LeVelle S. McCallum

The Third Day-Bell.

Day 36,515 of the war against Reth’Karae: Fourth day-bell.

Location: West Lamathlenlendari.

Strength: 5,234

Combat ready: 5,030

Wounded: 190

Missing: 14

Death count: 12,146

Supply status: Green

Morale: High.

Summary:

King, I will be rendezvousing with Rook in the south of Lamathlenlendari by nightfall. Rook has pinpointed the location of Reth’Karae and his generals. We plan to face him head on tonight with the help of the Dwarves of the Southern hold and the Soldiers of Stormshore. This is it, everything we have been working up to. I am giddy with the thought of going home to see you ~~and mother ~~The White Queen.

I am worried about the decision to leave Bishop in charge of the healers. I don’t think he takes it seriously enough. Rook and I have stressed the fact that without them our forces will suffer mass casualties. I have heard from my scouts that he has been sending them out with soldiers to find cultists and suffering large losses as if there is a surplus of qualified healers just waiting back in Lumindalas to be recruited. He is a phenomenal battle strategist, but when it comes to defense, I find him lacking. Rook and I want to petition with Lord Straig and General Mott to move the healers under our banner and then keep the second battalion with him.

Rook taking the lead has been our saving grace. No one has figured out yet how his espionage has been so clean and informative. I must say it makes him look very heroic. I may also be ever so slightly envious of that fact and thus I have been ridiculing him about when he soiled his breeches while facing the wyvern riders. Granted to be honest we all shit ourselves. Nothing like having boiling tar sprayed at you from a gliding behemoth lizard. If Reth’Karae wasn’t a wyrm lord, I’d suggest contacting the keepers of Kar’Kirae’el or even Kar’Thalnirae to rid us of these bastards. They are doing significant damage.

White Knight

The Fifth Day-Bell.

Bishops’ Brigade (Infirmary Camp): 2Km due N of Rook’s division.

“I see you’re finally bathed,” a voice says from behind me. I turn.

“What do you want?”

“What do you want…Sir,” Bishop says raising a disapproving brow. I cinch the belt to my robes. Then cross my arms. “So, it’s going to be like that then?”

“That depends,”

“On?”

“Are you taking me to the front?” I ask. Bishop snorts shaking his head.

“Boy, I couldn’t pay our forces enough money to make that happen at this point. No, you get exactly what you wanted. You’re staying behind,”

“Really?” I ask in disbelief. He nods.

“Yep,”

“What’s the catch?” I ask narrowing my eyes. He smirks. I suddenly feel suspicious.

“Latrine duty, curing foot rot, curing the ailments of the soldiers’ nether regions probably from their time at the village brothels. Exactly what you asked for. The experienced healers will need an understudy and assistant to do the tedious and non-emergency work needed while they work on our troops as they come in,” bishop smiles curtly.

“Punishment, you mean,” I say accusatorily.

“No boy, you had your chances to be the hero over forty times and instead you played the coward,” He pats me on the shoulder. “Now you’re the camp superstition and no one, including myself wants you at the front. Honestly Callavhen, you should’ve just died with the forty sixth,”

“Fifth,” I correct but it’s too late he is already gone leaving me there. I glare towards the flap. Letting out a long sigh, then, smile. My inexperience had always made me expendable and now surviving that expendability has made me safe while all the other expendable bastards such as myself go off to die. I chuckle

After a nap I report back to the master healer. She looks at me with a perturbed look. Her tongue jutting into her cheek.

“Arch-Healer,” I greet her.

“Callavhen,” Her tone flat and irritated.

“Oh, come now, it can’t be that bad to see me,” I smirk as she manages to look even more unimpressed.

“You are the boil on the ass of creation,” her second says appearing from around the corner.

“Ah, I was wondering when you would show your face Roach,” I counter.

“It’s Roich,” The man scowls.

“Is it? I was under the impression the shoe fit,”

“Coward,”

“Parasite,”

“Enough!” the Arch-healer steps between us with a deep sigh. “Callavhen, you will be under Second Roich’s command in the clinical tent. Play nice or I will have you scrubbing bed pans and latrines,”

“Why him?” I snort. “Why not Healer Marrix or Mage Haemin?”

“Because Bishop said this was a punishment and wanted you in the clinical tent.” she says matter of fact. “Clinical is under the directive of Second Roich,” the Arch-healer crosses her arms. “Play nice, understood?” I roll my eyes and look away. “Good,” She turns to look at Roich. “Thinar, please escort Callavhen to the rest of his war career,” she says almost too sweet. I watch her brush his hand as he walks past and I smirk turning and following him out the tent.

“Couldn’t climb the ladder on your own I see,” I mock.

“What are you going on about coward?” he says dismissively not even bothering to look back. That’s okay. I grin tucking my arms behind my back as I glide up behind his right shoulder with a sneer that could curdle soured cream.

“Do you think yourself clever? Sleeping with the Arch-healer. Tsk Roach that is very naughty. Imagine what the college would say,” Roich stops and turns to look at me with a scowl that should scare me, but after watching all the people you know die repeatedly the threat becomes somewhat moot.

“You like being a shitty person don’t you Callavhen? Too cowardly to die, too cowardly to save Aspvhen, you remember them, right? Of course you do, you were lovers,” He sneers back at me and I glower.

“Fuck you,” I growl.

“You wish,” He responds and goes back to walking. I follow biting my cheek so hard I can taste iron in my mouth.

As we approach the clinic, I sniff stilling and Roich turns to look at me just outside the flap. I inhale again as it hits me and I cough. The air is rancid with rot, bowel movements, and death. “Gods what is that?” I choke. Roich gestures to a handful of large canvas covered carts stationed just beyond the next tent.

“Today’s dead waiting to be identified and processed before being burned. The capital wants thorough numbers of our losses: soldiers, nobles, mages, healers… so we must wait till tomorrow to complete today’s numbers,”

“Why?” I interrupt him. “Why not just tally them all up and burn them as they go?”

“Discrepancies mostly, the capital realized we had under tallied the death of the Black Queens division so now we have to do it this way.” He shrugs. “Meanwhile they get to bake all day long in this foul wasteland. The rest of what you’re smelling is our friends in here. Don’t worry coward, I’m sure you’re used to the smell,” he says as he dips into the tent not bothering to look back. My eyes narrow as I follow him in. I am met with a tent full of cots. Each is filled with a disgruntled or pained soldier. “These cots over here are rot, mostly foot and pubic from soiled clothes and humidity. Over here we have venereal diseases, these are the people who thought sleeping around in the brothels was a good idea. Except for that one back there, that one fucked a goat supposedly, Though I hope they meant a pan, but I don’t know and I simply do not care. Over here are the boils and cysts, and over here are the others who have cholera from drinking the bog water. Do with that what you may. They get liquids, bed pans, fresh linens, and broth when applicable,” Roich looks back at me as I look around reconsidering going to the frontlines.

“Why can I not assist with triage? That is what I was trained to do—” I begin but Roich cuts me off.

“Because that may be what you’re trained for but this… this is what you’re suited for. Now if I were you, I’d start with lancing boils or changing bed pans and linens for the cholera patients,” he shrugs. He turns practically running out the side flap.

“Where are you going?” I call back to him.

“To do something actually important,” without another word he leaves me in a tent full of disgusting yet safe tedious ailments. Because no one had ever died from lancing boils and cysts.

Bishops’ Brigade (Infirmary Camp) and Rook’s Division: 4Km due E of White Knight’s Division.

Twelve bedpans, twenty linens changed, four cysts and fourteen boils lanced. Anyone else would have been furious to be put on such a blatantly disrespectful charge. I was elated as I looked at the third swollen scabby cock of the evening.

“Cough,” I say sterilely as I hold the soldier’s swollen testicles gently in my palm. The man coughs. Chashmere, the man who allegedly fucked a goat laughs at the blatant humiliation of the patient. “Shut up goatfucker,” I bark without looking over.

“She wasn’t a fucking goat!” he snaps back.

“She looked like a fucking goat!” one of the other soldiers calls from across the tent. I let out a short chuckle.

“Sounds like it was a goat, goatfucker,” I laugh.

“Can we please continue this after you release my balls?” the man says. I look down at my hand still cupping him and let go clearing my throat.

“Apologies, it’s definitely the itch,” I say solemnly. “I’ll mix you a tonic to take a few times a day. Don’t itch it, you don’t want it to become gangrenous. And for all the gods don’t stick your cock in anything for the next two weeks,” The man’s brows furrow.

“I could die tomorrow. I should be allowed to slick my cock daily!” he argues. I narrow my eyes.

“I am starting to understand how you got in this position. You and goatfucker over —”

“I’m not a fucking goat fucker!” Yells Chashmere. The other men start laughing and I smirk. I stand and move to the next cot.

“Oh, you’re a woman,” I say surprised as a beautiful willowy elven woman sits in front of me. “Battle mage?” I ask and she nods.

“Yes,” she murmurs.

“Why are you here? Why not just have one of your sisters heal you?” her eyes grow wide at my question. I look her over. “No, you didn’t,”

“It was only once… AND it was the first time I ever—” she whispers looking around. “You know,” I let out a sigh and look around to the men in the section.

“Who?” I ask. She looks to a handsome elven soldier just down the line. I look to him. “How many and where?” He looks away and I groan. I hold up a finger to her, standing I walk to him. “Show me,” I demand. He pulls out his genitals. I roll my eyes then go back to her. “Open,” I say then look behind me at all the men’s stares. I grab her knees gently stopping her. “Wait,” I say gesturing for her to follow me. The men in the galley start booing and complaining. “Fucking animals!” I call back to them as I escort her into the other storage room in the tent. I sit her on a chair and get down to examine her. I let out a sigh. “Good news or bad news?”

“Bad news…” she trails off worry carving lines into her forehead.

