by Franc Ingram
"Separate." Lysander waited as there was some shuffling around. People trying to find groups they felt comfortable in quickly. When all had sorted out, Lysander was left to work with his father and Wade. "Move out," Lysander called.
The united troops moved in organized lines, the precision of which helped ease some of Lysander's fear about their cohesiveness. Wade, having already spent time amongst the trees, led their group. They fell behind letting others choose spots first.
Trusting Wade's guidance, Lysander had leeway to get to know the trees and plants around him. He listened to the complex interwoven symphony of the forest. He detected the changes in the song that their presence made, and searched for similar disturbances further out to get some read on where his enemy might be.
The dark note that followed unusual movement moved along at a fast pace down the center of the valley then headed up from the south. Lysander dug in with the rest of his team, melding into the collection of stout, dark purple corsaum bushes Wade found. Their roots were hard and jutted out of the ground at awkward angles. The thin, stubby branches felt like bone grinding into Lysander's back, and the leaves where thick and waxy. Overall it was not a comfortable place to sit down in, but at the rate the enemy was moving, Lysander knew they wouldn't be there for long.
They were packed so tightly together Lysander was almost sitting on his father's lap. It had been a long while since they were that close. He could remember spending time on his father's lap in the study as Nadir poured over various legislature and notes from different meetings that happened across the realm. At the time, Lysander didn't understand any of it. All he knew was that his father was warm and strong, and the steady beat of Nadir's heart lulled him to sleep.
Now he couldn't ignore the danger around them even with his father nearby. Lysander did feel better with his father at his back. But he knew that wasn't going to keep him safe. He had to do that himself.
The first group of hidden allied troops encountered the enemy. Lysander couldn't see a thing. They were too far away but he heard the shouts and the clink of metal on metal that came with sword fighting. A yeti howled, cutting through the air and sending some half-seen group of small mammals scrambling up into the tops of the trees.
Lysander yearned to be out there in the action, to at least see what was going on. His father's hand fell on his shoulder, keeping him in place. "Be patient," Nadir whispered. Lysander nodded with the slightest of movements as not to rustle the leaves.
Lysander reached out with his extra senses to give him some feel of the battle raging around him. The forward momentum of the troops had slowed to a crawl. The disturbance was more wide spread as the enemy had to break formation to deal with multiple attacks on multiple sides.
The distance between him and the next wave was mere feet. "Get ready," he whispered to the others. He counted down in his head from ten, nine, eight, seven. Lysander rolled his shoulders to make sure he was limber. Six, five, four. He tightened the grip he had on his sword. Three, two. "Set," he ordered quietly. One. "Go!"
The three of them burst free of the bushes to run into the center of a line of about fifteen soldiers that were more focused on the end of the trees than searching for hidden troops. Wade was out first, using momentum to barrel four guys over before they even knew what was going on.
By the time Lysander and Nadir were free, the Failsea troops closest to them recovered, turned and were ready to fight. The dark green and gray uniforms of Failsea blended in with the evergreen forest around them, effortlessly camouflaging the soldiers. Meanwhile, the red of Caledon and dark blue and silver of Darten, made it easy to separate friend from foe.
Wade disappeared into a sea of green and Lysander was happy to cut his way to him. He ran into a tall man, a jagged scar cutting across the bottom of his jaw in a thin white line. He was on the hefty side, yet he twisted away from Lysander's first swing with a quick pirouette.
Lysander continued to run past him. His objective was not to engage, but to enrage the enemy. Hit and scatter. The scarred man didn't take kindly to the idea, snatching the back of Lysander's shirt and yanking him backwards.
Twisting out of his grip, Lysander swung wide, meeting sword for sword. The two of them danced around the misguided elbows and fists of people around them, and then the directed attacks of each other. Lysander ducked to avoid the back end of someone else's spear. His recovery landed him into the painful right cross of the scarred man. Lysander's feet slipped and he went down.
