by F. C. Reed
Thanial smiled at her startle response when she turned into him.
“Holy hell, Thanial. You have to stop doing that.”
“I see you didn’t beat each other bloody.”
“Came damned close,” she said as she shoved him aside and started toward her quarters. “And what the hell was that crap about leaving me alone with your psycho bitch girlfriend? I mean, who does that?”
“She challenged you. I couldn’t interfere, even if I wanted to. I certainly couldn’t watch, so I did the next best thing.”
“Well, thanks for your vote of confidence, Romeo.”
Thanial kept pace, putting a hand to her shoulder. “Amalia, if I could just—
Amalia slapped his hand free and kept her stride. “Don’t touch me, knuckle dragger. You just lost all your cool points.” The statements came out more hard than she had intended, but wanted to get her point across clearly.
The display saw Thanial slow, then halt his pursuit, watching her pull away from him by the side of the walkway.
Fresh rainfall trickled, then fell in sheets. It was mother nature’s contribution to rounding out the mood of the situation.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Amalia stirred in the comfort of her bed, sleep falling away from her mind. She opened her eyes. A chill fell over her, even from the warmth of her fluffy down comforters. She quickly realized, however, that the chill was one of warning; the chill that creeps up the spine and raises the hairs on the back of a neck. Someone was watching her. She looked over the edge of her blanket and gasped.
Across the room stood two people. One she recognized right away as Gina, the kitchen master. She stood holding a tray, her features pinched and twisted into a nervous smile.
“Hello, red lioness,” she squeaked. “Please pardon the intrusion.”
“Who,” Amalia started before rubbing at her eyes. “What… what are you doing here?” She decided that she was still sleepy and could use more rest after the previous day. She moved to sit up, but the sharp pain in her lower back protested with a fierce pinch.
“General Strann sends her condolences and wishes you well,” said the unfamiliar girl. She was a stringy thing with long red hair, big blue eyes, and pale ivory skin dotted with soft brown freckles. She held a bundle of towels in her hand.
“Who are you?” Amalia said, finally pushing herself up. Nettles of pain shot from her lower back and into her legs.
The red-haired girl stepped forward. “I’m from the healer’s ward, sent here by the medicus to collect you. She has the tests she’d like to run and perhaps tend to the aches and bruises no doubt blossoming across your body.”
Amalia was just about to protest until Gina unveiled the food for the day’s breakfast. She set the tray on a side table and pulled it up to Amalia’s legs.
Breakfast pastries, donuts, and cinnamon buns. A summer salad sprinkled with nuts and dried berries. French toast. A big ham steak steamed in the center. Amalia smiled at the culinary layout, while also feeling some relief to see no little bowl with a silver lid off to one side.
“No khyber lizard eggs this morning, red lioness. I saw how you nearly turned out your stomach, and I thought better of them.”
“Thank you, Gina.” Amalia cautiously tried a spoonful. Once the food beckoned all of her senses, she quickened her pace, trying not to gobble it down, but it was irresistible. Even the toast tasted better than anything she had ever put in her mouth. The rest of the food was just as incredible.
As she devoured the contents of the tray, Gina stood nearby, watching with an approving and proud smile across her face. The red-haired girl neatly set the stack of towels on the bed beside Amalia and removed her own shoes before gathering her skirt and climbing into the bed behind Amalia.
Amalia stopped and spun around with a frown. “What in the world are you doing?”
The red-haired girl’s dull gray eyes flashed in confusion. “I merely wish to brush the tangles from your hair.”
Amalia considered it, and then asked, “Why? I can do it myself.”
The look of confusion never left the girl’s face. “I do it, red lioness, because it is my duty.”
Amalia’s face softened, then she made a hard line with her mouth and sighed in resignation. “Fine. But at least tell me your name before you try to climb in bed with me.”
The girl gasped. “Red lioness, I would never,” she added in a timid, fear stricken voice. “Unless you ordered me to.”