“It’s an infection of the urinary filtration from not drinking proper water, it will hurt like a bitch, burn while you piss, itch, and stink—”

“What could possibly be the good news?” she asks.

“It’s not what he has. You don’t want what he has,” I close her legs but remain knelt in front of her. “Lots of water, clean water, if the urination hurts too much come see me and I can make you a pain reliever, I’ll give you a potion and tonic to use a few times a day,” she lets out a relieved sigh. “And my dear… next time you have wild oats to sow you come find me, don’t go to these disgusting dirty heathens,” I give her a wink, and a cloth then step out.

As I step back into the main tent I feel it first, the slight rumbling. I freeze. The chatter in the tent quiets as the men still except for the one man with chronic cholera who continues to groan in the corner. “Shut up Devhen!” Barks one of the men. The battle mage woman walks up on my flank.

“They’re here,” she murmurs.

“Who?” I ask turning towards her.

“Commander Rook’s Division. Plus, whoever else he’s gathered.” Injects Chashmere.

“I should go greet my sisters,” The woman says.

“Wait—” I pause realizing I never got her name.

“They can help me, it’s ok…” she says drifting towards the flap like a moth to flame. Before she slips out, she looks back at me. “And it’s Talabo,”

“I love watching a woman leave,” Chashmere chuckles.

“I bet, is that why you like goats?” another patient asks. Chashmere glares.

“I—” he begins but is cut off by Baymehn, a foot rot patient and a man of few words.

“I prefer watching them come,” he smirks. We all look at him.

“Was that a double entendre?” I ask surprised. He and a few others look at me with dazed looks. “Never mind,” I say taking in a breath. “Stay here I’ll be right back,” I murmur slipping out the flap.

I look towards the central medical tent Roich emerges with the Arch-Healer. “How can I help?” I call hurrying over. They look at me like they had forgotten I was even here.

“You don’t,” Roich says. I look to the Arch-healer.

“You can’t be serious. You felt the ground shake right? I should be helping who knows the number of wounded!” I argue.

“Callavhen, do not argue right now, we have wounded coming in,”

“Which is exactly why—”

“Callavhen!” she snaps “Go back to clinical and prepare for intake. Unless you want to spend tomorrow sorting corpse carts and counting the new dead!” I flinch. “You will have new patients, possibly some triage. Go get ready,” she replies signaling to the others to follow her.

“Fine,” I glower after her. “My current patients are taken care of at the moment so I’m going to go gather new cots and supplies,” she waves me off dismissively.

Frustrated I begin to traverse into the camp to the surplus tent. People are rushing left and right as other tents are added into any open space available. Cots are added to tents where there is room and suddenly it occurs to me, they aren’t just stopping in our camps are converging. Someone bumps into me and I look up at the large man standing in front of me.

“For fucks sake why is it always you?” I say as Commander Bishop turns to lock eyes with me.

“Sir,” he adds. I shake my head.

“For fucks sake, sir—” I correct. He purses his lips and rolls his eyes.

“Where are your superiors?” he asks urgently.

“Somewhere over there being arseholes,” I nod towards the gates at the far side of the camp.

“You were trained in triage, yes?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Come on,” he says abruptly and quickly heads towards his tent. I pause behind him.

“Commander, I didn’t know you were into that. But hey I’m game,” I tease. He turns back walking up to me and grabbing the nape of my neck. “Hey! Get your fucking hands off me,” He tosses me through the flap, and I stumble in. There on the heavy wooden table is a man leaning back against a stack of books. His abdomen bleeding profusely. “Oh shit,” I murmur hurrying over.

The Seventh Eve-Bell.

Commander – Rook.

Day 36,515 of the war against Reth’Karae: Seventh Eve-bell.

Location: Southern Lamathlenlendari.

Strength: 7100

Combat ready: 6520

Wounded: 740

Missing: 230

Supply status: Orange

Morale: Wavering.

Summary:

We have converged into Bishop’s infirmary camp exactly 4Km N of the boarder of the mire. Coming into camp I have seen that many healers are still here though not as many as I was expecting. I will speak with Bishop about it as well as question him about his hunting parties.

            We will be treating this as a forward camp for the time being and will be dispatching into the Mire around the mesure nineth eve-bell maybe the tenth, when Reth’Karae is most likely out in the open.

Rook

P.S. Please tell my sena that I love her. Still waiting for word if she is okay.

Bishops’ Brigade (Infirmary Camp), White Bishops’ Brigade, and Rooks’ Division: .5Km due E of White Knights Division.

I inspect the wound. “What happened?”

“Our division encountered children armed with daggers. They came running in clinging to us pleading for help, that they were hunted by our enemy. Then they began to stab everyone. Livers and kidneys. There was over a hundred of them scattered about. By the time we realized what was happening they had already worked through hundreds of my men and women. The one who stabbed me missed my liver but the blades they used, my magic isn’t healing it and my healer couldn’t heal it either,” he coughs.

“Your men and women…” I trail off. Immediately I begin searching the wound my magic twisting and twining with his flesh. Too much liquid to be only flesh. I palpate the area noticing the rigidity of the abdomen. “It hasn’t healed because it did hit your liver,” I say matter of fact. “You’re lucky you’re a mage or you’d be dead,” I reach into my healer’s belt grabbing a wide suture needle and silk.

“What are you doing?” Bishop asks gruffly.

“Saving the commander,” I measure the silk from the spool in my pocket and cut it against the sharp spool cutter.

“You’re not going to use magic?” The commander asks. I shake my head.

“You’ve been mortally injured You’re hemorrhaging into your abdomen which is causing the rigidity and the pain in your right shoulder,” I explain. “We need to get you stable before I can heal you. From what I can tell the magic used has only barely kept you alive. Your liver is still hemorrhaging while the tissue around it has been healed. And frankly we don’t have time for me to put you under,” I hand him a leather strap. “If you have any magic left, I’d use it to numb yourself,”

I push the stack of books off the table. “Hey!” barks Bishop.

“We don’t have time… bitch about it later,” I say leaning the commander back. I pull out my scalpel and cut along the recently healed tissue where the stabbing had occurred.

“Fuck—” The commander lets out an agonized groan through his teeth.

“Yeah, it hurts, that’s the price of life. Pain and suffering,” I mutter. As my scalpel cuts into his abdomen blood begins to gush from the incision. “Gauze! Rags! Anything!” I bark at Bishop who hands me a clean towel. I pack the wound as the commander’s breathing becomes short and shallow. His skin draining to a ashy hue. “Bishop, I need you to sterilize your hands and get in here,” I say looking back at him. He runs over to a basin and begins to wash his hands. I look back to the commander who lets out a shaky breath.

“If I die—” He begins.

“Shut up,” I bark at him searching the area with careful fingers. “You’re not going to die if I have anything to say about it. I already have a shit reputation I don’t need to add your name to it,” I locate the ligament feeding into the liver and pinch it. The bleeding slows substantially and I let out a relived breath.

“What do you need me to do?” Bishop asks from the other side of the table.

“Pinch this closed while I work,” I order. I nod to my hand in the commander’s abdomen. Bishop follows suit hesitantly. “Just keep it pinched shut that’s it.” I say as I continue to work. Pulling out the towel I can see now the puncture in the liver. I inspect it carefully. “You’re lucky commander—” I pause probing the liver. “It’s a clean cut,” I thread the needle through the torn tissue. Rook screams around the leather. “Hold still,”

“I’m fucking trying!”

“Try harder,” I say casually adding another stitch.

Bishop looks between us. “Why didn’t the magic close it?”

“Too much pressure. Too little tissue,” I pull the silk tight. “Magic keeps chasing the damage instead of sealing it,” I add another stitch. “So, I’m giving it something to hold,”

“Hurry,” The commander lets out a groan. His teeth are still clenched on the leather strap I had given him. “Fuck!” He cries out as I start the next suture. Once the wound has been sutured, I inspect it then add a small amount of healing magic to keep it all together.

“Alright Bishop,” I nod.

“Sir,”

“Right now? Really?” I ask. He stares at me. “You can let go Bishop sir, I think your friend here would appreciate us getting the fuck out of his abdomen,” Bishop lets go. I wait for a few moments checking the work then sigh. “It worked,” I look up at the commander. “You’re going to live,”

“Fucking thank all the gods,” Bishop exhales running his clean hand through his hair. I heal the tissue of the liver along my trail of sutures and then the incision site.

“You’re going to need another long session with an advanced healer before going back into combat, but this will keep you from going into shock, liver failure, or bleeding out,” I say wiping my tools off.

“So, there is more to the man then a coward,” Bishiop almost laughs. I scowl at him.

“Thank you –” the commander winces as he sits up extending his hand. His breathing pained and his color returning to his tanned face.

“Callavhen,” I say formally.

“Junior healer Callavhen, stationed field triage,” Bishop corrects.

“Ah, so you will be with us tonight then?” The commander asks me. I shake my head.

“Sorry, Commander Rook, that was my error. Formally stationed field triage recently moved to clinical for personal reasons,” Bishop corrects himself. I look at the commander.

“Rook, like the commander Rook?” I ask.

“The same.” He says to me and then looks at Bishop. “Why is it you have a clearly adept healer working clinical instead of going to the front?”

“I’m a 45-time coward and our battalion thinks I’m cursed,” I shrug. “I’m happy to be in clinical to be completely honest,” I add.

“What do you mean 45-time?” Rook asks suspiciously.

“Well—”

“There you are!” I swivel around at the sound of Roich’s voice. “Why are you not at your station?”

“Well—”

“Well what coward?”

“Well, I was going to find supplies when—”

“When you decided you were too cowardly even for that? I swear you are the worst elf in all Avharin’en history!”

“Actually, he seems to be quite a competent healer,” Rook adds his rasp gone masked with a smooth formality. Roich looks to him perturbed by the interruption.

“And who are you?” he barks. Rook raises a brow.

