Bladesong Reprive Part 1

This story is a soliders tale. She becomes more then a solider over the course of the entire story. This is all I have right now and I'm not sure when I'll have a chance to finish it. But this is a pretty good stopping point.


Bladesong Reprive Part 1
It had been 26 years since the last Mordathal solider had step foot in Bladesong.
Twenty-six years of fear and regret; finally melting into history where it belonged.
It was during that battle here in the fields of Bladesong that I: Solem Molani became a warrior. I write here of my own free will the events that lead me into the service of the goddess of my enemies.

My father Saitko Molani was a famous blacksmith; he applied the Kokuran forging techniques to the larger double-sided Mordathal bastard sword, it took him 3 months to craft a single blade, and warriors from across the island coveted his steel. Because of this we lived well and my father provided me an education in both martial disciplines and scholarly pursuits. However a month before my 17th birthday the Keshian war broke out. My schooling would have to wait. Every able hand eagerly joined the militia and I was no exception.

I was of course Mordathal. A race with a destiny of battle, my devotion to the goddess was unwavering. The night before my unit left father gifted me with one of his creations,
A modification of a Kokuran Katana: much longer and slimmer with a simple blood red hilt. Kaitaro the Enchanter who was my father’s business partner enchanted it to seek the blood of the goddesses’ enemies.

I remember the tears in his eyes as he helped me into my armor. I felt embarrassed by his weakness until he told me how proud he was. I said goodbye to my mother and younger sisters. Each of whom would someday be a warrior in her own right.

The Bladesong Militia was divided into 6 units. I was assigned to unit 3 under a carpenter named Silvarian. During the march he would tell stories from previous battles. All knew the Keshian’s were fat merchants; they did not hunger for battle like we did. But rather gold and comforts, Manthos who was our unit’s war-mage laughed and told us in Kesh they considered us little more then illiterate apes. Silvarian told him to be quiet and we marched in silence for the next few miles. His words burn in my heart.
We are a people of the sword, not savages who kill without cause. Was it not the greed of Kesh that forced us into this war? I brooded the politics to myself for the rest of that night.

Within the week we reached the body of the army. Silvarian brought our papers to the quartermaster and we were assigned tents. I have never seen so many men, so many tents or so many swords. My papers classified me a light swordsman and I was given a new unit. Of my new squad I recognized Manthos from my village but no others. He and I talked much more then we had before. I came to respect his keen mind and oftentimes we would spar while waiting for orders. Those orders did not come for another week.

Kesh had blockaded our island and forbid any ship to enter. No navy in the world could hope to defeat Kesh. The rich island spent fortunes building and maintaining a powerful navy to protect its mercantile interests. The malaise of the soldiers could be felt in the air as you walked about camp. Manthos lived in Kesh during his apprenticeship and told me more about the enemy. I listened intently picking over the details of my enemies home.
Those orders were not to disband as many feared: But instead a march to the north.
Keshian mercenaries had landed armies along the northeastern half of our island: A full legion of sell-swords from every corner of Drakkor. During the day we would march and Manthos and I spent the night discussing every topic from politics to theology.
Our unit, the 453rd was split off with several others as a quick response battalion. We would ambush and harass an enemy army moving towards the Moroden forests.

Manthos sat in my tent that night calmly smoking his pipe. He seemed considerably less relaxed then he had before. Finally he pulled the pipe out and addressed me. “Solem. Have you ever been in a battle before?”
I didn’t respond at first. I had never considered if the well-traveled mage had seen battle.
He had certainly never told me any stories of battle. “Once my father dueled a warrior from the capital. The warrior thought himself fit enough to carry one of my fathers swords. That is the closest I have come”

He stroked his wiry thin goatee as he pondered it. “Our goddess does not love cowards, she is a goddess of warriors. What would you think of me if I told you I was afraid of dying tomorrow?”

I opened my mouth to speak. But before I could Manthos put his arms around me and drew me against him. I blushed and tried to push him away. He held on tighter and I protested half-heartily. I gave the mage a playful kiss and he responded in kind. He held me in his strong arms until I fell asleep. I felt truly alive that night, even though we did not make love. His presence calmed my own secret fear.

