CHAPTER TEN

The peace, such as it had been, ended suddenly. Banntak was going about his usual rounds in the Bloodhall, looking in on those who'd been too seriously hurt to move. One patient - missing an arm and slashed deeply across the chest - had woken in delirium, and for some reason had yet to lose consciousness again, though her eyes didn't see and her ears didn't hear. For all that, Zilannirak said she'd live, her wounds were not likely to be corrupted, and her fever would break. Gannik had brewed up a special potion for her that he assured would drive the fever down, but she'd be a resident of the Bloodhall for weeks at least.

It was while he looked into her eerie, open eyes that Banntak heard the frantic steps approaching from the corridor. He rose and turned, and recognized Lannik's panicked features instantly. He raised a fist for attention, pointed, and the Temple sprang to life.

"And there I was looking forward to a nice nap," Zilannirak muttered as he came to stand beside Banntak. "I hope your wife's feeling better, boy. Lannik's never looked like that before."

Lannik burst into the room and took a moment to catch his breath, then looked up. "Shuun-sha, new wave incoming. Gaanatha's reinforcements have arrived and joined battle with the Karian forces, it's a bloodbath out there! Even worse, the dead that weren't burnt..."

"Seven hells," Zilannirak whispered, and raised a hand to his brow. "They've let risen get onto the battlefield?"

"Nai, not exactly. The bandits in the city have been deliberately driving the army back with flights of arrows to stop them burning the corpses. There's hundreds of them now, and most have headed straight toward the Karian army. They overran one of the supply camps in the middle of the night, and that's when the reinforcements turned up."

"Superb. Fighting the walking dead and the riding living at the same time, a holiday by any other name," Zilannirak said with a shake of his head. "Their general must be cursing The Twins right about now. What should we expect, Lannik?"

"Everything. Crushing, cutting, stabbing, claw wounds from those who've survived the Risen, bite marks, lost limbs, Gaanatha's new boys brought some new toys to the field as well, so we've got acid burns to play with from that quarter. I've got to get back. I repeat, though, the fight is still ongoing, it's not slowing down. Get every hand you can!"

Banntak shook his head as Lannik ran back the way he'd come. "He enjoys this too much."

"Wars have an exciting element," Zilannirak said with a little shrug, "at least from afar. Best get that massage done, the last thing I want is for my hands to cramp. Girl! Where are you? Come here and help an old man."

As best as they could, they cleared room in the Bloodhall, and moved those who had to stay so they were all lined against the wall. Mentally, he counted down the minutes. Lannik always rode ahead on horseback so the Temple had time to respond, but even then it depended on when he was able to get away from the frontlines. Sometimes they were lucky and had five minutes, other times they had two or three or even less. He prayed for luck, and it was granted. The shuun that were woken from their sleep were entering the Bloodhall, smoothing down their robes and taking stock of the situation when the first wounded were brought in.

It was as if they came in a rising tide, for both numbers and the severity of injuries only increased as the day and presumably the battle wore on. Lannik occasionally reported a lull in the fighting, but it seemed that wherever there was a lull, somewhere else there were fresh forces engaging. The siege had expanded into a battle on the plains, and for all intents and purposes it had become an all-out war. All this, and Naddikran had yet to get its troops to the field in support of the Karian army.

Banntak kept his tears inside, and focused on saving the lives that were put into his hands.

Before long, the apprentices were forced into plying the trade they were still learning, taking care of everything they had the skill to adequately perform while the shuun fluttered like hungry sparrows from wound to wound. Banntak occasionally asked for water, and drank from a cup brought by one of the slaves without so much as a moment's break. The hall rang with agony and the stone reddened with the drippings. The scent made him feel sick, and more than once he felt as if Spathi Herself knelt with him, watching curiously to see if he'd succeed or fail.

He was stitching one of several long, deep cuts on a man's chest when there was a sudden jar, a thunderous crash, and the room shook as if it were about to collapse. Screams of panic, fear and surprise added to the pained haze in the air, several of the slaves and apprentices cowered on the floor.

"Kelrak!" Banntak swore, and covered his patient's body with his own, then looked up as a few chips of stone fell from the roof. "What was that?"

"My guess?" Zilannirak called from somewhere behind him. "A trebuchet! Seven hells, I'm getting too old for this! Will somebody find out where it hit and how much damage it did, and especially if we've just had a few dozen more wounded added to our plate?" He asked, and immediately two of the apprentices rose and hurried toward the doors at the back of the Bloodhall. "Not you, you fools! Send a couple of the slaves. Better. Oh, and if you three could be so kind, once you've done that could you build a trebuchet of our own and return their rock with my regards? Bloody idiots!"

