Moving On
Matthias feels as if somebody has wrapped his head in several layers of blankets, making the world seem muffled and distant. There is noise all around him and people moving, he knows that. He can hear the sounds, see the shapes, but it all refuses to make any sense to his mind that is reeling from shock.
Somebody is kneeling next to him. He can see the shadow on the ground and feel their presence, but for some reason he cannot make himself look up.
Whoever it is, is speaking to him quietly and calmly, but there is a firm edge to the voice, desperately wanting his attention and when Matthias does not reply, the voice becomes sharper, and the person begins shaking his shoulder as well urging him to pay attention.
Matthias knows that he cannot remain in the distant part of his mind forever, and he shakes his head trying to clear the muffling fog from his head. A few deep breaths later and sounds return in an instant, loud and violent with the many voices that are shouting and panicking. Then the vague figure next to him finally gains distinct features and Matthias realizes that it is Berwald who is holding him by the shoulders.
Matthias blinks a few more times, still trying to catch. "What?" he mutters, but he does not have time to say anything more before Berwald pats him firmly on the cheek, making him recoil in surprise, not expecting the sharp contact.
"Good," Berwald says firmly. "You're back with us." He pushes a piece of fabric that might have been a cloak at some point into Matthias' hands and he has no choice but to accept. "Take this, dry off your hands and stand up."
It is an order, easy enough to understand and Matthias accepts the help to get up and wrings his hands in the fabric, wiping away streaks off blood.
"Great," Berwald continues. His voice is still holding firm, but Matthias can hear the more urgent undertone. "People are about to panic, and we need you to step up and talk to them right now. They need somebody to convince them that this is not going to break us, and Torleif is in no shape to do that." Berwald jerks his head discretely in Torleif's direction where the veteran is sitting on the ground with blank eyes as he stares at nothing, mouth moving as if he is talking quietly to himself. "We need a leader, and right now you are all we got."
"I can't do that," Matthias protest's weakly.
"You can, and you have to!" Berwald snaps back. "You were meant to be a leader the moment you stepped between Sigurd and those soldiers back in Griven. The other veterans might not want to admit it, but many of the people already consider you as a second in command to Torleif. They trust you, and even more important, they believe in you." He pauses to let the words sing in. "We are not safe here anymore, not with that commander gone and free to return to the King. Somebody needs to get us all moving."
Berwald does not give him the opportunity to protest.
He pulls Matthias to his feet and helps him wipe more blood off his hands. They cannot get it all without water and soap, but its presence is no longer glaringly obvious. He then takes the fabric away and rolls it up in a tight ball util none of the blood is visible and Gives Matthias a nod. "Now step up and talk to them."
Matthias clenches his hands into tight fists, holding them close to his body to hide the shaking of his fingers, putting on a mask of determination. If he is going to convince everybody else that Brynjar's death is not the end of their rebellion, he will need to change his mindset drastically and not letting anybody see just how terrified he is.
Somehow, he manages to push his own doubts to the far back of his mind and he steps up on the chopping block to gain some height and whistles sharply to get the attention of the crowd.
"People!" he yells, then pauses to find the right words in the time it takes for the rebels to turn towards him. It is a little discouraging to see all the devastated expressions staring back at him, but he steels himself and begins speaking.
"I know that you are all scared after what we just saw, but you can't lose hope now." He pauses to let the words sink in and give the people some time to calm down and actually listen. "We have to be smart and act quickly. Their commander just escaped, and he is most likely going to get reinforcements, and we are going to want to fight them on our terms rather than theirs." Another break. "That means we do not want them to catch us here and we should pack up the camp and move on quick as we can to stay ahead of them."
The crowd still seem a little hesitant which is understandable, sharing glances amongst each other and looking between Torleif and Matthias, not sure who is in charge anymore.
"He is right," Torleif says after a few seconds of hesitation from where he is sitting on the ground, wallowing in his own misery. He does not look at any of them, and his voice is thick with barely restrained grief, and not at all the confident and commanding tone they are used to hearing from him. He still does not look as if he is fully aware of what is going on around him.
