Those That Were Left Behind

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THOSE

THAT WERE

LEFT

BEHIND

Copyright 2011 James Scholes

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The forest was quiet save for the dull, steady thumps of wood being split. Linus, no longer young but too proud to consider himself old, andhis son, Gaxan; still a boy, but close enough to manliness that he felt hecould reach out and grab it and wear it like a fresh pair of shoes, even if

only for a while. They worked hard, perfectly in sync, tuned from many hours of practice and the unspoken silence that was natural betweenfather and son.

They lived in an age of myth and legend; an age where stories were told at the setting of the sun and lives were lived when the colddawn mornings curled like fog amongst the trees. They lived in an age

where monsters really did lurk in the forest and dragons beat their wings against the sky. Linus had seen a dragon once, many years ago. Ithad been just a brief glance against the brilliance of the noon sun but it

was a sight that had stuck with him, and he had passed the story ontohis son which had kept Gaxan awake at night, watching the moon forany sign of black shapes in the sky.

Gaxan didn't understand the satisfaction of splitting a piece of wood; he was still too young, his father thought. The big man swung his axe again and again, matched by his son. The solid, satisfying thunkthat echoed through his arm as the block split in two was its own littlereward. The boy watched on, oblivious to the contentment his fatherreceived as every chunk fell apart.

Preparation was the key. This wood would not be used untilnext winter, as the weather was unseasonably warm and the days werelong and the sky soaked red with blood. It was better to work now

when the wood wasn't needed than to wait until winter when the rain was heavy and the snow was driving and the smoke from the fire would

be grey and thick and solid and choking. No, better to do the work now, as Linus had done year upon year. His son, Gaxan, was learning the same lessons. One day, he would even understand. Work hard;

work solid. Sweat beaded down Linus' face from the effort. It beadeddown Gaxan's face, too.

Gaxan was built like his father: broad, strong, taut like an arrow string. His clothes were constantly patched to accommodate his ever-growing frame but he was only just passed his twelfth year. Soon the

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girls of the village would look at him with a sparkling eye and a sly smile, but for the moment Gaxan was still his father's son and days likethese had to be cherished. The boy was already showing the relentlesssigns of adolescence. He was listless, inattentive. The child who had

been so focused wasn't quite ready for the changes that were swirling through his blood, making him a man. Linus wondered how many yearshe had before he lost Gaxan to the world. Two, perhaps three. That

would be okay, Linus decided: he would make sure his son was ready. A low horn sounded through the trees, snapping Linus from his

thoughts. His head shot up towards the watch tower, barely visiblebeyond the tree line. Gaxan stopped working, too. The horn soundedagain, like an elephant blurting in distress. The man in the watch towercould be seen clear as day. He was panicked, torn between looking towards the village and watching whatever was coming towards them.He blew his horn again.

"Run!" Linus ordered, pulling his axe free with one hand andpushing Gaxan forward with the other. The horn was the harbinger of terror. In all his years, the older man had only ever heard it called twice.It had been deadly both times. With the sky the colour of fresh deathand the winter gone but the Spring refusing to arrive the land hadoffered a warning of impending doom. An early spring meantprosperity and gaiety; a dead spring meant something else.

They ran through the trees; they were not far from the village. The moan of the horn was barely audible over the beating of theirhearts and the ragged intakes of breath. Linus pushed hard. They had toget to the village, they had to get to their family. The horn wasn'tsounding any more the watchman had abandoned his post, fleeing to

rush home and save his loved ones. Unlike Linus, the watchman knew exactly the terror that was chasing them down. His terror spurred Linusonwards. His terror was real.

The forest was alive with sounds but they were not thesounds of the forest. There was no bird song or rubbing of trees in the

wind. There was no tinkle as the leaves snapped free and drifted to theground. Instead, the sounds were grunting and cursing, the clashing of steel and the jingle of chains. The ground groaned under the weight of

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hooves crashing through the forest. There was no wind and yet a gale was blowing, swept in by the charge of the enemy. Raiders: thoselandless men that swarmed across the continent like a pestilence hadfinally found their way to his home. It had been only a matter of time.

