Phaera clapped her hands in delight. “Yes, this is exactly what I need. The only thing missing is a table to work on, but I will use a corner of one in the kitchen as there is not space for one here.” She gave Velna a conspiratorial grin. “And I shall clean it personally. It will allow me to organize the space in my mind.”
Velma tried to protest but Phaera waved her off with a firm gesture.
By the time Phaera and Lady Flor were to meet to discuss the outside apothecary again, the small closet was filled with everything she could glean and prepare from items available within the castle and its gardens. It was a start but a far cry from what she needed. Before meeting with Lady Flor she stood to survey her paltry stores, wondering what arguments would convince the lady to support her quest to open and supply the one Bain had shown her. Certainly a show of temper, or pressure, would not work. Under the current circumstances she was not sure even her father would agree. With a deep sigh she closed and locked the door and sought out Lady Flor. Her only available strategy was logic and logic often lacked the power to convince when emotions ran high.
The discussion began much as Phaera expected, that is to say, not well.
“My dear Phaera. I understand how important this is to you, and I would like nothing more than to see you have your way. But, as you, yourself, know, keeping you safe must take precedence. We have both sworn to see to it. I have spoken with the head of the guards left behind, and he refuses to even consider it. He says it is impossible to ensure your safety if you leave the walls of the castle.”
“But the back entrance is almost at the wall of the castle. Only a few steps from safety.”
Lady Flor shook her head in exasperation. “That is a few steps too many. It takes time to unlock and open a door.”
Phaera knew she was right. She remained silent for a moment, thinking. “Milady, there may soon be soldiers and others coming in with injuries who need my help. If I cannot do it from that apothecary we must find a way to do it within the castle.”
“If that were possible I would help in any way I can.” Lady Flor’s shoulders relaxed slightly.
“It may be.” Phaera leaned closer to Lady Flor. “If we can find a larger space within the castle … it need not be well appointed. All I need is space for shelves, a table long enough for a man, two chairs, access to water…”
Lady Flor looked cautious but did not immediately protest. “I suspect that is not all is it?”
“No, that may be the easy part. I need supplies, herbs, roots and such that can only be gathered outside the castle walls, some quite a distance away.” When Lady Flor’s hands began to flutter in protest Phaera took them in her own. “I know I cannot gather them myself. But if I were to make a list and someone were to deliver that to Nurias…”
Lady Flor sat straight, removing her hands from Phaera’s grasp. “I fear that would put her in greater danger, and take time away from her own work.”
“Should that not be Nurias’ decision? I believe she would want to do it, in case something happened to her. Then there would still be somewhere and someone people can go to for help.”
Lady Flor regarded her silently for a long time. Then she rose heavily. “Make your list. I will try to find a space for you. If Captain Raskir can spare a man to deliver your request, and Nurias agrees to the plan, some part of it may be possible.” Part way to the door she turned back to face Phaera. “But you must swear that you will, on no account, leave the safety of the castle.” When Phaera hesitated, she added, “I must have your oath on this or I will do nothing.”
“Very well. You have my oath. And Lady Flor, I do appreciate how difficult all of this is for you, with Lord Makin absent. I swear I will not endanger the castle – or myself.”
With a small nod, and a look of relief, Lady Flor left.
And now I will explore the castle in earnest to find a suitable space.
Chapter Twenty-One
THE DREAM
Though the rest of the night remained uneventful, Bain tossed for most of it, thoughts of Phaera in the hands of Mathune or his cronies preventing sleep. Yet, toward morning he fell into a restless slumber.
Phaera, running this way and that. No matter which way she turned another enemy soldier appeared to grab at her and block her flight, sneering and mocking. Bain reached for her but his hands turned to mist before his eyes. He tried to shout, but he had no voice. His legs seemed planted deep in the earth and could not move. Run, Phaera, run!! But his scream was only a strangled breath. The further Phaera ran the more crazed, wild men chased her until he was sure she could never escape.