“Commander Rook, Commander of the First division, seventh fleet, and White Queen’s second platoon of battle mages…who are you?” he asks with an air of arrogant confidence that I decide I like Commander Rook.

“This is Second Roich,” Bishop introduces with a perturbed look in Roich’s direction. He in turn glowers at me.

“Clinic now,” he growls. I nod.

“Thank you Callavhen,” Commander Rook nods at me as I am escorted by Roich out of the tent.

“No problem, sir,” I say over my shoulder. Bishop gives me an irritated look, and I give him a smug smirk.

Commander – White Knight.

Day 36,515 of the war against Reth’Karae: eighth Eve-bell.

Location: SW Lamathlenlendari.

Strength: 5234

Combat ready: 4757

Wounded: 290

Missing: 37

Supply status: yellow

Morale: slightly discouraged.

Summary:

We have arrived at the infirmary camp. I have not yet found Rook amongst his Division. Something feels off about that. We will converge our healers’ mages and troops with the others rest, eat, reset the ciphers, and maybe get a bath or some medical attention.

Nothing more to report as of now.

Bishops’ Brigade (Infirmary Camp), White Bishops’ Brigade, White Knights’ Division, and Rooks’ Division: 4Km due N of The Mire.

Once we are out of sight Roich pulls me aside. “What the fuck were you thinking Callavhen?” he scolds me loudly.

“I was thinking I’m going to grab some bedsheets, oh shit I think Bishop is going to have his way with me, oh fuck there’s a man in shock internally bleeding on a table. In that order,” I recount the incidents. Roich glares at me.

“Do you know who the fuck that was coward? Do you have any idea how fucked we would have been if he had—”

“What? Died? Because I am a coward and thus that makes me an incompetent soldier?” I snap back at Roach. He recoils slightly as I crowd him.

“Why didn’t you come get me or the Arch-mage?” he snaps.

“When? When Bishop grabbed me by the back of my neck and threw me into his tent? Or do you mean while I was using precious time to stop the hemorrhaging from his liver?”

“He could have died!”

“He didn’t,”

“This isn’t a joke!”

“No, and neither am I,”

“Cal—” Roich starts but I am already ten steps ahead marching back for the clinical tent. I make my way around a few corners dodging and weaving through the newcomers and the others making way for cots and wounded.

“Excuse me,” says a tall blonde soldier. He is clad in polished silver armor decorated in amber and sapphires. He marches with determination.

“Apologies,” I murmur stepping aside. He pauses.

“Have you a notion where your commander is?” he asks.

“Go down to the end of this row take a left then another and it will be the big tent in the center,” I say to him turning and walking away. The long copper color cloak skims the ground behind him as he marches away.

Once I step into clinical, I feel like I have entered a completely different world. The bed space has tripled since I was in last. Chashmere is in deep conversation with a man baring armor encrusted with the Solandorin towers. Another from Unthlandalas sits by laughing his armor bearing the crest of a broken ship. I realize many of these men are here for burns under their armor. Others from electrical burns, minor shrapnel removal, more foot and public rots, none needing any treatment for anything venereal. I smile shaking my head. 

“Well lads, it looks like commander Rooks’ men are better than you dirty goat fuckers. not a one in here for the itch,”

“She wasn’t a fucking goat!” Chashmere barks back breaking from his conversation.

“Did she look like one?” asks the Unthaland man. Chashmere glares at him.

“Why does it even matter how she looked?”

“Because she may have looked like one,”

“I don’t know what would be worse honestly,” Says an outsider wearing white bishops home crest of the large serpent of Felalumdorin.

“Ah, yes home sweet home…” I sigh going back to work to treat my now debating patients.

The Ninth Eve-Bell.

General King.

Day 36,515 of the war against Reth’Karae: Ninth Eve-bell.

Location: N/A.

Strength: 32,418

Combat ready: 31,936

Wounded: 250

Missing: 232

Death count: 13,872

Summary:

Rook, you have my approval on the operation movement based on your report on the seventh eve-bell. I agree with you I am uneasy about the communication delay though the High Queen and her scribes were brought to reason with translating messages when I explained the importance of military communications over gossip with the other queens and ladies of the realm.

White Knight has written and told me of your petition, and I will strongly put in a word with the high generals though I have no reason to believe Bishop is the leak. He has always served his cousin, her majesty faithfully. However, I do know he seems to have a tough love streak, and these hunting parties may be his way of weeding out the weak healers. Either way, keep him in check until we can move more pieces around the board.

As for the convergence I agree. It sounds like the kind of plan I would put forth. I am almost envious you came up with it first. That is why I sent you after all.

I heard that you were wounded through one of the light sisters communicating to the White Queen. Do not omit any future injuries Rook, please include them in your reports. I need to know if you have been compromised or if I need to come down myself.

Set all ciphers to Capital, Midwest quadrant, skip 5 stones south. For you and White Knight in particular Rook remains corresponding cipher calibration to Solandorin, south, three stones west.

King

Bishops’ Brigade (Infirmary Camp), White Bishops’ Brigade, White Knights’ Division, and Rook’s Division: 4Km due N of The Mire.

I lose count of how many burn victims I work on. After my fingers go numb and my magic starts wearing thin, I begin calling on other apprentices and junior staff to help me. After some time, I find myself perched on a crate giving orders to a young apprentice from White Knight’s division. She seemed eager to learn and didn’t seem to heed the other apprentices with their foreboding stares at her interactions with me.

“How about you fucking don’t,” I growled at one who started to poorly sneak over to spread gossip. She glares at me when I point over to the cholera patients. “They need their linens and bed pans changed again,”

“I don’t answer to you coward,” She spits at me.

“Well considering I am a junior healer and ranked higher than an apprentice that would give me seniority,” I explain crossing my arms. “So go scrub some bed pans or da’ jet’!” she looks from me to her friend then to the soldiers.

“Are you going to let the coward talk to me like that?” she exclaims in disbelief. Everyone stiffens. “Seriously? The coward tells me a competent healer to leave, and you all just sit there? Make him leave! Even as an apprentice, I’m a better healer than the curse,”

“I seriously doubt that” says a smooth, formal voice from behind the woman. She spins around to find herself face to face with commander Rook.

“C-commander,” she stammers before taking a respectful bow.

“You healers sure seem to have a funny way of showing respect to your betters,” He looks down on her harshly before looking up at his men in the cots. “Rook’s division,”

“Yes commander,” they all answer together.

“Who here has been healing you since the measure of the Seventh eve-bell?” he barks.

“Junior healer Callavhen Sir!”

“And who do we have to thank for our ability to fight this evening?”

“Junior healer Callavhen Sir!”

“And who has been running their mouth and making a fool of themselves?” he asks.

“The apprentice before you sir!” they respond. Commander Rook looks down at her again. Then shifts to the woman walking in beside him.

“Healer Thalendo, Junior healer Callavhen has expended his magic. Please ensure the cholera patients have fresh linens and bed pans,” he says quietly. The Healer Thalendo does not hesitate. She simply nods.

“Absolutely Commander Rook,” she replies stepping forward.

“But, Commander, he’s Callavhen the curse,” she blurts. “I was told—”

“I did not ask you what you were told,” his expression hardens. She looks to the healer stopping her by her wrist. “You cannot be serious; you’re an upper division healer. You’re just going to do nurse duties like that?” Thalendo looks to her wrist pulling it from the apprentice pointedly.

“As a healer it is my duty and honor to be able to serve my kingdom and country as well as my fellow soldiers that lay down their lives. I do not enjoy cleaning bedpans or changing soiled linens however I am still aware that these men and women are people and have put their lives on the line for myself and all our peoples. Besides the horrors they have been privy to. You cannot call yourself a healer if you do not intend to get your hands dirty,” she says coolly. Then Thalendo strides up to me extending her hand out. “Thank you,” she bows her head slightly. I take her hand and shake it. I look to Commander Rook who gives me a nod. I let out a sigh.

“W-why are you thanking him?” the apprentice stammers in frustration.

“Da Jathet!” Commander Rook snaps. The apprentice stammers. “Did I stutter? Because if I had you heard me twice!” The apprentice looks around, realizing she would gain no favor and hurried out tears welling from what I assumed was embarrassment.

I smirk as she leaves, then my gaze shifts to the commander. He raises a brow. “Don’t” he warns. I grin anyway. Then shrugging I let my hands roll palm up. Devhen groans as Thalendo rolls him on his side.

“Shut up Devhen!” the original men all grouse in unison with irritation.

“I’m dying,” Devhen groans.

“Then get on with it!” Chashmere barks.

“Shut the fuck up goatfucker!” Snaps Halden one of Devhen’s friends and another cholera patient. I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“Goatfucker?” Commander Rook asks inquisitively. I shake my head.

“She was NOT a fucking goat!” Chashmere shouts across the tent.

“She looked like a goat,” Baymehn interjects with a laugh somewhere buried amongst the foot rot patients.

“Shut the fuck up! You’re making us all look like we only share one fucking brain!” I snap at the men. They look at me shocked, then insulted. Then Halden laughs.

“Better than one head—” He giggles.

“No—” I warn.

“Yeah, or we’d all be fucking goats!” Baymehn shouts. I let out an exhausted breath.

“This hasn’t been funny for hours, but they’re all high as an eagle’s nuts,” I groan covering my face from embarrassment.

“Sounds to me like you are all evenly matched,” Commander Rook claps me on the shoulder. “Rook’s Division!” everyone startles.

“Yes sir!” The soldiers respond.

“Get armored up and in formation. We’re going to go kill a wyrm lord!” he orders. “Go see the textile smiths for your new armor before you go to barracks!” he rallies.

I have never witnessed such unison when it comes to soldiers, but Rook’s division is quick, efficient, and organized. One moment they were there and the next they were gone. Commander Rook stays back long enough to turn and look at me. “You saved me, thank you. Would you consider coming to the front to be my division’s personal healer?” I shake my head.

