Warrior of the Dawn

by M. S. Brook

  “I don’t think I’ll be sleeping today,” I said to Arvel.

  “The captain is working on the smithy forge. Perhaps we can give him a hand.”

  “Good idea. I’ll let Linden know to call if he needs me.”

  With the help of Elder Jaron, we rebuilt the forge, and the next day we were ready to fire it. The Evergreens made a great pile of broken tools and bits of metal they found in the ruins, and Fergal and I mended what we could of the broken implements. I spent my time between forge and healer duties. The man with the severed arm, especially, needed my attention. His stump looked better now, the swelling and redness had gone down, but he still wasn’t fully awake. We sat him upright every few hours, and he swallowed the broth we spooned into his mouth. He kept his eyes closed, but even so, I began to hope that we would not need to add another stone marker to the mound outside the village. I stopped thinking of him as the man with the missing arm and began calling Tal by his given name.

  On the fourth day, Tal woke up. Linden sent for me at the forge, and I ran to the tent where a small crowd was gathered. Tal took a whole bowlful of broth and was able to follow our movements with his eyes, but he didn’t speak.

  We laid Tal back on his pallet, and Linden’s eyes were glowing. “It’s a sign!” he said to me. “Things are on the mend.”

  It did look that way, and there was even more happy news in the afternoon: The root vegetables had survived the burning of the fields. With their newly mended spades, the farmers were able to dig up potatoes, carrots, onions, and more. That, along with the game the Guardian scouts shot in Evergreen Forest, meant we wouldn’t starve just yet—but in the night, the rains came.

  We dropped all but the essential watch duties to build lean-to shelters from the vast supply of evergreens in the nearby forest. Even the children helped, dragging the cut branches to the soggy field where we camped. The tightly needled boughs shed the rain effectively, but the ground underneath the shelters was rain-soaked and muddy. We piled boughs on the ground as well, hoping to keep a dry area for sitting and sleeping. The village of lean-to shelters grew as the rain continued, unabated.

  On the third dismal morning of rain, Linden and I overheard a group of Dominian women who were trying to stay dry under a dripping shelter.

  “We never should’ve come here,” said a shrill voice. “Leastwise in Domaine we had a bed to sleep in and a roof to stop the rain.” There was murmured agreement from the women around her.

  “Guess she forgot it doesn’t rain much in Domaine,” I said to Linden. But the woman wasn’t finished.

  “I don’t think we’re wanted here. First they let the Blackcoats attack us and burn our houses. Then they won’t let us eat our own cattle. We’ll starve if we don’t drown first!”

  “It’s because we’re Dominian—they don’t care what happens to us,” said another.

  “I don’t trust the Canwyrs,” said a third. “They’re not like us.”

  “What about the girl? She’s different too.”

  “She looks like a Northlander. They say she’s a healer, but I think you or I could do as well. Just about everyone she’s worked on has died!”

  “Maybe she does better with that sword she wears. Bet she fights like a badger!” There was a great deal of laughter at that, but it was the next turn of conversation that raised my ire.

  “Foreigners! And the way they go on about their king,” said the shrill voice. “They say he’s the ruler of the realm, but no one ever sees or hears from him.” There was more laughter. “Who wants a king anyway? All they do is step on us common folk.”

  I felt my face flush all the way to the tips of my ears. “To hear them talk, you’d think we’re the enemy!”

  Linden took my arm and pulled me out of hearing distance under the dripping canopy of a nearby tree. “Pay them no mind, Miss Aidriana. They’re speaking foolishness. So much bad has happened to them that they can’t see good when it drops in their laps.” Linden pulled the hood of his cloak over his damp hair and looked toward the river. We stood a while, watching the gray mizzle over the Plevin.

  “It looks like it will never stop,” I said.

  “It feels that way too. Look, I know it’s asking a lot after all you’ve done, but please give us time to adjust. We’ll come round. We’re good people.”