His word is still enough to get people moving however, and with a few final glances towards Brynjar and their grief-stricken leader, the rebels begin force themselves to move and begin the heavy task of preparing to fight another day.
As the crowd thins, Matthias crouches beside Torleif and places a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I am so sorry," he whispers quietly. The words catch in his throat but it does not seem to matter as Torleif has returned to his empty staring as their audience no longer has their attention on him.
Berwald has found his way towards them along with Tino and it seems he has found another cloak somewhere and he drapes it gently over Brynjar's body, shielding him from prying eyes. "The others should not have to see this," he says carefully, and he is right. Brynjar's death was not a pretty one and seeing the evidence will not do anyone any good.
Since Torleif does not react in any way, Matthias takes it upon himself to wrap the cloak a bit tighter around Brynjar.
"He's dead," Torleif whispers still in utter disbelief, his fingers white where they are clutching Brynjar's hand. "That thing just took his life and then healed his own injuries, we all saw it. How are we even supposed to fight something like that? It can heal from injuries that should have him on the verge of death."
"We'll figure it out," Matthias replies gently, keeping his voice low enough that only the four of them can hear it. "Nobody is invincible, we just have to find the right weakness. We can't give up now." He begins to pry Torleif's fingers open form his white-knuckled grip to transfer Brynjar's body over to Berwald who had knelt down besides them. "Why don't you go back to your tent, get some rest? We will take of this," he gestures towards himself, Berwald and Tino. "Let us help you."
Finally, Torleif's grip eases enough that Berwald can pick up the cloak-wrapped bundle with Matthias' help.
"Tino, can you make sure he get's back?" Matthias asks.
He receives a nod and is relieved to know that Torleif will not remain in the same spot for hours, staring at the blood stained ground and feeling guilty. None of the others need to see their leader like that. Tino will make sure he gets some rest.
That should give Matthias some time to think of how they can turn this disaster back on the right track again. The bare minimum they can do, is give Brynjar a proper funeral and give the people some closure, so he steers them towards the medical tent and Eir. She is the one most used to death and is most likely to keep a level head.
"What happened?" Eir shouts in horror as the two of them push their way inside the medical tent with far more force than necessary. She rushes towards them to help but stops in her tracks when she realizes the badly wrapped bundle in their arms can be nothing but a dead body and not somebody in need of immediate help.
"It's Brynjar," Matthias replies. "The commander killed him."
Eir stans frozen, her mouth open in disbelief and the supplies she was carrying clatters to the floor.
Berwald carries the body to the very back of the tent, the furthest out of view. "We should bury him before we leave," he says. "The people will expect it, but until then I think it will be best to keep him out of sight."
It takes a few moments for Eir to collect herself and she just stares at the bundle they just placed in a corner, and then she finally looks at the two of them, clearly forcing herself to focus on the living people in her presence, rather than a man she can no longer help. Then, she frowns and Matthias realizes his shirt and cloak has fresh stains of blood, one of them looking like it might stem from the cut on his arm.
"You were supposed to take it easy," she scolds, but there is a quiver in her voice that lets them hear the grief she is refusing to show. "Get your shirt off right now! I have to make sure you haven't ruined my needlework."
Matthias reluctantly complies, shrugging of his outer coat and loosening the laces on his shirt to tug it over his head. Hearing Eir sigh as his chest is exposed makes him nervous. The rush after the fight is slowly leaving his system and he is beginning to notice how much his earlier injuries are itching and burning underneath their bandages, all things he managed to ignore when he was busy with other things. Helping Berwald carry a tall, muscular man across the field was probably not the wisest decision he has made, and sure enough, the bandage around his arm is bright red with fresh blood.
Eir points sharply at one of the free cots and even snaps her fingers when Matthias does not move fast enough for her liking and then she grabs one of her other baskets of supplies.