“I’m a coward, I’d run and again I don’t need your death on my reputation,” I say matter of fact. He nods. “You’re not upset?”

“Disappointed maybe but not upset. You’re not a soldier or a warrior but you are a damn good healer. If you ever find yourself in the northwest, I will gladly receive you,” he says looking up at my remaining patients. “Chashmere—” he thinks for a moment. “Sounds an awful lot like cashmere. Are you sure she wasn’t a goat? It would make for a great title,” Commander Rook grins and disappears out the flap Healer Thalendo in tow. The men stare at each other in a stupor.

“I really like that fucking guy,” I say with a laugh. Devhen starts laughing hysterically.

“Chashmere the knight of goats!” he groans.

Commander White Knight.

Day 36,515 of the war against Reth’Karae: Tenth eve-bell.

Location: SW Lamathlenlendari.

Strength: 5,234

Combat ready: 5,171

Wounded: 26

Missing: 37

Death count: 13,872

Supply status: Green

Morale: High.

Summary:

After the convergence, I found Rook in Bishops tent. Rook failed to report he had been stabbed. In case you hadn’t heard it was more than just a scrape. His Healer Thalendo assured me he is ready to go to the front after he spent time resting and receiving treatments.

We had a small summit where we discussed strategy. We know Reth’Karae is in the Northern Mire. According to activity and scouting missions he shouldn’t be more than 10Km south of our current location. We are holding back all the advanced healers except for Thalendo and a few others who have insisted on coming to hold command of the Juniors and apprentices that we are taking to the front. The full army is about 32,000 strong so we are leaving the extra 2,000 soldiers that aren’t a part of second battalion and the extra battle mages supplied by Telthalandalas behind to guard the camp which means it should have around 3,500 able bodied men and women trained in combat and the other 4,500 healers.

We will proceed into the Mire and face Reth’Karae. 15,000 for the frontal assault and then split two platoons of warriors in 2,500 to come up the flanks while the other 7,500 work around behind Reth’Karae’s forces and box them in. Another roughly 1,400 will remain distributed among scouting parties, command support, supply, and reserve.

Once on the front we will be switching to Cipher only communications for correspondence.

This is it.

Tomorrow I will be coming home.

White Knight

Forward Infirmary Camp: 4Km due N of The Mire.

The camp is far from empty even with nearly 30,000 soldiers gone. I run the lye soap over my raw hands spreading it down my body until I am lathered and no longer smell like blood, sweat, and other less than savory bodily fluids that were so generously provided by my patients. I rinse quickly in the large wash tub letting the water run out the bottom into the small trench they had dug for the bath house. I step out onto the canvas beneath my feet and pat myself dry with the small towel provided.

As I dry off the handsome human walks in. He pauses only for a moment as he looks me over with barely more than a passing glance.

“Good evening,” I murmur possibly too eager. He looks me over again as he strips and I cannot help but watch. We are after all the only two here.

“Good evening,” he says standing there nude folding his clothes neatly before getting in the tub. “I heard about what you did with Commander Rook today,” I look up at him and he smiles at me. “Impressive,”

“Thanks,” I smile at him sheepishly. I give him a slow admiring once over and turn to leave.

“Would you perhaps want to join me for drinks after supper tonight?” he asks me. I freeze turning back to look at him. He, in turn straightens and I nod.

“Yeah, I think I might,” he smirks. I wrap the towel around me and head back to my tent.

By the time I reach it I’m smug. However, by the time I put on my standard Nine Spires healer’s issued robes I find myself anxious and unsure of my actual confidence. It had been years since I had courted. “Fuck—” I mutter, trying to fix my hair. My light brown curls rebel against me with the same dissidence I give to everyone else. “Callavhen what the fuck are you doing?” I murmur to myself with a long deep sigh then straighten and gather my essentials before heading to the hall for food.

The Hall which was not actually a hall of any sort was a span three now eight tents that had their ends cut and were gathered end to end to make a hall. At the far end was an officer’s bar that was open only to officers and healers. Luckily junior healers were still considered official enough to drink there. Though as much as I wanted to rush there to meet the man I had been shamelessly flirting with, I did need to eat.

I have burned through almost all my magic healing soldiers all day and my hands shook and felt weak. I let out a long sigh as I fidgeted with my sleeves before being handed a plate in which I find myself fidgeting with that as well as I followed the flow of the line receiving their meal.

Can I even do this? What about Aspvhen? Splat! I shake my head snapping out of my internal conflictions as the plate in my hand becomes surprisingly heavy. “What is that?” I ask. The cook in front of me looks down at it then back at me as if weighing what he wants to tell me. Ultimately, he shrugs. “That’s it? You’re going with ‘I don’t know’?” he smirks shrugging again and I roll my eyes taking my plate to a long table. A few soldiers there are Rook’s men from the burn healing I had administered earlier.

“Junior healer!” One woman soldier waves over. I pause halfway into sitting, I look around the empty section of the table and then stand moving over to sit with the soldiers.

“Good evening,” I say seating myself next to the woman with a polite public smile I only wore for those in my good graces and patients who needed a more healer bedside manner.

“Callavhen! The hero of the day!” two of the younger men cheer from across the table. I snort.

“I am no hero,” I rebut.

“You are to us,” the woman says dryly giving me a small smirk. “We marched many kilometers to get here burning under our plate and blistering from just the heat of the sun. You were the only Healer in that clinic, and the uppity healers only were treating officers. We couldn’t go to our healers because our healers were exhausted from healing us the first time. So, to all of us—” she motions to the small group taking over this end of the table. “– Absolute hero,” she doesn’t say anything else, just goes back to eating the mushy heap on her plate. The others all chirp and cheer.

Despite my best efforts I find myself smiling genuinely for the first time since I could remember.

“So Callavhen what are you going to do after tonight?” one of the younger soldiers asks. I look up to find him staring at me. “Do you have any family or anyone back home?” I shake my head.

“My mother and sister took their journey to the stars in the initial attacks during the beginning of the war—” I take a small bite of food determining what to say next. “My father committed suicide shortly after, and my lover died a few months back just after the great wyvern assault on second battalion. So, no. I did receive a generous offer to go to Solandorin from commander Rook and be a healer up there—”

“You should,” says the woman. The others nod. Two of the younger boys look up from the other end of the group, one junior healer and a guard.

“You should,” the healer says. “We are respected and well paid. Besides if you were requested by Rook himself then you would be healing in the court, that’s a huge honor. My brother just made Major in his division and is pushing me to heal in the court,” I look to the guard.

“You’re a major?” I ask skeptically.

“Not me, our oldest brother. I just want a simple life. Prison guard is less stressful than frontline soldier,” I nod.

“Gods, you can say that again,” I laugh.

“That’s the nice thing about Solandorin and Kaelthrandor in particular, he doesn’t ask more of his people than what they are willing to offer. It’s why he’s so beloved and powerful,”

“Did you know that he has a contract with the high queen that if his lady Celenthra ever dies he is to be wed to her majesty?” another young apprentice butts in.

“That’s rubbish,” says the woman next to me.

“Is not, everyone knows the Nine wants him to be king,” the apprentice pouts.

“Doesn’t mean he has a contract,” the guard laughs. I sit back and watch them feeling a nostalgic tug at my heart.

“Well, that’s what I was told—” she rebuts crossing her arms.

“By whom?” the woman interrupts.

“By a fox,” the table turns and looks at her. “What? It was stuck in a fence. It told me it would tell me a secret if I freed it,”

“Did you meet this fox before or after you fell into the bushes of peace?” smirks the other soldier.

“Shut up Mehri!” she bickers.

“EITHER WAY—” the woman next to me says loudly but slowly cutting through the familiar bickering. “It sounds like you were outfoxed by the fox, because there is no way Kaelthrandor would ever remarry after Celenthra. Or do you remember the midi wife the ashen court placed him with?” the table grows silent. “Kaelthrandor is an honorable ruler with a catastrophic devotion to his lady. If she passed, he would not remarry he may even travel to the stars just to be with her,” She looks at me.

“Where are you from?” another junior healer asks me. He looks like he’s probably another brother to the guard and the other junior healer.

“I—I’m from a small village east of Moraera Arahir’thal. We mostly farmed, citrus and stone fruits. Though we lived close enough to the bay that I had uncles who were crab and seafood merchants,” I say casually then smile at them.

“Moraera and Felalumdorin have good seafood but the best places to get it is the Western kingdom, Snowsend, or the Blackend hold—” says the apprentice.

“Who told you that the fox?” teases the guard. The way she looks at him hinting at something more than just common soldier banter.

“No! I know that personally,” she rebuts.

“You’ve been to those places?” I ask curiously. she nods. I cock my head.

“How?” asks the guard.

“Well, you know how my father owns the shop, well, before he was a traveling merchant and sometimes, he would take me with. We traded sunstones in the hold and produce and ginseng in the Western Kingdom, and we traded grain in Snowsend,” she crosses her arms. “The blackend hold has the most delicious lobster, the Western kingdom has crab and fish that melt in your mouth, and Snowsend had candied salmon and a white meat that is chilled and you eat it frozen because it’s so rich it also melts in your mouth. It’s amazing!” she groans. “I’d sell my foot to get some right now,” her eyes find her plate and stare so hard that if will alone could change it the mush would be a plate of exotic seafood. I smile.

“I think when it’s all said and done tonight, I will head back to the Northwest with your lot. Callavhen the healer has a nice ring to it. Much better than Callavhen the coward or Callavhen the curse,” I murmur. They look at me.

“Callavhen the curse is silly but useful,” The woman says. “It would be useful if you use it though, think of the potential. The curse of Callavhen, all those who mocked him and sullied his name were struck low,” she gives me a teasing wink.

“Not my style,” I say politely with a shrug. She smiles at me and I turn my head to catch the human healer rushing into the tent looking disheveled and anxious. “But before I go anywhere, I have some business to settle,” I stand up watching him go into the officer’s bar. The soldier across from me smirks knowing where my attention has gone.

