When Medoc left the throne room, he went immediately to his second in command, Luten Renault, in the mess cave. Renault was stout, short for a Flame, but a better Luten Medoc had never known. He had been left behind during the attack on Iskalon, to replace Medoc should he have been killed. He bowed shallowly, and Medoc inclined his own head very briefly in respect.
“Have you heard of the situation in the baths, General?”
“Just now. I am headed there. I came to tell you to organize the attack on the remaining Icers. I will take over once we are ready to attack, but for now, you will start the tunneling and scouting.” He outlined Dynat’s plan briefly, cursing it silently as he did. It was a poor tactic. Dynat had been schooled in strategy, but that was many years ago now, and his lack of experience showed. He had never tried to interfere with the details before. Why now?
If Renault agreed with Medoc’s unspoken assessment of the plan, he did not share his reservations. “I’ll get this started right away, General. If I may ask, sir, have you had a chance to rest since the battle?”
“What are you now, my own wife?” Medoc growled. “See to your men, Luten, I am fine.” He did not storm out of the room, but he left quickly. Did he look so bad as that? He paused in the tunnel before a long, smooth wall of obsidian, illuminated by torches. He could see his dark reflection in the wall. His mesh was in order, neatly organized in hexagons, his scale armor all coordinated and placed just right. His hair was oiled back; not a single strand fell out of place, and his mustache was trim and combed as always. Renault must be imagining things.
The baths were in chaos. Medoc was choking on smoke before he even reached the steam tunnel. He used T'Jas to make a bubble of clean air around his face. Dead Semija were being pulled past in carts. Young Flames covered in flaming Fireblood raced through the tunnels, excited by the intense heat and fiery eruptions. Older, more reserved Flames milled around, complaining about the interruption of their relaxed bathing. Living Semija crowded beside them, begging for healing of minor burns. Further in, he could hear several women wailing in mourning. Mourning for Semija? That was odd. Had a Flame died?
Medoc pushed through the mass of people in the steam tunnel to the main bathing hall. Bolv stood before the communal pool, speaking with the crying women. She left them and came to meet Medoc halfway through the crowd. “Where is Dynat?” She looked tired, shocked; deep blue circles surrounded her eyes, which had a red cast—had she been crying as well? Medoc pulled her away, out of earshot of the others.
“I am here, Kinyara, and I will have to do.”
She nodded sharply. “Come. It is better if you see for yourself.”
She led him past the filthy, sooty baths and up winding stone steps to the river. The Solph River seeped out of porous rock, travelled over a long plateau of thermal vents, and poured down a steamy waterfall, terminating in Lord Barrett’s pool. Lord Barrett was the Lord of the Bathing Caverns; he owned most of the baths, and the other nobles paid him tribute. Medoc looked across the rushing river where it ran over flat rock, just before plunging twenty feet down. Large, dark lumps rolled in the current and disappeared over the edge.
“What is it?” He asked, peering closer. Bolv was silent, and he reached out with T'Jas and pulled one to the rough riverbank, dragged it to his feet. When he saw what it was, he felt ill.
Waterlogged and half eaten away by fishes, the face was no longer recognizable, but the build, the dark hair, and the steel armor marked the corpse as one of his Warriors. The river was full of them. One after another, they disappeared over the edge of the cliff. Medoc had an image of them being scooped out of Lord Barrett’s pool, and suddenly he realized that the bodies he’d seen on the carts hadn’t been Semija at all. They were Flames.
That explained the wailing, and it was likely why Bolv looked so bone-weary and sad. The bodies of all the war heroes were returning to Chraun.
“They aren’t all ours,” Bolv said. “About three quarters are the corpses of the Icers. Lava is too good for them. I have ordered them interred in rock in the ghost veins of the mines.”
“How is this possible?” Medoc asked, staring at the lumps in the river with morbid fascination.
“Did you never wonder where our water comes from?” Bolv’s tone was angry. “It is amazing that they did not use this to poison us long ago. Our scouts at their lake report rivers and streams pouring off the top of the lake and filtering through the bedrock to the Solph. Their Palace melting raised the lake level, so that anything floating on the lake went down these streams. Most of the tunnels are too narrow for a body to travel through, but the Fireblood was carried easily. We sent Flames up through the limestone to find the source of the contamination, and they opened a larger pipe-tunnel, and the bodies began pouring out.”
