“What’s that Doc?” Reuben asked.
Doc Marone looked at the Gargoyle. He had stopped moving wounded himself and was now directing several soldiers in the task. Painfully aware that they had been spared a similar fate, the soldiers had come down to assist any way they could. They had been helpless to leave to assist their fellow soldiers in a battle they knew was taking place somewhere. Thanks to their leaders, they felt they too wore a brand of cowardice.
A large flash on the platform caused several soldiers to reel backwards. A huge statue of a goat lay on the platform, its front legs smashed off just above the knee. “Ya gotta move me so that the others can follow,” the statue said. Recovering from their initial shock, two dozen soldiers swarmed to it and hefted it off the platform- news of the Gargoyle’s assistance in the battle had traveled throughout the garrison from the first several soldiers.
Those unable to get close enough to help were standing watching from the edges. “We’ve got a couple hundred perfectly healthy soldiers here.”
“We could have used them today, Doc.”
Doc nodded. He glanced where the Sergeant at Arms had been standing. He wasn’t there anymore. “I know.”
“So how does that help us now?”
“An Evening spell.”
“It’s not but midday, Doc.” Reuben looked at the sky.
The doctor shook his head, “Not evening as in when the Sun is going to its underground lair. Evening as in splitting something equally between two other things.
“I don’t follow.”
The doctor nodded. “You’ll see.” He looked around again. “CORPSMAN!” He shouted angrily. This time, the men (as was taught to soldiers early in their career) echoed the call throughout the garrison.
The Corpsman came running from around the infirmary’s corner. “Moving!” He shouted as he rounded it. He was struggling to run with a very large sack hugged against his chest. It was dripping water down his legs. He dropped it on the ground next to a soldier. “Take this and use it to pack the wounds. This moss has healing properties so use it on the most severe cases.”
With a curt nod, and glad to finally be able to provide even a semblance of assistance, the soldier picked up the sack. He turned to a group of soldiers. “Put some of this in the most severe wounds,” he ordered.
The men nodded and moved to grab handfuls of the moss.
“Sorry, Doc.” The Corpsman was out of breath. “I had to go out to the south wall where the spring bubbles up to get that stuff. It was all I could carry in one load.”
The doctor nodded. “Excellent idea. I hadn’t thought of the Sphagnum Moss. That’s going to save a bunch of lives today.”
The Corpsman smiled. “Thanks Doc. What else can I do?”
The doctor nodded at the man, “Get the herbs and potions out and start working on moderately severe ones. The ones that will die in a couple of hours if we don’t do anything. Use the moss on those that aren’t hurt that badly.”
“What about the most severe?” The Corpsman looked worriedly at the now triple line of wounded. A great many fit into that category. “Can’t we do anything for them?”
“I’ll take care of them, you tend to the rest.” He patted his subordinate on the shoulder then turned to the watching soldiers. “Men, I need your help to save some of your fellow soldiers. But it won’t be pleasant.”
The men nodded at each other then they looked at one man in particular. He stepped forward “I’m Sergeant Campagna. What do you need from me and my men?”
The doctor motioned him forward. “Sergeant,” he began in a low voice, “this is a very serious matter that I am going to ask of you.”
Campagna nodded at the doctor. “Go on.”
“I want to use an evening...” He shook his head. There wasn’t time for a complete explanation or discussion. “A spell that transfers some of the wounds from these men to your healthy men. If we can spread the most severe injuries around, we can save some lives.”
“Like an Empath?”
“Sort of, but unlike an Empath, the ones receiving part of the wounds won’t be able to heal themselves. They will just have to recover normally.”
“But, Doc,” said the Sergeant, “if they die, can’t you bring them back?” He gestured to the platform. “That’s why we have that, right?”
The doctor shook his head solemnly. “Yes and no. I do revive people to conscript them to the Army, but only one or sometimes two at a time.” He looked around. “There’s fifty here that won’t make it to the moonrise and another several hundred dead already on their way here. I could save maybe ten of them.”
