley," I spoke and the Captain was beside me in an instant, helping me lift a Rirdantan soldier from the top of the pile, the spear through his chest rolling off with him as we pushed. My legs nearly buckled beneath me in exhaustion as we pulled one corpse after another from the mound. And there, beneath, one of our own, groaning in pain, choking on his own blood. I reached out a hand and he took it, fingers weakly gripping mine as I pulled with all my might to extricate him from the soldiers fallen over him.
Ridley found his other arm and pulled but the man let out such a cry of pain that he dropped it and hoisted him from the waist instead. I was already calling for the stretcher as Ridley and I set the injured man down on the bloody ground beneath our feet. A healer arrived with the stretcher, already examining the soldier as he was lifted onto it. I sniffed, wiping my hand against my forehead and feeling the streak of blood it left behind. Ridley watched me with a frown but bit back the words I know he wanted to say, the suggestion that I sit down, that I rest, as I turned and resumed my search.
I wouldn't stop, couldn't stop, until I was satisfied that the injured were accounted for, that no one would perish overnight in this field while we slept in our tents, blissfully unaware of their death throes. Not another of our men would die today. Not if I could help it. So, despite my very bones protesting against me, my muscles strained to their limits, I pressed forward, searching that field littered with the dead, until far into the evening, until the sun dipped below the horizon and I couldn't see enough to keep looking. I paused, raising my head, feeling the cool night breeze on my face, caressing the hot flush of my cheeks, and breathed. Inhale. Exhale. And listened.
No grunts, no groans, no cries for help. It was silent, my only remaining company the dead.
"Draw the princess a bath," Ridley barked to a servant standing nearby, awaiting orders.
I stared across the vast expanse of the battlefield, at all of our fallen men, all those who bled and died for this cause, for this fight.
"Adelaide," Ridley said my name gently and finally, I turned. I must have looked more exhausted than I felt because Ridley's jaw clenched at the sight of me. "I'll walk you back."
I didn't have the energy to object so I simply lifted my boots to step over yet another body and followed Ridley off of the field to the horses awaiting us beyond. Most of the other commanders had left, their soldiers having departed long ago. Only a few men still searched the dead. They nodded to me as I passed, too exhausted to bow, and I nodded in return, feeling the same.
It was an effort to seat myself atop my horse. It took me twice before I managed to lift myself into the saddle. Ridley didn't offer to help, knowing me well enough to know that I would only bristle and likely injure myself trying to prove I didn't need it. He just waited patiently upon the stallion of his own until I was mounted. Then, without another word to one another, we rode back toward the camp.
Fires were already roaring at interspersed sites throughout the scattered tents as we approached. I saw soldiers walking to and fro, talking, drinking. No one was laughing, not tonight. Most of them were still covered in blood. Some had washed what they could from their skin the moment they were able, leaving behind that dark, ruddy smear so characteristic of blood having been wiped away. It was difficult to get the stain of blood from one's skin, particularly without the use of soap. And these men didn't have the luxurious bathing chamber attached to their tents that I did.
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Valiant (*On Hold*)
Historical FictionPrincess Adelaide watched the sea raiders kill two-thirds of her family when she was only eight years old. Vowing they would never take anyone from her again, she poses as a man to lead her brother, the king's armies against their enemy. But when th...