When she removes the drenched bandages, her expression draws tight in concentration, and she hisses through her teeth. "That needs to be stitched back together… again."
She obviously does not care if Matthias is going to reply or not and makes a point out of disinfecting and threading her needle well within his view and with her mouth drawn in a tight line.
A few steps away, Berwald is waiting uneasily. "I'll just leave," he says. "Torleif gave the order to pack up camp, and there is a lot of work to do before we can get moving." He looks as if he is about to head outside, but then his eyes catch on Matthias' chest, where the angry, red burns from the garnet crystal are on display and he stops. His eyes then wander over to Brynjar's body and a crease forms between his brows.
He is choosing not to say anything, that much is obvious, but Matthias can see his brain working behind the stoic façade and feels a strangely exposed and has nothing to hide behind. No shirt and no clever excuses either.
Berwald must see the similarities in the two wounds and is trying to work out how one of them lead to death while the other did not. The thing Berwald does not know is that the crystal that is now imbedded into Brynjar's chest did rest on Matthias' just hours ago. Then he shakes his head as if he is trying to rid the though from his head and leaves without another word of goodbye.
Matthias looks after him as he goes, lost in his own head, or that is until Eir uses his distraction to jab the needle into his arm without a warning. When he hisses in response, she only gives him and unimpressed looks and continues stitching the wound back together without a shred of sympathy.
She continues her work in silence and Matthias is unable to tell if she is angry with him for injuring himself again or if the is mourning to loss of Brynjar by burying herself in work.
Since Eir is unwilling to talk, Matthias is left with only his thoughts for company and none of them are pleasant. Most of them involve guilt over Brynjar's death as his mind assaults him with different scenarios of how he could have prevented it. He is the one that allowed Lukas to manipulate the situation and let Brynjar fall for what was obviously a trap.
This is going to be a great blow to morale for everybody, having lost one leader and seeing the other one break down on the field before them. All of that because they decided to wait with executing one man. Will any of them even want to continue fighting after seeing something like that and having their victory turned into a defeat?
They are going to have to fight no matter what they feel, Matthias thinks to himself.
They are all outlaws now, all of them, and there is no way they can make a living within the Kingdom of Feawen unless the King is brought down. The only option they have besides fighting is starting over somewhere else in the world, far away from Feawen, giving up the lives they had and starting over with nothing to their names but the clothes on their backs.
His next big worry is what he is going to do about Lukas. He has no idea and nobody to ask for advice from either. All he knows is that he can never let anybody know that he took advice from the enemy commander. He knows Torleif is working to have him as a second in command, training him and convincing the other veterans that he is fit for the job despite his youth and inexperience, but if people find out about his secrets, they will never trust him again. They might even blame him for everything that has happened and will be deserving of every accusation.
He snaps out of his thoughts again from another jolt of pain, this one from Eir tightening a fresh bandage around his arm with excessive force. "Now, don't you dare move out of this cot," she orders sharply and puts her supplies back in their basket. "Get some rest while you can."
Her tone says it all and Matthias obediently lays down on the small cot, accepting his fate. There is no way he is going to be able to sleep, so he passes the time watching and listening as Eir tends to her other patients.
Only a few of them are awake enough to talk to her when it is their turn, and she patiently comforts each and every one of them with soft spoken words as she washes wounds and changes bandages. She also talks to herself and to the patients that are too injured to talk back, keeping at bay any uncomfortable silence all on her own. Apparently her harsh words are only spared for very special cases of hard-headed younglings that go against her orders and disrupt her work.
Only after she has checked up on all her patients and picked up after dropping her basket earlier does she makes her way to the cloak-wrapped body of Brynjar tucked away in a corner. She carefully moves aside some of the fabric and mutters quietly as she goes over every single injury. "Poor man almost scratched his own throat open trying to breathe," she whispers weakly, running her fingers over the scratches so carefully it seems she is afraid of hurting an already dead man. When she pulls aside more of the cloak, she gasps in horror, barely managing to muffle some of the sound behind her hand to avoid upsetting her patients, but her low mournful sobs that follows are very much audible in the relative quiet of the tent.
