Aftermath

Two maddened imperials took Danielle’s blade to their throat without having noticed she was there. The pupils of their eyes were wide as they turned milky with death.

            Rain fell in bucket loads. Thunder and lightning tore the nights sky. Looking at the ash that covered her, Sir Danielle Longbow realised it was washing away. After two days the falling ash was either spent or needed rest.

            She threw on the armour that had been ripped from her by lecherous attackers. Strapping on a breastplate alone was difficult enough for someone who hadn’t been shot in the shoulder. She growled through the pain.

            With her helmet back on, she picked up one of the rectangular shields brought by the imperial army. There was nothing else to do but fight for her people, her home, and her city.

            Pure water hissed on the glowing timbers of burning buildings. Forks of lightning leapt down out of darkness, illuminating the city with dazzling white light.

            She jogged.

            Onwards to the castle.

            One more attempt at facing the enemy.

Slipping on rubble that had been buildings hours before, she saw the chaos. The entire army was slaughtering itself. Deadly branches of mighty trees snatched up soldiers who fought even as they were devoured. The curaduile trees were bigger than any outside the walls. They rose into the sky.

            On they fought, paying the trees no mind.

            She watched.

            Horror struck.

            Rooted in place.

One saw her at last. He came for her at a jog, gladius raised. All his training was forgotten. She raised her shield and sword. He ran headlong into the shield. Before he could swing at her, her sword was done with him. Blood spurted from the wound, covering her.

            Danielle spat out his offering and waited for more to come to her. One by one, sometimes in twos, they came. With mad fury they ran onto her blade.

            Those who killed each other were no better. As the melee wore on the men seemed less human, more animal. The last survivors of the army ripped at each other with tooth and nail.

            She finished them, alone outside the walls of the inner bailey. Cries of victory echoed down from the top of the wall.

            Dozens of defenders who had not been there before stood atop the wall with bows in their hands. In the darkness she saw men who looked like hedgehogs thanks to arrows through their cheap imperial armour.

            A branch, done dragging a body next to her, reached for her ankle. She leapt away from it. It would be a week before the mind of the new tree was strong enough to know friend from foe.

            Other bodies were dragged into the three trees she’d planted in the enemy during her last attempt to get to the castle.

            “Anne!” She had forgotten the woman in all that had happened.

Danielle ran to the little house hidden away near the city wall. When she tried to open the door, she found it barred.

            “Nettle. Let me in. It’s me, Danielle.”

            “Did we win?” Asked the little girl from the other side of the door.

            “I don’t know. I think so. We need to get Anne to a healer.”

            Grunting sounds accompanied a little girl trying to remove a heavy wooden beam from the door. A loud thud and a yelp told Danielle it was done.

            “Move out of the way, I’ll open it.” Sir Longbow set her shoulder to the door and shoved until she saw Nettle, still covered in ash.

            “She aint moving now,” Nettle said.

            “I’ll carry her.” Rushing to the bed, Danielle lifted the woman in her arms and swung her through the front door, careful not to bash her head on the frame. “Come with me. We’re going to the castle.”

            “Will she be alright?” Nettle’s brown eyes seemed to be growing as they shivered with tears.

            “I hope so. We need to hurry.”

Jogging with Anne in her arms, Danielle returned to the square in front of the gate to the castle. Soldiers in green tabards were stripping the imperials of their armour and weapons then tossing the bodies to the hungry trees.

            “I need a healer.”

            “Head inside, Sir Longbow.” The young man looked at her with awe in his eyes.

            “Thank you.” She kept jogging, Nettle by her side.

            The courtyard of the inner bailey was covered with tents. The ground was a writhing mass of wounded. Civilians and soldiers alike groaned, screamed, and wept. Fellow knights tied tourniquets and kept pressure on weeping wounds. Apprenticed healers, trained by Leonor’s best, stood at intervals. They wore brown uniforms and yelled instructions to anyone available to help.

            Green robed witches and warlocks of the royal coven were there with the rest, most just taking instruction from the healers.

            Lupita wore green robes but knew as much as any of the other healers. She stood on a box, soaked to the skin, yelling instructions.

