Chapter 57

They didn’t break any horses on their way back to the capital, and they spent most nights in an inn whenever they could. But that didn’t mean that Sevin or Rory got out of keeping watch. They’d exchanged their packhorses for a proper wagon along the way, but the wagon’s contents were too valuable to leave unguarded.

A duty which fell mostly to Sevin and Rory, unfortunately. The boys had gotten used to operating on half a nights sleep, fortunately, and their Warrior’s Constitution helped make up for the lack of rest.

What it didn’t make up for, Sevin thought as he leaned against the wagon, was the lack of entertainment when you pulled first shift. The others were all in the common room right now, while he was stuck on guard duty. He could hear the sounds of singing and merrymaking coming from inside, but couldn’t quite make out the tune.

He was quite certain that Antoine and Lubald were getting drunk. Rory wouldn’t be allowed to, but he was still in the warm room listening to the singing of a bard and--

The music suddenly stopped. Some yelling, and a moment later someone was defenestrated. Fortunately the window was open before the minstrel was thrown through it, so there was no broken glass. Just an outraged musician.

Sevin glanced at the cart, then at the minstrel, and he decided that this probably wasn’t a ruse to get him off his guard, so he went to help the man recover from his sudden and unexpected departure from the inn.

“What happened?” Sevin asked.

“Some lunatic assaulted me!” the minstrel exclaimed. “I was simply performing the Ballad of the Worthy Lord, and just as I was coming to the ending, which is by far the best part of the entire piece, the mad man stood up and began waving his arms about angrily. I ignored him of course, but then he assaulted me and, well, I guess you know the rest.”

“The Ballad of the Worthy Lord?” Sevin asked. He listened, and with his moderately enhanced hearing he thought he could hear the sound of Antoine laughing. “Remind me, how does that one go again?”

“Oh, you might not have heard it. It’s new.”

“I’ll give you a dragonscale if you sing it for me,” Sevin promised.

“Hah! Right, like you have one just laying around,” The minstrel said.

Sevin tsked. “Your loss.”

~~~~~~

Aisha landed in the midst of the refugees. These were the same people who had once fired a crossbow at Tirns, but the circumstances had changed. He had nervously attempted to establish contact a second time and found them far more receptive to his presence now that their baggage train was ashes and their bellies were empty.

And, unfortunately, their camp was far smaller.

Not all of the deaths could be blamed on the dragon. Lawlessness, hunger, and sickness were just as culpable.

Aisha could do nothing the first two, but curing sickness was right in her wheelhouse.

After Sir Tirns had issued the camp leaders – what passed for the camp leaders at least – the terms for their surrender and entrance into Welsius, they had readily agreed. He had then returned to fetch Aisha to work her magic on the sick and the injured – many were still recovering from burns from the night of the dragon – and so she found herself surrounded the moment Ajax landed in the clearing.

After some shouting, she managed to form some measure of organization. Considering that everyone in the camp was able to walk – those who weren’t had been left behind – she deemed that the refugees who needed the most urgent care were the children. Few of the adults grumbled with this pronouncement, showing their injuries and protesting their illnesses, but the others shamed the complainers into silence in short order.

There were hundreds of children, and seeing them took most of the day. She drained her mana curing them of whatever she could cure, but there was nothing she could do for empty bellies or thirsty throats. It wasn’t that the adults were withholding food and water; there simply wasn’t any left, and they were days away from the nearest Welsian outpost where they could be supplied. Even with Tirns sending word and the Welsian soldiers meeting them en route, Aisha realized that at least some of the children weren’t going to make it.

Her heart shattered in her chest even as she smiled at a girl she was pretty certain was going to die.

“You’ll be just fine, child,” she lied after healing the burn on her face. There would be a scar due to the delay in receiving healing magic, but the bigger problem was the child’s distended belly and gaunt features. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, does it?”

“No. Thank you lady,” the girl said. “When do we get the food?”

“Soon,” Aisha promised. Hoping that it would be soon enough. Knowing that it might not be.

“How soon?”

“Very soon. I need to heal the others now, but don’t worry. Help is on the way,” Aisha said.

“The soldiers were going to kill you,” the girl whispered. “That’s what they said before the dragon came and killed them.”

Aisha nodded. “Thank you for telling me. The dragon changed everything, though. The soldiers won’t be a problem anymore.”

“After the dragon came they wouldn’t give us any more food,” the girl continued. “It was only when the non-soldier grownups grouped up and killed most of the soldiers that we got food again. But then we ran out.”

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“I see,” Aisha said. She’d already heard this story. Unfortunately, killing the soldiers who had been rationing the food was part of the reason why everyone was starving now. “Well, in a few days there will be plenty of food for everyone. The grownups have decided to do what the Welsian soldiers tell them to, and in exchange everybody gets as much food as they can eat.”

“You promise?” the girl said.

“I promise,” Aisha said. “You just have to wait a little longer and we’ll get some food in that belly.”

“Okay,” the girl said. “Thank you for healing me Missus Knight.”

“You’re welcome,” Aisha said, and she moved on to the next patient.

She never saw the little girl again. She chose to believe that the girl survived, but sometimes, not knowing would haunt her dreams.

