This was not what Sil had expected out of their return.

They were at the Twins, and had ran straight inside the Rock of Mourning of all possible places. It had to be a joke. A grand, cosmically designed joke on their behalf. They’d escaped one deathtrap place filled with unimaginable horrors, only to end up somewhere worse.

It had to be a test of some kind from the goddess herself. The portal had sent them thousands of leagues away. It wasn’t supposed to do that. No portals could travel that far. They were all anchored to the nearest illum hearth and would pull their destination along the ley line. But, then again, nothing about the day had seemed any sort of normal.

Luna sat on the table next to her, faded from view, colour matching the old wood. Vergil had gone back out into the killing field to help the wounded. Good lad. She felt proud of the man he was becoming, even if it was happening in spite of her and Tallah’s influence.

A haggard-looking healer approached her from one of the operating rooms.

“What is your calling?” he asked without preamble. By the bags under his eyes and the stoop of his shoulder, the old man had been working for days without rest.

“Iluna,” Sil answered.

“What’s your allotment?”

“Full. I can deal with the worst cases.”

He nodded and pressed a hand to his face. “Finally, on the last breath, we receive an answer to our prayers. Thank the Goddess to have sent you.” He gestured to the side and showed her into a room filled with makeshift beds. They were all occupied with the dying, cases where only the goddess could intervene.

“Do you have experience in triage?” he went on as he gestured for several other younger healers to approach.

“Yes,” she said, already looking at the nearest wounded. Amputations were plentiful. Those didn’t need the goddess’s touch unless they went septic. “I’ve been to battlefields before.”

“Good. Good. You don’t need me telling your job. Use your allotment quickly.” He gestured vaguely in the direction of the gates. “More will come. The Rock is bleeding to death.”

She set to work, the two younger healers—Adanas both if she were any guess—trailing her and doing their own inspection.

Soldiers cried out in pain as she checked their wounds and assessed their chances. To some she granted the goddess’s healing. Others she left to the bonesaws and to mundane medicine. Her store was empty of accelerants and she hadn’t had the resources to brew more after the mishaps in Grefe. It seemed like the Rock was also in crisis.

Bandages were old rags stained with old blood, washed and repurposed. The beds were mostly just pails of straw on the hard, stone floor. This was a despairing place.

She’d heard the daemon sieges got bad in thaw. But this bad? It seemed impossible. Tallah had been right to ask about the cadre. There was supposed to be an entire cadre of mages manning the twin fortresses and providing their support in dealing with the monsters at the gates. Tallah wouldn’t be enough on her own, but already the cheers from outside meant she was making a difference.

Still, she turned her focus to the work. Amputation. Clean cut. Bone saw. Gut puncture. Healing. Daemon bite. Face area. Hopeless. Administered some of her last poppy. And on and on the wounded went. Vergil brought in more. She showed him the beds and he obliged. Went out immediately after setting down his load. She made the effort of maintaining the helmet’s effect, but the draw wore on her.

Ink nettle helped. They had precious little of that left as well. She used a bag as Vergil brought in his fourth wounded. Blood dripped off his armour, but he gestured her away when she came to check.

“Not mine,” he explained as he rushed back out. “There are more coming.”

Of course there are more coming, she thought glumly. Most of those she couldn’t heal would be dead by morning. Her aides already dragged corpses out the other side of the room and laid them out in a courtyard. Their healing allotments were spent, so all they could do was either help her, or see to the dying and their last rites.

“I require this one be mended,” she intoned the prayer. Nothing happened. “Blast.” She grabbed one of the girls and asked for needle and thread. “My allotment’s gone. How long to midnight.”

The girl stared at her, eyes wide in terror. Sil shook her. “How long, girl?”

“T-t-two b-b-bells,” she stammered.

“Good. Take the bandages off the dead. Boil them. Report to me once you’re done with that. Do you understand?”

“Y-y-yes, lady.”

She walked away as if in a daze, setting to the work. The other one was made of sterner stuff. She drifted closer and handed over her needles. “I’ll get more,” she said. “We don’t have any antiseptics left. Medicine is low to nothing. We do what we can.”

Sil nodded and set to cleaning wounds. She’d barely made it past the first row of wounded with her initial allotment of healing.

“Is it nightly,” she asked as she worked in tandem with the girl.

“And daily. We’ve had no reprieve for more than a tenday.”

