11- The Sergeant's Apprentice

by Christopher Nuttall

  “I’m Healer Rye,” the other man said. Emily managed to turn her head, slightly, to look at him. “The Wildfire did a great deal of damage to you, but — thankfully — you were dragged away before it had a chance to start burning into your core. Further damage was inflicted by the men who dragged you away. They were more concerned with saving your life than treating you gently.”

  “I can’t complain,” Emily managed.

  “No,” Rye agreed. “I used a number of complex spells to save your life and repair most of the damage, but some of the damage will take weeks to heal properly. You should probably be relieved I took the Healing Oaths.”

  Emily swallowed. If she’d been hurt that badly ...

  Rye reached for a mirror. “Do you want to see?”

  No, Emily thought, but she knew she had no choice. “Please.”

  He held up the mirror. Emily would have recoiled, if she hadn’t been numb. She was naked, something she was sure would have bothered her a great deal more if she hadn’t been drugged to the gills. There were nasty burn marks on her face and neck, trailing down her arms and chest. Some of her hair was missing, leaving the remainder looking thoroughly odd. There were bruises and scars all over her legs. The Wildfire had done a great deal of damage.

  She looked at Sergeant Miles. “What happened?”

  “You fell,” Sergeant Miles said. He sounded concerned. “A couple of infantrymen saw you and dragged you out — thankfully, before it was too late. You came this close” — he held up his thumb and forefinger, holding them very close together — “to death. If the Wildfire had started burning your magic directly, you would have died.”

  He paused. “Why did you fall?”

  “Someone hexed the building,” Emily recalled. Her memory was a little hazy, but she was sure of that. “I ...”

  She paused. “Did we get him?”

  “No,” Sergeant Miles said. He didn’t need to ask who he was. “We killed several of his pet magicians, but he turned and fled as soon as he saw the white flames. He got away.”

  “But that was four days ago,” Rye said. “The city held.”

  Emily blanched. “Four days?”

  “It took that long to repair the damage,” Rye said. He glanced at Sergeant Miles, then looked back at Emily. “You’re going to have an uncomfortable few weeks, as the various potions leach out of your system, but most of the remaining damage is purely cosmetic. There are other potions you can take for that, once you’re back at Whitehall. We have no time for cosmetic treatments here.”

  “But don’t try to use a glamour,” Sergeant Miles warned.

  Emily flinched. “My magic?”

  “It’s fine,” Rye said. He patted her on the shoulder, reassuringly. “Everyone is just a little ... edgy at the moment. Glamours could mean trouble.”

  “Thank God,” Emily said. She felt a surge of overpowering relief. “Can I sit up?”

  “If you feel up to it,” Rye said.

  “Emily, I have to talk to the other masters,” Sergeant Miles said, before she could start sitting up. “Stay here until I come back for you.”

  Emily nodded. “Yes, Master.”

  She watched him go, then forced herself into a sitting position. Her body itched, pins and needles threatening to drive her insane. Her hands felt odd, as if they didn’t quite belong to her; her legs felt numb, so numb that she wouldn’t have believed she had them, if she hadn’t been able to see them. She had the nasty feeling that walking wasn’t going to be easy for the next few days.

  “Drink this,” Rye advised. He passed her a potions gourd, then helped her put it to her lips and drink. “It’ll help you cope with the shock.”

  Emily nodded, feeling an odd warmth spreading through her body. She’d need to go to the toilet soon and that was going to be horrific — she’d had far too much experience with purgatives — but for the moment she would take what she could get. She forced herself to stand as soon as she could feel her legs again, stumbling over to the large mirror someone had mounted on the wall. Her body looked ... weird. She’d always been pale, but now parts of her skin were inhumanly pale and other parts were red and blistered. She touched one of the blisters and shuddered. It felt like a bad sunburn.

  “There were places where I had to repair your skin,” Rye said. She barely heard him over the sudden roaring in her eardrums. “You were very lucky.”

  “I know,” Emily said.

