“I will be but I have a duty to complete.” He didn’t look overjoyed at the prospect, and Arman wasn’t sure why. “You need to rest, and I have other patients.”
He stood up, picking up the used bandages. Arman flailed a little and caught his arm. “Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me. I would do the same for anyone, whatever Tiko says.” He didn’t smile as he said it. Arman couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “I have to go.”
Arman let him leave, and watched him stop at the bedside of one of the other patients—possibly one of Arman’s own men, he thought, but the bandage on the head obscured his face so he couldn’t be sure. He stopped trying to work it out—it didn’t make a difference, certainly not to Kei. What lay ahead of him? It was obvious there was a lot of hostility towards him, although whether to him personally or to the Prij as a whole, he didn’t know.
He closed his eyes, too exhausted to fight his injury, the pain and the drug. His fate was in other people’s hands, not a feeling he liked at all. He wondered how Kei had dealt with it so gracefully—and hoped at least he was enjoying being free. He deserved that.
Chapter : Return to Darshian 2
Arman lost track of time, drifting in and out of drug-fuelled sleep, always in pain, but the pain growing and receding as doses of the painkiller were administered with water or with the light soup they insisted he needed to eat, or as he managed to get some rest. Someone was always hovering—Kei, one of the Darshianese medics. Arman was checked every time he woke, but it was Vikis who worried them more than any other patient. He heard Vikis moaning and coughing several times, Kei’s soft voice soothing the fevered man, calming him. Arman could only listen through his own fevered consciousness, helpless, and willing Vikis to struggle against his injury.
He didn’t know what time it was—or how many days later—when he woke to find Kei sitting next to him, holding his hand. “What’s happened?” he whispered through cracked lips. “Did he die?”
“No. Not yet. I’m tired.”
Arman could only see the outline of Kei’s body backlit by a small lamp. “You should sleep.” He felt a little disoriented, fever and the drug making this a little dream-like.
“I...I can’t. I just need...do you mind?”
Did he mind what? “No.” Whatever Kei was asking, he didn’t mind. “Water?” Kei’s arm went carefully under his shoulder, and helped him up a little, which hurt like all six hells, before holding a mug of water to his lips. The water was very cold, delicious. “Don’t wear yourself out.”
“I’m needed, Arman.”
Kei helped him rest again and wiped his face with a cool cloth, before laying his hand on Arman’s forehead. He felt faint tremors going through it, or maybe it was the drugs and confusion which made him think that.
Kei sat like that for a long time, just holding his hand, wiping Arman’s face from time to time until he slipped into unconsciousness again. When he woke, he was alone again.
~~~~~~~~
Vikis would probably live, Kei decided, rubbing eyes that felt like they were full of sand. The crisis had passed, finally—it had been several days, though, since his fever had begun to spike as he fought the injury and the infection. Kei had done all he could to reduce the spread of that, keeping the wound cleaned and drained, monitoring the injury with his gift. Why was there nothing they could do to fight infections once they took hold? Kei had a few remedies which limited infections a little, and Nev was using a tea made of isek leaves the academy had recently recommended as being of some use. It was somewhat helpful, if only in stopping the sick man from becoming completely dehydrated, and perhaps all of the remedies they had offered Vikis together had helped a good deal. But there was no single effective drug they could give to someone with a severe wound infection that would stop it spreading through their body. They always had to rely almost entirely on the strength of the patient themselves in fighting it, and do what they could to relieve the symptoms.
Vikis was strong, but the battle exhausted him and the healers trying to help him. Now he was a little more comfortable, Kei could leave Perik, the other medic, watching him and the other patients. He crawled onto his cot to get a few hours’ sleep.
He woke to the sound of an agonised cry, and with shock, realised it was Arman crying out, not Vikis. The sound drove him to his feet before he was completely awake. Tiko had his hands on Arman, whose face was contorted in pain as he struggled with the captain.
“Let him go!” Kei shouted, running over to the two men. He grabbed Tiko back by his collar, managing to pull the man to his feet. “You will not hurt my patients!”
