White beams blinded Nathan.
Beneath a brown cover, a wet towel over his forehead, he groaned with a hand on his belly. Every time he breathed was like a needle through the chest.
"Be still," a gentle familiar voice whispered. "You're lucky to be alive."
He turned to the side and looked up.
Back turned to him, tending to another wounded soldier, Larosa's voice was angelic.
"Were it not for the runic shrubs I brought from the capital, you wouldn't be able to breath properly for months," she said, sprinkling dust upon a soldier's chest.
While reaching out, he ignored the stabs beneath his armpits.
Sunlight made her hair appear as a brown glimmering fire. Such warmth gave him enough vigor to lean up and attempt standing. She hurried to his side, forcing him down with a stern look.
"Nathaniel!" She whispered. "You were banished by his majesty, you shouldn't even be here!"
"My lady," he mumbled, awe struck by her vibrant eyes, "what would it cost, just for a moment with House Pyr?"
She sighed, shaking her head, "I'd not see you in their presence. You'd suffer a better fate on the battlefield."
"I think not," he said, chest tightening at the thought of the screaming boy.
"Stay down," Larosa warned, a firm hand on his chest. "His lordship is already aware of your presence. Captain Raul and Sir Robyn vouched for you, along with many who saw you fight along the front lines."
She looked to either side herself, then kissed his hand.
After she made her way to another squirming soldier, he caught glimpse of the mass he laid surrounded by.
Dozens of soldiers, some of the Rorik among them, all bleeding or wrapped with white bandages. A few were covered from head to toe with a brown blanket. Some shivered with purple black lips and bloody fingers. Others limped about, trying to make themselves useful among Lord Isaac's reinforcements.
Beside a tall roaring bonfire, Turd Lord himself shook hands with the tallest man Nathan had ever seen.
Even taller than the slayer of Razelael, Maurador himself, one right arm and a wrapped left stump, exchanged laughs with Isaac. Both looked his way, and the Rorik chieftan was a broad-shouldered man, with a massive two headed black-steel battle axe slung across the back.
On either side of the Turd Lord were Gravous and a red-haired Phoenix Blade with blood feathers on a scimitar hilt.
Those eyes, sharp green with curiosity, looked Nathan's way.
He knew Isaac wouldn't do anything less than mount his head on a pike, but if the gods were merciful, they'd give him just a moment alone with the turd lord.
While fighting the urge to stand, Isaac made his way towards them, Gravous at the turd lord's side.
Larosa stood in front of him, bowing fast before Isaac and his entourage.
"My lord, his majesty's soldiers need rest," Larosa stuttered. "Please, if you wo-."
Isaac backhanded her.
She fell hard, slamming over a wounded soldier, blood running from her lip.
Nathan grunted, reaching for his sword, though cursed upon recalling its fate. Isaac whistled, and Gravous grasped him with a heavy hand round the throat.
"And what do we have here?" Isaac snarled, breath smelling like wine. "It is not mere chance that a heretic who nearly had my brother killed would arrive upon the same night as a raiders march, and gargoyles descending."
Nathan tried speaking, but Gravous' hand may as well have been stone.
He wriggled his feet, but the Phoenix Blade squeezed harder. His breath was gone, and his vision started to blur again.
Isaac waved a hand, and Gravous released him.
Leaning over him as he gasped, the turd lord snickered, pointing at Larosa. "The only reason I won't kill you is because of her. She's proven her worth, good as a master, keeping our men in one piece in this cursed hellscape."
The Turd Lord snatched her up by the hair.
She turned away, trembling as Isaac placed a hand upon her cheek. While Nathan looked on, bloodshot eyes and a blackened right eye, the Turd Lord reached beneath her corset, stroking her breast.
While stroking fast, ruffling her breasts as tears filled her eyes, Isaac snarled, "This your lady? And a ring promising you're vows in secret?"
Isaac held up Larosa's hand, then Gravous held up Nathan's
His jaw stiffened as the Turd Lord laughed, throwing Larosa to the ground.
