A Winter Summons
It was cold this morning. Summer had bled into Autumn. Darjah knew this chill. She tightened the girth strap on her horse before dawn standing in the first frost. Her saddlebags were full and her tent gear was strapped onto the mount too. It was a beautiful steed Feyhaln had purchased for her already war trained.
Marse's rough hands suddenly appeared before her, his presence materializing behind her. She watched him test her handy work and knew their quick movements were slowing with the certainty of her preparations. Finally they stopped altogether and pressed over her cold fingers, his chest and arms closing her in.
"Who will tend the Hydra?" he asked. The fog of his breath curled over one shoulder.
"If you keep on like this it won't matter who's tending it. They Hydra will bleed out. But Aston will kill far more men then you will right now," Darjah replied studying the flecked scars over his knuckles.
"Who will tend you?"
"Weeds don't usually require much tending," Darjah answered as she slipped her hands free. Marse turned her around abruptly and pulled her into a crushing embrace.
Perhaps because there was so much cold in the air and the tang of impending carnage in her mind or perhaps because it was still dark and the last vestiges of a dream world would allow her to pretend the years had not happened, Darjah returned his embrace. Her arms pulled on him as fiercely as if things had never changed between them. She smelled the chill of a night's rounds on his coat and felt the heat permeating through the layers to warm her skin.
"Come home again Darjah," Marse commanded softly. His scruff was too familiar on her forehead. "I will remake the Hydra for you."
"Don't remake anything Marse. Just come back, come home," she shook her head. Slowly he relinquished her. They stared at each other a long moment before he lifted her easily and set her in the saddle. She pulled up the fur rimed hood of her coat and slid the fur lined boots into the stirrups.
Marse in the mean time pulled out an old wooden carving of a sea serpent on a leather throng. He wrapped the cord around her wrist several times before knotting it securely. She looked at the mark of faith she had long ago lost but accepted the love in the gesture. Kissing the wood talisman she swung the horse's head around and began down the narrow roads towards Matthew's shop.
Vionella was pointedly standing with his back to her as he fussed over his horse. He was in a pressed uniform of the Asturian army but his onyx hair was as unkempt as ever while he still hadn't bothered to shave in a few days. From behind – and ignoring the way his hair tangled about his head – he looked almost like the white knight.
As a boy of fifteen Matthew had been well built; he still filled out his uniform handsomely and his expressions were dashing when coupled with his gentle humor and sterns sense of justice. He turned around at the approach of hooves and smiled.
"Goodbyes are never fun," he made a face as he mounted.
"You looked absolutely presentable before you turned around," she jibed. He brushed a shock of hair back and shrugged.
"I'll be in a guimelif. Who will see me?" He fished in a satchel and offered her an organ shaped scone still steaming.
"Lungs today," she raised her eyebrows as she accepted and bit into the lemon-poppy offering. The warm bread melted on her tongue.
"I was thinking about shaping it as a tombstone but the morning is already grim enough," Matthew answered as she smirked around a mouthful. "I will be serving in the 3rd regiment with my own troupe of mechanics and squires. It's an impressive offer."
"The 3rd regiment…I'm set to be second in command to the head surgeon of the main army. We've got four Knights of Caelie, so I suppose that will put us in the heart of things. If I recall the third will be carving west into the country, right?"
"We travel with you until we get close to the border," Matthew nodded. "I assume we'll eventually meet again once we're victorious."
"Whether we're victorious or not we'll meet again,"
"But I wonder whose table we'll be sitting at?" he gave her a dreamy smile.
"Mink's of course," she snorted. "We'll have to make up for the winter festival meal we'll be missing."
"Mm, and that apple cider…what a shame the war has put such a crimp in our plans," Matthew agreed with a little sigh.
They bantered idly for a few more blocks before they fell silent and began to join the growing stream of men and boys moving to the camps at the edge of town. They were uniformed and mostly tired. Some looked excited for a chance to prove themselves – those too young to fight back during the Great War – and others were grim – mostly veterans or older men convinced they would not be coming home again.
Serious faced women and crying children peered out from windows and watched the procession of their men. Darjah in the meantime prepared herself for the hardships ahead. She conjured up the hunger of a starving battlefront, the thirst of long marches, the heat and bitter cold of the campsites. All the ugliness of war filled her; the reeking smell, the barbarism, the way men's minds twisted and warped, the way soldiers cried dry tears and their hollowed expressions as they turned to look at her when she spoke.