"Stop your raving and get back to work!" Banntak said, and looked over the ruin before him. The stitches had broken, and the wounds oozed thickly. He pulled at his beard, realized his hand was almost completely crimson, then sighed and went back to it. "Could someone ask Derru not to use her rune unless I specifically request her to do so?"

He hated to say or to think those words, but there was no shortage of new bodies to treat, and even Derru's meager skill with scalpel and needle would be needed. Time blurred, he lost track of how much had passed or how many faces he'd seen. He looked up with an exhausted sigh, wishing that he'd see nothing but empty space... and saw someone walking in from the Bloodhall. No, three people. One was Lannik. The other two were not.

Both were women. The one who strode at the head, face twisted into a grimace, was unquestionably a Knight. She wore a dirty band around her forehead that bore the symbol of the Order of the Crimson Bow, and her armour was cracked and beaten, with blood emerging from some of the edges. One of her arms hung limply, and he had no doubt that was the main injury. Yet she walked without support, something that clearly worried Lannik. Banntak ground his teeth together, and resisted the sudden urge to leap to help her. There was something about Knights, something ingrained in him from childhood, that made him want to act immediately. But the sheer fact she was walking meant she could wait her damn turn. Zilannirak, however, made no effort to resist that urge, and he moved to the front to take care of her. That was when Banntak realized who the other person was.

"Get her out of here!" He said, and rose sharply.

It was the Knight who answered. "She stays, unless you want to move her yourself."

The woman in question was a priestess of Spathi. As fitted, she wore dark robes over a set of riding leathers, with a diaphonous veil that softened and lent an enigmatic air to the shape of her face. While the Knight was clearly heavily muscled and twisted to a fighting form, the priestess was fit but clearly no warrior. She carried four blades about her, a pair of swords and a pair of peculiar curved blades that sprouted from a set of vambraces, all of them no doubt the Knight's weapons. The priestess regarded Banntak with half-hidden brown eyes, nodded briefly, but said nothing.

He ground his teeth together and left the ranks of wounded to attend to this himself. He hated the fact he was forced to do it, but such was the situation. The priestess glanced to him again as he approached, and subtly but distinctly moved to put the Knight between them. "She has no place here, Knight. Send her away."

"Nai," she said, and winced as Zilannirak regarded her arm.

"Mace?" He asked.

"Warhammer. It's broken, possibly smashed."

"Where else are you hurt?"

"You'll have to get this off to tell me. I was thrown from my horse and had to fight on foot. I've been cut elsewhere, and I'm bruised everywhere."

"Heh. My brother's just the same. Maybe you know him?"

"Zilannirak, shut up."

"There's wounded that need your attention, shuun-sha," the Knight said, and turned to him briefly. "Unless you want to take over from arrehta kaan Zilannirak here."

Banntak snarled, and then gestured for Zilannirak to go. She was right, damn her. He looked at her arm, then asked for a stool to be brought up and sat her down. "This will hurt," he said as he tentatively checked the limb, squeezing carefully here and there to find where the bones were displaced. "Why are your arms uncovered?"

"Lannik removed some of the armour on the way. He claims he can strip a fully armoured Knight in less than a minute, though I didn't dare him on that," she said, then turned. "Hey! Kaan Lannik! Help me with this."

Banntak glanced up, and saw Lannik jog over, then he and the priestess worked together to strip off the rest of the armour. "She-"

"Stays. I don't mean to over-ride your authority, shuun-sha, but she bears my mayakaai. I'll not be taken beyond eyes distance of them, and I cannot willingly give them up save to death."

"And She walks with me," the priestess said in a deep, warm voice that brought a snarl to Banntak's lips. So smug she was in saying that.

For once in his life, Banntak wished his charge were more seriously hurt. Somehow, the knowledge that the Knight had one good arm and her legs was more than enough to stop his tongue. Part of him said that she'd surely never strike an Inoci, but the other part knew all too well that Khaman's chosen were easily quickened to violence. "I could call on the Templar," he said as he considered whether or not a sling or splint would be better.

"And I could add them to the injured. I'm not your enemy, shuun-sha, don't try to make me one. My name is Kipp, so perhaps you can use it and we'll be more familiar. Now, I'm led to believe there's a Hand of Inoc here. Might I ask that she tend to this wound?"

The temerity alone silenced him for a moment. "I suppose you might ask, but you have not the right."

Kipp shook her head. "I mean no offense. I'm needed on the front lines, I'm first blooded and don't want to see this out at the back. This arm will prevent me from taking any further part in the battle. The other wounds, well, I hope they'll be fixed quickly. Tell me, how does it look?"