  She touched her straggly hair, unsure if she should laugh or cry. Her hair had been her sole vanity. She’d never cared for dresses, or for the size of her chest, but her hair ... it had been her pride and joy. All the times she’d needled Alassa for being vain ... she shook her head in dismay, cursing herself. It would regrow, wouldn’t it?

  Of course it will, she told herself, firmly. It’ll just take time.

  Rye held out a long nightgown. Emily took it gratefully and pulled it over her head. Caleb had seen her naked, but ... she didn’t like the thought of others seeing her naked. Even getting undressed in front of her roommates had been hard. But then, sharing a room with Alassa made it easy to feel inadequate. Caleb ... would he still like her, if he saw her body covered in burns?

  “You shouldn’t have any trouble eating, but I advise you to be careful what you eat for the next couple of days,” Rye told her. “Anything strong is likely to cause you problems.”

  “I know,” Emily said. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been injured.”

  “Try not to make a habit of it,” Rye said. He snapped his fingers. A moment later, a door opened and a sour-faced woman peered in. “Bring us some soup and bread, please.”

  He motioned for Emily to sit down as the woman vanished, then returned in a minute with a large bowl of soup and a tray of bread. Emily tested the soup and then started to eat, enjoying the simple taste of beef, carrot and cabbage. It wasn’t much, but she knew it would keep her alive. Far too many of her fellow students complained about the food at Whitehall.

  Rye chatted to her about nothing in particular as she ate, keeping a wary eye on her. Emily knew it was for her own good, but she still wanted to tell him to go away by the time she’d finished the soup. The Healer didn’t seem to notice, casting spells to monitor her condition as she rose and hurried to the toilet. By the time she came back, Sergeant Miles was sitting in a chair, waiting for her. A set of leathers and a tunic were flung casually over the bed.

  “I checked the remains of the building,” he said. “There was a hex used on it, but there’s too much distortion to trace it back to a particular magician.”

  Emily looked down at the floor. “So ... it could have been one of the twisted magicians,” she said. She rubbed her ears. Thankfully, they felt much better. Her hearing was recovering. “Or we could have a spy somewhere in the city.”

  “Or one of the apprentices is a spy,” Sergeant Miles agreed. “Or it could be a complete coincidence. They do happen.”

  Emily considered it. Casper had no motive to kill her, not now. Gaius ... maybe he did have a motive, but he’d openly admitted he was relieved to be away from Fulvia. And no one else had been in range to cast the spell. Maybe it was a coincidence. The twisted magicians had plenty of reason to want to go after them. Hell, maybe they’d just planned to toss her into the Wildfire.

  “No proof,” she said, finally.

  “Not enough to take to the others, no,” Sergeant Miles agreed. “I think you should watch your back.”

  Emily nodded, impatiently. “What happened? I mean, afterwards?”

  “I’ll tell you while you dress,” Sergeant Miles said. He turned his back, waving Rye out of the room. “There are some people who want to meet you.”

  He paused as Emily removed the nightgown and started to scramble into the tunic. Her skin itched unpleasantly, even with the potions she’d drunk, but it just had to be endured.

  “The necromancer retreated as soon as he saw the Wildfire, giving us a chance to mop up the rest of the intruders and drive them out
of the city,” Sergeant Miles added. Her ears popped, unpleasantly. “Right now, Farrakhan is still under siege, but they’ve learned not to come too close to the walls. Your musketeers are getting better at potting targets stupid enough to come within range.”

  “So we’re trapped here,” Emily said.

  “Until we can set up a portal,” Sergeant Miles agreed. “The entire city is on strict rations.”

  Emily looked over at the soup bowl, feeling a pang of guilt. Had she eaten too much? Or too little? Magicians needed food to power their magic.

  “We’ve sent out a couple of raiding parties,” Sergeant Miles added. “Casper has acquitted himself very well, you’ll be pleased to hear. That hasn’t stopped a couple of the others scheming to challenge him, as soon as the ban on dueling is lifted, but ... well, he’s a happier person. We’ve had more trouble trying to stop Lord Fulbright from charging out to do battle with the orcs.”

