This was where Frank wanted Nathan to stay. A punishment, if he’d ever seen one. He should have gone back to Aelland. He shook off the thought. No. Not without Cara.
“This is where the trenches begin.” Ghedi pointed. He’d explained this way of warfare on the journey.
The trenches ran in parallel zigzags, connected at random for easy rotation of troops, transport of goods, and for runners to carry messages. Not all trenches were connected, so if a part was lost, it could be shed and defended against without losing additional trenches. The corners left by the zigzags offered cover. Should an enemy soldier gain access to a trench, they couldn’t jump in and kill everyone by firing in a straight line.
The first row, the fire trenches, edged no-man’s land. From there, the sound of fighting echoed. Rifles barked; grenades flew. Flashes of light answered from the enemy’s fire trench, then uprooted earth too close to friendly trenches.
The support trenches twisted and turned some metres behind the active line of fire. Long-range artillery was manned between the first two lines of trenches, while the reserve and supply trenches ran to the rear, far out of range of the enemy’s projectiles. About fifty metres beyond that was the outpost. Nathan’s new home.
The western side of the outpost was exposed. No trenches to hide behind there, only death-riddled mud. Once, these might have been farmlands, but any trace of former use had been beaten and shot out of the landscape, until it conformed to become what it is now. A playground for hate.
The outpost itself consisted of fifteen long tents, a cooking fire, and eight wooden towers erected inside a wall surrounded by sharpened saplings. Braziers stood on a walkway about a third from the top of this wall, and soldiers with crossbows at the ready waited with their scopes pressed to their eyes. Hand cannoneers with grim faces filled the towers.
Nita’s eyebrows rose. “Cheerful place.”
Nathan swallowed.
They were met by a thin, sniffling colonel. He shook Ghedi’s hand but said nothing as his watery gaze flicked up and down Nathan, then he shrugged.
The lines around Ghedi’s mouth deepened. He studied Nathan just as the colonel had done a few moments before, then turned and walked through the wooden gate, into hate’s playground.
Nita pursed her lips.
The colonel led them to one of the tents. “This is where you’ll sleep.”
Rows of bunk beds made up with green bedding filled the space. In front of each of the beds, shelves without doors housed folded clothes and shoes. The odd personal item peeked out from behind the folded clothing, but the shelves were otherwise uniform, without any indication of individuality.
Though the space wasn’t untidy, edges of bedlinens hung free, wrinkles in trousers hadn’t been ironed out, and it lacked the preciseness one would expect from a military outpost. This place wasn’t at all like the outpost where Frank had housed Nathan and his friends the night he’d found them. The paths between the beds were so narrow Nathan had to turn and shuffle in sideways. Nita fared no better, and cursed all the way in. Their beds were right in the middle of the space, farthest from either entrance.
“Do you have a name?” Nita demanded.
The colonel nodded.
“What is it, idiot?” she said through her teeth.
He shrugged.
“It’s going to be like that, is it?” Nita mumbled under her breath and planted her fists on her hips. “My name is Jeanita Le Merle, of Mordian Intelligence. You’ll tell me your name, dog, or I’ll give you one myself. And if I do that, you’ll be my bitch. Do you understand?”
The colonel hesitated for a split second, then sighed. “Faible.”
She snorted. “Where are we supposed to work?”
“Infirmary,” Faible said. “This way.”
The wind howled, and transported distorted echoes of war, almost like moans and growls. The cold was a living thing, a monstrous creature that feasted on them while they drew breath. How could anybody survive here? Nita handed Nathan a bundle: gloves and a mask, like he’d worn in the slums. He donned these as they walked.
The reek of decay gained strength as they closed in on the infirmary, which was a collection of beds under a tarp suspended between two poles and the roof of one of the tents. Seven groaning patients lay here, two of them dripping blood into pools below their beds. All but the head of the eighth was covered under a patched beige sheet. He’d already turned cool blue and would soon begin to swell.