“What? No!” Amalia spat, spraying bits of cinnamon bun on the bed. She coughed as the chewing of food also did not seem to agree with the conversation. “It was a joke. Sarcasm. Don’t tell me you take every word that comes out of my mouth literally.”
“Ah, yes. Of course. This is the sarcasm. I have heard of this,” she chuckled nervously, not sure if she should drop the whole thing, or inquire further. “In that case,” she continued, “my name is Sarina.” She began peeling away a long strip of Amalia’s tangled black hair and brushed at it in gentle, even strokes. “And I am pleased to be your hand.”
“My what?” Amalia choked again.
“Your hand. I will help you prepare for your day’s start, and I will also help you prepare to end the day,” she said cheerfully. “And anything you might need while you are away, I will see to it.”
“Every day?”
“Every single day,” Sarina replied.
“Wow. That must suck.” Amalia slurped on the mug of cinnamon milk.
“Hardly. We see to the insignificances of your day as you have more of the pressing matters to attend to. Our jobs are an astute honor in service to the nation-state and the plane, and many are quite envious of our positions, which are highly competitive and highly desirable.”
“Oh, yeah?” Amalia asked. “Sounds like a bad deal to me.”
“We are all overjoyed at our service to the lioness of the red,” Sarina beamed. “Gina prepares every one of your meals to specification. You will find that over time they taste better and better. Kell is your keeper. He makes sure your armor shines and remains relatively dent-free, and your khydrid is fed and brushed and ready to ride at a moment’s notice. And then there’s Zerosa, your shield, to whom you have made yourself acquainted. And myself. The last of those in your service are the Crimson Bloodguard. I’m not detailed in the military affairs, but from what I understand is that at some point they will assign you one thousand of the strongest, brightest, bravest of soldiers. Each one is worth twenty men. They will assist you with the fulfilling of your duties as the commander general.”
Amalia finished up the last of her ham steak and french toast while she listened intently, a little disturbed at the fact that Sarina sounded like she was always smiling and her choice of words was a little off.
Gina slid the tray out of her way. She definitely felt full, but because the food was so tasty, she could have justified a few more bites. Stretching, she pushed herself off the bed, forgetting for the moment that Sarina was still working at her hair. The light tug on her braid was enough to prompt her to stay put while Sarina’s slender fingers finished banding her curly black braid down its length.
“There,” Sarina said as she hopped from the bed. “Now we’ll see you off to the medicarium so you can be tended to properly.”
Amalia eased the rest of the way off the bed and slid into her slippers. The pain radiated across her lower back in pulsating waves. She winced.
“Here,” Sarina said, taking position behind Amalia. “I’ll help you to the washroom. I think a set of the easy clothes will do until we have mended you.”
“Thanks,” Amalia breathed as she eased her way into the washroom with Sarina at her elbow.
They made it to the medicarium easily enough. The stairs gave them more trouble. Amalia had no idea she could bruise as badly as she had, even after having played lacrosse for the past three years. But like the day after a hard game of lacrosse, the stabs and jolts of pain became dull aches over the brief trip. She was reli
eved, however, to see the double doors marked with the symbol of the medicarium sickbay: a red triangle with a red cross embedded in its center.
“Finally,” Amalia sighed as she gingerly waddled in. Sarina held the door for her. A tall, heavy-set, fair-skinned woman with graying auburn hair pinned neatly in braided buns was there to greet them.
“There she is,” the woman squealed as she approached them with outstretched arms. Her accented voice came out a thick and choppy Scots accent, complete with rolling r’s. Her white pants and smock stretched at every seam. The red of her plump cheeks contrasted with her uniform and the cool blue sparkle of her eyes.
“Oh my. I haven’t seen ye in ages.” She wrapped her arms around Amalia and gave a gentle squeeze, rocking the confused girl back and forth in an embracing hug.
Amalia groaned from the sudden movement.
“Oh yes. Apologies,” the woman said, stepping away. “Let’s get ye sorted, shall we?”
Amalia walked gingerly towards an examining table, and Sarina helped her onto it.