  “We saw what happens when they try that,” Emily said. “Haven’t they learned anything?”

  “To be fair, using mounted troops to hit supply convoys isn’t a bad idea,” Sergeant Miles said. “But the necromancer isn’t entirely dependent on them.”

  Emily made a face. There were — there had been — countless dead bodies around. The necromancer could just sweep them up and feed the rotting carcasses to his orcs. And orcs could simply strip the surrounding countryside bare of everything from trees to grass, if necessary. They didn’t need to worry about what they ate. The necromancer actually came out ahead if half of his army was slaughtered.

  “As long as they’re careful, I suppose,” she mused, as she finished dressing. None of the horsemen she’d met had seemed particularly careful. “What are we going to do?”

  Sergeant Miles shrugged. “Right now, the war has stalemated,” he said. “The enemy can’t get at us and we can’t get at him. So we wait ... the king is preparing a second army and establishing defensive lines further to the north, so he would prefer us to wait and hold the enemy down.”

  “I see,” Emily said. Farrakhan couldn’t be held indefinitely, even if they managed to set up a portal. The logistics of transporting enough food to keep a city like Farrakhan fed would defeat a modern army, let alone the chaotic mess that passed for the Nameless World’s logistics service. Logistics weren’t glamorous, but wars had been lost before because the logistics system broke down. “How long can we hold out?”

  Sergeant Miles shrugged. “That depends on whom you ask,” he said. “Are you decent?”

  Emily looked down at herself. Queen Marlena would have had a fit if she’d seen Emily — the tunic alone made her look like a man, while the leathers removed any remaining traces of femininity from her appearance. Only her hair, what was left of it, hinted at her true sex. She tied it up into a bun, then nodded. She was decent enough.

  “Yes,” she said. She should probably cut the rest of her hair, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. “I’m decent.”

  Sergeant Miles inspected her appearance, then led her through the door and down a long corridor. She’d had a private room, Emily realized numbly; the other rooms were crammed with wounded, ranging from men who could be healed to men who had been put aside and left to die. A dozen chirurgeons were working frantically to save everyone they could save, but it was clear that their efforts were in vain. She caught sight of a child who’d lost a leg and shuddered. The Healers could regrow the boy’s leg, yet it would only be a drop in the bucket. There would be countless others who couldn’t be healed.

  Emily stopped, wondering if she should offer her help. She was hardly a trained Healer, but Lady Barb had drummed the basics into her. And she knew quite a bit about non-magical healing too. She could make a difference ...

  “I know how you’re feeling,” Sergeant Miles said, quietly. She believed, just for a moment, that he truly had read her mind. “You want to help. And I don’t blame you for wanting to help. But you have other duties right now.”

  Emily scowled. She wanted to lash out at him, to scream at him for daring to suggest she shouldn’t help. And yet, she knew he was right. Her skills lay elsewhere. Stopping the necromancer was more important than saving lives ... but when she looked into the face of a child who would never see again, she didn’t believe him. She didn’t want to believe him.

  He led her into a small room where three soldiers were sitting playing cards. They rose the moment Sergeant Miles entered, the leader hastily saluting before turning to face Emily and bowing deeply. It took Emily a moment to recognize him. He’d been the one she’d helped, back in the camp. His comrades followed suit, keeping their eyes lowered.

  “Trooper Yan and his men saved your life,” Sergeant Miles said. He sounded oddly amused. “They came far too close to losing their lives in the process.”

  “I saw you fall, My Lady,” Yan said. “The flames ... I couldn’t leave you to the flames.”

  Emily flushed. Yan and his fellows, she suspected, normally wouldn’t waste their time saving noblemen — even noblewomen. She’d heard about inter-service rivalry back on Earth, but the hatred between the infantry and the cavalry — and just about every other combat branch — on the Nameless World was absurd. An infantryman wouldn’t cross the street to help a horseman if the poor fellow was on the verge of certain death. And yet they’d risked everything to save her.

