I was in the rear of the battle lines among the wounded. I saw so many different races, I wasn’t sure what side I was with or if I was a prisoner. Healers were so covered in blood of all shades and colors, I couldn’t recognize their uniform colors.
One reached me and his three fingered hand with sucker tips grabbed my head and twisted it gently back and forth. I blinked. He had definite scales. His touch caused a certain portion of my head to start throbbing and I felt nauseous.
“Head injury,” he announced and shone a light in each pupil. “Concussion, moderate. Are you wounded anywhere else?”
I stared at him. “What side are you on?”
“Memory loss? What’s your name and rank? Nurse!”
“Are you Amber or the other side?”
He hooted. “As if Webster would waste his magic on saving wounded soldiers. I’m with the Golden Circle Alliance. You?” He eyed what was left of my funeral suit. I searched my head for the crown and he took it to mean my head hurt. Which it did. “Sorry. Can’t give you anything for a head injury. Got to stay awake. Ah, nurse,” he said to the human woman in a one piece red jumpsuit. “See to this soldier, he’s a bit confused. Concussion. Remove his clothes and check for other injuries, please.”
She started to pull at my lace shirt and tugged my pants down. I fought her for possession of them but she whipped out a blunt pair of snips and cut everything off. Her eyes widened and she gasped as she saw the healed scars on my body. The doctor cursed fluently and snapped, “who did this to you, child?”
I bolted up off the stretcher and for the nearest door. Trouble was, my head felt like a balloon on a string and I couldn’t find the door. Just endless rows of stretchers and cots with wounded bodies everywhere, nurses and doctors moving among them treating those they could and ending the hopeless with mercy.
The sounds inside what looked like a huge warehouse tent was eerily quiet, I expected the moans and cries of wounded and dying yet they clearly weren’t complaining. I saw men missing limbs, guts heaving out of bellies and others literally cut in half. The doctor’s voice carried clearly, he told one of the other nurses to catch me.
I dodged a tall male in red, flinging myself over a cot with a dead Thrid on it, managed to spit on it and stumbled down a long row that disappeared into darkness flanked by three people on my right and four two rows over on the left. Everything was white, the cots, linens, stretchers, doctors, the only color I could see were the red jumpers of the nurses.
I ran for the nearest opening I could find and away from those pursuing me, found myself in a nightmare of more and more rows of cots stretching as far as I could see. Stopped. Turned round and looked. In every direction, no matter where I looked, I was surrounded by the wounded and dying. I looked up and saw the top of the tent, poles, the roof yet nowhere could I discern what held it up or how to get out.
The group reached me and eager hands pulled at me, set me flat on a stretcher, brought me back to the same doctor who pursed his lips. “Very bad, boy. Very bad for your concussion. You need to rest, be quiet. Mayr, give him a shot of Bedevice.”
“His concussion, Doctor?” she asked, frowning.
“It won’t do him any good if he runs his head into something. Better he rest.”
“Yes, Doctor.” She did something to my arm and I felt slow, like the world was losing time.
“What happened to you? Who put these terrible scars on you? It’s criminal.” He stroked my belly and rolled me over to palpate my back. I let him touch me without complaint, I felt lethargic and sleepy. I yawned, uncaring that I was only in my underwear.
“What’s your name, boy?’ she asked and I thought she was pretty but not as pretty as the green lady. I told her so and she patted my cheek as I was lifted into the air and carried. Carried a long way past where I’d started and into a smaller room where the light made the white so brilliant that it blinded me. I fell asleep but I didn’t tell her my name.
Someone came in every hour and woke me. Took my pulse, respirations and blood pressure. Asked my name, rank and my unit. I said I didn’t know. When morning came, the inside glow softened instead of brightened and the roof peeled back in places so that blue sky and soft breezes wafted through dispersing any lingering scent of blood and death.
“Where am I?” I asked the next one in who wasn’t either a doctor or a nurse but clearly an officer. He wore a neat uniform of dark navy with silver buttons, high boots and held a fancy cap at his waist. Belted and with a sword hanging from the white leather. He was a Tissarette and a high ranking officer from the silver clusters on his shoulder boards.
“I’m making my rounds of the wounded, soldier,” he announced. “One of my cavalrymen said you took out a Thrid to save Private Marden and suffered an injury yourself. Your name, rank and unit, sir?”
“I don’t know,” I fell back on that answer and it did not satisfy him. He studied me, stared at my face which was still swollen somewhat from my headlong dive into the dirt. My clothes were no clue, I was in an open backed knee length gown which gave the staff access to every part of me. My yellow eyes puzzled him, he picked up both of my hands and rubbed palms and fingers. Next, he examined my feet and peeked under the gown. I slapped his hands away and turned red as he grinned.
“Well, you’re human enough. Got five fingers and toes and the rest of the...male equipment so I know you’re from Amber or one of her close shadows. Leaper divined you, there’s no magic hiding your form from our sight so you’re not demon kin. You killed one of Webster’s top Lieutenants so I know you have no love for the Gray Lord’s side.” He raised my gown again and stared at the welts, scars and damage to my flesh. “Were you a prisoner that escaped? You’re too young to be a soldier. Even Webster doesn’t recruit teens.”
“Yes,” I said hastily. “I was held captive in his headquarters at the Palisades.”