Gaxan was slower than his father, but he was running as fast ashe could. Perhaps it was because his father had a better understanding of the pain that the Raiders brought with them that drove him onwards.Perhaps his father wanted to get away from Gaxan to spare him what

was to come. Later, when it was all over, Gaxan would wonder long and hard about what might have happened had he kept up, had he notdropped behind. Right now he could do nothing but live minute forminute, not knowing that this was the last day of his childhood. Thehorror unfolded as slowly as dawn, and just like the dawn it was uponthem before he was ready and gone before he had known it had evenbeen there.

The horses were close now. Gaxan fancied he could feel theirhot breath on his sweaty neck. He wasn't far wrong they werepassing him on his left; giant, black flowing manes and muscles thatpounded the earth. The soldiers on top were covered in armour andhide and their swords were as tall as Gaxan, but had seen more bloodand caused more tears. The boy stumbled and fell, rolled against a treeas the heavy hooves pounded passed.

He watched in horror as one of the riders closed in on hisfather. Gaxan went to scream but no sound would come. Linus saw therider coming and swung his axe. It was an expert chop one honed by years of practice, an understanding that any tool could become a

weapon, especially when the tool was sharp and heavy and blunt all in

one. The weapon cleaved through the horse's flesh and the beast let outa scream that was almost human with pain. The beast collapsed, its left leg hanging loose and spraying a

fountain of blood. The rider rolled awkwardly in the dust, dazed. Linusdidn't hesitate: he pulled the axe free and swung it down hard on theriders neck. There was a dull thunk, not unlike wood splitting, andGaxan knew that the rider was dead.

Linus looked back towards Gaxan but there were more riders

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pounding through. His father shook his head no, don't follow, stay there turned and ran towards the village. Gaxan shrunk against the trees,feeling small and alone as the riders raced passed towards his home.

It was later, when the sun was burning orange and the air had settled,that Gaxan finally stood. The raider near his feet had remained dead.Gaxan had been afraid deathly afraid that if he had moved thedead man would stagger to life and cut him down. Now that it was coldthe young man started to feel the icy trickle of regret drip down hisspine. His father had been brave; he hadn't even hesitated beforelaunching into attack. He had left his boy here alone because he wasn'tready. He wasn't a man. Gaxan's cheeks burned with shame. He was acoward, nothing but a little boy. He hadn't even moved to pee but hadjust turned around in his tree and left a warm, stinking puddle that hehad then sat in because he was too afraid to move. His father had runoff to fight and Gaxan had done nothing more than sit in his own pee.He would never be able to wash away that memory. It would burnbrightly behind his eyes until the day he died. He should never forget,Gaxan knew. Never forget your sins, that was the religion they lived by.Befriend your bravery that was the mantra of their village. Now hefinally understood.

The screams had died and the hooves had faded into thedistance. The battle was over, but his father hadn't come back to collecthim. His mother hadn't ventured into the forest calling his name. Hecouldn't hear his friends giggling, chasing each other with the deadraiders' swords, wearing their helmets like over-sized crowns. Gaxan

wasn't far from his village it was just over the small hill and thendown the gully. He should be able to hear his family, but there was nosound of life, just the soft crackling of flame from untended fires.

Gaxan took a step forward, towards the dead raider. He kept a wide berth, still unsure that the dead man couldn't come back to life. Three steps, four, and he was past the body. Gaxan let out a deepbreath. He had seen dead people before, of course, but never with somuch of their blood over the ground. The horse had attracted a horde

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of flies and Gaxan tried not to look at it as he turned away from theraider and towards his village. He knew what he was about to see: heknew why there was nobody looking for him, no cheers of celebration,no laughter or giggling. Gaxan thought that, perhaps, he could just stay

where he was. There was no need to walk over the small hill and intothe village.

There was no need to see the things that he would see, smellthe smells that he would smell. He could just turn around and go andsit back in his little tree. Perhaps he could keep walking to the next

village, maybe further. Gaxan could keep walking he liked walking and never stop. There were lands that he had only heard about, seas hehad only dreamed about. He could see the magma churn inside deep

volcanoes, watch the eternal progress of the glaciers as they marchedtowards the end of time. Gaxan could do all these things... but hedidn't. He was still walking up the small little hill. The village didn'tsmell like the village, it smelled like recent death. The sound of flies wasever-present, filling his ears with a million tiny wings beating frantically,gorging themselves on his family, his friends. The recently dead.