“That’s it,” the woman cooed. “My, look at ye. It’s been fifteen years since I bottle nursed ye at my breast. Ye were a vision then, as sure as ye are now. That beautiful shade of brown skin and curly black mane of hair. You’re headed to look just like your gran.”
Amalia watched her with a blank stare. She couldn’t imagine being a baby nestled up to that woman’s breast. So large and heavy across her chest, she wondered if she’d ever gotten lost in there.
“Oh, where’s me manners? I’m the medicus. I believe you’d call me a physician where you’re from. The name’s Oshalla Vennone. People around here call me Dr. Shay, and I’d appreciate it if you’d do the same.”
“Nice to meet you,” Amalia said. She relaxed a little.
“Now they tell me you got banged up a bit yesterday. That’s just as well, because I’m needing to run a few tests, anyway. Take some samples.”
“Tests for what?” Amalia asked, a hint of worry in her voice.
“Oh, just to see if that Itaran blood of yours is doing what it should be. Normally I’d have been keeping it on check all these years, but all these years you’ve been hiding out,” she said with a wink. “Now off with your tops and bottoms and let’s have a right proper look.”
Amalia grimaced and hesitated at having to strip.
“Well go on, love. There’s nothing you’ve got that I ain’t got,” she chuckled. “And in plenty more supply.”
“Right,” Amalia sighed quietly. She hoisted her shirt over her head and wriggled out of the loose cotton pants, leaving her in her undergarments.
“I can see now you’re quite the bottom heavy lass,” she said shooting a glance at Amalia’s chest. Then she leaned over to inspect her legs. “That’ll serve you well in the end. No pun intended.”
Amalia felt the warm sensation of embarrassment creep over her face. She discreetly raised her arms across her chest.
“Arms down and lie back,” Oshalla said, guiding her to lie out on the examining table. She flipped on a wall switch and a screen sparked to life on the table nearby. “Aye, bottom heavy’s good for swinging all manner of swords and hammers and such. Rumor tells of ye kicking the arse of ol’ high and mighty himself, and using a pole glaive like a pro, I’m told. Not much comes out of a pole glaive but blade dancers, and we’ve not seen one of those for a generation or two. Hands by your sides, dear.”
Amalia tried again to cover her chest with one hand and had the other resting over her lap. Oshalla pulled a thin sheet over Amalia’s body, and she felt comfortable enough to obey.
“I don’t know as much about fighting as I do mending, but I do know that with the blade dancer, power comes from the legs. Stability from the legs. Thrusting with the legs. On that note you’ll make a fine swinger of swords and hammers and such, but blade dancing is a lot of finesse. You’re not clumsy, are you?”
“I don’t think so,” Amalia mumbled.
“I hope you’re not clumsy, otherwise I’ll be seeing a lot more of you.” She sighed audibly. “Had a blade dancer in here some decades back. Poor squid kept slicing off his own toe. Now I ain’t saying it’s easy, but with all that twirling, you’d think he’d pay more attention at not popping his own toe off like that. He must have ruined a mountain of perfectly good boots.”
Amalia’s face held a mix of horror and fascination.
“Yeah. He was in here about once a week. Embarrassment on his face, and toe in his hand. Scoot up a bit so your head’s touching that top panel, dear.”
Lights flashed and flickered. A humming cut in and out intermittently. Amalia closed her eyes as a blue-green laser swept up over her face and worked its way back down to her feet. When she opened her eyes, Oshalla’s plump round face obscured her view.
“Your innards seem to be okay, but there’s some bruising in your hip and back. And a bit on your ribs.” She paused. “By the gods. I can’t get over the spitting likeness of your gran-gran when she was about your age.”
Amalia searched Oshalla’s face, not having initially placed her to be that old. “You’ve known her that long?”
“I was her primary nurse. Damnable little brat! All the time having to pull her out of trees, or spending a blasted afternoon hunting her down. She’d likely be in a bush somewhere, hiding out. Teaching her to eat with silverware instead of her hands? Now that was a chore. And she hated any vegetable that was green. And I tell you there ain’t too many vegetables that ain’t green around here. Would eat an entire bucket of meat if you’d let her. Oh, she was a right heap of terror, filled to the rim with fire and spunk. I could barely keep up with her.” Oshalla looked off with a slight smile across her face.