The scarred man reared up to deliver a death blow, but the press of people pushed him forward. Lysander got walked on instead. He curled up to protect his face. As soon as he saw a clearing he sprang to his feet and ran, not caring which direction he was going or who may have been behind him. He just had to move. He pushed people out of the way until he made it to a large tree that everyone ran around.
He backed up against it and waited for the next attack. When a minute passed and no one was directly after him, Lysander looked around to find the rest of his team. Then he looked to see how far the enemy had advanced.
He saw Wade waving at him some three yards away. Lysander started forward. He kept his head on a swivel searching for danger and for his father.
Lysander saw that some of the men clad in green had made it past the tree line, but worse yet, Nadir and the scarred man were locked in combat. Lysander was forced to look on as the scarred man got the upper hand and ran his father through.
The distance between them felt like a million miles. Lysander couldn't make his legs work, couldn't make a single sound come out of his mouth. He reached for the trees, tried to get them to do what he could not, strangle the life out of the scared man, but even they wouldn't obey him.
Nadir fell. The scarred man retrieved his blade and joined his fellows in a mad dash out into the clearing. Lysander felt people brush past him, but none of them mattered. All he saw was his father's blood spilling out onto the ground. Time moved in bits and spurts until he found himself cradling his father's head, hearing his ragged breathing.
"Father, hold on," Lysander begged.
"Sire, we have to move," someone explained. "We have to get him out of here."
Lysander looked up at Wade who was offering his hand. Unshed tears gathered at the corner of his eyes. Henry fell in behind him all the color drained out of his normally light brown face.
"Grab his feet," Lysander said. He wrapped his own arms around his father's shoulders and together he and Wade lifted him. Paul led the way, keeping any wannabe attackers at bay with Henry covering their backsides.
When the other troops clad in the red of Caledon saw that it was Nadir that was being carried away they joined in the procession, forming a protective bubble around them. Lysander couldn't catch his breath, panic had such a vise grip on his chest. His father looked deathly pale and there was nothing Lysander could do but get help. His feet felt like they were stuck in mud. Tears burned their way down his face in rivulets.
He pleaded with whoever would listen, "Don't take my father. Don't take my father."
01101011
They made it back to the Rangers’ office, turned makeshift hospital, in a blur of fast movement and murmurs of concern. The three-room building was already packed with screaming, bleeding, dying people. Lysander didn't care. He would fight his way to the front of the line if he had to.
Wade found a clear bed and they laid Nadir down on it as gently as they could manage.
"We'll go find someone," the scout said, leaving Lysander pressing the wound in his father's chest closed as life slipped through his fingers.
Wade came back with a Caledonian woman in tow.
"Move." The older woman pushed Lysander out of the way. He recognized her as the city doctor that had agreed to help with wounded. Her gray hair was tied back in a disheveled bun. Her brown eyes were hard and focused.
"Where's Fallon?" Lysander asked, desperate to see a familiar face he trusted.
"Elbow deep in someone else.
You got me or no one." Her somber voice commanded respect. Lysander stood to the side as he was told, waiting for further instructions.
She cut away the remains of Nadir's clothing. Bright red blood oozed out of his wound with every beat of his heart. "You, hands here," the doctor demanded, pointing at Lysander and directing him to press his hands against the exposed wound on the opposite side of her.
Lysander pushed as hard as he could, his hands slick finding it hard to gain any traction.
"Harder," the hard city woman ordered.
He leaned in, but when Nadir moaned Lysander automatically pulled back not wishing to bring his father anymore pain.
"Harder!" she yelled, grabbing his wrist and jamming his hands down.
A young man no more than eighteen, dressed in the under-padding of the dragon scale armor, balanced a tray of instruments in his hands, steam pouring off them in waves. Without even acknowledging the man, the city doctor grabbed one of the smaller tools with her gloved right hand as she used her left to pull the torn flesh back so she could see where the bleeding was coming from.