  The burst of anger had left me, and I was able to reply with a free heart. “I know you are, and it’s all right. We can bear a little discomfort. It’s nothing like what you’ve been through.”

  “Still, I’m embarrassed,” he said in a low voice. “I know we must look ungrateful to you. But it’s hard for us to admit that Dominians did this to us. To accept the treachery of our own people is…almost impossible. If we hate those who did this to us, we are hating ourselves.” He looked at me, his face pained. “The truth is bitter medicine…much easier to blame someone else.”

  He looked back toward the grove of blackened chimneys. “They didn’t even take anything. They only came to destroy what we’ve built.” Tears mixed with rain on his wet face, and I stood with him, not knowing how to help him. He finally straightened his shoulders and said, “Been meaning to say this for a while…I want to learn to sing like you did that day you found us in the forest. Do you think I ever could?”

  Linden didn’t try to hide the raw yearning in his voice, and I was quick to respond. “I’m sure of it. I’ll teach you everything I know. We can learn together.”

  Drier weather came at length, and with it tidings from Highfield. Both brought changes that lifted spirits in our lean-to village. The regents were sending food and Guardian reinforcements, and with them stonemasons, thatchers, and men skilled with timber.

  “We will keep a Guardian presence here,” Uncle Fergal told us, “until Evergreen is strong enough to defend herself. And to those of you who long to be back on patrol, don’t worry. We’re likely to see another attack before long. We will help with the rebuilding, but every man is to keep his weapons with him at all times.”

  To me, privately, Uncle Fergal said, “You must be missing home by now. I hope this bit of news does not disappoint you too much.”

  “I do miss them,” I said, “but there’s so much to do. I’ve hardly had a chance to be homesick.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. I can only hope your father and mother will be as forgiving! As for me, it’s been very good to have you here.”

  To everyone’s surprise, Tal got better. His stump of a right arm scarred over and healed. The fever left him, and he was able to eat and strengthen his body. Slowly, his mind came back too. I was fearful that he would have a setback when he learned about his family, but he didn’t have to be told. He had decided to come back from the verge of death knowing that his family had passed on ahead of him.

  Tal was the first person we saw every day. After breakfast, Linden and I made our rounds among those few still recovering from their injuries, changing dressings and checking that wounds were clean and healing well. Linden was an eager learner, and I passed on to him the lore of herbs and treatments and what I understood of the healing song. We practiced on anyone who needed our help.

  In the mornings we combed the nearby fields and woods for burnet and comfrey, blackberry and poppies, and whatever other healing herbs we could find. I showed Linden how to preserve the delicate plants, drying some, preparing tinctures, ointments, and cordials with others. Arvel would always go with us if we left the surroundings of the camp.

  When we finished our healing duties, I worked at the smithy with Uncle Fergal, mending tools that had survived the fire. Axes, saws, hammers, spades, and pitchforks were in demand as the settlers went out in the forest to harvest tall, straight pines that would soon become beams and log walls. Others worked to prepare the land for crops again.

  Tal was soon strong enough to find his way to the paddock where our horses and the rescued cow were kept. He made hims
elf useful, keeping the horses and their tack in order. He still had little to say, but seemed to find comfort from the big animals, brushing the horses with his one arm and leading them to water.

  In a few busy days our picket sighted the caravan coming from Highfield. Wagon after loaded wagon topped the hill and rolled down the valley road along with cattle and sixty men-at-arms. We ran out to the village center to cheer their arrival and then set about unloading the wagons before nightfall.

  I spotted a woman stepping down from her seat on one of the wagons. She was dressed in a grass-green tunic embroidered with flowers, and her open summer cloak was the color of the sky at twilight. It was Orabella Stonedale, and she couldn’t have looked more of a contrast to the Dominians in their dull clothing. I ran out to greet her.

  “Lady Stonedale!”

  “Miss Aidriana.” She bowed, her blue gaze penetrating as usual. “Word of what you have accomplished here has traveled back to Highfield. You’ve created quite a stir with your song for Evergreen.”

