Myrmidon (short story)

He woke up that morning with a sense of purpose. The day had yet to begin, but he was already dressing, strapping on his well-worn armor. Unhurried, he checked his weapons: the short blade, the sword, the longbow, they were all ready to be used. He left the barracks, stopping by the kitchen for a warm breakfast, and then began the climb.

The views from the walls of Shadow's Keep are majestic. Or terrifying, depending on which wall you look out from. This day he stood guard on the Eastwatch wall, highest of them all and the one that inspired fear. Many recruits had stood this wall and gazed out into the gloom that lay eastward, barely recognizable as a mire that lay between tightly knit mountains. They were always assigned to the Eastwatch once during their first week. After their watch, he could always tell which would stay on as guards, and which would leave after their five years. The ones who stayed on had a purpose.

This day the mire was quiet. He took his place on the wall, exchanging a silent recognition with the guards leaving their posts, and the ones taking them. It would be an uneventful day, he could already see that, and for which he was grateful. It was not that long ago that the horrors had risen and the Eastwatch had been breached. He could still feel the burning touch that had left him with a permanent limp, no matter how the healers tried to treat it. Shifting weight, he again tested the leg. It was a habit now, to ensure he could rely on it in a fight, that he would not break when pressed into combat.

The day passed, lunch came and went, and finally the darkness came. He gazed out into the east one last time before his replacement made it up to the wall. The descent was the same, poorly lit with the dark, but he did not need the light to know the route. He hadn't needed it before, either. The courtyard was empty, and he went to the kitchens for dinner. It was quiet, mostly empty as he sat down to eat. After a while, an unmistakable figure entered the kitchen, the king's sorcerer, the appointed lord of the keep. He knew the sorcerer would come, had known why the whole day.

It was the last day of his fortieth year on the walls of Shadow's Keep. The rules were the rules, and he would not break them. A nod to the sorcerer. The usual things were said, he had seen and heard it several times before. He was given the letter, the one which would give him any position he wanted in the city, a merchant's life, a landowner, or just a quiet retirement. It was unwanted, and he could tell the sorcerer knew that, but would not change it. He said his goodbye to the others, and slept his last night in the Keep.

He did not wake up the next morning. His purpose was gone.