Ken adjusted the mail over his torso and began strapping knives to his boots.
“Are you sure you don’t want plate?” Herman asked him again.
“I won’t be able to move right in it.” Ken added a harness over his shoulders for more daggers. “Agility and stealth are my greatest asset with these. Stealth won’t be on my side. I can’t squander agility. Besides, you’re both in mail.”
Val slung a four-foot-long sword over his back. “You trained against my sister, not soldiers. You’re going to get yourself killed.”
Ken sighed. “I didn’t ask for this, Val. Any sane man would know I was trying to talk him out of the battle entirely, not join it. But I don’t exactly have a choice now, do I?” He tucked two daggers into the harness and another two into scabbards on his hips. “I don’t want to kill anyone today. I’d rather save lives than take them. But if someone gets past the two of you, he’ll get a knife in his throat.” Ken added a deep green poncho, concealing most of his arsenal.
Abhenric walked in, dark circles under his eyes. “No good will come of this. Please, Kennard, you must try again to convince your father to change his orders. He will not listen to me.”
Ken shook his head. “He won’t listen to me either. Talking to him is what got me dressing for battle. If I try again, he’ll have me on the front lines, waving a flag and doing a dance to entice the Tehazians.”
“You have to try. I See death surrounding you.”
“Tehazian deaths if we’re lucky,” Ken said.
“Your presence is going to kill more Meriverians than you can save out there.”
Ken ran his hand through his hair. For the sake of the men, he had to try. They deserved that much. “Follow me.”
Across the maze of platforms and bridges, Father was readying himself for battle as well. With his Transformation, armor wasn’t particularly useful if it didn’t fit the form he was using. In the same way that his clothing stayed with his human form, his animal forms kept whatever was worn. Before a fight, he had to choose what forms he expected to use and have a servant put armor on each one.
When Ken and the others walked in, it was grizzly bear armor. It wasn’t a lot: just a helmet and plate fitted over the middle of his back and chest. The pieces may have disappeared between forms, but their weight would not. He was likely pushing his limits by choosing multiple large forms with equally large breastplates.
“Are you ready?” Father asked.
Ken nodded. “Almost. I have my arms and armor, but I still need medical supplies.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
Arguing had gotten Ken nowhere. It was time for a different tactic. Instead, he genuflected. “On behalf of our men, I must humbly ask that you consider Abhenric’s vision. He has never been wrong before.”
Father harrumphed. “You have until I finish dressing.”
Abhrenic bowed. “Your Majesty, I see many Meriverian deaths if you send His Highness into the field.”
Father became a cougar. “It’s a battle. Death is to be expected. Your vision means nothing.”
The servant began fitting a breastplate.
Ken pleaded, “Father, he has Seeing. If you ignore him, the blood of those men is on your hands.”
“The blood of my army is always on my hands,” Father said. “This battle is no different.”
“What about your son’s blood?” Abhenric asked coolly. “Are you willing to have that on your hands?”
Ken went cold. The entire room fell silent.
Father’s feline eyes narrowed. “Is that a threat, Seer?”
Abhenric met Father’s gaze. “If he walks onto that field, men will die protecting him. And if he stays out there, none of these three”—he pointed to where Ken, Val, and Herman stood together—“will make it back alive.”
Father tipped his head up for his helmet. “I see. You’re just trying to get your son out of the battle.”
Abhenric took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I am trying to protect both our sons from certain death.”
Father became a man clad in mail and crossed his arms. “My son has lived with certain death for almost eight years. My order stands.”
Ken clutched his stomach as he stepped outside. He couldn’t seem to get enough air. How could Father send him on a suicide mission? Was he really that far gone?
Nobody spoke a word as they walked to the infirmary. There, Ken gathered dressings, bandages, and tourniquets, stuffing them into satchels. Doomed or not, he’d still save the men around him. When he had what he needed, he sat on the stretcher over the trapdoor between Herman and Val, who used the pulley to lower them down.
All around them, soldiers in mail descended from the fort via ropes, which snaked back up into the trees as they dropped the last yard into a foot of standing water, where the swollen river and endless rain had flooded the valley.
The muddy water sloshed against Ken’s boots as he dropped from the platform. Val slipped in the muck behind him and had to catch himself on the stretcher.
“Careful,” Ken said. “We can’t have you braining yourself before the Tehazians get their turn.”
Val laughed. “Either way, I won’t have to go to your wedding.”
Herman chuckled. “I’m surprised you’d want to get out of it, Valerzan. You know the alternate shift is night duty.”