Matthias cannot listen any longer after that. He curls up in his cot, turning his back on the tent and attempts to force himself to sleep even though his throughs are threatening to spiral out of control again in a new vicious cycle of guilt.
The tent remains quiet for the next few hours and Matthias drifts in and out of sleep. Eir moves around from time to time, working quietly. The outside is a little more noisy as people move about, talking loudly amongst themselves and preparing for the march south.
Then, out of nowhere, the tent flap flies open, sending in a gush of cold air as a young man comes storming inside, gasping for breath. He looks around, searching until he find who he is looking for. "Matthias. We need your help," he stutters between breaths. "Torleif is refusing to come out of his tent and people are getting upset."
Groggy from sleep, Matthias sits up on his bed, giving a cautious look towards Eir. "Where is Berwald? Couldn't he deal with this?" There is a ball of dread in his gut as he wonders what has happened to have people come looking for him rather than any of the other veterans in their camp.
The messenger looks troubled. "He was busy," he says unevenly. "And since you were the one that spoke up after," he hesitates. "The incident before. I think the people might be more comfortable if you were the one to deal with Torleif."
Eir steps up next to them and gives the messenger an angry glare, accompanied by a long string of vicious coursers. "Are you out of your mind?" she snarls. "You want an injured man to deal with your problems?"
The man looks like he would rather be anywhere but here, throwing glances towards the door as if he is ready to bolt at a moment's notice should Eir get any angrier. He does not even dare try come up with a reply to try and convince her.
She then turns her fury on Matthias. "You've already torn your stiches once today not listening to reason and you still need a lot of rest. You should not go anywhere!"
"But they need me out there," Matthias insists weakly.
If Eir had not been a healer she would be one scary fighter on the field. "It will not be an enemy that causes your death," she snarls furiously at Matthias. "It will be your own damned stupidity! It might save me a lot of work and grief in the future if I just kill you myself now and have it over with!" She stomps away to the furthest corner of the tent, turning her back on them, radiating pure rage.
There is a moment of awkward silence and then the messenger gathers enough courage to speak up. "So, you'll come then."
Matthias nods weakly and picks up his shirt from beside the bed. He tries not to wince as he pulls it over his head and firmly avoids looking back at Eir as he follows the messenger out of the tent.
The young man makes his way quickly past the tents, showing the way but it quickly becomes clear where they are going. There are raised voices somewhere ahead of them and a larger group of people has gathered and is arguing loudly. As they approach, fragments of the argument become clear.
"I told you," one voice shouts above all the others. "We should just lay down or weapons and return to our homes. Let's collect what little we have and offer it to the King and his soldiers as a peace offering. If we beg for mercy and offer him everything we have to spare, he might forgive us."
"Can you hear yourself?" Another voice interrupts. "He won't forgive us for what we have done and neither will the soldiers! They would rather slaughter us in vengeance of their fallen friends. It is not like the King really has need for the outskirt districts. The Kingdom can still survive and prosper without us if they need to."
"Then we should just head for the border, seek refuge elsewhere!" A third voice yells. "We have far better chances facing winter without resources than we do a massive army and magic wielders! We have no way of defending ourselves against something like that."
"Let's just leave!"
"You will do no such thing!" Matthias makes his way past the messenger and pushes his way right into the group. "We are not defeated!" By some miracle he manages to keep his voice steady as he speaks to these people. "Have all of you forgotten that we took down half and army of highly trained soldiers? Yes, we just lost Brynjar in a horrible way, but that does not in any way diminish our past victories."
Nobody dares speak up against him.
"There are losses in war," Matthias continues loudly. "We all knew that when we signed up for this, so did the people we have lost. It hurts, of course it does. Every life matters, but they risked and sacrificed their lives willingly so that all of us and our families can have the chance of a future after this war. If you give up now, their deaths would have been for nothing!"
There are several shameful faces staring back at him as people realizes that they acted rashly in fear and grief.