“Ten?”
“Maybe a few more. Maybe. Look, I’m just not set up for that sort of thing.” The doctor grabbed the sergeant by the shoulders. “All those dead coming this way, except maybe a handful are dead and gone. And we’re going to have half of these that way too unless we do this.”
The Sergeant exhaled loudly. “We should have been out there with them.” He looked around angrily. “We could have made a difference.”
“It’s too late for talk like that now. Right now, we need to do what we can to save what soldiers we can. Here and now. And do it quickly. Talk to your men. Only volunteers and tell them what’s going to happen. Tell them. I’ll get that wand if any are willing.”
The Sergeant nodded. “Leave it to me.” He turned and approached the anxiously waiting soldiers. After a moment’s conversation, several of the soldiers looked past their leader at the doctor then back to their leader. With a nod, they each stepped forward, grim look on their face.
The doctor moved quickly into the infirmary and took a gnarled wooden box off a high shelf. This was a wand of last resort as it was often impossible to find volunteers willing to be subjected to its magic. Steeling himself for the worst, he pushed back through the door. It stopped halfway and he bumped his head on it because of it. With a curse, he slipped through the opening. “What is going on...” He began. His words failed him as he saw the line of Prost Garrison soldiers that ran between the ranks of wounded soldiers and around through the open area. The soldiers in the line were looking at the wounded soldiers or at the ground, lips drawn tight in resolve.
Sergeant Campagna was at the front of the line. “Everyone is a volunteer and up to the task.” He motioned toward one of the severely wounded soldiers. “Ready when you are Doc.”
With a nod, Doc Marone led the Sergeant over to the wounded man. “Lay down beside him and put your hand on him.” The soldier had a long gash that ran from his collar bone to the opposite hip. The white of the bone showed through the wound revealing collar bone, several ribs, and the tip of his hip. It was apparent that the damage wasn’t caused by a single slash but instead at least four or five vicious strikes. The soldier’s eyes were glazed over and the wound seemed to barely ooze blood- the soldier was almost out of it. There were also several smaller gashes in his arm where it looked as if he had tried to ward off his attacker after he was incapacitated. All in all, it seemed as if his leather armor had saved his life, or at least kept his attacker from killing him outright. The truth of the matter was that the Halfling standing over the soldier had been ready to drive his sword through the incapacitated man’s chest when he was impaled on a large, stone goat horn as it passed by.
“Just about half of that Sergeant Campagna.”
The Sergeant nodded as he closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. His jaw muscles stood out on his face.
“And some blood so you’re going to feel weak. You might even pass out.”
“Here’s hoping, Doc.” The sergeant clenched his teeth again.
The doctor slashed the wand in a large circle that went across the wounded man and the Sergeant. A deep red beam of light leapt from the wand, surrounding both men at once. Sergeant Campagna pulled his lips into his mouth, then finally let out a scream. It only lasted for a moment because he passed out. The doctor dropped the wand to his side and the red glow immediately vanished. T
he gash in the wounded soldier was nearly closed; no bone even showed. It almost nearly matched the one on the sergeant. Both were leaking precious blood. “Get some moss in that wound!” The doctor commanded to no one in particular. Both men were now pale and bleeding. But they were alive and definitely going to survive. He closed his eyes and thought back to a long-past promise: I will keep them from harm and injustice.
Doc Marone shook his head as he looked up, expecting the line to have half the number of men it previously had now that they had witnessed the gruesome spectacle.
“Who do you want me with?” The next soldier in line said. His eyes were large and he held his hands at his sides, but he looked determined. “Who’s next, Doc? Let’s get this show going.”
The doctor nodded at the man through misty eyes. “Right this way, young man,” he said as he motioned to a man with two mangled legs. “Just lie on the ground beside him and put your hand on him.”
So it continued...
Doc Marone moved among the severely wounded, spreading their injuries to the waiting soldiers- sometimes using two for particularly severe wounds. Several men moved behind the doctor, packing moss into wounds and setting broken bones as they cracked into existence in their comrades.