The first thing Gaxan saw was his father, lying face down in thedust. He was surrounded by a circle of blood that was not his; hugegobs of the stuff, thick like molasses. Clumps of hair and skin andbroken chunks of bone lay spread all around, but the dead Raiders weremissing. Only his father remained. Gaxan knelt besides him but heknew he was dead. Gaxan's knees quivered and he stumbled to theground. His heart was being squeezed like a vice. He couldn't breathe.He wiped a tear from his face but there was another tear coming straight after and a few more after that. Suddenly he was crying not

like the man he so desperately wanted to be but like the boy he was. Hecried so much he couldn't suck in enough air and it caused him to burp.He stopped crying after that. He thought he should feel foolish but hedidn't he just felt empty and cold and shaky.

Gaxan looked around the village. Of his mother, there was nosign. His sister, gone. He recognised the townsfolk that remained, somenothing more than bare feet sticking out of a burning doorway, theirshoes stolen. Others were collapsed around barrels, backs broken.

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Some of their heads were a few feet away from their bodies, connectedby nothing but a drying river of blood.

He found the priest lying face down in the well. Gaxan didn'ttry to bring him up, but he did take a mental note not to drink the

water. The town was ghostly, with nothing but the crackle of burning thatch to break the silence. Gaxan felt very alone.

Something just off the edge of his vision moved darting fromthe shadows of one of the huts in front of him. Gaxan had been turnedthe other way; he caught the movement just on the edge of his vision,

where there was nothing but black and white and the animal instinct of danger. There was the faintest flash of steel but Gaxan ducked andswung his fist as hard as he could. He collided with bone. The boy

wasn't strong enough to break a jaw but his assailant fell to the ground,crying. Gaxan turned.

"Renan? " Gaxan looked at the small boy at his feet."Gaxan?" the boy got up, rubbing his jaw. He was covered in

dirt but there was no blood on his face or clothes."Stop crying," Gaxan ordered. "Where is everyone?""They're dead," Renan said, trying to stop crying but unable to

halt the sobs. Seeing the younger boy felt good; Gaxan was much older.Gaxan patted him softly on the shoulder, drifting away to look amongstthe buildings. Some of them were still standing, and not all were on fire."Where's my mother?"

"I don't know," Renan replied, shaking his head so hard itlooked as though it weren't attached to his body. "They were taken marched away."

"What about the other children? Are there any others?" he

wondered."I haven't seen anyone, only you," Renan told him. There wassilence for a moment, before: "What are we going to do?"

"We have to bury our family," Gaxan answered, looking back atthe body of his father. "Maybe some of us are hiding in the woods?

That's where I was. Hiding.""What if they come back?" Renan asked. The head shaking

stopped, but now the eyes started. They darted back and forth and up

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and down. Gaxan thought he had turned a shade paler."They won't come back," Gaxan promised."But I can hear them," Renan whispered. The small, quiet voice

made Gaxan stop and listen. "Do you hear them?" Renan repeated.

Gaxan did. He hadn't noticed it at first; the sounds had beenignored over the crackle and snap of burning thatch. Now that heknew there was something there he could hear... things. He held up hishand to keep Renan quiet and then he really focused . There wasdrumming... drumming and cheering, screaming, laughing. It was very faint, but it was most certainly there. Mixed in with the celebrationsthere were other sounds screaming again, but a higher register. Hismother, his sister. They would be screaming.

"Do you think they have our families?" Renan asked, seeing thelook in Gaxan's face. Unlike the horror that wrapped itself aroundGaxan, Renan had hope in his voice.

"I don't know," Gaxan told him slowly. "Maybe.""What if we go and take them back?"Gaxan look back towards his dead father, lying in blood. If his

father couldn't do it..."I don't know if that is going to work," he said, squinting

against the sun. There was something moving in the shadows. Heblocked out the glare by holding his hand above his eye.

"Are you sure there isn't anyone else?" Gaxan asked."I haven't seen anyone," Renan said, thinking he was in trouble."No, there's someone there," Gaxan said slowly. He could see a

pair of scared eyes staring out of a darkened doorway. He walkedcautiously forward, leaving Renan to stand nervously in the centre of

the village."Hello?" he called softly. Nothing but blinking eyes. They wereeyes he recognised. "Marana?"

