We’ve lost too many good people because of this war. I won’t lose you or Rygar.
She smiled. “Will do.”
* * *
Tired and alone in his quarters, Krytien heaved his stomach’s contents into the chamber pot in the corner. Despite his body screaming at him to stop performing the teleportation spell, he refused to let up his practice.
Belching, a foul smell passed his lips, turning his stomach once more. He choked back the bile, staggering over to his desk. He reread Amcaro’s notes on the spell for what seemed like the hundredth time.
I don’t understand. I’m performing it just as it is specified, yet the nausea has barely lessened in comparison to my first attempt. And if I perform the spell too close to the last time, the sickness only increases.
It appeared from Amcaro’s notes that teleportation affected some mages more than others, with few ever fully getting over the queasiness that accompanied the process.
“Like any other form of sorcery, teleportation calls for patience and repetition. One does not become an expert at anything in a matter of days, weeks, or even months. Only those who dedicate themselves to years of study will find success in the arts.”
Krytien read the passage and shook his head. He had never been a patient man, and given the situation, he did not have years to wait until his mastery of the arts improved.
Not when Nareash can attack at any moment.
He had worked with Raker, Drake, and others on another possible mode of attacking the High Mage should he finally show himself. However, Krytien placed little faith in the strategy.
A High Mage should be able to figure out how to avoid those attacks. And when he does, everyone will look to me.
He leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling. A thought struck him, something he had not considered before.
Could it be that easy?
He pushed himself to his feet and went to the door.
* * *
Wiqua’s laugh became infectious, and soon Kaz joined him. Joy had become a hard thing to come by. However, he took Krytien’s advice and sought the man he thought of as a surrogate father.
From what I remember of my father, Wiqua is the better man anyway.
Kaz had not meant to ignore Wiqua over the last few weeks, but after thinking on his conversation with Krytien, he realized that his talks with the old Byzernian had been mostly about matters of the army. The two had not shared their personal thoughts in some time.
When Hag was alive.
Despite the realization, he did not feel comfortable dumping all his worries on Wiqua. He saw how much it weighed on the old man to see so many wounded and dying.
And he’s done so much for me already to selfishly push my problems onto him.
The two spoke privately in a quiet hallway near the infirmary. They focused on the better times of the last couple of years. Quickly, their conversation drifted to Hag and the love they shared for the rough woman.
“Do you recall the look on that private’s face we picked up on the road to Cathyrium when he tried to bully her into giving him some salted pork from our supplies?” asked Kaz.
“How could I forget? I had to patch up the young man on the road because Jonrell would not allow the group to stop.” Wiqua chuckled. “The poor boy kept staring at his side, dumbfounded that Hag had actually stabbed him. He couldn’t believe that a woman half his size and four times his age could get the upper hand on him.”
“I think my favorite part of the whole thing was that Hag had stabbed him right where she knew it wouldn’t cause any permanent damage, but would still inflict a lot of pain.”
“She was a special woman,” said Wiqua, laughing.
“She was.” Kaz paused. “I wonder whatever happened to that private.”
Wiqua closed his eyes, laughter dying. “He died about a year ago if I remember correctly. Spear point through his neck.” He sighed, shoulders sagging. “But then again, I could be wrong. There has been so much death that it all runs together.”
Kaz placed a hand on the old man’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
Wiqua shrugged. “You have nothing to apologize for. As Jonrell would say, war is ugly. I’ll just be glad when it’s all over.”
“So will I.”
* * *
Krytien stood at the entrance of the infirmary, immediately wishing to leave. The smell of fresh blood and open wounds assaulted his already queasy stomach. Despite decades of witnessing the carnage of a battle’s aftermath, he had not grown numb to the suffering each soldier faced.
Injured lay on cots and wooden pallets side-by-side, the overflow spilling to piles of hay scattered on the floor against the back wall. Those treating the wounded walked among them with buckets of water, scooping out ladles for each to drink. Others changed bandages, while a small number of mages did their best to heal those they could.
Krytien spotted Wiqua by a man whose legs had been severed at the knee. He bent over the man with hands on leg and chest, lips moving. Nora stood at his side. Wiqua nearly tumbled to the ground when he finished. Krytien hurried over as Nora helped the Byzernian catch his balance.
“Are you alright?” Krytien asked as he reached them.
Wiqua nodded. “I’m fine.”
Nora shook her head. “He’s been at it for most of the day. He only stopped when Kaz came by earlier.”
“Why don’t you take a break?” asked Krytien.
“No.”
“You can’t heal them all,” whispered Krytien.
“I have to try.”
Krytien nodded. “At least stop for some food and drink. Then maybe close your eyes for a little while. You’re not good to anyone unconscious. I know I’m not as skilled as you are, but I can spare some time and help in your place.”
Wiqua let out a sigh. “Alright. Thank you.” He turned to Nora. “Can you show Krytien who needs the most help?”
She bowed, then called over another worker to help Wiqua back to his quarters. Afterward, she guided Krytien through the rest of the rounds, pointing out what needed attention on each patient. In many instances, the two worked together. Hours passed before they finished.