  But I did help him, she thought, finding herself at a loss for words. And he found a way to pay me back.

  “Thank you,” she managed. It was funny, but she hadn’t met many people who’d meant it when they’d called her My Lady. Yan clearly did. “The flames would have had me if you hadn’t been there.”

  “It was our pleasure,” Yan assured her. He doffed his cap. “And we are glad to see that you are alive and well.”

  He bowed again, then turned and led his two comrades out of the door. Emily glanced at Sergeant Miles as he made an odd sound. He looked torn between wry amusement and stern disapproval. She found it hard to meet his gaze.

  “Is there something I should know?”

  “No, Master,” Emily said. She wondered, absently, if Yan would have said more if Sergeant Miles hadn’t been in the room. “I just ... I just know him.”

  “Really,” Sergeant Miles said, innocently. “Did I hear incorrectly ... or did you give him some potion a few weeks ago?”

  Emily flushed. “I did,” she said. She’d almost forgotten — until it came back to save her life. “Was it the wrong thing to do?”

  “It saved your life,” Sergeant Miles pointed out. “But on the other hand ... someone will have to pay for the potion.”

  “I’ll pay,” Emily said. She paused. “Did he tell you what the potion was for?”

  “I’m surprised he told you,” Sergeant Miles said. He smiled at her embarrassment. “Or did you just give him something at random?”

  “He told me,” Emily said. She knew better than to hand out potions at random. The chance of a bad reaction was far too high. “Sergeant ... why aren’t such potions handed out for free?”

  Sergeant Miles shrugged. “Someone always pays,” he said. “Making them free for the common soldiers would mean their commander paying for them. And if their commander was spared the cost, it would fall on his superiors. Free potions aren’t free.”

  “There’s no such thing as a free lunch,” Emily mused. “But surely the savings would be worth it.”

  “Men are cheaper,” Sergeant Miles reminded her. He didn’t sound pleased. “And the majority of commanders simply don’t care.”

  And, with that, he led her out of the building and onto the darkening streets.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “BUT MY HORSES NEED FODDER,” LORD Fulbright was saying, as Sergeant Miles and Emily stepped into the war room. “You can’t feed horses on bricks!”

  “And you can’t feed men on crap,” Lord Alcott snapped back. “We’re already running short of supplies!”

  “Emily,” General Pollack said, holding up a hand to
quiet the two men. “I’m glad to see you’re back on your feet.”

  “Thanks to three of my men,” Lord Alcott put in. “They saved her life.”

  “And now they’re drinking themselves to death with the reward,” Lord Fulbright said.

  General Pollack ignored them, instead choosing to look Emily up and down. Emily flushed under his gaze, knowing she looked a mess. She certainly didn’t look anything like the girl who’d visited his house — it felt a thousand years ago — for the formal introduction to Caleb’s parents. Her skin itched, her ear hurt ... and she knew, deep inside, that it could easily have been a great deal worse.

  “Your heroism has been noted,” General Pollack informed her. “I took the liberty of informing Caleb of your injury, but I made sure to reassure him that you would survive.”

  Emily wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She had tried to chat with Caleb every day, even though the time difference meant that it was difficult to have a proper conversation. He’d be worried if he didn’t hear from her for a few days. But he would also be worried if he knew she’d been injured, particularly if he knew the details. Wildfire could be incredibly dangerous — and almost always fatal — if it caught hold of a person’s magic. She’d been very lucky indeed.

  “Thank you, General,” she said, finally. Her entire body felt tired, even though she knew she’d been sleeping for the past few days. “What’s been happening outside?”

  “The city is under siege,” General Pollack said. He waved a hand at the map. “And we’re skirmishing with his forces.”

  Emily nodded as she studied the map. Sergeant Miles had been right. Farrakhan was under a very loose siege, the necromancer’s forces keeping the army penned in without risking a second defeat. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, either. The necromancer wasn’t going to make another rush at the city, she thought, but it was clear that the city was going to starve soon. Feeding hundreds of thousands of people was no easy task.