Jaiden’s eyes grew wide as the blonde knight presented the hilt of his father’s sword, no doubt scavenged from the bones of the battlefield.
“But tell me…” Sir Golddrake held out his palm in invitation.
“Jaiden. Jaiden Luminere,” he said, forcing his name past the rising lump in his throat. He hadn’t dared to hope his familial blade might be recovered.
“Tell me, Jaiden, how is it you have come to know our goddess, if you don’t mind my question? I have never met a man who already shared my faith.”
“Goddess?” Jaiden coughed, nearly choking on his own spit. Was this knight a lunatic? “How can that be so? The gods are only legend – they don’t truly exist.”
“Ah, but they do, my friend.” Sir Golddrake’s posture slackened, and Jaiden guessed that trying to convince skeptics was a familiar role. “It is true they have been absent a very long time, but that is changing. We will speak more of this later, however. I do not wish to overwhelm you with too much at once. For now, get your rest. The physicians are eager to begin tending to you, and I should not impede them too long. I wanted to meet you, though, before riding on.
“I am leaving my very able companion, Saffron min Furasi, in charge of your care. We shall speak again in a few days, once you’ve mended further.”
Sir Amurel Golddrake stood to take his leave, and Jaiden noticed as he did so, it was with a pronounced limp. The lower half of his right leg jutted outward at an awkward angle, leaving it a couple inches short of the ground when the knight stood erect.
As he left the tent, two men in gray, hooded robes replaced him. They began dressing Jaiden’s wounds with bandages that quickly dyed red with his blood. Jaiden closed his eyes and gritted his teeth while his discomfort deepened.
Unsure of how much time had passed, Jaiden remained cautious about deciding he was awake and not dead. His stomach grumbled – between it and his parched mouth, he finally felt assured he was no longer dreaming. While passing in and out of consciousness, none of his dreams were accompanied by the harshness of his unfortunate condition.
He was still in a tent, but alone. His cot was soaked with sweat from the fever he developed fighting the infection of his injuries. A single oil lamp, standing on a leveled tree stump, cast a dim halo, and he could hear laughter, along with the faintest bits of lyre music, rising and falling outside.
Jaiden raised his hands to his head to find it wrapped in bandages. He sat up and groaned; both his chest and injured leg protested the movement. Looking at his torso, he saw a patch of black skin near his heart, as if the area were scorched by fire. His lower half was covered by a woolen blanket.
Summoning what courage he could manage, he lifted the edge of the blanket just enough to peek at his leg. His entire thigh, from knee to groin, was wrapped in white bandages and he let out a sigh, replacing the blanket. Though not likely to admit it, Jaiden was grateful the damage was hidden, awful as it felt.
His attention returned to discovering his surroundings, and his nose led his eyes to a bowl of steaming broth, set on a second stump in the shadow of the lamp. Thankfully, it was within reach. Jaiden didn’t bother using the wooden spoon to ladle his meal, pouring the contents directly into his mouth. His throat was dry and a fierce hunger ravaged his belly, both of which were remedied by the thick broth. He swallowed the concoction so quickly it burnt the roof of his mouth, though he hardly cared.
With the immediate need for sustenance subdued, he listened more closely to the music wafting on an otherwise hollow breeze. It was stirring, as if the notes sang of bravery, though there was no voice accompanying them. He wiped the slurped remains from his chin and gripped the cot on either side of his waist. Time to give standing a try, he thought.
As Jaiden’s right knee started to bend, the resulting pressure on his thigh evoked a cry of pain, loud as a battle-charge, and the music stopped. The conversation outside trailed to a halt.
Jaiden settled back into the sagging curve of coarse cloth, wincing. A few breaths later the flap to his tent whisked back and a dark-haired woman, her face obscured by a silk veil, entered. Her long-lashed, obsidian eyes remained starkly visible, and her locks were gathered into a single braid that disappeared behind bare shoulders.
“You are awake,” she said, stopping just short of Jaiden’s cot, where she positioned and took a seat on a severed section of cedar log. She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead, beaded with sweat. “Good, your fever has broken.”
