Chapter 13
"Are you quite sure they must come off?" asked the First Lord. "It really seems that it would be more comfortable to leave them on."
They had stopped beside an old and seldom-used trail to take a drink from a convenient spring-and Amara had noted that Gaius had been concealing a limp while the small party's steps had quickened over the last few yards. Now, the First Lord sat on a camp stool Bernard had assembled, and the big woodsman knelt before the most powerful man in Alera, unlacing the man's boots.
"I'm certain, sire," Bernard rumbled. "Sore feet are nothing to take lightly- especially not with so much ground still to cover."
"This is somewhat embarrassing, I confess," Gaius said. "I have even increased the amount of walking I have done over the past several months, to prepare for this."
"Walking up stairs and over paving stones is a far cry from a cross-country march, sire," Bernard rumbled. His nostrils flared, and he shook his head. "I'm going to slide the boot off now. I can smell some blood, so the stocking might stick. Point your toe, sire, and I'll have it off as quick as I can."
The First Lord grimaced and nodded. "Aye, let's have it done."
Without being asked, Amara moved to stand behind Gaius and brace her hands on his shoulders, steadying him. It was a somewhat startling feeling. Though the First Lord was as hale a man for his years as could be found in Alera, and though he looked like a man in his forties gone to early silver, the flesh of his shoulders felt thin and somehow frail. Amara felt her touch grow cautious. The last thing the Realm needed was for her to accidentally dislocate Gaius's shoulders while Bernard attempted to put his feet right.
The boot stuck, and it was only after a few moments of effort, some careful twisting, and a hiss of pain from Gaius that Bernard was able to get the boot off his foot. As he had predicted, the pale stocking beneath was dark with blood.
Bernard took a deep breath and frowned thoughtfully. Then he looked up at Amara, and said, "Get the cooking pot and fill it with water, if you would, Countess."
There was something tense about the way he held his head, Amara could tell. She paused for a moment and frowned at him, her own expression questioning.
"The water, Countess," Bernard repeated, his voice steady. "I'll need to wet the stockings before I can take them off and see how bad it is."
She gave him a frown, but fetched the pot and headed for the stream as he had bid her. It took him another quarter of an hour to have both of Gaius's feet bare and wiped clean with a cloth, and to inspect the damage. He sat back a moment later, frowning.
"How bad?" Gaius asked.
Bernard looked steadily at him for a moment, before he said, "I've seen worse. But they're blistered badly. How long have they been paining you, sire?"
"At my age, you hardly notice one pain amidst all the rest," Gaius replied. "The first day wasn't too bad. They weren't comfortable last night, but they didn't get bad until this morning."
Bernard nodded. "The real concern is infection. If we're early enough to stop that, we should be able to handle the rest easily enough."
"Quite embarrassing," Gaius muttered, staring down at his swollen ankles. "Sore feet. This is hardly dignified."
"Travel sores are no respecters of persons, sire," Bernard said. "First thing, let's get you on the ground with your feet up. It will help reduce the swelling and some of the discomfort."
"That would be most appreciated, Count Bernard." Gaius sighed. With the woodsman's help, the First Lord settled himself on the ground, his feet propped up on the stool, where he frowned at them in disapproval while gnawing an apple.
Bernard dumped out the water and went to the spring to refill it, and Amara went with him.
"How bad?" she asked quietly.
He shook his head. "I've seen worse-once. On a Legion runner who had enough metalcrafting to ignore the pain and not enough sense to know he shouldn't. He took infection so badly even my sister couldn't help him. He lost the foot, and the fever burned out most of his wits."
Amara bit her lip and brushed her hair back from her forehead. "That bad?"
Bernard grimaced. "We got to the First Lord more quickly-though great furies know what might have happened if you hadn't spotted him limping."
"Quickly enough?"
"Amara…" He sighed. "I don't know."
Amara took a deep breath and nodded. "What can we do?"
"We can have him craft the wounds closed," Bernard said.
Amara shook her head. "No. He can't. Any of his crafting at all will give our position away and make the mission a failure."
Bernard gave her a direct look. "So will his maiming or death, love."
Amara glared at him for a moment, but looked away and shook her head. "Is he in any immediate danger?"
Bernard stood up with the pot full. "He's not going to pitch over dead any moment now, no. If he does take fever, it will take some time to kill him. Days, probably, maybe longer."
"Then we have some time," Amara said.
"We might," Bernard said, "but then again, we might not. An infection could be taking hold while we stand here talking." Bernard folded his arms. "This is a humble little wound. But it doesn't care who he is. It's capable of killing him if he doesn't receive proper medical attention."
Amara folded her arms close to her belly and frowned down at the stream.
"Let me put it this way," Bernard said slowly. He turned to face Amara full on, planting his feet at shoulder's width. "It is beyond foolishness to risk the First Lord's life on something this trivial. I won't allow it."
Amara stared at her husband's face for a moment. "Excuse me?"
"I won't allow it," he repeated, his tone gentle and immovable. "I'll give away our presence myself if I must."
Amara forced herself to keep a hot answer from flying from her lips. "Bernard," she said quietly, "that's treason."
"Not the way I see it," he said. "I'm sworn to protect the Crown. The oath never said anything about protecting the Crown from anyone except himself. You swore a similar oath, I believe."
"You can't make a decision like this," Amara sputtered.
"I already have," he replied. "It's been a long time since Gaius was on campaign, and you've never been on one. You've never seen men die of infection." He looked down and away. "It robs them of everything, Amara. All dignity. All strength. They waste away, so fast you can almost see it happening." He shuddered. "The Realm is barely holding together as it is. Should anything happen to Gaius, should he die like that…"
She bit her lip and touched his shoulder. "He knows that there are risks, love. He has chosen to face them."
"He is responsible for more lives than his own," Bernard responded. "What is so important that it warrants risking his life?"
"I don't know," Amara replied quietly. "He didn't tell me."
Bernard shot her an incredulous look. "You don't even know why we're doing this?"
She shook her head.
"Then bloody crows, Amara, why are you opposing me?"
"Because I trust his judgment," Amara said quietly. "Because I swore an oath." She paused briefly, and added, "Just as you did."
Bernard grunted, as if to acknowledge the touch.
Amara leaned in close against him, and he slid an arm quietly around her. She laid her cheek against his chest. "If he didn't tell you, either, why are you here?"
Bernard's voice rumbled in his chest, a pleasant buzzing sensation in her ear. "He said he needed a skilled woodsman and scout, someone he could trust." He breathed out a little through his nose, a wisp of a laugh. "And he said you'd be there. I suppose he knew it would be reason enough for me."