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
'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 heaved aside another body. A cloud of flies stirred up by the motion drifted lazily in front of his face. Dev spat at the air, but the insects buzzed relentlessly around his hair and ears. 'Well, Hallis the holy man wasn't anywhere nearby at the time, so what's she going to do? Gut wound won't kill you quick, and Morla, she'd rather slit her own throat than lay out in the sun with an open wound, so what'd she do? No bandages, no time to make 'em, so she just balls up her left fist and sticks it in the wound to stop the blood.'
'Merciful gods,' Gerond murmured.
'Not so merciful, as it turned out,' Dev said cheerfully. 'The men lost sight of her. Eventually, they found old Morla wandering the battlefield as the fighting was winding down. She was half dead with fever and infection, but it took Hallis the longest time to get her to sit down and take her hand out of her own entrails. Turns out, she'd pressed that fist so hard in her wound she'd made it twice as painful as it could have been.' That pain was something Dev didn't want to contemplate. 'But Hallis treated her in time, knitted that wound up smart with his prayers and beseeching to his god. Didn't even leave a scar on her lovely, wrinkled belly. But that left hand, you can't make it forget. Unless she minds it with her whole strength, that hand trembles. No priest or prayer in this whole world going to fix that. The only cure's in Morla's mind, and she hasn't rooted it out yet.'
Dev had turned away, his eyes back on the horizon, but he could feel Gerond watching him.
'All men are not created the same,' the priest said after a moment. 'Most would rather live than die. Most would prefer to walk off this battlefield alive, if not whole.'
'Better they'd died.'
'Then why do you serve Morla?' Gerond demanded. 'Won't a similar fate await you?'
Dev shrugged. 'I serve Amn any way I can, holy man, any way they'll let me—for a price.'
'Whatever gold you receive won't be enough, if you die out here,' the priest said.
'Is that so?' Dev asked, his voice rich with scorn. 'Who said I wanted gold?'
'Then what?'
Dev halted and gestured for Gerond to lower the litter. 'Shut it, now. We're here.'
'How do you know?'
'Because I just busted a shin trying to move this body here,' Dev said.
He pointed to the ground. A large stone statue lay across their path. Like a lass sleeping in moonlight, Chieva had her serene face turned to the stars. Moss and curling weeds twined around her solid arms, which were raised in supplication to the goddess.
Dev motioned for Resch to remain on the litter. He and the priest took cover at the base of the statue. Leaning against the stone, Dev took out Morla's instructions and broke the wax seal. He folded back the parchment and began to read.
There was quiet on the field for a long time after that.
Dev didn't know how much time passed, but suddenly, someone was shaking him insistently. He looked up into Resch's wide, shadowed face. He hadn't registered the man's presence.
'What's wrong with him?' he heard Gerond whisper. Resch motioned for the priest to be quiet. His gaze moved between the parchment and Dev's face. The question was obvious, and abruptly, Dev realized that Resch the Silent probably couldn't read.
Dev handed the parchment to the priest. 'Tell 'im,' he said. Gerond took the instructions and read aloud:
