Chapter Thirty-Three

  The ride south was not difficult. Though there were no roads directly between Golconda and the main stronghold of An-Dakal, it was not a long distance, and the land was mostly open and clear. The most difficult part of the journey was that the ground was rocky, and they needed to stop somewhat frequently because the rocks got stuck easily in the shoes of the horses. That was the greatest difficulty for them going down to Kashma. It took them a day to ride. They saw no one but a few peasants on the ride. The south of the valley was not good for crops, neither food nor aethium flowers. It was not wholly barren, but it was not lush like the upper parts of the great valley. Towards the south of Vurun, the valley narrowed, and the river became channelled into a great rushing torrent with rapids and falls and no way for the people to tame it and irrigate the land as was possible in the north of the valley.

  Only a day after setting out from Winslow’s army camp, they arrived at the road that followed the river south from the city of Vurun to the lower reaches of the valley. They did not know the country so well to the south, so they camped that night instead of pushing on. They set pickets in both directions, up and down the road, and set no campfires. This was an unfamiliar country. Dryden nor Mar had visited it, and less so the rest of the 13th, most of which had never been into the valley before this campaign, spending all their time out in Andaban and the Kryval. They waited in the cold dark of night, getting little sleep. As he lay on the cold ground in his bed roll looking up at the stars, waiting and hoping for sleep to take him, he heard a noise from nearby. He sat up and looked around. The noise was coming from Mar who was lying in his own bedroll nearby. The wizard was shivering badly. Dryden arose from his bed and went to kneel next to Mar. He put a hand on his shoulder to wake up. The wizard woke with a start.

  “Are you well, Mar?”

  The wizard was still shivering in the cold night air. While it was cold, Dryden did not feel it was so cold as to be shivering, not while fully dressed and in a bedroll. He could not see the wizard’s face, however.

  “I am so very cold, John,” The wizard said, his teeth chattering.

  “Who is on watch?” Dryden said into the dark.

  “I am, sir,” said a voice nearby, a trooper named Kellamy.

  “Start a fire,” Dryden ordered.

  “Sir… We could be seen.” The man began to question him.

  “I understand your concerns. Mar is ill. We must know his condition and give him some warmth.”

  “Aye, sir,” Kellamy replied. He went to gather some firewood. While the land had little wood, there were some small dead trees nearby and they soon had a small pile of it. Then Kellamy quickly built a fire with his small kit that included flint, steel, and a little char cloth. They built the fire close to Mar so that he would not have to move, and they did their best to shield the fire.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  A minute after it was built, Sergeant Krach came up, “What’s all this then?” He hissed as he approached, “No fires we said!” Then he saw the situation, with Dryden kneeling next to the fire and Mar shivering, “Apologies, Major. Is the wizard unwell?”

  “Indeed sergeant, would you be so kind as to help me examine his wound?”

  “Sir,” The sergeant said obediently, and he knelt with Dryden.

  Together they pulled Mar’s jacket down off his wounded arm and unwrapped the bandage. The wound was angry red and hot to the touch. It had been cleaned, at Winslow’s camp by a medic when they were resting.

  “Damn,” Dryden said, “We’ve no surgeon with us. I know not the proper method for taking an arm. Has any man done it before?”

  “No,” Mar hissed through gritted teeth, “Do not take my arm. This bloody land has already cost me too much,”

  “If we do not, it will cost you your life as well,” Dryden said, “This wound is badly infected.”

  “Is it black?”

  “No, red and hot. It smells a bit too,” Dryden had seen this before many times. Men died of these infections, or surgeons took their dying limbs. Many a soldier had been sent home missing an arm or leg.

  “Open it and let the pus drain. Does anyone have maggots?” The wizard asked.

  “Excuse me?” Dryden blanched at the question.

  “Maggots, fly larvae. Put some in the wound. They’ll clean it.”

  “Did they teach you this in your wizarding school?”

  Mar laughed painfully while he shivered, “No. I’m fairly certain my old professor of medicine would give me a good dressing down if I suggested it to him. He’d swear and tell me it was poppycock or bunkum or some such. No, I saw one of the slavers do it to one of the women after they whipped her badly and the wounds on her back festered. At first, I thought they did it to torture her, but no, the wound was clean in a few days and she recovered. I saw them do it again to an injured camel.”

  It was harder to find the maggots than it had been to get firewood, especially in the dark. Men were sent to look and they managed to find the rotting carcass of a horse just down the road. Maggots were brought.

  “Yes, those look about right,” Mar said.

  It felt strange to Dryden. He cleaned a sharp dagger as best he could, then used it to pry open the dark scabby wound. Immediately pus burst from it, running down to the ground. The wizard closed his eye and hissed at the pain. In the dark, it was hard to see, and Dryden worked by fire light with the help of Sergeant Krach who held the wizard to keep him from squirming. Once the wound was open, they put a small handful of the maggots into it and bandaged it back closed. Few slept after that, least of all Dryden, who found that bile rose up his throat any time he thought of the wriggling maggots going into the festering wound on the wizard’s arm. The coming of dawn was a welcome thing. The small camp of dragoons packed up quickly.

  Mar stood on shaky legs, still shivering and covered with a blanket, “Sir, I do not believe that I can ride.”

  “You told me once you would regret the day that you cannot ride. I hope it will not be today. You will ride with me,” Dryden said, “This destrier is a strong steed, he will carry us both.”

  Bellephoron was indeed a large horse, much bigger than Rosie had been and far more muscular. He was a huge pale grey stallion. Dryden, who was healthy and not a small man, had to haul himself up into the saddle simply because the horse was so tall. The wizard needed more help mounting him. He rode behind Dryden, with one arm wrapped around and clutching weakly at Dryden’s chest. As the sun came up over the horizon the sky turned a brilliant orange and they turned down the road to the south, towards the An-Dakal stronghold as Kashma.

  “We must make Kashma by nightfall,” Dryden told the men, “Lest all our efforts be for nought! Ride hard, ride for Mar, ride for the king, ride for General Haddock, and ride for the Bloody 13th!”