Chapter 17 – The Last Harvest
Morning came slowly to the forest, cool and damp, a heavy mist settling in among the trees, obscuring men from each other, even as the darkness tempered to gray light. Flik looked out beyond the trees, out towards the fields and the King's Road. He could see little, even of his own men, waiting around him for the order to launch the ambush. But that wouldn't be for some time, though everything was long prepared. He turned, walking back through the trees, his men all about on either side, but still entirely alone. There was a clearing several hundred yards behind the edge of the forest, a small space, filled with long grass that dampened his black pants and blue cape as he walked in. In this solitude, he spoke a few careful words:
"At the dawn of your day, Rune of Punishment, guide my thoughts,
Teach me that my evils are evils against the brotherhood of man,
Help me to bear your just penance with a humble, grateful heart,
Remit the evils that I do to others, as I remit those evils done to me,
Pour not the cup of wrath over this earth, but show us mercy at the last harvest."
The devotion ended, Flik stood listening to the morning songs of the birds. They suddenly took wing as another person entered the clearing. "Saying the devotions?" Apple asked, softly. Flik turned around, noting the young strategist wading through the grass. "At Soledt they used to get us up before dawn, so that we'd be able to attend the sunrise services." She laughed. "Every day they did that. I grew to hate those prayers, repeated over and over, in their weekly cycle. I never felt like I'd had enough sleep." As she spoke, Flik decided that she didn't sound very resentful over them now. "What about you?" Apple continued. "It's not like a Warrior's Village child to go picking up foreign religions."
Flik remained silent, not able to trust Apple with the secrets of his heart, and not willing to lie to her so soon after saying the devotion. She smiled, seeing his discomfort, and let the subject slide. Instead, she said, "We've received news from Gilbert. He delivered the message and has been ordered to advance. His unit moved out about half an hour ago. Solon Jhee's units are about an hour and a half behind. I'll tell you when to launch the attack." She nodded and walked back the way she'd come.
Flik returned to his men, waiting on the Highland Army. The mist began to thin; Gilbert's men were only an indistinct mass as they marched down the road, one hundred yards distant. Then there was more waiting. Flik had the senior sergeants stand down the men in shifts so that they wouldn't get overtired from the tension.
Finally the sun rose up above the eastern slopes and the mist was burned away, gone in a few moments of full sunlight. The advance units of the Highland Army were visible, marching in a long blue and white line down the King's Road towards Waldron. They did not seem to be marching with any scouts or flankers deployed. Instead, company after company of infantry marched passed Flik's position, the spacing between the units ragged and uneven. They seemed to be marching as if Luca Blight himself were watching, cracking a whip over their heads and enjoining more speed.
A slight tap at Flik's back broke his concentration, and he nearly tripped looking back to see who it was. It was Hanna, who said, "Apple wishes you to attack as the very last company of crossbowmen approaches. Your attack will be the signal for the rest of the units. Good luck." Then, without waiting for any confirmation, she slipped away through the undergrowth, making nearly no noise as she moved. He sent that message to the four senior sergeants: Rossgard, Tarrance, and two newly promoted men, Danel and Jerrim. Everything was in readiness; only the last few moments of uncertainty remained.
Rank after rank of crossbow-wielding Highlanders marched by. It was mesmerizing; he had to blink a few times before he realized the end was in sight. One of his men was leading his horse up. Flik took the reins and mounted, the last of the mercenaries to do so. Some of the newer ones were fidgeting, hands running up and down the length of their Fire Spears, but all eyes were on him.
"Advance," Flik commanded, pointing one hand towards the Highlanders. "At a trot, open order, single rank."
He led them out, the clear sunshine falling warm and bright on his head. The sun stood a little before noon. Flik could see the opposing men react to their sudden presence, officers running up and down the lines, trying to get the men to change facing. They were well trained, but they had hardly begun to form a line before Flik yelled out, "Halt! Prepare Fire Spears!"
In the previous battles, the distances had been too great or it had been too dark to really see the Highland soldiers as individuals. It was not so this time. Flik could see young faces blanching with fear, eyes gone wide, mouths working -perhaps in prayer, perhaps not. He shut them from his reasoning mind.
"Fire Spears! Attack!"
As inexorable as the tide, flames surged from the Fire Spears, a consuming wave of red and yellow that engulfed the first lines of Highlanders. Scoured them completely away. It continued flowing, tendrils of fire snatching at the soldiers many ranks back. The unit disintegrated, men hurling their weapons to the ground and running from the conflagration as quickly as they could. Someone near Flik started retching uncontrollably.