“How old are you, then?” Amalia blurted the question, not giving her manners any thought. It just seemed incredible that this woman was still even living, especially if she knew the commander general as a child.
Oshalla stood. “That’s no question to ask a lady,” she said, wagging a finger. “Good thing I’m not a proper lady.” She laughed as she dug into a box and pulled out a pair of white rubber gloves. “I’m old enough, and I’ve been around for a while. How’s that for a dodgy answer? Now turn yourself about and drop your knickers just past your cheeks.”
Amalia did so, wincing and grimacing at the pain emanating from her lower back. She heard bottles clink together and instruments sliding across trays, but didn’t bother to look.
“Bottom heavy indeed. You’re developing all mismatched, the top and bottom of ye. Perhaps the top’ll catch up in a few years.”
“Ok. So I have some meat on my thighs and a big butt. I get it.” She didn’t know quite what to expect as Oshalla swabbed the top portion of her cheek with a damp cloth of cotton which smelled peculiar and medicinal. She could make out a scent that resembled rubbing alcohol and peppermint.
Oshalla chuckled. “That’s not what I meant. Where I’m from, we’d all call you bottom heavy. Not because you are, but because we aren’t.”
Amalia propped herself up on an elbow. “Where are you from?”
“The home’s a place called the Commonwealth of Bergoshi. Lovely place. Lovely people.” Then she shot Amalia a grin. “And we’re all top heavy, every one of us. We’re built like prize fighters. What do you think about that?”
Amalia turned back to her prone position, her head resting on her hands. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”
“Besides,” Oshalla said as she snapped her gloves. “You’d not want to be top heavy with the job you have to do. The girls’ll get in the way. They have a mind of their own sometimes. Move when they want. And even dip themselves in my dinner if I’m not too careful,” she chuckled.
Amalia laughed through more clinking of jars. She could relax more, the warmth of their conversation calming her nerves.
“Now hold still.”
Amalia turned her head to one side and let it rest on her hands. There was a mirror situated against the wall. The reflection instantl
y filled her with horror. In it, she saw Oshalla standing beside her with a syringe in her hand. Amalia nearly threw herself off the examining table at the sight.
“What are you doing?” Amalia cried.
“Oh, you’re frightened of needles, I see. Don’t worry. It’s just a shot, dearie. That’s all. It might pinch a bit, but not for long. It’s an essence mixture to quicken the healing process of your bruised and sore muscles.”
“I get that,” Amalia forced through clenched anxiety. She held up her hand as if to say stop. “And I’m not afraid of needles, but do you have to hold it like that?”
Oshalla looked around, confused. “Like what?”
“You’re holding it in your fist like it’s an ice pick and you’re about to break up a block of ice resting on top of my ass.”
“Relax,” Oshalla coaxed. “It’ll only pinch a bit, like I said. Trust me.”
“With a grip like that, I don’t know if I can.”
“Easing this into your hind quarters won’t be any less pleasant, I can assure you of that. Besides, you’ve got padding enough,” Oshalla said, chuckling. “Mayhap not feel a thing. And if you’re still frightened, I think I’ve got a stuffed bunny around here. Something I give to the little ones to hug on so they feel comfy when they come around for their shots. I’ll fetch it if you like.”
Amalia glared at her, realizing that Oshalla’s comments and smug smile was telling her, in no small amount of subtlety, to quit acting like a baby. She sighed with some resignation.
“Go on,” Oshalla insisted. “Roll over for ol’ Dr. Shay. It’ll be in and out in a flash.”
Reluctantly, Amalia rolled back over onto her stomach and gripped the pillow under her chin. She thought about looking through the mirror, then changed her mind. Instead, she closed her eyes and buried her face in the pillow. Soon after, she felt the pinch. The pain was subtle at first, then grew hot on her cheek and felt like someone held a match to her.