The doctor pointed at the Rangers. "You two, hold him still."
Henry and Paul each grabbed a side of Nadir and held his failing limbs to the table.
The doctor took the steaming tool with its triangular shaped head, and laid it against the torn artery. The flesh sizzled. Nadir bucked. The acrid odor of burnt meat mixed with the metallic tang of an overheated iron that permeated the room. Lysander's stomach turned. He swallowed hard against the rising bile burning the back of his throat. He turned away, looking at the rest of the room to breathe but all around him was blood and chaos.
A woman, no older than Lysander, wearing Darten blue, was laid out on a nearby table screaming. Her right arm was frozen up to her shoulder and across part of her chest. Her lips were blue and her breathing ragged. Another man was held down by his two companions, an arrow jutting out of his eye. Lysander shut his eyes but the images were burned, in gory detail, in his mind.
The three of them did as the doctor said, not hesitating to move or hold where she told them. They were silent puppets at her beck and call, praying that their immediate obedience would mean Nadir could be saved.
The mess around them faded away, and all Lysander could see was his father. All he heard were the commands of the doctor. He thought he might vomit more than once. His hands were shaking so bad he didn't know how they could be of any use, but she never told him to go away, which was fortunate because it would have killed him if she had.
After what must have been an hour, the doctor stepped back and wiped her head with her forearm. "Tristan, bandage him." It took Lysander several minutes to realize Tristan was the young man holding the tray of tools. "All we can do now is wait."
Lysander was appalled at how much of his father's blood was on his hands, on his shirt. How pale and lifeless the ruler of Caledon looked laid out on the wooden bed, exposed chest bruised and bloody. How could they just sit around and wait?
A commotion outside pulled Lysander's attention. Leith came barreling in, Jonathan and at least three Rangers along with him. "What...," he started to say then his eye fell on Nadir and he froze. "Is he...?"
"Alive for now," the doctor said.
"Sorry. So sorry." Leith shook his head, his brown eyes downcast. "We be leaving now."
"I can't leave him," Lysander insisted. Whatever it was Leith wanted him for could wait.
"All us. All must leave now. Retreat. City is lost."
The room froze as the gravity of Leith's words sunk in. They all fought, many died. Yet they lost, defeated on their home ground. Lysander couldn't process what that would mean in the long run.
He cut his gaze to the doctor, but her eyes were focused on the rest of the room, the dozen or more filled beds. Injured soldiers propped up against the walls holding their wounds together with whatever strips of cloth they could find.
"Doc can we move him?"
For the first time since she'd walked up on them the doctor looked frazzled, her eyes not really focusing on him but darting all around the room as if trying to make a dozen decisions at once.
"I... What?"
"My father, can he be moved?"
"Not if you want him to have any chance at continuing to breathe. Now I have about fifty other people to worry about, so move." She pushed passed Lysander without another word.
"Go help her round up as many as you can," Leith said to Paul, Henry, and the other Rangers around him.
"I can't leave him," Lysander mumbled to everyone and no one. He couldn't imagine what he would tell his mother, couldn't imagine how he would live with himself if he just abandoned his seriously injured father to the hands of the enemy.
"Taking him kill him."
"And leaving him, you think he has a chance, that they'll what, treat him like some treasure to be cared for and put away for safe keeping? No. They'll finish what they started and toss his body away with the garbage. I won't be given the basic comfort of being able to...," Lysander worked to wrap his lips around the word, force it up from the pit of his stomach like pushing a brick through a straw. "To bury my..." Lysander shook his head. "No, he comes."
Leith grabbed up the few clean sheets that were within sight.
"What're you doing?"
"He comes we do it right."
Wade reached for pillows, then looked over the bed that Nadir was on for what parts they could take and what could be left behind. Lysander prepared his father. He took the leftover bandages that Tristan left behind in his hurry to follow after the doctor to secure the wound as tightly as he could. Then he folded his father's arms across his chest and wrapped them in place for an added protection. Wade placed pillows around Nadir's head, bracing his shoulders and under his feet.