  To cover my surprise, I said, “May I ask what has brought you here, Lady Stonedale?”

  “The council asked me to come, because of my experiences in Domaine. They thought I might be a bridge of understanding between Evergreen and Canwyrrie.”

  “That bridge is much needed, and you are welcome here. May I show you where you can wash? I’ll get a kettle boiling.”

  “Thank you. A cup of tea would be most welcome.”

  We drank tea, and I showed her what little of Evergreen there was to see. Arvel and I set up her tent and made a bed of evergreen boughs covered with the sheepskins and woven rugs she’d brought with her.

  “Amazing that she would want to leave the comforts of Highfield again,” Arvel said.

  I nodded. “It’s strange…but I feel as though her future is somehow interwoven with mine.”

  “That’s not so strange. I’ve had that sort of feeling, before.”

  I looked up, and in the quiet of the tent, I was suddenly aware of my heartbeat. Arvel’s face was in shadow, but his voice held its usual cheerful note when he spoke again. “Well, I believe that’s as comfortable as we can make it for her. I should be off to see what else needs doing before supper.”

  Chapter 19

  Arvel, Linden, and I missed the beginning of the Blackcoats’ return. We were out in the hills east of Evergreen, searching for herbs to transplant into our new garden, when Linden noticed smoke clouds rising above the river valley. “Look!” He pointed behind us, frantic. “Evergreen’s on fire! We have to go back.” He ran for Morningstar, waiting for me to get in the saddle first. I was right behind him.

  “Wait!” Arvel said. “I’m sworn to protect you, Aidriana. I can’t let you ride into danger.”

  Linden’s face was strained. “I need to get back.”

  “Here, take Midnight. I’ll ride back with Aidriana.” Arvel held the reins while Linden swung into the saddle. “It’s all right, Midnight. Take him back.” Arvel slapped Midnight on the rump, and he galloped back down the trail.

  Arvel pointed to a scrubby hill not far from Evergreen. “We can see what’s happening from there.”

  We dismounted when we reached the hill and crawled through the bushes to the top, not wanting to expose ourselves in case Dominian scouts were watching the hills. I tried to see where the smoke was coming from.

  Arvel shielded his eyes with his hand. “Looks like they set fire to a few haystacks, but I don’t believe they’ve gotten to the buildings.”

  “Thank the Maker for that!” I said.

  “They’ve circled the village,” he said. “Coming in from all directions to panic the settlers—to make them think they’re overwhelmed.”

  We lay in the grass, propped on our elbows, watching the distant clumps of fighting men, the sun glinting off Guardian helmets and shields, making it easy to pick out the Blackcoats with their dull, black-painted armor. I felt a twinge, knowing that Arvel must be longing to be part of the fight.

  “Do you mind terribly, staying back like this?” I asked.

  “Not when I’m doing my duty. We learned this early in Guardian training—each one takes care of their assignment, and all is well.”

  I hoped the Guardians wouldn’t miss his help too much, but the fight was already lopsided. Knowledge of the attack must have spread, for more men were running out to the field to join the fight. The Blackcoats were outnumbered, and one after another fell.

  “They were overconfident and not prepared for our strong defense,” Arvel said. “See how their tactic to spread out and attack hurts them now? They’re too far apart to help each other.”

  “Look! Some of them are deserting!” At least a dozen Blackcoats had turned around and were fleeing westward, their horses galloping flat out. But those Blackcoats still on the field were fighting in a wild frenzy.

  “It’s not like Blackcoats to run,” Arvel said. “They must be conscripts. Bezarqs wouldn’t run. They will follow Saduk’s orders to their last breath—no order can be revoked except Saduk himself does it.”

  “What will happen to the conscripts who desert?”

  “My guess is they will run back across the border. Without Bezarq officers to command them, they won’t want to fight. But that’s fraught too. If they appear to be deserters, they’ll be killed in Domaine.”

  “Not much of a choice,” I said. “Stay and die, or flee and hope you won’t be killed by your own people.”

