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I am an officer under Highprince Amaram; but not a good one or I would be fighting on the Shattered Plains under Highprince Sadeas. My part is to fight in the border skirmishes with Jah Keved. To keep away foreign invaders while my king and highprince fight for vengeance against the Parshendi. It’s not glorious, these skirmishes, but the songs and stories never quite tell it that way. They’re all about shardbearers gleaming like sun and moon and about victories and lighteyes and glory. They’re never about darkeyes like me, unless there are shards to be won. They never tell about the gore and the pain and heat or the screams and moans of the dying. Songs tend to skip that part. They also seem to forget that all the dead need remembering.
My duties included dictating letters back to families. Tell them their son or husband or father has fallen in battle. That he fought with honor. That he was a credit to his name and the best storming soldier there ever was and he’s found a place in the Tranquiline Halls with the Radiants and the Almighty. You might say that I would think it was all a load of chull dung after having to dictate so many. I can tell you now that I meant every single word in every single letter. Most of them were just kids anyways, boys. Too old to be home safe with their parents and too inexperienced for the Plains. Songs never talk about that either, how young the soldiers are.
Now here’s one letter that stands out most in my mind. It was after one of the big ones, a full battle not a little skirmish. I remember it because there were two armies; those of Highprince Amaram and Brightlord Roshone. I recall that Roshone’s army was a mix of rather old men and some really young kids. I also recall that there was a shardbearer present who was killed by the highprince; though some of the troops claim it was a darkeyed spearman who did the deed. Those rumors died out rather quickly; though I felt inclined to believe them. Darkeyes like me thrive on stories like those; ‘specially when the lighteyes feel like lording it over. Anyways, enough about battle and stories.
Kid’s name was Tien. He was only thirteen when he died. Run through by another darkeyed kid. What someone that young was doing on the front lines was anyone’s guess. Shoulda been back and camp running errands; not running with a spear. I remember them sitting a little urn full of ash on my desk and telling me his name. Telling me that I could take my leave and that I had to write one more letter and take it back home to his parents, a surgeon in his wife in Hearthstone. So I did, like I’d done hundreds of times before.
I sat down. My wife took out her pens, ink, and a sheet of paper. I said the words; all the while staring at that little urn. Couldn’t have been much larger than one of those tin mugs the army gives us; but it had been a kid. A kid not much older than my own. Mine was off in Kholinar, studying to be an ardent. I felt ill. It could have been my son; if his uncle hadn’t persuaded him. It could have been us getting that urn and that letter. Us feeling our hearts lurch and shatter. This kid had his whole life ahead of him. He wasn’t some jaded soldier like me with grey sneaking into my hair. He could have been anything ardent, farmer, surgeon, but that was taken from him.
Hearthstone ain’t much to look at. Just another small, dusty, shabby farming town built around some brightlord’s fancy manor house. I was lucky enough to hire a carriage for my wife and I. I sat on the driver’s box with the urn and letter tucked into my bag. I remember stopping at a small house and getting down from the box. It was drizzling lightly and overcast. I knocked on the door and a small lady came out, drying her hands. She saw my uniform and her face just went stony. Her husband came out. Tall balding guy, wore spectacles and a slightly dingy apron. I said, “Lirin and Hesina, I regret to inform you that your son, Tien was killed in battle.”
They didn’t cry or scream or tell me I was lying. They just looked like someone ripped the ground from beneath them. “What about Kaladin,” the woman, Hesina, asked. Her voice was quavering a bit. Like she wanted to cry, but not in front of me.
“He’s still alive,” I said.
“Does Kaladin know,” his father asked.
“Yes sir,” I replied quietly.
I could see the neighbors standing in their doors. Some of them looked smug and vindicated. They talked among themselves.
One of them screamed, “Serves you right, thief!”
Human cruelty is nothing new to me. There are many who care nothing for other lives, no matter how young. Roshone is one of these people; and so is Amaram. I ignored the shout and said, “He’s the one that brought Tien in, or so they told me.”
I took the urn and the letter out of my bag and handed them over. Didn’t feel relieved of any burden. Just felt sick. I turned to go.
“Is there anything we can do for you?” Lirin asked. He had this quiet, small voice like he was afraid you’d hit him or something.
“No sir,” I told him. “I just wanted to make sure everything got to you. It’s a storming shame that someone so young could be take like that could be taken away so violently.”
Heisina just held that urn to her chest like she’d never let it go. The letter was crumpled in one hand. She was crying silently and nodding with every word. Her husband wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Thank you,” he said.
I got back up on the carriage and watched them over my shoulder until the chulls took us out of sight.
We arrived at Kholinar without any trouble. We visited our son and I told him about Tien. He told us that he’s going on a mission to the Reshi Isles and that he’ll pray for Tien whenever he can and burn a prayer or two. I received orders reassigning me to the Shattered Plains a few weeks later and you know the rest. Any more questions Brightness… er Radiant Davar? And can you promise me that you’ll tell Captain Kaladin? Young man needs all the closure he can get.
-No. Thank you for your time. I will be sure to tell the captain about you or you can tell him yourself. Just ask around for Bridge Four or Captain Kaladin.