“Don’t have too much fun tonight, Cally. It’s a long walk back to Solandorin,” he teases. I smile at him. “Speaking of which we should probably get back to our section of the camp and rotate guards,” the soldier says to the woman and the other guard.

“See you on the morrow Cally,” the woman says giving my forearm a reassuring squeeze.

I nod, stand, and walk casually into the bar. The man sits at the bar looking nervous and I begin to wonder if he thinks he’s been stood up, or if I have already left. I walk to the side he’s not facing and sit down.

“Good evening,” I say with a smoothness I wasn’t sure I still possessed. He looks at me.

“Good evening,” he says relieved as we lock eyes. He slides me a shot of an amber liquid that I clink to his shot and take it. The liquid burns going down and I hold up my hand for the bar keep giving us four more.

“I need more courage,” I confess with a lopsided smirk. The smile he gives me tells me that so does he.

“I must confess I’ve been thinking about you since this morning,” I laugh at his confession.

“Hopefully a form of pity, I had to have second Roich heal me after you. Imagine the indignity, that man hates me,” I say trying not to let the bitterness of those words coat the humor beneath them.

“Oh no, why do you think he hates you? He seems like a reasonable man to me—” I cut him off after I take my next shot.

“I couldn’t save his brother—”

“Oh,”

“Arch-Healer Aspvhen,”

“Oh!”

“He was also my lover—”

“Shit,” he gasps probably recalling the story. I nod.

“I was his second, it was forbidden, our relationship. When he died, I was Arch-Healer for about three days until Roich went to the college in Lumindalas who contacted Bishop and had me demoted to junior healer,” I snort and shake my head. He just stares at me taking in my story. “Then they started sending me to the front. But all I saw was Aspvhen in every wyvern battle, in every soldier getting melted, maimed, burned through, and I would run. Callavhen the coward,” I huff. “That’s quite a lot to dump on a handsome stranger, but I want you to know what you’re connecting yourself to here. I also have been invited by Commander Rook to go to Solandorin, so I don’t plan on staying down here—” the handsome man takes a few shots catching up.

“I’m from Snowsend—” He takes a shot. “Solandorin isn’t too far—” another. “And it sounds like you have the dread not cowardice,” he stares at me with those emerald-green eyes and those long red locks of hair.

“What’s your name?” I blurt out.

“Evan Kharter,” he murmurs.

“Callavhen,” I murmur the syllables heavy on my tingling tongue. He smiles at me.

“Would you like to go back to your tent?” he whispers. I nod.

I follow him back to my tent which still seems to be private. That fact would be insulting but now it’s working for me and so I let the insult slip away as we chuckle and laugh stumbling to it. Then I watch him duck under the flap. I hesitate for a moment.

“He has the same eyes and laugh,” I whisper. “Forgive me,” I look up at the star speckled sky before heading in behind him.

Eleventh Eve-Bell

General King.

Day 36,515 of the war against Reth’Karae: Eleventh Eve-bell.

Location: N/A.

Strength: 32,418

Combat ready: 31,936

Wounded: 250

Missing: 232

Death count: 13,872

Summary:

Rook,

Correspondence seems to be coming through now with only an hour of delay, I am working on making it more streamlined; however, with the generals of the Nine wanting all our I’s dotted and T’s crossed it is causing communications delays still. I will continue to remind them that minutes can turn the course of a battle and that within an hour all can be lost.

If you find yourselves in any situations that seem dire cut the red tape. Be damned the consequences if it saves the lives of many. You and White Knight will know how to reach The White Queen. She and her division of battle mages are your reinforcements tonight.

I am pleased to know non-combat personnel are guarded and that you have left a substantial force behind. I have petitioned the generals for you and as of tomorrow morning the healers will be under White Knight’s banner, and second battalion will be led by Bishop. Though if everything goes according to plan none of that will even matter. White Knight seems eager to come home as I’m sure so are you, once you slip out of that armor and remember you are elven again and not just a commander.

Going into your first real battle of such size I just want it said between us that I am proud of you Rook. When options became limited you stepped up and led the division with exemplary leadership and grace. Now I need you to keep our eager commanders in line. Haste and homesickness have been the ruin of many a great strategy and the ender of many lives. You know this. Do not underestimate Reth’Karae. Dragons do not ascend to such honorable rankings without having substantial power and intelligence. We know little about it other than it has a cult, it is one of the biggest dragons in Kar’Nithalan, a wyrm lord, and holds the elemental powers of vhira’Mora.

May the stars guide you in your battle commander. Over 30,000 is a heavy mantle to carry. If anyone can, it is you.

King

Forward Infirmary Camp: 10Km due N of The Battlefield.

I am almost asleep when I bolt upright. “Shit,” I hiss. Evan’s arm tightens around my waist, and I look down at his mop of red curls scattered across my pillow. I feel the struggle of staying with him and falling back asleep curled around his warm solid body or getting up and doing a night check on my patients at the clinic. I let out a begrudging sigh and lift his hand up kissing it as I pull myself out from under his grasp.

“Mmm where are you going Cally?” he grumbles. “Eager to slip away in the night?” his tone teasing despite the heavy sleep. I chuckle softly pulling on my breeches.

“You’re in my tent,” I lean down kissing him before pulling on my robes. “I need to do a quick night check on my patients,”

“Then I’ll come with you,” he murmurs starting to sit up.

“No, you don’t have to do that. Stay, rest, and when I get back, we can have another go if you’re still up for that,” I smirk. He returns the look.

“Promise you’re not going to run off with one of your rugged patients,” he teases back. I grin.

“Oh yeah, Chashmere and I are going to run away together,” I laugh.

“Chashmere…chashmere—” he murmurs to himself. “Isn’t that the guy who fucked the goat,” I chortle.

“I think it was a woman who looked like a goat,” I say. “In his defense,”

“I heard it was a goat, and now he’s stealing away my new lover,” Evan pouts playfully. I return the playful nature.

“Not on your life,” I tease kissing him. “I will be back to finish this—” I kiss him again. “Wait for me,” I groan pulling away. Evan nods laying back down.

I hurry out now with another romp waiting for me. My steps elongating as far as they can without running. I notice all the guards stationed at every few intersections and I raise my brows impressed by the amount of people who have been stationed.

“Sir,” one woman says to me holding up her hand. “State your business out here at this hour,” she says almost monotone.

“Junior healer Callavhen going to do night check at the clinic,” I answer in my best officer tone. She looks me over with little to no recognition. “Ah, are you by chance one of the Telthalandalas guards?” I add. She looks past me and then back at me skeptically.

“Yes, I have orders to keep the camp safe. Which means knowing who’s out so late,” I nod.

“Understandable,” I say looking up the way towards the clinical tent. “I just have to check on the patients, and I’ll be out of your hair,” I say. This time she nods.

“I will escort you,” she murmurs and moves aside to let me pass. I walk past and she follows at a respectable distance. When we approach the tent, she continues to the next intersection.

I however slip inside quietly only lighting it enough that I can see everyone but not enough to wake them. I pick up the ledger flipping to the page and begin to write down the time and patients names. Then I go along the line checking breathing and pulses. As I approach one of the burn patients I realize she’s still awake. She lets out a soft whimper.

“Help please, it hurts,” she whispers. I look down at her arm and set down the ledger. I walk over grabbing the candle and go back to her bedside. The burn has become infected. I nod going back to the storage room and retrieving some cleaned water, witch hazel, willow bark, and some fresh linens. I carefully treat her burns cleaning the pus and old bandages away from it. Then I carefully treat it with a small blast of magic until my hands ache.

“You will have to wait till the morrow to have it fully healed. I am depleted and exhausted I have nothing else to spare at present. But this will be fine for tonight,” I reassure her and she nods. I give her the tincture of willow bark and stand up disposing her rags at the door.

“Thank you,” she whispers. I nod turning out the light and slip out. The guard is still there standing watch.

“Ok everyone is fine, see you on the morrow, and thanks for keeping watch,” I say with a wave.

“Thanks,” she nods and I walk back to my tent. I’m almost there when I freeze.

“Fucking Chashmere and Devhen,” I grumble. I turn back. This time I jog, because I’m not about to let fucking Chashmere and Devhen keep me from my night with Evan. When I get back to the tent, I see the light on and pause. Nobody is around. “Didn’t I –” I murmur stepping inside.

I cry out as I see the guard who escorted me slitting Chashmere’s throat. Blood and spittle erupting from his mouth as he grips at his throat. “What the fuck are you doing?” I shout lunging forward. Events begin happening more quickly than I can anticipate. I slip, falling on my back with a loud oof! The floor is wet, warm, and sticky. “What—” then it dawns on me. I flail backwards scrambling to my feet and light the brazier by the door. Every soldier is dead. Throats slit, dead-eyed, staring into nothing with various looks of horror and agony. “No!” I cry out. Scanning the men and women who fill my post. The people I had spent ample amounts of magic, of myself healing, dead. The woman suddenly pulls a skull mask over her face and lunging at me. Her dagger out and hungry despite being slicked with my patient’s blood.

“For Reth’Karae!” she growls plunging her dagger down at me. Somehow, I catch her wrist, but the movement is instinctual. From years of training and repetition, my arms jerk her forward and as she falls past me, I grab her neck and twist. I feel and hear the bones break in her thin neck; I can feel and see the way her body goes slack as she crumples to the ground.

“Oh gods!” I follow her down. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I panic, checking her breathing, nothing. I check her pulse next, also nothing. I whimper, looking around the tent at my dead patients and the woman I killed with my own hands. “I took vows…” I murmur standing up shakily. “Help,” I remind myself. “Assassin, help.”

I stumble out of the tent looking for help. “You’re going into shock,” I mutter to myself, trying to stay grounded. “Have to find help.” I stagger to the food tents and wander in. The soldiers all turn and look at me. “Assassin in the camp,” I mutter.