A slight west wind started blowing the smoke -and the smell- back into Flik's face. "North," he commanded, pointing with his sword. The sergeants followed suit; the two companies of mercenary horsemen trotted in that direction, followed by the two companies of Holm's Greenhill Rangers. A unit of Highland heavy cavalry, possibly five companies, was coming down the King's Road. They did not wait on Flik's approach but turned and retreated as his units stepped onto the cobblestones.
He looked back, trying to gauge the progress of the battle to his rear. Viktor's companies, eight of them, had launched their attacks. Riou and Jowy would be somewhere in there. Farther south, the ten companies of Muse infantry were also attacking, but looked to be somewhat behind the mercenary infantry. Hopefully, the Highlanders were under the impression that all of the mercenaries had Fire Spears. They certainly did not look to be putting up much of a fight at the moment, as they were beating a hasty retreat over the farmlands, heading towards the west. And, if everything went according to plan, they were retreating right towards Miklotov and his Matilda Knights.
Back to the north, Flik noted another Highland unit's approach. These were horse archers, maybe a full ten companies, and, if he judged the banners correctly, these were the same horse archers he'd skirmished against outside his fort. Their commander would certainly remember the effects of Fire Spears, and deploy his men accordingly. Flik wondered if he could turn this to his advantage somehow. Calling his senior sergeants, he set Tarrance to hold the left flank and Rossgard to anchor the right flank. He would stay in the center with the two new commanders. Holm's men would be the reserve.
Then he led the mercenaries towards the Highland riders. At extreme range, the opposing commander launched a first volley of arrows. Most clattered short on the road or buried themselves in the turf of the adjoining fields, but even so, a few struck home. Flik heard the pained whinny of a wounded horse and the curses of injured men.
Gesturing towards the enemy with his sword, Flik ordered another Fire Spear attack. The flames arched gracefully towards the opposing horsemen, but even as they hung in the air, the riders were already turning about, scattering away. Fire crashed down onto the road, but Flik was unsure as to how much damage had been done. Then he saw the enemy reforming, off the road, slightly to the west of their original positions. Glancing in that direction, he knew that he could not allow Highland to flank them and link up with their cut-off allies.
"Left! Left!" Flik yelled. "Extend the lines left." He swung his sword in that direction for emphasis. Sergeants rode along the line, relaying the order. The movement was jerky; training was poor and the new recruits were certainly not used to formation movement. There were some minor bumps and falls as the inexperienced mercenary horsemen trotted west. More arrows began raining down as they were completing the change. One smacked into the ground no more than three feet off to Flik's right.
Swallowing the impulse to shift his location, he ordered the Fire Spears into action again. As before, the Highland cavalry simply broke ranks and gave ground, leaving only tilled farmland to be scorched. Angrily, Flik watched the pillar of smoke mount skyward and ordered a pursuit of the enemy. About half a mile farther on, he suddenly halted, bringing the chase to an abrupt end. Memories of his awful charge at Scarleticia Castle during the Toran Liberation War swirled in his head. For the next twenty seconds, he spat invective at the ground, until his frustrations cleared. He knew he couldn't let his emotions carry him right off the battlefield. Charge too far ahead and some enemy was sure to outflank him and cut him off.
The Highlanders, seeing that the chase had stalled, swung about again, continuing their nuisance attacks. Flik glanced around, looking for a good position. A hundred yards back was a lane with a low wall of fieldstone just beyond it. There was some sort of stone building on the other side of the wall. Without hesitation, he rallied his horsemen back to that wall, the men dismounting behind it. The Highland horse archers advanced as Flik fell back, and he ordered the Fire Spears to drive them away. To his consternation, a few of the spears failed to engage, though most continued to spew fire.
The enemy gave way, disappearing behind fire and smoke. For another half-hour, Flik and his men waited tensely at the wall, but no further attacks seemed to be forthcoming. Relaxing just a little, he ordered the men to see to the wounded, and eat what they could. He took the moment to ascertain the nature of his surroundings, as well as the course of the battle. To the rear, the Highland army seemed to be mostly in retreat, but a fierce battle appeared to be underway around a farmhouse and orchard about a mile and a half distant.