"Gaxan?""It's okay, you're safe.""She needs your help," the young girl said, not leaving the safety

of the shadows."Who?"

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"Elsira. She's ill," she said, her voice shaking. Marana wasRenan's age, but the old saying about girls maturing faster than boysheld true. She was young, but capable and responsible. In contrast,Elsira was a year older than Gaxan. She was quite beautiful, he was sure

of it. He wasn't yet an expert on beauty, but he had been planning toask his father for his opinion. Now he had to rely on his ownjudgement. In this case, he knew he could trust it.

"Where is she?" Gaxan asked, but he could see Elsira lying inside the hut where Marana was sheltering. "Why is she naked?" heasked, pushing inside. She was bloody, but didn't seem injured.

"I don't know. I found her like this, after they left.""She's shaking," Gaxan said, looking around. Where are her

clothes? There were footsteps behind him."Gaxan! " It was Vin, an older boy but still younger than Gaxan.

The two were friends brothers, almost. Confidants."Where were you?" Gaxan demanded, suddenly angry."I was following the army," the boy was breathless. "They're

coming back.""What?" Gaxan was alarmed. He wasn't prepared for this. Elsira

wasn't going anywhere, that was certain. They didn't even have ablanket to cover her but, for her part, she wasn't interested in hiding her modesty. Vin's eyes drifted then snapped back to Gaxan's, blushed

with shame."A few of them have doubled back, he said."How far?" Gaxan ignored the eye drift. He had done the same

thing, and felt the same shame. This wasn't how he had imagined her

nakedness would be. There was always less blood in his dreams."Five minutes," Vin answered. Gaxan looked to Elsira."We need to get her out of here," he decided. "Elsira?" he said

softly. He leaned down and touched her bare shoulder gently. The girl'seyes shot wide open and she started screaming.

"Elsira! " Gaxan grabbed her but the girl's mind was somewhereelse. Her eyes were wide but were seeing nothing and fresh tears weredripping down her cheeks. Now she was covering herself in a frantic,

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panicked way. Gaxan let her go.Renan arrived in the doorway."They're getting closer!" the boy was hysterical."Everyone, get in here and keep quiet," Gaxan ordered,

wrapping his hand around Elsira's mouth to muffle the screaming. Hesqueezed her hard, forcing her quiet. She still screamed and bit him, butit was muffled and he prayed she wouldn't be audible from outside. Theanguish slowly grew softer, and she started to sob. Gaxan kept the handover her mouth but patter her gently on the shoulder. The sobs were

worse: he could feel every one of them drip against his hand. A solitary soldier appeared near the doorway. Gaxan feared he

was looking inside but he wasn't he was just wandering aimlessly around, looking for something to steal. If he had heard Elsira's screamshe certainly didn't show it. The man was relaxed and unaware.Eventually seeing nothing of interest he left. Gaxan relaxed.

"It's okay," he told Elsira, releasing her. She was breathing hardand her eyes were still wide, still staring at nothing. "He's gone."

The small group relaxed. They stayed silent; there was nothing to say. Gaxan couldn't meet their eyes. He was still ashamed that he hadhidden beside the tree in safety while even Renan, the littlest, hadstayed in the village. Vin had even chased after them, all on his own.Gaxan would die a coward.

Suddenly, Gaxan grew angry. Why should they cower in theirown village? The soldier didn't even have the decency to be wary he

was swanning around as though he owned the place. Gaxan started tofume, any sense of shame gone.

"Renan, Vin, catch that man," he ordered.

"What?" Vin asked, afraid."Go and catch him and bring him back," Gaxan stood, shaking with vengeful anger. " Now! "

Renan and Vin stared at him as though he were mad, but they saw that look in his eye and silently obeyed. They hurried outside andchased after the soldier. Gaxan heard the older man laughing: he hadthe gall to treat them like children. Renan and Vin were having no luck in bringing him back. Gaxan wasn't sure what he had been expecting.

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In his mind, he had pictured them bringing down the soldier andhaving vengeance. In truth, they were lucky not to be cut down wherethey stood.

All Gaxan had done was give away their position, and for what?

