Theurgy: Forsaken Oaths (Book Two)

Chapter 41 Prisoner of War

   Edlund had noticed the day grow ever so warmer than hours before. Surely the battle had not ended so quickly. They had planned a five-day excursion by the enemy in order to encircle them completely. But as the day slowly ended and the dusk settled itself upon the land, on the horizon, they could see a steady trickle of injured men and cavalry making their way back to Erusland proper. Elena had alerted him to it, as they were expecting reports of the station that General Gabbes was meant to build on the road. As he looked closer, he could see that perhaps a third of their forces were among them, either on horses or carrying half-dead comrades in their arms. Edlund immediately gave the order to secure their return as Elena took a small group on horseback to ensure they were not being followed. Fortunately, this did not seem to be the case as the skies seemed clear of any dragons. As the heavy doors reinforced by iron bracers were dragged open, it was a macabre scene of men sporting all sorts of injuries, their armor was torn and slashed through, entire limbs or sections of their bodies frostbitten, and evidence of something obviously going horribly wrong. And the one leading them all was Gray, holding his runic weapon in one hand and holding a half-dead Gabbes slumped over his shoulder. Edlund couldn't believe his eyes as men immediately took the burden from Gray and laid him on a stretcher. Edlund immediately ran to see what the damage was to him.

"What happened?" he whispered, too low for Gray to hear. So he said again, louder. "What happened?"

"He . . ." Gray tried his best to remain conscious. Unfortunately, he drained a lot of his ability on the battlefield and getting here. "He saved my life. Fought two dragons single-handedly and gave us the chance to escape. I'm sorry . . ."

"Is he . . . dead?" the words were the most demanding things he could ever utter. The entire left half of Gabbes' armor was torn to shreds, the plate had fallen off, and the underlying chainmail was in ruins leaving bare skin purple and black from the intense frostbite that had taken hold. But as one of the medics placed a hand on his wrist, they let out a small breath of relief.

"He is alive, my lord," the medic said. "Though in critical condition. If he weren't a knight, he'd be dead by now. We need to get him somewhere warm so we can operate."

"Take him to the medic bay in our camp," said the chief medic. Edlund attempted to follow, but the man immediately stopped him with a stern hand. "We shall take care of this, my lord. He is in bad shape, but we'll be able to save him. Just stand clear."

Edlund reluctantly did as told, watching as they covered him in thick furs before rushing him out of sight to the medic ward they had stationed and ready. Other medical staff rushed in as well, taking care of the worst cases, taking them to the medic ward while treating the least offensive wounds where they could. Despite the look, from what is described, it seemed to have been a victory, a victory in the loss of definitions. They have effectively warded off the Zethan's initial attempt to encircle them from the east. Reports had come in from Renard's own encounter. Apparently, his battle went much smoother, as it seemed the Zethans had used much of their reserves to punch through the east instead. Now, they stand half encircles, with only the south being safe from the coming Zethan invasion that will inevitably come. Any further west and they will encounter the Silondras mountain range. Any further West, and they will meet the mountains that marked the most northern boundary of the outlands. Though the situation seemed so dire now, this day scored a small victory for the denizens of Erusland.