“I’m alive, but I feel like the Abyss.” Jaiden tried to sit a little straighter, hoping to appear tall.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” she said. “It looks like a horned demon has been gnawing on your leg. You’re lucky not to have lost it altogether.” The woman gathered a bowl of water and white cloth, then nodded for permission to inspect his wounds.
Jaiden gave consent with the extension of his palm, and braced for more pain. He didn’t want to appear weak in front of a woman. “My name is Jaiden Luminere, what’s yours?”
“Saffron min Furasi.” Her eyes seemed to smile as she considered his bare physique, but he couldn’t be sure what her mouth was doing. “This will hurt.”
Saffron peeled back the blanket covering his lower half, reaching over his lap to lift the bandages that clung to his leg. He winced and tensed his arms, which shook as she began prodding and applying a poultice. Unable to look, he lifted his eyes upward to trace creases of shadow in the roof of the tent.
“The bone is broken, that will take two moons to heal,” Saffron shared, matter-of-factly. “Some of the muscle is also gone, and that—”
“Your accent is unfamiliar to me, where are you from?” Jaiden interrupted, the tent folds failing to provide adequate distraction from the pain. He struggled to hold the tears welling in his eyes from falling, but they could only be held in check for so long.
Saffron paused, then played along. “I am a musician from the Emirate of Begnasharan. I was on my way to Selamus with my sister when our caravan was attacked by the Chelpians.”
Thankfully, she finished her ministrations and started rewrapping bandages. Jaiden quickly wiped the wetness from his eyes before leveling his chin, hoping she didn’t notice.
“You’re Begnari? I’ve never met anyone from that far west. My father told me a man could travel for four days and see nothing but sand. What’s it like? You have beautiful eyes.”
His last comment drew a turn of Saffron’s head, catching his eyes as they lingered too long on her breasts. “Well, it looks like at least something down here is working properly.” Saffron raised her forearm from his lap, allowing the rise of his erection to push against his undergarments.
She delicately replaced the blanket over Jaiden’s lap. His face grew warm and he couldn’t find any words as she stood up and gathered his empty bowl. “A surgeon should arrive in camp tomorrow, and he will evaluate your injuries with more skill than I possess. Amurel should not be much longer, either, and he’ll undoubtedly have some plan for you, too. Sleep well, Jaiden Luminere.”
Jaiden was still breathing in the lingering traces of her perfume when four men wearing white tabards entered the tent. They carried straw-stuffed bedrolls and threadbare blankets while still laughing at a shared joke. One of them nodded in recognition of Jaiden’s presence, but the others didn’t seem to notice. They unrolled their mats beside one another on the open ground near the middle of the tent.
Jaiden wouldn’t have known whether he’d been sharing this tent all along, but he couldn’t help feeling intruded upon now. Given the severity of his injuries, all he wanted was solitude. Sinking lower in his cot, he thought if perhaps he could only fall asleep quickly he might dream of Criesha again, and his pain would be forgotten. Instead, he lay awake for hours, suffering the snoring of his neighbors and striving to ignore the throbbing heat and itching under his bandages.
Longing for a distraction, he peeked over to make sure his tentmates were asleep before sliding his blanket down past hi
s groin. Jaiden closed his eyes and thought of Saffron dressing his wound. Then, using his own hand, he thought of hers moving higher into his lap and stimulating him. He imagined he could hear lyre music playing while he watched the curve of her breasts heave beneath her clothes as they both grew more excited. His breath shallowed and his heartbeat quickened. Finally, he softly grunted his release and was able to attain repose.
A cock crowed somewhere nearby, outside the tent, startling Jaiden awake. He was in the midst of dreaming, but couldn’t remember the details. He found waking up to be the worst part of the day, as it only reminded him of his pain and predicament.
Saffron entered as he was rinsing and presented him with a sturdy crutch, carved from cedar. He noticed her veil was still in place, but her thick, sable hair was damp and unwound. It cascaded over her shoulders to the middle of her breasts, where Jaiden’s eye lingered as he remembered his late-night diversion.
