John Ringo - Council Wars 01 - There Will Be Dragons

by There Will Be Dragons(lit)

  "Help him up, Daneh," a male voice said. Strong hands lifted him from under his armpits and balanced him.

  "Gotta get back on the horse," he said again. He looked around painfully and saw Diablo standing only a few feet away. His vision was going gray, in and out, and the horse looked as if it was at the end of a tunnel but it still appeared to have a sheepish expression on its face. His knees buckled for a moment as he thought he might faint but then the wave passed and he was still standing. Painfully, but standing.

  "I need to get you to the infirmary," Daneh protested.

  "He can get there on the horse," the voice said. "You can ride with him and balance."

  "No, Rachel can go," Daneh said. "I'm needed here."

  Herzer realized that the other voice was Sir Edmund but it didn't really matter. With Talbot steadying him he got a hand on Diablo's mane and a foot in the stirrup. With an effort that called forth another blinding flash of pain from his head he got up in the saddle and leaned forward, swaying.

  "Got back up," he muttered, his eyes half closed against the pain. He was back up but he didn't know where to go or how to get there. He kneed the horse towards the corral and stopped when a hand clutched the horse's bridle, nearly unseating him again.

  "Not back to work, hero," Edmund said humorously. "There's others to take over. You're for the infirmary."

  Rachel was hoisted up behind him and with her pleasant anatomy pressed against his back the horse was led off to the infirmary. Distantly he heard some cheering.

  "Was 'at," he muttered. He couldn't be bothered to lift his aching head.

  "You don't know?" Rachel said with a note of humor in her voice. "I guess you don't even realize what a spectacle you made of yourself."

  "Whah specac. spec?" he asked.

  "Later. Right now we have to get you into a bed and get your face cleaned up. Be glad you didn't impact your nose, it would be all over your face. As it is, I don't know why you don't have a damned skull fracture or subdural cerebral hematoma. And you just might."

  Herzer wasn't sure what she was talking about. He wasn't even sure how he had ended up on the ground. The last thing he could remember was shooting his bow at a puma.

  Somehow he managed to stay on the horse until they reached an open-sided building where willing hands helped him down from the horse. Diablo was starting to show some tendency to shy but Kane turned up and took control immediately.

  "Need to. curry." Herzer said. He really felt as if he was going to faint again.

  "Get in bed, Herzer," Kane laughed. "You've done enough for one day."

  Rachel led him into the building, which was blessedly dim, and set him down on a cot. It was, for a wonder, well padded with something. She didn't let him lie down, though, propping him up with pillows.

  "Now, I'm going to get to work on this head wound," she said. "Don't pass out on me; that would be bad."

  Fortunately she had a gentle touch. She washed the wound with warm water, eliciting a flow of blood, then wiped it clean and put on a wash that stung. But the sting was nothing to the pain in his head. Suddenly, he realized he was about to vomit.

  "I'm going to." he started to say then paused as his stomach flipped over.

  She quickly picked up a bucket and held it for him as he emptied the entire contents of his last week of meals. Or so it seemed. The vomiting also increased his headache.

  "Okay, that's normal," she said, setting the bucket to the side. "You've got a concussion. Just sit there and rest. You might be doing that for a few days."

  He lay back on the pillows and closed his eyes against the limited light in the room as she brushed his clothes as clean as she could. He felt he really should be doing that himself but he was feeling really bad. All he wanted to do was sleep.

  "Don't go to sleep on me," Rachel said, shaking his arm. "Damn, I'm going to either have to sit here or get someone else to."

  "Why?" he asked, tiredly.

  "You've got a concussion," she repeated. "If you go to sleep you might not wake up again."

  That was an unpleasant thought to say the least. And it managed to focus his mind on not sleeping. And other things.

  "What were you talking about when we were riding over here?" he asked. "A spectacle." Then he started to remember where he'd gotten the head wound. "Oh, Mithras. That must have been a funny sight," he sighed.

  "What?" she asked. She looked at his hand and tisked. "What did you do to your fingers?"

  "I didn't have a bow-glove," he replied. He had been firing so fast he hadn't even noticed the pain in them.

  "They're cut practically to the bone you idiot!" she said, starting to bandage those as well. "And I suppose you could say that it was funny, if everyone hadn't been watching all your other antics."

  "Antics?" he asked.

  "Herzer, you were all over the damned field on that great big war-horse of yours," she said acerbically, "killing things left and right. It was a bit more than spectacular. You save Kane's life at least twice, if not getting gored by an enraged bull counts as saving a life. Then to top it off was that insane gallop to save Shilan. I mean, you should have heard the gasp when you took off. You were halfway across the field before anyone else had even started to react, galloping so fast it looked like you were riding a jet-car, not a horse. It was pretty clear everybody who had a moment was watching to see what you'd do next. I heard people betting on you."

