When gathering herbs the general rule is that you never strip an area of all of the plants that you are gathering. You try to leave enough that the spring will bring new growth and renew the area. But I didn’t have the luxury of leaving anything behind. I told them to bring me everything they could find. Should I pass this way again, I’d re-seed the area myself, to make up for the damage. But we needed those herbs and we needed them now.
Within hours we had a hundred sick. By the end of the day the number tripled. Men and women fell dead as the wheat falls before the scythe. It struck with the sweat, the headache, and the stench as it had in the village.
The fever was the worst. Using the cold waters of the stream or the lake only seemed to work if the fever had built to its highest point. Too soon, and the fever returned, prolonging the illness and exhausting the patient. Gils ran himself ragged, helping to make the decision of when a patient was ready to be immersed. He gained far too much skill over a very short period of time.
Outside, the shores of the lake filled with people using its cold waters to bring down the raging heat of fever. And the sick kept coming as more and more fell victim. I could see no reason to its effects, either. One would be sick for days or hours, each with as likely a chance of dying as the other. But we learned, Gils and I, that if the person made it through the initial fever, his chances of survival were much higher. Once past the coughing stage, the individual recovered strength fairly quickly.
I’d enough strength to manage supplies, and train warriors to tend the sick. So I commanded from the stilltent, checking the quality of the fever’s foe and using the gathered herbs to make an alternative to the lotus. One of the draughts, the one based on sleepease, was milder than the lotus, and seemed to work better, so I concentrated on making that mixture. The familiar scents and surroundings of my stilltent were a comfort in those dark hours.
Poor Gils was the one to actually tend the sick, wearing himself to the bone with the patients, making sure that the right doses were given, that the fevers were brought down, that the drumming on their backs was done on a regular basis. His was the hardest task, for since he was out and about, everyone turned to him for advice, or when a patient took a turn for the worst. He’d return to my stilltent frequently, to ask questions, and restock his satchel, and then he’d be off again.
The raving seemed less of a problem than it had been in the village. Perhaps because of our use of the lake waters to bring down the fever, perhaps due to the use of the other sleeping draught. Or maybe it was the presence of warriors at the bedsides, well able to subdue any crazed by the fever. Still, I insisted that those who were ill not sleep with their weapons. This was resisted strongly, not that they’d disobey exactly. It was as if I had attacked their pride, that their weapons be taken from them. There was disagreement as to how far away the weapons were put, but it only took two incidents for them to start obeying me.
In many ways, I felt disoriented during those hours, since I had limited contact with the patients. Gils and Jo-den would report to me regularly, or other warriors would appear with questions, or asking for supplies.
It was a heady feeling, to have such power, to see my commands obeyed, a feeling that I wasn’t used to. I’d never commanded a large staff, and had only truly been Queen for a few hours before I followed Keir. This was a new experience for me, to be obeyed absolutely.
Yet, it had its drawbacks as well. They did exactly as they were told. I’d set a group of them looking for a weed, and they’d bring me all the weed they could find. But they didn’t have the ability to tell me if there were other plants in the area that I could have used as well. So I went through a range of about ten plants and herbs that I could use, trying to insure that I covered every possibility.
Keir was absent during these long hours, moving about the huge camp, explaining, issuing orders, sending us information about the state of the warriors. His presence insured that the ill were helped and that supplies were distributed where needed. He was the calm at the center of the storm, and the reason the warriors didn’t mount their horses and head for the plains. But I feared for him, exposed to all and sundry, and working tirelessly among his warriors. I’d tried to have him wear a ginger mask, but he pointed out that it hadn’t worked for Epor and I. Worse, I didn’t have enough ginger to mask the entire camp. Keir refused a protection that wasn’t available for everyone. Since he was absent more often then naught, I
took to sleeping in the stilltent, to be quickly available to any that needed me.
Marcus was everywhere, aiding where needed, and somehow keeping us fed. He and Isdra shared the. care of the baby, trading off when necessary. What amazed me was the ease with which the warriors dealt with her, for there was no shortage of volunteers. The rare smiles I saw were at the antics of the babe, who kicked and cooed and laughed, the one sound of joy in a camp filled with despair.
For there was little joy in our hearts. There were so many deaths, regardless of the care we took or the medicines we doled out. The darkest moments came when the ill outnumbered the healthy. At that point, we were all exhausted. Whenever I emerged from the tent, I tried not to look at the horizon where the smoke rose from the pyres. Instead, I tried to focus on the living.
Goddess love him, Marcus still found time to make sure that I ate. One morning, during the time when the days blurred together, he was coaxing the morning meal into me when we looked up to see Prest standing just inside the tent, his face grim.
“Prest?” I put my bowl aside and stood.
“Please come, Warprize.”
“Who’s ill?”
“Rafe.”
Prest led the way, and I followed. Marcus came behind, carrying a basket of my supplies, refusing to let me carry anything. I protested, until the walk itself left me breathless. My strength was still not fully returned.
A few of the smaller tents had been cleverly fastened together to form a larger shelter. Prest held the flap as I bent to enter. The tent was filled with people, but my eyes went to young Rafe first.
He lay on a pallet, already covered in sweat, his black hair plastered to his forehead. His face was pale, far paler than normal, and his eyes were huge and glittering as he looked at me. His lips moved and I heard a faint “Warprize.”
This caught the attention of the other people in the tent and they turned to look at me with wide eyes. Four girls, well, warriors… but girls to my eyes. They couldn’t be that much older than Gils. Their surprise was only for a moment, then the one closest to Rafe’s head wrung out a cloth, and placed it on his forehead. She gave me a veiled look of mistrust, bright green eyes flashing through long black hair.
The girl closest to me was dressed in brown leather armor, with her brown curly hair cut very short. She inclined her head. “Warprize, I am Lasa of the Horse. We are tending to Rafe.” She straightened, a confident look in her clear brown eyes. “We have talked to Gils, and we know what we must do.”
“And we will do it well.” The honey-blonde girl kneeling by Rafe’s shoulder pounded a stake in the ground with a fierce blow. But she looked up with hazel eyes flecked with fear.
“I am sure that you will.” I smiled, trying to reassure her. “But Rafe is one of my guards, and I’d like to check him myself. Would that be acceptable?”
The hazel gaze flicked over to Lasa, but she must have gotten approval. “Of course, Warprize.” She got to her feet. “I am Soar of the Deer.”
Marcus handed the basket to me, but remained outside with Prest, given the crash. The girls arranged themselves carefully, leaving me to kneel by Rafe’s head. He gave me a weak smile as I put my hand to his forehead. “I’m sorry, Warprize.”