Warsworn

I was, one of the horses would be close by.
    "Plague is a kind of illness that kills, and kills many people very quickly. It spreads…" My voice trailed off as I looked up into Rafe's puzzled face.
    "So, like winter sickness that spreads in the lodges. A misery, nothing more." Marcus said as he rummaged in a saddle bag, pulling out some long leather bracers.
    "What is winter sickness?" I asked, running my fingers back through my hair to start the braid. The long sleeves of the jerkin were stiff and uncomfortable.
    "A misery to be endured, for a time."
    Gils cleared his throat, trying to interrupt. At my nod, he spoke. "It affects the body, Warprize, with coughing, and sweating and feeling bad."
    I blinked in the sunlight as the mounted force seemed to swirl around us. The worst these people suffered was head colds? I looked back at Marcus. "No, plague is an illness that kills young and old, healthy and sick. It spreads quickly, and is very dangerous." He gave me a doubtful look. "There are stories…" His frown deepened. "For us, injury kills. Accidents kill. Being cursed, or afflicted, those can kill. But the one afflicted takes themselves off, to live or die as the elements decree. But illness? Illness is uncomfortable, but not a matter of death." He let out an exasperated snort.
    Prest looked over at him. "Tell her the rest."
    "Rest?" I asked sharply.
    Marcus shrugged. "There are tales told of city folk."
    "What kind of tales?'
    Isdra finished the lacings on my jerkin, and stepped back to survey her work. The thick, stiff garment hung on me like a sack. She considered me, frowning. "Maybe if we belt it around the waist."
    "No need." Epor spoke from his horse. "It's not as if she has to fight in it, just ride."
    "What tales?" I demanded, impatient with them. What hadn't I been told?
    Rafe answered slowly. "We would not offend, Warprize."
    "Oh for Earth's sake." Isdra snorted. "We have a saying. 'Raid them for their treasures, leave them in their filth.' There are songs of cities found with their gates closed, the people lying dead in the streets from their filth and corruption. Punishment for their sullying of the elements." She reached over to help me wind my braid on the top of my head, and put the helmet on. "I've walked the streets of your city, Warprize. While it was not perfect, it was not knee-deep in filth by any means."
    The rags that Gils had padded the helm with slipped down to dangle in my eyes. I felt incredibly stupid, but my fear was stronger than my dignity. I focused on Rafe as Isdra stuffed the cloth up under my helmet. "Rafe, when you go up to the gates, touch nothing and no one."
    "Yes, Warprize."
    "Gils, tear some cloth into small pieces and douse them with the oil in the green bottle."
    "Aye, Warprize." Gils started to work. Isdra accepted the bracers from Marcus, placed one on my forearm and started to tighten the lacings. I tried to stand still, but it was frustrating not to be able to move.
    "Gils, now add four drops from the slender blue bottle." I watched him dribble the scented oil out slowly. "Let me smell it."
    Gils lifted the bowl to my face with two hands, wrinkling his nose. Isdra turned her head, and sneezed.
    "Good," It was strong enough. "Let them sit for a bit. Rafe, if someone comes out of the gates to talk, stay well away from them."
    "Yes, Warprize."
    "We'll give you some vinegar. Wash your hands and face with it after you return, before you come back to us."
    "Yes, Warprize."
    "Now, take two of those cloths from the bowl, roll them up, and put them in your mouth, between the gum and cheek."
    Isdra had finished with the bracers, and she knelt to tie some kind of leather over my thigh and shin. Marcus, moving slowly, knelt at my other side and did the same.
    "Er," Rafe looked at the oil soaked cloths that Gils held out to him. I could smell the sharp scent of ginger from here. "Warprize, is this necessary?"
    I pointed at my helmet. "Is this necessary?"
    "Yes," Rafe's answer was prompt. "Death comes in an instant. All it takes is a stray arrow."
    "Then so is that." I pointed at the cloth. "Oil of ginger acts to prevent the spread of the contagion. Healers keep slices of ginger in their mouths when they treat people with the plague. This is the best I can offer."
    Rafe nodded glumly, and stuffed the cloth in his mouth, screwing up his face at the taste.
    "Now roll up two more pieces and put them up your nose."
    They all stopped and stared at me in consternation.
    I glared at