Val gagged, and Ken and Herman snickered.
A soldier trudged past them, scowling, and the moment of levity dissipated as swiftly as it had arisen.
They joined the gathering army at the northwest corner under Fort Vigil. Soldiers split into their divisions and formed square squadrons for each. Speed, Strength, and Stone-Skin formed the front squads, followed by Fire and Ice, which were split by Animal Speech, with soldiers mounted on bears and moose. Water and Flight stood separate, ready to take their own paths to the battlefield. Ken, Val, and Herman joined the back of the main formation.
A general flew overhead, inspecting their formation. He gave a signal, and the main group began marching northwest. The water division headed due north, and the Flight division took to the air.
For half an hour, they marched, no one speaking. Ken focused on the squelching of their boots in the mud, the rustle of undergrowth as they passed. He couldn’t dwell on what would happen. Even thinking of Lia didn’t help; it only made him think of what might happen to her if Abhenric was right. What if Ken’s death made her into the cruel, cold woman she’d tried not to become? He wished he’d had the foresight to write her a letter before they left the fort.
They halted as the general flew back down in front of the formation. Men readied their weapons. Val held his massive sword in one hand, a shield in the other. Ken unsheathed a dagger. Though he wouldn’t attack like the others, he wanted his weapon ready for defense. Herman altered his stance from holding his quarterstaff like a walking stick to gripping one end across his body with both hands.
Due north, peeking through the trees, the tents of the Tehazian army covered a wide bridge—the cedar of the beams and planks still looked freshly cut—and more tents straddled both sides of the river. The main Meriverian formation would attack head-on while the Water-Breathing division swam up and attacked from the river on the east side, and Flight descended from above.
They inched forward, following the general, treading lightly. Ken tried to breathe as quietly as his racing heart would allow. His every hair stood on end.
They halted, waiting for the signal to attack.
Screams rang out to the southwest.
Ken cringed and spun to his left.
Flames rose from the forest. A flurry of wings filled the air as Flyers joined the fight. Speeders blurred through the formation to reach the new front. But the Strongmen and Stone-Skinned couldn’t move so easily and were stuck at the back, with mounted Animal Speakers in their way.
More screams came from above.
A Vistan with green wings fell with a splash at Ken’s feet, a deep cut in one of his wings. Scarcely had Ken checked his Vitality and kissed his forehead when another with blue wings appeared with a gaping head wound, red oozing from his bashed in skull. The green one flew away as Ken checked the blue. His Vitality was too weak. Ken would black out if he tried. The Vitality faded more. “I’m so sorry,” Ken said helplessly as the man fell face first into the swamp. Many men had died in the infirmary, but never like that. The worst injuries never made it that far.
Swallowing down nausea, Ken moved on to the next men who landed in front of him, Healing whoever he could. Gashes, puncture wounds, head trauma, broken bones, missing hands… The pain was never-ending, and it was more than he could Heal. He lost track of how many he’d seen—and how many he’d lost. He was flagging, but he couldn’t turn away.
Herman grabbed his shoulder. “Kennard, we have to move. The Tehazians have spotted you.”
Sure enough, several enemy soldiers headed their way, eyes fixed on Ken. But several more men languished right next to him.
“I can save one more,” Ken said.
Herman gripped the front of Ken’s poncho and dragged him back a hundred feet. “Not if you’re dead, you can’t. I’m not letting Abhenric’s vision come true.”
Val ran to meet them. “This ambush is a mess. We have to retreat. Ken, we can’t stop. They’ve seen what you’re doing, and they’re coming for you.”
Ken pulled a throwing knife from his boot and struck an approaching Tehazian in the eye. The man screamed, and Val turned and took off his head with a single blow from his sword.
“Impressive,” Herman said, “but the longer we stay, the more impossible our retreat becomes.”
Val held his sword up. “We have to take these ones out first. We can’t have them following us.”
Herman grumbled and twisted his quarterstaff toward the enemies. Ken grabbed three more knives, feeding them with his left hand and throwing with his right in quick succession. They hit an arm, a leg, and a shoulder. None of the wounds were lethal, but it slowed the Tehazians down. Ken pulled out his hip daggers and waited for the distance to close. Herman darted forward, whirling his quarterstaff like the wings of a hummingbird—a deadly hummingbird. He aimed for the man with the knife in his shoulder and jabbed him in the stomach with the end of his staff, then swung around and broke his neck as he doubled over.
