Warprize

Gils, remember what I told you about bloodmoss?” Gils nodded, but I didn’t give him time to answer. I grabbed the soft yellow leaves out of Rafe’s hands, scattering the rest. “It’s there, right there, Gils. Get some for me.”
    The army continued past as he swung down to join Rafe in picking the plants. The others had gone on alert, something I doubt they were even aware of, moving their horses to encircle us. Even though we were traveling in the center of the Warlord’s army, their instincts were to safeguard. There was no danger in being left behind, since the army was moving at a walk, and was spread out over what seemed to me to be miles.
    “Prest, do you have any ehat leather to spare?” Epor asked.
    “Yes.” Prest cast a look over his shoulder. “You have a need?”
    “The handle of my club needs rewrapping.”
    “He fancies ehat for the grip.” Isdra explained.
    “Would take a piece the size of an ehat to wrap that fool weapon of yours.” Marcus groused. I glanced over at Epor, who had his club fastened to his back in some kind of harness. It was a long thick piece of wood, half again as long as my arm, with metal studs along the length of the top. “What’s wrong with his weapon?”
    Rafe popped up next to my leg, bloodmoss in two hands. “Marcus doesn’t approve, Warprize.”
    Marcus grunted. ‘Too slow and unwieldy.“
    “For you,” Epor responded, as if this were an old argument. “I prefer a weapon where if I hit the enemy, the enemy goes down and stays down.” Epor gave me a saucy grin and a wink. I gave Rafe a look, and he laughed at my confusion. “Warprize, a club is a two-handed weapon, best used by a big man with strength in his arms and chest. Like Epor or Prest.”
    “Not you?” I asked.
    Rafe shook his head. “I’m one for speed. Quicker with a sword or dagger. Isdra, Gils or I would strike twice for every one of Epor’s blows.” His eyebrows danced as he gave Marcus a quick glance. “Or once for every three blows from Marcus with those daggers of his.”
    Epor laughed, his blond hair gleaming in the sun. “Ah, but in need, even you or Isdra could use it two-handed.”
    Rafe nodded. “Maybe. If I was desperate.”
    “Or insane.” Isdra added.
    Prest dismounted, and dug through his packs, pulling out a fold of dark leather. He handed it to Epor, who nodded his thanks. “I’ll replace it, Prest, after the next ehat hunt.”
    “What exactly is a—”
    Gils popped up and handed me a bunch of leaves, laughing up at me. “How much of this you want?”
    I smiled at him. “As much as I can get, Gils. Do you remember what it can do?”
    He gave me a scornful look. “I’s know, Warprize.” He bent to his task, his voice taking on a chanting tone. “Bloodmoss is for packing wounds. It grows at the site of great battles. It will not bind to the flesh, will not stick in the scabs. It seems to aid healing, fighting infection and closing the wound. It absorbs as much blood as it can, and when you are done with it you should scatter it about, for the plant will use the blood to take root and grow.” He stood, his hands full of more leaves. Marcus groaned. “A blood-sucking plant. More knowledge than I need.”
    I was pleased. But Gils’s memory had never been a problem in his lessons. It was the practical application of the information that was the problem. My feet had been a good example. It’s one thing to talk about cleaning and treating an infected wound. It’s another to work on a wiggling patient who couldn
    ’t help but jerk her feet at every touch. Finally, in frustration Marcus had me lay on my stomach, and he and Keir held my feet as Gils cleaned them. The boy had done the best he could, but the right foot had become infected. An angry, red, and puss-filled wound, which the poor lad had to clean out with an angry and worried Keir hanging over his shoulder.
    I leaned forward, holding my hand in front of Marcus’s face. “It’s wonderful, Marcus. Give me your knife and I’ll show you how it works.”
    “Skies above.” Marcus jerked his head back and the horse danced beneath us. “It’s more like you’ll cut your hand off. Not with my knife!”
    Isdra laughed, and moved her horse closer. “Show me, Warprize.” She pulled her knife and sliced deep into the meat beneath her thumb. Blood welled up quickly.
    I took the leaves and twisted them, crushing their fibers. A strong scent of mold rose into my nostrils. “
    Take this and press it to