Tiko grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand off him. “Will you calm down?” he said in a low, angry voice.
“Get out of the infirmary! I never said you could talk to him, let alone torture him!”
Tiko grabbed his shoulders. “Move, now. Outside.”
Kei had little chance of fighting the grasp of a fully fit, trained soldier, and so in moments he found himself out in the cold air on the verandah outside the infirmary. Somewhere along the way, it had become day again, he noted with a small part of his mind. The other part was concerned with the angry man glaring at him at close quarters. “Let me go,” he said through gritted teeth, Tiko’s anger battering at him. He shoved him back. “Stop it!”
Tiko was so surprised at his vehemence he did in fact take his hands off Kei and step back. “What in hells is wrong with you?”
“I’m a damn soul-toucher,” Kei spat, “and I don’t want to feel your anger or what you want to do to my patients. Have we Darshianese become like the Prij, harming people in our charge?”
“I wasn’t harming anyone, you damn fool! I dropped in to see how Vikis and the others were doing, and the general looked uncomfortable. I offered to help him sit up but I think I hurt his leg. How in hells...?” He moved closer to Kei to peer at him worriedly. “What did they do to you that you would think a prisoner would be treated like that? Were you tortured?”
Kei moved back against the wall. “No...not exactly.... Gods, I’m sorry, I just....” He wiped his face with his hand, feeling like all kinds of a fool. “I was asleep. Maybe I was dreaming.” He was having such bad nightmares again.
Tiko put his hand on Kei’s shoulder, but when Kei winced, even Tiko’s concern rubbing him a little raw, he let him go again. “You should get more rest, healer, and not in the infirmary. I don’t know what happened to you in Utuk, but I think it must have been bad—if you weren’t here, we’d have to manage. Let Nev and Perik take over, that’s an order.”
Kei glared at him. “I don’t take orders from anyone any more—I’m not in the army and I’m damn well not a slave either. If I weren’t here, those men would be dead, including two of our own, and I am here so I have a responsibility to them. Nev and Perik can’t deal with cases like Vikis and Arman on their own, and that’s all there is to it.” He looked at his feet. “I’m sorry for the accusation,” he muttered. “I’ve met...there were people in Utuk who would have....”
“The general?”
“No! Tiko, he’s an honourable man, he actually stopped—” Kei bit his lip. Telling Tiko Arman had stopped his own wife and his own steward from systematically abusing him perhaps wouldn’t win him over. “He would never,” he said in a low voice. “There are good Prij and bad Prij, just like us.”
“This Prij is the Butcher of Ai-Darbin so I’ve heard, so I wonder you’re defending him,” Tiko said, his expression suddenly cold. “But I wouldn’t harm a patient or a prisoner. I do need to talk to him, and soon. How long?”
Kei leaned against the wall again, his fatigue hitting him. “Today...later. Just wait until I let you know.”
“And Vikis—will he survive?”
“Probably. But I would doubt he can travel in a week. If the infection doesn’t kill him, the journey might if he’s forced on it too soon.”
“Then we will send the other wounded and this general of yours as soon
as they can move, and Vikis can travel when he’s ready. The wagons will be here from Ai-Rutej in two days. Will the general be fit to go by then?”
Kei felt so tired and so weary of this war that meant sick men were being forced to travel when they should be left to recover. “Probably. If there isn’t a complication.”
“Then do what you can, and I’ll abide by your decision. I don’t want to talk to your general—”
“He’s not my damn general!”
Tiko held up his hand in placation. “All right, calm down—were you always this volatile or did they make you like this?” Kei didn’t dignify this question with a response, partly because he didn’t know the answer. Had he always been like this? He couldn’t remember. “All I meant to say was that I need to ask him about the hostages and the Utuk defences. Not for my own benefit, but theirs.”
“He probably won’t tell you, you realise.”
“Yes, I do, but the question has to be asked, nonetheless.” Tiko made an aborted movement to touch his shoulder again. “Look, you need to rest, even if you say you have to be here. If you collapse you can’t help them.”
“I’m not going to damn well collapse,” he muttered. “I’ve endured a lot worse, and been a lot more tired.”
