Age of War

Chapter 43

The East Gate was as heavily garrisoned as it had been in living memory. The timbers were reinforced and the walls shored up with rubble and reclaimed masonry from elsewhere in the city. The walls bristled with defenders armed with spears and bows, and siege equipment was being ferried to the front lines. This, judging by the disposition of Saffrey’s forces, was where the fighting would be thickest. Gates were easier to break through than walls, even walls in such severe disrepair as those that encircled Atlas. The fight would come to them here, and Albrihn believed they were as prepared for it as they could be. Soldiers were present in their hundreds, ranks of archers lining up behind the walls, and all the ephemera required to sustain an army was in evidence. As he walked by the gates, inspecting the battle line, his eyes alighted on a long white pavilion erected in the open plaza. He felt a surge of relief at that and headed straight for the entrance. He was met there by Lady Chanes, the Head Chirurgeon herself with her distinctive red robes and shaved head. She bowed very slightly as he approached and he returned the gesture. “Lady Chanes. Your presence here is most welcome.”

“We have our duty to attend to, as do you, Lord Albrihn.”

The Order of Chirurgeons did a lot to improve the morale of any soldiers close by, but he felt the slight recrimination in the voice of the old woman. Her duty, after all, would be much simpler without his. He would be making a lot of work for her people today. Chanes led him inside the tent, which was filled with Chirurgeons running around, their robes flapping around their legs, while orderlies in brown tunics responded to their curt commands as best they could, dumping supplies of linen bandages, clear alcohol, wooden splints and many more things the use of which Albrihn could only guess at. They walked past a makeshift bed, beside which was a low table – ornately carved, obviously donated by some long-forgotten noble from their own household – set out with saws, blades and other gleaming implements. He cringed at the sight of them. Yes, the Chirurgeons were welcome, but like most soldiers he preferred to have his fate settled by his own sword. He would sooner die cleanly, gutted on the battlefield, than bleed out in a bed like this one.

Chanes followed his gaze. “I was told you knew no fear, Lord Albrihn. It pleases me to know it was an exaggeration.”

“Pleases you? Why?”

“I have no desire to put the life of Atlas’s people in the hands of a man who isn’t aware of his own mortality.”

“That makes sense.” He looked around the tent. “Why offer treatment here though?”

“My lord?”

“The hospital is only a few miles away. I’ve no shortage of volunteers to carry stretchers…”

“And what of the enemy? Will they carry them too?”

“The enemy…” He trailed off. Yes, the oath taken by every Chirurgeon would mean they were honour-bound to give aid to anyone in need, be they friend or foe. And it was precisely that which kept them safe wherever they did their good work – no soldier would dare raise her hand to one of their Order, lest she one day find herself on their table, her life in the hands of the very people she’d once harmed. “You must know,” he said, a little abashed, “I exhausted every other option and…”

Chanes spread her hands. “It’s not my place to judge the decisions a soldier must make, Lord Albrihn, just as it’s not yours to judge the decisions we would make in the confines of this hospital. In our own way, those decisions are just as difficult.”

“Aye. To take a man’s arm, or let him die from poisoned blood. To give mercy to a woman who may never recover from her wounds. To save the life of a mother or a child…”

“Indeed.” She looked hard at him. She was the Head Chirurgeon, the most renowned healer in Atlantis. She had tended to thousands of sick and injured folk, he was certain, and birthed how many? And surely, if an Emperor’s Consort quickened with her child – children – this is the one whose services she would call upon. Did Chanes share Loban’s secret about his heritage?