One patient’s leg was suspended in bandages tied to one of the tarp poles. Her foot was one of the greatest sources of the pungent smell: three toes had rotten away, the other two not far behind. The skin and tissue were deep blue-black, akin to what a rot patient faced in the final days of infection. Necrosis. Yet, this was different from rot, as the other symptoms were lacking.
The patient next to the one with the rotten foot caught Nathan frowning. He shrugged. “Trench foot.” He coughed. “Too cold and muddy in the bloody trenches. Feet are always wet. We all get it.”
Great. Nathan would have to amputate the foot to save the woman, and fast, by the looks of it. He shivered and rubbed his upper arms. But it wouldn’t help if he saved her leg, only to have her get frostbite in this cold.
A small chest stood between the beds in the middle of the covered area, and a pair of bookcases with black fire stains half-leaned against the side of the tent that held up the rain tarp. The shelves were bare but for a few bottles, a scalpel, and a retractor.
Nathan inspected these meagre instruments. The bottles were all empty, the scalpel was dull. Not much use for a retractor without a scalpel. Or suturing tools.
“This is it?” Nita grimaced.
Faible shrugged again.
Nita tutted, then glanced at each of the patients. She crossed to one on the end of the row, a boy of about sixteen. “This one has rot. Early stages.”
“Ashes,” Nathan said. Where there was one, there would be more. How long had that corpse been there? Could it be the source?
Nathan took one step towards the corpse’s bed. He paused. A sour taste rose to his tongue, and his skin prickled. He’d seen corpses before. Many. Why was this one different? How could he be afraid of this one? Ah, but this was the first corpse he’d seen up close since the attack in the valley.
Get it together, Cutter.
Nathan grasped for the surgeon inside, and for once, succeeded in calming himself. He crossed to the last bed, where the body stared up at the tarp, stiff and stinking. No necrosis visible on the skin, and no swelling of the lymph glands, so this poor soul hadn’t died of rot. He pulled off the cover, and revealed an arrow wound to the chest. The lung must have been punctured, which meant he’d probably drowned in his own blood.
“Puncture wound,” he said.
Nita turned on Faible with a vicious glint in her tawny eyes. “Get that damn corpse out of here. Do you want this place infested with plague? When you’re done, bring me water and something to boil it with. Then go help the others unload the bloody caravan. Bring the medical equipment here, and fast, or Creator help me, I’ll skin you and cure your hide for a coat.”
“You don’t talk to me that way.”
Nita’s hands fisted. “Listen, son. You’ll do what I say, or I’ll leave right now, with my fellow physician here, and all the medical supplies we brought with us. You want that?”
Faible inched her way, muscles taut, then nodded and left.
“What a shit-head.” Nita’s mask flattened to her face as she took a deep breath. “Can’t blame him, though. Look at the state of this place. Frank can go to hell; I’m not leaving you here.”
“I don’t see how you’ll manage that.” Nathan rolled up his sleeves and rummaged through the chest while Nita mumbled under her breath.
The chest contained medical supplies in no better shape than those on the shelves. He found a pair of gloves and suturing tools, but no sterilising fluid.
With a sigh, he made his way to one of the braziers,
where he sterilised the needle with heat. Just one damn shot. One, and all of this would be easier to manage. He blinked hard, then returned to the infirmary.
Nathan went to one of the bleeding patients and sutured a gash at the man’s waist. Without anything to offer him to deaden the wound, the patient passed out by the second stitch. The soldier was almost translucent with paleness, blue veins like claw marks on his face. Nathan examined the patient and found another wound on the upper arm—red and swollen, oozing yellow fluid. Infected. Unfortunately, there was nothing to be done about that until Nita’s medicines had been unpacked.
A woman limped closer. “You’re treating people? The new physician?”
Nathan nodded.
She fell onto one of the beds. “You’ll help me, too? Think I have trench foot.”
“As soon as we’ve dealt with these patients.” Nita gestured to the others.