Once arriving at the parade grounds she and Matthew parted ways. By now the sunlight was beginning to shine over the frosted woods surrounding the outskirts of the city. The cold metal of guimelifs as their engineers double and triple checked them gleamed. She heard the fray of men posturing for status in their units and the youthful boasts of those excited for battle. Hundreds of horses with their creaking tack were seen to as thousands of boots scampered against the frozen ground.
Darjah found herself finally amidst the other healers and knew she was in the right place by the smell of their packs and the softness of many young faces. These medical students had no idea what they were getting themselves into. There were a handful of older men and women who bore similar expressions to her own and they immediately acknowledged her presence with a grim nod.
"Name?" asked a man somewhere in his forties with a stiff beard and braids at either temple. He was broad shouldered and fit but not built like a soldier. Darjah dismounted respectfully.
"Darjah Wilks," she replied as his eyebrows came together.
"I thought you'd be older," he said gruffly. "You were a cub in the Great War."
"Fifteen sir," she nodded. "Twenty one now. Experienced then and continued practice in the Hydra."
"Your name is all over Palas. You're famous for your work there," he nodded. "Good to have seasoned hands on board. My name is Huron."
"Huron? Huron Rathwell?" Darjah's eyes widened. He gave her a nod. "It will be an honor serving with you."
"If any honor is to be had in war," he snorted and Darjah smiled crookedly. "Come with me. I'm to report when my staff is all arrived to the commander. We'll be moving out in about three hours time and I'm sure we must be acquainted with all the rosters and the people who decide what other people will be killed."
"Sir," Darjah nodded as she tied up her horse to a hitching post. Falling in stride beside him they crossed through the throngs towards the squat stone building once a farmhouse now in use of the army. Adjutants and messengers darted like humming birds as beautiful horses with gleaming tack pawed at the ground impatiently.
"Have you ever been to one of these war meetings before?" Huron asked gruffly. She shook her head. "Bunch of peacocks strutting their feathers. They keep attempting order in the chaos of war."
"It's always good to identify the butchers," Darjah replied with a shrug. "You know who does and does not value his men and what sort of risks he'll take. You know how strong a healer you need to send or how many to try and stem the blood flow," she added by way of explanation. Huron's smile twisted up one side of his face as he pulled the door back for her.
"You'll do, Wilks. You'll do," he nodded as she entered first.
"These are our intended routes," a stocky man was explaining over an enormous map as he pushed small pieces around with a riding crop. Gathered around him were an array of men of all types. They were all noble birth – barring Feyhaln standing at one corner of the table Allen, both entirely absorbed – with varying degrees of competence and reputation. Darjah knew no names but she recognized their merit in the state of their uniform and the expressions they bore. Some looked bored, others uninterested, a few were fired up – dangerous ambition – and then there were those who watched everything with rapt absorption, their minds already hard at work on stratagem.
There was the divvying of units and approaches and when the stocky general had finished he looked around the room for objections. There were none to be had in particular and as Huron sensed the lull in conversation he shouldered forward clearing his throat.
"Ah, Huron Rathwell. Gentlemen, this here is our lead physician. He will administer to all the camp needs," the general introduced him. Huron swept the room. "He's the head of the healers' collegiums in Palas. Who did you select as your second?"
"This is Darjah Wilks, Great War veteran and the lead healer in the Hydra." Huron motioned her forward. She came to stand beside him, equal to his height though her athletic build made her seem unusually slight amidst all these either portly or athletic professional soldiers.
"She's a child Huron. I asked for your second," the general laughed openly to the amusement of his fellows. "Now come, show me your second. Send your errand girl to finish her errands and bring me a real healer." Darjah saw Feyhaln bristle and Allen restrain him with the flick of a wrist. She crossed her arms and did a quick surveillance of the whole room.
"Unfortunately gentlemen I am the closest thing to a miracle you will have in this blood fest," Darjah informed them. "The less you trust in my skill the more careful you'll be with your men. Do stop me however if the need arises."
"What good is a healer we do not trust?" the general asked her as she turned to go. She turned back around and came to the table. Leaning across it she examined the premeditated murder about to unfold and smiled wickedly.
"Your healers are the heartbeat of your army. If you cut your own throat however there will be nothing your heart can do for you."
"Your job is to keep my men alive come hell or high water," the general adopted an equally serious tone. "If that is not your intention you can leave this camp right now."
"How many of your men were recruited from the Hydra?" Darjah asked him as she stood up and the room watched their argument raptly.
"I'd say half the army now is made up of Hydra men, even a fair portion of our reserve soldiers trace their roots back to the Hydra."
