“He is waiting for you. He is dying.”
The two began to run in the ground-eating trot that all mercs knew like their own heartbeat. In tandem the two women entered the building. “Clear way!” Clovache shouted a couple of times, and those mercs in the hall ahead of them picked up the call.
There was a small crowd at the infirmary doors: friends of the team members, mercs from the other two teams in the klader. They were silent as Batanya and Clovache passed through the doors.
Inside the infirmary, bodies sprawled on gurneys pushed about the room. Bits of armor and clothing littered the floor when they’d been ripped from the bodies to see if the mercs could be saved. Wounds gaped and had quit bleeding. None of them would make the trip into the hospital beyond the next set of doors.
There was activity around one gurney. Therryl’s.
The orderly who turned to face them had a smear of blood on his arm and held his hands in the air as a reminder not to touch anything. “The mage is working on Therryl, but it doesn’t look good.” The orderly stepped aside.
The mage was Vandler, who had sent the team to its destination. He was pushing magic into Therryl’s wound and working so hard he didn’t react when Clovache and Batanya appeared at his side.
Therryl himself would not have noticed if a hundred people had entered the room. The mercenary was ridden by pain, his eyes shut, his muscles tense, tears running down his cheeks. Therryl’s bloodstained hands gripped the sheets so hard Batanya was surprised the fabric didn’t shred.
The wound in Therryl’s side was the kind you didn’t survive. It must have been delivered from very close, since the power of the thrust had penetrated the liquid armor. Batanya was sure it was a spear thrust, though she had seldom seen one.
“Therryl,” Batanya said. “I’m here. Report.”
“They didn’t want us to see the man,” Therryl said. He spoke in a burst, between deep breaths. “They fought us back... with spears... I got everyone close to me... best I could... to bring back.”
“Who were they?” Batanya kept her voice as calm as she could.
“Coturigans,” Therryl said. “Can I go?”
“Die with honor,” Batanya granted.
Therryl died with a final gasp of relief.
Clovache began the ritual of farewell immediately. The others heard the familiar words from beyond the closed door and a chorus of voices joined in the lament. They bid Therryl farewell, prayed his bones would lie in peace, praised him for having fought, congratulated him on having no more battles to fight.
The mage, looking almost as bad as some of the corpses, leaned against the wall, his eyes shut, listening.
When the ritual was finished, the two women looked at each other, and Batanya nodded. Her armor had been peeled down all this time, and now she pulled herself back together. “This time you come with us,” she said.
The mage opened his eyes. “Me?” Vandler said. “Mages don’t go on combat missions.” He was indignant and more than a little anxious.
“You will. You sent my team to die. Now you’ll go with Batanya and me to retrieve our dead.”
Vandler was gaping at them, his lips curving up in an incredulous half smile. “I won’t be any help at all.”
“You can die with us,” Clovache said. “Geit and Simone are still missing. And we’re going to get them now.”
“Get two injections from the infirmary,” Batanya said. Searching the faces of the onlookers, she said, “Marcus, give me some protection.” She hadn’t been armed for her run, but she needed something now. The burly mercenary tossed Batanya a paraton, nother favorite weapon. It looked like a flashlight and was held like one. Instead of a light, the paraton issued a burning ray. It would do.
Clovache had already trotted off.
“Injections? What for?” Vandler asked.
“In case Geit or Simone is in as bad a shape as Therryl was,” Batanya said.
“I’m not going,” Vandler said, his jaw stuck out.
“Then I’ll giveyouone of the injections, take you with us, and leave you there unconscious.”
Vandler glowered at her. Mages weren’t used to being given ultimatums. “I have done my job,” he said.
Clovache was back, stuffing two injectors into her belt. She exchanged a look with Batanya. They each grabbed one of Vandler’s arms and dragged him into the hall of sending. The mercs around them opened the doors so they could enter without letting go.
