IC 1359: Betrayal

THE ISLAND OF MIN.

TEN YEARS EARLIER.
IC 1359.

"HELP ME... Someone, help me, please..." cried out Raruba, a Holy Brother who lay dying on the beach of an unknown island.
Wounded by an enemy soldier, he had been abandoned by his comrades.
"Is there anyone there?" he asked.
Raruba could only stare at the sky, occasionally turning his head to look afield at the beach around him. But he could only see sand, the occasional palm tree, and many many dead bodies littering the ground out toward the horizon.

It had been worse last night. As the sun set, the freshly wounded knights that had been his allies, screamed in agony. That intermingled with the screams of the enemy soldiers who had fallen beside them. But after the battle, it did not matter. They were both suffering. They were both in pain. The Holy Knights had won a tactical victory, damaging the settlement of the Attican merchants, as per the Knights' contract with Bellezians. However, when Attican reinforcements arrived, many of the invading Knights were slaughtered. The wounded were left on the battlefield, as the able-bodied Knights retreated to their ship. The boarded Knights rushed back to Bellezian territory, anxious to escape as soon as possible.
And, of course, Raruba, the best of them, the kindest and most virtuous of the Knights, was left behind.

The morning after the battle, the screams had quenched themselves. Many of the wounded had simply died from blood loss. Those survivors that remained had had their throats dried and their lungs spent from that long night. They had reduced their anxious cries to depressed moans and groans.

<But why?> Raruba thought to himself. <Why did they leave me behind?>
Raruba's mild brown hair, thick with sweat, clung to his face above a tired brow. A poor brother knight, he could not afford a full suit of armor, and it would be impractical in this near-tropical marine climate anyway. The poor knight's arms were covered in recent cuts and old scars. A tattered uniform enrobed his torso. The cross marked upon it, the symbol of the Order of Holy Knights, did nothing to save him. For below that, lay two useless legs. His right leg exhausted from yesterday's battle. His left leg, as yet unknown to him, permanently crippled, the tendons severed at the mid-thigh. The bleeding, profuse at first, had stopped, only due to the abundance of hot sand around him. And yet, even if he survived this day, he would never be able to walk again.
<Did they abandon me...?> Raruba wondered, as he stared into the void. <...or... was I betrayed...?>

*

*

*

MEANWHILE.
ON A SHIP TRAVERSING THE DRACONIC SEA.

A company of the Holy Knights was returning from the Island of Min, towards their home base at the Fortress of Otranto.
A tired old knight looked over the side of the ship as it continued to sail away.
Brother Petrarchus muttered, "I should have saved him."
A muscular knight, Brother Ares, countered, "Leave him. Raruba was always the weakest among us."
"It's not right," said Brother Sanctimonious. "We should never leave a fallen comrade."
Petrarchus commented to Sanctimonious, "You two were close, weren't you?"
Sanctimonious replied, "Of course. We joined the order at the same time. We believed that we were going to be heroes."
With every passing minute, they grew more distant.
"But," Sanctimonious said with strain, "We cannot defy the orders from Master Schema. He knows best."
"I hope so," Petrarchus doubtfully agreed.

*

*

*

BACK ON THE ISLAND OF MIN.

And for all of Raruba's prayers for someone to be there, someone finally appeared.
From the distance, a girl approached. Her head and shoulders covered in a loose black cloak that swayed in the cold morning wind. Her bare legs ending in sandals, her feet making careful steps. <Someone to help?>
<Or maybe not...>
As the girl drew closer, slowly but with purpose, Raruba noticed what she was carrying...
The dark clad girl held in one hand, a length of rope, and in the other hand, a spear pointed downward...