Foundations of Krisadon (M2)
As requested, the updated and quite changed from it's MisCon version, I present the
Foundations of Krisadon (Mark 2)
“Tierney!”
Lord Tierney jumped in his chair as Killara materialized in front of him. Tafl pieces scattered from the table and across the small lawn in front of the Great Hall. His opponent was Cearul, who at twenty-five was Tierney’s youngest child.
“Will you stop doing that?” Tierney asked crossly.
“No,” Killara said. “Not until you give me no reason to. This is your last chance, Tierney. I want it, and I will take it by force if you won’t change your mind. No more negotiations.”
“There’s nothing to negotiate,” Tierney said.
“Da,” Cearul said, “Why won’t you -”
“No. I will not surrender my land to any man or woman alive, least of all you, Killara. Come and take it from me if you can, but I will never give it to you.”
The early summer sun shone down on the trio at this, their last negotiation. Cearul stared at the short-cropped grass in passive resignation. It was clear his father’s mind had not and would not be swayed by any argument. Everything looked idylic and tranquil, but Cearul knew the calm would end soon enough. At this point, war was inevitable.
“You should listen to your son,” Killara said. “I will have your land whether or no. Hand the land over and no one gets hurt. Refuse and I will destroy your people and take the land.”
“How many times do I have to say no before you understand me?” Tierney asked with a growl.
“Just this many,” his enemy answered. “This is my final visit.”
“Good. Get out of here and stop wasting my time. I’ll see you at the border.”
“You’ll see me before then,” Killara promised, “but farewell for now. Cearul, I will see you later. Best of luck.”
Killara withdrew a few items from a pouch on his belt, turned his back on Cearul and Tierney with absolute confidence, and began to chant. Within a few seconds Killara was gone as abruptly as he had arrived.
“Brrrr, I hate it when he does that,” Tierney said. “And what did he mean he’ll see you later?”
“Funny, you don’t mind me doing it,” Cearul said, ignoring his father’s question.
“You do it to entertain. We know to expect it. He does it to annoy. There’s the difference. Now pick these pieces up and get inside. There’s lots of work to do if we’re going to get to the border before his army crosses it.”
Cearul began looking for the Tafl pieces.
“And see if you can reach your brothers, tell them I want them right away!”
“Yes, Da.”
“And summon the other tribes, let them know it’s time!”
“Yes, Da.”
Tierney strode away, calling for his Master of Horse. As he disappeared, Cearul sat at the table and closed his eyes, trying to find his brothers’ minds with his magic, but without success. They had left early in the morning, and he did not know their direction. Meticulously he picked up the game and returned it to its chest in the Great Hall.
From another chest he took out several small boxes of dirt and a pouch of red powder. With a mumbled incantation, he sprinkled the powder over the soil until each box glowed red as embers, then finished his chanting with a single, clear word: “Killara!”
The lights in the boxes went out, and Cearul replaced them and the red powder in their chest. The call was sent, and any tribe who saw it would send soldiers to aid in the upcoming war. At least that was the theory.
“Cearul! Where are the others?” His sister Edurne came up, sent, no doubt, by their father to hurry things along.
“I couldn’t reach them,” he said. Edurne frowned. “I don’t know where they went, so I can’t guess where they are,” he insisited.
“Well come on yourself, at least. Da wants you, too, you know.”
“I wonder why,” Cearul said under his breath.
He found out soon enough. He and Edurne wound their way through various outbuildings to the stables and found their father inspecting horses, a meadhorn in one hand.
“Da, I’m sorry, but I couldn’t find -”
“Nevermind about that, Cearul, they’ve been spotted and are on their way back already. I didn’t really expect you could find them anyway. Listen, I’ve got something important for you to do. I want you to organize the civilians. I want -”
“But Da,” Cearul began only to be cut off again.
“- all non-combatants to be taken to the stronghold. This means the elderly, the young, the weak and sick, the nursing mothers. They’ll all need help, and that’s your job. Go.”