“I’m not going to ask why or when, but maybe you should tell someone.” He hesitated. “You can find me later to talk, if you want to.”
Kei shook his head. “I just need to get home. I’ve been cut off from my clan for too long.”
“Yes, you have, and that would make anyone anxious. Very well. But please do let me speak to him today, if you can.” At Kei’s nod, Tiko straightened up. “I’ll see you later. Don’t forget to eat, healer.”
Food. What an interesting idea. He went back into the infirmary, made an automatic check on Vikis, who was sleeping, finally, and looked far less like he was being burned to nothing by the fever. Perik was at his side, watching. Perik would make a good healer. He shouldn’t be a soldier. No one should have to be a soldier.
Arman seemed to be asleep too, but as Kei sat and took his wrist, he opened his eyes, blue showing through the slitted lids. “How are you feeling?” Kei asked.
“Sore.”
“You can have some more pijn.”
Arman shook his head. “No...makes me fuzzy. What did you do to him?”
“Nothing. Made a fool of myself. He wasn’t hurting you, was he?”
Arman tried to sit up. Kei moved to help him get one of the straw-stuffed bolsters behind him. He grunted in pain. “No...my leg caught awkwardly.” Arman gave him a faint smile. “I wasn’t expecting the wrath of Lord Niko to descend on him. You’re terrifying when you’re angry.”
Kei flushed. “I thought he was.... Never mind, he wasn’t.” He took Arman’s wrist again—his pulse was rather fast. “You’re in pain, you should really take some pijn.”
“You said it was addictive.”
“Yes, it is, but you also need to heal. You won’t be taking it long enough to become addicted—I won’t allow it.”
“Perhaps later, to help me sleep. Vikis?”
“Sleeping. He’s very ill, I’m afraid. He won’t be travelling north with you just yet.” Arman grimaced, although whether in pain or at his proposed fate, Kei wasn’t sure. “Tiko needs to ask you about the hostages and whatever you will tell him about Utuk’s defences.”
Arman gave him a hard look. “I can’t tell him anything. I won’t betray Kuprij.”
“I told him that, but they can’t rescue the other hostages without your help. If there’s any attempt, you know what Mekus will do.”
Despite himself, Kei found his fingers tightening on Arman’s wrist in worry. He made himself let go. “I know,” Arman said softly. “If it were in my power to arrange a handover that didn’t compromise Kuprij, I would. But I’m not—you can imagine how much worth a direct request from me to Mekus would have.”
“Would they exchange you for the hostages?”
“No. Mekus would have their throats cut for the impudence, and let the will of the gods direct my fate.”
Arman spoke so calmly, one would think he didn’t care. Kei knew differently. “But the sovereign—I thought you were in her favour?”
“I am—but not to that extent. No one is. If that’s the only reason I’m being kept alive, then I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
Kei gritted his teeth. “That’s not the only damn reason you’re being kept alive,” he said irritably. “We’re not like you.”
“No,” Arman said slowly. “You’re not. But are the Rulers?”
“The Rulers are just fellow Darshianese we ask to govern on our behalf. Not like the Prij who breed for viciousness.”
Arman lifted an eyebrow at his remark. “Grumpy this morning, aren’t you?”
“So would you be if you woke up thinking someone was brutalising a friend of yours,” Kei muttered.
“Friend?” The word was said softly. “Even now?”
Kei stood up. “Oh, I forgot. It’s all changed now. You don’t need to humour the sad little hostage. Of course we’re no longer friends, we’re still on opposite sides.” He stalked out, ignoring Arman’s calling his name, and grabbed his cloak. Tiko was right—he needed more sleep.
~~~~~~~~
Arman shifted, trying to get away from the never-ending ache in his gut and his leg, and wondered what in hells was wrong with Kei. He didn’t know who’d been more shocked—himself or the Darshianese captain, when Kei had loomed up behind him and jerked him to his feet. He had looked so angry—Arman had never seen him like before, even with all the abuse he’d suffered, everything that had happened to him. To really arouse the fury of the gentle healer, one had only to threaten someone he cared about—or one of his patients. Having seen Kei working in the infirmary, his kindness and his careful nursing of the injured, Arman didn’t think he was a target of any special protectiveness. Kei would have done the same for any of the men lying here.
