“I had my nami do it.”
“Good. That’s what they’re for. Now you have more time to get ready. Don’t waste it on brooding, Tirsan, the battle’s ahead!”
* * *
Some people considered rough treatment to be motivational, and Innam Ar was no exception. But for me, it did the opposite. I couldn’t bear staying in the tent; its walls seemed to press in on me, suffocate me. I ran outside and stood for a while, breathing deeply.
No way I could get anything done in there.
For better or worse, I spotted Raison Dal’s decontamination team and remembered the other part of kar-vessár’s orders. Cursing, I darted to my place. I didn’t have much food left, having eaten all the snacks; just a few dry ingredients. In the last few days I was in no mood for cooking, but as I was packing them away, I thought of all the dishes I could have made. Even the driest, least seasoned porridge beat Dahlsian rations. And having the food I wasn’t eating beat seeing said food go up in flames.
Silly, I knew. But thinking about provisions helped me not to think about other things, so I cut myself some slack.
My fingers wrapped around a bag of naya spice and I froze. My mother made it in Nes Peridion, using traditional Tarvissian ingredients as well as local herbs. Probably the last batch she prepared…
Technically, it was not food. And since I only used it for cooking, it had no chance of leaving my tent. It was no threat to anyone. Just to be on the safe side, I made a little cut in my pillow and slipped the spice bag in, then fixed the hole with a spell. There. Unless someone slept in my bed, it should be fine.
I felt a bit better about handing the rest of my stash to the decontamination team.
When they left, I spotted Saral Tal heading toward the field hospital and realized I still had some time to kill. It crossed my mind that I should probably prepare for the upcoming battle. Not myself, necessarily, that would take minutes, but my Cohort. I quickly discarded that idea. Myar Mal’s words still echoed in my head. I was here only as bait; I didn’t owe him a job well done.
Besides, what could I do? We didn’t even have a plan yet!
So it was alright, I told myself as I approached the hospital. I wasn’t sure when exactly I decided to visit Tayrel Kan, but it seemed proper. I owed him an apology, after all.
But as soon as I reached the hospital, it was as if cold fingers wrapped around my heart. The area was crowded; even outside the main tents, people were sitting or lying on the ground, some bandaged, others just pressing cloths to their untended wounds. A couple of sorcerers bustled about, casting minor healing spells, but neither of them wore the yellow coat of a true healer. The air resonated with moans of pain and cracks of magic.
I rushed toward the tent, hoping to leave the scene behind, but what greeted me there was even worse. It was quiet. There was a hum of magic, but no sobs, words or screams. Dozens of cots stood squeezed next to each other, all of them taken. People crushed by rocks, pierced by bolts, a few burned—by Tayrel Kan’s spell? I didn’t want to think about that. Mercifully, most of them were unconscious. Gods, I hoped they were unconscious.
Earlier I considered suffering life-threatening anaphylaxis qualified someone to be here. Now I wasn’t so sure.
Wishing to be out of here as soon as possible, I grabbed the nearest healer, earning a look of pure exasperation, and asked about Tayrel Kan. Apparently, he was already discharged. The healer pointed me to where his tent was, then fled before I could ask further questions.
No matter. I was ready to leave, the mixed smells of blood, antiseptic, burned flesh and nyarai extract making me nauseous. But a familiar voice sounded behind me, stopping me.
“Vessár?”
I turned around, the sash burning my chest. Argan Am was lying on one of the cots, with a generous amount of nyarai paste applied to his face and head. I only recognized him by his eyes. He held his hands on the blanket, but while the right one was merely bandaged, the left one ended in a stump, just below his elbow.
“Yeah,” he said, and I realized I must have been staring for a while, “I liked my hand, you know. It was a useless lump, but it was… mine.”
“What happened?” I stammered, my mouth completely dry. I struggled to remember if he was right- or left-handed, until I realized the futility. He was a sorcerer; of course he was left-handed.
“I asked to be part of Kiarn At’s strike force. I got hit—not directly, but my suit caught fire. Those spells they were throwing must have been made to counter our protections. I managed to get down, but just barely.”
Bile rose in my throat. “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “Not your fault.”
Wasn’t it? I’d been sent to the mansion with the specific task of investigating enemy weapons. If I’d foreseen the crystals could serve as projectiles, our fliers could prepare.
“It didn’t hurt,” he added quietly after a while. “It does now, but at the time… I saw my hand burning, saw the plastic melting into my flesh. And felt nothing. My brain just refused to process the pain. But I remember the smell. It smelled… like one of those things you cook, you know?”
A wave of nausea rolled over me. I remembered the odor well from when Tayrel Kan was casting his spell—it made me want to give up meat for a while.
I wanted to say something, but no words came to my mind, and I just stared at him, sick and horrified.
He lifted his gaze. It was hard to tell with his dark eyes, but I thought he must’ve