Vengeance against one solitary Raider. It was foolish. Worse: it waschildish. He hadn't even found the strength to hound the soldierhimself; he had left it to the younger boys. Were they more capable?Gaxan knew they weren't. They didn't understand the world as Gaxan

was beginning to see it. The boys were just following orders and thatmade Gaxan their leader. There was more to leadership than justbarking orders, Gaxan knew. It had to be shown, demonstrated. He

would have to teach them."I'll show them how its done," he said to no-one and stormed

out of the hut. The soldier looked up as Gaxan approached. His eyeseven had a twinkle.

"You lot are like rabbits," he laughed. Gaxan walked past hisfather's body, stooped and picked up the axe. The soldier laughed evenharder.

"You think you can swing that, little boy?"Gaxan buried it in the soldier's head. It made the dull thunk that

wood made when it split just right. The soldier was on the ground, hisblood was on the axe. The laughter was gone; the silence remained.Renan and Vin looked at him, mouths agape. Gaxan would have lied if he had said that the killing hadn't felt good. It had. The electric feeling that crawled up his arm was tingly and unfamiliar. Now he allowedhimself a small smile.

"That is what we have to do," Gaxan explained quietly. "We

have to find them and kill them and revenge our family.""I don't know if I can," Renan shook his head."You have to." This was Elsira. Gaxan turned and saw the girl

standing behind him, wrapped in an old blanket she had finally found."You will do it."

"What if we can't?" Vin asked.Then we will die, Gaxan explained. My father was going to

teach me a lot of things, but he died before he had the chance. I have to

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learn those things for myself and so do all of us. We're going to start with vengeance, with revenge. I can still hear them cheering each other,they are all so happy. I don't want them to be happy. Before dawn they

will be dead.

Okay, Vin nodded. Gaxan wasn't sure if the boy was angry atthe soldiers or afraid of Gaxan. Vin kept speaking: We'll do it. We'llkill them. I know where they are, it's not far.

Good. We'll use this body as practice. Find a weapon: an axe, asword, a knife anything. We'll hack it up until his blood is all over theground. Then we'll do it for real.

I'm with you, Elsira touched his shoulder. Gaxan nodded inthanks. She spoke for all of them.

Tonight, they would have vengeance.

Night fell slowly, effortlessly, endlessly. Gaxan twitched constantly untilthe last rays of sunlight had disappeared and the darkness closed in.Having a plan of action was one thing, but waiting until the right timeto carry it out was pure torture.

His small young band had spent the twilight hours of theafternoon doing as he had ordered. The corpse was barely recognisableand Gaxan was amazed at how their attitude to blood and death hadchanged. Gaxan himself had taken the time to bury his father. Vin hadpitched in and together they had buried the rest of the bodies they hadfound. It had not been joyous work, and Elsira had watched over theburials a silent angel to care for the dead.

The anger boiling inside him welled up with each clod of dirt

they threw over the mass grave. Of Vin's family there was no sign.Elsira had cried silently when they had buried her father. None of theothers had been found.

They came so quickly, she said, when she and Gaxan had amoment alone. The boy went to speak, thought better of it. She wasn'tlistening.

I heard the horn but I didn't know what it was. I turned andsaw mother... she was so frightened. Her eyes, they burned positively

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burned with fear. I have never seen anything like it. She gathered me upand we ran into the forest.

I could hear the fighting and I was worried about my father, soI ran back. Her voice was dull and without emotion; she was saving

the feelings for her eyes. The tears fell freely and her eyes glistened inthe twilight. She kept speaking, and Gaxan kept listening, knowing thestory before it was told.

Mum begged me to return, but I kept running. I was worriedabout my father. When I ran through the gates the village was already burning. Your father was already dead: I saw him lying on the far endof the village, surrounded by the Raiders. Then I saw my father, and he

was fighting three at once. He was a very good swordsman, but he saw me and he faltered... I tried to scream, to warn him behind you! buthe just froze up and they cut him down.

Then... well, then some hands grabbed me and... and... shetrailed off, her voice too thick to speak.

Your father was very brave, Gaxan managed, knowing the words that she struggled to say. He didn't want to hear them, he didn't want to know. That was her nightmare. She didn't deserve it, but there was no changing that.

I know, she nodded, regaining her composure. He would bedoing the same thing, if he were still with us. I know he would.

