The first part was tending to the wounded. The clerics set up a triage, conserving their limited supplies for those who were in the most need. Firebearers cauterized particularly bad wounds. Groundbreakers assisted with poison afflictions and concocting new potions with what could be found in the nearby forests—what hadn’t been scorched. There were the inevitable few who were given mercy vials and the hardest choice, the last choice, of their lives.
Those who were not helping with the wounded had countless bodies to pick up. Bodies were stripped of anything that was valuable or reusable, and a tower of armor soon grew tall, void of their owners. Some fallen were lucky enough to have their friends be the ones who found them, others were of noble birth, and a token or two were put aside to return to their families. But more, North and South, were as nameless and faceless as the last.
Six colossal pyres were erected around the camp and bodies were ferried non-stop to them. Firebearers rotated the obligation of keeping the fires burning bright and hot.
In death, the Northerners and Southerners rested together before their bodies turned to ash and their souls departed to the realm of the Father. The pyres put out a thick smoke that reeked of human flesh and fat. Soldiers, no matter where in the camp, wrapped wet cloth around their faces to try to keep out the smoke and smell.
Outside was this grim march of activity, but within the room of the crown prince, the day progressed with relative peace. Aldrik and Vhalla had given just enough time to strip their armor and sponge the blood off their faces and hands before collapsing in the bed, soiled clothes and all.
It was not a beautiful sleep; it was a deep and worn out coma. Vhalla’s face was flat against the pillow, her mouth open, and her breathing deep. Aldrik splayed out on the bed, limbs this way and that, barely fitting alongside her. It was a sleep that rested in the comfort that they had one less thing to fear with the dawn.
Vhalla closed her mouth, wetting her lips. She cracked her eyes. The day’s light crept through the slats in the shutters, casting long, unbroken beams through the smoke that inevitably penetrated the room. She grimaced.
“It stinks,” Vhalla groaned, and Aldrik barely moved.
She rolled onto her side and curled against him, her head on his upper chest. Vhalla took comfort from his proximity, his slow breathing. She knew he no longer smelled it, or at least that was what he’d told her long ago. He had torched so many people that it barely registered to him as the awful stink it was. Vhalla settled back into sleep as his arm instinctively curled around her. She really hoped the pillows did not smell for however long they were forced to remain.
She had fallen back asleep, though she had no idea for how long, when there was a pounding on Baldair’s door. Vhalla rolled away from the source of the noise, as if it would make the person go away. Aldrik cursed softly, but did much the same.
“Boys,” the Emperor called through Baldair’s door. Still believing—or faking belief—that Aldrik slept in there so Vhalla could have his room for her protection.
They were both upright, Vhalla looking at the prince with wild, panicked eyes.
“We have received a reply. Come now,” Emperor Solaris demanded.
“Coming, coming,” Baldair’s muffled voice could barely be heard.
The Emperor appeared to have no interest in waiting for his sons as his footsteps faded away.
Aldrik turned to her, in shock. “A reply,” he breathed.
Vhalla couldn’t find words.
“A reply!” Aldrik placed his palms on either side of her face, pulling her in for a fierce kiss. “I would bet it is a surrender. Given the display of our might.”
Aldrik stood quickly, pulling on a fresh shirt. Or rather, a fresher one than the one he’d worn through the battle. Vhalla looked at the bed sheets, completely soiled from the state they’d went to sleep in. She was suddenly regretting the decision not to change her clothes. She didn’t look forward to sleeping in that filth before the march home.
“I will go help finish this war.” Aldrik paused by the door. “Then I will speak with my father, and you will be a Lady of the Court.”
“Do you really think so?” Vhalla’s hand gripped the watch around her neck tightly, realizing how much she needed it to be true.
“Of course.” Aldrik beamed. “You were brilliant. All eyes turned to you for inspiration; it was literally painted upon half the army. The merit of your accolade will not be questioned.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but there was a soft set of knocks on the door.
Aldrik opened it for Baldair.
“Are you coming?” Baldair glanced at her, and Vhalla smiled tiredly.
“Yes, yes.” Aldrik grabbed his chainmail off the floor, quickly donning it. “I shall return soon as I am able. Sleep more if you can,” he said to Vhalla.
“You don’t have to tell me twice.” She yawned and rolled onto her side, pulling up the covers once more.
“Lucky,” Vhalla heard Baldair mutter under his breath, and she couldn’t help but giggle softly. The door closed, and she listened to their footsteps disappear down the hall. Vhalla pulled the blanket to her nose. The smell was truly awful.
She wasn’t sure how long she had fallen asleep again for, but it was long enough for the light to have moved across the floor a noticeable distance. The shouting and arguing of men called her to life. Vhalla yawned, instantly regretting the instinctual movement as the semi-smoky air filled her lungs. She sat coughing, trying to listening more closely to the aggressive noises.
Vhalla tried to use her magical hearing to make out the words, but her Channel was too weak to sustain even that. What she could hear was that they were frequent and angry. The deep resonance of Aldrik’s fury competed against the Emperor’s sharp and fierce tones. Vhalla bit her lip and stood, her whole body aching.
Tugging at the chain around her neck, she opened her watch and checked the time. It was around two, which meant she had close to eight hours of sleep. Yet, she still felt exhausted. The magical depletion had taken its toll, and without the rush of battle to hide it, she realized how much she had used up the night before.
There was another bout of shouting, and she heard something crash. Vhalla winced. Whatever their topic of discussion was, it did not seem good, and it was pitting two people against each other, two people whom Vhalla wanted to keep as separate as possible for everyone’s benefit. Judging from the muffled nature of it and the location of the sound, they were likely at the far end of the main hall.
Deciding to brave whatever the world may hold, Vhalla ran a hand through her greasy hair and tried to plait it into a messy braid. It was hopeless, and Vhalla could only resign herself to the fact that Aldrik, the army, and the Emperor had seen her in worse situations. No one was about to win any awards for their beauty.
She didn’t even bother changing her tunic. Vhalla contemplated her armor, piled on the floor, but it was even dirtier; the last thing she wanted to do was put her metallic skin back on. The North had been subdued anyway, Vhalla mused as she left the room; there wouldn’t be any more battles.
She flinched, halting at the doorway to the main hall.
“You will do this!” the Emperor snapped.
“You cannot dictate what I will and will not do!” Vhalla heard another slam punctuate Aldrik’s words.
“This is not your decision,” the Emperor warned dangerously.
“More than anything, this is my decision!” Aldrik shot back. “Was this your play all along? Was this the real reason why you spoke against her suggestion of torching Soricium?”