  "Oh," he said, trying to cudgel his brain. Had he really been that noticeable?

  "Everybody thought Shilan was dead with that boar coming down on her and then you go and not only stick the damned thing, you turn it over on its side. And then, as far as everyone could tell, get yourself killed. Nobody thought you were going to stand up after hitting that branch and you were out of most people's sight. The applause was because you came riding out."

  "Oh."

  "Do me a favor, okay? I've got enough problems as it is. Stop trying to be a hero."

  "Okay," he said, puzzled.

  "I'll go find somebody to keep you awake," she said, standing up and brushing off her skirt. "In fact, I think I know just the person."

  Herzer closed his eyes and leaned back again but started when he realized he was half asleep. He wasn't sure if Rachel was serious about not waking up again, but he didn't want to find out. He also wondered how long the prohibition would last.

  He opened up his eyes and looked around the dim room. There were a couple of other beds occupied but nobody close enough to talk to.

  With the immediate problems settled and being at liberty for the moment, he started to catalogue his other hurts. His neck was killing him and from the description of what had happened he was surprised it wasn't broken. Really, really, glad. Being a quadriplegic in this society would suck. He might as well get some friend to cut his throat. For that matter, he wasn't sure if he could survive. Would he have been able to breathe?

  After a few moments of such gloomy thoughts, he looked up to see Rachel and Shilan coming into the building. He started to smile and then noted that Shilan's arm was in a sling.

  "Are you okay?" he asked with a wince from a sudden stab of pain in his head.

  "Just a twisted elbow," she said with a smile, sitting down on the stool that Rachel had vacated. Rachel handed her a pottery jug and walked out with a backward wave.

  "Are you supposed to keep me awake?" he asked.

  "Awake but not active," Shilan said. "It sounds like a prescription for total boredom."

  "Not with you here," he said then winced at another stab of pain.

  "And she said you probably wouldn't want to talk," Shilan added, pulling out a book. "So you just lean back and rest while I read."

  "Aloud?" he asked with another grimace. It felt like being a child again.

  "I doubt you'd want me to," Shilan said with a chuckle. "It's a book on weaving techniques. I was watching one of the reenactors the other day and I got interested in it. I don't think I'm cut out to be a woodcutter."


  "I think you'd be wasted as a weaver," Herzer said, leaning back and closing his eyes.

  "I have to do something," she said. He could hear the worry in her voice.

  "Mechanical looms aren't that hard to make," Herzer said. "They can be run on water-power. And there are plenty of things you can do. Doctor comes to mind."

  "Thank you, no. I've seen too much of the strain that's on Dr. Daneh. Not having access to nannites is killing her."

  "Is that what it is?" he asked.

  "She lost a patient yesterday; one of the new apprentices working in the mill didn't heed the safety warnings."

  "Shit."

  "I don't want to face that, knowing that if I had the power I could save a life and then seeing it drift away."

  "Somebody has to," Herzer said, shifting and then noticing he still had his bracers on. He opened his eyes and winced as he fumbled with the catches.

  "Let me get that," Shilan said, setting down the book.

  He leaned back and felt her cool hands on his arms and fought down a strange tide of lust. It wasn't the way he'd felt around her before and he wasn't in any shape to follow through. For that matter, it was making his headache worse. He tried to think of something to reduce it but his head was too muddled to think. Instead he put out one hand and ran it up her arm, cracking his eyes open to see her expression.

  Shilan briefly froze and her face froze so he quickly removed his hand. "I'm sorry."

  "So am I," she said sadly. "Maybe. maybe soon, Herzer."

  "Not with me," he said. "I was serious earlier. I like you but I don't want. I don't think we're made for each other."

  "You're in love with Rachel," Shilan said, looking at him.

  "She's just a friend," he said, closing his eyes again, surprised that a tear leaked out.

  "Oh, you poor dumb hero," she said quietly, stroking his face.

  "A hero is somebody who does something they don't have to," Herzer replied, tightly. "A hero is somebody that is there when they're needed. I'm not a hero. Please don't call me one again. Please."

  "What is with you?" she asked, confused.

  "It's just. it's hard to explain. But. I'm not a hero."

  "Sorry, Herzer, but I thought I was dead when that spear went through the boar. You're always going to be my hero."

  Herzer shrugged and leaned back, unable to explain the welter of emotions that was running through his brain. The good news was that the wave of lust had receded, leaving him even tireder. "Mithras I wish I could sleep."

  "Don't," Shilan said. "I'll be here if you need anything."

  Herzer nearly corrected "Almost anything" but thought better of it and just let his mind wander instead.

