Master Of The Ivory Labyrinth

Chapter 2- Shadow of Ivory

The wind whistled through the camp, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and the pungent metallic aroma of blood. Captain Siward Reiner stood at the entrance to the medical tent, seemingly staring blankly toward the still-dark horizon. The storm that had struck the camp overnight had left everything soaked, and even now, long after the rain had ceased, the clouds still hung heavy and oppressive, obscuring the faint rays of morning. The air was thick with a cold moisture, pressing down on the camp like an invisible hand.

He turned, pulling back the thin canvas curtain of the tent and stepped inside. The oppressive atmosphere of the camp felt even more stifling in the enclosed, crowded space of the medical area. The dim light of the oil lamps cast deformed shadows over the rows of narrow beds, where soldiers lay crammed together. Some groaned softly in their sleep, while others stared blankly at the ceiling of the tent, their eyes glazed and their tongues lolling from the excessive use of mushroom-based sedatives.

In the far corner, Alchemist Babat Musur worked furiously at a table, the faint sound of glass vials and the circular movements of a mortar filling the air. His sharp features were tense with concentration, and his dark skin glistened with sweat, despite the cool air.

"Captain," said Babat without looking up. "I assume you've come with bad news."

Reiner crossed the room, his boots sinking into the muddy ground that served as a floor. "You're about to run out of supplies," he said, glancing at the scattered equipment and the dwindling piles of ingredients. "How long do you have before you're out of everything?"

"Five days," muttered Babat, grinding what was left of a yellow root into powder. "Maybe less. And with the storm delaying the carriage from Uruk..." He trailed off, the frustration evident in his tone. "If it doesn't arrive soon, I'll have to decide who to treat."

Siward frowned, his eyes drifting to a young soldier lying in a nearby bed. The boy looked no older than twenty. His face was red, and beads of sweat slowly trickled from his forehead down to his cracked lips. His chest was tightly wrapped in bloodstained bandages, and his stomach was covered in scratches, as if a wild beast had mauled him.

"Will he make it through today?" asked the captain.

The alchemist spun around, searching for one of his small glass vials. He grasped it with two fingers, lifted it to eye level, and shook it a few times.

"If this is enough to break his fever, then perhaps."

The captain shifted uneasily, visibly dissatisfied with Musur's answer. He pulled a pipe from his belt pouch and clenched it between his teeth. After a few puffs, he began to move the pipe from one corner of his mouth to the other, revealing his yellowed teeth.

"What about the forest?" Reiner asked in a low voice. "We've sent men to gather ingredients before. If I send a few soldiers now, we might—"

"No!" Babat shook his head sharply and turned fully toward him. "It's too late for that. Even if they find what we need, it will take too long to prepare. And we can't risk more injuries. We don't have the time or space for more wounded. The herbs must be carefully processed, and the salves brewed for days, not hours. These men need immediate care, and the forest can't provide that now, no matter how much I wish otherwise."

Siward pursed his lips, his mind searching for solutions that didn't exist. They were trapped, not only by the labyrinth surrounding Gora, but by the heavy weight of time, dwindling resources, and the relentless loss of lives. He had seen more deaths in the last few months than in years of war.

"Captain!"

Reiner's head snapped up as a young woman burst through the tent entrance, her face red and smeared with mud. She was one of the camp's runners, barely old enough to enlist, but already hardened by the realities of life on the edge of the labyrinth. Her chest heaved as she waited for Reiner to acknowledge her.