Prince of Time

Chapter Thirty-Five - The Prince's Decision

“You know what?” Zeno said, spitting a needle out of his mouth. “I think my only contribution to this war against evil so far is crudely patching up idiot princes who run into danger without a second thought.”

“He who hesitates dies,” Tobiah grinned. “Argh!”

“That was for making a stupid comment,” Zeno rounded off the final stitch. “I’m glad it hurt.”

“I like you better when you’re in a good mood,” Tobiah grumbled.

Zeno sighed. “Tobiah, your highness, whichever, precisely what about this is supposed to put me in a good mood?”

Tobiah considered. “I don’t know. Currently, I think I’m slightly dazed and more than a little out of this world. Whatever were those herbs you gave me?”

“Something we call Killer’s Weed,” Zeno tapped the pouch around his waist. “Magicians chew them all the time. It relieves pain.”

“And rationality,” Tobiah murmured. “No wonder magicians are the way they are.”

Zeno sat back and pushed his hands through his hair, exhausted.

“You have eyes,” Tobiah remarked. “I was never certain before.”

Zeno made a face at him. “Is that important now?”

“I’m trying not to focus on what’s important,” Tobiah admitted. “Your eyes don’t match, you know.”

“Of course I know,” Zeno rolled his mismatched eyes. “One green, one brown. I’ve been through this a million times. Why do you think I never cut my fringe?”

Tobiah looked absently at the stitches in his arm, the blue thread standing out against his dark skin.

“How many did we lose?” Zeno asked, miserably. “How many are hurt?”

“Too many,” Tobiah probed the closed tear in his flesh. “You’ve done the stitches better than last time.”

“You should see a healer,” Zeno winced. “I’m hardly an expert. I used to sew my brothers up when they got themselves hurt years ago but that doesn’t count. Nobody cared what happened to them.”

“Loving family,” Tobiah remarked.

“Busy family,” Zeno sighed. “Busy and desperate and never with enough to go around. If one small boy cut himself on an axe or shot himself in the foot, what did it matter so long as he didn’t bleed to death?”

Tobiah gave a nod of agreement. “I can’t see a healer. There are more important people, without magician squires to patch them up.”

Zeno groaned. “I wish you would stop referring to me as a magician. Until I do even one piece of credible magic, I am not magician.”

Tobiah looked towards the flap of their hastily-pitched tent.

“We lost too many,” he said, hoarsely. “One little ambush and we lost too many. Not the warriors, of course. Not the magicians or the dragon riders. But the ordinary soldiers. Third Tier. Too many.”

“How many?” Zeno asked, anxiously. “How many dead? How many dying?”

“I haven’t had the official report,” Tobiah chewed on his lower lip. “A lot. A contingent of junior healers is unaccounted for.”

Zeno clenched his fists together, knuckles white. “Ane?”

“She was one of them,” Tobiah admitted. “Nobody’s heard anything. There’s…there’s not a lot of hope, Zeno.”