But that Kei believed Arman would be harmed by one of his own. That, I’m responsible for, me and my kind. He doubted six months ago it would have entered Kei’s head Arman would be crying out because of mistreatment, but now he suspected it everywhere. Arman didn’t know if Kei would ever get that innocence back—probably not. Kei was still struggling for stability. Arman regretted that. He’d thought if Kei was back with his own people, in charge of his life again and doing what Jena had said he was born to do, he would find a measure of peace once more. Judging by his worn, tired face, and his exaggerated reactions, that wasn’t the case.
He lay back on the bolster. My crimes keep mounting up. There was another discomfort under the ache which needed attending to. He turned his head, and saw one of the Darshianese medics sitting at Vikis’s side. “Excuse me, sir. I need your assistance.”
The man rose at once to come to him. “Are you in pain, general?”
“No, but I need to relieve myself.” Up until now, Kei had known when he needed to piss, and had been there with the pot almost before Arman had decided he needed to go. Shitting was an agonising ordeal, being manoeuvred into position—he was grateful the need had so far only arisen once since his injury. It was extremely embarrassing to have to ask even to do this much, but the medic only nodded, went out of the room to where Arman recalled there should be sinks and a latrine, and came back with a chamber pot. He held it as Arman relieved himself, and took it away. Unlike the Prijian physicians, the Darshianese were totally uninterested in the colour of his urine, only that he actually produced any. Arman now suspected that all the examining of piss in long glass jars which occupied much of any visit to a physician in the Street of Punus Gift was a load of superstitious rot.
The man returned and sat down, testing his pulse as Kei normally did. “Are you hungry, general?”
“Some water would be good.” He was duly helped to sit—yet more agony—his back supported with the lumpy bolsters, and given a mug of water. “My men...are you able to report on their condition?
I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“Perik of Darshek, general. Lieutenant Vikis is causing concern, but we believe he’ll recover, given time and rest.” Perik went through a list of the others—broken legs, broken ribs and arms, concussions, several bad sword cuts—but all were doing well, he said.
“Thank you for the care you’re giving them. They’re in very good hands, I see.”
Perik gave him a hard look. “They’re in Kei’s hands, and I’ve rarely seen a more able healer or a kinder one. It’s fortunate for all of you none of your soldiers tried to rape a woman in Ai-Albon, isn’t it?” He stood up. “I’ll have some soup brought in—you need to eat. Your body needs the fuel and to replace the blood loss.”
“Yes, thank you,” Arman said politely, not wanting to annoy this man or any of his captors unless he had to. Perik grunted and went, presumably to get the food. His words stung—it really had been pure chance that the soldier who had been killed in Vinri had not been stationed in Albon instead. If Mekus had ordered Kei’s death....
Arman gripped the mug of water tightly, thinking of how it could so easily have been Kei and his kin murdered that day, and Arman would not have been able to stop it. If he’d protested vehemently—even if he had bodily tried to prevent it—he would have been put in irons and sent to the dungeons. The hostages would still have died, and over a dozen Prijian soldiers and a Prijian general would now be dead or dying too.
Arman had killed before, with his own hands, and by his command. He’d ordered the deaths of dozens of rebellious Darshianese or comrades of rebels during a serious uprising three years ago, killed as a warning to others not to do the same. The suppression of that uprising had led to his promotion to general, in fact. He’d seen executions many times, both of Darshianese and of common criminals. He’d always equated the two groups as deserving their fate—and now he had to wonder, what had he wantonly destroyed in the name of the empire? How many healers? How many mind-speakers, soul-touchers? What musicians, artists, potters had died with Prijian swords in their guts, the beauty they could create, never to be seen or heard? How much agony had he brought to good people, honest families, just to serve his sovereign? No wonder Kei couldn’t contemplate killing—no wonder he was so revolted by those who could. How Kei could breathe the same air as him?
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