“There’s plenty of things I want for myself. I want respect. I want to do something useful with my life. I want a home and friends and to know that I won’t have to fight for my life the next time raiders attack my town. But none of that comes about by begging gifts from the warriors or gloating about other people’s misfortune.” She shook her head in exasperation. “Where I come from, a job well done is reward enough by itself. Now, let me look at your shoulder.”
He slipped the shirt off and Gantalla leaned closer to look at the wound. The skin around it had stopped peeling, but it still looked more pink and fragile than a well-healed wound should. “How’s it been feeling?” she asked Nalyx, not sure whether he would be honest about his reply.
“Fine,” he said. “Good as new.”
“And you’ve been training again?”
He nodded. “Of course.” That was interesting. The last few days, she hadn’t seen him in the square with the other men. And she found she couldn’t remember a time when she’d actually seen him handling a sword.
“Lift up your right arm.”
“What?”
“Right above your head. I want to see what your range of motion is like.” He lifted the arm, and Gantalla caught a slight tightening of his jaw as he did so. “What about out to the side?” He did so, but held his arm there for barely a second or two before he was lowering it again. “Any lingering pain? Stiffness in the morning?”
“No, I told you, it’s fine.” He was lying. She was sure of it this time. She looked around, wondering how she could prove it. “Stand up,” she said, waiting while he did so, then she said, “Lift the chair above your head.”
“What? Why?”
“To prove that you can.”
“Of course I can. This is ridiculous.”
She shrugged. “So you say. But it’s just a chair. It shouldn’t be a problem for someone as strong as you.” If she couldn’t gain his cooperation through solid reasoning then poking at his pride might well do the job.
Nalyx muttered a grumble, but picked up the chair. It was sturdy, made of hard wood, and it would have weighed a reasonable amount. He lifted it to shoulder-height without a problem, but the instant he tried to lift it above his head, he winced, his right arm failing, and the chair clattered to the floor.
Gantalla nodded, her suspicions confirmed. “The wound isn’t fully healed. On the surface it looks fine, but underneath, there’s clearly still some damage.” She sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to like what she said next. “You can’t fight with it in that state. You won’t be able to lift your sword above your head.”
“I’m fine!”
“What you are is a liability, both to yourself and to the other warriors you’re fighting with. If you can’t defend yourself, you or someone else is going to end up getting seriously hurt. I’m sorry, Nalyx, but you’re not ready to go back into battle.”
“I am a warrior,” he snarled, glaring at her. “Defending the gate is my only purpose. You can’t just take that away from me. I’m going back into battle tomorrow.”
“Don’t be stubborn. One more week and it should be healed enough to fight. Just wait a few more days, and then-”
“I’m done with this,” Nalyx snapped, grabbing his shirt and pulling it on. “I’m going back to the gate. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.” He stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Gantalla sighed, rubbing her eyes in frustration. Terrific. She’d made a diagnosis without waiting for a fully qualified nurse, and in the process, she’d not only insulted a warrior, but also lost her patient. She was going to have a rather awkward report to make to Gosta when her tutor returned.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Gantalla! Come outside. It’s time for the parade.”
Gantalla looked up from the book she was reading, seeing Henrietta standing in the doorway. “Parade? What parade?”
“The warriors are heading back to the gate this morning. The whole town gathers in the main street to see them off. Come on, or we’re going to miss it.”
“Right. Yes, of course,” Gantalla said, mustering a token amount of enthusiasm. It had already been a stressful morning, and seeing the warriors marching off to slaughter her friends was the last thing she wanted to do. But as with so many things in this town, it was now going to be necessary to put in an appearance and make all the right noises of support to continue to blend in with these increasingly baffling humans. Even when she’d much rather be spending her time brushing up on her knowledge about managing infections. She stood up, following Henrietta out of the hospital.
Out on the street, the warriors were all lined up, their armour gleaming in the morning sun, swords strapped to their hips, a row of horses at the rear of the parade. Gantalla glanced at the clock on the top of the town hall and saw that it was ten o’clock in the morning. The warriors would have an hour-long trek back to the battlefield, then an hour to prepare for the gate to open. And no doubt on the other side of the gate, swarms of people were gathering, ready to risk their lives in a desperate attempt to escape the heat of Chalandros.
The sides of the road were packed with people, jostling each other as they all tried to get the best spot to watch the men pass. Some were calling out encouragements, while others muttered prayers or blessings from the gods.
Captain Leefe was at the front of the column, apparently waiting for something, and then a wiry messenger rushed down the road from the direction of the battlefield. He went straight to the captain and whispered something into his ear, and then Leefe turned to face the warriors. “Company, attention!”
The warriors all straightened, leaving off their conversations, giving one or two final waves to the crowd before turning their attention to their commander.
