I swallowed hard at the last and stared at him in disbelief.
Marcus chose that moment to come back into the tent, a wineskin and two goblets in hand. As he poured, he eyed us both. “Much good the food does, sitting on the table. Eat.” He set the goblets down on the table, slung the wineskin on the back of Keir’s chair, and cuffed Keir lightly on the head. “You as well, oh mighty one.” Then he stomped off, still muttering to himself. I held my breath at his nerve. Keir smiled a wry smile, and reached for the meat.
Uneasy, I kept eating. Thankfully, Keir seemed more focused on his food than on me. I took another bite, determined to stay quiet, but something was bothering me. After a sip of kavage, I risked a question. “What of the other healers?” I asked. “Why didn’t they just do what needed to be done?”
Keir shrugged. “There are no others.”
“What?” I dropped my bread. “An army of this size, and you have no other healers? No assistants or apprentices?”
Keir pulled some bread from the loaf. “Every man in this army is a warrior. There are no healers. The men pick up some basic knowledge on campaign. Men assigned to the wounded are on punishment detail.” He shrugged. “So it has always been.”
“That’s insane! With an army this size? What about wounds like Simus’s?”
“Men die from them.” His face was shadowed. “Either the wound kills them, or they are granted mercy.”
I stopped, appalled to see his face full of pain. Someone this man had cared for had died that way.
Keir turned his head. “Marcus is coming.”
I started shoveling food into my face. Marcus walked in and surveyed the table with a frown. He grunted, apparently satisfied and walked back out. As soon as I figured it was safe, I spoke. “That ends now.” I glared at him. “That is what I do, part of what I am, and I am good at it.”
He looked at me. “You would do this? Would ask to do this?”
I faltered and dropped my eyes. A little late to be remembering my place, but I’d be damned before I let those men be neglected. “I would.” I risked a glance up, trying to read that expression, with no success.
But hope grew when he nodded slowly. “You’ll let me?”
He gave me a long look. “Yes. It would strengthen the peace, after the deaths.”
“Deaths?” I asked, then remembered. “The horses?”
“Slain with bolts from crossbows. A weapon only Xyians use.”
“You must get word to Xymund. He will find the—”
His look was dark. “What if he has ordered these attacks?”
“Xymund would not do that. He has given his oath, he has given—” I stopped, not wanting to think about that aspect. “He would not do that.” Yet deep within I remembered the hatred in his voice when he talked to Warren about the horses of the Firelanders.
Keir seemed skeptical, and turned his attention to his plate. He seemed lost in thought for a moment. We ate in silence, and I wondered how far I could push. Finally, I took a drink of wine. “I will need supplies for the tent.”
“Supplies?” He pushed his plate back with his thumb and just looked at me. I looked down at my plate and found it empty, as were the other dishes. Guess I was fairly hungry after all.
Marcus bustled in and cleared the dishes, leaving the skin and the goblets. He stood with a tray in hand and looked at me.
“Warprize.”
I looked up, surprised.
He stared at me, no trace of his former anger, his voice calm. “I have heard of your actions this afternoon. That was well done.” Then he scowled. “But next time I will truly give you the sharp edge of my tongue, you don’t follow my direction. Yes?” He gave Keir a nod and bid us both good night.
I looked at Keir. He was leaning back in his chair, contemplating his goblet. I took another sip of mine. It was rich and fruity on my tongue.
Keir stirred. “Supplies? What do you need?”
“Herbs and the like. I need medicines, especially willow bark.”
“Willow? What is that?” he asked, puzzled.