“What?” says one man standing up from a table.

“Assassins in the fucking camp!” I cry out. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I begin to spiral.

“Callavhen, don’t be fucking stupid, do you know how many soldiers are guarding the camp right now?” one man stands up.

“Where is this supposed assassin? How did you get away?” another man asks.

“I—I k-killed her,” I whimper. The men begin to laugh as if that’s the most unrealistic thing they had ever heard. “It—it was an accident. You have to believe me,”

“That’s the only way we would believe you,” Chuckles one man.

I stand there crying into my bloody hands trembling. The men continue to laugh as I shuffle past them towards the officers’ tent.

“Where are you going?” asks the soldier.

“To find help,” I hiccup on my tears as I push open the flap to the bar. Roich starts to turn and look at me.

“What the fuck happened to you cowa—”

“They’re all dead,”

“Wha—”

“Supposedly the coward caught and killed an assassin in clinical,” laughs an officer behind me. Roich hops off the bar stool quickly and approaches me. He takes my temperature and pulse then turns to the officers.

“He’s in fucking shock,” he tells them. The humor fades. Roich gets my attention and then uses his magic to null the shock before I can completely fall apart. “Show us.”

Commander White Knight.

Day 36,515 of the war against Reth’Karae: Twelfth Eve-bell.

Location: SW Lamathlenlendari.

Strength: 5,234

Combat ready: 5,171

Wounded: 26

Missing: 37

Death count: 13,872

Supply status: Green

Morale: High, but uneasy.

Summary:

King,

No one has moved. We are standing across a field of stillness. Reth’Karae is outmatched as the wyrm lord only stands about 10,000 strong with at least a hundred or so wyverns at the other end of the clearing six kilometers into the mire.

Rook feels like it is a trap and does not want to press forth with the assault until our scouts come back with more information though both Bishops are demanding we move now. I agree with Rook something feels wr—.

Reth’Karae just let out a roar so deep and loud it shook the earth.

Gods help us. What is happening?

White Knight.

Forward Infirmary Camp: 10Km due N of The Battlefield.

We are almost at the clinical tent when it happens. From just down the row of tents I can see the woman’s body has been moved outside but no one else is in sight. We hear this loud sound like a distant roar and then the ground starts shaking creating another deep roaring vibration beneath us. I shudder looking around. A few tents away, a man turns the corner pulling down a skull mask and starts running for us. The soldier in front of me draws a blade and strikes the assassin before they can think of how to evade. He hits the ground blood gushing from where the sword is now embedded in his torso.

“What the hell is happening?” one of the soldiers asks looking around. The sounds of screams and steel ring through the night. I begin to back away thinking of fleeing to my tent collecting Evan and finding my way to Rook’s section of our camp. Roich grabs my arm firmly just above my elbow and shakes his head with a look that tells me there is no running this time. I choke back a gasp as my anxiety starts to escalate.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Says an officer. “Reth’Karae drew our forces to the mire so he could ambush us with assassins. He used our own convergence to smuggle his forces in,”

“He’s a fucking dragon!” Another argues. “He can’t possibly be that smart,”

“Dragons are more intelligent than most elves or humans,” Roich says. “He’s probably incredibly intelligent and manipulative,”

“For Reth’Karae!” A man screams somewhere behind us. The soldier closest spins around lobbing his head clean off. It lands with a squishy thud in the dirt in front of us. I close my eyes and turn away. Roich’s grip tightens around my arm.

“Fuck—” I say staring up at the stars wondering if this is some sort of punishment sent from beyond. My attention is redirected as a deep agonized groan comes from the woman I had killed. I feel my breath catch and my head snaps down to look at her as she begins to curve in on herself. “That’s not possible,” I murmur. I watch as she groans again face down in the dirt.

“For fuck’s sake Callavhen, you can’t even properly pronounce someone dead?” the officer says glaring back at me.

“No—no, no, she was definitely dead—I broke her neck—I checked,” I look up at him frantically.

“Obviously you fucking didn’t,” I stare at them in a daze.

“I did! I—” I pause as I begin to doubt everything I have ever been taught. Maybe I missed something. Maybe I only fractured a vertebra; maybe I only felt a pop; maybe I blew one of her discs or knocked the wind from her and caused temporary paralysis. What if my own shock made me incompetent? Maybe as my own body started to panic, I jumped to a conclusion that felt reassuring and safe. What if I left this poor woman, assassin or not, here to suffer in the dirt? My whole mental axis is spinning, shifting, teetering in uncertainty.

I remain internal as the others argue around me about what to do. No one, not even Roich, bothered to help the woman. So, as she begins to move, clutching her sides and groaning louder, I pull away from Roich and begin lowering myself to help her—until I hear a wooden squeak through the chaos. It sounded so close and yet so far away. I freeze. Looking up, I scan the area around us, searching for the origin of the sound.

With the men distracted, I turn and begin to walk down the row of tents over the dead assassin towards a large intersection. My feet get heavier as I get closer to the sound.

“Callavhen!” Roich calls now slowly walking towards me. I don’t stop, I don’t turn around because the sound is becoming louder and more frequent. Squeak squeak, squeak squeak! I know—some deeply unconscious part of me knows when I hear it. But when I turn the corner, I gape, because there in front of me, where they have been sitting all damn sweltering day are the carts containing the unprocessed dead from all battalions and divisions. Just behind me I hear Roich stop, pause momentarily, then run. I, however, remain frozen as my mind begins to attempt to cling to something logical. Because something is clearly moving beneath the large bolts of canvas covering the carts.

First Morning-Bell

Commander Rook.

Day 36,516 of the war against Reth’Karae: First Morning-Bell.

Location: N Mire.

Strength: 32,418

Combat ready: 31,936

Wounded: 250

Missing: 232

Death count: 13,872

Supply status: Green

Morale: High, but uneasy.

                  King,

There is something terribly wrong. There has been no attack yet. I do not trust that the field has not been set to the enemy’s advantage. Reth’Karae has shown himself with very small numbers in support. Either our intelligence has been seriously overestimating the enemy, we have done massive damage to the wyrm lord’s forces, or this is simply a trap. I have only been holding the field as I am unsure if this will result in ambush or if the forces on the field are the strongest of his allies. 

The most alarming part of this night occurred at the measure of the Twelfth Eve-Bell. I am unsure if it was a signal or a move to intimidate my men. The roar the wyrm let out shook the earth. I have not heard back from the scouts I had sent out. I wait in anticipation for the word they will bring. That will determine the move I am to make. Until then, we hold the line.

Please stand by for further communication. I may need your guidance.

Rook.

Forward Infirmary Camp: 10Km due N of The Battlefield.

“Evan!” I call out in the confusion of the chaos. “Evan! Where fucking are you?” The people around me are scrambling in panic as the growling, groaning, grumbling dead attack us. Suddenly, I find myself on the ground, fumbling to get up as panicked healers and guards run, tripping over me, screaming.

A woman nearby trips over one of the undead. I watch her fall, getting trampled by the others. She’s trying to stand up but keeps getting pushed down. The corpse sees her and grabs her by the hair, pulling the sobbing woman backward to its maw. She wails, but her squealing as the undead begins crunching into her eye socket makes me vomit.

“Callavhen!” I hear, being wrenched up by my robes. Tallebo appears in front of me as I turn to see who had ahold of me. Her hand is clutching her side.

“Tallebo,” I say as the world comes back into focus. People shove us as I lift her hand. A deep bite mark in her side reveals she had been attacked already.

“Don’t worry about me, Callavhen, let’s go! Move!” she calls, pushing me forward. I take her hand and begin to drag us forward through the crowd.

“Have you seen Evan?” I ask her.

“Who?” she calls back. The volume of screams and panicked cries deafens us as the carts continue to empty their contents. The newly killed rise to become the enemy as we flee.

“Evan, the human healer!” She shakes her head at me. I growl with an anxious frustration as I continue to look around.

“Where was he last?” she asks.

“My tent! He wasn’t there when I got back!” I call out to her. She shakes her head with a shrug.

“We need to get out of camp! The mages have already been overrun as well as White Bishop’s guards and soldiers! The assassins hit the barracks first! We’re on our own!” she calls. I nod.

“We should go find Rook’s men; they stayed just out of the main camp; they’re probably okay!” This time Tallebo nods. I turn to look around for Evan when I find myself face to face with a soldier I know all too well. I stop immediately as Tallebo runs into the back of me, pushing me into the bloody side of Chashmere.

“Goatfucker?” I gasp. He turns and looks at me and the time around us slows. His eyes are cloudy and lifeless. His throat is open enough that I can see his spine through the opening. I take a step backward into Tallebo. The gigantic corpse lumbers towards us. Tallebo leans into me, raising a hand of hot white magic, shoving me out of the way as she eviscerates Chashmere.

“Move!” she calls back. I loop my arm around hers, pulling her forward as we press on through the chaos.

“Undead!” I hear as I turn to see Roich yelling, running aimlessly. “Fucking undead!” 

“Asshole,” I mutter, watching him disappear into the crowd. I keep tugging Tallebo along towards where the soldiers had said they would be in the morning.

“Are you sure this is the right way?” calls Tallebo.

“Rook’s healers told me to come to their camp on the morrow. Just out of camp beyond the west gate!” I call back to her. Suddenly, I reach out, scooping someone familiar running past us. The mop of blonde hair turns to look at me. “Evan!” I exclaim. My heart flutters anxiously as he turns to look at me; a moment of unfamiliarity passes his eyes and my mind goes to the worst-case scenario. But when he looks at me full on and I see no damage, I exhale with relief. “Oh, thank the fucking gods.”

“Callavhen?” he mutters, clearly in a state of panic. I nod and he kisses me before I can say anything else. “I thought you were dead,” he whimpers. I shake my head.

