Book 4: Chapter 52: Losses and Obligations |
Trina shuddered as she looked out at the horizon. The rift was visible now from miles away, dying the sky red and filling her and all the other diviners with intense dread. Every once in a while one could see shapes behind it. Some small, others enormous and writhing. She didn’t look away though, she kept her eyes on it as if looking away would be a loss for her and a victory for it. She said a short prayer to Seras and felt a bit more iron in her spine.
After a few moments she felt a hand covered in rings on her shoulder.
“We’re ready,” said Clara, her usually bubbly expression missing from her face.
Trina nodded as she finally turned away from the rift and walked toward the grave, a body wrapped in simple cotton laying within it. She felt her throat tighten as she looked at it. Her friend was dead. When she wasn’t looking directly at the grave she could almost pretend she was beside her.
She looked at the others around them. Some of them had been with her since they’d been in Gemini. The twins themselves were there, Tai openly crying and Finnegan looking dead ahead and stonefaced. She walked all the way to the edge of the grave to look down at Lys within it, finding it harder to look down at her than it had been to look at the rift. If she’d been faster, stronger, a better healer she may have been able to save her. She felt guilty for that, then she felt guilty because Lys would be right there telling her not to feel guilty. She’d been the one pushing herself in spite of her age, fighting at the front fiercely with little rest between rifts. Not even Michael could’ve saved her from having her head removed from her shoulders.
She missed him. The fighting had been hard without him. They’d managed it, and what he was doing was necessary, but gods could they use him there at that moment. She closed her eyes, her fingers wrapping around the godly symbol he’d given her. She gave it a squeeze before she walked to the stand right on the edge of the grave.
“Seras watch over whatever awaits her,
Bruntus we will carry her with us every day,
Nykas we will remember the joy she brought us,
Durand honor her strength,
Estaid judge her fairly and know we stand by her life and choices.”
She’d said the words often at this point. They felt rote, empty. They were too little to properly encompass the life of the woman that had been her friend and mentor. This was purposeful. If she’d attempted to go into any more detail now, she knew she’d break down and start crying, and she had too much to do.
She bent down and clutched a handful of dirt before tossing it onto the body. The others moved forward the shovels to finish the job. She turned and began heading into the camp. They were given a few days to recover, but she didn’t want to waste time when she could be healing people.
…
Tain stared up at the canvas ceiling of the medical tent he was in, finding patterns and faces in every crease and stitch of the fabric. He’d survived again. He kept surviving. This time he’d thrown himself in front of a horned man’s charge before it could hit their taker as she was trying to seal the rift. He’d been gored through the leg, but he’d managed to put it down and the taker had finished her job as well. Somehow he hadn’t bled out. Somehow they had managed to patch him up and keep him alive long enough to make it back to the maze of tents that made up the staging camp.
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He wasn’t trying to die. Not anymore, but he was still disappointed every time he didn’t. Unlike the war against Tusynia this conflict was worthy of sacrifice. Whenever he lost himself to battle he could hear Durand roaring in his ears in approval. Even laying down on the cot with blood leaking down his leg, he could feel the god’s presence.
He continued listlessly staring up until he began to hear some fussing. One of the titled healers had arrived. Carmen had exhausted her divine healing earlier in the day so that meant the healer must’ve been someone who was normally further afield. He heard prayers and exclamations of gratitude gradually getting closer to him.
A woman entered his field of vision. She was short, but sturdy, close to his age with sandy-brown hair cut short for battle. Her eyes were red and raw making their pale blue stand out in a striking way.
She looked him over and placed her hand on the soaked bandage on his upper leg. He winced.
“You can save your healing for someone else,” he said. “I can make it another day or two if I need to.”
She shook her head. “No you can’t. You’ve lost too much blood already.” As she spoke thick strands of healing energy extended from her fingertips and into his flesh. He could feel the ruin of his leg slowly mend and the pain from it gradually fade until there was none left.
He pushed himself to sit up and looked at the woman.
“Thank you,” he said.
She nodded and moved on to the next of the beds. He watched as she healed another injured soldier, then another. The only healer he’d seen perform like that before had been Michael. He was impressed, and more than that, he felt something stir in his chest as he watched her. He pushed himself out of his bed and grabbed the gear next to it. He needed to get back into the fight.
…
Lance sat down, allowing himself to rest for the first time since he’d been charged by Michael and the others to lead their people back to Old Hume. They’d made it, in large part thanks to the horses and gold they’d been provided by Burndan before they’d slipped out of their camp. There had been some harrowing moments, but thanks to a number of well placed bribes and the bravery of his fellow knights there hadn’t been anything they couldn’t handle.
They had arrived in the same small border town he’d first arrived in after deserting Stent. The local lord had been even happier to host him now that he was a count and he didn’t refuse the offer of a warm bed and meal, especially for the diplomats who had been pushed far beyond what they were used to.
He looked at the empty desk in front of him and sighed, pulling out the letter that Michael had passed him from Stent. He unraveled it and looked at it for the hundredth time.
Brother,
What you and father did to save me is something I will never forget, no matter what the consequences wound up being. Knowing that you would both go so far for me, even dishonoring yourselves to the extent that you have, wounds me as much as it shows how I am blessed.
With father imprisoned, I am the acting Duke Kreg here in Stent. It has not been easy. Many of our enemies see the state we are in and seek to take what is ours. Old debts are being called and I expect even outright assasination attempts may occur in this chaos after the king’s death. I have been fortunate that Bayle, the spymaster, has leaked healthy amounts of information regarding these potential misfortunes in order to ensure my loyalty to the new regime. Even with that support though, I feel I am in a precarious position.
Father will not be released. Even with the favor we have all I have been able to grant him is an improvement to his quality of life during his imprisonment. There is only one person who could help me and our family survive. You.
You have been forgiven for your desertion and actions by the state. It has been decided that our father bears sole responsibility and you were simply bound by your responsibilities to him as our patriarch.
Come home brother. We need you here. I’m not sure that we can survive without you.
Duke Kreg
Lance let out a heavy sigh. He knew his brother wasn’t lying. He could feel the restoration of his strength that came from a restoration of his old Heir titles. He could’ve asked Michael to confirm, but he didn’t want to ask too much of him. Well he did want to, but he’d chosen not to. He also wanted to ask his advice about how to respond, but had chosen not to do that either. The man had his own family to worry about.
He wouldn’t be going back home any time soon either way. His first responsibility was to the world, not to his family name or even to Stent. He was a count of Hume, and he’d earned it. He wanted to build it… perhaps with the help of Lady Delia.
He nodded to himself and grabbed a piece of paper and a quill.