  * * *

  The next two days passed in a fog. Herzer remembered Dr. Daneh coming in and Rachel being there. Others came by but he had no real memory of who they were. He remembered being moved to a wagon and the jolting as it moved him somewhere, complaining querulously about the light. He remembered Shilan being there and one time when she was crying, quietly. He remembered trying to get her to stop crying, but couldn't remember anything else, what she was crying about or when she had stopped. It wasn't until the third day after the big roundup that he woke clear-headed. It was before dawn and Rachel was sitting on a more substantial, and more comfortable, chair, fast asleep. He took a deep breath and looked around, more aware that his headache was gone than anything else.

  He was definitely out of the shed and in a substantial house of stone. There was an oil lamp on the cupboard across the room and tapestries on three of the walls. The bed was incredibly soft; he identified the mattress as eiderdown from some deep memory. He also realized that he must have taken a harder blow than he'd thought; the last few days were such a blur he must have had some brain trauma. Rare as it was, that used to be fairly repairable. Given the current conditions he was just really glad he'd actually survived.

  There was a table by the bed with a jug and a cup. Picking up the cup he recognized water and gulped it down greedily; he was terribly parched. He sat up and fumbled for the jug, waking Rachel.

  "I'll get that for you," she said, sleepily. "What are you doing awake?"

  "Haven't I been sleeping enough?" he asked, pouring the water shakily. His hands were trembling so badly, he got some of it on the coverlet. He gave up the cup and jug to Rachel and leaned back, overcome with weariness.

  "You nearly died, stupid," she said, pouring the water and holding the cup to his lips.

  He had enough control to take the cup and drink from it again. "I had sort of figured that out."

  "How long have you been awake?" she asked, putting her hand on his forehead, gently. But the touch didn't elicit any pain.

  "Not long," he replied. "Where am I?"

  "In Dad's house. It was the only place Mom felt you'd get enough rest. I need to check something."

  "Okay," he said as she pulled back the coverlet. Only then did he realize he was naked and snatched at the bedclothes.

  "First of all, you weren't that modest in the baths," she said with a chuckle. "Second, I've seen it for the last three days."

  "Oh," he said as she pulled back the covers again. She took what looked like a knitting needle and applied it to the end to his toes, painfully. "Ow!"

  "Good," she said, working her way up his body. She checked all the extremities and various other apparently random spots. By the time she finished he was trembling in fatigue. Which really ticked him off. She covered him back up and put something in a notebook with a nod of satisfaction.

  "Do I pass, Doctor?" he asked querulously.

  "So far," she replied with a tired smile. "We were really worried about your responses. The second day some of your extremities were fairly numb. That's a bad sign. But it all has recovered. Try not to take too many more blows to the head, okay?"

  "I will," he said. "What happened?"

  "There's no way to tell for sure, but Mom thinks you developed a bruise on either the lining of the skull or the brain itself. It's called subdural cerebral hematoma. Just call it a brain bruise. Sometimes those can kill. In your case it looks like you just have a harder head than should be possible. No slurring of the voice, pain stimuli all good. The only thing left is to check your reflexes and I'll let Mom handle that."

  "How is she?" Herzer asked. "She looked. awful out at the roundup. I heard she lost a patient."

  "And you would have made two for two," Rachel said sadly. "Bob Towback. He fell into a couple of logs and they flailed his chest and abdomen. It. took a while for him to go and there wasn't anything we could do. It hit Mom hard. Losing you would have hit her harder, I think."

  "I don't know why," Herzer said quietly. "No, that's stupid. I understand."

  "I know you do," Rachel replied, quietly.

  "Where's Shilan?" he asked, to change the subject.

  "Sleeping," Rachel said with a chuckle. "You'll have to wait to regain your strength anyway, Romeo."

  "I wasn't thinking of that," he said, lying. "I was just worried about her."

  "She was more worried about you," Rachel said. "She's been sitting in this chair most of the time. Mom sent her off to bed last night when it was pretty clear you were going to make it."

  "I need to go to the bathroom," he said, suddenly. "Bad."

  "I'll get a bedpan," she said, getting up.

  "How far is it to." he paused.

  "Dad actually has indoor plumbing," Rachel said stepping out of the room. "But you're not getting up."

  "The hell I'm not," Herzer replied, irritably. He sat up and worked his legs out of the covers awkwardly. Nothing would go the way he wanted and he briefly was afraid the brain bruise or whatever had damaged his motor circuits. But after a moment, as the room seemed to revolve around him, he got them under control. Just disuse. That was all. Disuse.

  He hung onto that mantra as he slid out of bed.

  "Oh you idiot," she said, grabbing him as he sagged. She had a strange and altogether unpleasant lookin
g device in her hand which she tossed on the bed. "Damn, you're heavy."

  "I can make it," he said, gritting his teeth as the room started spinning again. "Where is it?"

  "Just down the hall," she said, getting her shoulder under his arm. "And go quiet. If you wake up Mother."

  "I'm already awake," Dr. Daneh said from the door. "And you should be in bed."

  "I can make it to the jakes, Doctor," Herzer said, straightening up then swaying and grabbing at Rachel.