            “If they’re dead, leave them. Save your efforts for the living. If there’s a wound on a limb, use a tourniquet. If they’ve been stabbed or shot in the chest, rub the alcohol on the wound, then stitch or cauterise it. ONLY USE THE SANITISED BANDAGES. At least until they run out.”

            “Lupita. Help me.” Sir Longbow was at eye level with her lover’s knees.

            “Danielle? Thank the gods. What is it?”

            “This is Anne. She was shot in the back. She’s lost a lot of blood.”

            “I need to see the wounds.”

            There was nowhere to lie Anne but the ground. Danielle laid her down and rolled her onto her chest, pulling up the back of her tunic. More than a dozen tiny punctures covered her back. Each of them was still weeping lines of red.

            “We can’t stitch those. We’ll need to cauterise them.”

            Lupita’s head snapped around. “No. Clean it first, then apply the iron.”

            Someone else who was being cauterised screamed with the shrieking fury of a mother in labour then passed out.

            “Does your breath taste of vomit?” Lupita asked. “No? Just me? PUSH DOWN ON THAT BANDAGE UNTIL SOMEONE BRINGS THE IRON.” She whistled. “Don’t put that down, help her.” Lupita’s finger pointed from a woman holding a burning iron to someone bleeding through their bandages.

            Danielle tried to clean Anne’s wounds with alcohol as people leapt between the heads of patients with bandages or coal for the brazier to heat the irons. The stink of burning flesh was in the air. The sting of the alcohol used to clean the wounds was no better. Fumes from the cloth she wiped Anne’s cuts with made Danielle dizzy.

            Through it all, Nettle clung to her. The little fist around her tabard snatched tight when she moved to grab the glowing iron from another soldier with wide eyes.

            Battle was a nightmare, trying to save those who survived it felt like waking up to realise the nightmare had followed you into reality. Nettle twitched with every sudden sound.

            Pressing the hot metal to her friends flesh finally brought the taste of sick to her mouth. Nettle looked away. Danielle had flashbacks to trying to save a friend from turning into a harpy.

            Moments stretched to hours.

            Rain turned to drizzle.

            Night became day.

            People who had begged the gods for their lives left the inner baily with cloth over their faces.

            “Sir Longbow?” A young woman in a bloodied green tabard stood over her.

            “Yes.” She realized Nettle was asleep on her lap. Anne was either sleeping deeply or dying slowly. Her pulse had been weak whenever Danielle checked, but at least she had a pulse.            “The imperials we spared are outside the wall, Sir. They say they want to talk to you.”

            “Why?” She had a headache. No water in hours. Adrenaline had run dry. Coming out of the trance she’d been in by Anne’s side had reminded her of the hole in her shoulder.

            “They say they captured the weapons used to destroy the wall. But they’ll only talk to you or Mister Northman.”

            “Where is he?”

            “I’m not sure, Sir.”

            “Run to them and tell them I will come to them as soon as I’ve tended to my wounds. If we have any medics spare who aren’t dying of exhaustion, send them out to the imperials who changed sides.” She began removing her armour again, trying not to wake Nettle.

            “Sir?”

            “If they weren’t loyal to us the cursed rain would have turned them mad. Were they mad?”

            “No. I don’t think so, Sir.”

            “Then you know what to do.” When she pressed the wound in her shoulder, she could feel something inside it. She looked at one of the surgeons. “Do you have a small knife?” With a grimace she dug out the shard of metal that had ripped through skin and muscle. Pouring the surgical alcohol on the red mess she asked a young boy to burn the hole closed.

            Her shivering and growl woke the girl on her lap.

            “How is Anne?” Nettle asked.

            “Alive.”

            “Where’s my mama?”

            “I haven’t found her yet. I’m going to see some men who helped us. Do you want to come with me?” Nettle nodded, eyes glowing with a warmth Danielle could barely comprehend in that moment.

            Every joint cracked as she stood. The pulsating agony of her now burnt shoulder wound tried to steal her attention from the world. She offered her right hand to the toddler. Having to be strong, to be calm for that little girl helped.

            When Nettle asked to be carried, she should have refused. Despite the pain it caused her the comfort she felt with the girl’s head on her shoulder was worth it.