A Grant of Arms. Morgan RiceЧитать онлайн книгу.
the Ring. Give me a sign. Let me know if I will succeed!”
Romulus lowered his hands, and as he did, his men rushed forward and threw their torches onto the wood.
Horrific screams rose up, as all the slaves were burned alive. Sparks flew out everywhere, as Romulus stood there, face aglow, watching the spectacle.
Romulus nodded, and his men brought forward an old woman, her eyes missing, her face wrinkled, her body curled up. Several men carried her forward in a chariot, and she leaned forward towards the flames. Romulus watched her, patient, awaiting her prophecy.
“You will succeed,” she said. “Unless you see the suns converge.”
Romulus smiled wide. Suns converge? That hadn’t happened in a thousand years.
He was elated, a warm feeling flooding his chest. That was all he needed to hear. The gods were with him.
Romulus grabbed his cloak, mounted his horse, and kicked it hard, beginning to gallop alone, across the sand, for the road that would lead to the Eastern Crossing, across the Canyon, and soon, into the very heart of the Ring itself.
Chapter Eight
Selese walked through the remnants of the battlefield, Illepra by her side, each of them going body to body, checking for signs of life. It had been a long, hard trek from Silesia, as the two of them stuck together, following the main body of the army and tending to the wounded and the dead. They forked off from the other healers and had become close friends, bonding through adversity. They naturally gravitated towards each other, each close in age, each resembling the other, and perhaps most importantly, each in love with a MacGil boy. Selese loved Reece, and Illepra, while she was loath to admit it, loved Godfrey.
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.