Gabriel rolled over on his blankets, and was immediately sorry he had. Pain hit his back sharply, and he cried out. The outburst caused him even more pain, but this time he did not cry out, gasping instead. Pain seared across his ribcage as he inhaled. Both his head and his jaw ached from the commander's relentless beating. There was a bandage wrapped around his head; most likely Etienne's doing.

No sooner had the name left his thoughts that light flooded the tent, and Etienne stepped through the opening. "Gabriel," he said, "thank the Lord you've woken, even though you would wake the dead by your screaming." Etienne lowered himself onto a stool, the only piece of furniture in the tent they shared.
"It hurts even to breathe, Etienne," he retorted sharply, in the same French he'd been addressed in. Languages came easy to Gabriel, especially the Romance languages. Latin was the language of the Church, after all.

"Your ribs are broken, Gabriel," said Etienne.
"I know."

"You are fortunate that it was only your ribs." Gabriel merely grunted. Even in the dim light cast by the lantern which hung from the center of the tent, the frustration on Etienne's face was plain. "I have lost count of the times I have discussed with you the way that things are."

"It is wrong, Etienne. You know it is wrong."

"The next time, le Marchand may kill you," said Etienne, referring to their commanding officer.

"If he kills me, so be it. All will be right in the eyes of the Lord, and le Marchand will burn in Hell."

"Ah, Gabriel…" Etienne sighed. He knew it was pointless, and decided to change the subject. "The men are saying that we will be moving soon. They say the King means to begin an assault on the Holy City."

"Finally," said Gabriel. "How soon?"

"Two weeks, perhaps."

Gabriel did not reply. He saw by Etienne's face that there was more to be told. "What is it, Etienne?"


"We have been selected…" Etienne's voice trailed off. "For…" Etienne's face slowly lost its color.

"For what?" demanded Gabriel. There was no answer. "Etienne…"

"For scouts."

Heedless of the pain, Gabriel sighed and shifted to a position where he could look at Etienne.

"Scouts," he breathed. It was not often in these wars that scouts returned alive. "I am truly sorry, my friend," said Gabriel. Guilt overcame him. Gabriel knew that Etienne had a wife and children back in France, and that he was afraid he might leave them destitute if he did not return from the Crusades alive. Gabriel also knew that it was only due to Etienne's association with him that he had also been chosen as a scout. "I will speak with le Marchand," he said. "Perhaps I can persuade him not to send you."

"No, Gabriel," said Etienne, forcefully. "Do you not see? You will only make things worse."

"Perhaps," said Gabriel, "although I cannot imagine anything worse. But for your sake, I will hold my tongue."

Etienne sighed in relief. "May God bless you should you keep your word. It has not been my experience that Gabriel Van Helsing holds his tongue for long."

"And it has not been my experience that Etienne D'Aubigny has allowed him to speak."

Etienne laughed. Even on his sickbed, Gabriel still maintained his dark sense of humor. "I will leave you to rest now, my friend," he said, rising to leave. "You will be in need of your strength." Once again, sunlight filled the tent and was gone as Etienne took his leave.

"Strength be damned," muttered Gabriel under his breath. "What we need is divine intervention."

These were his last words as a dreamless, healing sleep claimed him once more.