Chapter 5
Jagen paced back and forth, swiveling on his heels about every five feet as he moved monotonously. He could hear the younger soldiers murmuring about the missing cavaliers, and he sighed. Just as he was debating whether or not to follow Marth into the forest, he heard the familiar sound of hooves on dirt, and the prince came bursting out of the undergrowth. Even in the fading light, Jagen could see the shine of green armor, but the amount of blood staining the unconscious cavalier's body made his stomach drop.
Marth's eyes locked with Jagen's for a moment, but the prince couldn't read the elder warrior's thoughts through his clouded expression. He turned away from the paladin, directing his horse towards one of the tents near the edge of the camp. Dropping off from the saddle smoothly, he confronted a red-haired man who stood outside of the tent with his arms crossed indifferently.
"Julian," Marth addressed the thief who immediately gave his attention. "Where's Lena?"
Julian answered with no sense of urgency, and he rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed; his cheek was red as if it had just been slapped. "In the tent, there," he answered. "She might not be in th' best of moods though, eh? 'Cuz she kicked me out a coupl'a minutes ago, right, but all I did was—"
Marth didn't wait to listen to the rest of Julian's failed romance story. He grabbed the wounded body from the horse and slung it over his shoulder, grunting a bit from the weight. He moved past the surprised thief and brushed the flap of the tent aside as he entered.
"I told you not to come back in here!" Lena held a pillow in her hand and was poised to strike; as soon as she saw who it was, her hand dropped the pillow and flew to her mouth. "Oh!" Color flushed to her cheeks as she realized her mistake. "Prince Marth, I apologize—"
"Lena," Marth's tone was serious as he cut short her scrambled apology. He still held the unconscious Abel over his shoulder, and he bent over to gently lay the body on one of the empty cots.
Upon seeing the battered body of Abel, tears pricked at the edge of Lena's eyes as she snagged her healing staff from underneath her own cot. Although she was a cleric, the sight of any of her comrades injured still made her heart ache. "What in the world happened to you…?" She murmured, placing her hand gently on the unconscious cavalier's arm. She closed her eyes and gripped her staff tightly, urging its power out and conducting the magical energy through her body and into Abel's.
Marth stood back from her as she worked, his arms crossed over his chest. He bit down on his lower lip nervously; it wasn't that he doubted Lena's ability as a healer, but he still feared for the cavalier's life. His mind was also wandering to thoughts of Cain; he hadn't been at the scene of the fight, nor returned to camp on his own. Perhaps—
Marth was pulled out of his thoughts and back into reality as Jagen threw aside the tent entrance and ducked inside. He looked at Marth expectantly, and the prince explained the grisly scene.
"What about Cain?" Jagen questioned, having noticed the absence of the red-haired cavalier.
Hesitating, Marth frowned and didn't answer the question directly. "I found this on the collar of one of the fallen men." He pulled a small pin out from his pocket and held it out so Jagen could see it closer. "Do you recognize that insignia?"
After studying it for a moment, the paladin nodded, but his eyes showed signs of surprise. "Gra," he answered. "That's the symbol for the kingdom of Gra."
Marth nodded solemnly.
"But sire, we're nowhere near Gra." Jagen contradicted him, confused. He turned the pin over, inspecting it, but there was no doubting the blatant carving on it.
"Maybe not, but these are not normal times," Marth spoke in a low tone. "Jiol's got his men spread out across many more countries due to the war; who's to say he doesn't have a fort here?"
Suddenly, Lena let out a loud gasp, ending the two's conversation as they turned their attention towards her. Her eyes flew open and she swayed, leaning on her staff for support. Marth knelt down on one knee and held her shoulders, steadying her so she wouldn't fall. "Lena, are you alright?"
After a moment, she nodded. "Yes… I am fine." The energy needed from her staff to heal Abel's wounds was greater than she had ever used before, and it exhausted her body as she pulled it forth. Composing herself, she tried to stand slowly, and Marth helped her up. "I can do nothing more for him for now," she murmured, her expression one of defeat as she looked at the unconscious soldier. The bleeding had stopped, and his wounds and bruises had been minimized slightly.
"You've done more than enough," Marth reassured her, grateful. Lena could stand on her own now, and the prince stepped outside for a moment to address Julian. They both entered the tent, and the red-haired thief immediately went to Lena's side, noticing her dazed expression and wobbly posture.
"Hey, there now," Julian murmured, his tone gentle as he spoke to her. "Let's get you some rest, yeah?" He led her over towards the remaining empty cot and helped her lay down.
Trusting Julian to look after the exhausted Lena, Marth gave Abel another glance before looking back at Jagen. "It will probably be some time before he wakes," he commented. Closing his eyes, he rubbed his temple, frustrated. "There's nothing we can do for Cain except search blindly, but even that is dangerous."
Jagen put his hand on the young prince's shoulder sympathetically. "The best thing we can do right now is keep the soldiers we have now healthy," he advised. "Cain is a strong soldier; he wouldn't go down so easily."
Appreciate of Jagen's support, Marth nodded in agreement. "You're right. We all could use some rest."
As the two exited the tent and separated towards their own, Marth still felt traces of worry worming around in his head.
Anger and frustration kept Marth from sleep. After a few hours of pointlessly tossing and turning, he gave up and rolled off of his cot and went out into the night.
Sitting on a turned-over log, Marth rested his chin on his hand and stared up at the shimmering sky that sparkled with stars. Worries and fears twisted in his gut. The war was always on his mind; he hadn't had a chance to properly mourn his father, and he feared for the safety of his sister and mother. The pressure of protecting all of his soldiers was tremendous, and the smallest mistake could cost someone their life. His obsession with keeping all of his soldiers alive weighed heavily on his heart, and he felt sick to his stomach as he pictured Cain's potential fate. The longer they waited, the less possibility there was of finding Cain alive.
"Marth?" A quiet voice reached the prince's ears and he jumped, not realizing that he hadn't been alone. Turning around, his eyes locked with those of a young mage. Merric's dark eyes were narrowed slightly in concern and he stood a few feet away. Marth felt as if his heart had dropped into his stomach. Due to his earlier thoughts, his mind warped the image; Merric with a sword stabbed through his chest, Merric with his throat slit, Merric with a knife in his head… All Marth could see when he looked at the mage was death. Feeling as if he would vomit, the prince turned his head away quickly, squeezing his eyes shut.
Suddenly, Marth felt a small hand resting on his shoulder, and he opened his eyes and turned his head. Merric stood there with a supporting smile on his face. "We are all fine," he reassured the prince. "We will find Cain. He is alive, I am sure." Marth and Merric had known each other for many years, and the mage was well aware of the prince's fear of death, whether it be his own or one of his comrades. "You need to rest."
Marth hesitated, then slowly nodded. There was nothing any of them could do right now, and exhausting himself with worry was not the proper course of action. "Thanks," he murmured, offering Merric a weak smile to show appreciation for his support. They went their separate ways, and Marth returned to his tent. His eyes had begun to feel a bit droopy, and he collapsed into a deep but restless sleep.
