Wayward Soldiers by Joshua P. Simon

spear impaled her through the back. The biggest corpse Ira could find among the pyre held the spear, charred legs widened and planted on either side of the woman. The pose not only added stability to the body but also emphasized the intended killing thrust I wanted to portray.
    I was amazed Ira could make the scene so lifelike with what he had to work with.
    “What do you think?” he asked.
    I grunted. “You’ve outdone what I had in mind. How’d you even get this one to stand?”
    Ira pointed to the back of the legs. “I jammed metal rods into the ground and tied his legs to them. The rods run up his back as well. Lots of twine under his clothes you can’t see. The spear is helping too.”
    I held up a torch Ira had set on the ground to work by. With its light, I took in the rest of the bodies. All had been positioned in a similarly gruesome scene. Corpses looked like they were trying to escape while others attacked them.
    “I’m impressed.”
    He grinned. “I didn’t show you the best part.”
    Ira turned and headed back toward the two corpses positioned against the wood hammered into the ground. Originally, I thought the boards they leaned against were simply there to provide support for the bodies. But from the front I saw someone had wrote a message on the wood.
    “I came up with this myself.” Ira said, beaming like a proud child.
    “Welcome to Hell,” I read.
    A shiver ran up my back.
    “Ira, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

CHAPTER 6
    A couple of hours into morning, I stood atop the roof of the Hemlock Inn. I shielded my eyes from the orange glow of the sun as light sifted through the haze over the landscape. This position allowed me to take in what would become the center of the conflict.
    A town I once called home was going to become a battlefield.
    The more I thought about that, the crazier recent events seemed.
    Past the still burning funeral pyre where wisps of smoke joined the haze, I scanned the broken and battered trees that lined the road. They were the only thing visible beyond the road’s natural bend.
    Sivan had returned some time ago, letting us know that the raiders were awake and moving about with purpose. Instincts told him they would attack. But, he expected it to be some time before hangovers wore off enough for them to head our way.
    I blinked and scanned the horizon, looking for any sign of movement that might give us a better warning of their approach. Ira had wanted me to send Sivan back out. If we had mounts in good enough shape to do so, I might have. However, the old man’s skill with a horse would only go so far. Most of the animals were still recovering from all the chaos after the sorcerous attacks from the artifact and Sivan had already worn out the healthy ones.
    I wondered how the raiders and their mounts seemed to be doing so well in the eruptions’ aftermath. I assumed a minor healer or someone resistant to sorcery must be among them. It was the only reasonable explanation.
    I hadn’t thought about the men in my old unit in some time. However, as I looked over what would become our field of battle and considered all that could go wrong, I thought long and hard about each man I used to know. All had been good men, well-trained and highly skilled. Several had knowledge of skills and tactics the rest of us knew little of. Omar, with his understanding of engineering would have been especially useful in the preparation of Denu Creek.
    Hamath was another person I’d love to have at my side. Besides his leadership skills and effectiveness as a scout and fighter, I just missed his company. Ira and Dekar were great friends. Ava knew me better than anyone ever had, but the relationship I had with Hamath was something far different. I could talk to him about things I’d never mention around others.
    Unlike Sivan, Hamath wouldn’t have needed a horse. I’d send him out on foot, knowing he could warn us and get himself to safety without being killed. Sivan may have looked