Faith of the Fallen

He rubbed his eyes against the darkness from within, as well as the night. He was beyond aching. Acrid smoke hung thick as fog. The air reeked with the heavy, throat-clenching stink of blood. From various places around him, he could see the drifting haze illuminated around glowing orange fists of firelight. The moans of the wounded lifted from the blood-soaked ground to drift through the frigid night air. In the distance, men cried out in pain. When Zedd wiped a hand across his brow, he realized he wore gloves of crusted blood from those he had been trying to heal. It was an endless task.

Not far away, the ground was littered with shattered tree trunks, blasted asunder by the enemy gifted. Men lay sprawled, torn apart or impaled by huge splintered sections of those trees. It had been two of Jagang's Sisters who had done it, just before dark, as the D'Haran forces were all collecting into the valley, thinking the battle had ended. Zedd and Warren had ended it by taking those two Sisters down with wizard's fire.

By the dull ache in his head, Zedd knew he hadn't been asleep for more than a couple of hours, at most. It had to be the middle of the night.

People passing by had let him sleep-or maybe they thought him one of the dead.

The first day had gone as well as could be expected. The battle had dragged on sporadically throughout the first night with relatively minor skirmishes, and then had erupted with full force at dawn of the second day.

As night had fallen on the second day, the fighting had finally ended.

Looking around, Zedd thought it seemed to be over-at least for the time being.

They had made the valley and succeeded in drawing the Order after them, away from other gateways up into the Midlands, but at a terrible price. They had little choice, if they were to engage the enemy with any chance of success, rather than allow them unhindered access into the Midlands. For the moment, anyway, the Order was stalled. Zedd didn't know how long that would last.

Unfortunately, the Order had gotten the better of the battle, by far.

Zedd peered about. It was not so much a camp as simply a place where everyone had dropped in exhaustion. Here and there, arrows and spears stuck up from the ground. They had fallen like rain as Zedd had worked throughout the night, the night before, trying to heal wounded soldiers. During the day, in the battles, he had unleashed everything he had. What had started out as skillful, calculated, focused use of his ability had in the end degenerated into the magic equivalent of a brawl.

Zedd staggered to his feet, worried about the distant thunder of horses. Horns closer into camp repeated the warning to hold arrows and spears, that it was friendly forces. It sounded like too many horses for any patrol they had out. In the back of his mind, Zedd tried to recall if he felt the twinge of magic that would tell him the horns were genuine. In the fog of fatigue, he had forgotten to pay attention. That was how people ended up dead, he knew-inattention to such details.

Men were rushing all about, carrying supplies, water, and linen for bandages, or messages and reports: Here and there Zedd saw a Sister working at healing. Other men struggled with repairs to wagons and gear in case they had to depart in a hurry. Some men sat staring at nothing. A few wandered as if in a daze.

It was difficult to see in the poor light, but Zedd was able to see well enough to tell that the ground was littered with the dead, the wounded, or the simply spent. Fires, both the common orange and yellow flames of burning wagons and the unnatural green blazes that were the remnants of magic, were left to burn out on their own. Horses as well as men lay everywhere, still and lifeless, torn open by ghastly wounds. The battlefields changed, but battle didn't. Now was a time of helpless shock.

He remembered from his youth the stench of blood and death mingled with greasy smoke. It was still the same. He remembered in battles past thinking the world had gone mad. It still felt the same.

The rumble of horses was getting closer. He could hear quite a commotion, but he couldn't tell what sort of ruckus it was. Off to his right, he spotted a stooped woman shuffling toward him. He recognized Adie's familiar limp. A woman more distant, catching up to Adie from behind, was probably Verna. A little farther off, Zedd saw Captain Meiffert being lectured to by General Leiden. Both men turned to look toward the clatter of hooves.

Zedd squinted into the murk and saw in the distance soldiers scattering before a mass of approaching riders. Men waved their arms, as if in greeting. A few offered weak cheers. Many pointed in Zedd's direction, funneling the horsemen his way. As First Wizard, he had become a focal point for everyone. The D'Harans, in Richard's absence, relied on Zedd to be their magic against magic. The Sisters relied on his experience in the nasty art of magic in warfare.