Realms of War

charlatan. Do you think he moves with more quiet than you?'

Dev blinked. He'd had no idea there was anyone else in the tent. But a figure stepped from the shadows, a large, hulking shape Dev recognized immediately.

'Resch,' he said. He glanced at Morla. 'You're sending him with me?'

'I am.'

Resch, 'The Silent,' came to stand next to the priest. He was tall, with well-defined muscles and no tunic to hide them. His shaved head bore a wormlike scar behind his right ear. He was called The Silent because he never spoke a word to anyone. He never spoke a word to anyone because an ogre had ripped out his tongue in the initial attack on Murann, in the early days of the war.

Resch, by his manner, was still holding a grudge. Dev couldn't blame him.

'Gerond will go along as well.' Morla offered the fat priest her right hand to help him to his feet. Her left had returned to its place at her sword hilt. 'As you know, we recently lost our priest, Hallis. Gerond tells us he was a colleague of his,' Morla said.

'Then why don't you keep him here, seeing as he's your only holy man now?' Dev asked.

Morla smiled thinly. 'You're wasting time, charlatan. Dawn is waiting.' She gestured to the guard, who turned and lifted the lid on an ornate, brass-handled trunk. He removed a bow and full quiver of arrows and handed them to Dev.

'You will return them, Scout, when your mission is complete,' Morla said, 'according to our bargain.'

'How could I forget,' Dev said, and this time he couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice.

So you know what I said about priests, yet there I was, shackled up to one, and it didn't make me feel that much better, having the healer along. You know, I once asked a boy who'd survived battle if he thought his god had saved him. The boy said he didn't remember his own name out on that field, said he was pissin' blood he was so scared and didn't think any god could make it better. Some things a healing won't cure.

— From the memoirs of Devlen Torthil

The bodies weren't two days cold on the ground, and the field already had a name. Chieva's Sorrow, it was called, for the pile of ruins that used to be the centerpiece of a fallow farming ground. Chieva, the Stone Lady, hadn't lasted the season. Her vacant eyes would be staring up at the night sky, just another body in the ripening pile. Dev had to find her, somewhere in the dark.

Their unlikely trio crouched in the shadow of a clump of trees bordering the bare edges of the field. They could hear sounds: murmurings and the suggestion of movement out in the darkness.

'They were supposed to be dead,' Gerond whispered. His pudgy face flooded white in the shallow moonlight. 'It's been two days.'

'Thought your kind wasn't squeamy around the dying,' Dev said. He never took his eyes off the penetrating darkness. Beside him, he heard a soft whistle. Resch was impatient to be on the move.

The priest's eyes narrowed. 'So what's your plan, Torthil?'

'Good start would be to shut yer mouth while I'm thinking,' Dev said mildly. He turned to Resch. 'You think you could bring down a couple of these stout branches without making too much noise?'

Resch rose from his haunches and went to the nearest tree. He shimmied up the trunk with a grace that defied his size. He disappeared into the foliage. A moment later, two branches dropped from the leaves. Dev caught them and handed one off to the priest.

'Shave the leaves, then give me your outer robe.'

'What?' the priest sputtered, forgetting to be quiet.

Dev pressed a dirty finger to his lips. 'We need to make a litter, and I want your holy symbol swingin' free. Any watching eyes, we want 'em to think we're out collecting the wounded.'

Resch dropped soundlessly from the tree, landing next to Dev.

'Resch here, he's going to be our invalid,' Dev explained. 'He'll be on the litter, waiting to pop up if we get detained.'

'But shouldn't we save the litter for the actual wounded?' the priest asked.

'We're not planning any stops on this trek. You heard Morla; this is a grand charade, not a rescue mission. All we've got to get us across that plain is foot speed, and every breath we waste on prayers slows us down. You understand, holy man?'

'You can't expect me to ignore that there are wounded men on that field,' the priest said. 'Gods, you can hear them. Think how many could be healed. They could join us. If the purpose of this mission is to find more men-'

'The purpose of this mission is to reunite an army that can make a run at the towers,' Dev said. 'The few stragglers we can pluck off this ground won't be worth anything to Morla, not in their condition.' He took the thick outer robe from the priest and knotted both ends around the poles.

'You think very highly of your comrades,' Gerond sneered, 'but I tell you I could restore a pair of men, maybe more, to full fighting strength.'

Dev chuckled, truly amused. 'You think that'll solve our problems, do you? You wave your digits and we've got a pile of whole men ready and eager to fight on? 'Cept maybe,'-he tapped his temple-'they aren't quite whole, eh?' He pointed at the litter. 'Try it out, big man, and let's hope your tongue bore the worst of your weight.'

He heard the priest catch his breath in alarm, but Resch merely made a rude gesture and lay back on the litter. Dev saw the scarred man tuck his mace in the dangling folds of cloth.

Dev looked again across the field. He guessed they had at least two miles of open ground to cover, carrying corpse-weight all the while. The bulky priest would slow them to a crawl. Dev cursed. It would be a miracle if they cleared the field before midday.

'Up and out,' he said, and they were moving, hauling the litter over the rough pile of stones that marked the border of the field.

In truth, Dev had no idea if his plan would buy them any degree of safety. His best hope was that any passing patrols would see a pair of desperate humans collecting their dead, not worth the effort of returning to a field where so many of their own lay rotting.

Dead grass crunched under Dev's boots. For a long time, it was the only sound in the party. When the desolate earth gave way to oddly formed lumps and piles, Dev fixed his gaze firmly on the horizon.

He let his boots fumble aside the bodies, wincing when the soft suede came away wet and, in some cases, still warm.

The smell was harder to ignore. Sweet, sickly wafts of rot and human waste hit his nose. Dev gagged and swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat. If he'd had any sense, he'd have fashioned a mask for his nose and mouth. He glanced back at Resch and saw the man's chest heaving.

'Get it under control,' he hissed between clenched teeth. 'Better they think you've expired already, makes us less of a threat. What say, priest?' he asked. 'Can your god clear this air for us, or does he only believe in the reeking herbs?'

'Fair punishment, for leaving these men behind,' Gerond said. The priest's voice was strained from the load he carried. His face shone bright red, his cheeks sucking in and out on each breath. Every few feet, he hesitated, casting furtive glances all around in the dark.

'Keep moving!' Dev snapped. 'I told you these men are no use to us.'

'What are you talking about? You're a damn fool if you think I can't help them!'

On the litter, Resch made a soft clicking sound with his teeth. A warning.

'You're injured. Play the part,' Dev barked, but he lowered his voice.

He glanced back at Gerond to pry the man's attention from the field. 'Do you know why Morla's hand shakes, holy man?'

'No,' Gerond admitted. 'I have not had the opportunity to treat the commander, but I assumed the ailment stemmed from some sort of palsy. Age, I expect. What does that have to do with anything?'

Resch clicked his teeth again, fast and low, an eerily perfect parody of amusement.

'Her first engagement, Morla got herself stuck in the gut with a spear,' Dev said. 'Not one of them sleek sentry's blades, either, I'm saying barbed teeth, a goblin weapon wielded with an animal's brute strength.' Dev