The two rested against a wall, away from prying eyes and ears.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve done that much healing in such a short amount of time,” he said, eyelids heavy. “You did well. Wiqua would be pleased.”
She smiled. “As he would with you.” She changed subjects. “Lufflin told me that we lost several of our mages in the last battle. I want to help you with the next assault.”
“No, you’re doing wonders here.”
“But won’t every little bit help?”
“Not against High Mage Nareash.”
“You don’t think you can stop him?”
“He’s the one wearing the red robes.”
“So? You’ve told us many times that the color of someone’s robes means little. It’s what they can do, and I’ve seen you do such amazing things. Affecting an entire army’s will in the battle against Conroy, performing a spell that only Sacrynon himself had ever pulled off . . .”
“I have my moments, but nothing that can withstand continued pressure from Nareash.”
“So, you’re saying it’s hopeless?”
“No. Nothing is hopeless,” said Krytien, trying to convince himself as much as Nora. “I’ve been working on something with the engineers for when Nareash finally does show himself. I’m also working on a few things privately.” He paused. “I actually came here to talk to Wiqua about it. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it when I saw how weary he looked.”
“Is it something I can help with?”
Krytien eyed the young mage. She has spent a great deal of time with him. “Perhaps. Has Wiqua taught you any spells for nausea?”
“Nausea? Like an upset stomach?”
“Well, I’m looking for something that would combat more than just an upset stomach. Vomiting, dizziness, feelings of disorientatio
n . . .”
“Hmm. I can help you with that. The spell isn’t too difficult either. As long as you start correctly, the rest falls into place.”
Bells sounded. It would be dawn in a few hours.
There just never seems to be enough time.
“I know it’s late, but can you teach me the spell? It’s important that I learn it right away.”
“Sure, I don’t think you’ll have any trouble picking it up.” Nora chuckled. “I can’t believe I get to teach you something.”
“Any mage worth his salt never stops learning.”
* * *
“No. Put your hand right there,” said Drake, nodding.
“I thought you told me to keep an eye on the other beam,” replied Janik.
“I did. I need you to do both.”
“This is why I’m not an engineer,” the mage muttered.
“Don’t worry, I’m almost done.”
“Well hurry. I still have to work that spell you wanted.”
Drake ignored the mage’s tone. Everyone was pulling extra shifts and doing double-duty in preparation for the inevitable attack. He put all his weight behind the rope, knuckles whitening and sweat falling into his eyes as he tied the knot.
“Alright, I’m done.”
Janik slowly moved his hands away. “Thank the One Above.” He wiped his brow.
“How much time do you need to get it ready?”
“Maybe an hour.”
“Alright. I’ll see that no one bothers you.”
Janik drank from a waterskin, dropped to his knees, bowed his head, and got to work. Drake sectioned off the ballista with rope so no one could get through without passing him first. Drake saw Lufflin in a similar position across the wall. Senald and Raker stood guard at their equipment.
Drake shifted his stance and sighed.
And the boredom begins. I should have brought a book.
“Drake!”
He turned as Rygar approached, waving a hand.
“Need some company?” asked the scout.
“You read my mind. How’d you know?”
“I was with Raker a little earlier. He told me that you’d be pretty bored about now.” He gestured to Janik.
Drake slid over. “I’m not about to turn down company. How have you been?”
Rygar shrugged. “No need to scout anymore, so I’ve more or less joined Yanasi’s company since my eyesight gives me a bit of an advantage with a bow.”
“Plus it gives you a chance to watch her back.”
“Yeah, that too.” He lowered his voice. “I’d kind of like to keep her around, with us betrothed and all.”
Drake blinked. “What!”
Rygar raised a finger to his mouth. “Quiet. We aren’t ready to tell everyone yet.”
“Then why tell me?”
“Why not? We’re friends, and I know I can trust you. And Yanasi couldn’t keep from telling Kroke. I figured if she told someone, I could do the same.”
“Well, you could have given me some kind of warning.”
“I didn’t think it would be that big a shock. She and I have been together awhile.”
“I guess I just imagined things staying as they were.”
Rygar raised an eyebrow.
“Well, I mean we are mercenaries,” said Drake, trying to defend his point of view.
“For now.” Rygar’s voice grew serious. “But not after this. If we make it out of here alive, we’ve decided to leave the Hell Patrol.”
Drake choked. “I didn’t see that coming either.”
“It kind of snuck up on us too, but we decided that we want a family, and as much as we’re going to miss everyone, this isn’t the best place to be raising children.”
Children?
Drake tilted his head. The scout only had him by a few years, but suddenly he looked much older than he remembered.
He smiled, trying to be supportive. “Well, those are going to be some lucky children.”
Rygar grinned. “I hope so. But first we have to survive this.”
“There is that.”
One Above, the heart of this outfit is growing weaker by the minute. Jonrell. Hag. Yanasi. Rygar. Who’s next? He swallowed, knowing the answer.
