When dawn broke, the plains were burning. Ash drifted across the churned earth like black snow, settling in every hollow and ditch. Fallen shields and the splintered remains of lances littered the ground. Bloodied armor, and the detritus of crude field medicine, lay everywhere. Prince Eiden of Thornspyre, commander of his father’s forces, rode through the wreckage, his horse picking its way around the corpses of fallen men. He didn’t look away from the horror but took it all in, committing it to memory.
There were three riders at Eiden’s back. His personal guard. Men who had fought at his side and saved his life many times over. No guard could shield him from the weight of a pointless war that was costing so many lives and, for a long time, none of them spoke.
The air was thick with the copper tang of blood and acrid smoke. Eiden’s gritty eyes watered, and he reached for his flask to rinse them and the foul taste from his mouth. Carrion crows circled overhead, their silhouettes sharp against the pale morning sky.
“Commander.” Captain Rhyden, his second in command, drew level with him. “The eastern flank held, your tactics worked.”
Eiden didn’t slow. “Was there any doubt? Give me the numbers.”
“Yes, there was, because it was a risky strategy, and twenty-three dead. Twice as many wounded. The enemy retreated under the cover of night, but their losses were significantly higher than ours.”
“As always. They must have free passage to collect their dead.”
“The order has already been given.”
Eiden nodded. He nudged his stallion forward, scanning the horizon. The enemy had left in a hurry, abandoning equipment, weapons, and the occasional wounded soldier who hadn’t been worth the effort to drag away. A few still groaned softly, half‑buried in the mud. He hated this war. Hated the pointless waste.
“Get a team out here to retrieve any remaining wounded. They can’t win. They know it, so why do they insist on sending their people to be slaughtered?”
“Who has ever understood the motivations of King Kaelor? In Malvorn, the king is all-powerful. His word will never be disputed.” Rhyden shifted in his saddle.
“To the detriment of his people.” A sudden spike of pain lanced through Eiden’s side. He pressed a hand to the spot beneath his leathers where an arrow had grazed him hours earlier. He’d ignored it through the night, but the wound had deepened with every movement.
Rhyden noticed. “You’re bleeding, Eiden.” The protocol of titles slipped.
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing if you fall off your horse. You want me to be the one to face your father and tell him his only son succumbed to infection because he was a stubborn ass? He’d hang me from the battlements by my balls. I thought we were friends.”
Eiden shot him a look. Rhyden fell silent, but the pain flared again, agonizing enough to blur Eiden’s vision for a heartbeat. Damn it.
A scout rode up, mud splattered across his cloak. “The healers have set up their tents over the ridge. They’re taking anyone who can walk or be carried, Commander. The wounded are being transported to them.”
“That’s good.” The healers were neutral, drawn from both warring kingdoms, sworn to treat without allegiance or favor. Eiden reined in his stallion and turned to his escort. “Captain, pull all units back to the western rise. Make sure there are no stragglers. Anyone who can walk or ride helps carry those who can’t.” His gaze swept the ruined battlefield. “Minor injuries can be treated back at camp. The more seriously wounded can be handed over to the healers. Men and mounts need water, food, and rest.”
Rhyden nodded.
“I want a full accounting of every company by the time I return from the healers. I’ll head over there alone.”
Rhyden snorted. “With all due respect, Commander, no, you fucking won’t. I will chaperone you, while the others carry out your orders.” He nodded at the other two riders in the escort, who peeled away and followed the scout.
“You’re a pain in my ass, Rhyden.”
“Yes, Commander. When your father gave me this job, that was part of the role description.”
Eiden sighed. “I thought chain of command was a thing. My mistake. Let’s go find a healer.”
Rhyden grinned. “Lead the way.”
“Oh, so I am allowed to lead occasionally?”
“Depends on my mood at the time.”
Eiden rode toward the ridge, taking it slow. The ground grew softer, churned by the passage of hundreds of boots and hooves. As he got closer to the line of tents, the smell of herbs drifted faintly on the wind. It was a welcome change from the stench of death.
The field hospital was a cluster of large canvas shelters marked with the sigil of truce, two interlocking circles, one dark, one pale. There was a bustle of activity as men were transported on stretchers and the walking wounded lingered in areas where wooden boards had been laid over the mud. Eiden dismounted then handed his horse’s reins to Rhyden, who remained in the saddle. A worker wearing a brown tabard adorned with the same sigil as the tents approached Eiden.
“Commander Eiden is injured,” Rhyden said before Eiden could speak. “He must be attended to immediately.”
Eiden shook his head. “I’ll wait along with everyone else. There will be others in greater need.”
