The Pass by Zion Kistler (top 100 novels txt) 📕

‡Part One ‡


†


“Anét, Orshcrist, Poshaden.”


Chapter One
Clean Up

Treaf slowly got up from his huddled position and clenched his stomach. It hurt a little less now, but he was still going through pains.
But he soon decided that sitting there was not going to help the situation at all. The other men and the rest of the warriors were out cleaning up, and they had the injuries of their own. Maybe not as gruesome as Treaf’s, but they were still a burden.
So he walked painfully back to the front gate, which was straight ahead of him now. When he reached them he pushed at the wood with all his might and they soon opened, the wood creaking and groaning under the regular strain.
Once Treaf was in the battle field a new world opened up before him. The dirt and sky was gray, along with other dull colors that would appear on a cloudy cold day.
He walked over to the groups of people in the field, who were bending down and picking up the remains of weapons and creatures alike and putting them in carts. He did not want to get there too soon so he went slowly instead of running. He was not in the physical state to do so, and that would make it clear that he was not being lazy. In fact he should not have been out of the hospital right now if the nurses had been in charge.
When he got there they of course asked him if he should really be out of the hospital right then and he replied sharply that he did not care. If he would not have been shot with the crossbow in the first place half of his misery would be gone.
But even through all of this he bent down to pile a few scattered pieces of armor into his arms. Soon they were filled and after that he walked over to put them into one of the surrounding carts. When he neared it he could see that the cart was already half full, and not only with armor and weapons, but with severed body limbs, whole bodies, and other disgusting things. Well, I guess I’ll have to sort out the same things, Treaf thought. He disliked this part of the job, but he would just have to get through it, holding his breath at the dead bodies of the fallen enemy.
After a few more minutes the carts were hauled away by more of the men who had survived the attack on the city, most likely those few who had not fought.
But Treaf shrugged, after all things like this did not matter. So after this thought he started picking up the leftover trash of the battle, along with all the others around him who had followed his steady gaze.

At about midday they had a short break, with water only. Treaf was not disappointed that they had no food, for eating around all those dead bodies would be disgusting, even though Treaf would take his blood-stained gloves off. His inside hands would be clean, but still: maybe it was the stench that was the most bothering.
After the water had come and gone they all got back to work again, but all of them were tired and wounded, so there was no enthusiasm in the barren battlefield.

Mildo was among those whom were cleaning all the remains off of the ramparts. He found this unfair, for he had only fought up there for a short time in the battle. But he did have to admit that the work up there had a chance of being easier than the work that he saw Treaf doing right then.
Now he was thinking of how sore his legs were as he strode down the length of the wooden platforms along the top of the walls. His feet were heavy against the boards and dust leapt from them as he crossed. Carrying a pile of spears that had not been used, he finally neared a basket where they all were putting the disused or broken things of war. He frowned as he realized painfully that the spears could never fit in the little, strong basket. He scowled. This was not going as he wanted. Now what would he do? Where else would there be to put it? Thinking hard for a good idea, he sat there squatting on the boards. Suddenly he came to something and a moment later he dropped them where they were. His thoughts were that someone else could come by and take them, perhaps someone who even knew where to put them. So with this he continued his work.
If one looked into the city they could not see many people bustling about like a normal city would, for the only ones left were a few women and barely any children. At least six elders remained, and Mildo was very thankful that they had not fallen to the wrath of the Blackwolf Spirits. Thanks to Treaf, Mildo added to himself. He could have saved all of them—if he had been there at the time, anyway, and if he knew magic, and if the Elder was with him, and if he was not too absent-minded to do all of them in the first place. But he was, so he vowed that he would learn magic just how Treaf had.
So shaking this off, he continued his long, tedious work.


At once, in a flurry of his silk cloak, the king strode from his small throne and rested his hand on his silver and black hand-and-a-half sword which rested and bounced at his hip with each step. His hair hung over his face, and he had a displeased expression.
Soon he arrived at his destination.
“Commander, is it true that only thirty of my men have survived the battle?” He asked angrily. He had just heard the news, and he was of course not happy. At least two hundred of his precious men had been killed. What would become of them now if they were attacked?
“Yes, that is correct, sir,” the commander said in return calmly. The king then walked away, too corrupt to discuss any more important issues of theirs. What had these outsiders done? They had used up all of the city’s soldiers to defeat an enemy that they shared combat with alone. None of those in The Jaragon knew what this enemy was really all about. It had just happened that they had attacked their city.
He stopped his fast stride at the large door that led outside of his private ‘house’ or whatever one could call it. He grunted when the doors refused to open. What use was being a king when he was not even let out of his own place?
“Guards! Open the gates!” He screamed out. They had obviously forgotten to unlock the doors when the battle had passed.
Soon there came to ear a creaking and groaning and soon the masses of wood parted to become an opening. He strode through, impatient to see the battlefield with his own eyes.
Once he stepped out of the house a fury of wind made a tearing sound as it whipped past him, sending his clothes billowing uncontrollably. Leaves and other pieces of things whipped past him in the wind, and he was greeted with coldness. The weather was colder than he had last remembered.
But he did not pay attention to the coldness biting at him but instead walked on down the street that he was now on. Buildings were all around him now, and a few decorative trees and shrubs showed themselves at some corners of buildings.
It took him a few minutes before he was in sight of the building where they had previously made arrows during the battle. He knew that the front gates were right in front of this, and so he was pleased that he was getting close. Finally he would see that battle grounds for himself! He was not pleased, however, that he had not been allowed to see that actual battle when it had taken place. That would have been very interesting indeed, but he saw the reasons that he had not been allowed to do so. After all, he could have been struck dead by a stray arrow if he had been left outside to do as he wished. Then the civilians would have no king and they would be a wandering path of sheep without a shepherd.
Two minutes later he reached the front gates. He climbed up the ramparts quickly and plowed his way through the people who were cleaning up the remains of the battle as it had been quite high up. The men that were there were very surprised to see their king being so outright in coming up to the ramparts so abruptly. But he was pleased to see that the clean up of the battlefield was going well and that progress was laying its hand in the work. He stood there for quite a bit, looking at all the tangled bodies there laying on the ground. Weapons were also there all scattered in heaps and piles, some singular, and some in small groups.
After a few more minutes passed he decided to go back inside. He had seen what he wanted, and it was quite cold outside anyway. There was no reason to stay out longer.
So he walked back to the bottom of the streets where the staircases to the ramparts were and then continued the walk to his house from there.