"Ask any of them if they've heard of me and chances are I put either them, or the best friend, or their family member back together or I delivered their children. Once you've done your homework come back and I might accept your apology."
"I will vouch on her behalf," Allen spoke suddenly as the general's expression blackened. Darjah's eyes flashed to him. "Her manners are uncouth but I have heard a great deal of her prowess from a number of my own soldiers. When I understood a woman not part of the collegiums was to accompany us I took the liberty of researching it myself. She is also well respected within the collegiums and has worked during the war with a number of very prestigious doctors."
"Allen, how amusing you should come to her aid," the general smiled with a mean look. Darjah immediately recognized bad blood between them. "Has she impressed you with her prowess any?"
"Her brother, Knight Feyhaln Wilks, is my esteemed colleague. It is through him that we have met a handful of times on business matters," Allen replied without responding to the provocation. Feyhaln however was radiating anger, his boyish face set with murderous calm in such a way that it even made the hair on the back of Darjah's neck bristle.
"My sister is more than suitable as a healer, though I hope none of you esteemed gentlemen have need of her skills. If the meeting is adjourned then I will attend my other duties. Come Darjah, I'm certain you've organizing to do as well." With one last crippling look at the general Feyhaln crossed the room and put a hand on the small of her back to lead her outside.
"Must you antagonize everyone?" Feyhaln demanded as the cold touched their cheeks after the stifling atmosphere inside.
"Just because I'm a woman," she snorted.
"And as such you have a delicate reputation," Feyhaln stressed mercilessly. "All the competence in the world can't save you from the scorn of powerful men."
"I have no political aspirations and you're already a knight. Granted I may be damaging Quince and Greighlin's marriageable futures…" Darjah paused to consider it when Feyhaln stopped her and turned her around to look at him.
"Darjah, would you stop to think for just one minute that maybe I want people to think well of you for your sake, not for mine or my children's. We'll get through between my skill and Mink's charisma. It's you I'm worried about, always making so many enemies and living the way you do." He put a hand to the side of her face. "Out here again, back to those dark days like the Great War, all we have is this bloody little campsite. You can't alienate yourself forever and you can't tell me you're damaged beyond repair. I've seen you've been happier lately. Someone worked their way into your heart and there's a touch of my little sister's kindness in your face again."
He leaned in and kissed her forehead. She stared at the buttons on his chest and thought it was funny Van should have had such an effect. Marse's token gift burned around her wrist, memories of days and emotions she was so sure would never have again. Lazy afternoons in Van's company had somehow overturned the frozen ground inside of her heart, breaking up the permafrost.
"I'm afraid this war will kill that little green sprig in you Darjah. Don't let it. Don't die here in these terrible times, little sister."
"Fey, you have to stop worrying about me. Whether I am as warm as Mink or a scaly dragon I will be your little sister. Let them say what they will. I can defend myself and my skills will more than talk for me. As to my heart I'm a young woman yet. The soils are difficult but I'm sure the right herbs won't have any trouble growing. You've got your own children to father."
To strengthen her reply Darjah gave him a rough punch to one arm. The soft speech made her feel vulnerable. Pulling her defenses back around her she gave him her familiar grim smile.
"Besides, Death will be more than happy to sit at my table for many years to come," she added by way of regaining her balance. "And I'll teach your children disgusting anatomy facts and later deliver their children too. My reputation could hardly affect those happy moments."
"If they could it might be better for their young psychologies," Feyhaln sighed as he patted her shoulder. "If you've time you should join our fire tonight. I don't like so many strange men around you."
"One minute you want me married the next you want me as far from men as you can keep me. Don't you trust me?" she teased.
"I trust you to find trouble," he replied. Darjah nodded agreement to his point and suddenly found Allen to one side of them.
"Your ill humor has made you no friends but I think your position is guaranteed," he sighed to her and looked tired. Darjah patted her coat pockets and realized her satchel was back with her horse.
"Well thank you all the same for attempting to salvage what you could of my pride," she assured him. Allen seemed surprised by the words. "And I've got something that will help those dark circles under your eyes. I'd prescribe sleep but you'd only give me your false smile and go on not sleeping. I'll bring it when I come to see Feyhaln tonight."
"You're welcome, and thank you," he answered, unable to make a quip in return.
"Mink said the two of you got along terribly. I could see you starting a fight Darjah but I thought the Commander would be more gallant. I'll have to ask what she meant," Feyhaln looked between them suspiciously.
"Knights don't make friends with dragons," Darjah assured him. "Gentlemen, I'm to my duties. I've a lot to live up to with two Knights of Caelie supporting me."