Chapter XXXV

The sudden inflow of sick and injured refugees had created a need for medicine, and as such Ardal worked around the clock, brewing potions from whatever herbs he could get his hands on. Whenever Val sent out his scouts to see if they could spot an incoming army, Ardal always gave them a list of herbs and ingredients to look for, as well as simple illustrations of what said herbs looked like. He would have liked to search for the herbs himself, but he didn't trust anyone else to brew the medicines. One wrong dosage or wrong ingredient and a life-saving medicine became a lethal poison.

Galia was constantly working too. She healed the sick and wounded with prayers, though many of the refugees wanted nothing to do with her. She was surprised at just how many would rather risk a painful death from some disease or another rather than accept healing from her God.

When Galia ran out of patients to heal, at least for the day, she sought out Ardal. She found him in the laboratory that he'd thrown together with whatever supplies he could find. “Ardal? May I speak to you?”

“Certainly, Galia, come on in,” Ardal said while his eyes remained on his glass alembic.

Galia walked in and took a seat on the opposite side of his table. She picked up his mortar and pestle and looked it over, examined the bits of dried herbs still sitting inside.

“Please don't touch anything without asking me first,” Ardal said. “Everything's very delicate.”

“Right! Sorry!” Galia put the mortar and pestle back down.

“What's on your mind?” Ardal asked as he added ground roots to the crucible over a candle.

“I was hoping we could talk about...you know, the other night?”

There was no doubt in Ardal's mind what night she meant. She hadn't said a thing about it, which led him to believe that she'd forgotten. Given that Elykos was in her mind, in some capacity, that would make sense.

“What is there to talk about?” Ardal asked. “Nothing happened.”

“Yes, something happened!” Galia said. “I don't know what came over me that night. It was a strange feeling, a mix of desire, despair, hope, vulnerability, and confidence. Seeing all those soldiers...lying dead in the field...it made me think about how short, and how precious life is. Realizing that you are literally the only thing protecting me from the Nihilite rebels who took this city, that made me feel scared, but also grateful to you for helping me survive. I realized that I'll probably never see anyone of my faith again, never again get to be a priestess, so what did my vows matter? And then...well, I can't deny...I wanted you that night.”

“You did?” Ardal asked. A part of him wanted to believe this was truly from her own heart, but another part of him remembered that she was under Elykos' influence that night. Likely he'd helped guide her thoughts, lead her to the feelings which drove her into his bed.

“I'm not saying we should, in fact, I'm actually glad you turned me down. I really wasn't myself that night...but, well, I'm just saying that in spite of everything...and at the same time because of everything...I just feel that....”

“STOP!” Ardal said, grasping both of her shoulders. “No! Stop before you say something you'll regret! Galia...” Ardal wanted to tell her everything, that Elykos had manipulated her, that there was likely no way she'd be feeling these emotions of her own free will, but he was afraid of the consequences. Would Elykos still uphold his promise to keep her safe if Ardal told her about him? Or would he consider that a form of betrayal? “You've only known me a few weeks,” Ardal said. “And most of that time has been anything but regular. It's just been one crisis after another. You don't think that's...well...altering the way you see things?”

“People's true selves come out in a crisis,” Galia said. “I've seen the real you, and you're beautiful, Ardal.”

Ardal almost gagged. Elykos promised to stop manipulating her, but that didn't mean that the effects of his manipulation were still there. He'd been guiding, controlling her thoughts for who knows how long, it would take a long time before her thoughts were truly her own again. His true self was beautiful? He doubted that. If she could see him for who he was she'd see the monster he'd become, the things he allowed to happen. Sure, he could justify it when confronted about it, but didn't that just make it worse?

“And...I've known you a lot longer than you think,” Galia said.

This piqued Ardal's curiosity. What was Galia on about now? “What do you mean?”

“Sixteen years ago you taught at Leti Academy, before the Arxians came in and destroyed it. You taught herbalism and potion-making to students nine years old and older. I was one of your students, Ardal, and you haven't changed much.” Galia ran her fingernails through his goatee, “Sure, there's a little gray here,” and then along his temples, “And here, but you look almost the same.”

“You...you were one of my students?”

“Back then I was called Gael.”

Ardal stared at her. He tried to remember a little blonde girl named “Gael” in one of his classes. No one in particular came to mind.

