"Grit your teeth and bear it."
The wounded individual screamed out in pain as heated alcohol, not hot enough to burn the flesh but very uncomfortable, poured over the wound.
"I won't let you die. I know you feel like you want to die right now, and I know we're enemies, but you're hurt, and you saved those innocent civilians. We soldiers fight, but sometimes, compassion is more important than this damn war." -- Anon Guest
There is no glory in war. Glory comes afterwards, when the Bards have a decent enough story to weave from threads of truth. And a larger portion of utter horseshit, if one had to be honest.
Playwrites needed something to fill their stages, other than myths and legends, after all.
It would be many years before this particular episode found its way onto the stage. Right now, it was the seed of an entire story. The rest of the whole cloth was waiting for a Bard's inspiration, perhaps decades hence. Right now, it was a hollow near the burned ruins of a building, between the rise of one empire and the fall of another. Between two soldiers with more in common with each other than either of their respective generals.
"Bite," said the one in blue, putting a wrapped stick between the other's teeth. "This is going to hurt like a son of a bitch."
The other, dressed in yellow, bit and held his breath as stinging alcohol poured over his wounds. There were bandages. There were salves. There was a cot that could trap middling animals if one sat on it wrong. There was taupaulin for a roof and stale rations for food.
And the enemy. One sitting across from the other. All weapons set aside against the wall.
"So here's the deal," said Blue. "I saw what you did, and that's reason enough for me to spare your life. You saved a bunch of kids who had no business dying in this war... so I have no business killing you today."
"Tomorrow?" croaked Yellow.
"Depends. The front's moved around a lot. If your mob find us, I surrender. If my lot do it, you surrender. Sound fair enough?"
"You're healthy," complained Yellow.
"I can feign being concussed if it comes to that," Blue twitched at the distant sound of an explosion. "Damn. Somebody still has mages. One stray shot and both of us are smoke."
"Don't threaten me with a good time," said Yellow. "My lot tend to execute prisoners unless they're noble."
"Mine keep them in camps, and execute anyone pretending to be a noble just to live another day. Either way, I'm screwed if yours find us."
"Might be screwed just for technical desertion. If Brass decides that being injured is deserting, this week."
Both soldiers looked out of their camp and towards the distant sounds of battle. Screaming, explosions, clashing metal and all. For a moment, just a moment, they both considered becoming civilians and fleeing the war with everyone else.
"Why'd you do it?" asked Blue. "Save those kids. I thought your top man wanted everything we wanted to take burned to ash."
"People aren't things." Yellow couldn't look Blue in the eye. "I grew up in a place like that. Survived more than a few disasters that killed others. Didn't want anyone else to suffer the same." Now he looked up. "I saw you, too. I saw you helping."
"I didn't need an excuse. They were kids. The place was on fire. I had to."
"I saw both our top men riding past without a care."
"Whoever gets close? For capturing an enemy? That one kills the Brass and fuck the consequences."
Yellow smirked. "Oh, that's a nice idea to dream on. Might stop them wrecking all the land they want to own, eh?"
"Might," agreed Blue.
[Photo by Max Kleinen on Unsplash]
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