The Dread by Gail Z. Martin

Author:Gail Z. Martin [Martin, Gail Z.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Fiction
ISBN: 9780748131716
Publisher: Hachette Littlehampton
Published: 2012-02-01T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Gethin trudged alongside Jonmarc as they made their way back to camp.

“Why don’t you have one of the healers tend you?” Jonmarc asked. A quick appraisal of Gethin’s injuries gave Jonmarc the impression that the collection of burns and gashes were painful but probably not life threatening. Mostly, he hoped to deflect the prince before heading into a debriefing with the other generals.

Gethin gave him a withering glare. “The Hojun knew that without their help, you might have lost the leg. If they weren’t worried about me, you shouldn’t be. There are men with much more serious wounds who need their help.”

Jonmarc’s expression did not change, but his estimation of the Eastmark prince rose. “Do your Hojun allow you river rum… for the pain?”

A tired grin spread across Gethin’s face. “Eastmark is hardly Nargi. I’d welcome some rum if you have it.”

Jonmarc took a flask from his belt and handed it to Gethin. Despite the prince’s protestations that his wounds were minor, the way he knocked back a generous swig of the potent rum gave Jonmarc to know the truth. “You don’t have to come with me to the meeting, you know. You’ve made your point.”

“Which would be?”

Jonmarc sighed and rolled his eyes. “This obviously wasn’t your first real fight. I get that. For what it’s worth, it took Tris Drayke quite a while to get sword skills like yours. I’m… satisfied.”

Gethin chuckled and gave Jonmarc a sidelong glance. “Just… satisfied. Certainly not… impressed.”

Jonmarc’s eyebrows rose. “Dispel a forest full of murderous ghosts single-handedly, and I’ll be impressed. Until then, you’ll have to settle for what you get.”

Gethin fell into step beside him despite Jonmarc’s offer to let the prince leave. Jonmarc was bone weary, both parched and hungry, and he knew Gethin had to be equally uncomfortable. To Gethin’s credit, the prince made no complaint.

Jonmarc headed across the camp toward Valjan’s tent, guessing where the generals would congregate.

“Jonmarc! Thank the Whore you made it back!” Valjan came striding out of the haze of smoke that hung over the camp. Soot-streaked, his armor cut and bloodied, Valjan looked like he, too, had been in the thick of the battle.

“I was just heading to your tent. Figured Exeter and Gregor would do the same. We need to regroup—assuming we have the men.”

Valjan’s expression was sober. “Aye, we have the men. It was bad, but not that bad, thank the Lady. I had my valet run to bring brandy and whatever food is at hand. I dare say we’re all barely standing at this point, and I, for one, would like a drink.”

“How bad?”

Valjan let out a deep breath and looked out over the camp. “Don’t know yet. I’ve sent for a count, but that will take some time. My guess… we lost at least two or three thousand men, out of the ten thousand we deployed.”

“What about the merc ships? After the Temnottans sent their ships afire, we couldn’t see what became of ours.”

Valjan’s jaw tightened. “Nothing, yet. I asked Laisren to scout it out, and to let us know the casualties among the vayash moru and vyrkin as well.

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