"I could have your head on a spike! Though I'll give you until nightfall. Whether you limp or crawl, you'll leave his majesty's army at once, or I'll give you a show of what the lady's true talents are aside from churning mud."
Nathan couldn't stand, much less retrieve a sword.
The Turd Lord gave Larosa a long kiss, grasping her throat, then released her. Upon his leaving with Gravous and the red-haired Phoenix, who appeared almost concerned, Nathan cursed House Pyr's name.
Larosa put a hand over his mouth. "Don't let him hear you!"
"Fuck him! Fuck the who-," Nathan started, though sharp stabs had him coughing.
"Please, love," she whispered, wrapping his head in her arms, "I'm not one to be concerned with myself. You see these lads, the men so far from home, their wives and children waiting. They need me, and I won't let Isaac Pyr, or anything he does, keep me from saving lives."
"He's a lord," Nathan hissed, fighting his cough. "He can be tried and executed for this!"
She wiped her eyes. "You think I've not tried already? He threatened to remove me from the field, no matter how many soldiers perish."
Nathan coughed, trying to think of something, anything.
Yet he'd be of little use even if he had his sword, and so he stayed sulking on the moist bloody ground.
He coughed all day, going into sunset when smoke fille the atmosphere.
Aches didn't bother him as much, and the pain within his lungs eased, his ribs recovering. Whatever Larosa did to him, runic stubs or whatever she called it, it was working.
After finding a sturdy stick, he used it as a cane under his left armpit. He stumbled towards the camp's edge, Raul joining him along with an elder man.
"His lordship rules House Pyr," Raul said, the two watching Isaac drink by a fire. "His mercenaries, his alliances, have all but guaranteed we'll be at war for at least another four or five years, maybe longer."
Nathan shook his head. "What did he promise Maurador?"
"Land, at least all the northern side leading into the mountains," the elder man answered. "At least fifteen thousand wolves have been pledged to his majesty's army, and more will arrive."
"That's more than enough to crush the opposition, isn't it?" Nathan wondered.
The elder man, Turis, shook his snorted. "Nay, nay, maybe if it were one army, but there be least three worth a kingdom, and the warbands and the rest. Not including monsters, and gargoyles, and dragons, if the rumors be true. This 'first of blood and steel' his lordship's so fixed on would work on a conventional battlefield, but this be the Burning Lands."
He looked to Maraudor, the massive man biting into a turkey leg with a flagon of wine in hand, laughing with Isaac.
Nathan asked the elder man, who had scars on his throat and face, "Not your first time here?"
Turis smiled. "Would that it was the last, but I fear my seventy-seven years may end in these lands. Want my advice son of Nordwell? Embrace the madness, lest ye' end up bein' consumed."
He looked towards Larosa, who was still tending to wounded soldiers.
She hadn't eaten all day, as far as Nathan knew, and her hands were scarred. So many cuts, bruises, boils to melt away, and an occasional gripe by the Turd Lord.
The blade of his family name was shattered, and he had nothing but a broken hilt, a mark of the dishonor he brought to father's name.
Raul laid a hand on him. "I'll have another word with him. The men saw you fight, many of them remember you. Some say you charged a gargoyle head on, after it ripped your steed in half."
Nathan was silent, head down.
"Aye, and I'll see 'bout gettin' you a proper blade," Turis said, pointing at his hilt. "Hold on to that, some good steel there, even if ain't much left. The sword of the snake style's seen much bloodshed, it'd make for a good charm of the war god if nothin' else."
Raul went off to find some food as Turis searched for a good blade for Nathan.
He held his head down, until someone hurried towards the fire. He lifted his head a bit and saw the dark brown robes of a man 'a the cloth.
As he offered his bows, the father ushered him to stand, and he saw it was no father, but a child.
A fair skinned dark blonde haired lad, the young father wished to know his name.
"Nathan. Son of Nordwell," he stammered.
The young father was stern, grasping his hand. "You, were with the Brute of the Woods?"
"Aye," Nathan said, lowering his head again.
"Excellent!" The young father said, pulling him his way. "The Lords couldn't have been anymore generous!"