He shrugged, and carefully cut away her undershirt. Underneath, her torso was naked but reddened by blood, though it lacked the heavy scars most common among experienced Knights. There was a tattoo of a spiked circle with strange curved wings about her navel, and a little above that was one of the wounds she'd taken. "You've been stabbed, not too deeply. One's in the belly, that's going to keep you down for a week at least, it won't heal fully for over a month and it'll probably scar. I see a bite mark on the arm. Risen?" He asked. Kipp nodded, and for a moment she seemed to lose her heart. Banntak didn't press. "I see there's another cut near your armpit, and a third just under your left breast. You're lucky, that one could have hit your heart."

"Could have. Didn't. And the one who tried won't ever try again. Now I ask again, can you spare the Hand for me?"

There was no challenge in her tone, but still it tensed him up, and he sighed as he again felt that tug to obey, to call Derru over and have her heal the arm, to help the Knight get back in her armour, on her horse, and ride out to fresh slaughter. "There are others who need her attention more, others who will die without it."

"The wound won't be permanent for a day. I can wait until then. I expect an answer one way or another, shuun-sha, before the sun's down. My commander needs to know when I'll be back. She has a scheme for us Knights, and every one matters."

Banntak didn't answer her, and set about creating a splint. That was when Derru came over to them, a smile on her face. "Hello. Zilannirak said that you needed my help."

"He-"

"Ji," Kipp said. "Well, I'll live either way, but I wish to return to the battlefield as soon as possible. I'll not make too many demands, these other cuts can heal on their own time. But I'd very much appreciate it if you could deal with my arm."

Derru smiled and nodded. "Ji, it'd be my pleasure. Zilannirak said you refused the painslayer draught?"

"I can take the pain, I don't like how painslayers make me feel. I'd ask for some of that wine you'll be washing these with, but I suppose that'd be impertinent," she smiled, and Derru laughed, then sighed and turned to Banntak, seeking his approval.

She didn't have it. Not in truth. But he nodded, and gave his seat to her. "You can deal with her wounds, I think, they're not serious, barring the arm. She fell afoul of some Risen, make sure that wound's treated with especial care. I believe Gannik has some concoctions to help with it."

"I've also blessed the wound," the Spathite said. "That will help."

Banntak forced a smile and nodded to her, then turned away. "I'll tend to some others."

Kipp waved goodbye, but he stormed back to the floor, with the urge very strongly in his arms to choke the life out of Zilannirak, who was arms deep in the chest of a man, with his own beard tucked into his robes to keep it safe. Hate, sudden and burning, coursed through Banntak's veins and brought with it a rush of guilt. He was terse, brief, and tense from then on, and every time his efforts came to naught he felt like he might snap and simply scream.

Then he looked up, and saw Xarax stood at the entrance to the Bloodhall, face covered in fresh white blood, spattered with red. His knees went weak, and he felt like he was going to feint. "Wha-" he muttered, then grabbed at an apprentice, "what's she doing here? Get the Templar! Get the Templar now!"

"You!"

Banntak turned to see Kipp rising from her seat despite Derru's frantic attempts to get her to sit down. The Knight's face was a mask of pain, but it seemed like she'd forgotten that. "How did she get here? Zeetak, my mayakaai!" She cried, and gestured frantically at the priestess.

Xarax was suddenly grabbed from behind; a hand closed on her injured leg. She cried out and staggered, but put her weight on the other one, twisted, and leapt. There was a scream added to the air, before the Templar ran from the Bloodhall's open corridor and bodily tackled the Thorassian to the ground. Banntak staggered, and for a moment everything span before his eyes. He felt strangely hot.

Only moments later he was sat against the wall, looking into his wife's eyes. "D-Derru?"

"Ji, jillu. You feinted."

"I can't feint, I-"

"Did. Just calm down."

He looked up, and saw the Knight sat back on her stool, teeth gritted and wine dripping from her breast. Her wounds had been washed. "You," he said, "you recognized her. How?"

Kipp turned to him, and nodded. "Saw her one time, slinking in and out of the shadows away from the fires. Practically invisible, seemed to just melt away into them. But they can do that, apparently," she said, and Derru nodded. "She's been killing troops on both sides for about a week."

"You didn't catch her, then?" Banntak asked, then suddenly remembered she was found with the bandits. "Nai, of course you didn't. She'd be dead if you'd caught her."

"Oh ji, you can believe that. Arrehta kaan Derru? I think I'd like to be bandaged now. I'm trying to maintain my dignity, but this really hurts."

Derru stroked Banntak's brow, then smiled at him and turned back to her work. He shook his head, tried to get back up, and tried not to look and see if Zilannirak had noticed, tried not to recognize the contempt on the man's face for what it was. Shaking it off, Banntak filled his mind with prayer, emptied his head as best he could, and lost himself in the needs of the injured.