Madness - a short story

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Unlike my last story, this one is completely fantasy. Tell me what you think.


I stand here, a victim of my own morality. I am a man who has neglected his station in the pursuit of what was right, and fell before the politics of those ‘superior’. For attempting to cease the senseless destruction of human life, my life, as well as those who I tried to rescue, is forfeit. My life, spent in pursuit of spreading the righteous word as an instrument of the holy empire, has been shown to be anything but what I had hoped. For these years of faithful service, I am granted a soldiers death at the end of a sword, instead of a heathens death tied to a burning stake. It seems sickly ironic how this quest for life, is in fact, the mindless spread of death. I pen my tale, in this time of my looming execution, in hopes it reaches a mind like mine, a mind tired of the injustice of these campaigns. In an attempt to keep my words from reaching another’s ear, I have been spared being tossed among the prisoners, and instead, I have been simply confined to my own tent. A prisoner all the same, yet, in hindsight, I see that I have always been a prisoner. The circumstances that have surrounded me, have masked the band of iron strapped about my neck. I feel its weight keenly now, and its weight upon my shoulders is almost too much for me to bear. Yet, despite my own plight, I know that to a small degree, I have succeeded in prolonging the innocent’s lives. In preparation of my execution, it seems that the killing has ceased, if only temporarily.

The thick cloth flap of the tent is suddenly pushed aside, causing the tents interior to be bathed in a blinding light from outside. The light is a shock to my eyes, as they had been exposed only to the flickering illumination of a candle since the day of my imprisonment. Only after squinting am I able to make out the tall form standing within my prison. The light, ever blinding, seemed to be magnified ten fold by his metallic breastplate. After what seems like an eternity my eyes finally adjust to the unwanted daylight, and I am able to see the man’s face clearly.

“Ronious,” I say in recognition. “Have you come to make sport of your former commander, like so many of your comrades? Or do you simply wish to stand there and gaze upon the face of one who has been ‘perverted’ by the Enemy?”

The man does not speak. He simply stands there as before, staring at me. “Speak or leave me!” I finally shout. There is nothing I despise more then men who take no action. “Or is it that you’ve come for the sole purpose of tormenting the remaining time I have left before my execution? I have nothing to say to the likes of you.”

“I have not come to torment you, sir,” the man finally says. “I come only because I have a question that needs answering.”

“I am aware of the sort of questions people of your like have for someone such as I, and it disgusts me.” I snap, spittle flies from my mouth with every word I utter. “What is it? Morbid curiosity that can only be satisfied my the feelings of a condemned man, or maybe religious zeal that demands to know what it takes for a man to be corrupted so? I will not quench your curiosity. Leave me be!”

“I am here,” the man begins, “because a small part of me does not believe that my captain, a man of unquestionable loyalty and honor, could be the things he is accused of being.”

The shock I feel at being called ‘Captain’, is more painful then any of the battle wounds I have received during my tours of duty. At one point I had worn that title with pride. Yet now I feel only anger at it and what it stands for. How many people had I slain to earn that title? How many lives had I destroyed in my ambition, and my hunger, for rank and the power that surrounds it?

“I am no longer your Captain, boy,” I say through clenched teeth. “Nor would the people describe me of possessing those character traits. I am ‘betrayer’ now, the spawn of evil. The destroyer of all that is right and good in the land.”

The soldier continues unfazed, “So the people have dubbed you. It saddens me greatly to hear those very words repeated by you. It is a perversion to hear one that is good accept that he is evil. Unquestioningly biding by the decrees of another. Are you evil then?”

I narrow my eyes, and choke down the fury I feel within me. I say in a voice that rings cold to my own ears, “In asking me that, you speak against your superiors who have already decreed it so. Have things changed since my imprisonment, or isn’t that still considered treason?”

“Treason it would be, if the charge was ever laid against me, yet I do not think I need worry to about that,” He speaks confidently. “Though it is obvious to me that you wish to spend your remaining moments alone, brooding in your own self pity. Thus I will ask you my question so that you may get rid of me. What drove, nay, possessed you to leak information of such importance to the enemy?”

Self pity? Brooding! The ignorant whelp has no idea what it was like to betray my old self when the realization came. The despair I had felt when I realized that my life had been spent in the murdering of innocence had nearly broken me, yet I survived. The remembrance of every life I had taken had come to my minds eye. The hopeless faces of all that I killed had come back to me, one by one. Worse was the knowledge that it would continue unless I stopped it. So I had acted.

“Tell me what you think of the killing, boy,” I ask.

“It is unfortunate, but necessary,” Ronious replies. “I…”

“Necessary?” I demand, “It is the pointless killing of people innocent in everything other than that they do not believe what we believe. It bears the taint of political greed. Have you never thought of what happens to the land we ‘purify’? It becomes part of the empire. We are nothing but warmongers, expanding the borders of the homeland under the false pretense of good intention.”

“That is why you did it,” the soldier concludes slowly, “you intended to prevent the killing by describing the movements of the troops, by forewarning them of our attacks.”

“Attacks that hold no merit!” I scream. “Attacks that demanded the slaying of innocent lives.” My voice breaks and I begin to weep. The memory of children playing in the fields of the enemy towns, laughing without a care came to my mind... Children who didn’t know of the ways of man, of the ways of war… Children who did not know to run from the charging onslaught of valiant knights, nor of the crushing hooves of their steeds. To many times have I lived those horrible moments, savoring the rush of the battle. Tears slowly creep down my bearded face, and I let them fall unabashed. A cold numbness clings to my heart.

