Then again, if I ever had taken the initiative to heave my happy ass up on a horse and learn to ride, maybe I wouldn't be in this mess.

Even if I had, it's not like Ridley would have sprung to buy us a couple hundred damn mounts, anyway. Ah, the life of an independant mercenary.

When it came time to pick the leaders for the merc infantry units, I was really a shoe-in. Besides being the best damn swordsman in the whole big pile of logs, I was practically Flik's towel boy. Though I had no official position in the fort, people still showered me with "yes sir" and "no sir" everywhere I went. Then again, it may just be that I have a really big sword.

Looking back on it now, I can't even remember how many guys I had under me in that particular battle. I don't even think I can remember what color boots I wore. I probably forgot to brush my teeth. All I really knew is that there were a bunch of guys out there with blue flags, and it was my job to kill them. But first, it was my job to tell a bunch of guys with red flags that they were about to get pasted.

So I did what any good man would do. I lied.

"Men," I told them, a big ole' heap of bright-eyed, ambitious mercs with swords strapped to their sides. A massive, breathing organism, ready to be led to the slaughter. And me? I was the brain. I had to tell this organism what to do and, ultimately, I would manage its actions in battle.

I don't remember the rest of my speech. I was too drunk on fear and rage and alcohol and adreneline and alcohol to remember what I said. But it must have been damn good because, every few seconds, they would all throw their hands up and cheer.

I can tell you what I was thinking though. While my ears were listening to my mouth go "blah blah blah," my mind was spinning around with thoughts of how many of these kids would actually live to see tomorrow. I thought of how many Highlanders they'd be able to lay waste. I thought of what kind of metal their swords were. Some of them werent even metal. A few didn't even have swords. We were weak and underfunded. We lived in a castle of logs. We big scary caveman with big pointy stick. Fear us, o trained and armored soldiers of Highland, for we shall puncture your chain mail and steel helmets with our jagged stones and trample your heavy war horses with our broken, leather boots.

God we were stupid. Flik and I were complete, utter morons. "Hey! Let's start a war! We can invite all of our friends! It'll be fun!" Where's a guy with a big pot when you need one? If we had a guy with a pot standing next to use to smack the back of our heads when we hatched this insane idea, we'd both be a lot happier now.

"This kid's no McDohl," he said. Damn right. McDohl was a trained fighter. He had a sense of justice. He knew what he was getting into when he set Odessa's body in that stream. Makoto didn't. He was a warrior-in-training whose brigade had been slaughtered by his own liege. He was forced to stay here against his will. I know now that he was a true hero, but back when I was giving that futile speech to a bunch of doomed kids, I couldn't think of anything but his poor broken body laying on the battlefield.

I know Makoto will read this, someday. So I might as well say it. I'm sorry for getting you mixed up in this. I'm the one who told Flik you were worth more than our common men. I could have saved you one hell of a lot of grief, and I didn't. By the time you get a hold of this writing, you'll probably be off somewhere in your own life. I'm not sure where that is, but I know it's better than where I'm at right now. Sitting by a dying campfire watching Flik pick his toes with a stick. Still, here's the apology I never gave you.

I'm rambling. I just can't really think of what to say. I know I'm obligated to write down what happened before the battle, but I can't. I just can't. I'm no good with words. I'm no good with lies. I can't do it. I'm a damn good fighter, but I'm an inadequate author. So I'm going to end this before I insult your intelligence any more than I already have.

I don't think I have to tell you that we lost the battle. I don't mean overall, I mean my men. They were slaughtered. I've seen barbeques that were more humane than what I did to those kids. I told them we'd win and we lost.

The moon was really high up in the sky when I got sick of sitting there looking at the empty battlefield. All my kids went to bed. I didn't. I sat there. I stared. And I thought. I popped back into reality, though, when I felt Flik's hand on my shoulder. "You gonna sleep tonight, buddy? Big day tomorrow."

I replied to him, probably with something like "Yeah, I'll get to sleep."

He smirked and said, "Let's go kick some ass Viktor. For your homeland this time, right? After this we're even."

I replied again. "Yeah, we'll kick some ass. Just like always."

Flik, if you actually believed what you told me that night, you're an idiot.