Flik walked towards the dark-gray stone building that had caught his attention earlier. It was a low, rectangular structure, maybe fifty feet by twenty, without windows or any visible ornamentation. The only entrance was around to the front, and the floor beyond was half a foot below the landing. Ducking inside, Flik was immediately oppressed by the darkness of the room, the cool and damp atmosphere, and the closeness of the ceiling. There was little else inside, only a bank of votive candles just inside the entrance, a small, raised altar in the back, and a shallow holocaust pit just before it. The floor was simply beaten dirt. In here, the earth and stone seemed to reach out to shield and embrace…or possibly smother and suffocate.
Flik knew what this was: a shrine devoted to the True Earth Rune. Farmers, in particular, loved the True Earth Rune, along with the True Water Rune. The True Runes of Fire, Lightning, and Wind were considered too fickle for devotion by men who tilled the ground, and the other True Runes too distant. Sacrifices of crops and animals would be held here, for the continued fertility of lands or families, or for the repose of the dead. There might be a priest or deacon that served this shrine, or it might remain unattended until one of the travelling priests showed up, to offer services for a few weeks and then depart. Regardless, the shrine was empty now, save for the tiny flickering flame of one of the votive candles. Someone had been here earlier this day to pray, Flik realized. He wondered what that prayer was for, and if it would be answered.
All of a sudden he noted that he still had his boots on, when one was supposed to enter a True Earth shrine without any covering over one's feet. Flik wondered if he ought to be abashed, shook his head, and walked back out of the shrine. The bright warmth of the early afternoon sun was a shock and a relief, though he'd only spent a few moments inside. Around to the rear was, not unexpectedly, a graveyard. It was surprisingly large, possibly even a dozen acres, and after a few steps Flik found himself surrounded by quiet gravestones.
He let his feet guide him down the path of least resistance, sloping down towards a little babbling stream and a giant, ancient willow tree whose branches and leaves hung thick and green down to the ground. A few of his men were down by the water, filling canteens, which were strung around their necks like giant beads. The graves here were older and fainter, dating back a century or more. Just by the outer fringe of the willow's branches, Flik found a gravestone that drew him to it.
What he saw was a black obelisk with a carving of the True Sun Rune on it. That was unusual; most people preferred the True Earth, or the Rune of Life and Death, or even the Rune of Punishment. He pulled off a glove and ran his fingers across the aged inscription below the rune, reading it by his touch on the worn, pitted stone. "My dear wife, whose beauty outshone the rising sun, whose death has dimmed the lights of heaven, rests here." He worked his way down the monument to, Cherri Ellisbard - in Solis 305 to 331. Flik's mouth tightened a little. At her death, this woman had been younger than he was now. He continued reading, down to her children, though he almost stopped at the first one: Boy - in Solis 322. Her first child had either been stillborn or died within a few days, and she had only been seventeen. The rest continued: Girl - in Solis 324, Boy - in Solis 325, Tabita - in Solis 327 to 330, Girl - in Solis 329, Rekard - in Solis 331 to 416.
The wind murmured in the willow, softly drawing a strand of leaves across Flik's cheek. His eyes were watering. Suddenly he looked away, hearing someone running towards him.
"Captain Flik! Captain Flik!"
"I'm here," he said, taking a few steps back up the hill. The men down at the stream had stopped what they were doing to look his way.
"Captain, sir, a message from Tarrance. He's spotted those Highland mounted archers; they're to the northwest, sir. He says they're moving west to outflank us."
Flik nodded. "Go back, tell him to extend his line. Tell him that I'll extend the rest of the men to cover." Then he looked down at the men by the water. "All of you, get back to your units. I'm afraid the battle's started again." He scrambled back up the slope, dodging past gravestones to get to the stone wall. "Extend the lines," he yelled. "To the left! To the left!"
Sergeants got the rankers underway again, while Flik sent messengers off to inform Rossgard and Holm of the change in position. He mounted his horse and walked along the wall to the west, scanning the distant fields to the north. Those same Highlanders, the mounted archers, were still to the north, but now also a third of a mile to the west of Tarrance. This was not good; if he had to extend the lines any farther, the half-companies would end up as little isolated groups. Little isolated groups?
Flik snapped his eyes back around to dead north. Smoke was billowing up in great dark clouds from the earlier Fire Spear attacks, but little flame. He realized his mistake just as a gust of western wind picked up.
"Back! Back to your positions," Flik shouted. Jerrim's half-company, which was riding past him, stopped and milled about, even the sergeants momentarily confused. "Back to the wall," he ordered.