By the time the sun was finally moving towards its nightly resting place and the sky just started to take a darker tint, all the soldiers were stable. Every bit of the Sphagnum Moss along the south wall of Prost Garrison was gone.
Doc Marone leaned against the infirmary wall. “What a mess”
Reuben moved beside him. “You did one hell of a job here Doc. All those men are going to make it thanks to you.”
“Thanks to me?” He pointed at the soldiers still milling around, tending to what had become double the amount of wounded. “Thanks to them is more like it.” He reached up and put his hand on the Gargoyle’s shoulder. “And thanks to you, there’s not as many of either dead or wounded that we had to deal with. You and your friends.”
Reuben nodded at the man. “It was the least we could do. Hate them Halflings, you know.”
Now the doctor nodded. “Your friends. I don’t know what I can do for them. I mean, we don’t even have a stone worker here. How do you fix a Gargoyle? Can you even fix a Gargoyle?”
“It’s tricky but it can be done. We just need to get the master stonemason who created us to do it. It was his enchantment that brought us to life and only he can repair us.”
“Gads. I hope he’s a long lived fellow.”
Reuben shrugged his massive shoulders. “He’s not a Giant, or an Elf, unfortunately. He’s a Human.” He looked down at the doctor, “No offence, Doc.”
Doc Marone shook his head, “None whatsoever taken. So how can you find this fellow? Is he still... around?”
“We’ve already called to him.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, we have a connection with our maker so he can feel it when we’ve been injured. And, we feel it when he gets injured. Or dies. One of our own has gone out to let him know we’re in need of his help and where we are. He’ll be coming to collect us in a couple of days, I imagine.”
“So are any of the wounds life threatening?”
Reuben shook his head. “It’s all or nothing with us; there’s no internal organs to injure, or blood to lose. If we get too battered up, the enchantment just leaches out of us and that’s it.”
“Wait. He’s coming to collect you?” The doctor looked at the group of Gargoyles. There were five of them huddled together and adding in the one next to him, it amounted to an enormous weight. “What? Is he sending a horde of Giants?”
“Honestly, I don’t know how he’ll do it, but he’s pretty crafty so I’m not worried.” Reuben smiled. “A little bird told me he’d be collecting the ten of us, so I imagine it will be a sight to see.”
“Ten? So there’s more on the way? Well, you’re welcome to wait in any way that is most comfortable, my friend.” The Doctor patted the Gargoyle on the shoulder. “I’m going to make what will be the first of many rounds.”
Reuben moved to his compatriots to sit and wait. A lively banter recounting the battle sprung up among them within minutes. The talk spread to the soldiers who were able to speak and the mood lightened considerably. Curses and ‘don’t make me laugh!’ were heard as the men recounted and teased each other.
It was then that the macabre train of dead soldiers arrived.
Shortly after that, the limited ability of Doc Marone to revive the dead had made its way to every soldier. After tallying his resources, and checking them twice to be sure, and cutting them as thin as he dared, a gruesome lottery was held to determine which twenty five soldiers would be brought back.
Fate glanced over at the nervous young soldier selected to draw the chits. Over and over he reached into the bag and a name was called out. Friends sighed with relief. More often, friends sighed with sorrow at yet another loss. Finally, on the last pull, Fate smiled as she guided his hand.
Captain Frank’s chit was the last pulled.
Chapter Thirteen
Corporal Gigantus? Fate. Fate? Corporal Gigantus.
As the battle raged on, an astounded Corporal Gigantus surveyed the massacre. They had begun the engagement outnumbering them by almost a hundred to one- more than enough to assure an absurdly overwhelming victory. The arrival of the Gargoyles and Golems had swung the odds against them dramatically. Over half his fellow soldiers had fallen to these mere twenty. When all seemed lost, he moved quickly, ordering the remaining soldiers to pull back behind the cliff so they could retreat to safe territory.
