Havoc's Daughters

Chapter 2 - Caidrin: Day 1 (part II) shattered

      Despite the coating of mud from ash and dust, despite the barred pattern cut through that mask by rivulets of sweat, or the gory swatches at jaw and cheek and forehead, the face was as recognizable as the profusion of autumn hair. Diannah Pereger, soon-to-be Grand Duchess Setigera. Even without seeing his face, the emptiness in her gut told Caidrin the injured man was Laeryn Pereger, Her Grace’s father.

      Something swelled painfully in Caidrin’s chest, leaving no room for air, to breathe. She stood rooted as vague figures swept past her to meet the newcomers, and wind roared in her ears. Through sheer will, she uprooted first one foot, then the other. By the time the horse paced through the gatehouse, she found herself breaking into a run. 

      It can’t be! I sent word more than a fortnight since, when I learned this invasion was coming. The family should have had time to flee! 

      Had time? Yes. But she might have known he’d stay, and even his fosterlings adopted his sense of duty.

      Because of her traitorous warning she was under house arrest, by decree of her uncle the king, probably to be charged with treason when the invasion ended. 

      And all for nothing.

      Warrants tacked at her gate offered rewards of fifty crowns each for Havoc and the two of his fosterlings who’d shown a talent for his teachings. She ran right past them to greet the rider.

      “Help me.” Diannah Pereger’s face was pale beneath the mud, ash and dried blood coating her tanned skin. “I’ll trade the horse for Da’s care. It’s all I have.”

      “What if the horse’s owner comes looking?” Caidrin asked, trying to focus past her dread as careful hands lowered the injured margrave and bore him toward the main entrance.

      Diannah Pereger dismounted with enviable grace, absently stroking the stallion’s questing nose in reassurance as she relinquished the reins to a lad. “He won’t,” the young woman replied at last. In that moment her eyes, the color of autmn leaves, were hard as stones.

      What has Cousin Blade gotten himself into, this time? And is it true he won’t be around to learn from this mistake? It came as a surprise to Caidrin that she felt some misgivings at the prospect.

      But the ramifications of this news, both for Cumbera’s future and her own, would have to await further consideration. The injured man came first. Explaining this to her uncle would come later, hopefully much, much later.

      “Spoils of war.” Caidrin nodded understanding, and gestured for the young woman to accompany her. Together they followed the aides who bore the margrave into the great hall. She directed the men to place him near one corner, where the two pallets had been freed that morning. One of those patients, she reminded herself, had been well enough to move to the shade of a grape arbor.

      She knelt beside the fallen margrave, but her hands halted before they reached him. It felt wrong, to touch him like this, without his awareness or concent. Treat him as you would any other, Caidrin scolded herself. She fisted her fingers to stop them trembling as she instructed an assistant to slit the left leg of his fine linen trousers and peel the cloth away. The lower leg was so swollen she had the leather boot, and the stocking, cut away as well, to finally reveal the wound. 

      Pale Pink bone protruded through his flesh just above the ankle. 

      “His foot will have to be removed,” Caidrin said, grateful her voice did not quaver.

      “No, please,” Diannah begged. “You can heal him. Give it some time!”

      “There is no time. The bruising on the calf and thigh are extensive, and will disrupt the blood flow needed to heal the wounds lower down. Infection will set in, and the fever will carry him off.”