Battle's Aftermath
I bit my lower lip as I looked out over the trampled glade. The grass had been torn up and squashed down beneath the boots of the hundreds who had clashed here. Only an hour ago the air had thundered with shouts and ringing steel, but now it was almost totally silent. Even the birds that flew overhead made no noise, perhaps fearing attention.
I slowly picked my way down the hillside to do what I could. It wouldn't do any of them any good if I broke my neck slipping on the mud. A young standard-bearer noticed me and offered to help, but I waved him away.
"I'm going to find the survivors. I need you to mark the dead, just like I taught you. Okay?" I pulled a handful of white ribbons out of my satchel, counted them out, and pressed them into his hand. He nodded quietly, and I patted his shoulder as he hurried off. I slogged through the glade, gingerly stepping over the fallen bodies, headed for the woods on the other side. The mud sucked at my sandals, threatening to pull them off my feet, and broken branches swung wildly from their trees. Head low, I kept moving.
Just as we had planned, the survivors had all huddled in a cave tucked deep in the trees. I walked up to the mouth of the cave and waved urgently, and a stocky blond man walked up and mumbled softly, taking down the ward he had set.
"Thank you, sir," I managed to stammer as I hurried in. He did not answer, but knelt down and began to replace his ward - 'forcewall', he called it.
The old familiar reek of blood hit my nose suddenly, and I fought back a wave of nausea. The floor of the cave was padded with straw, and dozens of wounded fighters lay groaning. A few of them, not as seriously injured, moved about applying bandages and giving water.
"We've been trying to keep them patched up," the wizard said, "but there wasn't much we could do except wait for you."
No, of course there wasn't. I'm a Mage-Healer, able to turn the world's arcane energies toward restoring the body. Salves and surgery do the job, and prayers can help if your god feels like helping, but my spells can reattach a severed limb without any ill effects. And when an army is possessed of a Mage-Healer, suddenly that's the only acceptable way to treat any of their wounded. I wonder, how will they live when I remind them that I do not belong to them, and tell them that my time here is done and the Balance calls me elsewhere - perhaps to their enemies?
I sighed and rolled up my sleeves. It was going to be a hell of an evening. I gave them all a once-over glance. One man, huge and dark-haired, was twitching and shaking where he lay on the straw. His leg was heavily bandaged, yet it seemed to do nothing to stop the blood.
Poison. I sighed again. Men like him - barbarians - seem to be able to fight despite grievous wounds, but it makes them that much harder to heal, and the poison meant I would have to work fast. I slipped into a half-trance as I recalled the words of the spells I had trained so long to learn. Cure any poisons, then heal the wounds, then send them off to camp where the other doctors waited with herbal tea, hot food, and a more comfortable place to sleep.
One by one I found them and fixed them, only half aware of my surroundings as I wove my magic. It was a mild surprise when I realized there was nobody left who needed me. Clumsily I stood up, dusting straw off my knees. Many of them had already left for the camp, but a few were poised at the cave mouth, waiting to escort me. They knew better than to let me walk alone if they could help it. The barbarian offered to carry me, but I wasn't tired. Healing their wounds had been the easy part. There would be much worse to follow tonight.
The sky was darkening as we trudged through the mud and slime, and the fires served as a beacon to the friendly camp. I tried to head straight to the hospital tent, but the lure of the stewpot made me sit down and eat something. It smelled delicious, even though I don't really care for venison, and the meal did a lot to steady my nerves. I set the empty bowl on the bench and hurried to the tent. A few men with minor injuries had been seen to by the doctors, and now were mostly using the cots to sit and chat. I could have healed them completely if I'd wanted to, but I chose to save my energy for later. I didn't want to belittle the work of my colleagues, and the wounds would probably heal by morning, leaving impressive-looking scars to brag about years from now.
"They've left all the fun jobs for you again, I see," one of the doctors said with a grin as she eyed my bloodied gown.
I smiled despite my weariness. "Any casualty counts yet?"
"Four hundred men, eight generals, two Mages, a druid, and the other Healer."
My heart sank. The other Healer was the reason I was still alive. I tried and failed to block out the memories of the throwing dagger sinking into my chest, the blade's venom wiping out any hope of my survival....and the rush of magic flooding my senses as he literally resurrected me.
Slowly my dismay turned to determination. "They've gone to find the marked ones, haven't they?"