~~~~~~

Sir Tirns stood nearby while Aisha was healing the children, guarding her. He was on guard. Tirns and Aisha had already surrendered all of their rations, but a few of the adults were looking at their mounts with expressions that hid thoughts of roast wyvern and pegasus.

He didn’t see any serious threats. Most of the people were so desperate for something to eat that he was surprised they hadn’t resorted to cannibalism. Or at least, if they had, he hadn’t seen any evidence of it. He hadn’t been looking too hard. He had, in fact, been deliberately not looking too hard.

He turned to the leader of the camp. Lord Gurund? The man was claiming that he was in charge, that he spoke for the rabble, that Tirns needed to listen to him, etc. Tirns mostly tuned him out.

Gurund had bragged about how he had led the revolt against the soldiers which had resulted in the food stores being devoured. He had explained that the soldiers had indeed been planning to use the civilians as cover for an invasion. He had promised to identify any number of criminals and ne’erdowells among the crowd.

Tirns wanted to punch the man. He was fat. In a camp of starving refugees, this one man was fat. Granted he had the loose skin of someone who had lost a lot of weight recently, indicating that he’d suffered with the others. But he condemned himself by his admissions.

Sir Tirns told himself that it wasn’t his place to judge the man. Not that he didn’t form a personal opinion; but that the eyes of the law would see to the man’s disposition once the refugees were on Welsian lands. By Gurund’s own desperate testimony he had been leading the camp up until the dragon attack, which meant that he had been the leader of an invading force. The common soldiers would likely escape the gallows in favor of a prison camp.

Gurund would not.

But Tirns wasn’t going to tell the man that. He wasn’t going to say or do anything to the man at all until it was time for his trial.

Until he saw the man snatch a piece of jerky from a child.

Sometimes, the knights are required to dispense justice. Sometimes, it falls upon the knight to be judge and jury. And sometimes, executioner.

This was one of those times.

He made it quick. The children screamed and ran away, ignoring Tirns’s efforts to return the jerky to the child it had been stolen from. It was probably for the best, the ration was covered in blood.

No, he realized it wasn’t for the best. He’d find someone else to give the jerky to.

He walked away from the body to stand next to Aisha.

“What was that about?” she asked.

“Justice,” he answered.

“Looked like murder to me.”

“Sometimes that’s what justice looks like,” Tirns admitted.

Aisha didn’t argue with the knight, for which he was grateful.

Tirns noted when the adults came and took the body of Lord Gurund away. He pointedly did not look to see where they took it to, or what they did with it. He stood by Aisha’s side as she worked through the night, and in the morning, once all the injured refugees had been seen to, they flew off together.

They would return in a few days with as much food as their mounts could carry.

It wasn’t enough, but it was all that they could do.

~~~~~~~

Tom stood before the mirror, adjusting his tie. He’d dressed himself this time, having left Nigel at Weaver Estate and having refused the help of the palace servants. He didn’t bother with the cologne that Rowena had picked out for him; while he was about to attend a social event, it wasn’t the sort where people commented on what sort of perfume you were wearing.

At least he didn’t think they did. He wasn’t exactly certain what the etiquette was for an execution. He studied his reflection for a few moments before deciding that it was good enough. He didn’t exactly understand what minor adjustments his valet would constantly make in this situation did to his appearance. He thought that he looked fine.

Unfortunately when he opened the door, Rowena was waiting for him, and she disagreed with that assessment. She spent the next five minutes fussing over him.

“You’re not wearing the cologne,” she commented.

“Should I be?” he asked. “You’re not wearing perfume, are you?”

“It doesn’t matter. If anyone notices, they won’t comment on it,” she admitted.

“I’m going to watch people die, Rowena. If people are interpreting what I smell like during that sort of occasion, I don’t think they’re the sort of person I want to associate with,” Tom said.

“As I said, nobody will comment on it one way or the other,” she said.

“I asked your uncle to pardon Toth,” Tom said.

“I know, he told me,” she said.

“He’s not going to,” Tom said.

“I know. He told me.”

“I saw Toth last night. He looked a lot better. Apparently when I ordered him to get some rest, he took it seriously.”

“Do you think he understands what’s happening? The last I heard he was --”

“He understands,” Tom said. “He’s … I don’t know what he’s feeling. He apologized to me again, and he thanked me when I informed him that I tried to intercede with the king. Then he started talking about Ma’at and Anubis and Ammit. I lost track of the conversation after that, to be honest.”

“How are you feeling, Tom? You know you don’t actually have to watch this, don’t you?”

“I have no idea how I’m feeling. But yes, Rowena, I think I do.”

“This isn’t your fault.”

“I know that. But I’m still the reason that many of these people are going to die. Fenard is executing my enemies for me. And one seventeen year old boy who was probably never quite right in the head. I promised that I’d be there, in the audience, when it happened. I intend to keep that promise.”

“I see,” she said. “I’ve … never been to an execution either, Tom.”

“You don’t have to go with me.”

“Yes, Tom. I think I do.”

He looked at her, and she hugged him, and then they walked out of the room together.