Geheimnistag

The ache had built up, in his muscles and bones, as they worked from dusk until dawn to throttle the inferno, but Urgrim had been able to ignore the sensations thanks to the unrelenting urgency of knowing there was more yet to be done (or, more plausibly, the adrenaline). When it finally looked like they'd caged the beast, down by the river, the exhaustion finally hit him in full. He slumped back against a wall, and slid down to sit on his haunches on the ground as his vision went dark for a moment. He wondered what the death toll was.

He wondered how many deaths he'd been responsible for.

He'd made the decisions so quickly, in the furious heat of the moment, when his practised eye began noticing the locations of greater and lesser vulnerability in the combustible neighbourhood. He hadn't intended to take an authoritative role, but when he'd spoken, the team had listened, and begun to do as he said: pulling back from the lengths of houses that he reckoned could not be saved; sacrificing acres of the town to be burnt in order to race ahead of the embers and cut the firebreaks in advance at more strategic positions. It had seemed like a dream, just happening through him. It had made complete sense at the time, but now, like dream-logic, he was struggling to recall what had been so clear to him hours earlier.

There would have been people in some of those sections he'd condemned. He'd known that, hadn't he? He must have known it at the time. It wasn't that he'd ignored it, it had just been that he - he knew what had to be done, so he'd done it, without letting himself be anguished. Now he had the privilege to despair, and ask if it had been the right thing to do, if it had even been his choice to make. But the fire wouldn't have cared for the philosophy of the thing. It couldn't be reasoned with, or debated on morality. It did not know good, or evil, it just knew fuel and air when it found them, and in a way that made it all very innocent ...

A pitiful moan broak through his throat and lips like the wail of some dying beast, and then turned into a bout of coughing. Urgrim pushed himself to his feet. His body and his mind were knackered and numb. He wandered among the other dwarves, most of whom looked equally drained and dog-tired. He clasped arms and thumped shoulders, exchanging noises of gratitude, respect, encouragement, even quiet and tired pride. He wondered if they saw any difference in his eyes now.

Staggered and staggering, Urgrim shuffled back in the direction of the Temple and the source of the blaze, searching for Sieghard. When he found the commander, Urgrim simply sat down beside him, closed his eyes, and breathed heavily.

"I feel like the walking dead," he managed, in a cracked voice from his dry throat.