“Forty-five platoons, now let’s not make it forty-six, baby—” I look around, trying to gather my sense of direction. “C’mon.” I begin dragging them both towards the western gate.

The sounds of screaming ring out as healers and wounded try to escape their reanimated dead. More dead. Every ally dead was a new enemy. Every screaming woman eaten, every soldier bludgeoned, and healer brutalized was another number to the ranks of Reth’Karae. Was another obstacle between us and the fucking western gate.

“Oh gods,” Tallebo gasps as we hurry along. “They’re going to pin us!” She looks to me. “The front needs to know.”

“The assassins?” I ask, not taking my eyes from the gate as Evan’s eyes rove around us, anticipating the next attack.

“No, not us—” she gestures to us three and the camp. “US, our forces on the front.”

“How? Tallebo, there are not that many assassins.”

“Reth’Karae isn’t going to be using his assassins; they are only the catalyst. He’s using the dead. Undead are going to march on the front to find their master, killing every living thing between us and him.”

“Starting with us?” I ask with my typical skepticism.

“Yes, think about it, Callavhen: every person that dies becomes a thrall to the enemy!” She takes in a breath of despair. “He’s been targeting our healers for a year or so; eventually the logical explanation is to leave them behind. Our healers are our most valuable assets besides our battle mages. So of course, some of the strongest soldiers and mages would be left behind with the healers. What’s worse is that where there are infirmary camps, there are deceased; I bet the spies told him about the new cart regiment. What would you guess? I’d say each cart carried about 500 dead. How many carts were there?”

“Twenty-seven or eight,” mutters Evan. I give Tallebo a look and she returns it.

“How do we even know it’s Reth’Karae? Isn’t he a wyrm? When was the last time you heard of a wyrm capable of necromancy?” I object, though the knot in my stomach told me she may be on to something.

“Wyrm lord,” Evan corrects me. “Reth’Karae is a wyrm lord.”

“So? He’s a royal wyrm—” Tallebo cuts me off.

“A wyrm lord is not depicted by stature of birth but by power and prowess of elemental magic. Life and death are both elements of Vhuni. Water, fire, earth, wind—”

“Soul,” Evan gasps hauntedly.

“We need to tell Rook’s men; maybe a small platoon can ride down there and tell them before it’s too late,” she says, groaning as I bump into her side while trying to adjust her in my grip.

“Sorry,” I say, eyeing the bloody spot in her battle mage armor. She nods, clearly in pain. “Once they know, I say we get out of here before we become one of these risen soldiers.” They both nod at me.

A large man in a bull’s skull mask steps into our path, lifting a hammer. I brace for the impact when an arrow whizzes through the man’s neck. He lets out a choked sound as blood begins gushing from the wounds and he stumbles, falling sideways. I wave to the archer who waves back. The tent behind him falls and before any sound can escape either of us, he is immediately overcome with the dead. All of us turn our heads as his gurgled screams fade behind the sound of the frenzied undead.

I continue to drag Tallebo along. Whatever is possessing me to look behind us is from a courage I was unaware I had. Swarms of ravenous dead are loping and shuffling after us. I pull Evan and Tallebo closer to me, moving so quickly I have practically been dragging them both. Evan then looks back and begins moving so quickly he is dragging me now, but Tallebo is panting, clearly in worse shape than her stoicism is letting on.

“Tallebo,” I murmur, concerned. She shakes her head. I do the only thing I can think of…I scoop her into my arms and carry the lithe, willowy elf.

“Callavhen—” she gasps as I brace my arms around her. She’s whimpering with every footfall but nonetheless, I keep running.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Tallebo. But I’m not putting you down. You’re clearly wounded and I’m not going to just let you die. I made vows,” I pant.

The approaching gate is hanging open surprisingly, and I look to Evan, who runs ahead. He stops momentarily, checking beyond the gate and waves at me.

“Fucking run, Cally!” he yells. I stumble slightly, glancing back. But what I see coming makes me recover quickly. I squeeze through quickly, hitting Tallebo’s shins on the frame of the gate.

“Agh!” she cries out.

“Fuck, sorry, my dear,” I say. “Here.” I loosen my grip and drop her gently into the grass on the other side. I spin around and help Evan close the wooden gate. Between the both of us, the force makes the wooden beam drop on the opposite side, causing the gate to lock. I let out a breath of relief.

Then, as if the gods were laughing, we hear the dead bashing into the other side, causing the wood to groan. “Come on, Cal,” Evan says, grabbing my elbow. He pulls me around and hoists up Tallebo. I look up seeing Rook’s camp not far from us. The soldiers there are hurrying quickly as if understanding we’re under attack.

“Persons approaching!” I hear one call out.

“Callavhen?” I hear another call. It’s the guard and his brother from the mess hall.

Commander – White Knight.

Day 36,516 of the war against Reth’Karae: Measure of the first morning-bell.

Location: The Mire.

Strength: 5234

Combat ready: 4757

Wounded: 290

Missing: 37

Supply status: yellow

Morale: slightly discouraged.

Summary:

            The scouts have returned. There are roughly just over ten thousand soldiers on the field and none waiting in the trees. One Monsunae general that was captured and interrogated rather vigorously stated that there are around another five thousand ghouls waiting for command in the western caves. However, Reth’Karae has no intentions of calling any wyrms to his aid as the wyverns seem to be all he had required.

            Rook is beside himself with anxiety at these revelations. White Bishop and Black Bishop keep pressuring him to make a move and he keeps telling them, “It’s too easy,” though they don’t seem to understand, or care, what that means. I agree that something seems wrong.

            We received your orders on red tape. I trust Rook to make the right decision if the time should arise.

White Knight.

P.S. One of the battle mages has just informed us the area has been harmonically sealed. Rook has ordered the battle mages to pull down the barrier. Something indeed seems very wrong.

Rook’s Forward Camp: 10Km due N of The Battlefield.

Tallebo cries out as we lay her upon the large oak table in the middle of the war room in Rook’s council tent. Evan and I begin assessing her injuries as the guard and his brother hurry to find the officers of the camp.

As I pull at the ties on her armor, the leather falls away revealing the bite has resulted in the festering of her blood. But that’s not the only thing that we assess that worries us. On her opposite side, she has been stabbed in her abdomen multiple times. Her lower belly is red, bloated, and hot.

“Tallebo,” I murmur sympathetically as I look her over. She grits her teeth as I probe the wounds, then I look to Evan. “They’re deep. I think they’ve punctured her womb and possibly the bladder.”

“The bite is festered. Too many bacteria have poisoned her blood,” he says. “I’m going to have to heal this magically to stabilize her for internal suturing. How quickly can you be in and out?” he asks me. I shake my head.

“In this condition, I think we may need to stabilize her and go.” Evan’s mouth tugs downward at a corner.

“No, she won’t make it. She needs the surgery.”

“Someone needs to go to the front!” Tallebo groans, grabbing my robes. “One of us needs to go to the front…” Her voice softens, dropping off as she begins to breathe laboriously.

“No hiding the pain now,” Evan says, running those skilled tendrils of magic through her to ease her pain. “You should stay with her, Cal; I’ll go. I know the front is the last place you want to be,” Evan says.

“Okay,” I say, nodding. Relief and guilt mix in my stomach at the idea of letting him go to the front, into danger. I lean forward about to take over when a burning in my palms stops me. I look down at my hands, thinking back only a couple of hours ago in the infirmary tent. “Fuck,” I murmur to myself.

“What’s wrong?” Evan asks me. I drop my head and look at Tallebo.

“You should be very glad I like you,” I tease. Then look to Evan. “I’m spent.”

It takes him a minute to realize what took me only a moment. “Fuck,” he whispers.

“I—” I pause, trying to find the words. “—What if one of the officers goes instead?”

“It has to be—” Tallebo grits her teeth.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because there needs to be more than one person in case of separation or attack. The chances are higher to receive word,” Evan answers for Tallebo.

“But why us? Why ME?”

“Because the information has to be accurate and you’re the only one of us that can go that experienced what actually happened,” Tallebo cries.

“I can’t.”

“You must,” Evan replies quickly. “Callavhen, you are the only one of us that can go. If word doesn’t reach the front. If the undead get out—” Evan looks to Tallebo then back to me. “Thirty thousand soldiers die.”

“I can’t.”

“Not even for us?”

“What do you mean?”

“I can be with a coward, Callavhen. But I won’t be with a man who breaks his oaths.”

“I didn’t promise to fight; I didn’t promise I’d run into the front when danger was near,” I say defensively. Evan’s eyes sharpen.

“You did promise to save lives.”

“With medicine!”

“You promised to cherish life above all else, including oneself.”

“I don’t fight; I’ve only killed one person! And she’s pacing that fucking gate over there!” I counter.

“Callavhen!” Evan snaps at me. He places his hands on my cheeks and stares into my eyes. “If you don’t deliver the word to the front—”

“I—”

“You will have been the one to kill THIRTY THOUSAND people! There will be no us; there will be no future with me. You’re so bound to your vows, then make me one here and now. Vow to me that you will get to the front and tell Rook, Bishop, or one of the other commanders what happened here so they can prevent being pinned between Reth’Karae and this risen army!” Evan gives me a slight shake.

“Evan—” I begin nervously.

“Promise me!” He gives me a desperate slight squeeze. I nod.

“I promise I will go and tell them what has happened,” I murmur softly, my lip trembling slightly as fear and dread wrap around me, constricting me. I feel my heart begin to race, pounding against my sternum and my breath ceasing and choking me.

“Callavhen,” Evan murmurs, clearly aware of my current dread. He leans in, his warm lips stopping mine from quivering. One of his hands falls away, leaving a cold spot on my cheek where it had been. He uses it to brace himself across the table as the other wraps around the hinge of my jaw and the nape of my neck, pulling me in. His deepening kiss feels like a promise of its own. “You can do this,” he murmurs against my lips as we part, his forehead against mine.

