They had done their best to keep up with the main body of the army, weaving in and out of fields and forests and muddy roads, constantly combing for MacGil wounded. Unfortunately, finding them did not prove hard; they filled with landscape in abundance. In some cases, Selese was able to heal them; but in too many cases, the best she and Illepra could do was patch their wounds, put them out of pain with their elixirs, and allow them a peaceful passing.
It was heartbreaking for Selese. Having been a healer in a small town her whole life, she had never dealt with anything on this scale or severity. She was used to handling minor scrapes, cuts, and wounds, or maybe the occasional Forsyth bite. But she was not used to such massive bloodshed and death, such severity of wounds and wounded. It saddened her profoundly.
In her profession, Selese yearned to heal people, and to see them well; yet ever since she had embarked from Silesia, she had seen nothing but an endless trail of blood. How could men do this to each other? These wounded were all sons to someone; fathers, husbands. How could mankind be so cruel?
Selese was even more heartbroken by her lack of ability to help each person she encountered. Her supplies were limited to what they could carry, and given their long trek, that wasn’t much. The other healers of the kingdom were spread out, all over the Ring; they were an army in and of themselves, but they were stretched too thin, and supplies were too low. Without adequate wagons, horses, and a team of helpers, there was only so much she could transport.
Selese closed her eyes and breathed deeply as she walked, seeing the faces of the wounded flash before her. Too many times she had tended a mortally wounded soldier crying out in pain, had watched his eyes glaze over, and given him Blatox. It was an effective painkiller, and an effective tranquilizer. But it would not heal a festering wound, nor stop infection. Without all of her supplies, it was the best she could do. It made her want to cry and scream at the same time.
Selese and Illepra each knelt over a wounded soldier, a few feet away from each other, each busy suturing a wound with a needle and thread. Selese had been forced to use this needle one too many times, and she wished she had a clean one. But she had no choice. The soldier cried out in pain as she stitched a long vertical wound in his bicep that did not seem to want to stay closed, continually seeping. Selese pressed one palm down, trying to staunch the blood flow.
But it was a losing battle. If only she had gotten to this soldier a day go, all would have been fine. But now his arm was green. She was staving off the inevitable.
“You’re going to be just fine,” Selese said down to him.
“No I’m not,” he said, staring up at her with a look of death. Selese had seen that look one too many times already. “Tell me. Will I die?”
Selese took a deep breath and held it. She did not know how to reply. She hated to be dishonest. But she could not bear to tell him.
“Our fates are in our makers’ hands,” she said. “It is never too late for any of us. Drink,” she said, taking a small vial of Blatox from the satchel of potions at her waist, putting it to his lips and stroking his forehead.
His eyes rolled back, and he sighed, peaceful for the first time.
“I feel good,” he said.
Moments later, his eyes closed.
Selese felt a tear roll down her cheek, and quickly wiped it away.
Illepra finished with her wounded, and they each got up, weary, and continued walking down the endless trail together, passing corpse after corpse. They headed, inevitably, east, following the main body of the army.
“Are we even doing anything here?” Selese finally asked, after a long silence.
“Of course,” Illepra answered.
“It doesn’t seem that way,” Selese said. “We have saved so few, and lost so many.”
“And what of those few?” Illepra countered. “Are they not worth anything?”
Selese thought.
“Of course they are,” she said. “But what about the others?”
Selese closed her eyes and tried to imagine them; but they were just a blur faces now.
Illepra shook her head.
“You think in the wrong way. You are a dreamer. Too naïve. You cannot save everyone. We did not start this war. We only pick up after it.”
They continued to walk in silence, trekking ever further east, past fields of bodies. Selese was happy, at least, for Illepra’s company. They had provided each other company and solace, and had shared expertise and remedies along the way. Selese was astounded by Illepra’s wide range of herbs, ones she had never encountered; Illepra, in turn, was continually surprised by the unique salves Selese had discovered in her small village. They complemented each other well.
As they marched, scanning the dead once again, Selese’s thoughts drifted to Reece. Despite everything all around her, she could not get him from her mind. She had traveled all the way to Silesia just to find him, to be with him. But the fates had split them apart too soon, this stupid war pulling them in two different directions. She wondered with every passing moment if Reece was safe. She wondered where, exactly, in the battlefield he was. And with each corpse she passed, she quickly glanced at the face with a sense of dread, hoping and praying it was not Reece. Her stomach clenched with each body she approached, until she turned it over and saw the face and saw it was not him. With each one, she sighed with relief.
Yet with every step she took she was on edge, always feared she would find him with the wounded – or worse, the dead. She did not know she could go on if she did.
