Chapter 24

Sidorian Lines, Lysmir Woods, Northern Lynese

A day after the battle, the field still lay strewn with the dead and the dying. The Disciples of Healing picked their way through, trying to sort the two, but in many cases, it was difficult to tell. Friends of the fallen men did the same, trying to find a comrade who never returned to the line after the battle or who they had seen fall during the chaos.

This was William’s third major clash, not even considering the dozen smaller ones he’d experienced since coming to this cursed continent, and he still hadn’t gotten used to it. The smell, the cries of the injured who’d spent the evening sleeping in mud and blood, the carnage that blanketed the once peaceful fields and forests.

He’d heard that, over time, soldiers became inured to such sights. William still couldn’t imagine how that was possible.

He paused beside a fallen soldier, a young man barely older than himself. A Lynesian, who’d only be able to rely on the overworked Disciples for help, otherwise he’d be left to rot in the field. The soldier’s eyes fluttered open as William knelt beside him. For a moment, the boy’s face filled with terror, seeing the lion crest, probably thinking he was about to be butchered, pieces of him taken for a trophy. A small, terrified sound escaped his cracked lips.

“No,” William said, laying a hand gently on his shoulder. “You’ll be fine. The Disciples are coming to help you.”

William didn’t know if that was true. The boy’s left arm was mangled, smashed with a heavy weapon, maybe a mace favored by some of the knights when on horseback. The ground under him was soaked with blood, a chunk of his hair was missing and one leg was turned at an unnatural angle, a piece of bone sticking through the boy’s simple trousers.

William looked around and waved a hand, getting a Disciple’s attention, pointing to the boy. The Disciple nodded and dashed off, hopefully to get another to put the boy on a stretcher, to be carried back to an aide station.

“W ... Water,” the boy croaked out.

William unhooked the canteen from his belt and tilted it slowly into the boy’s mouth. His first drink came back in a choke, the water mixed with blood sliding out the sides of his mouth and down his jaw. William tried again. Thankfully, this time, the boy began to swallow.

“Thank you,” the boy said when he finished.

“They’re here,” William said, seeing two Disciples running over with a stretcher of canvas and wood carried between them. “Let them do their work and rest well. I’m sure you have a mother at home worried for you. You have to get strong to go back to see her.”

The boy nodded, a tear slipping out of the side of his eye as William stepped back, making room for the Disciples. William had no hatred for the boy. Probably a conscript, he had little choice in the conflicts of nobles and kings. He was simply a cost of war; one marked down on a paper somewhere, but otherwise considered an ‘acceptable loss.’ William had heard his own commanders say that, after a battle. Another thing William hoped he never adjusted to. Seeing men, boys, like that, begging for water and crying over their mothers, as an acceptable loss.

Necessary, yes. But never acceptable ... never acceptable.

A third Disciple made his way over as the other two loaded the boy up. A weary, gray-haired man with robes soaked in mud and blood.

“How are the wounded, Caretaker?” William asked the man as he passed.

“The same as men after any battle. Some will make it, others will die. Some fast, some unfortunately not as fast. It is up to the Ancestors to decide which.”

“Do you have enough supplies to tend to them?”

“No. We are short of bandages, salves, poultices, and mandrake for pain tinctures.”

“I know our own stores are running low, but I will see what we have and send whatever I can to the aide tent.”

“The Ancients will smile upon your service,” the man said, with a slight bow of his head as he excused himself to check on more of the injured.

William continued on his trek across the field. There were not a lot like the boy left, alive enough to be saved. He’d been lucky. Most of those left on the field overnight were already doomed, skipped by the healers to allow them to tend to the injured more likely to be saved.

He found a group of thirty or so Sidorian footmen clumped together near an opening in the tree line where it expanded into a wide clearing that had been the site of the same particularly grueling combat. He noticed several of their pockets bulged and knew they had been scavenging the dead for valuables. A time-honored but completely dishonorable activity that every commander before him had been forced to ignore. It was hard to tell them no after they’d risked life and limb in your service.