“Why wasn’t it resealed?”
“Think about it, General.”
Medoc thought, and understood. The water in the bedrock would not be hot like the baths, but it would be warm enough to allow the bodies to decompose. As they rotted, Fireblood would be the least of the contaminants in the water of Chraun; dead bodies would harbor disease. Better to clear them out all at once and gather them from Lord Barrett’s pool than have their sludge leaking into the pools for months. Medoc felt ill again. There would still be corpses further up, in other, narrower streams. The whole bedrock could be contaminated.
“Have you been able to clean the Fireblood out of the pools?”
“The main bathing pools have been evacuated, and I have twenty Flames working on extracting the Fireblood and saving it in barrels. As they clean a pool out, more Fireblood comes down from the Solph, and we cannot stop the flow without leaving Chraun waterless. But the bathing pools are not the greatest worry. The poison has spread into the drinking springs, and beyond that to the pools that irrigate the fungal caverns and fill the stock tanks.”
“Can it not be filtered?”
“We are working on all manner of filters, General. They clog, and then the water ceases to flow. Already the fungal caverns are drying up.”
“Then there is no choice,” Medoc said. “We must clean the lake, Bolv. And the tunnels between.”
“That is absurd,” she flared. “Go willingly into the cold? It is enough that we waste good Flames patrolling it. And how are we to clean it? Even using Fireblood, we will not have enough heat to tunnel through the cold rock, to get to the limestone filters where the bodies lay, where the Fireblood must be pooling.”
She was right. Medoc let that rest while he sent orders to his officers to bring troops to the baths. He ruminated on the problem while helping Bolv set up temporary measures to decrease the impact of the Fireblood on the water supply. Together, Medoc and the Kinyara organized a team of common Flames working above the waterfall, to catch the bodies in the river and set up a variety of filtration systems. They could not keep the Fireblood completely out of the water, but they could at least catch the bulk of it before it reached the baths. He ordered teams of Warriors to patrol the baths, restoring order and giving solace to the grieving Ladies. He also sent a team of Warriors to take cababar with empty barrels to the lake for water, in hopes of finding a layer of water under the surface that wasn’t contaminated.
He was talking to a common Flame, who specialized in irrigation, about the materials they would need to mine for filtration when Tejusi arrived with a summons.
“The King requires that all available Officers report to the Market Tunnel. He is staging an event to build the morale of Chraun.”
“What is it, Cadet?”
“He wouldn’t say, General Sir. Rumor has it its something to do with the Princesses.”
Medoc’s exhaustion hit him so hard and sudden that he wondered if he had reached his own end of days. No, more likely he was just tired. He had no wish to participate in whatever it was Dynat had planned, and he told Tejusi so. “He’ll have a hard time finding available Officers, Cadet. Go in my stead and report to me when it’s done. If he asks where I am, tell him I humbly request his presence in the Baths.”
“Yes, General.” Tejusi saluted and left.
Medoc finished talking to the irrigation specialist and sent a scribe with gold plate to the mines. He spent some time soothing Lord Barrett, assuring him that his taxes would be reduced during this crisis. After that, Medoc sought out Bolv. She was overseeing the removal of bodies. “The flow is slowing,” she said, “a body comes down every hour or more. But the Fireblood is steady. How much did you haul up there, General?”
“Enough to make Iskalon burn forever,” Medoc said softly. Barrels upon barrels, dragged up by cababar and Semija, lifted with T’Jas when the way grew steep. For what? An empty victory. Medoc could not think of one thing that had improved in Chraun since the end of the war. And now this. Inspiration struck Medoc, and suddenly he knew what must be done.
“The Icers,” he said. “We must send the Icers back to the lake, to cleanse it.”
Bolv glared at him. “Dynat would never allow it. I would not allow it. Do you have treason in your heart, General?”
“Of course not,” Medoc said lightly. “I will speak to Dynat. He will agree, I am sure.”
“When you see him, bid him to come here. The people need their King to reassure them. They must see his face, and see that he grieves for the deaths of these warriors.”
Medoc left the baths and headed toward Market. Surely Dynat would see the need to send the Icers back to the lake. Under guard and with a signed Treaty, of course. The King was not as fanatic in his hatred as the Kinyara. Was he?