A trumpet woke the troops. Cullan winced in pain as a headache formed. He got up and realized he didn’t even bother to get undressed. His clothes were wrinkled and his hair was messed up. Combing his hands through his hair he finally stood and walked outside. It was cool and grey. Clouds blocked out the sun with their thick dark bodies. The morning was humid with puffs of fog crawling along the hills and plains. A cool breeze brushed against his skin, waking him up more. Cullan moved along until he got to a stream. He cupped the water and splashed his face. He had to sober up fast or else the Commanding General would have his hide. Not that anything would happen. They needed him.
He was interrupted a few minutes later by a Vigoratus. It was the one from yesterday that tried to heal his old Vivificus. Cullan couldn’t even remember the medic’s name.
“Master Cullan, your new Vivificus is here. He is waiting in your tent right now.” Cullan pulled himself to stand and began to walk back towards his tent.
“Thought you said it would take some time to fine a new one.” Cullan mocked in a tired tone.
“Each one is different; some are ready for the field in a few years and other longer. He just so happened to be ready last night. But we can always appoint him to someone else if you wanted to wait more.” Cullan glared silently at the medic obviously not amused by his humor. The Vigoratus rolled his eyes and began to walk away when he suddenly stopped and turned on his heel back towards Cullan.
“Oh and Master Cullan, the Commanding General would like to see you as soon as possible. Please try to be respectable.” The medic looked at him from head to toe with amazement but turned again walked away from Cullan and towards a few other Pugnators. Cullan sighed and continued to walk back to his quarters. When he arrived, there sat a man on the second bed that looked a little older than Cullan. He had curly brown hair, sleepy blue eyes and a big build. He over came Cullan in height and strength. His appearance contradicted his demeanor. The man may have been intimidating in some respect but had the aura of nothing more than a big puppy dog.
“Ah, you must be my new Pugnator. My name is Liam, nice to meet you.” Liam stuck out his hand with a big smile. Cullan limply shook his hand only to take it back a few seconds later. Let’s get this over with. Cullan thought dully. He sat down on his own bed and waited for the exciting back story of Liam. Said man laughed a little to himself and also sat.
“What’s so funny?” Cullan felt like a nail was scratching at the back of his brain with his hangover. He didn’t like people laughing at him.
“Well, I was told that you are non sociable and won’t care about my life. I laughed because they were right.” Cullan never had a Vivificus be blunt like that. He sighed and put his hands behind his head.
“Yeah, I don’t care. A Vivificus’ role is to take the wounds of the Pugnator and if he or she dies in the process then so be it. It’s your role in this war.” Since Liam was going to be blunt, Cullan might as well join the fun. “Another thing I don’t care about is other people’s opinion of me. Don’t expect me to start sobbing because people might say ‘mean’ things.” Liam laughed at that. It was cheerful and reminded Cullan of children playing in a meadow. Liam looked straight at Cullan with determination and respect.
“You not only hate their opinions but you just hate people in general. I must say, that’s a sad life indeed. You lock yourself away from others and think that it will make everything better.” Cullan wanted to just glare at Liam. He acted like he already knew him.
“Let me guess. You’ve had the perfect life. Full of friends and family that love you and are planning to write to you every night, right?” Liam looked down at his hands; a sad smile replaced the one before it. He let out a little chuckle as he contemplated what to say next.
“I’m happy to hear that I appear that way. If you must know I’m an orphan. I don’t know what a family is. No memories of any kind.” Cullan felt a small pang of guilt. He at least knew his parents before they died.
“As for friends, they’ve all joined the army at the northern front. None of us have time to write. They’re all Pugnators. I was the only one who trained to be a Vivificus. So I didn’t even see them at the training site. Not many Pugnators or Vivificus’ survive the northern front.” Liam stared outside of the tent. There was obviously more to his story than just that. It definitely didn’t seem too heavenly. Cullan sighed and stood up.
“Unless you have second thoughts, I think we should get the ritual over with.” Liam nodded and stood up and left the tent with Cullan. They walked across the camp over to the magician tents; they were separated from the soldiers to keep the medics from making favorites. Nonbiased relationships were needed to avoid chaos. Cullan slowly desensitized himself to Liam’s story. It won’t matter on the battlefield or at anytime. It was war; sympathy was a waste of time.
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Arsenio stared at himself in a tall mirror. Heavy bags from sleepless nights darkened his already murky brown eyes. Grey hair that crept through his brown locks added to his tired physique. He wore a loose faded green shirt with a leather vest on. Combat boots and pants strapped to his legs were easier to move around in and were needed these days. A sword garnished his attire; he wanted to be ready for anything. The capital city wasn’t as safe as it used to be. In the back of the room was his closet, the door was ajar and his old green and black robes hung collecting dust. He stopped wearing them many years ago.
