Aurum

Chapter 2:

Eyes wide, Priscilla regarded the nurse's blurred face with a drowsy recognition, as light sent waves of pain oscillating across her head. With great effort, she lifted herself high enough to see rows of beds under a cloth canopy, attended by a army's worth of nurses - her army's nurses. Almost all of the first army was here, sprawled out on beds and mats, in this freezing "hospital", made of scraps, and enveloped in a permeant taught grief. The sound of death and disease radiated around her, as Priscilla's mind swam, awash with a plethora of recollections that ran down the cobbled lanes of her memory, and flooded her.

It was dawn, she could hear the other children stirring in their beds, as the sounds of farm animals burst to life all around them. The summer months had been kind, the typically icy acres of land surrounding this expansive fort turned a mottled green, with spots of dying yellow and persistent white. A maid soon attended her, cajoling her into daytime clothes, and ushering her to the central hall of the castle, a large intimidating room with a low hanging chandelier made from solid gold, that sparkled so softly it drew Priscilla's eyes, and entranced her. In moments, she was sat in a penned area away from the table, playing games with the children of the other attendees and satisfied with her mound of breakfast. Assembled at the grand table, carved from ancient oak, that ran down the length of the hall, was a myriad of Aristocrats, Officials, and Merchants, the esteemed across the Kingdom had gathered in the historic keep of Isvirki, the Capital of the wintry northern province of Acies, - Duke Sveinn's domain. Her Aunt had taken care to point out the mayor of Kaldur Baer, (the largest city in the desolate province, that still hardly counted as even a small town), when they'd arrived, Priscilla had pretended to take interest, to satisfy her Aunt's diplomatic edge, that bordered on obsessive . As breakfast continued, Priscilla's eyes moved to stare unabashedly at the Duke and the Mayor, and, as her child-like curiosity continued, she felt a cold gust freeze her spine in place. The tense standoff between the two men was palpable, and Priscilla noticed her Aunt had taken a great interest in studying the both of them, as servants swarmed collecting plates.

It was as Priscilla went to tell a maid of the girl who pushed her, that fury was unleashed upon the assembled hall. The Duke had stood up with a start and lunged for the Mayor, knocking him to his knees. His great coat of animal pelt blew in the ferocity of his attack, as he leaned over the now cowering mayor, practically spitting his words in a dialect Priscilla strained to understand.

"___, Could You!, ___ _______ , I'll have you ______, Guards _______ _____ from my presence ___ ____!"

The Mayor did not move a muscle as the Duke's private army descended upon him, dragging his body, limp with fear, out the expansive arching doors of the hall, and into the building storm surrounding the castle. The rest of her stay was marred by the Duke's act of tyranny, Priscilla watched the attendants tense with fear, and saw her Aunt carry a grim satisfaction, knowing she had been right in the worst way. It was only when they arrived home - at their estate in the warm and colourful city of Cittad'oro, filled with traders and foreign delights, - that her Aunt finally satisfied her inquisition. The Mayor had allegedly insulted a member of the Duke's ancestry in a poem, and for that the punishment in Acies was death - Priscilla was horrified, but her Aunt reassured her - touting the typical line that marauding raiders in Acies forced the Governors hand to cruelty, by she'd felt only fear - vowing never to step foot in his domain again.

She felt an overwhelming dizziness as her eyes clawed open, her days long stupor finally over. Lorenzo was sat beside her, staring dismally straight through her. Perturbed, she prodded him, and he jumped, a warm smile gracing his face.

"Priscilla, you, you're, you survived!", He exclaimed, stuttering.

"Yes?", she questioned confusedly, "Did something happen? Why is the whole first army holed up here and not on campaign?"

"Priscilla, uhm, we've been swept by the Plague, they don't know where it came from but it affected almost everyone, I-"

"Plague!, I wasn't infected surely", she proclaimed, whilst rapidly checking for buboes.

"No, no, uhm you collapsed, malnutrition and exhaustion or something, I wasn't really paying attention when the nurse came."

"Which was how long ago now?" She quizzed

"Around 2 days, they're a bit understaffed obviously, but uhm -"

"2 days!, how long have I been unconscious for!, oh god I hope my contract still stands!"

"Your contract?", he spluttered, "that's what you're worried about?! The plague ripped through us, and you've spent 4 days knocked out, but oh no I mustn't lose my check lest it be only 10 times higher than the rest of them", He retorted, offence making its mark on his face.

Priscilla felt guilt rising through her, sure she was worried for the army but in all honesty they meant little to her, but Lorenzo, she felt sick at the slightest offence he'd take, and now she just felt nauseous. It must have registered upon her face, because he rolled his eyes at her before rising to grab a bucket. As he left, Priscilla finally took stock of her surroundings, she'd been careless to ask him if she was infected, - Priscilla was immune to the Plague, no one could tell her how, but her a physician had confirmed it in her childhood, as the disease ripped through Cittad'oro, leaving the gem of the south a wreck. The city had recovered since then, but Priscilla's mind was still locked in the past, in the streets of maimed diseased, in the graves that stretched through once scenic countryside vistas.

"Are you alright?", He asked warmly, breaking her daydream.

"Of course, evidently I'm thriving",

"Sorry, god you've woken up in a state, maybe I should leave" he retorted, his eyes glinting as she brushed aside his weak threat.

"Should I pay for your wagon, you know with my pompous and sprawling salary, that seems to be bankrupting the empire"

Redness registered upon his face as he doled out his words, "Sorry Priscilla, I didn't think you'd take the truth so personally", she said as she scowled.

- - -

Dawn rose into midday, and as a weak warmth graced the camp, Priscilla rose and began sauntering around the assortment of beds, nurses, corpses, and canopies that haphazardly granted some reprieve to her struck down co-combatants. Dizzied and weak, she changed into a ragged military uniform, and followed a small contingent of troops out into a dewy field, the grass crunching with frost at each step. Collapsing down exhaustedly, she strained to hear Hrafn, masking her despise of him with a façade that struggled to stay intact.

"Soldiers, we have endured a great trial here, this disease, ordained by forces against us, has ravaged us, and left us broken. But through the shattered remains, we must rise, and conquer the heretical Svienn Trausti, illegitimate Duke of Isvirki!"

Her eyebrow rose at this remark, the general was incompetent in most things, and so Priscilla reasoned that Sabrina had come up with the idea, to use the Plague as propaganda and turn the political struggles of the Empire into a religious imperative. Cunning, she thought, eyeing Hrafn and sensing his eagerness for an Imperial reward. He'd been desperate for favour with the Monarch for years, clawing back his relevancy almost exclusively through his wife, - she felt a pang of pity for the man, dependant on his prestige and connections, with no true aptitude to prove for himself. But things were changing, and Priscilla sensed that the glory he desired was long gone, left in a past that the Capital had since forgotten, perhaps Hrafn's efforts were all in vain, perhaps he truly would amount to little more than a footnote to the Emperor, - the thought gave Priscilla a glowing satisfaction.