His eyes lightened with eagerness. “Did you see any other high-ranking prisoners? A Lady, a green lady who was sightless?”
“You mean the Queen?”
“YES!”
“Will you try to rescue her?”
“With your help. Any information you can provide would help us tremendously.”
“There are other prisoners there,” I said slowly.
“We know. We’re particularly interested in capturing Webster’s assassin, the Blackbird. Did you see him?”
“If you see him, you’re dead,” I said flatly. “Besides, he’s dead. Webster killed him.” I wasn’t expecting the look on the officer’s face. It was despair, regret, and equal portions of satisfaction. “Who are you?”
“Major-General Sebastein Dineeni. Amber’s Seventh Cavalry.”
Somewhere, someone had told me that the 7th Cavalry was synonymous with ignoble defeat.
“Do you remember your own name and family? Your town or shadow?” he asked gently. “May we contact someone and send you home? How old are you?”
“Seventeen,” I answered bleakly. “I don’t know who I am or where I belong. I’m tired. I’d like to sleep.”
“I won’t bother you but you have my gratitude for saving the Private’s life and later, we’d like to pick your brains on the layout and defenses of the Palisades.”
“Is the ...he back there?”
“Webster has retreated to the castle, yes. Fortified and warded. We can’t dent his perimeter or breach it. With your insight and help, we could find a way.”
“Will you ask the nurse to bring me a paper and pen?” I asked. “And a drink? I’m thirsty.”
He looked surprised and turned his head towards where a door should be. Spoke aloud, “Nurse!” In seconds, one of the red-suited women appeared. This one looked like a teen from Amber’s courts. She was young, pretty and bubbly. “Ah, Iantha,” he grinned. “Our young hero needs your tender care. Rest, lad and get well.” He bowed at the waist and left. The girl arched an eyebrow at me. “Well? What can I do for you?”
I turned red and mumbled, “Bathroom?”
She snorted inelegantly and held her hand to her mouth. “Oh crap,” she complained and I said, “well, no, I have to pee.”
She laughed and I realized I had said something that had struck her as funny. “I’ll get you a urinal.” She reached behind her and pulled this long, tube thing out of the air and handed it to me. “Unless you want me to do it?”
I blushed at the thought of her touching me. “What is this place?”
“You’re not from around here, are you?”
“I don’t know. It’s just that everything is strange. Why can’t I find a door out of here?”
“Well,” she said as if I were retarded. “We can’t very well have our patients falling to their deaths, now can we?”
“What?”
She explained slowly as she realized I had no clue what she was talking about. “We’re in Nesium Citrous, the Hospital Cloud City. We’re ten thousand feet above the plain where the battles are taking place. Transport of the wounded is quicker and we save more lives. We’re higher than the winged regiments can reach so we don’t have to fear aerial attacks or arrow strikes, ballistas or magic bolts. They tend to fizzle out after a thousand feet high. There are no doors or windows because some species would suffer a fatal heart attack if they saw they were thousands of feet in the air.”
“We’re floating in the air?”
“Are you afraid of heights? I can order you a tranquilizer.”
“Look, I just want to pee and get out of here,” I said seriously. “I’m not really hurt. Can’t I just leave?”
“No, Dr. Leaper says you’re to have rest and quiet so your head and mind can heal properly. I can bring you lunch if you’re hungry and thirsty.”
“I’m starving. Do you think I can have something to draw with? It keeps me from thinking about things.”
She looked sympathetic. “I’ll see what I can do.” She disappeared from my view only to reappear moments later with a tray of hot food and beverages. “I input human Amber cuisine for you. I hope that’s acceptable.”
“I’ll eat simple things, nurse. Bread, cheese, watered wine.”
“We can do better than that. Besides, you can’t drink alcohol with these drugs,” she said cheerfully. “I have roasted beef, mashed turnips, peas and Passionberry tarts. Tea with cream. Potato rolls with whipped butter. You’re a trifle underweight, or so Dr. Leaper says.” She set the tray down near my cot and adjusted something underneath so that it rose up and folded itself into a chair. “Do you need help?”
“No, thank you.” I picked up the knife and ran my fingers across the blade. Too dull to cut anything even the meat. I reached for the bread, slapped a piece of beef on it and crammed it into my mouth, washed it down with sweet, hot tea. Four bites and my stomach had had enough but I managed to wolf down four of those tarts.
“How’s your headache?”
Surprised, I realized I hadn’t felt anything from my head since I’d awakened. “It’s gone.”
“Good. You've been awake for over 24 hours so the risk of lapsing into a coma is negligible. We can downgrade your status to mobile, it gives you access to the lounging areas and activities.”
“NO!”
She looked startled at my vehement dismissal. “No,” I repeated softly. “Please. I can’t stand to be around anyone. I was tortured, you see. Please, can’t I stay here another few days?”
“I can see if that’s okay with Dr. Leaper,” she smiled. “Let me see if I can find you a sketch book.”
“And a pencil,” I reminded. She nodded, asked if I was done and waited as I folded up the leftovers in the napkin, tucking the pouch under my cot. She regarded this with astonishment.
“You need only to ask for me whenever you are hungry.”
“Sorry. It’s a habit from...prison.”
“I see. Call if you need anything.” She disappeared and this time, stayed gone.