Which is why we must do it in his stead, Gaxan told her. Hestood, put a gentle hand on her shoulder. We'll be okay, he said.

It doesn't matter if we aren't, was her reply. Just so long asthey pay.

Gaxan nodded and walked off, leaving her with her memories.

He joined Vin by the town gates. He was watching the forest closely,looking for any sign that they had been discovered.Do you think they're still out there? Vin asked. Our families ,

the boy didn't have to say.No, they're dead, Gaxan assured him. They were watching

the forest as though it were alive, fully expecting a contingent of soldiers to stride through and finish them off. In truth, the forest was alive, but nothing materialized. For now, they were safe.

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I can't hear them anymore, Vin whispered. Gaxan noddedsilently. He had noticed it, too.

There were no longer any screams. The cheering and rousing could no longer be heard. Now they could hear nothing but a constant

murmur as the Raiders put themselves to bed. The temperature wasdropping by the minute and the alcohol would have them swimming totheir tents and whatever they called home. Of their village, Gaxan wassure they had made their last sound. Now the children were all that

were left. Time flowed endlessly on.I think it's time, Gaxan said. It had been a while since Vin

had spoken but now the sky was almost perfectly black there wouldbe no moon tonight and the constant stream of murmuring andsnippets of conversation had been silenced by the heavy blanket of night.

I'll get the others, Vin said. They had allowed the youngerones to sleep. Gaxan was surprised that they had been able to, butElsira had got them down almost instantly. He almost felt guilty aboutrousing them. Perhaps it would be better if they let the whole thing go.

They didn't need vengeance, after all. They were safe now, they couldstart a new life.

No, that wasn't what needed to happen, Gaxan knew. They would never be free if they allowed this to go unpunished. It was time.

The others were standing in front of him. They were holding their weapons: Elsira, a bow; Renan a knife; Marana a pike, and Vin asword. Gaxan had kept his father's axe. It still smelled like him, and thatgave him strength, kept him focused.

Stay silent. Don't hesitate, Gaxan instructed. We'll take them

one at a time; we'll take them together.We're with you, Elsira promised.Then let's go.

The first one they killed was the watchman. He was facing inwards,looking towards the giant fire that roared in the centre of the camp. He

was snoring.

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Renan, you need to do this, Gaxan urged. The little boy wasafraid.

I don't want to do it, the little boy shook his head, made toleave. Elsira stopped him.

Renan, if you don't do this we can't look after you, sheexplained patiently. You need to do this or else we will never trust youor love you.

But I'm scared! Renan's voice was a quiet whisper, but it wasan urgent whisper.

There's nothing wrong with being scared. If you weren'tscared, then I would be worried about you. It will be okay: he is asleep.

Shouldn't we wake him up?No, it is better this way, Elsira promised. It's a small mercy

he never offered your parents. Renan nodded. Whether heunderstood, Gaxan wasn't sure. One day he would. It was no differentthen killing a chicken except they would not be eating the watchman.

The small boy hefted his knife. He took a step forward, justoutside of arms length. The watchman wasn't wearing a helmet and hishead was slumped in his chest. His neck was fully exposed, glistening

with alcoholic sweat. It would be an easy kill. Do it! Gaxan urged. Renan hesitated, the knife wavered. Gaxanfeared he would falter but, no, the young boy stayed true. In a lightning fast, savage jump, Renan lunged forward, knife high. With a sickening pop of cracking bone, the knife buried itself inside the watchman'sneck. The guard didn't scream; he never even woke. He rolled to theside silently and died in his sleep.

Renan pulled the knife out and looked at the blood. It ran from

the blade and dripped to the ground until the knife was almost clean.You did good, Gaxan patted the boy on the back. Are youokay?

I think so, the young boy nodded. Do I have to do it again?Yes, Gaxan told him. This is just the start. He turned to the

others. Marana's eyes were wide. Gaxan knew she was afraid and, of allof them, he was worried she would give them away. Perhaps it wouldbe best if she stayed behind, but she had to see this through, just like all

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of them. This was their legacy; she had as much right to it as the rest of them.

"Marana, will you be okay?" he asked her."I will," she nodded solemnly "I can do it."

