Chapter Twenty-Four

It had been far too quiet for anyone's liking, least of all Soren's. He had been called out here, gathered this many warriors, because he had been told that the situation with the barbarians was dire. Yet since he's been present here, for three months now, not a single attack has occurred on either side. The scouts haven't reported any suspicious activity. From what they can tell, the barbarians are just camping out in the forest on the empire's side of the mountains. 

Soren paced in front of a table that had been placed in the middle of the command tent, a map of the area laid out and held down with pins. He looked at the small triangular figure that represented the barbarian forces. They weren't too far from his camp, but far enough to not cause concern. He couldn't help but wonder if he should just get it over with and burn them all to crisps. He shook his head. If he did that, Marcel would nag him endlessly for burning part of his precious forest in the process. He could send a small group of skilled knights in to kill the leader of the group, but with their numbers, it wouldn't end well.

As Soren contemplated his options, Avery burst into his tent, dragging one of the scouts they had sent by the collar behind him. "General, pardon the intrusion." He doesn't salute as he greets Soren. With how hard he's been trying to be respectful of late, something must be wrong. 

"What do you have to report?" Soren's hard eyes run over the scout that Avery still holds captive. The young man looks terrified, the scent of his fear filling Soren's nostrils. A low growl threatens to escape from his chest. This doesn't bode well.

"This scout returned alone. He claimed that his unit was slain by the barbarians. Yet he is without even a scratch. I think the little rat gave away our numbers and position to spare his own life!" Rage mars Avery's face. 

The growl that Soren barely contained finds its way to the surface, causing the scout to flinch. This was not good in the slightest. Things had been too peaceful, and now Soren knew why. They were preparing. And now they were ready to attack. Soren looks at the traitor, forcing eye contact by grabbing him by the jaw. "How long do we have?"

The scout stutters, barely managing to get a sentence out. "I-it w-was to b-be t-t-tonight."

Avery curses and flings the traitor down on the ground. His temper is usually measured and even, but it cracks under the weight of this betrayal, of the repercussions that will come from it. Soren isn't too pleased with the news either, but he will taste his revenge on the traitor by the end of the night. For now, though, they must prepare.

Turning to Avery, he says, "Lock him up for now. We will deal with him later. After he is secured, go alert everyone to the imminent threat. Have the healers of each regiment on standby. It will no doubt be a bloody night."

Avery nods and grabs the cowering man by the collar, dragging him once more as he leaves to carry out his task. 

Soren must prepare as well. As he's securing his armor and strapping his longsword to his back, he can't help but think of his little human. As long as the healers stayed in their respective units, she should be safe. The impulse to go to her is overwhelming, another sick twist to the Fate's strings that bind them together. Soren sighs as an ache spreads from his chest, the mark that binds him. In times like these, he's torn between wanting to sever the bond and wanting to solidify it. In the end, though, he could never bring himself to do either. Having a human mate would only be a weakness but he would be damned if he saw another's hands on her. 

With a snarl, he stomps out of the tent. He's glad for the distraction that this battle will bring. Perhaps for once, he can rid his thoughts of that damned human. Roughly pulling his helmet on, Soren is prepared for the bloodbath that will follow.

***

The horns that sound pull everyone out of their revelry. We had all been sitting around drinking, as we've done every night for the past two months that I've been here. It had peacefully quiet, the worst wound I've had to attend to was a gash from a drunken brawl. But as I look around at everyone's grim expressions, I have a feeling that's about to change. 

Marvin is the first to stand. I had found out early on that he was essentially the leader of the Third Regiment's healers. As everyone around us starts to scramble, he remains calm and tells us all to stand and make our way to the medical tent. His demeanor is different than anything I've seen from him before, and it's clear why he's in charge. It takes skill to be able to stay calm in the face of danger. 

Our group quickly sobers up as we make our way back to the tent. Marvin starts barking out orders as soon as we step through the entrance. "Minnow, prep the gauze an' sutures. Barlow, get water an' towels ready. 'Melia, get down the potions for infections, and pain, and grab some anesthesia while yer at it. These mercs be big babies when it comes to surgery." 

No one questions his orders. We quickly get to work on our respective tasks as he preps the tables himself. All of the usual sarcasm and joking that would be present is nowhere to be found now. I may not have been here for long, but we all know what those horns mean. All hell is about to break loose. With the gravity of that thought weighing heavily on each of us, no one has the energy to try and make light of the situation. Besides, war always means death. And as demented as some of them are, even they know not to make jokes about the massacre that's sure to come. 

After everything is ready, we all stand quietly. The sounds coming from outside fill the silence around us. Screams of pain, of anger, of death. My chest constricts with sympathy for the souls out there whose lives are being put on the line. I can see that everyone else must be feeling the same way. We all wince with the phantom pains of what those outside must be experiencing. 

The first soldier is carried in on another's shoulders, blood pouring from his limp legs. Marvin directs the one standing to place him on one of the tables and we all get to work. From here on out, we're all going to be soaked in more blood than we'd care for.