“Da, I can be helpful, why won’t you take me along? There are plenty of qualified people to take care of the townsfolk. Darcy -”
“Helpful? You can be helpful by doing the job you’ve been assigned. Go and take care of the weak.”
“What about the wounded on the battlefield? You could at least take me along as a chirurgeon. I can save lives, Da, soldiers’ lives. And Killara will be -”
“I’ve already got healers and chirurgeons, I don’t need another one. And I don’t want to hear any more about Killara from you,” Tierney said. “You don’t seem to realize he’s the enemy. He’d as soon kill you as look at you, and yet you praise him constantly.”
“Da, he’s a brilliant magician. If you could see inside his mind, you’d bring me along. He’s planning on using magic to fight this battle.”
“What?” Tierney stopped in his tracks and scoffed. “Nonsense. Magic has no place on the battlefield. Killara has his magic tricks, as do you, but they’re of no military use.”
“He thinks otherwise,” Cearul said. “He didn’t even try to hide it from me.”
“Now you’re making things up, Cearul. Magic just isn’t a part of war. Now get busy with the civilians and get out of my way!”
Cearul knew what he had read. He also knew not to press his father too hard. He walked down to the town making battle plans of his own as he went about the task of organizing the civilians.
#
“You did what?”
It had taken Cearul five days to secure the civilians in the stronghold and catch up to the marching army. Now he was here, and ready to face his father’s wrath.
“Darcy and Redmond are with them, and they’re more than capable of - ”
“You’ve missed the whole point, Cearul! I wanted you out of harm’s way! I wanted the comfort of knowing at least one of my children would survive this. Now all four of you are here. No, I won’t have it. I can’t spare the others for this battle, I need them. It has to be you. Go back to the stronghold.”
“No.”
His father’s face turned from a livid red to ashen pale as his mouth fell open. “Are you defying me?” he asked, incredulous.
“Quinn is with the caravan, so are Arden, Colm, Phaelan, Fionnualla. Your bloodline is perfectly safe, Da. I can be useful, you know I can.”
“Grandchildren are all very well and good, but I wanted you safe. You won’t be of any use until the fighting is over, and we can send for you then.”
“How many men and women will die needlessly waiting for me to arrive if you send me away? I’m a healer, for Byj’s sake! Let me do my part. I won’t leave. You’ll have to send an escort to remove me, and that will lose you some soldiers you can’t spare. Face it, Da, you can’t afford to make me leave.”
Tierney rode in silence for a moment, listening to the marching army behind him. Armour clanked, hooves and boots flattened the grass. The catapults and ballista creaked and groaned as they rolled along. Somewhere down the line a horse puffed and whickered to itself.
“You’re to stay with the baggage train. And keep clear of the fighting.”
“Yes, Da.” Cearul, triumphant, rode beside his father and siblings, listening to the army clatter and creak behind him. He knew his place would be at the tail end of it all with the wagons laden with food and tents, shovels and torches, but for now, as one of the Thane’s children, he rode at the front. His plan had worked. Cearul was going to war.
#
“We should march at full speed and let the ballista catch up to us later. They’re slowing us down,” Fionn said the next afternoon. They had been marching along the north bank of the Krisad River for the last two days, following it to the mountain pass where the battle would take place.
“Are you in such a hurry to die?” his father asked. “Don’t worry, the war can’t start without us.”
“At this rate it’ll never start at all.”
“Don’t be snide, Fionn. I’m not dividing my army, and our slow pace will give the reinforcements time to catch us up.” Tierney took a pull of his ale and watched his son over the rim of his mug. Fionn fumed with impatience.
“It’s neither noble nor heroic to die of worry before even reaching the battlefield, son. Why don’t you sit down and have a drink?”
Fionn sat at the camp table with his family with ill grace. His feet tapped in the dust while his fingers beat a counterpoint on the chair arm.
“What if there are no reinforcements?” he asked.
“They’re coming,” Cearul said, his voice dreamy and distant.
“I hate it when you do that,” Fionn said. “Da, can’t you make him stop doing that? It’s eerie and unnatural and what if he’s wrong?”
“Well eerie it may be,” Breean chimed in, “but when have you known him to be wrong?”
Edurne nodded. “If Cearul says they’ll be here, they’ll be here,” she said.
“How can you all be so calm?” Fionn asked.
“The attack this afternoon shook us all up a little, but it was just a skirmish, Fionn. Not a single casualty, even.” Tierney took another pull from his mug.
“Thank you, by the way,” he added, turning to Cearul. “For warning us they were there in advance. That was very well done.”
“It’s what I’m here for, Da,” Cearul said.
“I wish you weren’t,” his father growled, “but thank you all the same. Every little bit helps.”
“You know, Da, one of these days you’re going to have to come to terms with that contradiction,” the magician chuckled.
“Maybe so, but not today.”
The tent flap opened and a small figure of a man stepped inside. It was Killara.
“Aah, relaxing after your little fight?” he said. “How did you like my ‘raiding party?’”
“You have absolutely no fear, do you?” Tierney said. His children said nothing.
“Of you? No, why should I? You’re harmless, Tierney, and you know it. All this battle will do is clear out some of your excess citizenry for me so my own people can move into farms and houses already built. I’m a patient man, but my people are not.
“Cearul, good to see you again,” Killara went on, now ignoring the Thane, “and glad to see you heading for war instead of hiding like a coward. Good for you. Fionn, you’re as feisty as ever I’ve seen you. Edurne,” he bowed to the lady warrior, “you are beautiful as you are brave. I look forward to seeing you on the battlefield. Breean! Steady and even-tempered as always. Very stoic. I have no doubt you’ll die well tomorrow. Say, is that ale from Feryn? May I have a mug of it to wash the dust down?”
“You may get out of my camp and not return,” Tierney said.
“Really, you know,” Killara said as he turned to leave, “you should be grateful I’m coming. Your land could do with a touch of civilization. I only asked for a drink.” With that he stepped outside the tent. Tierney rose to follow him, but by the time he reached the tent flap, Killara was gone.
#
The tower, known as “Delling’s Tower” from time immemorial, stood on a mile-long swatch of land in the middle of the Krisad River. It stood on its island looking over the two armies on the north bank with ancient passivity. It was centuries old, but unweathered. Fionn looked at it as a personal affront.
“As soon as this war is over I’m going to tear that thing down stone by stone,” he muttered.
“It’s never been taken,” Breean reminded him.
“I don’t think it can be destroyed,” said Cearul. “It’s held together with magic, no one’s ever so much as chipped a stone.”
“I’m going to,” said Tara, glancing over to where her catapults stood waiting.
“Stop gawking and get to your units,” Tierney said, interrupting his children’s musings. “We can discuss what to do with it after we get through the army in front of it. Cearul, I don’t want to see you until after this is over. Go sit with your bandages and spells and wait for the wounded to come to you. You’re not to leave camp for any reason, is that clear?”
“Da, I can help you, why won’t you listen to me? Killara is a magician, you’re going to need more than swords to stop him.”
“What I need is soldiers who obey orders. Magic has no place on the battlefield, nor do healers. That leaves you out entirely. Now for the last time, go back to camp and leave war to your betters!”
Cearul turned his horse in silence and rode back through the infantry. Then the archers parted before him and closed behind him, and he was behind the lines and making his way to the field hospital where his assistants waited for him.
#
“This is unbelievable. Aren’t they done fighting yet?” The battle beside the river was raging as fiercely as ever. Cearul peeked though the tent flap at the cloud of dust beyond. He could hear the wounded screaming, but more than that he could feel them, their fear and anger, pain and grief. It had been going on for hours and his nerves were raw from it. If war was as noble and heroic as his father claimed, Cearul had yet to see it.
The wounded came in waves, whenever there was a lull in the fighting. Blood and dust were everywhere: on the tables, his tools, the tent walls, his helpers, but most of all himself. He wiped a drying spray of blood from his eyes and blew his nose on an already filthy sleeve. Someone put a cup in his hand and he swished the water around his mouth and spat on the blood-spattered grass before drinking.
“Here they come, sir,” an orderly said. Emerging from the blur of humanity was a line of pain weaving its way through the debris. More wounded. Cearul finished his water and eyed the new arrivals. The fellow on the end there needs to lose that left arm, he mused. Best to take him first. After that we’ll see.
“Heat up the cautery iron,” he called over his shoulder. “We’ve got another amputation coming in.”
When he got the man on the table and took a closer look at the wound, he saw that something was seriously wrong. The arm was not cut, nor torn, nor burnt, it was... melted. Impossible. Cearul shook his head and blinked, but his eyes still showed him the same thing: flesh and bone melted like candle wax.
“What did this?” he asked the soldier. “What happened to you?”
No answer. Cearul had seen that blank stare too many times today; he would get no help from his dazed patient.
“Anyone? Who saw what did this?”
A woman with a far more conventional leg wound answered him.
“I don’t know what it was, sir, but it looked like lightning, only slow. Well that’s not quite right. Worms, perhaps, or snakes, swimming through the air. Wherever they touched someone -” she gestured to the man on the table.
Cearul began swearing.
“I told him so,” he said at length. “The stubborn old bastard wouldn’t listen to me but I was right! Killara is using magic on the battlefield. Damn him, I could have stopped this! I’m going to stop this and darkness take Father’s orders!”
“Sir? What about the wounded here?”
Cearul stopped in his tracks. Men and women who needed his expertise sat here, waiting for healing. Some of them might well die if he left. I wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place, the other healers all know what to do without me, he thought. How many more will die if you don’t stop Killara? The answer to that was everyone.
“Connor!” he called to one of his assistants. “This is mostly cauterized already, but remove the rest and clean it up. I have to go. I’m needed at the front.”
Cearul swept out of the tent before the man could object and made his way to his own pavilion. Just inside the door lay a bag with a long strap. He hefted it, slipped it over his head and one shoulder and set out for the battlefield. Cearul was going to help whether his father wanted him to or not.
Foundations of Krisadon (Mark 2)
“Tierney!”
Lord Tierney jumped in his chair as Killara materialized in front of him. Tafl pieces scattered from the table and across the small lawn in front of the Great Hall. His opponent was Cearul, who at twenty-five was Tierney’s youngest child.
“Will you stop doing that?” Tierney asked crossly.
“No,” Killara said. “Not until you give me no reason to. This is your last chance, Tierney. I want it, and I will take it by force if you won’t change your mind. No more negotiations.”
“There’s nothing to negotiate,” Tierney said.
“Da,” Cearul said, “Why won’t you -”
“No. I will not surrender my land to any man or woman alive, least of all you, Killara. Come and take it from me if you can, but I will never give it to you.”
The early summer sun shone down on the trio at this, their last negotiation. Cearul stared at the short-cropped grass in passive resignation. It was clear his father’s mind had not and would not be swayed by any argument. Everything looked idylic and tranquil, but Cearul knew the calm would end soon enough. At this point, war was inevitable.
“You should listen to your son,” Killara said. “I will have your land whether or no. Hand the land over and no one gets hurt. Refuse and I will destroy your people and take the land.”
“How many times do I have to say no before you understand me?” Tierney asked with a growl.
“Just this many,” his enemy answered. “This is my final visit.”
“Good. Get out of here and stop wasting my time. I’ll see you at the border.”
“You’ll see me before then,” Killara promised, “but farewell for now. Cearul, I will see you later. Best of luck.”
Killara withdrew a few items from a pouch on his belt, turned his back on Cearul and Tierney with absolute confidence, and began to chant. Within a few seconds Killara was gone as abruptly as he had arrived.
“Brrrr, I hate it when he does that,” Tierney said. “And what did he mean he’ll see you later?”
“Funny, you don’t mind me doing it,” Cearul said, ignoring his father’s question.
“You do it to entertain. We know to expect it. He does it to annoy. There’s the difference. Now pick these pieces up and get inside. There’s lots of work to do if we’re going to get to the border before his army crosses it.”
Cearul began looking for the Tafl pieces.
“And see if you can reach your brothers, tell them I want them right away!”
“Yes, Da.”
“And summon the other tribes, let them know it’s time!”
“Yes, Da.”
Tierney strode away, calling for his Master of Horse. As he disappeared, Cearul sat at the table and closed his eyes, trying to find his brothers’ minds with his magic, but without success. They had left early in the morning, and he did not know their direction. Meticulously he picked up the game and returned it to its chest in the Great Hall.
From another chest he took out several small boxes of dirt and a pouch of red powder. With a mumbled incantation, he sprinkled the powder over the soil until each box glowed red as embers, then finished his chanting with a single, clear word: “Killara!”
The lights in the boxes went out, and Cearul replaced them and the red powder in their chest. The call was sent, and any tribe who saw it would send soldiers to aid in the upcoming war. At least that was the theory.
“Cearul! Where are the others?” His sister Edurne came up, sent, no doubt, by their father to hurry things along.
“I couldn’t reach them,” he said. Edurne frowned. “I don’t know where they went, so I can’t guess where they are,” he insisited.
“Well come on yourself, at least. Da wants you, too, you know.”
“I wonder why,” Cearul said under his breath.
He found out soon enough. He and Edurne wound their way through various outbuildings to the stables and found their father inspecting horses, a meadhorn in one hand.
“Da, I’m sorry, but I couldn’t find -”
“Nevermind about that, Cearul, they’ve been spotted and are on their way back already. I didn’t really expect you could find them anyway. Listen, I’ve got something important for you to do. I want you to organize the civilians. I want -”
“But Da,” Cearul began only to be cut off again.
“- all non-combatants to be taken to the stronghold. This means the elderly, the young, the weak and sick, the nursing mothers. They’ll all need help, and that’s your job. Go.”
“Da, I can be helpful, why won’t you take me along? There are plenty of qualified people to take care of the townsfolk. Darcy -”
“Helpful? You can be helpful by doing the job you’ve been assigned. Go and take care of the weak.”
“What about the wounded on the battlefield? You could at least take me along as a chirurgeon. I can save lives, Da, soldiers’ lives. And Killara will be -”
“I’ve already got healers and chirurgeons, I don’t need another one. And I don’t want to hear any more about Killara from you,” Tierney said. “You don’t seem to realize he’s the enemy. He’d as soon kill you as look at you, and yet you praise him constantly.”
“Da, he’s a brilliant magician. If you could see inside his mind, you’d bring me along. He’s planning on using magic to fight this battle.”
“What?” Tierney stopped in his tracks and scoffed. “Nonsense. Magic has no place on the battlefield. Killara has his magic tricks, as do you, but they’re of no military use.”
“He thinks otherwise,” Cearul said. “He didn’t even try to hide it from me.”
“Now you’re making things up, Cearul. Magic just isn’t a part of war. Now get busy with the civilians and get out of my way!”
Cearul knew what he had read. He also knew not to press his father too hard. He walked down to the town making battle plans of his own as he went about the task of organizing the civilians.
#
“You did what?”
It had taken Cearul five days to secure the civilians in the stronghold and catch up to the marching army. Now he was here, and ready to face his father’s wrath.
“Darcy and Redmond are with them, and they’re more than capable of - ”
“You’ve missed the whole point, Cearul! I wanted you out of harm’s way! I wanted the comfort of knowing at least one of my children would survive this. Now all four of you are here. No, I won’t have it. I can’t spare the others for this battle, I need them. It has to be you. Go back to the stronghold.”
“No.”
His father’s face turned from a livid red to ashen pale as his mouth fell open. “Are you defying me?” he asked, incredulous.
“Quinn is with the caravan, so are Arden, Colm, Phaelan, Fionnualla. Your bloodline is perfectly safe, Da. I can be useful, you know I can.”
“Grandchildren are all very well and good, but I wanted you safe. You won’t be of any use until the fighting is over, and we can send for you then.”
“How many men and women will die needlessly waiting for me to arrive if you send me away? I’m a healer, for Byj’s sake! Let me do my part. I won’t leave. You’ll have to send an escort to remove me, and that will lose you some soldiers you can’t spare. Face it, Da, you can’t afford to make me leave.”
Tierney rode in silence for a moment, listening to the marching army behind him. Armour clanked, hooves and boots flattened the grass. The catapults and ballista creaked and groaned as they rolled along. Somewhere down the line a horse puffed and whickered to itself.
“You’re to stay with the baggage train. And keep clear of the fighting.”
“Yes, Da.” Cearul, triumphant, rode beside his father and siblings, listening to the army clatter and creak behind him. He knew his place would be at the tail end of it all with the wagons laden with food and tents, shovels and torches, but for now, as one of the Thane’s children, he rode at the front. His plan had worked. Cearul was going to war.
#
“We should march at full speed and let the ballista catch up to us later. They’re slowing us down,” Fionn said the next afternoon. They had been marching along the north bank of the Krisad River for the last two days, following it to the mountain pass where the battle would take place.
“Are you in such a hurry to die?” his father asked. “Don’t worry, the war can’t start without us.”
“At this rate it’ll never start at all.”
“Don’t be snide, Fionn. I’m not dividing my army, and our slow pace will give the reinforcements time to catch us up.” Tierney took a pull of his ale and watched his son over the rim of his mug. Fionn fumed with impatience.
“It’s neither noble nor heroic to die of worry before even reaching the battlefield, son. Why don’t you sit down and have a drink?”
Fionn sat at the camp table with his family with ill grace. His feet tapped in the dust while his fingers beat a counterpoint on the chair arm.
“What if there are no reinforcements?” he asked.
“They’re coming,” Cearul said, his voice dreamy and distant.
“I hate it when you do that,” Fionn said. “Da, can’t you make him stop doing that? It’s eerie and unnatural and what if he’s wrong?”
“Well eerie it may be,” Breean chimed in, “but when have you known him to be wrong?”
Edurne nodded. “If Cearul says they’ll be here, they’ll be here,” she said.
“How can you all be so calm?” Fionn asked.
“The attack this afternoon shook us all up a little, but it was just a skirmish, Fionn. Not a single casualty, even.” Tierney took another pull from his mug.
“Thank you, by the way,” he added, turning to Cearul. “For warning us they were there in advance. That was very well done.”
“It’s what I’m here for, Da,” Cearul said.
“I wish you weren’t,” his father growled, “but thank you all the same. Every little bit helps.”
“You know, Da, one of these days you’re going to have to come to terms with that contradiction,” the magician chuckled.
“Maybe so, but not today.”
The tent flap opened and a small figure of a man stepped inside. It was Killara.
“Aah, relaxing after your little fight?” he said. “How did you like my ‘raiding party?’”
“You have absolutely no fear, do you?” Tierney said. His children said nothing.
“Of you? No, why should I? You’re harmless, Tierney, and you know it. All this battle will do is clear out some of your excess citizenry for me so my own people can move into farms and houses already built. I’m a patient man, but my people are not.
“Cearul, good to see you again,” Killara went on, now ignoring the Thane, “and glad to see you heading for war instead of hiding like a coward. Good for you. Fionn, you’re as feisty as ever I’ve seen you. Edurne,” he bowed to the lady warrior, “you are beautiful as you are brave. I look forward to seeing you on the battlefield. Breean! Steady and even-tempered as always. Very stoic. I have no doubt you’ll die well tomorrow. Say, is that ale from Feryn? May I have a mug of it to wash the dust down?”
“You may get out of my camp and not return,” Tierney said.
“Really, you know,” Killara said as he turned to leave, “you should be grateful I’m coming. Your land could do with a touch of civilization. I only asked for a drink.” With that he stepped outside the tent. Tierney rose to follow him, but by the time he reached the tent flap, Killara was gone.
