The Borderlands The Memoirs Of Lord Tristan

Chapter IV

The battle plan was initiated. I and 8,000 other men were sent up through the pass. Lord Tristan was right. The terrain was tough and I was becoming very faint and exhausted. Finally after about an hour of trekking through the cold on slippery rocks we reached a point where ten Raiders stepped out. They were big, broad men, they wore furs over their armour and wore red and white war paint. Just like Lord Tristan had said.
Lord Tristan stepped forward, he had personally undertaken the task of leading the first army. "We come to avenge the many Cascatans you have murdered in cold blood. Surrender, or face certain death!" yelled Lord Tristan, authoritatively.
"You just try!" snarled one.
Without a moment's hesitation Lord Tristan placed an arrow on the string of his bow, he pulled, aimed, and released. As he let the arrow slip through his fingers I heard him murmur, "For Gena." Whatever that meant.
The arrow shot straight through the Raider's leather breastplate and through his heart. It was a very impressive shot, one of such power and accuracy from such a distance was a marvel.
"Charge!" yelled one of the ten Raiders.
My first thought was that the Raider had to be a world class fool to think he had any hope of survival, let alone winning. But my thoughts changed once I realised it was an ambush.
"Retreat!" yelled Lord Tristan.
I didn't hesitate, I turned tail and ran. He fired at the Raiders whenever any of them got too close to his army for comfort. That was another advantage, the Raiders had very few bows. The descent was treacherous, but easier on one's lungs.
Finally after what felt like an eternity we made it to the plains, and were ordered to flat out sprint. We were a good five hundred feet ahead of the Raiders. Once we were halfway across the plain, Lord Tristan ordered the rivers to be released. It was the most fantastic experience I have ever experienced. When I looked over my shoulder I saw pure pandemonium and confusion, the plain was falling in on itself swallowing thousands of Raiders.
Our army barely made it, all the soldiers turned to watch the epic catastrophe unfold. It was like a churning whirlpool, taking everything in it's path, turning the dust to thick mud, the kind hard to pull yourself out of.
Once the churning mass subsided we had to deal with the stragglers, there were about 5,000, which felt like a piece of cake compared to our treacherous jog. With our two armies combined we made about 16,000 strong. We rushed into battle encompassing the rest of the Raiders so there was no hope of escape. And that's when the real dirty work began. Lord Tristan and Captain Seberin fought next to each other, making any opposition futile. They worked methodically often in sync, and there I was, swinging my sword around like a maniac. I had learned new fighting tactics over the past week, but they weren't my instincts. I slashed, stabbed and parried, trying to defend myself from any attack, luckily I never had more than one Raider to fight. Suddenly, I was jarred to reality. I was killing people. I began to shiver and my body began to seize up. How could I kill people like this? I began to stumble away in a daze, it was one thing if we were the defenders, but we were the offenders. This feeling came upon me in a rush of uncontrollable emotion, unprovoked, yet very present.
"Cassim!" shouted Lord Tristan, blocking a strike that would have decapitated me. "Cassim what's the matter?" he asked, defending both him and I.
"We're killing people," I said, emotionally.
Unlike a real commanding officer who would have barked at me to get my priorities back in order, Lord Tristan merely said.
"I know, and I'll die knowing that I took lives rather than saved them."
And that, I believe, was the sentence that changed my life. Seeing such a good, honest, seemingly flawless man admit that he was going to be tormented the rest of his days by the knowledge that he had killed, made me forget my own worries. He was right, taking lives was something that no one could take in their stride.
And now I knew why soldiers got drunk, it was to forget the faces of those they had killed, of the families they had torn apart, and of the reality that peace was never truly peace.
"Your a good man," I said, "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
"Thank you Cassim, that means a lot," he said, and I actually believe I lifted a weight from his shoulders.
"You're a much better man than I could ever be," I said, bitterly.
He put a hand on my shoulder and gripped it firmly. "No, that's not true. Get rid of your arrogance and you will not only be a good man, but a great one," he said, honestly. "And if you don't want to kill anymore, then don't. Go back to the catacombs if you want. I certainly won't make you break your morals as I have broken mine."
I looked at him, and in that one look I conveyed all my gratitude, want of forgiveness, and a promise to become a better man.