Bain woke in a sweat, heart pounding, arms flailing. “No!” This shout brought him back to the present. He was in his tent. Phaera and the enemies were not here. As he sat up to shake the dream off he heard a soft call outside his tent.
“Lord Bain, is all well?”
“Yes.” He crawled to the tent flap and lifted it to see a concerned face peering in. “I am fine – a dream, that is all. Go back to sleep.”
The young guard smiled. “I am on watch Milord.” He gestured to the sky. “Dawn is breaking. Soon we will all be up.”
Bain looked to where the man had indicated. The first light of morning made it barely possible to see beyond the fires. The sun did not yet show above the trees but the sky was lighter there.
“Ah, no sense in going back to my blankets, then.”
“No, Milord. The cooks have already stoked the fires and are stirring the porridge. Tea will be ready. Shall I fetch some tea for you?”
Bain unfolded his body as he emerged from the small tent. “Thank you, no. I am up and will fetch it myself. I take it there is nothing to report?”
“Nothing.”
“Good, you may resume your post.” He walked to the cook-fire and was handed a mug of chicory root brew. The hot, bitter liquid sent the last vestiges of lethargy from his limbs. Cup in hand, he strolled about the camp, greeting his men as they woke, giving each a nod or word of encouragement, just as he had seen his father do. By the time he completed his rounds and returned to the fire the porridge was ready. He was handed the first bowl, a large, yellow spoonful of butter melting on top. He took the bowl, a second cup of the strong, wakeful tea, and found a log to sit on. He could still watch the men, and they him. Though the log lay at the edge of the forest, several paces from the others, he believed he still had enough space at his back that he would not be taken by surprise. It is good to sit alone.
He had swallowed the last of the porridge and tea, and risen to return the bowl to the cook, when he spied one of the sentinels waving frantically in his direction, sword drawn.
“Lord Bain, on your left!” The man pointed. Bain only had time to drop the bowl and draw his sword from the scabbard at his waist as two men set upon him. How did I not hear them?
He managed to knock one sword away with his own, putting his assailant off balance, and whirled to meet the other, but not before feeling a searing pain slice into his upper left arm. That pain put him into automatic fighting mode, a result of thorough training. By the time his own soldier joined him in the fray, followed by two others, he had spun in an arc, sword sweeping upwards through his opponent’s belly and across his chest. That man fell with a scream. Bain pivoted, looking for the second assailant, only to find the man lying inert on the ground, a sword through his chest. His three protectors looked at him with what must be a similar expression to his own.
Realizing the danger was past his men wiped and sheathed their swords before rushing to examine Bain’s arm, where bright blood dripped freely from his sleeve.
Bain had forgotten the injury but now the pain returned as the red haze of battle left him. He held up his other hand to forestall the men. “I will live.” He pointed the tip of his sword at the man he had felled. “That one yet lives. See that he remains alive until I question him. We must learn what he knows.”
The troop’s medic had appeared, opening his pack on the run.
&
nbsp; Bain waved him to the injured man. “Keep him alive and able to talk. I will bandage my own arm.” He sliced off his sleeve with the dagger from his boot so he could examine his wound. “This needs stitching.” He met the medic’s eyes. “I have what I need in my tent. I will return as soon as I have tended to this. Have him ready for questioning when I return.”
He strode to his tent, leaving the medic staring after him, open mouthed.
One of the youngest soldiers followed him. Bain looked at the man. “How are you at needlework? This is an awkward place to reach to do it myself.”
“Milord, the medic…”
“The medic is busy.” By this time Bain had found his own healers’ pouch and opened it, extracting needle, fine thread, and the herbs for a poultice to prevent festering, which he mixed with some water to make a paste. He threaded the needle and held it out to the soldier. “Hold that.” He took a bottle of spirits and poured some into his wound, trying unsuccessfully to hide a grimace of pain. Then he took back the needle. “Here, I will show you how by doing the bottom stitches. Then you must finish as I cannot reach well enough to finish the top.”
