The Wandering Inn_Volume 1

by Pirateaba

  The [Commander] in charge of the division of the Dullahan company the War Walker had been assigned to was named Grishka. She had brilliant yellow armor crossed with blue, and it was made of some kind of gleaming metal that looked too brilliant to be steel. Geneva insulted her in the first moment by refusing to see her until she’d finished with her patient, a wounded Lizardwoman.

  When she did have time to speak to the Dullahan, at Ken’s panicked insistence, Geneva was direct.

  “Commander Grishka, I apologize if my ignorance has caused offense. However, my policy as a medical practitioner is to treat all my patients equally, regardless of rank, gender, or species. I do not discriminate. That means I also do not take sides, or rewards, for the work I do.”

  The Dullahan lifted her head up with her hands, tilting it from side to side as she regarded Geneva’s bloodstained clothing and hands.

  “I respect your decision, Human. But your actions have saved one of my most dedicated soldiers, and for that my company owes you thanks. This gift is an expression of that. Will you not take it?”

  She had brought a chest full of healing potions and several bags of gold with her. Geneva stared at the gold and looked past it in a moment. But the healing potions kept her eye. She hesitated.

  Her position was to be neutral. Inoffensive to either side she tried to help. But at the same time, Geneva knew that her own supplies of potions were limited. And they were practically exhausted from treating the War Walker yesterday. She didn’t know whether refusing the gift would be better, and realized she had no choice. It was a simple binary between saving more lives, or not being able to because she had no more potions.

  She inclined her head.

  “Donations are acceptable. Please know this will not change how I work in any way.”

  “It is acknowledged. The Razorshard Armor company thanks you for your actions. We will ask your assistance with other soldiers who are wounded.”

  Commander Grishka spoke formally, and then used her hands to raise her head so she could whisper in Geneva’s ear.

  “And I thank you personally as well. The War Walker you saved…is my second brother.”

  She left. Geneva stared at the potions and the gold. She ignored the gold and grabbed a potion.

  “Aiko, we’ll test the effects of this before using. Let’s get back to work.”

  —-

  The Centaur group galloped into camp a day after the incident with Commander Grishka. Luan and Ken were busy creating bandages that could be tightened and used on the wounded who came into camp when a group of Centaurs raced towards them, weapons drawn. They nearly ran over the two and would have stormed right into Geneva’s operating tent had Calectus not stopped them with his halberd.

  “Our [Captain] was wounded in battle! Help her!”

  The lead Centaur, a brash, tall roan with chestnut hair and wild, long locks shouted at Geneva as she came out of her tent. He and his friends had their weapons drawn, and they were protectively encircling a Centaur whose belly had been cut open. Her entrails were being held in place by another Centaur’s hand.

  “Put down your weapons! Violence is not welcome here!”

  Geneva snapped up at him. The lead Centaur snarled and darted towards her, stopping only when Calectus swung his halberd in the way.

  “Help her!”

  Geneva gestured back into her tent, where her current patient, a Dullahan, was screaming.

  “I have a patient I have to attend to first—”

  “Now! Or I will cut your guard down and everyone else in this camp!”

  The Centaur was practically mad with emotion. His friends were restraining him with difficulty. Geneva grew very still and spoke calmly.

  “Threatening me or anyone in this camp will not save your [Captain].”

  “She is my mother.”

  That stopped Geneva. She stared at the pale Centaur with long hair, and then at the Centaur who’d threatened her. Geneva stepped towards her and inspected her. She nodded slowly.

  “She is savable, but there are five patients that will die immediately without my help.”

  “You would put her life ahead of—”

  “I do not take sides.”

  Geneva snapped up at the Centaur, making him back down a step. She looked at the others.

  “I will save your [Captain] if I can. I will do everything in my power to save her. But I can save other lives first. You will wait with her over there—my assistant will tell you how to keep her stable in the meantime. But you will wait and if you threaten or harm anyone in my camp, I will not help her.”

  She met the Centaur’s eyes.

  “I am a [Doctor]. I am on everyone’s side and no one’s side. Do you understand?”