Goddess’s blood, what’s Aztroa doing? Normally there was always supposed to be a full garrison at the Twins. Aztroa was supposed to have an army at the two fortresses, to stem the tide of monsters boiling out from beneath the mountain. There were supposed to be mages present, a whole cadre of the empress’s best. Where were they?

Vergil nearly collapsed after his tenth load. He looked pleadingly to her but she shook her head. The draw drained her, as did the constant healing. It was a low cost to invoke the goddess, but it was a cost nonetheless. When he pushed himself off the floor to stagger out, she relented and used another bag of nettle dust. Two more remained. There would be no other supplies in this place.

Soon the midnight bell sounded. The room filled with a gaggle of exhausted healers. Fewer than Sil expected to be manning a place like the Rock. Most of them were Adanas, some barely more than initiates. The old man from earlier took over some of the triage work, guiding the younger ones on who to heal.

Sil guided the two girls—they’d said their names at one point but she hadn’t been paying attention—until their allotment was spent.

She looked about as people began filing out of the room, less than a bell later, trailing the soldiers that were well enough to walk. It was little surprise that the demon armies outside maimed first and killed second. Maiming cost them healing and still sidelined the warriors.

There were no Gerras available. It shook her. A place like the Rock should have had at least a dozen of the chosen to impart near endless healing. That there were none spoke of dire times indeed.

She took over and began the triage again just as Vergil and the other man with him brought over another two patients. Both had been bit and were, likely, beyond help. She didn’t say so while the boy was still there.

The flow of wounded slowed to a trickle in the following bells. Then stopped altogether. She reached the end of the ward and began anew with more than half of allotment left. Her assistants watched the door and shared looks. Then they looked to her, as if she had the answer.

“Did… did the cadre come at last? Were you with them?” the stern one asked.

“No,” Sil answered candidly. So, they’d been waiting for relief from Aztroa. “It’s just me and two friends. One’s a pyromancer.”

Their eyes widened at once but their shoulders slumped. “Just one?” They looked at the room and then back at the door. “Just one…”

“Don’t gawk. Night’s not over.” Sil clapped her hands. “Boil water. Clean bandage.” She dug into her rend and extracted several vials of disinfectant alcohol. “Use these. Dilute to a ten-to-one ratio. Clean whatever wound we haven’t yet. Let’s not get infection running rampant.”

The two jumped to obey. Morning light streamed in through one of the windows. She only now realised, surrounded by the moans of the surviving wounded, that it had grown quiet out there. Distant cheering filled the air, coming as if from a great distance.

“They’ve pushed them back tonight,” someone called from the courtyard outside.

“The line held. The line held,” another voice echoed. More people cheered, closer now.

Where had Vergil gotten to? The tether was still drawing on her, just not as acutely. He was resting. She gritted her teeth and kept it up, just in case.

“Cinder! Cinder’s here!” a voice called from atop the walls. “Gods be praised, that’s Cinder out there!”

And she heard what she’d never thought possible: the entire building shook with people chanting Tallah’s old name. Her back tightened in worry and she considered running out, finding Vergil and doing as Tallah had instructed. But her hands refused to stop working.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Men and women here needed her help. The two aides came back with buckets of scalding water and freshly cleaned linen. They came to work side by side with her, sewing and wrapping up wounds the best they could in the small, miserable space.

“They’ll live,” the quiet one sobbed. Thick purple bag hung under her eyes. “Goddess be praised, we won’t lose more.” She let out a soft whimper that could have meant anything. Sil understood.

There would be no more dead in this room, at least not on this morning.

“Adella. Castien. Go rest,” the old healer ordered as they finished sewing up the last soldier. The others that came in on their own two feet weren’t in any danger now, and were taken under care by the mundanes.

The old healer walked into the room, took a long look at the work done, and let out a pleased harrumph. Sil nodded to the two girls, finishing the work on her own. They wouldn’t be far, maybe just in the next room, sleeping on whatever proved softer than a rock, waiting for the next crisis.

“I need your name,” the old man said.

“Silestra Iluna.”

“I’m Kor Iluna. I’ve never heard your name.”

Before she could answer the lie—it had been much easier to be an Adana, but the goddess would brand her again if she lied now—Kor went on. “Mighty fine work. Mighty fine. You came in the darkest hour of our fortress. Are you Cinder’s friend?”

The question was casual. The interest polite. The implications would guarantee her the noose. Surrounded by soldiers, some of them awake and staring, she felt cornered. If she admitted, Silestra Iluna would forever be an enemy of the Eternal Empire. But to lie would be stupid.