"Good. I'm very proud of you. I know you'll be okay.""Can Elsira help me?" she asked. "I might need some help the

first time." Gaxan smiled at the older girl, who smiled back."Yes, I think that might be nice," he said.

Zalamandis was a warrior. Zalamandis was a king. Zalamandis was a lotof things, but right now what he was, was asleep. His belly was full withfood and his blood was thick with liquor. It had been a good raid, butthe village was poor and they had taken nothing but their women and not very many women at that! It was good practice for the men,that was all. they would get some real bounty soon. Perhaps the nexttown.

He was thinking in his stupor. He wasn't really asleep aRaider King never truly slept and he used the time to form the basisof a plan. They would move on in the morning. His head started toswim: perhaps they would move in the afternoon. Before they left they

would have to finish burning the tents.Zalamandis frowned. Why would they burn the tents? That

didn't make any sense... they wouldn't of course. They needed the tents.Then why were the tents burning?

The King was awake in an instant. He looked around:everything glowed orange. He was on his feet, sword in hand, and out

the door before his brain had fully snapped to attention. What he saw was anarchy. Men ran to and fro, burning alive. Most of the tents werealready aflame, stretching brilliantly towards the night sky. His tent wasone of the few that remained untouched.

" Men, to Arms! " he cried, but nobody answered. The villagersmust have had a hunting party out in the forest. They have come back for vengeance, Zalamandis thought. Where were his men? He took astep forward and tripped over a body. Looking down, he saw that the

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throat was cut, the eyes glazed open. Turning his head, he saw threeothers staring blankly back at him.

"Men..." it wasn't a shout anymore. He took another stepforward, seeing the devastation that was raging around him. Some of

his army burnt in their sleep, too drunk to stir. Some had arrowssprouting from their chests. A few were missing their heads. "Men..."

Out of the darkness, shrouded by the flames, a figure steppedclear. Zalamandis readied his sword. Was he the only one left alive?

"I am ready for you," the King said. It wasn't a boast. Thefigure took another step. He was also wielding a sword, but it looked

very big in his hands. Zalamandis laughed. "You're only a boy," he said.From out of nowhere, an arrow darted into his thigh. The King

cried out in pain and slumped to his knee. He looked down: the metalhead had pierced the skin. It hurt like Hell. The boy stepped forward,raised the sword.

"You think you can best me?" the King taunted. "You think one arrow is going to stop King Zalamandis!" he lurched to his feet,ignoring the pain. He was a big man and he moved fast , covering thedistance between him and the boy in three bounding steps. He raisedhis sword high above his head, ready to smite down his enemy.

Another arrow, this time in the back.Zalamandis collapsed, half a movement before his victory. For

his part, the boy hadn't moved, hadn't flinched. He had just stood theircalmly, his eyes ablaze with reflected fire. Zalamandis coughed upblood, spat it on the ground. He wasn't dead yet.

"If you plan to cry to your mother," he growled, "she is already dead."

"My sister, too," the boy added. His voice was calm but dull with lead. "All of our mothers are dead.""They all screamed. Every last one of them." Zalamandis' grin

was smeared with blood. "I bet yours enjoyed it, in the end. I bet yoursister loved it. A few of them always do."

"Do you know who we are?" the boy asked quietly. Zalamandissaw a few more figures stepping out from the fire. If it were possible,they looked even smaller than the one in front of him. A girl stood to

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the left, a bow in her hand. She looked familiar: the prize that hadescaped. He grinned again.

"Come back for seconds?" he managed. the girl raised her bow and inserted an arrow. Zalamandis didn't flinch, not even when it

thunked into his chest. It was a kill shot, he knew: direct to the heart. It was okay. It was his time, that was just how it was.

"I know who you are," Zalamandis said, his voice barely a whisper. He hadn't realised he had fallen onto his back. The stars werelovely and bright. "I know who you are."

"Who are we?" the boy asked, leaning close. The King wondered if he could stab him through the heart. Did he have thestrength to lift his sword? No, he was already dead. The boy had bestedhim. The children had bested him. Life was their reward.

"Oblivado..." the word died on the King's lips.Gaxan straightened, satisfied. Oblivado... it was an old word

one that he hadn't heard more than a handful of times. He knew what itmeant.

The Forgotten .

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Those That Were Left Behind

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Transcript of Those That Were Left Behind