“I understand you might not remember me, it was so many years ago, and you had so many hundreds of students. I remember everything you taught us, all the simple medicines you taught us to make, all the antidotes for poisons. Most importantly I remember it was you who taught me to have compassion for my enemies.”

“I did?”

“It wasn't Nihilite doctrine, nowhere in the oral traditions does any soothsayer, aeon, or sage talk about compassion for your enemies, but it was a principle that you taught. You came up with it yourself. You told us that if we came across sick Agalmites we were to brew medicine right away and heal them, in spite of them being idolaters. Other professors often repeated this message while adding, 'because if you show them kindness they may come to realize that their ways are wrong.' Do you remember the reason you gave?”

“Because it's right,” Ardal responded.

Galia nodded. “That's why I love you, Ardal. That's why I've always loved you.” Ardal wanted to tell her that he loved her too, but under the circumstances he wasn't sure he wanted to encourage her. “And that's why it hurt so much when you lied to me, and when you sided with Val.”

“I haven't sided with Val,” Ardal said. “Val and I are on the same side, but I don't agree with his methods, his utter disregard for human life.”

“Then why stay here?”

“Because as long as I'm here I can hope to keep him from going too far, from becoming just as bad as the Inquisition. As long as I'm here I can help people, heal the sick and the wounded. And as long as I'm here I can protect you, just as you protected me.”

“You don't think we'd be safer somewhere else? Somewhere not under Nihilite control?”

“I'm not going to Arx.”

“I'm not talking about somewhere under Arxian control either!” Galia said. “We could go north, to Shadia. Or south, down to Sabura. We could leave these holy wars behind us, live in peace!”

“You have work to do, Ardal. People here need you.”

“We are healers, you and I,” said Ardal, finding a way to justify his obedience to Elykos while still keeping Elykos a secret from Galia. “That means there is far more good we can do here. You can heal people with your prayers and I can heal them with my medicines. Just think of how many lives we've already saved, and how many more are we yet to save?”

“I...you make a fair point.”

“Ardal!” Val ran up to the two of them. He brushed aside the burlap sack acting as the door to Ardal's laboratory. “The scouts have spotted a new Arxian army on its way, this one appears better equipped.”

“I'll brew more potions,” Ardal said. “Naturally we will have many wounded.”

“No, you'll brew poisons so we have a chance of winning,” Val said.

“It's your job to make weapons,” Ardal told him. “You made the Wet Fire, you made the poisonous smoke, and you made that...sunlight weapon. You stick to finding new ways to kill our enemies, I'll stick to finding new ways to heal our friends.”

“Xaphan has given me many new and wonderful designs, but you are also to contribute in this battle. Our archers' arrows will be tipped with deadly poisons, which you will brew.” Val held out a small slip of paper to Ardal. “You'll brew this as well.”

“What is this?” Ardal asked, looking over the ingredients on the list.

“A powerful acid. You'll make flasks of it, and we'll load the flasks into catapults, launch them at our enemies.”

Ardal understood war, in war you had to kill your enemies, and sympathy for the dead was little more than a weakness. However, this was so far beyond the way war was supposed to be. Soldiers beheaded their enemies, bashed their heads in, gave them quick deaths on the field of battle. What manner of people subjected their enemies to such slow and horrible deaths? Choking them with poisonous gas? Burning them alive? Dissolving them with acid? This was too much, too horrible even for him.

“NO!” Ardal said as he crumpled up the paper and threw it at Val. “I won't do it! Brew your own acid...then drink it!”

“What?”

“I don't care what you say! I'm not doing it!”

“Oh? And here I thought you were one of us.”

“I'm a loyal Nihilite, a loyal worshiper of Prunikos, don't you dare doubt that, but also don't think for a second that I'm going to become the same kind of cold-blooded killer you are!”

“We're soldiers, Ardal! We kill! That's war for you!”

“I'll brew the poisons, sure, if only just to make sure our enemies die quickly. But acid? I will not subject anyone to something that horrible!”

“Fool!” Val shook Ardal by his shoulders. “You think you're doing them a favor by giving them quick deaths? If you subject just a few of your enemies to horrifying ends, such as being burned by acid, the others will see how much they suffer, and will retreat. You'll save far more lives simply by scaring off most of your enemies! So, you tell me, Ardal, what's kinder? Killing a handful of people slowly, or killing thousands quickly? Think carefully on this, Ardal!” Val released Ardal's shoulders. “I won't force you to brew the acid, not if you don't want to, but consider how many lives you can save by helping us to end every battle as quickly as possible. Enemy forces don't need to be destroyed if they can simply be demoralized.”