She swallowed and admitted to her betrayal of the empire. “Yes. Tallah’s my friend.”

Kor nodded solemnly and held out his hand. “May you be welcome here, Silestra. Thank you for all you’ve done thus far.”

They shook hands and she could see no lie on the man’s face. He was as exhausted as everyone else she’d met since arriving, if not more so.

“How long since the siege began?” she asked. “Where are the mages? Where’s the other army? We only saw one in the field.”

Kor held her hand for a time, then released it and looked around. “This is the army. The only one left. As for the mages, they’re all dead.”

A whole cadre… dead? She reeled at this, the idea too preposterous to consider. There had always been mages at the Rock. Twenty to thirty at least. This was where the empress sent some of her best and most well trained channellers, to defend the realm from daemons. That they were all dead spoke of terrifying possibilities.

“Since when?” she found herself asking.

“End of wither, give or take some days. It was betrayal within the walls. Assassins.” Kor spat on the floor. “Fools. Bloody, thrice-damned fools. We’ve held off the worst of it, but the siege bled us dry. We weren’t expecting to see this dawn. And here you are, you and Cinder. The goddess heard our cries at last.”

Had she?

The portal had behaved oddly. Had they been her instrument in truth? Or was there something else at work?

Sil chose not to think on it, not now. She could hear the cheering drawing closer.

“Seem your friend’s coming back,” Kor said. “You go and meet up. I’m sure Vilfor’ll want to see both.”

She shook her head and pulled back the sleeve of her shirt. Kor’s eyes widened at the scars on her forearm.

“Leave the freshest with me,” Sil said. “Take the others and go rest. I’ll handle whoever’s left. I give my word.”

His eyes darted from the red marking’s scars to her face, then back again, distrust in his eyes. She hadn’t hidden her marking, so she wasn’t ashamed of it like most would be. And in truth she had no reason to be. Panacea hadn’t punished her for anything, simply used the marking to warn of her arrival. Telling that to Kor would make him far more suspicious of her—and think her either an audacious liar, or insane—than would just revealing the scar.

In the end, he shook his head and called out to several others. From everywhere in the hospital people gathered and drifted away to rest wherever they could. Sil was left with three healers and several young girls and boys that were helping with mundane tasks. She set them all to work after a cursory inspection of the operating room. Her own fatigue stung at the corners of her eyes, already a full day awake and running around, but she refused to rest.

Someone pushed a mug of coffee into her hands. It tasted bitter. She didn’t ask for sugar. There would likely be none left after a season’s desperate siege.

A change drifted in the air by midday. They couldn’t save everyone and the pile of bodies in the courtyard only grew. But there was this inkling of cheerfulness now. Waking soldiers talked and jested. They asked after friends. They asked for news that Sil couldn’t give them. All of them were hungry for news of the outside world after an entire season spent fighting and isolated.

Those awake were eager to ask about reinforcements.

Was Cinder back with the empire? Had she been forgiven?

Were they the advance force of a fresh cadre?

Was the empress herself coming?

Was Ria marshalling to help?

Had it been a good winter in Aztroa? Had there been more earthquakes? Were people safe?

They all thought her and Tallah emissaries of the empire. Even when she refuted, they still kept their optimism. At least they now had Cinder fighting on their side. There was a chance now that they weren’t alone against the starving daemon armies. There would be hope at long last.

Luna kept out of sight, hidden under beds and tables, providing silk for the needle. None of the other helpers noticed that Sil’s own thread never seemed to run out and she was thankful for the spider’s relentless help. It didn’t owe any of these humans anything, but it had willingly stood by her side and did what it could.

“Go and find Vergil,” she whispered at it when the din outside calmed down. “Be careful.”

It hesitated for a moment. “Is friend Sil sure?” it asked, voice low.

“I’m sure. Go on. I’ll be fine here. Come back to me if he’s in trouble.” She was drinking her fourth cup of bitter coffee. It barely tasted any different from mud, but it would do.

Luna went and did as told. If Sil hadn’t known what to look for, she wouldn’t have noticed the slight discoloration moving across the red-brick wall and how it disappeared through the door leading outside. The spider had a nearly supernatural sense in finding the boy.

It was late afternoon before the other healers returned to relieve her. No more of the soldiers in the ward had died. Part of Sil was proud of this, of more good achieved. Even so, she wasn’t surprised to see fresh soldiers accompanying Kor. At least they had their weapons sheathed.