The bed was a canvas mat stretched between two wooden slats with cross beams underneath for support. Wade unscrewed the bolts that connected the cross beams, shedding the extra weight leaving them with a makeshift stretcher that two people could carry in a hurry. Leith tore one of his sheets into four strips, wrapping them around the wooden slats, making them easier to grip. He handed the rest to Lysander to wrap around the stretcher and Nadir, securing his unconscious body to the carrier. Leaving one more to cover him, keeping him as warm as they could make him.
Other similarly outfitted carriers were already on the move out of the hospital making for a slow-moving line. With so many of the Rangers tied up doing the heavy lifting they wouldn't be much use for defense. Lysander didn't trust Cornelius’ troops to give the wounded free passage.
"Need more help," Leith said, reading Lysander's mind.
Leith cut through the crowd and disappeared out the door leaving Lysander to wait for his turn to move. By the time Lysander, with Wade helping carry the stretcher outside, found an opening Leith was making his way back. He'd rounded up more men to protect their convoy.
They made their agonizingly slow way out of Caledon into the forest and toward the river that was in such contention, northwest toward the Wild Zone. Civilians from the city started filing in their ranks. Lysander could hear fighting at the edges of the group, but the press of people kept his view blocked.
They pushed him forward at a panicked pace. Lysander kept looking down at his father, afraid that every jostle and bump would be the one that sent Nadir's fragile body over the edge. Lysander strained to see if his father's chest rose and fell but the covers made it impossible to tell. Nadir looked so pale and lifeless Lysander was sure they were carrying a corpse.
It was only after several hours of hard walking that they lost the sounds of pursuit behind them and they could take a moment of rest. Lysander set his carefully wrapped bundle down and did a thorough check on his father. He reached to move the blanket, but Leith was there first.
"Let me."
Lysander was grateful. He needed the extra few seconds before discovering whether his father was alive or dead. Leith knelt down putting his ear close to Nadir's mouth
and listening for breathing.
"Still alive," Leith said. He pulled back the blanket to check on the wounds. "Some bleeding."
Lysander was so relieved he collapsed in a heap on the ground. He'd been so sure the rocky terrain had reopened the wound and his father was dead. The weight of the day's anxieties descended on him like a ton of bricks. Fatigue, hunger, pain, they all screamed at him demanding attention. His chest burned, every breath a struggle. His eyes didn't want to focus, and he couldn't string a sentence together, so he just nodded. He thought briefly of how he would explain what happened to his mother back in Central City, but no words came. All Lysander could do was sit there and watch his father's breathing. That's all that mattered.
His father was still breathing.
CHAPTER FIVE: HUNT FOR OLEANA
Lorn was down to six arrows in his quiver. He'd left his horse behind long ago. He'd fled the battle with his group of archers, but in the chaos got separated from them. So, he mindlessly followed the rest of the crowd until he realized he had a choice.
For the first time since he was crowned as one of the three kings, Lorn didn't have anyone watching over him, keeping an eye on him. He was just another face in the crowd. Also for the first time since he'd been crowned, he was close to the border of Failsea. Without thinking too hard on it, Lorn broke away from all those heading toward the Wild Zone and moved for Failsea.
After expending so much energy putting out fires and guiding arrows on the beach, he felt close to fainting, like he hadn't eaten in days, even though it was only a half a day since he'd eaten enough for three people. Still, Lorn pushed forward. None of those things mattered. He needed his mother back. He was going to find her no matter what the cost.
Dealing with the loss at Caledon was going to take months. He couldn't wait that long, so Lorn left without a word, knowing if he stayed he would be stuck. Repairing his betrayal of his brothers would take some serious groveling on his part, but hopefully they would see the advantage of having Oleana back as more important than chewing him out for leaving them.