Rubbing the bridge of his nose he walked out of his house, kissed his wife and daughter good-bye, and ambled his way to King Brennan’s war room. Arsenio remembered the city being livelier. People used to crowd the streets talking and laughing. Now a long line of citizens waited for rations to be distributed. People looked like dark clouds, with heavy black underbellies to store their misery. No sunshine was seen in their eyes or actions. Arsenio moved past the weary people and continued on the way to the castle. Guards, wearing similar clothes as him, leaned against the stone walls. They didn’t even bother to stand erect as the Minister of Defense walked by. But it wasn’t the time for niceties.
Arsenio continued to cross the castle defenses and hallways. New flags were posted on the walls but with swords and axes adorned next to them. Just for extra armory in case of an invasion. All of it was planned by him. The defense of the city would have been his top priority 25 years ago. Today, it was the safety of his King.
What was now a routine, Arsenio shoved the large doors open. It was now with re-enforced metal along the skeleton of the wood, they were much heavier and harder to break through. As he sauntered up to King Brennan, he noticed that the chair had lost all of its jewels. They were used to buy supplies from allies and make improvements for the military.
King Brennan had a full head of white hair. His once bright eyes were dulled to everything, even his now best friend Arsenio. Wrinkles of depression lined along his forehead and face. Repeating years of tradition, the King looked up at his defense advisor and back at the tactical information on Edessa
“They are starting to get an idea of our strategies.” King Brennan said with frustration. “They don’t know about the Iugum Aeternus but do know that simply slicing our men isn’t going to kill them.” He flipped the page a little. It caught some momentum and lifted from the table. Gliding low, it fell a few inches from its original spot. Arsenio withdrew his own folded piece of paper. He rubbed his callused fingers along the edges of it and finally gave it to King Brennan.
“News from our fronts. Some of the Pugnators are getting cocky about their newfound immortality.” King Brennan snatched the letter from Arsenio’s hand. Ripping open the seal he sped read the details. His already gloomy mood worsened. He clenched the paper harder, crumpling it a little bit. Smacking his large hands on the table caused a resounding pound to echo in the large room. The letter was losing its integrity very quickly.
“They will be our undoing. Are their Commanding Generals at least solving the problem?” King Brennan was trying to keep his cool. This war was already costing so many lives, especially of the Vivificus. Arsenio took the opportunity to sit and began to rub the bridge of his nose again.
“My King, if you read more of the letter you would have found that out.” King Brennan glared at him. Arsenio got the idea. “They are presenting some of the Pugnators with new Vivificus. They are basically getting one more chance.” Arsenio didn’t say much else. King Brennan sighed, tried to straighten the now ripped and wrinkled letter, and began to read more. He nodded and put the letter among other ones on the table. It was a war zone even on the table. Stacks of papers and maps cluttered the slab of wood like snow. Arsenio knew his wife would have had a fit had the circumstances been different.
“Where do we stand with the number of Vivificus?” King Brennan asked quietly. He sat back down with an ache in his joints. He suspected that he may not see the end of the war.
“We have about 300 training. But most of them still in the early stages of the exercises. We are running out of civilians.” Arsenio clasped his hands together in front of him. He knew that the numbers weren’t good. King Brennan laid his head against his chair. Closing his eyes for a moment he reopened them and stared blankly at the vaulted ceiling.
“If it comes to where Pugnators have to go into battle without a Vivificus, do you think they will survive?” King Brennan already knew the answer, he just desperately wanted encouragement.
“They are skilled, but once one Edessan soldier realizes he can kill them, the Edessan army will be rejuvenated and probably force our men back. No, this bond is essential to our victory now. Without it, we will lose this war.” King Brennan grimaced and rubbed his hands across his face. Sitting up, he got a blank piece of parchment and a quill. Dipping the end in a bottle of black ink, he began to write. About ten minutes later, he blew on the words and handed the paper to Arsenio.
He looked over the paper. It was a new draft for Vivificus soldiers. At the bottom was the Kings signature. It now needed his and the Minister of Magic. He would have to make a day’s trip to the neighboring town where the man was stationed. His King held out the quill to Arsenio. Taking it from King Brennan, he signed the draft. He then rolled it up, stuffed it in his inner pocket and made his way out of the war room. Arsenio went back home, packed a two day supply of rations and saddled his horse. He pulled himself on and trotted along a weathered trail. Looking up at the blue sky, Arsenio thought of the Iugum Aeternus. The Pugnators lost their sense of unity and leeched off their new immortality. He gave a prayer that the Commanding Generals’ wouldn’t be lenient on their punishments. Giving his horse a quick kick, he cantered all the way to the town of 