“Show me the wound,” the worker said.
Eiden stripped off his thigh-length leather coat then lifted his undershirt. He stood as still as he could while he was prodded and examined.
“Come with me. I’ll assign a healer to you.”
Eiden didn’t argue. The pain was becoming a distraction, and distractions got people killed.
“Watch the horses, Rhyden. I’ll be quite safe here.”
Rhyden didn’t look happy, but then he rarely did. He couldn’t argue with the safety of neutral ground, so he dismounted to lead both horses to a hitching rail nearby. With his coat over his arm, Eiden followed the worker into one of the tents.
The air inside was thick with the scent of pungent salves. Rows of cots lined the space, each occupied by a soldier from one side or the other. No one spoke of kingdoms here—they were too busy fighting to stay alive. Eiden was taken to an area at the end of the tent that was curtained off, affording some privacy. There was a cot, a chair, and a low table, its surface crowded with jars and bottles.
“Wait here. The healer will be with you shortly.”
Left alone, Eiden took the chair with some relief, but he stood when the curtain twitched. The healer who joined him had a slender build and was a full head shorter than Eiden. He wore a healer’s garb of a green-belted robe over loose cotton pants. A hood covered his hair, and he wore a cloth mask over the bottom part of his face so only his eyes were visible. A pair of clear blue eyes with darker flecks around the iris.
“Please sit,” the healer said. “You may call me Healer or Davin, whichever you prefer, Commander.”
Eiden sat. “Davin…is that your true name?”
“No, but it serves for now.”
“You know who I am?”
“My assistant informed me.” The healer put Eiden’s coat to one side, then peeled back the blood-soaked undershirt.
“I could have waited. I don’t need special treatment.”
“You should have come sooner. The shirt needs to come off. I can cut it…”
“I had other matters to attend to. I can lift my arms, Davin.” It wasn’t quite a lie. Between the two of them, they managed to get the garment off intact.
“That’s usually the excuse. In my experience, Thornspyre’s soldiers can have a limb hanging off and still think they have a flesh wound. You have a deep open cut and a high likelihood of infection in the conditions out there. I doubt the arrowhead was sterile. Your men need you, so it benefits many to treat you quickly.”
“You speak boldly for someone who hides their face.”
Davin didn’t react. “Our neutrality is aided by anonymity, and boldness is efficient. It gets obstinate patients to cooperate. This is going to sting.”
Davin cleaned the wound with a liquid that burned like acid. Eiden gritted his teeth, but his eyes watered.
“Sorry. It’s the best we have. Most men don’t stay silent.”
“I don’t blame them. If it hurts, it works, right?”
“In this case, yes. The worst is over.” Davin’s healing magic followed as he held both hands over the wound. His touch was gentle, and a faint warmth threaded beneath Eiden’s skin as his torn flesh knitted. When Davin was done, the wound was little more than a surface scratch. The bleeding had stopped, and the pain was gone.
Eiden raised and lowered his arm experimentally. “Feels good.”
“You’ll need to rest,” Davin said.
“I don’t have that luxury.” Eiden got to his feet.
“It has to knit below the surface. I’ve helped it along, but your body has to complete the job.”
Eiden studied the healer. There was something about the way he carried himself…but the anonymity made it impossible to read more into it. “Is that an order?”
“No…I wouldn’t presume…” Davin stepped back. “I’d tie you to a cot for a few hours if I could, but it’s not permitted. Pity.”
He handed over Eiden’s stained shirt, which he pulled on with a lot more ease than when he’d removed it. I should leave. I have reports to hear, strategies to revise, a war to end. Something made him linger.
“You’re skilled,” he said.
Davin rearranged the table of medications. “I’m well trained.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“I’m far less experienced than many here.”
“But you like to serve…don’t you?”
Davin blinked. “You should leave now. There are others who need me.”
I’ve been dismissed. By a masked healer. Eiden pulled on his coat, the familiar weight of heavy black leather settling on his shoulders. “Thank you. Perhaps we will meet again one day, under more pleasant circumstances. We can continue our conversation then.”
“That is unlikely.”
I don’t think this is the last time we will meet, Davin. There’s something about you that I want to explore further. Eiden walked back between the cots, then out into the cold morning air. Rhyden was waiting and gave him a curious glance.
“You good?”
“All fixed.”
“Bullcrap. I’ll wager the healer told you to rest a while.”
“Threatened to tie me down.”
Rhyden snorted. “He might not have followed through, but rest assured, you will slow down when we get back to camp, or I’ll be following that advice in his stead.”
Eiden didn’t doubt it.
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