XVIII

Adrian walked into the tent and looked at the man lying there staring up at the ceiling. He had his chest wrapped up and rested his now bandaged stump over it as he stared into some unseen distance. “Don't say it,” the man growled as he continued to not look up and instead studied the canvas over his own head.

“I am so-”

“Gods be damned man I said don't say it!” he growled as he tried to sit up, but failed and leaned back into the bed. “I don't need your gods' damned sympathy,” he paused for a second before barking out “Sir,” in a rather gruff tone. “I don't need it.”

Adrian slowly walked over to him and kneeled down, reaching into his pocket he fished out his replacement reagent tin, he was going through these things much faster than he should, either losing or damaging them to unuse. “Let me see,” he said gesturing for the hand, Torin looked at him and then reached across his body and held the stump out for him. Adrian slowly began unwinding the bandage to reveal the bloody and horrifically swollen flesh and muscle underneath. Torin’s arm twitched and the severed ligaments at the wrist writhed slightly as they attempted to pull on the ghost limb they thought they could control. Adrian grabbed a dab of Cuprum and Calamine and started the spell. He never quite understood why it was called that seeing as his healing spell was not actual healing anything but instead speeding up the body in a localized location allowing to heal in a matter of seconds what normally would take days, weeks or months or perhaps in this case even years. He focused the spell and watched as the flesh’s swelling rapidly reduced and in almost an instant went back to its normal size, and the skin knitted itself over the stump.

One had to be careful with healing, seeing as a side effect of this sort of magic was localized premature aging. Still, it was better than dying, and like this, there was next to no chance the wound could fester. He leaned over and while Torin inspected his new stump he healed the other wounds he had before sighing and leaning back feeling the tug of the magic on his fatigue. “I had one of the tackle men make this for you,” Adrian pulled out the modified harness, it was made from a leather bracer that could be strapped to the forearm and from the front of it hung two straps, each one with an adjustable belt-like section that could be tightened. “You'll have to shoot left-handed,” Adrian held it out to the man, who sat up and grabbed the contraption with his left hand. And turned it over looking at it from different angles before he went and slid his handless arm into the thing. It was slightly awkward but soon he had it on, pulling the straps to tighten the bracer to his forearm, the two straps up front dangling past the now hidden stub.

“So, I strap a gun in here and aim it with my left hand do I?” he asked looking at the contraption.

“Hey on the plus side you will never lose your musket,” Adrian said with a slight smile, one that Torin matched.

“And here I thought I was going to have to get used to civilian life, you know warm food, comfy beds, spending time finding a wife making children and working an honest man’s work,” he looked over at Adrian ”thank you for sparing me from such a monstrous fate Sir.” they sat there staring at each other for a long moment before both of them burst out in laughter.

“Torin,” Adrian said, as he sobered up, the laughter dying. “I am-”

“Sir, with all due respect I request permission to speak plainly.” he sat up from the small canvas cot and put his bare feet on the ground, moving much better now that his wounds were healed.

“Granted,”

“Well then, I must tell you that I believe you made the correct decision,” Adrian looked at him, surprised the man would say that. “And I believe the men think it too, it is well known that a mage is worth fifty infantrymen on the battlefield, you yourself have shown that in that battle none the less, a mage has an attack capability well over the average man, as such most commanders would have done likewise, sacrificing men for a mage is not an uncommon thing in war, as a commander you have to prioritize who is worth more in the long run.”

“Your giving me to much credit, I didn't do any of that, I saw Isi go down and I just reacted, I would have done the same had she been no mage.” Adrian couldn't meet his gaze.

“Then it is a damned good thing for you,” he said slowly, rolling out the words. “It's a damned good thing she is because as it stands what you did was still acceptable in military doctrine, but had she not been,” Adrian looked up and saw the man’s eyes were hard. “I would have shot you in the back and ordered the retreat myself.”

“I see,” Adrian stood and looked the man in the eyes before offering him his hand. Torin took it and Adrian hoisted the man to his feet. “I will expect you back in working order quickly,” he said his tone all business.

“Give me a day to get some practice and I will be back to fighting strength sir.” he saluted, thumping his stump over the center of his chest, a small smile on the corner of his lips.