#
The tower, known as “Delling’s Tower” from time immemorial, stood on a mile-long swatch of land in the middle of the Krisad River. It stood on its island looking over the two armies on the north bank with ancient passivity. It was centuries old, but unweathered. Fionn looked at it as a personal affront.
“As soon as this war is over I’m going to tear that thing down stone by stone,” he muttered.
“It’s never been taken,” Breean reminded him.
“I don’t think it can be destroyed,” said Cearul. “It’s held together with magic, no one’s ever so much as chipped a stone.”
“I’m going to,” said Tara, glancing over to where her catapults stood waiting.
“Stop gawking and get to your units,” Tierney said, interrupting his children’s musings. “We can discuss what to do with it after we get through the army in front of it. Cearul, I don’t want to see you until after this is over. Go sit with your bandages and spells and wait for the wounded to come to you. You’re not to leave camp for any reason, is that clear?”
“Da, I can help you, why won’t you listen to me? Killara is a magician, you’re going to need more than swords to stop him.”
“What I need is soldiers who obey orders. Magic has no place on the battlefield, nor do healers. That leaves you out entirely. Now for the last time, go back to camp and leave war to your betters!”
Cearul turned his horse in silence and rode back through the infantry. Then the archers parted before him and closed behind him, and he was behind the lines and making his way to the field hospital where his assistants waited for him.
#
“This is unbelievable. Aren’t they done fighting yet?” The battle beside the river was raging as fiercely as ever. Cearul peeked though the tent flap at the cloud of dust beyond. He could hear the wounded screaming, but more than that he could feel them, their fear and anger, pain and grief. It had been going on for hours and his nerves were raw from it. If war was as noble and heroic as his father claimed, Cearul had yet to see it.
The wounded came in waves, whenever there was a lull in the fighting. Blood and dust were everywhere: on the tables, his tools, the tent walls, his helpers, but most of all himself. He wiped a drying spray of blood from his eyes and blew his nose on an already filthy sleeve. Someone put a cup in his hand and he swished the water around his mouth and spat on the blood-spattered grass before drinking.
“Here they come, sir,” an orderly said. Emerging from the blur of humanity was a line of pain weaving its way through the debris. More wounded. Cearul finished his water and eyed the new arrivals. The fellow on the end there needs to lose that left arm, he mused. Best to take him first. After that we’ll see.
“Heat up the cautery iron,” he called over his shoulder. “We’ve got another amputation coming in.”
When he got the man on the table and took a closer look at the wound, he saw that something was seriously wrong. The arm was not cut, nor torn, nor burnt, it was... melted. Impossible. Cearul shook his head and blinked, but his eyes still showed him the same thing: flesh and bone melted like candle wax.
“What did this?” he asked the soldier. “What happened to you?”
No answer. Cearul had seen that blank stare too many times today; he would get no help from his dazed patient.
“Anyone? Who saw what did this?”
A woman with a far more conventional leg wound answered him.
“I don’t know what it was, sir, but it looked like lightning, only slow. Well that’s not quite right. Worms, perhaps, or snakes, swimming through the air. Wherever they touched someone -” she gestured to the man on the table.
Cearul began swearing.
“I told him so,” he said at length. “The stubborn old bastard wouldn’t listen to me but I was right! Killara is using magic on the battlefield. Damn him, I could have stopped this! I’m going to stop this and darkness take Father’s orders!”
“Sir? What about the wounded here?”
Cearul stopped in his tracks. Men and women who needed his expertise sat here, waiting for healing. Some of them might well die if he left. I wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place, the other healers all know what to do without me, he thought. How many more will die if you don’t stop Killara? The answer to that was everyone.
“Connor!” he called to one of his assistants. “This is mostly cauterized already, but remove the rest and clean it up. I have to go. I’m needed at the front.”
Cearul swept out of the tent before the man could object and made his way to his own pavilion. Just inside the door lay a bag with a long strap. He hefted it, slipped it over his head and one shoulder and set out for the battlefield. Cearul was going to help whether his father wanted him to or not.