They take a stand
They're on the edge
They hope their death
Will bring them honour
They think of fate
And of that day
When flowers grew
On sunny meadows
I'll sing that song
It'll stay with me
I want it sound
Somewhere forever
They take a stand
They'll fight and die
And what remains
I'll keep with me
Sonoue, the Lieutenant, observed the execution of cowards. They kneeled on the narrow path among rocks and snow looking with indifference at the wall of the cliff. The strikes fell, the bright red splashes of blood painted the white, minutes later covered by a fresh prickly layer of snow carried by the endless wind. Elio heard this sound of wind for many weeks, its icy, cruel monotone, throwing thorny snowflakes and bits of ice in his face.
The company retreated, the arrival of wizards as a reinforcement to the regiment that chased the company turned once organized retreat into a flight, people running away in horror, dropping their weapons to make the running easier. Leaving behind wounded without a second thought, something that didn't happen before. Overlooking the cracks covered with snow along the treacherous path among the rocks many of them stumbled in them and fell to the bottom with a muffled thud of their bodies hitting the stones below. Adding to the monotonous howl of the wind.
The discipline had to be restored. Soldiers who broke from their ranks and tried to flee were captured and executed. Their heads were chopped off. They didn't mind. Maybe, the worst part of it was the dishonor of such a manner of execution, but they didn't mind it either. Taking into account the wizards. The promise of heavens was illusory and remote, and the horrors the magic produced in human bodies was real. A chorus of shrieks that lasted for a long time until the vocal cords of people gave way. Its polyphony was eerie and strange. And the sight of bodies eaten from inside by snakes. They couldn't pass out; their eyes kept looking at us, wide and aware. We couldn't kill them. We couldn't even get close enough, since the magic, which spread around them turning the snow into black, sizzling mass, was contagious.
Sonoue gave the sign to move. The remnants of the group hastened along the path, throwing wary glances at the camp unfolding below. Those in the camp didn't hurry. There were hundreds of miles of narrow stone paths winding among the cliffs ahead, and they had enough time. Also, they had fire and food. As opposed to us. Our fire became green and poisonous at some point, contaminated with something, so we stopped making it. The constant cold wind during the weeks the company spent trudging among the snowy rocks was debilitating. Many would prefer to engage the enemy in a desperate unequal fight, at least it would help to get warmer. If it wasn't for the magic. The magic appalled the soldiers, in fact, their spirits were broken a day after it started playing its jolly and vicious dance of horror among the cliffs. And the night after that full of screams that continued until dawn.
Elio observed the small dots far down below, people moving in the camp. He tried to estimate their number, and the figure came out depressing and useless. Elio just tried to occupy his mind with something in order to distract himself from the gnawing anxiety of waiting. Now they just limped along the narrow path among the rocks and waited. Maybe, somebody waited for some miracle, but most of them just waited, what would happen next. Virulent wind and spiteful landscape around eliminated any hope. In fact, it looked like a grave, or the world beyond death, a cold Hell of Arren people, populated by snakes. In fact, Elio sometimes thought if they were already dead. Because there was cold and there were snakes. And a regiment of faceless people chasing them. Their faces were covered by black masks with a narrow slit for eyes. The masks were probably for protection against frost, but it also looked bizarre and mysterious as if we were chased by ghosts.