“I’m scared,” I confess quietly.

“I know.” He brushes his thumb under my ear. “That’s when we become brave.”

“I’m not,” I say. He kisses me gently.

“Or stupid—” he offers. I nod and he grins in response.

“That feels more accurate,” I whisper. Tallebo groans quietly and we both look down to her apologetic stare.

“Sorry,” she murmurs. Her breath is shallow and labored. Evan looks back at me, kissing me one last time. His hand squeezes mine and then he lets go. I let out a long, shaking breath and then turn towards the tent flap.

“Fuck,” I whisper under my breath as I hear footsteps approaching.

The flap lifts and I brace for the undead but relax seeing the officers come in. “What the fuck is happening out there?” the officer demands, looking at the three of us.

“Undead,” groans Tallebo.

“All thirteen thousand,” Evan says sarcastically as he washes Tallebo’s wounds with cleansing magic.

“The gates won’t hold forever. We need to leave—”

“We have to go to the front,” I interrupt; the words twist my gut.

“Wh—” the officer begins to ask. I cut him off.

“Our forces are about to be pinned, and thirty thousand soldiers are about to die. Now we need a small platoon to get to the fucking front before I decide to…” I look at Evan who gives me a stern look. I sigh. “Let’s just go,” I say. Evan nods approvingly.

“Oh gods,” one of the other officers gasps. The first officer through the flap turns and looks to the others.

 “Gather five of our best scouts and five of our best soldiers.” The officer nods and disappears out of the tent. “Officer Haravhen, begin evacuation protocols,” he says sternly.

I stand, legs shaking as I look down at Tallebo and Evan. “When I get back, you and I are going to have the best fucking night.” I smirk, trying to hide my fear. “You’re invited too if you still want to sow some oats, dear.” I glance at Tallebo. She chuckles then coughs.

“If I live through this, you have yourself a deal.” Her voice is raspy and I look at Evan who looks concerned. I lean over her, placing my lips gently on her forehead.

“None of that, my dear; I did not take you into a storage closet to preserve your dignity just for you to give up now,” I tease. The sound she makes is something between a sob and a laugh and my chest aches. “Besides, Tallebo, my dear, the most important part of healing is the will to live. If you need motivation…” I think for a moment before leaning forward and whispering in her ear. “If you thought that soldier was good, imagine having two men with detailed knowledge of the female anatomy worshiping you for a night.” I kiss her cheek. Then look to Evan who lifts a brow. I nod at him and step away as the officer steps out the flap.

“Cal.” I feel a hand grip my elbow and turn to face him. “That was very unorthodox,” he says quietly.

“Would you object?”

“After all of this? Probably not.”

“Then, if it works, it works; besides, after all of this, I think we all could use a good romp.” I smirk.

“Yeah.” He pauses then pulls me into another kiss. Heated, quick, deeply passionate. “I could go for another good romp.”

“If you didn’t have a patient on the table—”

“—Then we would be going together.”

“—Then we’d be fucking, then going together,” I correct.

“Go save everyone.” He smirks, turning me and slapping my ass playfully.

“Fuck, fine,” I grouse, then look back over my shoulder. “Tallebo, you better live through this; I mean that. I’ve been thinking about you all fucking day.”

“I’ll do my best,” she groans. Evan sits back down with her, pulling out a small kit from his robes as I exit the tent.

“Has anyone ever told you you sound like a pervert?” laughs a familiar guard standing in a row of eleven soldiers. I smile.

“A time or two,” I chuckle. “Though, I’ve never left a lover dissatisfied. It’s one of my more redeeming qualities.” He smiles at me.

“Shut the fuck up and let’s go before you start an orgy in the woods,” another soldier teases. I can’t help but feel welcome amongst these people. They are not the same as the people from Lumindalas nor the people of Fellumindalas and something about their simple roots and agricultural upbringing has made them more understanding than my own. I sigh, anxious and only slightly reassured.

As we leave, soldiers, guards, squires, and apprentices hustle around us working on evacuating the camp. “Where are they going?” I ask.

“West to the hills, then north back to Telthalendalas through the mountains to avoid wyvern riders. Rook fucking hates wyverns,” says the guard with a smirk.

“Well, that’s reassuring,” I say. “So, once we get down there?”

“We’ll tell Commander Rook; knowing him he’ll pull the forces and move west since the eastern side of the battlefield borders the bog that leads to the gulf. The western hills will allow us cover while we retreat. Now that we have Reth’Karae’s exact location, Rook will probably rendezvous with his superiors, as well as the White Queen’s forces and the White King’s reserve and specialized soldiers and go back to end Reth’Karae,” he rambles. I nod.

“And what happens if we can’t?” I ask.

“Which of the gods do you pray to?” he asks.

“Vhunneh…Why?” He shrugs, cocking his head.

“Better start praying…”

“That’s not reassuring.” He chuckles and shakes his head, marching ahead. I look back.

“It’s war, nothing’s really reassuring,” one of the men shrugs. The others nod looking around at one another. My gaze shifts to the camp as the sound of splintering wood cracks through the valley. The others jerk looking over their shoulders.

“What’s happening?” asks a soldier.

“I don’t know, it’s too far to see—” another begins.

“The undead have breached the wall!” cries a scout. Rapidly, I begin calculating the time since we left camp.

“It hasn’t been enough time…” I murmur. Instinctively, I grab my pack, getting ready to run back.

“It’s too late,” the officer says, putting out his arm in front of me. “If anyone is still there, they’re gone.” His tone is stern. Every bit the soldier he was trained to be.

“Evan! Tallebo!” I scream across the valley as if they could hear me. The only reply is the sounds of screams and snarling undead. My hands fall to my knees, and I bend trying to catch my breath. “He made it. He had to have made it—” I begin trying to convince myself.

“Kymeh! Sirrahen!” the guard cries out. We all turn to look at him; his sobs remind me of my own when I lost Aspvhen. He jerks away from the scout reaching for him. “No, no, no, brothers!” The other soldiers are trying to hold him back. He shifts slightly to the left, pushing one out of the way. “Let go of me!”

“Who will tell Aelorandor?” the officer snaps. The guard freezes. “Do you think yourself wise to run back into that horde? Shouting like scared babes pulled from their mother’s bosom. Do you think your brother will want to hear how all three of his brothers died all because you committed suicide, Dannelvhis?”

“No—” Dannelvhis chokes, head in his hands.

“No, indeed. We continue according to the plan. We have a one-hour head start to the enemy. If we remain vigilant and quick, we save thirty thousand of our brothers and sisters in arms. If we cry and cower, those people die. Now, get a move on!” the officer commands firmly.

“Shouldn’t it be louder?” I ask, realizing I couldn’t hear much at all.

“What?”

“The screaming. Shouldn’t we still be able to hear it from here? It was deafening back at the camp.”

“I don’t know; maybe, maybe they’re all dead,” the officer shrugs, motioning to the others. Quickly, he turns, leaving me staring after them.

“Better start praying…” whimpers the guard as he falls back in formation taking a moment to look back at the camp before gesturing for me to follow. I do.

The Battlefield.

“Commander!” a red-haired woman calls, jogging towards White Knight and Rook.

“Report,” Rook commands.

“Battle mages are in position to pull down the harmonic barrier. On your orders, I will fire the signal,” she pants.

“Well, let us see what this worm has been hiding.” White Knight smirks. Rook looks over with a sour expression.

“You sound confident, rathen. I wish I had such certainty.”

“You would if you didn’t worry about every little thing.”

“It’s quite literally my job to worry and plan every little thing—” White Knight chuckles.

“And that’s why you don’t have confidence in your certainty. Rathen, you need a better job! You’ve been at this one for far too long. Why don’t you allow yourself a shred of hope? Don’t you miss home?” Rook shakes his head, rolling his eyes. Then, with a regal nod, the red-haired mage sends a blue signal into the sky. Suddenly, green flames from all around them burn upward into the sky like when gauze has been lit.

Silence persists through the field.

“Check the telepaths and translators!” Rook barks at a squire who is still in awe at what had just happened. “Go collect the other battle mages and bring them center!” The red-haired woman nods, sprinting away. “Have scouts—”

“Rook,” Bishop whispers.

“—Check the western hills for mo—”

“Rook!”

“What?” Rook snaps, turning to look at Bishop holding a small grey fleck. Bishop smears it across the palm of his gauntlet.

“Ash.” Bishop gives him a grim look. Rook looks up, flinching as ash lands on his face. He wipes his brow then looks at his hand, freezing like a statue as his mind reels.

“Of course there’s ash; they just burned the barrier down. You act like that’s a bad thing,” scoffs White Bishop. The others stare at him.

“You really are dense; do you even know how magic works?” White Knight asks, crossing his arms as he turns to face White Bishop.

“I know enough. Besides, not everyone was raised amongst Aelienehthara.”

“Leave my mother out of this!” White Knight snaps. “How did you get Black Queen’s mages if you don’t even understand magical fire doesn’t produce ash? How many dire situations have you put those women through?”

“Higher…” Rook mutters, looking around.

“What?” White Knight says.

“I need to get higher.” Without warning, Rook sprints to a large oak and begins to ascend branch after branch quickly.

“Rathen! What in the gods are you doing? This is no time for a climb!” White Knight shouts up.

“No,” Rook grunts, seeing the warm glow to the north. “No. No. No…” He continues to climb until the screams begin to trickle in like a stream. Then a river. Then a waterfall. Soldiers all around grasp their ears, frantically looking around, trying to find the source.

“What in the gods is that?” yells up White Knight.

“The fucking infirmary camp is lost!” Rook calls down in despair.

Rook could feel it in his chest before he heard it. A sound so low in octave that it shook the battlefield. A sinister laughter coming from Reth’Karae.

“Checkmate,” he snarled, his molten eyes glowing with a sadistic delight. Rook shuddered as he became ever aware that the wyrm lord was looking at him.