  He wavered. Geneva walked back into her tent. She saved the Dullahan’s life, failed to save two others who came after him. She saved the rest, and the [Captain]. When it was done, the Centaurs stood around their Captain, who had the strength to actually stand and move, however weakly. Geneva had told her to rest, but the Centaurs were adamant they had to bring her back to their camp. It would not be safe to leave her here, they told Geneva.

  The son of the [Captain] cantered over to Geneva with Calectus watching warily. He stared down at her, and then awkwardly knelt in front of her. He had tears in his eyes when his mother had walked out of the operating room.

  “I will remember this.”

  Then he got up and raced with his companions out of the camp. Geneva watched him go. The next day, a gift came from the Roving Arrow Company. It was twice as much gold as the Dullahans had given her, and another crate of valuable potions.

  —-

  “A gift? More like a bribe.”

  Calectus shook his head over the gold and the potions, for all they were welcome. There was no returning them either—the Centaurs had dropped the money and potions in the camp and departed without so much as a word. Ken understood the meaning behind it, although Geneva did not.

  “Why did they give me more? And why bribe me? I told them I wouldn’t take sides.”

  Luan explained for her as he and Ken helped sharpen some of the tools Geneva used to cut into her patients.

  “The way the Centaurs see it, if they offer the same amount as the Dullahans or more, you’ll be more inclined to stay neutral.”

  Geneva shook her head, troubled by the politics of it all.

  “I have to stay neutral. And they have to understand it.”

  Ken was about to suggest that he go to each company and explain just that when he heard a series of rapid, urgent horn calls from the battlefield. He and the others knew that spelled trouble and all of them were on their feet at once.

  Only this time, the trouble didn’t come from the ground. Calectus was the first to spot the two figures falling from the sky, because he’d been looking for them. His voice was loud in the silence as everyone looked up.

  “Air strike. [Mages].”

  They were flying. It caused a hush across the battlefield as soldiers looked up and saw the two figures falling out of the clouds, and then flying across the battlefield. They were both wearing robes which shimmered with magic and fluttered in the wind. Calectus could identify their company at a glance.

  “That’s the Tripartite Law company. It’s a three-person company that specializes in mass area of attack spells.”

  “There’s only two of them.”

  Calectus’ face was dark.

  “Two is more than enough. I recognize them. Up there, that’s the Firebringer, Zalthia Werskiv. And the Plague Locust, Embrim Thrus.”

  “Zalthia?”

  Geneva started. Ken looked at her.

  “Do you know her?”

  Geneva’s face was pale.

  “I’ve met her before. She burned half a forest down and slaughtered the Raverian Fighters. If she’s here—”

  “The Roving Arrow company has her contract. They’re trying to end this now. She’s going to hit the battlefield—”

 
A roar engulfed Calectus’s words as Zalthia Werskiv shot a pillar of flame downwards. It was so sudden, so abrupt, that Ken only felt the impact as a rush of hot air blasted him and the others in the camp. His eyes were searing, and when he looked again—

  A huge hole of scorched bodies had appeared in the center of the Dullahans formations. Around the area of death, soldiers ran screaming, bodies aflame. Still more fell, choking, as the hot air and smoke suffocated them. In one moment, the Dullahans were retreating; the few who were still upright helplessly shooting arrows at Zalthia and watching them swerve away.

  But then the Plague Locust, Embrim Thrus moved. He opened his hand, and a black mist swept downwards. It covered the entire western wing of the battlefield, hitting the soldiers who hadn’t been touched by Zalthia’s fire. Ken saw people clawing at their throats, Lizardfolk trying not to breathe, Dullahans throwing their heads to try and get clear of the mist—breathing—falling.

  “Gas attacks. Chemical warfare. Or this world’s equivalent.”

  Luan’s face was pale. Geneva was just staring. Ken stared as the [Mages] flew higher, their work done. The battlefield had been turned over in an instant. The Centaurs were cheering, shooting at their foes, but they were retreating.

  “Why?”

  Calectus replied.