The man watched closely, his expression anxious, as Bain made the first three stiches.
“There, you see how it is done. Finish it. Be sure to hold the edges of the wound together and use as many stitches as will fit. If they are too far apart they will not hold well … and the scar will be much bigger.” He handed the man his needle.
The soldier’s hands shook, and he looked a little green, but he took the needle and began stitching.
Bain watched and coached him on how to make his stitches look neater. “I am a vain man, sir. You must do a pretty job.” A reassuring chuckle wiped the sudden, fearful look from his man’s face.
“It is finished, Milord.” The man let the thread slip from the needle.
“Good, now cut off the loose end. I will place this poultice over it and then you can help me get the bandage in place.”
As soon as it was finished Bain tore off his bloody tunic and pulled on a fresh one. He gave the soldier a clap on an arm, smiled and said, “That was well done. Come, it is time to question our enemy before he dies.”
On their return they found the injured prisoner propped against a tree. The medic had managed to staunch and bandage much of the bleeding but it was clear the man would not live long. Such wounds never heal.
The dead man lay where he had fallen.
Bain had a strong aversion to torture. It went against his training as a healer with his mother. Now that he had calmed down, and knew he would recover, he dreaded what he might have to do to get the man to talk. One look at the hate-filled glare on the prisoner’s face told him it would not be easy. The man surely knew he was dying, and that even if he did not succumb to his wounds he could not be left alive.
Captain Reynce had arrived and now eyed Bain with a questioning look. “He has refused to tell us even his name, Milord.”
“Then it is good you are here, Captain. He will talk, one way or another.” Bain swallowed hard and faced the prisoner. “You have a choice. Answer all our questions, fully and honestly…” When he saw the defiant smirk the prisoner gave him he added, “Do not concern yourself with lies. I am trained to recognize falsehoods.” Bain lowered himself to a squat, eyes level with those of the prisoner. Indicating his own arm, he smiled. “You see you have failed. Your fellow is dead while I am well and my arm will recover fully. You, of course, will die. But you may choose how you will die. If I am satisfied that you have told us all you know, you will receive the coup de grace and be put out of your misery. I would prefer that choice but…” Bain watched the man’s eyes flicker to Captain Reynce and back again. Bain let the unspoken threat sink in.
“Of course, if you do not cooperate death could be long coming, and very, very painful.” Bain reached over and removed the bandage. He shook his head and tsked in mock sympathy. “That will surely fester. Dying from a gut wound … well I am sure you know what to expect …” Leaving the bandage loose he rose to his full height and barked, “Your name?”
When he received no response his gut clenched. I am not made for this. How will I get through it without making a fool of myself and losing the respect of my men?
The captain interrupted him with a touch on his arm. “Lord Bain, a word if you please.” He moved out of earshot of the group with Bain in his wake. On the way he gave the prisoner’s leg a sharp kick, jolting him into a cry of pain.
Keeping his voice low, and sending many meaningful looks toward the prisoner, he said, “Keep your voice low. Nod even if you disagree with what I say, and look at him the way I do. It will unnerve him further.”
Bain nodded and did as instructed but said nothing, wondering what the captain had in mind.
“Lord Bain, I think everyone knows that this is the first time you have interrogated an enemy. This is only my third time, so I understand that it is difficult. But we both know that this is a test you must pass.”
Bain nodded along with the captain as both sent glares toward the prisoner, who missed none of them. “Thank you Captain. I am grateful for any guidance you can give me.” He kept his voice level but his gut churned with fear and loathing for what he knew he had to do.
The captain nodded. “You have made an excellent beginning, Milord. It was a good gambit.”
“How do you suggest we proceed, Captain?”
“You will need to hurt him. Ask me to assist you, to hold him. I will see to it that he cries out whenever you hurt him. I will cause the most pain, but you must be seen as the one in charge. And it will help if it seems you are the one causing his pain.”