Composing myself slightly I ask the man before me, ”Is this what you’ve come to see? A man in tears, suffering over the injustices he has wrought?”

“Nay, I had to know why,” the soldier says quietly. “I had to know what caused my captain, the man I have looked up too since my life as a soldier began, to betray his fellows to the enemy.”

“They are not the enemy!” I yell.

“They are the enemy,” Ronious continues quietly. “With the information you gave them, they set a trap for us. They killed us by the thousands, sir. It was a bloodbath. Every man feels the same was as you about the killing, but all you accomplished was to bring more death. What about the families of the dead soldiers? Do their wives not deserve a husband? Do their children not deserve a father? I understand your pain, but I cannot see how you betrayed the people who looked up to you, who believed in you.”

“You understand nothing,” I say, rage swelling in my throat. “You have wasted enough of my time. Leave me.”

“Sir, I…”

”Leave me!” I scream as the anger surges in my veins.

I watch though eyes tinted by anger as Ronious walks out of my tent. His back is stiff and his mouth is clamped, as he leaves, roughly throwing the flap back into place. On shaky legs I sit back down on the hard stool before my desk. I hadn’t even realized I was standing until my legs had grown weak.

There is so much death, so much senseless disregard for life. How can the soldiers be so blind as to allow themselves to be used for such wicked purposes? I wonder what the man meant saying they used my information to bring more death. Surely those people have seen too much killing already to wish to bring more. That they would use it for sinister purposes is preposterous. They had told me it would allow them to evacuate the innocence before the army could move in and strike against them. Ronious must have been trying to put doubts in my mind, to cause me to question what I’ve only now come to understand. I will not. I have seen the evil first hand, and I will not question whether my action was prudent or not. That he could stand here and tell me otherwise not only angers me, but brings sadness as well. Why must I be the only one who sees matters clearly?

Absently I look down to my desk and notice that my letter is finished. I smile slightly seeing that my hands were not idle when my mind was wandering. Now maybe, someone who understands will read it.

For the second time in the day, I hear my tent being opened. The anticipated light enters, but is not as painful to my slightly adjusted eyes. Feeling growing irritation at the frequent interruptions of my solitude, I do not bother to turn away from my desk, instead I yell, “Leave me be, I wish to be alone.” The tent flaps do not close, and I hear no movement to tell me the person is leaving. In anger I stand and turn to face the intruder.

Before me is a man draped in black, wearing a black cowl. My eyes widen in recognition, and I try to speak, only to find my tongue stuck in my throat.

“Your wait has ended,” the masked man says, his voice deep and rough. “You will atone for your crimes now. For the betrayal of information to the enemy, information that lead to the death of a sickening amount of soldiers lives, you are to be executed this day.”

“If I must die to satisfy the ‘higher’ powers, so be it. Through my actions untold people were saved from the purifying torch. If I were presented with the same opportunity again, I would take it still, even though it meant my death.” I manage to say as I am led to my judgment. My mind is behind my decision steadfast, and I do not let the lies they speak of this apparent loss of soldiers lives cause me doubt in anyway. Why must they say these things to a man already condemned? Why must they attempt to cause me to doubt when I am to be murdered soon anyway?

As I am lead out through the thick flaps of my tent, the glaring brightness of daylight is enough to cause me to groan in agony. The full force of the light on my seemingly light virgin eyes is like ethereal flame in my skull. I am roughly shoved forward and I helplessly stumble onward. Oddly, thoughts of the company of men of whom I had once lead came unbidden to my thoughts.

“Would you grant me the privilege to see my former company once before I am slain?” I ask the masked man. I know that once they bring me to where ever it is they plan on savaging my body, they will never adhere to any request I utter. Now it seems, is my only chance. “Surely I deserve that much for all of the years I loyally served.”

“I am afraid that what you ask is impossible,” The brute gruffly replies.

“Why?” I demand. “Why would you refuse me this one insignificant boon? Is your mind so enthralled by the hatred of your masters that you are no longer capable of feeling pity for a fellow human being?”

The man grabs me so suddenly I have nary the time to gasp in shock. His gauntleted hand clamps painfully down on my shoulder. His other grabs my hair and jerks my head toward his own so violently my scalp cracks under pressure. The pain exceeds even the shock of the midday sun bombarding my sunken eyes.

“Are you so corrupted, nay, mad that you haven’t heard a single word I have spoken!” He screams. Spittle flies from the mouth slit in cowl and sprays across my face. His foul breath assaults my lungs as he yells. “The information you leaked lead to a rout! Almost all of our companies were destroyed in the onslaught. Yours was one of them. They are all littering the field, carrion for the birds. Unless you can speak to the dead, seeing what is left of them will do you little good. That’s assuming you can even find what pieces remain that is!” The man shakes in fury and brutally hauls on my hair again. “You deserve everything coming to you worm! You deserve far worse. If justice is to be served, you will burn for an eternity for what you caused!”

Finishing, he heaves me forward, and I stumble on, now visibly shaken. The passion in the man’s voice is enough to shatter my beliefs. The innocent ones whom I tried to save from violence attacked? My company is dead? My friends have been slaughtered? My eyes close in anguish. Tears of despair run down my cheeks. What have I done? I demand in my mind. “What have I done!” I scream to the cosmos. My only answer is that of the laughing caw of ravens, as they make there way among the corpses on the nearby field, and the roaring yells of the fast approaching crowd.

 

Some basic grammar problems present; nothing that can't be fixed quickly.