“Come, if you want breakfast. You’ll have to start fending for yourself.” She turned and exited without waiting for him, emphasizing her point about self-reliance.
Jaiden found loose breeches and a simple gray tunic left on the stump beside his cot. He struggled to dress, as every movement brought pain with it. The other soldiers sharing his tent were long-gone, so there was no one to help him, and it took several minutes before he emerged from the flap of his canvas sanctuary.
Saffron was there to greet him, however, skillfully weaving her hair back into a single braid. She’d fitted a brightly colored flower, magenta and yellow, into the strands behind her ear and began walking as she spoke. “Over here are the water basins – these two for washing, the other for drawing drinking water. Rations are spread on the westernmost table at dawn and dusk – if you want to eat anything between meals, you’ll have to provide for yourself. Wait too long, the food will be gone and you’ll go hungry. Sleeping in can be a hazard around here, for more than one reason.”
Jaiden was only half-listening to his guide, the bulk of his concentration split between awkwardly following with his crutch, and watching the sway of Saffron’s hips as she moved.
“When you’re mended,” she continued, “should you choose to stay, you’ll be expected to contribute to the chores: gathering wood, cooking, packing the wagons, you get the point. The Order won’t abide laziness.” She turned to look at Jaiden as she made this final statement to ensure it was received.
His brow was moist with the effort of keeping up, and the scorched region around his heart throbbed. “May we sit for a moment, miss?” he asked, short of breath.
Saffron’s tone softened, and her eyes widened. “Certainly. I am sorry if I have rushed your recovery. Amurel tells me often I could benefit from more patience.”
Jaiden labored to seat himself on a pine bench at an empty mess table. Around the camp, men were busy cutting wood, packing their horses, sharpening the tools of war. Looking about, Jaiden could not find anyone simply idle. Discipline reigned.
“Amurel is the leader of this camp?”
Saffron nodded as she also sat.
“Is he nobility?”
“He is – was – a landed noble,” Saffron amended. “He has no siblings, and when his parents died, Sir Golddrake sold his ancestral holdings for supplies and a charter from the Prince to create the Order of the Rising Moon. This,” she gestured to the camp around them, “is his dream.”
“Order of the Rising Moon, huh? Yes, these are clearly fighting men.” Jaiden took note that nearly everyone in the yard wore some degree of armor. “The Duke of Halidor certainly could’ve used them.”
Saffron shook her head from side to side. “We tried to reach your battle, but from what I’ve seen since, it is probably best we did not. Amurel is proud, but he does not yet have the numbers to directly face the armies of the Dread Tyrant.”
“Begging your pardon, but I’m a single man and I was faring well against those same troops. What does a woman and a foreigner know of such matters, anyway?”
Saffron’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t back away. “Typical. You were beaten to the edge of death, but it is I who know nothing of warfare? Where I am from, Jaiden Luminere, women share the dangers of battle with our men, who are grateful for it. You would be lucky to live long enough to learn this lesson.” Saffron stood.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. Please, don’t leave.” He truly didn’t want her to. “The flower in your hair is beautiful. What kind is it?”
“If you didn’t mean to offend, you chose your words poorly, master Luminere.” Saffron stared at him hotly for a long breath, then softened her eyes. “I will forgive you because of your ordeal. Did you see the one who did this to you?” she gestured toward him, but could’ve meant any number of things.
“It was a beast brought me down; a beast with many heads. But Ebon Khorel saw me afterwards.” Jaiden’s hand rose to his chest at the memory.
“You were face-to-face with the King-priest?” Saffron drew closer.
“Well, I was tied up, like you found me. He questioned me – wanted to know if I’d seen a winged man, or something crazy like that.”
“A winged man?”
“That’s all I remember.” Seeing her interest, Jaiden altered his tone. “Would you like to go back to my tent and talk about it a little more?”
“Hmm,” she leaned back. “Rest while you can, Jaiden. We rarely stay encamped more than a week, and will be on the move when Sir Golddrake returns, I imagine. When the surgeon arrives, I will send him to your tent.” She stood, but spoke again before leaving.
