Warprize

over.
    “Warprize. There are six wounded men. The worst is a gut wound, we have placed him at the back of the tent. The rest are fairly minor, although there are a number of deep slashes and cuts.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve sent a message to the Warlord.”
    I nodded, thinking quickly. The gut wound was my first concern. With Gils at my side, I gathered up water and cloths. I got him started helping the more mobile patients. Atira was awake, but only moved so far as to prop herself up on pillows. I headed toward the back, fearing what I would find. Two men stood over the man writhing on the cot. The one looked familiar under his helmet, but my eyes were drawn to the wounded man. His bloody hands clutched at the hilt of a dagger that had been driven into his groin. Blood seeped between his fingers. I swallowed hard. Ah, Goddess, it was a bad one. I knelt by the cot, putting the water and cloths beside me. “I am a healer, let me help you.” I reached over, trying to move his hands from the weapon and get a better look. “Gently, gently.” I pried back the man’s hands and checked with my own.
    There was no wound. There was blood, but no injury. The dagger was flat against his belly, up under the armor. Puzzled, I looked up and into eyes I recognized. “Arneath?”
    I staggered back. Those eyes held no pain, rather they held a fury I had never seen before. Before I could react, he was off the cot, lunging at me. He had one hand around my throat, the other clutched the dagger. He bore me to the ground, and we fell back. My breath huffed out, his weight falling full on my stomach. The hand at my throat squeezed, cutting off my breath.
    Arneath’s companions reacted as well. I caught a brief glimpse as they drew their weapons, yelled and charged the wounded. There were screams and sounds of fighting all around us. Arneath swung his hand up, dagger flashing. It plunged down just as swiftly. I managed to get my hands up to grab his wrist. But Arneath had his full strength behind it, and the dagger continued toward my heart slowly but surely. Arneath squeezed my throat again, cutting off air and sound. His eyes gleamed with a mad brightness. “Die, traitorous bitch.”
    With what strength I had, I fought to deflect the blade. The weapon plunged down, the pain flared up, and the darkness embraced me.
    “Open your eyes, little healer.” The whisper was soft, but insistent. Simus’s voice seeped through the blackness and the pain, soft and quiet, with an underlying urgency to the sound.
    “Little healer, open your eyes. Wake for me.”
    I moved my head toward the sound, but stopped when pain flared up. The air that I pulled in was tainted with the scent of blood and death.
    “Thank the skies.” Simus’s voice took on a new urgency, even as he whispered. “Don’t move, little one. Just open your eyes and speak. Keir needs you.”
    Keir needed me? I dragged my lids up.
    Keir was standing over me, swords in hand. He was splattered with blood, poised as if for battle, on guard against an opponent.
    “At last.” Simus’s voice was coming from the side, still soft and low. I turned my head slowly, to see his black face on the ground, pushed under the back wall of the tent. His features were tight, but he flashed a smile at me. “Warprize, Keir is raging. Try to call him back.”
    I couldn’t really see, couldn’t tell what had happened. I licked my lips and panted against the pain. “
    Keir?” My voice was little more than a whisper itself, my throat in agony. Keir’s eyes flickered down, then back up, as if watching for the enemy. His swords were coated with blood.
    “Keep trying, little one,” Simus whispered. “He doesn’t know us and won’t let us in the tent. Battle rage, eh? You understand?”
    I’d heard of it. Hadn’t someone in the Epic suffered the affliction? I blinked a bit, confused. Simus spoke again, urgently. “Stay with me, little one. Stay awake.”
    “Keir.” I tried to clear my throat and my voice strengthened slightly. “Let them help. They’re friends.” His eyes settled on mine, wary, suspicious, then flicked back to the tent walls. I shifted a bit, trying to get a better look, but that proved a mistake. A cry escaped me as the pain ran over me in a wave. I couldn’t move my shoulder.
    “Warprize?” Simus’s worried tone cut through the grey that swamped my vision. Keir snarled, one sword pointed toward Simus, the other at the entrance. There were others