  “It’s too dangerous for them. The mists still linger. When it dissipates, they’ll fight again.”

  His words were prophetic. The mists lingered for over ten minutes. When they were gone, the burnt soldiers and ones who had gotten clear of the worst of the gas were still on the ground, dying. But the Dullahans had pulled up more forces and they met the Centaurs in another clash of bodies.

  The fighting hadn’t slowed. In fact, it had grown fiercer as the Dullahans tried to exact vengeance on the Centaurs who were pressing their advantage. But that wasn’t what the people in Geneva’s camp saw.

  “They’re dying.”

  The soldiers who’d inhaled part of the mists, the gas, were choking, suffering. They weren’t dying, but they couldn’t move. Both sides ignored them, too focused on the enemy to worry about helpless victims of the attack. And the burn victims—they were screaming for aid.

  “They won’t come here. Not for hours.”

  Calectus predicted as Geneva strode back towards her tent. Some of the wounded were already trickling in, but only a few. The majority were stuck out there, unable to be rescued.

  Helpless.

  And that wasn’t right.

  The feeling rose up in Ken, hot and fierce. He was just standing here, while Geneva and Aiko worked to save lives. But they couldn’t do anything for the people out there. No one could. They were being left to die, with both sides too occupied to go out and help them!

  “Ken.”

  Luan put his hand on Ken’s shoulder. He was looking at the wounded, the same helpless fury and desperation on his face. But he’d seen what Ken was thinking and had stopped him.

  “It’s suicide, mate. If we go out, we’ll get shot. We’re deserters, remember?”

  “No we’re not. We have a company.”

  Ken pointed to the flying red banner. It was flapping in the wind caused by Zalthia’s spell. The red cross flew high. They were the Red Cross company. It wasn’t just a name.

  “But they don’t know that. In there—even if we had a flag, we look like everyone else.”

  Luan was speaking sense. A soldier was a soldier, and there were Humans on both sides. Ken clenched his fists.

  “But—”

  “The only people who are safe in this kind of thing are…are people like the Gravetender’s Fist company at night.”

  Luan shook his head as he stared across the valley. Gravetender’s Fist had to worry about this issue, but they solved the problem by being a target. They carried lanterns, made noise, had a banner with an illumination spell sewn into the fabric—all so that people knew they weren’t the enemy. Even that didn’t work all the time.

  “We can’t do anything, Ken. We’ll just be targets.”

  “Targets.”

  Ken paused. He stared at Luan. Targets. He’d studied about World War II. It wasn’t a popular subject in Japanese curriculums, if it was taught at all, but Ken had studied it in university and read western textbooks as well as Japanese ones. He’d seen pictures of people who wore targets every day.

  “Ken. What are you thinking?”

  Luan stared at Ken, looking worried. Ken looked at Luan. The young man still had some of the leather armor he’d been issued. So did Ken. It was dirty, brown, closer to black, and could probably do with polishing.

  “Or paint.”

  “Paint?”

  He stared at Luan, and then at the cans of red and white paint that Aiko had used to decorate the camp. Then Ken looked at the flags. White and red. A target. A symbol.

  “Luan, I have an idea.”

  “Does it involve us risking our lives?”

  Ken nodded. Luan blew out his cheeks. Then he looked at the battlefield, at the wounded.

  “It is worth dying for?”

  “Nothing is worth dying for. But this—this is worth living for.”

  Ken grabbed Luan and dragged him towards the paint.

  —-

  Daly was sitting, watching the fighting with the rest of Gravetender’s Fist while he ate in preparation of the night’s work. He was dreading it. No one could have missed the air raid by the [Mages], and the bodies were littering the valley floor. But work was work. He adjusted his belt, and looked across the ranks of his company.

  Quexa, the Lizardgirl with the [Sorcerer] class was sitting next to Paige. They’d become friends ever since Ken had left. The Lizardgirl hadn’t understood why Ken, Luan, and Aiko had left. In explaining their feelings to her, she and Paige had gotten to know each other.