The doctor nodded. As if on cue, one of the tent flaps opened, and the standard-bearer I'd met that afternoon stepped in, holding the flap open. Soldiers scrambled off the cots as bodies on litters were borne inside. One of my white ribbons dangled from each of their wrists, many of them tainted with blood. Each litter was carefully lain on a cot, and the standard-bearer gestured at them, half-bowing to me and trying in vain to say something coherent. I waved my hand toward the exit, and he and all the soldiers hastily left, bowing and muttering.
I sighed and shook my head. The other doctors understood enough of what I was doing to know I was just another human being, but most of the soldiers seemed to think I was a goddess, or an angel, or something silly like that. It's darkly amusing that folks who normally distrust wizards would hold me in such regard, but still, I hate being worshipped.
I looked at the dead men. Their faces and crests were ones even I recognized; mighty warriors who could break an enemy's ranks with just a battlecry, and powerful magicians who could slay from afar. The enemy had willingly sustained heavy casualties to make sure every last one of them lay dead on the field, believing that losing them would weaken our strength and morale enough to make us easy targets tomorrow. And they were right; I'd seen the despair and resignation in the faces of the men who bore the corpses in, and had no doubt the feeling had spread to the others. After all, if they could slaughter the best of us like so many pigs, what would become of us tomorrow?
The enemy had been right. They just hadn't planned on me.
I looked at them again. One was most certainly missing.
"Get lots of water, and some stew from the pot," I called to the other doctors. "Clean clothes, if you can find them." I headed for the tent flap. "The markers missed one. I have to go find him."
I found the barbarian sitting before a small fire with his comrades, and convinced them to escort me back to the battlegrounds. I wove a protective spell around myself as we neared the edge of the field, and began searching. After a while, I heard a voice softly call "Here!", and hurried toward the sound.
A body lay in the grass at my feet. It was no wonder the standard-bearer had failed to mark him; the body was charred and the face nearly eradicated, as though he had been struck by lightning. The newly risen moon illuminated a small tatter of red about his waist; in our army, the mark of a doctor. Or a Healer.
"Can you carry him back to camp?" I kept my voice low, just in case.
"Can you really do anything for him?"
"Heaven help us all if I can't. Now lift."
The moonlight helped greatly in guiding our footsteps back to safety. All the hospital cots were either filled with bodies, food, or clothes, save for one. The men gently set their burden down and backed away.
"Can you really do anything for him?" The voice came again; a half-elf, probably thinking my full human blood left me magically inept.
"Would you care to watch?"
He shivered and left. Eventually the others followed. I didn't blame them. It was hard to see a friend die, but it can be harder to watch them come back from death.
I took a deep breath, letting the protective spell die away so I could focus completely on my upcoming task. Softly I chanted, the violet-white magic dulling the edge of my consciousness. I knelt down beside the Healer. I owed him my life, and it was time to pay off the debt.
It takes a lot to heal cooked meat and make burnt skin whole and strong again. If I'd been a casual observer, I might not have known that my magic was taking any effect, but I could feel it working from the inside out. In a few minutes, the facial features would return, and the hair would grow back. Already I could feel the faint stirrings of a heartbeat.
He stirred. I pulled my hands away. The doctors would see to feeding and clothing him. I had other things to worry about.
I felt like I was sleepwalking as I moved to the next person. The magic filled his cold, gashed chest with a golden light that only I could see. A small part of me could actually see the sinews in his leg reattaching to the rest of his body, but it didn't matter to me. After this one awoke, there was another one to see to, and another one, and....
Utter exhaustion. My legs buckled as I tried to sit, and I landed roughly on the ground. I could only resurrect so many people without needing a full night's sleep, and I had just done it in less than half an hour. I shook my head a couple of times, but it didn't help.
I felt a hand on my shoulder, and looked up. He was crouched down in front of me, grinning. He was completely whole again, right down to the red around his waist. I feebly mirrored his smile.
"Come on, get off the floor," he said, standing up and extending a hand to help me up. "You'll get in the doctors' way. They found a couple more that could use bringing back, but I can get them okay. Get some rest." I grabbed the hand and struggled to my feet. He patted me on the back as I walked to his empty cot and lay down. Tomorrow this would all happen again, but right then, I didn't want to think about it. Damn, but I was tired.