“I can wait,” the woman said. “Have been waiting long enough.”
Nathan continued to the next patient. In his peripheral, more bodies moved closer. Some sat, like the first woman, waiting for their turn. Others helped unpack what Greg and the soldiers brought.
The urge to reach into the crates of Nita’s medications and administer something to himself was so strong it was all Nathan could do to fight it down. But he continued to treat patients and set up Nita’s equipment. Managed to stay his groping hands and didn’t take anything for his own pain.
Not physical pain, not like a gash on the waist or trench foot. Inside he bled, bled, bled. Inside, was chaos, scars and cuts and bruises, smoke and echoes of cannon fire. Inside, he was this landscape, infested with rats. All he needed was one shot.
At least the stench of death lessened once the corpse was gone, and the heavens opened to flood them with rain. Rivulets of water tinted pink with blood ran below his feet, but soon turned to a muddy mess, and each step squelched and splattered his trousers in muck. The patients shivered with the cold, wet air.
“We should bring down one of the braziers on the wall,” Nathan said.
Nita nodded. “Someone find Faible and tell him to bring one of those braziers. His people are dying of the cold out here.”
Faible stomped in a few moments later. “I’m not your errand boy.”
“Look, I don’t care that you’re the most senior officer out here,” Nita said. “I don’t care at all. You’ll bring a brazier, or—”
“Or what?” He threw his arms wide. “We’ve been sent here to die. Let these arseholes die a bit sooner, then. Who cares about us anyway?”
Ghedi entered the infirmary, and his staff thud-sloshed with each of his steps. The corner of a piece of pale blue paper stuck out from his breast pocket, and his trousers and tunic were sprinkled with mud and blades of grass. Despite his dirty state, his back was rigid, shoulders square, as though whatever he’d seen in the war-zone had given him a shot of confidence.
A shot? Ashes.
Ghedi stopped in front of Faible, eyebrows and mouth flattened into severe lines. “I’m the most senior officer here now, so you’ll defer to me. In my capacity, I give Le Merle all the needed authority to run this place as she sees fit. I give Cutter the same authority. Once I’ve gone, you will defer to him. Understood?”
“But—”
Ghedi slapped Faible through the face. “You’ve let this place fall into a terrible state. Look at it. Where is your pride? I cannot allow you to let the resistance crumble from the outer defences in.”
Faible laughed. A red handprint grew on his jaundiced cheek. “Please. Resistance? We’re not a part of the resistance. We’ve been shunned by our king for Creator knows what reason. We’ve been sent out here to die. He doesn’t give a rat’s arse about any of us. You know he visits the other outposts? The chosen few? He’s never been here. Not once. None of the others in the area. Not to the trenches. Not to where people die in his name, fighting his war.
“If I didn’t think the emperor would shoot me on sight, I’d join his side. They don’t have trench foot. They don’t have to contend with the mud and cold. We hear they even have power in their bunkers. Running water. So, I wait. Once the emperor’s son is emperor—and they say that’s happening soon—I’m defecting. And I can bet your mother’s titties everybody here will defect right with me. At least if we’re on the other side of the trenches we’ll be fed. Treated like people.
“You tell me to look at this place, but you should look, Mister Most Senior. Look hard.
“We’re heavily under supplied. We’re too young to be fighting in wars. Too damn old. Undertrained, and not bloody outfitted for this shit. You see the hand cannons in the towers? Not a single one of them has a pinch of gunpowder and barely any shells. See the crossbows? We have to go out into no-man’s land every night, just to find used bolts.
“We eat what we’ve hunted, or what we manage to scavenge from the surrounding villages. We drink rainwater. We don’t ever get any supplies from the resistance. No, all they send us is more people destined to die out here. This is the first time in months we’ve seen a physician.”
Ghedi’s eyes narrowed. “The king said your physician died recently.”
The injured soldiers either gaped or laughed.
“No, sir.” Faible’s face was crimson. “He died eleven months ago.”