Matthias knows he cannot leave this people with their shame and regret, it will only crush their spirit. They need to see that there is still hope. "We have a real chance of winning this war," he says soberly, they need to see that he is sincere in his belief. "We have already proven that by defeating the soldiers when they though they had the upper hand and tore through village after village thinking themselves invincible. Brynjar thought we could win. I still think we can win, but we need to stand together."
Another few moments of silence, and one voice speak up from the crowd. "What do you need us to do?" he asks and more voices chimes in immediately after, asking for instructions.
It feels strange to give out orders, but people are watching him with rapt attention. "Bring the weapons we gathered after the fight to Berwald or the old smith; they will tell you what is worth salvaging and not. Eir is in change of medical supplies, so keep her informed of what we have." He needs to think quickly, mentally going through a list of everything they need to get ready. "Prepare to bring the tents that are still whole, and most importantly the soldier's food supplies. They had an army bigger than ours and must have brought enough to last them at least a few more weeks without stealing from villages in their path. We should be ready to leave tomorrow if we can."
There is a general hum of agreement as the crowd seems to settle down, and one after one, they leave as they are given a task to focus on.
Once the crowd is gone, Torleif comes stumbling out of a nearby tent, and Matthias thinks that must be the reason the crowd came here to begin with. They were looking for Torleif, their leader, wanting some reassurance and then grew nervous when he refused to face them and nearly started a riot instead.
He must have heard the entire discussion from within his tent, but chose to ignore them until now.
"You have a natural talent for talking to people," he says to Matthias who is really the only person left. There is a heavy slur in his voice, and his breath closely resembles the air of a brewery. It smells like he has been looking for some reassurance on his own in the last few hours and searched for it at the bottom of a bottle, or more likely several of them judging by the fumes coming off him. His eyelids looks heavy as if he is struggling to keep them open. "They listen to you so easily."
"They would have listened to you just as easily," Matthias says with a sigh, careful to keep his voice low in case anybody is eavesdropping. "That is if you had cared to speak to them rather than drinking yourself stupid." He cannot keep the accusation out of his voice, he is angry at Torleif for acting so irresponsible in a time of crisis and everybody needs him to look strong. "Why would you do that?"
Torleif tries to wave him off, but it only puts him out of balance, and he almost topples over before he catches himself and curses. "I just wanted a few hours to myself," he groans and drags a hand over his face. "I had almost forgotten what this shit felt like, losing a friend in battle."
He wobbles precariously on the spot and Matthias figures it is time to get him back into the tent and out of sight before anyone can see him like this.
"I thought I had seen it all," Torleif continues weakly, "all the horrible ways that a man can die, but I was wrong." He lets out a dangerous-sounding belch, the stench of alcohol thickening as the contents of Torleif's stomach threatens to make a reappearance. "Brynjar was my closest friend after the war you know. He was one of the only ones that knew what it was like." His words are quickly growing muddier and hard to distinguish. "And now we've lost him."
"I'm sorry, Torleif," Matthias says gently. "Brynjar's death is going to hard to accept." There is not much else to say. Torleif is in no state to listen and will probably not remember a single thing come morning.
There are two mats on the ground inside the tent, but one is surrounded by a horrifying number of bottles, clearly Torleif's sleeping spot. Matthias leads the intoxicated man towards the bedding and helps him get comfortable, making sure to push away the bottles that still contains alcohol so he can remove the temptation from Torleif's reach.
"Get some rest now," Matthias says, still gentle as he coaxes Torleif to lie down. "Sleep it all off. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.
He receives a few incomprehensible phrases in return as Torleif settles down, speech slurring even further as exhaustion takes him and then he begins snoring.
Matthias leaves him there after making sure Torleif is resting safely on his side and not at any risk of choking on his own vomit should he be sick at any point during the night. He feels tired now, the events of the day finally catching up with him proper and he prays that nobody else will show up with another crisis for him to deal with and he picks up the bottles, eager to return to his cot and get some proper sleep.