“Captain, I…”
“My Lord, it is a common strategy, to do this as a pair. I understand. I do not find satisfaction in it either. And I will see to it you get what you need, both from the prisoner and in the eyes of the men. The first time should be difficult. If it were too easy I would doubt your ability as a leader.”
“Thank you, Captain. I will follow your lead.”
“Good, but do not make it obvious.” Captain Reynce gave him a grim smile and turned back in the direction of the wounded man. “You first, Lord Bain.”
With a curt nod and another glare at the prisoner Bain strode back to take his place, the Captain right behind.
Bain gave another sharp kick at the prisoner’s boot. “Your name?” When all he got was a pained grunt he said, “I see you have made your choice. So be it. You may change your mind at any time. There is no one to carry your failure to Mathune, no one to see your shame.” He gave the boot another kick, harder this time. “Is this what you truly want?” When there was no response Bain shrugged and, without taking his eyes off the prisoner said, “Captain, this man will need some persuasion. Sit behind him so he will not be able to try to move away… and there is no need to be gentle.”
“Yes, Lord Bain.”
Captain Reynce moved the man roughly aside, then crouched on his haunches behind him, one knee in the man’s back, partly to prop him up, but also to allow for maximum pain should he use the knee to inflict it. The man screamed and let out a string of curses.
Bain schooled his face to remain impassive and regarded the man’s wound casually. “Ah, I see the bleeding has resumed.” He squatted to take a closer look. “No, I do not think it will end things too soon. I will leave it open. Do you agree, Captain?”
“I think he will last long enough to tell us what we need to know.”
Bain caught the captain’s quick look of approval. You would not approve if you knew I am about to lose my porridge.
To Bain’s great relief it took only ten minutes before the man begged for mercy. Between screams of pain and sobs of shame as the captain thrust in his knee and jerked his shoulders back every time Bain jabbed him or kicked him, he told them all he knew. When it was done Bain turned to the young soldier who had run to his aid and stitched his wound. “I would know your name, sir.”
“Jess
in, Lord Bain.”
“Jessin, you have done well today. I give you the honour of delivering the coup de grace. You have earned it.”
Jessin began to gape but closed his mouth immediately. “Th…thank you My Lord.” The look on his face was a mix of fear, reluctance, and pride.
“Now, Jessin. Do not leave him in agony any longer. Use your dagger and slit his throat. It is his wish and he will feel little. It will be over instantly.”
Jessin gave a nervous nod, pulled out his dagger and obeyed, shutting his eyes as the knife went through.
“Well done, Jessin. I know it is not easy to kill a man who cannot fight back.” He clapped the young man on the shoulder. “And now I know I can count on you to keep your head in battle.”
Bain strode toward his tent, beckoning the captain to follow. I am a coward. I ought to have delivered the cut. Now poor Jessin will bear the burden of my cowardice.
Captain Reynce followed him into his tent. “That was well done, Lord Bain”.
Bain shook his head as he sank to the ground. “No, Captain, it was not.” He dropped his head into his hands. “Poor Jessin.”
“It was a good lesson.”
“The final blow ought to have been mine. You need not flatter me.”
Captain Reynce remained silent for a time. “Lord Bain, I do not think the men will see it that way. And Jessin will be a hero.”
Bain just shook his head, his face still in his hands. “It was my duty.”
The captain picked up the flask of spirits from the small stand, shook it to determine it still had liquid in it, and thrust it toward Bain. “Drink, milord. It will clear your mind.”
Bain took the flask without looking up, tipped it to his mouth and emptied it, ending with a fit of coughing.
The captain waited a few moments before speaking in a low tone. “Milord, there will be other opportunities. For now, the men need to hear from you. You cannot remain here. You must speak to them. They rely on you for strong leadership.”
Altered Destinies- Earth Reborn Page 12