  “No, and many of them are farmers who would like to be home with their families and their flocks, not warring in a foreign land.”

  We waited until the last of the Blackcoats were down. “We should be on our way,” I said. “There are sure to be wounded after such a fight.”

  We quickly made our way back to the valley. It was disturbing to smell smoke again as we rode down to the settlement, but by the time we arrived, the fires were out and a noisy crowd of Evergreens was gathered on the common green in front of the village hall. The newly rebuilt River Hall was being used as a shelter for children and mothers, but now a line of Guardians stood in front of the hall, holding back a crowd of red-faced settlers, still armed with swords and hefty cudgels. The air was thick with angry shouts and calls for someone to be turned over. “Give us his head!” one of the Evergreen men was shouting.

  “What’s going on?” Arvel asked a bystander.

  “They’ve taken the wounded into the hall, and one of them’s a Blackcoat.”

  Arvel and I dismounted, and I grabbed my treatment bag. We pushed our way into the hall, where ten wounded men were sitting on the floor or lying on blankets, depending on the severity of their wounds. Linden and several helpers from the womenfolk were busy cleansing wounds and binding on bandages. They looked relieved when they saw us walk through the door.

  “I’m all right, Arvel,” I said. “The captain might need you outside.”

  I passed between the injured men and came upon a man with a gray face, lying to the side, unattended. “What happened here?”

  “He’s what they’re calling for out there,” said one of the women.

  “But his wounds are severe.” I knelt down to examine my enemy. I’d never been this close to a Blackcoat before, and I felt hesitant to touch him. He didn’t ask for help, but his eyes were filled with pain. He was holding what must have been his cloak pressed to his gut. It was soaked with blood.

  I broke through my resistance. “Get me poppy tincture mixed with brandy,” I said to Linden. We held the man’s head up and got a few of the precious drops into him. He gasped with the movement, but his eyes seemed to thank us.

  I drew away his bloodied hands and put clean linens over the wound, holding a light pressure there. In spite of it, the wound oozed fresh, red blood. I tried again with clean bandages, but I could do nothing to staunch the flow.

  A song came to me, and I began
to sing it softly. I saw, with the eyes of my heart, a gentle mother crooning over her much-loved child to quiet him and lull him into peaceful sleep. I sang it over and over until he closed his eyes and rested a little. I sat next to him on the floor, holding the bandage against his wound, watching his ragged breaths. There was nothing more I could do but stay with him and try to ease his suffering while his life slowly seeped away with his blood.

  When I thought he was all but gone, he opened his dark eyes and locked them on to mine. “Tell them we didn’t want to do it.” His thin voice rasped, and he gripped my hand, his fingers sticky with blood. “I have a wife and children back home. If I fail to obey Lord Saduk, he will find out and take them for slaves. I meant no harm to anyone here. I beg you, tell them—sorry for what I did. I never wanted to hurt anyone.” He gasped for breath. “Forgive me. I wish I had found another way.”

  “You rest easy, now,” I said, holding his cold hand in a tight grip. “Rest easy. I will tell them. Saduk is responsible for what happened here, and we will make him pay for it.”

  He took a shuddering breath and was gone. I washed the blood off his hands and went through the increasingly familiar motions of closing his eyelids and crossing his thin arms over his chest. He’d helped bring trouble to many, but he looked so lonely and helpless now. Somehow it was harder to think of him as the enemy after seeing his suffering, knowing what he’d gone through, how he’d been forced to live.

  Where were his wife and children now? And his mother—did she still look for him to come home every day? She’d brought him into the world, hoping for something better than this….

  Saduk will pay, I promised myself. I will see that he pays!

  I threw the bloody cloak on a pile for burning and went to wash. The basin water turned sudsy pink as I scrubbed the Dominian’s clotted blood off my hands with soap and warm water. The rusty smell of blood lingered. I lathered and rinsed again and carried the discolored water outside, pouring it onto the grassy earth, my gut roiling. How many conscripts were just like him?