“Don't you DARE pretend this is about saving lives!” Ardal shouted at him. “Your argument might have held a little more water, if I hadn't heard you giggling like a child as you burned the Arxian soldiers last time!”

“Fine! You caught me! I like killing Arxians! After all we've been through the past sixteen years, though, who can blame me? But I do care about our people, and the way I see it every time I kill an Arxian I save one of our own.”

“Then, like I said, brew your own damn acid. If it's so important to you do it yourself.”

Val sneered at Ardal, and then walked away.

“You sure there wasn't a better way to tell him 'no?'” Galia asked. “A way less insulting, perhaps you could have simply said, 'sorry, but I feel healing our people is more important,' or even 'If I spend more time healing our people we'll have the numbers we need to fight the Arxians.' Anything's bound to be better than the way you told him off.”

“I wanted him to know I'm not like him.”

“That you're better than him?”

“Frankly, yes!”

“And what does that accomplish? You think that will change the way he thinks?”

“No, of course not, but he'll think twice before asking me to help him with his savagery again.”

Galia shook her head. “You're so hard-headed, you know that?”

“If I did I wouldn't be hard-headed.”

Galia laughed. “Fair enough.”

. . .

Nearly every able-bodied commoner in the regions near the capital had come to Aius to join the militia to protect their beloved queen. For once they truly felt there was a queen who understood their needs, who showed them the respect they'd earned by the work of their hands, and they weren't about to let a bunch of blue-bloods depose her. Those who didn't come because they wanted to fight for their queen came because they'd heard that Milo, the champion of the common-folk, was calling them to arms against the tyrants plaguing Arx.

Aius was too small for such an influx of people, so camps had been established outside the city. These temporary huts and tents were only slightly less than most of the common people were used to anyway.

As Milo toured the camps he soon found that very few of the peasants had any real weapons; no swords, no battle-axes, no armor. Even fewer had any combat training of any kind. They'd come armed with shovels, wood-cutting axes, hammers, pitchforks, and the occasional make-shift spear, which was really just a long stick with a cooking knife tightly strapped to the end.

From their own ranks each camp had elected someone to serve as the officer for that regiment. Milo held a meeting with the officers of each regiment in a camp right in the middle of all of the other camps.

“I want you to start organizing your soldiers based on their professions, and arming them much the same,” he said. “Wood-cutters will be armed, of course, with axes, and will train in close-quarters combat. Hunters will become archers and scouts. Blacksmiths will train with war hammers. Use common sense.”

“What about farmers?” asked one of the officers. “Most of our people are farmers.”

“They'll train with spears and pikes,” Milo said. “As farmers they're used to holding pitchforks and scythes. Blacksmiths will spend time forging better weapons whenever they're not training, obviously. Also, you'll want any heavy laborers or builders fortifying the areas around the city. Between the hills we want spiked barricades, fences, and on top of the hills we want towers for archers. The countryside surrounding Aius will be our first line of defense.”

“I thought the bridges were our first line of defense?”

Milo shook his head. “The bridges are for the paladins, Western knights, and geomancers to defend. I'm talking about us as in 'the Arxian Militia.' Should the enemy get past the bridges, or find some other way across the rivers, then we want to be ready to defend the fields. Let's show those pampered, fancy-clothed aristocrats the kind of strength you only get from hard work! Let's remind them that WE are the people of Arx, and that they are supposed to be protecting US! The food we grow by the sweat of our brows fills their bellies, so their weapons should only be used defending our freedom! Make sure they never forget that again!”

“Do you really think we have a chance of winning this?”

“A chance? The Church stands with us, Marquise Nerissa of Muri stands with us, several kings from the West are standing with us, and last I heard allies from Sabura were on their way here. I'd call that more than 'a chance!' Besides, look at me! I was born in the dead of winter, during one of the worst snow storms Arx had ever seen. From day one I knew hardship, and my family didn't have a single silver, barely any coppers, to their name. From there I rose to become the bodyguard of the royal family, and my daughter is the Queen of Arx! The truth is, all of us have known hardship from the beginning. We were born to dirt, we live in dirt, and the nobility treat us as if we were part of that same dirt, and yet we push on, and we all have the potential to rise to such heights. If I can do it you all can do it! Have faith in God, sure, but faith in yourselves as well, for I have faith in you!”