She was determined to find him, dead or alive. She had journeyed this far, and she would not turn back until she knew his fate.
“I haven’t seen any signs of Godfrey,” Illepra said, kicking rocks as they went.
Illepra had spoken of Godfrey intermittently ever since they’d left, and it was obvious she was smitten by him, too.
“Nor have I,” Selese said.
It was a constant dialogue between the two of them, each smitten by the two brothers, Reece and Godfrey, two brothers who could not be more different from each other. Selese could not understand what Illepra saw in Godfrey, personally. He seemed to be just a drunkard to her, a silly man, not to be taken seriously. He was fun, and funny, and certainly witty. But he was not the vision of the man Selese wanted. Selese wanted a man who was sincere, earnest, intense. She yearned for a man who exhibited chivalry, honor. Reece was the one for her.
“I just don’t know how he could have survived all this,” Illepra said sadly.
“You love him, don’t you?” Selese asked.
Illepra reddened and turned away.
“I never said anything about love,” she said defensively. “I’m just concerned for him. He’s just a friend.”
Selese smiled.
“Is he? Then why do you not stop speaking of him?”
“Do I?” Illepra asked, surprised. “I hadn’t realized it.”
“Yes, constantly.”
Illepra shrugged and grew silent.
“I guess he got under my skin somehow. He makes me so mad sometimes. I’m constantly dragging him from the taverns. He promises me, every time, that he will never return. But he always does. It’s maddening, really. I’d thrash him if I could.”
“Is that why you’re so anxious to find him?” Selese asked. “To thrash him?”
Now it was Illepra’s turn to smile.
“Perhaps not,” she said. “Perhaps I want to give him a hug, too.”
They rounded a hill and came upon a soldier, a Silesian. He lay beneath a tree, moaning, his leg clearly broken. Selese could see it from here, with her expert eye. Nearby, tied to the tree, were two horses.
They rushed to his side.
As Selese set to tending his wounds, a deep gash in his thigh, she could not help but ask what she had asked every soldier she had encountered:
“Have you seen any of the royal family?” she asked. “Have you seen Reece?”
All the other soldiers had turned and shaken their heads and looked away, and Selese was so used to disappointment that she by now expected a negative answer.
But, to her surprise, this soldier nodded in the affirmative.
“I have not ridden with him, but I have seen him, yes, my lady.”
Selese’s eyes widened with excitement and hope.
“Is he alive? Is he hurt? Do you know where he is?” she asked, her heart quickening, clutching the man’s wrist.
He nodded.
“I do. He is on a special mission. To retrieve the Sword.”
“What sword?”
“Why, the Destiny Sword.”
She stared in awe. The Destiny Sword. The sword of legend.
“Where?” she asked, desperate. “Where is he?”
“He is gone to the Eastern Crossing.”
The Eastern Crossing, Selese thought. That was far, so far. There was no way they could make it on foot. Not at this pace. And if Reece was there, surely he was in danger. Surely, he needed her.
As she finished caring for the soldier, she looked over and noticed the two horses tied to the tree. Given this man’s broken leg, there was no way he could ride them. The two horses here would be useless to him. And soon enough, they would die if they were not taken care of.
The soldier saw her eyeing them.
“Take them, lady,” he offered. “I won’t be needing them.”
“But they are yours,” she said.
“I can’t ride them. Not like this. You’ll put them to use. Take them, and find Reece. It’s a long journey from here and you won’t make it on foot. You’ve helped me greatly. I won’t die here. I have food and water for three days. Men will come for me. Patrols come by here all the time. Take them and go.”
Selese clasped his wrist, overflowing with gratitude. She turned to Illepra, determined.
“I must go and find Reece. I’m sorry. There are two horses here. You can take the other anywhere you need to go. I need to cross the Ring, to go to the Eastern crossing. I’m sorry. But I must leave you.”
Selese mounted her horse, and was surprised as Illepra rushed forward and mounted the one beside her. Illepra reached out with her short sword and chopped the rope binding the horses to the tree.
She turned to Selese and smiled.
“Did you really think, after all we’ve been through, I would let you go alone?” she asked.
Selese smiled. “I guess not,” she answered.
The two of them kicked their horses, and they took off, racing down the road, heading ever further east, somewhere, Selese prayed, towards Reece.
