Riding Through Hell

[The Hedge Knight 173]

((Been working on a tiny post since the first battle. Finally got around to finishing it. It's a tad bit graphic to those of you who believe you would like a warning of sorts. I hope you enjoy the read. EDIT: I had to change pleasure to unpleasured. Not sure why it changed it.))

 

 

 

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DPL_SV3n7IU

 

 

A horse slowly saunters up to the previous fields of battle between the feuding humans.

 

Two days had passed since the first battle had occurred, the moans of dying men were still heard through the bloody ghostly field.

 

The horse was unsteady, but it's rider shushed the animal, trying to calm it.

It could smell the death, it could feel the pain of those still dying.

 

The rider brought his horse up to one of the Savoyard barricades, then hopped off from his stead.

He pulled on the reigns, then hitched his ride to a stake protruding from the barricade.

 

Quietly then, he marched through the field, the sound of crows cawing in the trees filling his ears.

He listened carefully though, looking for one of the low cries he'd been hearing as he passed the field.

Finally, there it was.

 

A young Savoyard banner man, stuck below a dead, decaying horse.

He approached the crying young man, then kneeled down beside him, pulling the lad's visor up.

 

"Whats your name lad?" a chilled tone spoke out.

"S-s-s-stephen.." the pained voice responded in a shivering weak tone.

"Stephen... Count to ten, I'll pull you out of this rut." the man stood up, observing the scene.

"Y-yes'uh... One.. Two..." the young man began to count.

 

The rider positioned himself behind the young man, his arms wrapping underneath the man's armpits and back up around. By the time the young man reached seven, the rider pulled.

To his surprise the young man slid out from beneath the horse with ease, but what he saw next would make his face twist in an unpleasured manner.

 

The young man's gambeson had been torn across, his entrails a tangled mess trying to about freely.

The rider eyed this, hearing the moaned out cry from the young man, he took a minute processing the site, and how futile it would be to try and fix this man with his very basic field knowledge.

The rider looked down at the whimpering soul, a frown forming on his face.

The rider then shifted to sit on his knees, he pulled the man's head off from the dirt then cradled it.

 

"We shall say a prayer. Then this will be over." the rider's tone remained solemn.

The young man could not respond, but only weep in his mixture of pain and realization of death.

The rider began to pray quietly, a hand leaving the young man's head to grab a misericorde from the back of his belt. As he finished the prayer, he jabbed the blade into the temple of the young man's head a loud grunt leaving the rider's mouth.

The young man was put to rest.

 

The rider then slowly pulled his blade from the side of the man's head, wiped it off on his glove, then stood. He gazed over the war torn field silently, then continued his work.

Piling bodies... Delivering final prayers... Then burning them.

The rider knew what would come from a full field of corpses, he aimed to prevent it from becoming an issue to the people wandering to and from on the roads.

 

Night came, and howls could be heard. He made his way back to his stead then left.

Days would continue this way, slowly but surely working on cleaning the fields.

This was the job of those few who could stomach it.

This was the glorious solution to a disagreement.

 

[Huh 91]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.