“Commander Vilfor wants to see you too,” Kor said without preamble. “Carin and Albert will take you to him.” To her raised eyebrow, he added, “You are not being detained. We are not fools here. Not all of us.”

She let out a short laugh and slowly rose to her feet. Her back ached from working hunched over. Her white clothes were… well, the less said, the better. “I don’t think I’m in a fit state to meet with anyone at this time,” she said without much conviction. “If he won’t baulk at the sight of me, let’s go.”

“We’ve been rationing fresh water,” Kor said as she walked past. He grinned. “You’ll be hard pressed to find anyone smelling of roses here.” They shared a short chuckle.

The trip was unpleasant. After running through the forest and snow, working all night and day hunched over the wounded, to be made to climb stairs all the way up onto the wall was a kind of punishment she didn’t feel she deserved.

“May I?” one of the soldiers asked.

She raised an eyebrow, already two flights up.

“May you what, kind sir?” she asked, tone dripping sarcasm.

Without answering the question, the knight scooped her up into his arms and took the stairs two at a time. For a moment, Sil wanted to protest but thought better of it. It was nice to be carried for once in a way that didn’t bruise, shake, or make her sick. Given the effort of the day, she allowed it to happen.

The man—she thought this was Carin—took her up to the top of the stairs, then down a winding network of corridors and galleries leading up to a small room filled with maps and absolutely packed with people.

“I see you’ve arrived in grand style.” Tallah raised her eyes from the map she’d been studying and barely concealed a grin.

All the other men in the room turned and stared at her. Vergil was also there, fast asleep on a chair, helmeted head at a peculiar angle. It took a small effort of focus to recognise Luna’s shape acting as a pillow for the boy.

“And I assume this is the healer that’s cut our losses in half.” The speaker was the tallest, most scarred vanadal Sil had ever laid eyes upon. His head scraped the lowest beam of the room and he stood with a stoop, all hands balled into fists, resting on their knuckles on the table. “I, and the garrison here, owes you a great debt of gratitude. Be welcomed here, if nowhere else in the entire gods-forsaken empire.” He nodded and turned his attention back to the maps.

The knight put her down and the other produced a chair from somewhere. It felt indulgent to sit, given what she’d seen in the ward below, but her feet were grateful.

“What did I miss?” she asked, looking at the assembled council of war. It could be nothing else.

All around were scarred men dressed in battered, bloodied suits of armour. In places, the blood had dried to brown crusts. Long fighting and its toll were evident on all their faces, one more worn than the other. The vanadal himself looked to have faced a whole army of beastmen himself, and carried the scars of a thousand duels.

“Well, we’re in deep dark crap,” Tallah said without looking up. “The ravine out of here has been collapsed to seal the Cauldron. All the mages are dead. Aztroa is quiet. And the second fortress has either been conquered, or has been isolated entirely.” She tutted. “This is the worst situation here since Catharina came down from Aztroa Magnor the first time.”

“Except it’s even worse,” the vanadal said and raised his head. “Catharina brought the might of the empire with her back then. We’ve only got you.”

“And you’re bloody lucky for it. Someone’s been listening to your bleating, Vilfor,” Tallah said. She gave Sil a wink. “Or else why would the goddess of healing herself have sent us all the way here? I was supposed to be a thousand leagues away.”

Sil sighed and rubbed at her eyes as Tallah’s words ignited the room. Where there had been dour resignation now bloomed the excitement of hope. Plans were formed. Orders issued.

And she… she nearly fell asleep on the chair. She was just about ready to scoot her chair closer to Vergil’s and rest her head on his shoulder, when Tallah spoke.

“There’s a bloody dragon out there. How active is it?”

“Very,” Vilfor said. “Swoops down and snaps up a good number of soldiers in every engagement. It’s a new development. Only came out once the snows began clearing.”

“Bloody lovely. It’s on the daemons’ side?”

“I haven’t the bloodiest. Seen it eating just about anything. We can only hope it’s neutral.”

Tallah looked at Sil and they grinned at one another. “Good news is that I’m here,” Tallah went on. She stretched and rolled her shoulders.

“And what’s the fresh bad news?” Vilfor crossed his upper arms and straigthened as well, towering over the sorceress.

“The bad news is that my luck’s been absolutely abysmal for the past couple of seasons. Get ready for hard times ahead. I seem to drag them around.”