They saw him at about the same time and let out a cheer, “Lord William! Huzzah to the Warrior Cub!”

William had heard that nickname several times now. He knew they meant well, but he didn’t particularly love the affectation. The cheer was taken up by several other groups across the field. William approached the group, raising a hand to calm the cheering.

“Not for me, boys. You’re the ones who won that battle. We should be cheering yourselves.”

“I’d rather a draught,” one of the men said, setting off a laugh across the group.

“I’ll see what we have in the stores. If not, once we’re back to Sidor, I promise a round to every man who served.”

That sent up another round of cheers, louder this time. William couldn’t help but smile. The only thing that cheered the men more than a hard-won victory was the chance for free booze.

“Seriously. You should commend yourselves. You all fought brilliantly, a true testament to Sidor. I’m proud to have commanded you. Well, except you Tellmon,” William said, picking out one of the men who’d served a few days as an aide at headquarters, doing manual tasks, whose name he remembered. “I’ve been in the privy after you. That should never be commended.”

That got raucous laughs out of them as they began to joke and tease one another, offering William a chance to escape. It was strange, being in a position of leadership to men who, some of them at least, were twice his age. It was a fine line to walk. He knew Pembroke would have frowned at seeing him interact with the troops. Men like that believed the nobles should never consort with the lower class, but William had spent enough time with Gavric, and seen him with his men, to know which role model he preferred.

Speaking of which, he could see the older baron making his way across the clearing towards him. William altered his path, assuming the baron had been looking for him.

“You shouldn’t encourage them,” Pembroke said as they reached one another.

“Just giving some praise after a hard fight. Your messenger found me. Your men did very well.”

“Thank you,” Pembroke said. “I’ve put out enough men to ensure we aren’t caught unawares. It will be a few days before we’re ready to march again, so it’s better to be careful. Yesterday’s battle took its toll.”

William had to refrain from shaking his head. The baron had many good qualities, but at times, it seemed as if he was incapable of enjoying anything, even a great victory.

“How long do you think it will take for the Lynesians to recover?”

A grim smile tugged at Pembroke’s lips. “Longer.”

“We have some breathing room, then?”

“For now, yes. The enemy was well and truly shattered. It will take them time to lick their wounds and gather their courage for another go at us. They’ve mostly retreated to the city of Cestralion to the east, just south of Lysmir Lake. We’ve well and truly held the field. Although, there are still issues. Our own stockpile of supplies is lower than I’d hoped. We’ll need to be careful with our resources moving forward.”

“I know. I haven’t heard anything from Aldric since he sailed. I’d hope to at least get a wyvern-delivered message by now.”

“I know he’s doing everything he can. I’m hoping we see some supplies soon.”

William wasn’t so sure. Regardless of his uncle’s intentions, what mattered was what his cousin and stepfather were willing to do, and they were much less reasonable.

Pembroke looked around a moment before putting a hand on William’s shoulder and leading him away from the soldiers milling about to a more isolated section of the field.

“William,” he began, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I owe you an apology.”

“An apology?” William asked, a little surprised by the sudden change in the older man’s demeanor.

“For my behavior and attitude towards you, especially after you overruled me on the decision to quarantine the men who came in contact with the Elder Curse warning. I was angry, and I let that cloud my judgment. I was wrong about the warning we received and you were right, and when that was proven, I was angry at myself, but I took it out on you. I blamed you for making me look bad, when I’d done it all by myself. It was wrong.”

“I could have very easily been wrong, and you right. Getting a letter like that, from the emperor’s daughter no less ... it’s unprecedented. We were both guessing at that moment. It was a difficult situation for everyone.”

“Maybe, but that’s no excuse for how I treated you after we knew which one of us was right. Your actions since then have shown me that you are a competent and capable leader. You’ve demonstrated wisdom beyond your years, and I’ve been remiss in not acknowledging that sooner. You are the son of a duke, in the line of succession, and my own duke put you in command. I should have given you the respect and deference your station demands, and I let my own ego get in the way.”