Page 3 of Monsters and Mocha

CHAPTER TWO

FITZ

“Steady, men. Hold your fire.” Fitz barked out the command in the loudest whisper he dared without drawing the attention of the passing enemy. It seemed wrong to address the group of trembling, pale faces as “men,” as not a single one of them had yet crossed the threshold of adulthood. The innocence of youth still clung to their faces along with the peach fuzz they so proudly tried to pass off as beards, though the papers they had signed at the recruitment office the day before would ensure its swift and painful demise. Before the year was past, they would replace their eager, boyish excitement with the grim determination of soldiers.

“But Captain⁠—”

He threw a hand behind him, covering the lad’s mouth as he backed further into the foliage that served as the only barrier between them and the Lavenzian fighters. He bit back a curse as his shifting weight caused a twig to snap underfoot. An apple orchard was the last place he would have chosen for a battle.

Which was probably why it was picked for an ambush.

I don’t think this is what General Heder meant when he said to make sure the new recruits arrived at their training camp in one piece. This was supposed to be a simple assignment; Lavenza has never ventured this far over the border.

He and his little company of young soldiers were only part of the larger army that was marching to the southeastern military post, but just because his soldiers were new and unseasoned did not make him feel any less responsible for them. If anything, he took their safety even more seriously.

A Lavenzian soldier bringing up the rear of their group paused, swiveling his head slowly from side to side with narrowed eyes. The echo of gunfire still hung in the air, along with the sharp smell of burnt powder and the groans of the dying Mavorians.

Of his dying friends.

It had happened so quickly. One moment, Fitz’s company was enjoying the fresh, crisp air of an early autumn morning as they prepared for a long day of marching. The next, the men were running for cover as Lavenzian bullets ripped into them, causing them to drop like flies as the sky rained clods of dirt and bits of debris from the first explosive lobbed their way.

They hadn’t stood a chance. Despite a valiant effort to return fire, before five minutes had passed, Fitz and his small group of wide-eyed youth were the only ones left standing—and that due entirely to the luck of finding themselves beside a tree with wide, low-hanging branches.

The enemy’s eyes passed over them, and Fitz exhaled slowly, releasing some of the tension in his shoulders as the man propped the barrel of his gun against his shoulder and hurried to catch up with his comrades, whistling a jaunty tune.

Thank you, Deus.

He opened his mouth to give the order to retreat when the Lavenzian suddenly looked over his shoulder, eyes boring directly into Fitz’s own and causing his blood to freeze. An evil grin stretched across the man’s face as he turned slightly, pitching something small and round in their direction before continuing forward with calm, unhurried steps.

It rolled to a stop not three feet from their hiding place. With a cry for his charges to get back, Fitz dove forward, curling himself around the metal ball.

And then the world exploded.

CHAPTER THREE

DARBY

Cold fingers gripped Darby’s hand like a life line as she stood at the side of a young soldier who looked barely old enough to be out of school, let alone in the army. Her own fingers began to grow numb as she carefully channeled her magic into the wound, soothing his pain as much as she could while they waited.

Cries and groans of agony echoed off the pristine white walls of the hospital, adding to the swirl of chaos. The operating room, normally a clinical, controlled environment, had been opened up and every available inch of the pale yellow floor space was occupied by a cot. Nurses yelled back and forth to one another as they triaged the patients as they came in, sending those with non-life threatening injuries to the recovery and examination rooms and ushering the rest inside. Every available member of the medical staff was on hand, and Darby spied several of her classmates across the room, some of them looking just as white and ill as the soldiers they were attempting to treat.

But at least they’re allowed to do something. Meanwhile, I’m just standing about as useless as one of Raven’s⁠—

“Shelton!” Dr. Fransten’s sharp call startled her out of her self-pity. She straightened, looking over to her mentor. “Yes, sir?”

The salt-and-pepper haired doctor lifted his attention for a brief moment from the man in front of him. His thin face, usually calm and impassive, was tight and drawn. He jutted his pointed chin in her direction. “You know what needs to be done?”

Darby looked down at the boy. His eyes were clenched shut in his pale, sweaty face as he grit his teeth in pain. One shoulder had been impaled by a branch the width of her wrist, the ends sharp and uneven as if they had been ripped violently from the tree. It was a jarring sight, but the wood was likely the only thing at the moment that kept him from bleeding out. She would have to move quickly once it was out to stop the flow of blood.

“Yes,” she answered confidently.

“Get on with it, then.” Fransten’s voice was clipped as he immediately returned to his own task. Darby’s eyes widened at the implication, and despite the sobering, macabre scene around her, a tiny flutter of excitement ran through her chest.

Finally!

“I need you to let go, now,” she murmured quietly to the young man. “I’m going to need both my hands for this. But don’t worry; you’re going to be okay.”

He said nothing in response, but his breathing quickened as he dropped her hand and grabbed the sides of the cot instead.