“What is so funny Sargent?” Adrian asked, looking the man in his eyes.

“Sir, now you nor any other man will ever know if I am actually saluting you or giving you a rude gesture.”

“You are doing neither, seeing as you have no fingers in which to do so,” Adrian said with a smile of his own and a shrug, as he turned and walked out of the man’s tent. Outside the rain was falling, coming down in great sheets. Adrian pulled up the collar of his long coat and pulled down the tricorn hat to protect his eyes better as he made his way across the perpetually swampy camp. Even here on the high grounds, each step was springy as he sunk into the soft sod and plant vegetation that had as of yet not been trampled down by the thousands of pairs of booted feet. As he looked around Adrian found it hard to believe that almost 800 men had been here in the morning and were not anymore. The camp seemed overpopulated as is, and 800 more men would have no doubt fully blocked and clogged what went for lanes and routes of travel through the camp.

If the rain kept up through the next day then there would be no battle tomorrow. There was a sort of unspoken truce between armies, it as next to impossible to keep gunpowder dry in the rain, seeing as one of the properties it held was the natural ability to absorb moisture, and wet gunpowder did not fire. Of course, pan lids covered in grease were often used to keep water out, but even then it was imperfect and over half the shots were taken would misfire. The men needed the rest, with any luck this damned rain would continue for some time allowing the Helheim troops to recover.

He entered his own tent and found Isi propped up on her cot, fingering the raised scar on her neck. She was a slightly lighter color at the moment, the healthy glow of her skin greyed slightly from the loss of blood. The scar on her neck, however, was white, as thick as a thumb and raised slightly. She slid a finger over it, feeling the smooth surface, while she rolled her head around. Her eyes turned towards him as he walked over, his feet making puddles as the water sept into the tent’s flooring. Both of their cots sat side by side, elevated a good six inches off the ground by the wooden folding frames that held the canvas, the legs crossed in an X like shape and held there with a wooden lynchpin. He lowered himself into the canvas and felt the middle of it sag slightly as he settled his weight. “How are you doing?” he asked, looking over at her, she didn't respond, simply reaching over and grabbing his hand squeezing it tightly. This was the first time she had been awake since he had healed her. Her body had practically shut down as it worked hard to remake the blood she had lost. Even know the grip on his hand was weaker than it should have been.

“Ak ikháno,” she said “okpúlo.”

“That is understandable,” he said with a shrug, as she laid her head on his shoulder. “You should feel weak, you lost a lot of blood.” he looked over at her, his arm reaching around her shoulder as his hand came up to stroke her snow white hair. “Listen, Isi-”

“Uka, tosa halim,” she said shaking her head. “Mortan las ukaha.”

“I can't afford to lose you,” he said softly.

“Mortan las Ukaha,” she repeated, this time the words more firm. “Nashoba-”

“No, I refuse to take you back into battle with me,” he growled the words, and she pulled away from him, her eyes sparkling with hurt.

“Itallin maken jajas!”

“I know you can take care of yourself!” he growled, his grip inadvertently tightening on her hand. “I know,” he said softer. “But in war people die, stronger people than you or I, and I cannot lose you,” he looked down. “I have already lost too much.” she gripped his chin, her fingers hooked in his beard as she yanked his head over.

“Toltenken halmin yas mordin!” she shouted her nose practically pressed up against his.

“No, I am not feeling sorry for myself,” he responded.

“Tori mas Nashoba!” she growled.

“I am not a wolf, even if you call me that, I am a man.” he looked her in the eyes. “And men make mistakes,” he said.

“Ish mir kiltara?”

“No,” he said rather more forcefully than he had intended. “No, you are not a mistake.”

“ Ish jaki mordin has?”

“No I don't regret you, this is diff-”

“Tolten makin has marinas,” she said softly, a pleading look in her eyes.

“It wouldn't be leaving you behind it would-!” he broke off as he saw the look in her eyes, she was on the edge of tears, the small pools of liquid gathering at the corners of her eyes. “Why the fuck does no one ever listen to my requests?” he growled, pulling away from her.

“Ikan dolshis,” she said with a smile and a shrug, the tears evaporating as fast as they had appeared.

“My requests are not stupid!” he growled glaring at her.

“Ish,” she noded. “Ikan dolshis.”