Just then, parting the smoke at a full gallop, Highland heavy cavalry came into view, a full five companies worth. With no time to dismount, the mercenaries simply settled their horses right where they were. Flik growled, unsheathing his sword. If that heavy cavalry pierced his lines, he would be in definite trouble.
"Fire Spears!" Flik pointed his sword towards the oncoming enemy. It glittered in the sunlight. "Attack!"
They did. This time the Highland units did not scatter and draw away, but pressed home the charge. He watched as they came on, driving right into the fire. But there was a gap in the flames, a flaw in the wall of fire. Flik looked down his line; incredibly, three consecutive Fire Spears had failed to engage, the men staring dumbfounded at their weapons. Enemy cavalry was pouring through the gap.
"Close that gap!" Flik yelled, catching the attention of the closest mercenaries. He pointed his sword at the offending location. Moments later, fire prevented the advance of any more horsemen. The ones that were through, however, were now bearing down on the stone wall. Jerrim's half-company was far too few to cover every spot along the front, and in moments blue and white cavalry were all around Flik and the men.
Grabbing the closest available man, he yelled, "Go get Holm and the rangers. Have them come right to this position. Hurry!" That man rode off, moments before the battle closed up around Flik. A dozen of his own mercenaries had formed up into a half circle around him, faced by at least twice that many enemy cavalry. "Spread out," he shouted. "Spread out, you're all too close together. We'll get swamped over if we can't move."
Jerrim, who was among the men around him, never got to give that order. Flik watched as the newly promoted senior sergeant took first one and then a second mace impact off his light helmet. The second attack shattered not only that side of the headgear, but also half his face. Bonelessly, he slid partway off his horse, held in position due only to the tightness of the formation. Raging, Flik thrust his right arm into the gap in his men and let his anger charge the lightning rune. At this range, the blinding light and deafening sound were instantaneous, and Highland cavalrymen were blasted off their horses without ever knowing that they'd been hit.
A moment later the rune's fury was spent, and Flik had to work to steady his horse, dancing in the press. Other horses were rearing, eyes rolling, as the mercenaries fought to control their mounts. Seven heavy cavalrymen lay on the grass, some with armor that was caved in, others with black flash burns on their exposed skin, and some that didn't look touched but were quite motionless anyway.
More horsemen arrived, but these were Holm's men. The Highlanders were falling back, retreating into the cemetery. After a few seconds, Flik was able to relax slightly from his keyed-up tension. Death was not imminent, at least. He looked around, seeing Danel's half-company approaching from the west, and Rossgard coming in from the east. Flik tired to sort out his thoughts, as some of Holm's men spread out, using their horsebows to keep the Highland cavalry at bay.
"Sir!" one of the mercenaries yelled, nearly in his ear. "Something approaching us, but darned if I know what to make of it."
Flik looked where the man was pointing. At first, he couldn't make anything of it, either. It seemed to be a mounted rider, but the motion of the mount wasn't that of a horse. Besides, the rider was too small to be a fully grown man. Then, incredibly, he figured it out, and started laughing. Other soldiers around him began laughing too, as they saw what approached.
The horses, on the other hand, were none too pleased with the new arrival. They started rolling their ears, pinning them back, and a few of the new recruits actually had their horses start to dance and rear a little. Shiro the white wolf pulled up just short of Flik, panting heavily, and permitted the kobold, Gengen, to dismount. Even now, Flik wasn't sure how Gengen had actually managed to ride on the wolf, but he listened carefully as the kobold delivered his message, in an excited, high-pitched voice.
"Captain, sir! Apple requests that you move your units to the west, to the forest, and try to intercept the fleeing Highland infantry. She says that the Matilda Knights have not shown up and the Highland forces are escaping."
Before Flik could answer, another messenger, this time on horseback, rode up.
"Sir, Tarrance reports Highland mounted archers are trying to cross his front, to the west. He's trying to hold them off with Fire Spears, but without reinforcements, he doesn't think he'll be able to for long."
And then Holm came over, to offer his status report.
"Commander, we've got about one hundred Highland cavalry pinned down in the cemetery, but they've got a good defensive position. That giant willow just seems to snatch arrows right out of the air, and they're prying up gravestones to make entrenchments. I'd like your help on this one, because it's going to be real knife work to try and get the Highlanders out of that."
