Salonius opened his mouth as though to raise objections, but stopped after an indrawn breath. He frowned, looked over his shoulder at the two unconscious guards, allowed his gaze to stop for a moment on Petrus’ closed door, and then turned a smile on Varro that was so frighteningly wicked and uncharacteristic that Varro actually took a step backwards.
“Good.” The young man growled.
Varro clapped his hands together and then rubbed them in a business like fashion.
“Alright. First thing’s first. Got to go see Sabian.
Salonius shook his head. He gestured at Varro and waved his hand up and down.
“Not yet. Back to your room first.”
“What?”
Salonius sighed. “Your waist is leaking again, you’ve got a chunk of neck missing, which is pouring blood down your chest and your hand is shaking violently. You need your wounds dressed, to take some of your medicine, and to put something clean on if you’re presenting yourself to the marshal in his own fortress.”
Varro frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but Salonius clamped his teeth shut defiantly and pointed at the captain’s door. Like a scolded school boy, Varro nodded unhappily and walked over to his room. Salonius returned briefly to his own room and retrieved the emergency kit he’d been carrying since they left Crow Hill. By the time he entered Varro’s room, the Captain was already sitting on his bed with his bloodied tunic on the floor. Rivulets of already-drying blood snaked down his chest and back and the wound at his side, though now partially healed, oozed a small trickle of blood. Salonius shook his head and pointed at Varro. “Do that.”
“What?”
“Shake your head.”
Varro tried to shake his head, but as he faced left and the muscle in his neck stretched, blood pumped from the missing chunk of neck muscle.
“Shit! Thanks, Salonius!”
The young man smiled.
“I just wanted to make sure it was just a surface wound and he’d not impaired the muscle.”
“Gods,” grumbled Varro. “You’re starting to sound a lot like Scortius!”
Salonius’ smile widened.
“I’m interested in the mechanics of the body. It’s not so far removed from engineering really. You’d be amazed.”
Varro growled and dabbed at the wound on his neck, wincing.
Salonius reached into the bag he’d brought through from his room and withdrew his clean bandages, fasteners and swabs. Laying everything out on the table, he pointed at the table.
“You need to have some of that medicine too.”
Varro nodded and, half standing, reached forward towards the table. With a whimper, he crashed to the floor. Salonius dived to him in a panic and hauled him off the floor.
“What happened?”
Varro shook his head and whimpered again at the added pain that brought.
“Don’t know…” he breathed desperately between rasping gasps. “Just lost all strength… Almost blacked out… It felt like I was on fire… All over.”
Salonius frowned.
We’ve got to get you sorted but you’re going to see Scortius before we go to the marshal. Scortius is in the palace looking after Catilina, so I heard.”
He was a little surprised at the fact that Varro nodded meekly with no resistance. In fact that worried him more than the collapse. Hurrying over to the table, he fished out the small, waterproof bag from Varro’s medical supplies. Reaching into his own kit he withdrew a small set of weights and a hand-held scale. Carefully weighing the contents of the bag, he divided it up and selected a quarter of it, sliding it onto a small piece of greased paper.
“Take that!”
“What is it?” Varro focused with some difficulty on the oily mixture the young man proffered him.
“It’s the big, bad medicine that Scortius gave you. The stuff to take as a last resort.”
Varro turned his furrowed brow on Salonius and the young man sighed.
“I think you’ve just taken a left turn into the last resort, Varro. Take the medicine.”
As Varro gingerly imbibed the mixture, his face undergoing a serious of expressions ranging from curiosity, through disgust to downright horror, Salonius began the task of carefully binding the captain’s wounds.
He smiled.
“I should draw three lots of pay: guardsman, engineer and field medic!”
Varro glared at him and tried to say something cutting, but the movement of his tongue in his mouth brought all new nightmare sensations to his taste buds. He settled for giving the young man his least happy glare.
Corruption hides within the light…
Ridiculous, I know. Despite recognising with absolute certainty that Cernus exists and having been face to face with the Great White Stag Lord twice, I’d still largely dismissed him. Not ‘dismissed’ as such, but shuffled him to the back of my mind, behind the stacks of things that appeared to be more urgent. I think that everything we did was informed in some way by the deep background understanding that Cernus had chosen us; had guided us in some way, but sometimes, in the heat of battle or under the pressure of events, we tended to forget that.
Salonius and I strode at some speed through the corridors of the palace. Although we were in a hurry to get to both Scortius and Sabian, Salonius wouldn’t let me run for fear it would cause my wounds to open and bleed further. In actual fact, as we tramped along the corridor, we were deep in some heated argument; I forget now what it was about, but it probably revolved around my declining state of health. I do know that we were so involved in our conversation that we were paying precious little attention to where we were going.
We rounded a corner; I remember that neither of us were paying attention. I was prodding Salonius in the chest with my index finger and shouting in his face, and Salonius was bright red, mouthing argumentative nothings at me.
We both stopped dead.
My finger slowly fell from Salonius’ chest and the words died in my mouth. We were at a junction in the corridor. I know my way round the palace at Vengen very well. Behind us lay the main entrance and the guest accommodations. To the left lay the administrative area, including Sabian’s office where we’d be heading later. To the right there were other areas, including the very heavily-guarded private quarters of the marshal and his family.
The corridor here was of beautiful marbles; a mixture of golden yellow stone from the harsh, dry quarries of the southern lands and powerful porphyry from the eastern provinces. The floor was a geometric pattern of beautiful shapes and colours. And in the centre of it stood a white stag.
I remember Salonius gripping me suddenly on the shoulder, just below my neck wound, so hard I almost passed out. We stopped and stared at the stag. Not only was the situation so astoundingly surreal, given where we were, but we were together. I learned from conversations with Salonius that Cernus sometimes makes his presence known to his favoured peoples by appearing before an entire tribal army prior to a battle but, barring that incredibly rare event, an encounter with the stag lord is an extremely private thing. And yet here we were; the two of us staring straight into those soulful and unbelievably deep, wise eyes.
I reached up and prised Salonius’ fingers from my shoulder and we stood, silent and motionless, staring at that strange forest God. For what seemed like hours, though in truth would have been brief moments, we stood there, and suddenly, without a sound or motion, the stag turned and trotted off down one of the corridors. I remember taking a step forward. I was intrigued as to where he would go. Would he just vanish a few steps further away? But Salonius grasped my shoulder again and pointed at the wall behind the spot where Cernus had stood.