The Magelands Origins: Retreat of the Kell by Christopher Mitchell

Author:Christopher Mitchell [Mitchell, Christopher]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781912879175
Publisher: Brigdomin Books Ltd
Published: 2020-02-28T16:00:00+00:00

Four days later, Leckie died.

They had done what they could, fed him and kept him wrapped up, but his fever raged, and during the night his heart gave out and stopped. They found a quiet spot a couple of miles from their camp and bore him there on the same stretcher upon which they had carried him in.

‘Sorry, Lacey,’ Killop said to the dead lad’s sister, who was sitting on the grass crying with Clara’s arm over her shoulder. He nodded to Calum. They picked up the blanket enclosing the body and laid it in the grave they had prepared. They shovelled the earth back in, and stacked stones into a cairn. A cold wind blew from the south along the ravine where they stood while Kylon said a few words.

‘If it weren’t for this war,’ he began. ‘Leckie would be just a boy in his village, playing with his friends, and chasing girls, far from any battlefield, where he didn’t belong. But the Rahain came, and now we mind his name, for he was one of us.’

They keened, and mourned, then returned to their camp, aching from the cold wind.

The following morning at breakfast, as Killop and Keira were sitting by the ring of tents planning their next raid, Conal arrived.

‘Just back from Meadowhall, mage,’ he said. ‘Lots of goings-on this dawn. Think they might finally be ready to move out.’

‘About fucking time,’ Keira said. ‘Getting bored of attacking wagons.’

Killop looked around at the rough camp where they had been based for nearly a third. It felt almost like home, and the squad, his family. He was missing poor wee Leckie’s bumbling, which had caused them much amusement at mealtimes. Without him there, they had all mucked in to get breakfast prepared, though nobody mentioned the reason why. Kylon was right. He hadn’t belonged on the battlefield. He looked around at the rest of his squad. Conal, Calman and Kalma weren’t too far off Leckie’s age, and Lacey was just ten minutes older. So many of them, barely out of childhood, who were now witnessing and delivering death without emotion. He remembered how he had killed Rahain soldiers who were injured or who had surrendered. Remembered the look in their alien eyes as he ended their lives. In Northern Kell at the start of the war, he had flinched at such things, but now it hardly registered on his consciousness. Leckie was dead. How did he feel? Did he feel?

‘Pack up everything,’ he said. ‘We’re moving out.’

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