Kozog
KOZOG HATED BEING SICK. HATED being injured. Hated being weak.
Still, it was better than the alternative.
Eventual death was something all creatures accepted, and half-breeds like him were no exception. The orc in him instilled a willingness to endure suffering to reach his goals, whereas the human gave him the cunning and the tenacity to see them through.
Truly, though, Kozog knew somewhere in his green heart that his death would probably be in battle. He had seen enough of war to know that the suffering of the dying was typically profound. The occasional faint groan or whimper heard through the canvas attested to this.
“Hey,” came a familiar voice. Brea smiled warmly as she slid up to his bed.
Thoughts of death and misery evaporated, and Kozog could not resist a smile in return. “Hey. Not dead yet.”
“Good,” said Brea. “We’re so close to Irondarrow. It would be a shame to have come this far and die right before the gates.”
“Agreed,” he grunted. “Although our part in the battle to come can only be minimal. I can walk, even if I shouldn’t, and you can fight, even if you shouldn’t…so in all likelihood our weapons will be sheathed for the initial engagement.”
“A siege is long,” said Brea, the usual levity in her voice dampened by the cold truth of her words. “Weeks. Months. War engines will do most of the work; when they are whittled down to nothing by attrition, then flesh will take its place. We will have our fill of blood and slaughter yet.”
“A mollifying, and yet equally sobering, thought.”
Brea ran her hands through her hair. “Right, well, on to business. Let me take another look at that wound. I’ll check your stitches.”
“Right,” said Kozog. He and Brea had worked together before, and had sewn each other up plenty of times.
Brea peeled back the green-stained bandages, the corners of her mouth falling as her sharp eyes took in the work. “I would have done better.”
“I know. But you had to give your report. It will heal, fear not.”
She folded his bandages back, the gentle touch enough to make him wince. “Girls dig scars,” she said. “You’ll be fine.”
Kozog nodded in agreement. “Scars show you have morals. Principles. Show you have stood up for something; better that than to be a weakling doormat, always underfoot.”
“And women find them especially attractive,” said Brea, her tone gilded with…something.
Did they? He had no idea. “If you say they do.”
“Well,” said Brea, “I would know.”
A silence fell that, for some reason, Kozog found mildly uncomfortable.
“Do you think we’ll ever retire?” asked Brea.
“Mmm?”
“Retire,” she said. “You know. Like I said—go back to Valamar, settle down, raise a family.”
Kozog laughed politely. “Do the thing with orclets? I don’t think so. One day, one of these wounds will be too deep to scar, too savage to survive, and that will be the end of me. You too, if you keep this up.”
“Live by the sword,” said Brea, “live a good, long time.”
“Until someone with a bigger sword comes along.” Kozog winced and rubbed his bandages. “That’s why you always need to carry the biggest sword.”
“More talk of strength and might.” Brea rested her chin in her hands. Why did she keep talking of such things? “Is power so important to you?”
For a time, Kozog didn’t know how to answer. Brea was not ready for the truth; not yet. He answered as simply as he could. “I think that if you dedicate your life to war, every day is a risk. Eventually your risks don’t pay off. So if you’re going to fail at something, it might as well be something you love.”
She seemed to accept that; Brea’s smile revealed her white teeth. “Sounds like good relationship advice, in another context.”
He laughed. “I wouldn’t know. Life in the church has not left me with many chances to engage in…extracurricular pursuits.”
“I suppose not,” said Brea, tapping on her chin. “That’s a shame. My own upbringing was, well…I’ve experienced many such things. You really are missing out.”
Kozog knew Brea had needs, but this was something else. His discomfort grew, and not just because of all the exposure his stitches were receiving.
“If you say so,” was all he could say.
Brea just shook her head and he could sense frustration coming from her. “Well, you need rest.” She seemed to want to say more, but instead, patted his shoulder in a comradely fashion. “Sleep, you big oaf. We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow.”
“That we do,” he said.
Kozog watched as Brea left, walking amongst the wounded, and he smiled at her back until it was no longer in his sight.