Moroden was north of Bladesong and I remember passing the Karderong River in my childhood. Our scouts had announced the enemy was waiting on the north bank of the river for us. Several of those scouts did not return. Evidenced by blood soaked arrows scattered along the forest floor. No bodies were found.
Manthos picked up one of the arrows. These are elven he whispered to me. Our arrogant cousins have thrown their lot in with the merchants.

I watched as Manthos raced ahead to warn the commander. I do not know how far he made it because shortly after he left the elves began firing at us from the forests.
Our war-mages acted quickly making walls of wind and raw magical force to repel the arrows. Our crossbowmen responded, as did our mages. After a brief firefight the elves vanished. A handful of soldiers were injured and taken to the priests for healing.
I wasn’t able to look for Manthos because we started marching right away. The commanders ordered us to march to the river. The enemy army had moved away from the river and deeper into the Moroden.

The commander ordered a quick crossing. Fear of a surprise attack during the crossing concerned everyone. The priests of the goddess brought forth sturdy brides out of thin air. The soldier’s mood lightened at this. With the goddess all things are possible they whispered to each other. I started to sing the hymn of the crimson tiger as we crossed.

The warriors around me heard the song and began to sing as well. The sound of our faith filled the forests loudly. At first the commander tried to silence us for fear of giving away our position. Then after moment the song began to affect him as well.
The enemy began to arrive about an hour later. Skirmishers and scouts returned wounded saying the enemy was near. With the river behind us we fell into orderly groups. I lost track of my unit briefly in the mad shuffle. I found them just as Manthos had arrived from other end of the line. I could not speak to him over the roar of the army; I looked into his eyes and saw his fear. But I could also feel his resolve. He smiled at me with his twisted grin and began to cast his first spell.

My first battle was frightening. The invaders came in groups covered by archers. Our initial line held them back. I stood just behind the first line with my sword in hand.
My father told me that in Kokuran you could not draw your sword unless you intended to use it. I remembered those words as I pulled his beautiful sword from its sheath.
The commander gave us the order to counter attack. The front ranks opened and we poured out into the battlefield.

The warriors around me screamed and yelled to the heavens. The sound of a hundred swords being drawn deafened the forest further. Beside me was Manthos chanting his spells as we charged. We reached the enemy line each man fell into his own private battle. Manthos beside me started to blast away at archers situated in the trees. I covered him with my sword. My first opponent came in through the space between my comrades battles. He flashed a wicked toothless grin as he came at me. My sword met his and pushed him backwards into another fray. One of his men stepped on his head and fell; both struggled to get up. I raced over and neatly put my sword through both.

Behind me Manthos cried in pain. The archers began to pepper him with arrows. One hit his shoulder and another buried itself in his left leg. He stood firmly chanting his spells one after another taking down the hated archers. More soldiers rushed us. I locked shoulders with another Mordathal swordswoman and we held them off Manthos awhile longer. They pressed us hard and we started to get swept away from the rest of our unit. I pushed back against the flow of bodies fighting my way back to the mage. Manthos took a sword to the back. His eyes filled with anger and pain Manthos turned to his assailant and turned his armor molten hot. The warrior cried out in pain and crumpled to the ground. All I could smell was the burning of flesh and leather.

I lost track of Manthos, of my unit. and I focused on my sword. My own battles, I took down several more warriors killing them as they came. After a moment I realized that no enemies stood. My heart was filled my rage and passion. Bloodlust.
I wanted to keep killing and fighting but I couldn’t see any more enemies. Manthos staggered towards me bleeding from several places. In his eyes I could see the same passion. I reached out for him and kissed him urgently. We fell together in the forest and made love. I was not gentle despite his injures, nor was he to me. The blood and sweat rolled off our bodies as we became one. I dug my nails deeply into his back causing new tiny wounds. He did not wince but held me even more roughly. After our exertions I laid on his chest feeling the rise and fall. I noticed now in this moment of peace that I too was wounded. We tended each others wounds and returned to camp that morning.
“You are like the crimson tiger herself” my lover said to me that night as we retired to our tent.