Flik's head was spinning. He buckled down, trying to think on the most immediate problem. "Let's go down and see if we can't talk those cavalrymen into surrendering." Holm nodded and led the way. His rangers had formed a rough circle around the enemy, centered on the stream and willow tree. The Highlanders were hunkered down behind piled gravestones, unable to do much, but also enough of a threat that they couldn't be ignored. Flik yelled, "Surrender and we offer proper treatment under the rules of war. You're cut off from the rest of your countrymen; there's nothing to be gained by dying here."
The response was immediate. "We don't surrender to those who break treaties and slaughter our children! We don't surrender to those who use outlawed weapons to burn our soldiers! Your words are meaningless, bastard!"
Outlawed weapons, does he mean the Fire Spears? Flik frowned; he couldn't afford to waste time in hand to hand combat. With a shouted command, he called his two remaining senior sergeants forward. "Rossgard, set your men to the left, Danel on the right; prepare to use Fire Spears." It was only a matter of moments before the men were positioned properly. Flik looked back at the Highlanders. Perhaps they could see what was coming, but they obstinately continued to throw taunts at the soldiers surrounding them. He pointed his sword down at their positions. "Attack!"
Raging fire flowed down the hill, racing between and over the gravestones, hissing and steaming as it made contact with the water. It took the willow a little longer to catch, the fire hungrily licking at its leaves and slender branches, finally taking hold, curling them back on updrafts of hot air as the tree turned into a mass of flames. Gravestones cracked under the heat, some disintegrating into piles of stone shards. The black obelisk of Cherri Ellisbard was one of the latter. "Enough," Flik shouted, sheathing his sword. The Fire Spears returned to dormancy. He turned to Holm and spoke, "Take prisoners, if you are able. They can't have much fight left after that."
He turned his horse and led the men back up to the wall and into the lane. At the top, he said, "Rossgard, your half-company will hold this location, just in case any more cavalry decides to come at us. Danel, we'll take the other two half-companies in support of Tarrance. Let's go!"
He was just about to ride to the west when one of the men shouted, "Look there!"
There was back to the south, and Flik did look. A shining orb of white was rising over the battlefield, slowly spreading out into a dome. The edge of that dome was rushing towards his men, far faster than they could've run from it, so he simply let the light swallow his formation.
What followed lasted only a moment, but in that second, Flik was surrounded by…life. He could think of no better way to describe the runic power he felt. Its magnitude was similar to the power he'd felt out of the Soul Eater, a True Rune, so he deduced that this power must also be from a True Rune. An instant later, the dome dispersed, leaving Flik surrounded by more than a hundred shaken men. His horse, on the other hand, was perfectly calm, as were all the other horses he could see.
People began to point back to the cemetery, giving gasps of shock, and Flik worked his horse back to the wall. At first, he rational mind refused to believe what his eyes told him, what his ears heard.
"Captain…sir…we're fit for duty," Jerrim said, in a small voice, at the head of eight mercenaries who'd previously been lying, supposedly dead, on the turf. It seemed that only his men, and not the Highland dead, had been raised by the spell.
Flik studied him, his helmet was still shattered, but his face looked fully healed. More than that, his face looked as though it had never been damaged, with no scarring at all. The men behind Jerrim were all fidgeting at the spots where they'd taken what should have been fatal wounds. Only two corpses remained on the grass: one man who'd fallen from his horse and snapped his neck, and another who'd bled out from a ghastly neck wound.
Flik shook his head, steadied himself, and ordered, "Sergeant, take command of your half-company. We're moving out to the west." It was only then that he saw the eight patches of withered grass that corresponded exactly to the locations where those eight men had fallen.
With one last glance at the newly risen sergeant, just to remind himself of the reality of it, Flik began to trot down the lane. A rising cloud of thick, black smoke gave omen to the battle ahead. It was not more than ten minutes before they came across Tarrance's half-company, giving ground to the Highland mounted archers.
"Sir," he panted heavily. "Too many of them for just my men to handle. Fire Spears are giving out on us, too."
Flik scanned down the road. The mounted archers were maybe four hundred yards away, spread out into a long crescent formation, with the two extreme flanks extended towards his mercenaries. At the moment they were just holding their ground, after all, they didn't have to do anything else to achieve their goal. For behind them, another fifteen hundred yards back, were the disorganized groups of Highland infantry that should've been smashed to bits by the Matilda Knights. Instead, they were retreating to the safety of the north.