Ghedi and Nita shared a glance.
“Look, Faible,” Nita said. “All that’s in the past. We’re here now, and we’re willing to help. Why make that hard for us? I need a brazier so these people don’t freeze to death. Maybe some saplings to cover the sides and shield from the wind. Help us help you.”
Faible grunted. “Don’t see why when we’re all going to die anyway, but fine.”
He left then returned with two other soldiers, hauling a brazier between them. They stoked a fire, and the warmth almost immediately heated the frigid air.
Nathan and Nita returned to work, and the waiting soldiers murmured with their heads pressed together. They mumbled about the emperor’s son. Apparently, he’d just become father to another daughter—a terrible thing—and Sanshouo was tired of waiting for a male heir to be born. Rumour had it the succession ceremony would take place within two or three months, towards the end of spring.
“Have you heard your king’s sister escaped Aelland?” Nita said. “Princess Carabelle.”
“No,” a soldier answered.
Nita told them about Cara, but Nathan tuned her out. He didn’t need more reminders of what he couldn’t have.
Ghedi left the infirmary and hovered by one of the braziers by the wall. The note that had been in his pocket was now in his hand. He looked this way and that, slowly, carefully, almost like Pointy when he didn’t want to be noticed.
Nathan studied Ghedi from the corner of his eye, while Ghedi tossed the note into the brazier then walked away as though nothing had happened. What was going on? Why the secrecy? He had no time to dwell on it, the patients were waiting.
Once every patient had been seen and everything was where it should be, Nathan and Nita ate travel cakes, then entered the diseased area and tested her cure on all who were willing.
Chapter 19
Sera waited in the dark by the side of Laroche’s bed. Since Magnus and the other physicians had found him that morning, he’d only been awake for moments. He thrashed in his sleep. Mumbled her name, though it probably had little to do with her and everything to do with his dead wife.
She took the washcloth from his forehead. “Please, Papa, don’t die now. Not so soon after I learned the truth.” She sighed and dipped the cloth into the bucket of water by her feet. The water had begun to warm, but it was still cooler than his skin. She rinsed and wrung out the cloth, then placed it on his forehead.
Laroche grabbed her wrist as he gasped for air and shot upright. He blinked, trembling then frowned at her. “Leave.”
He might as well have slapped her. “I’m sorry. I’ll go.”
“No.” He didn’t release her wrist. “Not my roo
m, the palace.”
Oh. Still putting her safety first, even now.
He shoved off the covers, then closed his eyes and shook his head. Sweat dripped from his hair, and he paled just for being upright.
She tried to push him back down, but he was stronger. “What are you doing? You’re ill.”
“Getting you out.” A shudder rippled down his spine. “Roye. Get Roye. And Magnus.”
“You’re too sick, you can’t—”
“Roye, Seraphine. Now.”
“Yes, Papa.” She hurried into the hall. How easy it was to relinquish control to him, just like when she’d been a girl. Was this a step towards becoming his daughter again?
The darkness was oppressive, but a member of the royal family had passed, and the drapes had all been drawn. Chandeliers had been dimmed, and single lights had been switched on. This period of darkness would last four weeks.
Two of her guards waited just outside the door.
“Find Roye and send him here immediately,” she said.
One saluted and left.
“Where’s Laura?” Sera asked the remaining guard.
“With the physicians, my queen.”
“Take me to them. Fast.”
Sera hurried after the guard, but they didn’t have to go far. Magnus and Laura’s voices sounded just up ahead, and when Sera and the guard rounded a corner, they almost collided with them.
Magnus and his colleagues waited outside Victor’s study. Laura stood with Jerry and Ahmed, heads together, while Magnus sat on a bench against the wall. They all wore the same pale-faced, large-eyed expressions.
“I’m glad I found you,” Sera said. “You need to come with me, now. All of you.”
A Trial of Sparks & Kindling (Fall of the Mantle Book 2) Page 15