In the morning, the rebels tear down their tents at the first sign of dawn, and by the time the tundra is bathed in pale light of morning, they stand ready to leave. There is only one more task they need to do first.
They spent some time last night, preparing a small memorial pyre for Brynjar, people feeling it necessary to give him their final respects. They do not hold any speeches before they light it, nor do they stand in silence to watch the body burn as is common. Torleif merely steps up to the pyre without a single word, grim faced and somber. He lights it by tossing a torch into the stack of wood, barely waiting for the flames to catch before he turns around and walks away.
He mounts his horse and begins a slow trot away towards the south, still not looking back. Matthias kicks his own horse into a trot until he catches up, not wanting to leave the veteran out of his sight.
People take his lead and form the convoy after them, ready to leave the battlefield behind and face new challenges on the road ahead.
Torleif is silent for hours at the time, lost deep in thought and clearly suffering from a massive hangover judging from the way he keeps squinting at the sun and the way he shrinks in on himself whenever they cross rougher terrain, wobbling in his saddle. Occasionally he brings out a small bottle from his cloak, still seeking out some solace in alcohol to keep himself going.
Tino and a small group of scouts made their way past the caravan in a gallop almost immediately after departure, disappearing into a distant forest to scout the path ahead and make sure there are no surprises waiting for them.
The rest of the caravan is slow. Their carts are loaded heavily with supplies, as much as they dare without risking the animals. They have more horses time around per person, so the journey feels a little easier for most, even though there are still some people that are forced to walk.
They lost quite a few horses in their violent assault on the soldiers front lines, but also managed to catch most of those that were released from their enclosure by Matthias and Tino. The new horses are in far better condition than their own had been, well trained and well fed, making a good addition to their herd. All in all, they are better off than before they met the soldiers.
They decide to send off one cart towards Dale with any supplies they can afford to spare, and people feels lighter knowing that the people they left behind will receive food and clothing that can help them survive winter. It is a morale-booster and one they all sorely need to feel that their war is making a difference.
The air is bitingly cold as they move, but despite this, Matthias never feels the chill. His breath leaves his lungs as a white fog, but his skin feels as if it is on fire and the heat is spreading throughout his entire body and he is sweating through his heavy winter gear. Even if they journey is slow and he spends the entire day on horseback, he feels exhausted at the end of the day.
He brushes it off as a cold at first, maybe a flu if he is unlucky. Many have gotten sick of the past few days after traveling in the cold and with only tents to fight off the nightly chill. Coughing and sneezing has become a common occurrence through their camp and Eir has her hands full trying to ease the symptoms in those afflicted with her quickly dwindling supplies of herbs.
There is one evening when Matthias is changing his own bandages that he begins to wonder if the wounds are healing much slower than normal, but he is no healer. Eir had given instructions to change the bandages every other day or if they get dirty and to apply one of her herbal mixtures to soothe the burns if necessary. The wound on his arm is looking much better and no longer need bandages, but his chest is a very different story.
The first few days it just seemed to heal slowly, slowly changing color from a angry red to a more gently irritated pink. He did not want to bother Eir when she was so busy with everybody else, but he is beginning to see the error in that decision. The spot where the crystal came in direct contact with his skin is beginning to look more irritated again, and the skin around it turning red and even a yellow. It is hot and painful to the touch, and he tells himself that he will go to Eir if it does not get better.
The next day turns into pure hell, and he regrets every single choice he has made in his life so far and he grinds his teeth together, just praying for the day to be over so he can talk to Eir.
The motion of the horse is steady and calm and it does not take long for Matthias' mind to drift. He allows it easily. Anything to take his mind of the agony that is his chest. Shapes and colors blur together until he can no longer see the road ahead of him.
He knows he need to tell somebody that he is feeling ill, but before he can open his mouth, the world turns black around the edges and everything shifts sideways as he can feel himself tilting over in the saddle, losing grip on the reigns.
He is out before he can even hit the ground.