Chapter Nine
Gwendolyn huddled low, lowering her chin against the wind and snow as she marched through an endless field of white, Alistair, Steffen and Aberthol beside her, Krohn at her feet. The five of them had been marching for hours, ever since they had crossed the Canyon and entered the Netherworld, and Gwen was exhausted. Her muscles ached and her stomach hurt, sharp pains shooting through her every now and again as the baby moved. It was a world of white, snow falling relentlessly, whipping into her eyes, the horizon offering no reprieve. There was nothing to break up the monotony of the landscape; Gwen felt as if she were walking to the very ends of the earth.
It had become even colder, too, and despite her furs, Gwendolyn felt the cold seeping into her bones. Her hands were already numb.
She looked over and saw the others shivering, too, all fighting against the cold, and she began to wonder if she had made a grave mistake coming here. Even if Argon were here, with no markers of any sort on the horizon, how could they ever find him? There was no trail, no path, and Gwen felt a sinking sense of desperation as she had no idea where they were all heading. All she knew was that they were heading away from the Canyon, ever farther north. Even if they found Argon, how could they ever free him? Could he even be freed?
Gwen felt as if she had journeyed to a place not meant for humans, a supernatural place meant for sorcerers and druids and mysterious forces of magic she did not understand. She felt as if she were trespassing.
Gwen felt another sharp pain in her stomach, and felt the baby turn within her again and again. This one was so intense she nearly lost her breath, and she stumbled for a moment.
She felt a reassuring hand grab her wrist and steady her.
“My lady, are you all right?” Steffen asked, quickly coming to her side.
Gwen closed her eyes, breathed deep, her eyes watery from the pain, and nodded back. She stopped a moment and placed a hand on her stomach and waited. Her baby clearly was not happy to be here. Neither was she.
Gwen stood there for a few moments, breathing deeply, until the pain finally passed. She wondered again if she had been wrong to venture here; but she thought of Thor, and her desire to save him trumped all else.
They began walking again, and as the pain subsided, Gwendolyn feared not only for her baby, but for the others, too. In these conditions, she did not know how long they could all last; she did not even know if they could turn back at this point. They were stuck. This was all uncharted territory, with no map, and no end in sight.
The sky was tinged with a purple light, everything tainted in amber and violet, making her feel even more disoriented. There was no sense of day or night here. Just an endless march into nothingness.
Aberthol had been right: this was truly another world, an abyss of snow and emptiness, the most desolate place she’d ever seen.
Gwendolyn paused for a moment to catch her breath and as she did, she felt a warm, reassuring hand on her stomach, and was surprised by the heat.
She turned to see Alistair standing beside her, laying a hand on her stomach, looking over at her with concern.
“You are with child,” she said. It was more a statement than a question.
Gwendolyn stared back at her, shocked that she knew, especially as her stomach still looked flat. She no longer had the strength to keep it a secret, though, and she nodded yes.
Alistair nodded back knowingly.
“How did you know?” Gwen asked.
But Alistair merely closed her eyes and breathed deep, keeping her palm on Gwen’s stomach. Gwen was comforted by the feeling, and felt a healing warmth spread through her.
“A very powerful child,” Alistair said, her eyes still closed. “He’s scared. But not sick. He will be fine. I am taking away his fears now.”
Gwendolyn felt waves of light and heat rushing through her. Soon, she felt entirely restored.
Gwen was overwhelmed with gratitude and love for Alistair; she felt inexplicably close to her.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” Gwendolyn said as she stood up, feeling almost normal again, as Alistair removed her hand.
Alistair lowered her head humbly.
“There is nothing to thank me for,” she answered. “It is what I do.”
“You did not tell me you were pregnant, my lady,” Aberthol said sternly. “If I knew, I would have never advised this trip.”
“My lady, I had no idea,” Steffen said.
Gwendolyn shrugged, superstitious, not wanting all this attention on her baby.
“And who is the father?” Aberthol asked.
Gwen felt a deep sense of ambivalence as she said the word:
“Thorgrin.”
Gwen felt torn. She felt waves of guilt for what she had done to Thor, for how they had said goodbye; she also felt mixed feelings about the child’s lineage. She pictured Andronicus’ face and shuddered.
Aberthol nodded.
“A most excellent lineage,” he said. “You carry a warrior inside you.”
“My lady, I would give my life to protect your child,” Steffen said.
Krohn walked up, leaned his head into her stomach, and licked it several times, whining.
Gwen was overwhelmed by their kindness and felt supported.
Suddenly, Krohn turned and surprised them all by snarling viciously. He took several steps forward into the blinding snow, his hairs on-end. He peered into the snow, ignoring them.
Gwen and the others looked at each other, puzzled. Gwen peered into the snow but could see nothing. She had never heard Krohn snarl like that.