Nightsworn | The Whispering Wall #2

Twenty: Tunnels

Lord Harkenn's foyer was a mess of the groaning wounded. Dela stopped just shy of the front doors, staring. She'd heard about what had happened – the Devils had launched an attack on the city food stores, repelled semi-effectually by Harkenn's guard. One store had still burned, and if Harkenn's demon hunter hadn't been on hand, the Firebull which had been attracted by the flames might have done more damage than it did. An Unspoken physician moved among the group of patients wounded by the demon, all Harkenn's men – though she supposed criminals couldn't expect the same standard of treatment.

"Kiel's blessed teeth," Lin whispered at her side. "They said it was just a skirmish."

"I think it was." Dela had seen battles between tribes before. Scenes like this weren't new territory, but never before had she been one of the people trying to pick up the pieces. Though there couldn't have been more than three dozen patients, it suddenly seemed like a gargantuan task – especially since the real reasons the acolytes of the Long Path were here were stacked in a wagon in the front courtyard, covered over with black cloth.

Still, it was just as important to aid the living while they were present. She grabbed blankets from the cart that two of the temple guards had rolled up to the castle and moved among the patients, handing them out. Apparently the Lord Harkenn wasn't used to this kind of hospitality, and had paid for a wagon-load of medical supplies to be brought up from Kerrin's stores.

That, or all of his own supplies had been in the warehouse that burned.

Dela felt a flicker of anger. She had done her time in the community shelters; she knew how scarce food had become. Even the acolytes in the temples were feeling the brunt now – the portions were smaller, the gruel thinner. But she didn't complain, because her having less meant others could have something – a logic the Devils didn't appear to apply to themselves.

Two ladies from the Medica were treating those wounded by people. They acknowledged her with thankful glances.

The Unspoken physician she approached with more caution. Hap and Koen had been friendly, but it wasn't quite enough to erase the years of stories she'd been told about the Hooded Men.

"Ah, thank you," he said, as she approached with an armful of bandages. "I just ran out."

He stood beside a soldier who looked like he should have been on the slab already, save for the gentle, almost undetectable rise and fall of his breathing. He was stripped to the waist, and three large gashes occupied his left side, angry red-purple. Neat rows of sutures stood out against the ruined flesh, though judging by his blue-lipped pallor he had been bleeding for some time before they'd been stitched up.

"I don't know if he'll make it through the night," the physician said. His voice was soft and soothing, but something about him made her nervous. "But I've done what I can."

He took the bandages from her, and she tried not to shudder as his crackling magic touched her skin. Another Unspoken picked his way through the wounded – Harkenn's infamous favourite, Yddris, she guessed – and she turned away.

"Water," a man at her feet said. A swathe of bandages covered one side of his face. "Please."

"Of course," she said, in her best attempt at a calm voice befitting an acolyte of the Long Path. She hurried to the cart and returned with a cup. The Unspoken were still talking, so she knelt down and, with a hand under the man's head, gently tipped the cup to his lips.

"...going to talk to Harkenn about it tomorrow," she heard the physician say, and unlike the moment before, his voice was harsh and strangled with fury. "You weren't with him last night, Yddris, he fell to pieces the minute he got back."