  Now the Lizardgirl was watching the violence below, tail twitching. Daly understood the feeling. You could get used to the death, but never comfortable with it. It was always—

  “What the fuck?”

  Paige stood up. She’d seen something. Daly’s head snapped back to the battlefield. His mouth dropped open.

  “What are those idiots doing?”

  Two figures had suddenly charged onto the valley floor. They stood out at once, partly because of the flag they were waving desperately and partly because of their armor.

  It was white. Pure white, only there was a stripe of red crossed with another stripe on their shoulders, chest, helmet, and back. It took Daly a second to recognize it.

  “A red cross? Are they…medics?”

  “What are they doing?”

  Quexa had spotted them. She leapt up, full of fear and Daly’s stomach twisted into a knot as he saw soldiers from both sides take notice of Ken and Luan. He saw Luan plant the flag in the ground, and then Ken raised something. A shield. It had the same cross of red on it.

  And the soldiers saw it too. They hesitated. They watched as Ken and Luan sprinted away from the flag, and straight into the area that had been blasted by Zalthia. They ran towards one of the fallen soldiers, armor black with soot, and lifted him up.

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “What? What are they doing?”

  Quexa shook Daly as he stared down at Ken and Luan. They had a stretcher of some kind, and they were easing the burnt soldier onto it. As he watched, they lifted it up and began to run back towards the camp they’d come from.

  “No way!”

  Paige was on her feet. Ken and Luan were carrying the wounded soldier, running for all they were worth as arrows flew around them. A group of soldiers broke off towards them, and froze as they saw what Ken and Luan were doing.

  The rest of Gravetender’s Fist had noticed what was going on. Daly saw one of the Centaurs rear up in surprise, and then a girl from Bosnia shouted.

  “Look! That’s Ken and Luan!”

  Both armies had noticed the two insane young men by now. Daly saw a flight of arrows land behind Luan, and then saw the commander shou
ting at the archers. His heart was pounding. Would they stop firing? Ken and Luan had to run faster!

  He leapt to his feet and cupped his hands to his mouth.

  “Go! Run you bastards!”

  He was far too far away to be heard of course. But other people heard him and took up the call.

  “Run Ken! Run Luan!”

  “Get out of there!”

  “Run you slow sods! RUN!”

  Soldiers were turning. A group of Centaurs on the battlefield raced towards Ken and Luan and broke away at the last second. Now all of Gravetender’s Fist was cheering and shouting, and the noise was spreading to the other companies.

  Heads turned. Ken and Luan raced towards the flag they had planted, and then Daly saw a group of soldiers running to meet them. They grabbed the stretcher and Ken and Luan reversed direction. The soldiers, Selphids, ran back with the burnt soldier towards camp and Ken and Luan ran back towards the fighting.

  “Other way! Other way!”

  Some people were shouting that. But now Daly knew what they were doing, and he saw Ken and Luan running towards a Lizardman who’d been trampled. He was clear of the immediate fighting and the two loaded him onto another stretcher.

  “Medics! They’re medics!”

  Daly shouted at Quexa, who looked at him, uncomprehending. No one from her world had a word for what Ken and Luan were doing. Saving soldiers was one thing, but who would run into the fighting and out each time?

  Heroes.

  Daly shouted. He waved his hands, screamed at Ken and Luan as they raced across the battlefield. The soldiers were fighting around him, but they saw the red cross and didn’t attack.

  Why? Did they remember that sign as the symbol of the Last Light? Had their commanders told them to avoid fighting? Were Ken and Luan just not a threat? Or did they see what they were doing?

  It was impossible to say. But Daly watched, heart pounding, as Ken and Luan made six more trips out into the chaos, finding the wounded on the edges of the fighting. They didn’t run into the heart of the battle. They stayed to the most distant peripherals, finding those who cried out for help.

  And they ran with every bit of energy they could. Their lives were on the line. They raced across the broken ground as Gravetender’s Fist shouted at them from their position above. The Humans were cheering, shouting and screaming at the two figures as they sprinted towards the downed Lizardman with the stretcher.