For just a moment, Flik considered ordering a charge, engaging with the Fire Spears. In his mind, he could see it working, his men sweeping aside the mounted archers, falling on the dispirited infantry, and savaging them with fire and steel. Then he started thinking about it. With the Fire Spears starting to fail again from overuse, it was doubtful that he'd be able to break the mounted archers. Instead, he'd probably end up fighting at ten to one odds and getting completely overrun.
He waved a messenger over. "Send this to Apple. We cannot intercept the retreating Highland infantry. The enemy is already well established to the west and the Fire Spears are too taxed to make another assault. Awaiting further orders."
He sent the message off, and placed his men in a line, perpendicular to the road, with Jerrim to the south, Danel to the north, and Tarrance in the middle. Flik was not expecting an attack, but he did not want to be caught in a bad formation should the Highland army launch one. Another half-hour passed and Holm arrived with the better part of his men, only leaving a few back to herd sixty-three Highland prisoners into Waldron. By this time, most of the retreating enemy had already passed on to safety. The mounted archers were beginning to pull back, still maintaining their discipline.
By the time Apple's response arrived, it was entirely moot. Not unexpectedly, she did not order any attack, but merely to keep the enemy under observation until it was clearly established that they were not going to continue the fight, and then fall back to Waldron. Flik did so for another hour. With the sun inching into the west, Rossgard sent a report noting that the Highland heavy cavalry was withdrawing from the field, ending the threat on that flank.
There being nothing left to observe, Flik ordered all the units under his command to make for the town. Bypassing the lane and shrine, he rode back by the direct route, cutting across the fields to make his approach. About halfway there, he came across the farm and orchard that had been the scene of intense fighting earlier in the day. The buildings of the farm were mostly gutted, but that wasn't what caught his attention. The orchard seemed to be in a particular state of disarray, with half the trees barren and stripped of all their leaves, and the other half impossibly heavy with ripe plums.
Curious, Flik walked his horse over to a small group of mercenary infantry who were busy preparing the corpse of a fallen comrade for transport. They looked up as he approached, saluting respectfully. "At ease," Flik replied. "What happened here?" he asked, gesturing to include both sets of trees.
"Well that's the thing," one soldier responded, an older man with a thick growth of facial hair. "Highland infantry made a pretty fair stand here, and we were having trouble rousting them out. Then the new senior sergeants, Riou and Jowy, you understand, they came along and they used…powerful magic." He nodded reverently, as did the others. The storyteller continued, "Riou's magic was a bright light that expanded overhead, and wherever it touched, our wounded men, including some that we figured were quite dead, suddenly recovered all of their strength and were able to fight again. It was only some time later that we saw that all the trees around Riou had gone dead…had the life sucked right out of them. Also the grass, you can see, it's all shriveled up." He bent down and plucked a few pieces, lifting them up so Flik could examine them.
They were indeed dead, crumbling into powder as he closed his hand around them. "How about over there?" he asked, pointing at the plum trees.
"Well, that's Jowy's magic," the old soldier replied. "He pointed his hand at the enemy infantry, and black blades suddenly appeared, striking them. And whenever they touched a man, he turned to dust and blew away. Strange thing is, that's when the trees behind them started bearing fruit. You can also see it in the field beyond. Look at that corn, it's already higher than a man's chest when it shouldn't be but little sprouts."
Flik looked; it was as the soldier had said. "What happened to Riou and Jowy?" he continued. "Are they all right?"
"They both fainted shortly after that. They were carried back to the town." He jerked his thumb in that direction.
"Thank you. Carry on, then."
He was about to ride off when another one of the soldiers stood up, this one nervously twisting an arrowhead that he'd strung around his neck. "S-s-sir?" he stammered. "If-if you see sergeant Riou, sir, c-could you please thank him for me? I've seen lots better men die from the same sort of wound that I had today, but," he gulped, "but it hardly seems fitting that he'd waste his power on someone like me. I just…just tell him that I promise never to do nothing bad ever again…and I'll settle down, get me a wife and some kids…and I'll even go to the shrine once a week."
Flik smiled. "I don't think you need to do all that."
"Yes, I do!" His eyes were frightfully pleading. "All sorts of good men went to the last harvest today, and yet he chose me to keep living. Tell him, please!"
"All right," Flik answered softly. "I'll see that I do."
The light from the setting sun was just beginning to turn the fields red.