Kaz.
* * *
Elyse closed the chapel door behind her. Legs weak and fatigued, she added one last prayer for strength of mind and body as she released the door handle.
At this rate, the One Above will need to hire assistants to keep up with my lamentations.
She took a deep breath, and walked down the dreary corridor, pausing briefly at several open doorways, wondering where Lobella had run off to.
She let me stay in there too long again. I’m going to be late for my meeting with Jeldor.
“As I said, you can just give the message to me. I’ll see that it reaches her,” came Lobella’s voice from around a turn in the hallway.
The frustrated tone in her friend’s words made Elyse pause.
“I’m sorry,” came a man’s voice. “I have orders not to give this letter to anyone but Her Majesty.”
“And I’ve been instructed to act as a liaison by Her Majesty. All messages are to be delivered to me first. This is the way it’s been done for weeks now. None of the other messengers have questioned my authority,” she snapped.
Liaison? Other messengers?
“Well, I’m not like these other messengers. My orders came from Her Majesty herself. So, if you’ll excuse me—”
“No! Wait,” she said, lowering her voice so Elyse had to inch closer to the turn in the hallway, straining her ears. Lobella sounded nervous when she spoke again. “What if I make it worth your while to have that letter?”
One Above, what is going on?
His voice quivered. “Are you trying to say what I think you’re saying? That you’d be willing to . . .”
Piecing recent details together, Elyse wanted to charge out and confront Lobella, but she swallowed her rising fury and refrained. Before she could plan her next step, she needed to first learn how far Lobella was willing to lower herself to betray Elyse and also whether she could trust the messenger.
“Yes,” Lobella whispered. “I’d do anything.”
A long pause followed and Elyse dug her nails into her palms, ready to scream.
The messenger cleared his throat. “No. I have strict orders from Her Majesty.”
Elyse had heard enough. She knew right away how she needed to handle the situation. She rounded the corner, putting on a calm mask of indifference to hide her anger.
“Lobella. I was just looking for you,” she said, pretending she hadn’t heard a word of their conversation.
Lobella had pushed the messenger against one of the walls. Both looked uncomfortable. The two quickly separated, both red. Lobella rubbed her hands violently as her eyes darted between Elyse and the letter in the messenger’s hands.
She turned to the messenger. “Horin, right?”
Horin bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty. Thank you for remembering.”
“Is that for me?” she asked.
“Yes, Your Majesty.” He looked at Lobella, then walked forward with hand extended.
She took it from him, but did not look at its contents. “Do you know what it says, Horin?”
“No, Your Majesty. I was told nothing.”
She nodded. “My thanks for your speedy travel. Please feel free to rest for the night. I’ll have a response for you in the morning.”
He bowed again and left, shooting Lobella one last glance.
Elyse faced Lobella, keeping her face a mask. Her servant wore the look of a corpse. The queen frowned. “Lobella, are you alright? Perhaps you should take the rest of the night off.”
Lobella straightened, forcing a swallow. “No, Your Majesty. I’ll be fine.”
“Good. Let’s get moving then. I’m late.”
Lobella fell in slightly behind Elyse to her right, though she normally walked on her left.
But
then again, I usually don’t carry around an unopened message in my right hand.
She dug her nails once more into her palms as they walked, anything to take her mind off her anger.
* * *
Kaz ran into Crusher as he left the smithy. The giant carried his warhammer, spinning it in his hand.
“What do you think?” asked the Ghal. “I took a chance and had Cisod make some modifications.”
The point at the back of the weapon’s head had gone from one to three. Spikes also jutted out from the top. A new hand guard covered the top of the handle, unusual for that sort of weapon.
Kaz rubbed at his goatee. “I like it.”
Crusher hoisted the weapon across his shoulder as they walked. “So, did you ever take my advice?”
“Advice?”
The Ghal lowered his voice. “About talking to Elyse.”
“I did, actually. It didn’t go well. Things will continue as they have.”
The giant shrugged his massive shoulders as they walked across the catwalk separating the inner and middle walls. “Well, at least you got to say your peace. That’s more than most get. That’s more than I got with my brother.”
Kaz winced. Months had passed since his battle with Grin, yet he still hadn’t been able to find the nerve to tell his friend what had happened that day on the bridge.
You owe him the truth. There will never be a good time to do it, and you could die tomorrow.
He stepped off to the side. “Wait.”
Crusher pulled up next to him, out of the way of soldiers moving to their posts in time for shift change. “What is it?”
Kaz sighed. “That day on the bridge . . . Kroke might have finished Grin off, but he was already as good as dead. And not entirely because of wounds from the rihulask. I was trying to get information from him and I . . . I got carried away.”
Crusher wore a mask of stone. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you should know the truth. And because of what you just said when we were talking about Elyse. I robbed you of the chance to set things right with him.”
“Set things right? Is that what you think?” He laughed. “Trust me, what I wanted to tell Grin wouldn’t have made anything right.”
“But you seemed so upset with Kroke.”
Trial And Glory (Book 3) Page 12
