Hierarchy (Book Four of the Torrent Skies Saga)

Chapter Thirteen: The Uncomfortable Insistence of Death and Destiny

Graiden sat in his inn room, his elbows on his knees. He felt the bandage at his side and ground his teeth. It was not a deep wound, but it seemed to hurt no matter what he did. Ribs were always a terrible thing to injure.

Running a hand through his, ever graying hair, he remembered that he needed to cut it again. And he needed a shave, too. Tomorrow, when he got back home. He could leave Katerin and Jon to organize with Cartage.

As he thought of a shave, he also thought of returning his men to Rastridge, of all the things he would need to read, approve, sign, deny. Of all the requests from O'siaris, and all the demands from the gnomes. The thoughts stacked up like forgotten dishes, and he could only sigh as they continued.

He needed to spread some of this work out. There were too many things to do. He needed a rational mind, for either role, and presiding over battles was always exhausting. So was the other work, he supposed. But the battle was too fresh in his mind. The way those men died left him with a chill in the very center of his being.

The battle had been over for hours, now. His men were safe, being treated for their injuries, and able to sleep off the horrors they had seen. Yet he still felt tense. There was a thick feeling in the back of his throat, and he knew it would be there for at least a day. He sucked in a long breath through his teeth and tried to let his apprehension pass. But the memories of the day had stained the backs of his eyelids.

Piles of corpses, full of men who looked as though they were napping.

He had always admired the structure of Hearth-Homes army, and through his role in Sahn-Raidar, he had done his best to emulate and improve upon their ideas of structure. But seeing it so close and fighting against it had been eye opening. He had a long way to go, to equal or beat them with Sahn-Raidar. A part of it was the armor and weapons they used. But mostly, it was superior and lengthier training. And whatever it was that made them so in tune. They almost acted as one... and... they had died all at once, too.

Something had been wrong with those men. Both his mind and heart knew that. Everyone felt fear in battles such as the one fought today. No matter the odds, both sides died. But in the eyes of all those he met today, he saw no fear. He was not young nor hopeful enough to believe that there were not men capable of hiding fear, or even those who did not possess such an emotion, but he had seen many sets of eyes today. All their colors were dull.

Not only was the ending of the battle the strangest thing Graiden had ever witnessed, the soldiers did not cry out until they were a breath away from death... and they had not bled. Well, they had—he shook his head to clear it—but it disappeared, by the time the battle was over. He suspected magic, but he wondered what kind, and where from. Some terrible ancient artifact, maybe. Like the mace of Aeshma? Or was it an enchantment from Kryrial? An angry god or goddess? Had the soldiers agreed to it, or had they been forced? His heart told him he knew the answer, but he did not want to consider that.

The thought of killing so many unwilling souls sickened him, and he pushed the idea away, hoping to leave it for another time, when he was not so tired. For a time when he might have a better chance of rationalizing that he had killed them too, and that their deaths, no matter how strange, had saved him, and Errwood Bay from a terrible fate.

His mind raced just enough to keep him from rest, and he laid a hand on the other side of the double bed. It was always empty, and he always missed the woman who should have been within it, and her warmth.

Amaricia had always kept these worries from his mind. Always had something to say to reassure him, or urge him to pray. She was always so kind. Wiser than he had ever been. The amber of her eyes was something he could never forget. Their depth, and that sense of knowing without judgment. She had always given the people around her a chance to prove themselves. Never took the words of others until she had her own proof. And she had taught him how to do the same, though his skill at it was never as deep as hers. He wondered what she might say, if she were still beside him. But in the process of trying to find her words, all he could remember was the comfort he felt in her presence. In the unforgettable recess of her memory, Graiden prayed, and by the time he was done, sleep came.