It was a cruel twist of fate that had he and his 96 soldiers remained, the battle would have swung in the Halfling’s favor. As it turned out, their retreat doomed the remaining Halflings to death.
Fate shrugged. It happened.
After almost a hundred Halflings arrived, Corporal Gigantus began to lead them north. “Keep off the road!” Commanded the Corporal. “And keep a sharp eye out!” The haggard group trudged up and down hills, moving ever northward.
After an hour, Gigantus, at the head of the formation, turned and looked at the soldiers. Less than a hundred. He himself was so exhausted he didn’t even have the strength to consider the possibility of a Criminal Incompetence Assessment. Above all else, they were still within enemy territory. “Take a few moments to gain your strength!” He called to the soldiers, “in case we run into anyone.”
Out of strength and morale, they obliged by staggering into a group and collapsing on the side of a particularly steep hill. Their arms were too tired to even shade the rising sun from their eyes.
“Another hour or so and we’ll be at the wall! Then we’ve just got to get over it and we’re safe!” Said the Corporal from higher up the hill.
Several Halflings turned to look at the Corporal. “It’s not going to be that easy, I don’t think,” said a foot soldier as he looked up at him from lower down on the hill.
The Corporal glowered down at the Private, “Remember who you’re speaking to, Private! I’m still a Corporal in the Army of the Lord High Priest of Halflings!” He said angrily. “And I’ll bring you up on charges!”
With a chuckle, the Private shook his head, “It’s not going to be that easy, I don’t think, Corporal in the Army of the Lord High Priest of Halflings.” He pointed past his leader.
The Corporal turned to look over his shoulder. Along the crest of the hill stood a larger number of soldiers than the Halflings laying on it. Even if they had been equal in number, it would not have mattered; the Human soldiers were well rested and fed and attacking from the high ground. This would be their first skirmish of the day. “Attack!” Yelled a Lieutenant Paul from near the front of the formation as he raised his sword.
In a testament to their stringent training and bloodthirsty history, the Halflings stood to meet their attackers as they charged down the hill at them. Even so, they didn’t manage to kill even one Human.
Chapter Fourteen
&nbs
p; The Search For Grim
“We’ve got to do something!” Said Drimblerod yet again. This time he stood up and waved his crutch around for emphasis.
“We heard you, Drim,” said Julie. “Again. But what can we do? We have no way of knowing where he is. Where do we even start to look for him?”
Drimblerod opened his mouth. Then closed it. He thought for a moment. “He was going north the last time I saw him.”
“We don’t even know if…” began Nulu.
Drimblerod turned on her, “Don’t even say it, Nulu. If there’s any Gnome who can keep himself alive, it’s Grimbledung.”
“Drimblerod’s right,” said Julie.
Drimblerod nodded, “See?” He looked at Julie, “What?”
“Sure. I mean he’s a wanted Gnome. I imagine they are purposely keeping him alive so that he can be taken before the Lord High Priest. Then they’ll kill him.”
Drimblerod flailed his arms. Nulu ducked the crutch as it went by. “Then we need to get going!” He stood on his chair. “We’ve got to do something!” He leaned forward with his hands on the table. “Who’s with me?”
The rest at the table stared at him. “Drim,” began Akita, “the Halfling invasion’s been broken, but there’re still probably bands of them runnin’ around causing mischief and mayhem like that one group that got cut down north of the main battle. The town’s in shambles and we don’t have the gold to hire those mercenaries to protect us. Havin’ that baner flyin’ is nice and all, but you know as well as I do it’s just for show. Therrrre’s no way I can just leave. There’s even rumors there’s a group of Halflin’s coming this way.”
“And I have a school to run. Kids are still coming to class, and with everything going on and I need to make sure they are safe,” said Big Julie.
“Nulu?” Drimblerod asked hopefully.
Nulu looked around the table. Twice. “I have a pretty good manager that can keep an eye on things for a while.”
Here's Looking For You, Grim (Tales From a Second-Hand Wand Shop Book 3) Page 8