Val hung back near Ken, sword in front of them. Two more enemies bypassed Herman’s fight to charge at Ken. As they neared, Ken ducked down to his knees and drove his blades into their thighs, letting Val cut them down.
“I think that was the last of those ones,” Val said.
“Good. Let’s get Herman.” Ken looked over to where he’d been fighting. He wasn’t there. “Where did he go?”
“I don’t know. He was just right—”
Herman appeared in front of Ken, eyes wide. “No!” He leaped between Ken and Val, bashing in a Tehazian’s head.
Ken turned to Val.
His eyes were wide. A blade protruded from his chest, spreading a carmine stain through his shirt. Ken couldn’t breathe. He rushed to Val’s side, steadying him as he stumbled to the ground. Ken had to save him. If he could just remove the sword, he could undo this. He had to undo this. It might be his last Healing for the day, but he would do it. He put two fingers to Val’s neck.
His Vitality was almost unreadable.
Ken felt as though the blade had pierced him too. Even if he gave him everything… “I can’t—” He choked. “I have nothing left. I’ve failed you, Brother.”
Val tried to speak, but blood burbled up instead of words.
Herman grabbed Ken by the shoulder. “More are coming. We have to go.”
Ken gripped Val’s hand. “We can’t leave him here.” Not Lia’s brother. He couldn’t let him die alone.
“We don’t have a choice,” Herman growled, grabbing Ken’s shoulder.
“No!” Ken fought him off and held onto Val.
But Herman was stronger and faster and yanked Ken to his feet. Val slipped halfway under the muddy, bloodstained water.
Ken cried out as a sharp pain ripped through his right thigh. An arrow protruded from his leg, aligned to have hit his chest if Herman hadn’t moved him.
“Dammit.” Herman bent down and hoisted Ken across his shoulders. “Hold on.”
He ran faster than any sled or cart Ken had ever ridden. Ken squeezed his eyes shut. The arrow scraped against Herman’s back, jamming deeper into Ken’s thigh. Between the pain, the grief, and the vertigo, Ken thought he would be sick, but the trip was mercifully short. Within a few minutes, Herman was calling down the infirmary platform.
“We have to go back,” Ken insisted as the platform reached them.
“No.” Herman shoved him onto the stretcher and pinned him down with one knee.
“But—”
Herman grabbed Ken’s face with both hands, forcing them eye-to-eye. Pain and anger reflected back like a mirror of horror. “Valerzan is dead.”
Ken’s vision blurred, his eyes stinging. He closed them and surrendered until Herman slowly let go.
Inside, Esmond and Herman helped Ken off the stretcher and onto a nearby hammock. Ken left his right leg hanging off the edge and took deep breaths to dull the pain. Herman helped Esmond cut the fabric away from Ken’s pant leg. Esmond offered him a pain-easing tincture.
Ken shook his head. “No. I need to stay clear. There are more men coming.”
“You’ve done enough,” Herman said. “No one could ask more of you.”
Tears threatened to spill over. “No, I haven’t. Val is out there dying—or already dead.”
Herman crossed his arms. “Fine. Punish yourself. But if you start screaming, I’m shoving that concoction down your throat.”
Esmond took a heavy pair of serrated shears and cut the fletching end off the arrow, then handed the severed end to Ken. They’d worked together long enough that Ken knew what he wanted him to do with it. He stuffed the wooden piece between his teeth. As Esmond grasped the arrowhead and pulled the rest of the shaft through, it slithered sharply through the hole in his leg, and Ken grunted and bit down hard.
Next, scalding water and alcohol were poured through. Ken clawed at the hammock and bit harder, but willed himself not to scream, though his breathing was getting intense.
Esmond held up a jar of ointment.
Oh, Giver, yes. Ken nodded vigorously.
The cool, oily medicine worked quickly. Ken sighed and spat out the arrow shaft as his leg numbed.
Esmond dressed and bandaged the wound, then patted him on the shoulder. “There was a lot of mud, but I think it’s clean now. You were lucky to miss the artery and the bone.”
Ken struggled to sit up.
Esmond tried to push him back down. “Hey now. You need to rest and keep that leg up. You missed the artery, but with your condition, you’re still at risk of bleeding out.”
Ken groaned. “There are too many wounded coming. I saw them. Herman, if I stay in the hammock, will you bring patients to me?”
Herman nodded solemnly.
For the next hour, Ken worked in his reclined position, Healing as much as he could. He was too weak to do as much as he wanted, but he was determined to use up what energy he had to give. With another Healing or two, he would black out.
Gonfrid stormed into the infirmary as a man. “What are you doing here? My orders were for you to Heal men in the field.”
Ken’s blood boiled. “Your orders? Your orders? Your orders got a good man killed today! I did as you ordered. I saved countless men before the Tehazians realized what I was doing. If Herman hadn’t carried my wounded carcass here, they would’ve killed the two of us as well.”
The rage strengthened Ken, and he pulled himself upright. “Do you see this wound? It would have gone through my ribcage if Herman hadn’t forced me to retreat. I had to watch my friend suffer in my arms, knowing he was going to die, because you wouldn’t listen to reason. Valerzan is dead, Father, and I had to leave him to die alone. We can’t even give him a proper burial because—thanks to your failed plan—our retreat was too hasty to remember where we left him.”
The infirmary fell silent, all eyes watching Father and Ken.
“I know that Valerzan’s loss affects you deeply. You two have known each other since you were boys. But what of the men you Healed out there? Are their lives worth less than his?”
Ken ground his jaw. “Not one of the men I Healed today couldn’t have made it to the fort. My Gift is not unlimited. Those too weak to survive the trip here are too far gone for my help anyway. I am a liability in the field. Valerzan died because he was more focused on defending me than watching his own back.”
Father sighed. “He was a guard, Kennard. Defending you was his duty.”
“No. Defending me from unavoidable threats was his duty. Your orders today were avoidable. I hold you accountable for his death.” Ken grabbed a cloth and wiped his hands, cleaning off the blood of who knew how many, then turned to Esmond. “I need fresh air and food. I’ll be back when I’m finished.”
Esmond shook his head. “What you need is rest. I would advise you not to take long.”
Ken threw the bloody cloth at Father. “Perhaps you’d like to survey the results of your failed plans,” he spat.
Father said nothing as Ken limped out the door. It was the closest he could ever come to admitting he was wrong.
Herman showed up at his side, offering his quarterstaff as a crutch. “Why don’t you wait at our quarters? I can get food by the time you get there.”
Ken nodded. He actually felt too sick to eat, but it was the first excuse he’d thought of to leave the infirmary. As Herman zipped away, Ken leaned on the staff, taking deep breaths and focusing on his destination as he limped toward his quarters. By the time he reached the door, beads of sweat poured down his brow. At the table, he stopped to catch his breath, then slowly and shakily eased himself onto a stool. He rested his head on the cool wood of the table.
“Kennard?” Abhenric’s concerned tone cut deeper than Ken’s arrow wound.
Ken looked up. His head was so heavy.
“Where is my son?” Abhenric’s voice was barely audible, his face contorted.
Ken swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m so, so sorry…” His eyes stung. “I couldn’t save him. I wanted to. I tried, but—”
Abhenric, quiet, serene Abhenric, screamed from the depth of his lungs, a vengeful, sorrowful wail.
Ken couldn’t look. The sound brought him back to the field, and hot tears spilled over. He tried to move to comfort Abhenric but found himself meeting the floor.
Herman darted inside. “Kennard? Help me get him up. We need you to stay with us so we can get you in your bunk…”
Ken blinked.
When he opened his eyes, he was laying in his hammock, but the room was at a strange angle. He lifted his head just enough to look left and right. They had shoved the table to a corner of the room and restrung his hammock in its place.
Ken still felt weak. He put a hand to his wrist. His Vitality had grown weaker. Something wasn’t right. Had he lost too much blood?
He tried to sit up to check his dressing.
“Feeling better?” Abhenric asked. “Your dinner’s ice cold by now.”
“Abhenric, why are you here? I didn’t save Val.”
Abhenric stood up and moved where Ken could see him. His eyes were red, but he didn’t look angry. “Herman told me what happened. It’s not your fault, Kennard. I don’t blame you.”
But that didn’t stop Ken from blaming himself. He wiped his forehead, the heat of the room creeping up on him. “Can you dowse the fire?”
Abhenric furrowed his brow. “What are you talking about? This is Fort Vigil. There’s nowhere to light one.”
Ken panted. “There isn’t?” He knew that, didn’t he? But it was so warm…
Abhenric touched the back of his hand to Ken’s forehead. “You’re feverish.”
That wasn’t good. “What color is my leg?”
Abhenric unwrapped the bandage and lifted the dressing. Ken winced as the cloth stuck to him.
“It’s not bleeding much, but the opening is turning yellow.”
“Flaming crusted frog nuggets.” An infection. This was how he would die.