Free Wayward Soldiers by Joshua P. Simon Page A

hundred feet of the blacksmith’s place until Ira sprung each trap personally.
    The last thing I needed was casualties caused by our own side.
    At the end of the twisting path, the door to the cellar became more clearly defined. I rapped my knuckles lightly. Moments later, Damaris opened the door.
    “How are you holding up?” I asked.
    She sighed. “Dying of frustration. It’s no easy thing to keep children occupied for this long.”
    “I thought they’d be asleep.”
    “They slept for a few hours. Not much more. They know something big is going to happen. Besides, it’s hard to sleep with the really young ones crying and the elderly complaining about the glory days when Turine was a land flowing with milk and honey.”
    “Turine has never been a land flowing with milk and honey. They’re just too far removed from their youths to remember correctly.”
    She moved aside and gestured below. “Would you care to tell them that? I’ve tried and have been called a silly young girl who doesn’t know anything.”
    I chuckled. “Uh, maybe another time. I got too many things still left to look into.”
    Her voice softened. “I’d rather be out there helping.”
    “You’re helping here. More than you realize. We all have our part to do. None of them are glamorous.”
    She sighed. “I know.” A loud crash sounded and Damaris whipped her head around. Several sobs and a few rough scolds from an older woman rose up from the cellar. “I guess I need to get back down there and quiet them down,” she said.
    I bobbed my head. “Take care of yourself.”
    A faint grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. “You too, Tyrus.”
    I started to turn away.
    “Wait.”
    “Yeah?” I looked back to her.
    “Do me a favor.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Don’t try to be a hero. They say that’s what my brother did. The letter said he single-handedly saved ten men before dying from a crossbow bolt. His efforts made my father proud, but I couldn’t have cared less. I just wanted him to still be alive.”
    My stomach clenched for her pain as I held back a heavy sigh. Her brother had apparently been a good man. A great soldier who did his duty and more. Like Sivan, his actions garnered my respect. Damaris’s feelings were no less important though. They just came from a different perspective.
    Not wanting to belittle those emotions, I replied simply, “I understand.”
    She gave a nod, turned, and walked down the stairs.
    I stared after her a moment, then blinked, and closed the cellar door. “C’mon Zadok. Give me a hand covering this up a bit more.”
    * * *
    We left the remains of the blacksmith’s shop and moved toward my most controversial idea, one that nearly turned the townspeople against me. However, if the idea worked, it could unnerve some, possibly all, of the raiders to the point they might decide attacking us might not be worth it. If nothing else, they’d wonder what else we’d be capable of which might give us an edge in battle.
    After the second eruption, it had been a hassle just to convince the townspeople to burn the dead. Explaining my intentions in preparation for our confrontation with the bandits had made that previous argument seem trivial.
    Sivan and Nason had helped calm everyone’s anger as I suggested we douse the flames on the funeral pyre. But it wasn’t until I cited some religious doctrine I recalled from discussions with an old army buddy about where we go when we die that people relaxed and listened to my proposal.
    The Turine religion taught that the body became useless at death and only the soul made the trip to either heaven or hell as decided by Xank, god of death. Most people believed the rule, but that didn’t stop the emotional connection people held toward the remains of their loved ones. People might have believed in a soul, but they still only saw the body.
    I felt bad for using Turine dogma against its own believers but I did it anyway.
    Wearing a layer of cloth around their