“It’s a zinnia.” Saffron must’ve seen the confusion on Jaiden’s face. “The flower. It symbolizes thoughtfulness for an absent friend. I wear it for my sister.”
Jaiden watched as Saffron’s braid snapped behind her like a whip of fire. She took meaningful strides toward a large tent at the center of camp, and didn’t look back. He had his work cut out for him, no doubt. With a deep breath and the somber realization of the discomfort to come, Jaiden stood and limped back to his cot, foregoing breakfast altogether.
Jaiden’s stomach had spent the afternoon grumbling its displeasure, when a middle-aged man wearing a tight, leather jerkin entered the tent. A pack hung by his side from one shoulder, and a trimmed beard with ample gray framed his face.
“Greetings, young sir. I’m finishing my rounds, but was told to pay special attention to you.”
Jaiden sat up in his cot, wincing at the movement, but anxious to get an accurate prognosis for when he might be able to continue the fight against Ebon Khorel.
“You must be the surgeon. Thank you for seeing me, Master…?”
“Kimbrel,” the elder man finished. “And no need for thanks – Sir Golddrake pays me good coin to tend his wounded. Now, let’s take a look at your injuries, shall we? I’ll require you to disrobe.” The surgeon opened his satchel and removed several instruments while Jaiden obeyed.
Jaiden tried to imagine once again walking amongst the clouds of the night sky, hoping to summon the goddess whose presence so soothed him, as the surgeon investigated the wounds on both his leg and chest. His efforts were in vain and he couldn’t help groaning at the surgeon’s invasions, each instance drawing concerned looks from Master Kimbrel.
“You can put your clothes back on. I’ll summon the Mistress so I don’t have to repeat myself.” When he returned, Saffron was with him, still carrying her spear and shield from sparring practice.
“Young man,” he began, looking straight into Jaiden’s eyes, “I want you first to be aware how close to death you came. Had the angle of the teeth that impaled you been ever-so-slightly different, they would have severed an artery, and you would’ve bled to death on the spot. Your leg bone is broken, but it’s already been set,” he glanced at Saffron, “and fairly well, I might add. It should mend in a matter of months, if you stay off it.”
Jaiden nodded. A few months was a long time, but he could endure.
“However,” Master Kimbre
l continued, “it probably won’t do you any good. Much of the muscle is simply gone, and though it’s not imperative I remove your right leg completely, I’m afraid I may as well. It’s going to be useless to you and cumbersome to carry, and another infection could be fatal.”
The bearded man’s lips kept moving, but Jaiden no longer heard any words. Everything was muted, as if he were underwater.
“—I’ve never seen anything quite like it. I’m certain the heart is damaged, but to what extent, I can’t tell without examining the tissue underneath. If you were my boy, I’d tell you to avoid anything that might cause undue strain.”
“Jaiden, are you all right?” Saffron asked, genuine concern reflected in her eyes as a trickle of blood started leaking from one of his nostrils.
“Get out! No one is taking my leg!” He waved his arms wildly as if fighting off an unseen ghost.
Saffron dropped her spear. “Jaiden, calm down, no one’s here to hurt you.”
He tried to rise, but grasped his chest as a surge of pain shot through it, almost as if the surgeon’s words chose that moment to bloom truth. It was too much. Why did they bother saving him in the first place?
The surgeon stepped forward to offer stability, but all Jaiden could see was a man coming to make sure he never walked again. He lunged to avoid him, but succeeded in falling off his cot onto the dirt floor. Saffron dropped to her knees and cradled his head in her hands, speaking softly, but his nose continued to bleed, followed by eyes rolling upward as Jaiden lapsed out of consciousness.
Chapter 7
Not Alone
A murel Golddrake’s agents had spent six weeks following leads about a community ripe for revolution. If his newer information was correct, there was no time to lose.
Such thoughts occupied his mind as he returned to his own camp, but he was also eager to learn more about the young warrior Criesha had guided him to. She often visited Amurel’s dreams, appearing as a pale green moonbeam, illuminating the path she desired for him. Such intervention brought him solace, and his faith was unwavering.
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