"To your left!" Taennen shouted to one of the Durpari soldiers still standing.
Too late. The man howled as a barbarian cleaved into his shoulder with a heavy axe. Taennen barreled into the attacker. The two fell in a tangle of limbs and weapons. Taennen rolled from the fracas to his feet before his opponent. With a quick slash, his khopesh took the barbarian's life.
Taennen spun to watch a Maquar, a man he'd known for four years, being run through with a spear. The durir moved toward his falling comrade, watching in horror as blood spouted out his mouth in gouts. Taennen dived blade-first into the attacker, sinking his khopesh in deep before springing away and into another barbarian. His new opponent landed a solid blow. Taennen's armor absorbed most of the damage though his ribs crackled with pain. He kicked his opponent's stomach. The man fell to the ground, breathless. A quick slice of Taennen's khopesh made certain he'd stay that way.
The coppery tang of spilled blood filled the small forest clearing. Taennen crouched in the dim light that filtered through the trees, sweat dripping from his brow.
The forest around him had grown silent, only the buzzing of insects to be heard. All around him the bodies of allies and enemies alike sprawled in the dirt and leaves. Only Taennen remained standing.
He found a pair of his Maquar comrades, sprawled near a tree, and was pleased to see they had found their ends fighting next to one another, defending one another until the very end. He offered quick prayers over their bodies, though he was no holy man. At a quick glance he counted eleven dead barbarians and his eight allies.
"Come, friend Taennen, we should return," Bascou said behind him.
Taennen spun and faced the man, weapon in hand, unsure where he had come from. "Return? We must search for signs of where they make their camp. Surely there are tracks or something to indicate where they came from," he said. "They killed our entire party. We have greatly diminished their numbers for certain. Now is the time to strike."
Bascou shook his head and said, "No. We are in sorry shape. We need more men."
Taennen looked Bascou over and saw no wounds at all. The man's sword dripped with blood, but he looked as whole and hearty as when they had entered the forest. Taennen began to protest, but quieted when Bascou held up his hand.
"We return."
"Our dead. We need to bring them back," Taennen said.
"I am returning," Bascou said. "You may do as you wish."
Left with little choice, Taennen followed Bascou in shock. Soldiering was Taennen's entire life, but he was accustomed to orders being sensible. Bascou's unwillingness to make fruitful the loss of so many lives was baffling. And his leaving fallen was an abomination.
Taennen walked beside the man but kept a wary eye on him. Nothing about the expedition had been right from the start. Now the Maquar and Durpari numbers were even further depleted, and Bascou did nothing about it. Did Jhoqo know Bascou was this type of man?
"How did you fare in the battle? Are you injured?" Taennen asked.
"Four fell to my blade," Bascou said.
"And your health?"
"I am uninjured. You appear unharmed as well," Bascou said. Taennen shook his head and pointed to several wounds. Bascou nodded. "You were brave indeed. That Maquar spirit-it is something to see."
The late afternoon sun washed over Taennen out on the plains, and he soaked in the warmth, glad to be in the open again, away from the dark forest. The woods felt like his mind had for the last two days: murky and dark, full of things he did not understand or want to see. Things that, no matter how he resisted, held sway over his actions, forcing him into situations he couldn't get himself out of. Though the grass was no higher than his knees, Taennen felt each blade as if it were a dark tree looming over his head.