Pieces for the Puzzle

Once she finished her telling, Zaida - if that was her real name - sat silent and looked expectantly at Yorresie. The nun's gut told her to refuse everything that left the knight-demon's mouth. She had been lying about her identity, so there was no reason to believe anything else was truth. And yet, if her tale was to be believed, then it did explain some things.

It could only be the case that the human Zaida had spoke of was Wasil - the unstable man from the sorcerers' library. His encounter with her shed some light on why he had behaved so peculiarly about gnolls in particular. What was more, it did not take much imagination to guess that the ogre's contraption was somehow responsible for his frenzied state.

However, there were other elements that simply did not add up. The most glaring of these was why Zaida had outright gone and betrayed her fellow hellspawn. Was she to believe that the gnoll had spent a life slaughtering humans on the battlefield, only to get cold feet the moment she had to spend more than a minute beside one? That seemed too convenient.

The time for pondering was decidedly past when a cough echoed over to the duo. It startled the both of them, having been of the same mindset that they were the only two to survive the encounter. Yorresie made a great effort to climb to her feet. Zaida saw this struggle and offered to support her, but the nun's heart was not in a trusting mood. She endured the pain and struggle, hobbling over to the source of the hacking.

It was Marama! Setting themselves on either side of him, the two women drew close to tend to him. It was some sort of impossibility that he was drawing and expelling air. His body was in no better a state than it had been when he fell. His throat was still gaping, the inner workings only concealed by the excessive blood pooling in the wound.

"Marama, can you hear me?" Zaida asked. Knowing as little about medicine as she did, she lacked the faintest idea of how to treat his injuries. "Don't strain yourself."

"Is it over?" he croaked. Immediately he winced at the pain of using a slashed throat. His words were coarse, barely sounding like his voice at all. "Did we win?"

"Yes, but you need to be silent and still for now." Yorresie padded herself down in search of any remedies she carried on herself from time to time. She remembered how she had set her bag down for the meal break. "Zaida, go fetch a first aid kit. There should be one in one of the wagons."

The knight nodded and hurried away to retrieve it. Meanwhile, Marama's hand moved to touch at his wounded neck. The nun pushed it away before he could touch it and risk further contamination.

"Is it bad?" he gurgled.

Yes, yes it is. It is very, very bad. I haven't a clue as to how you are alive right now. "It's not terrible. Just don't move and keep quiet for now and we'll have you patched up in no time." Geod willing.

"What happened?" the sergeant asked, either forgetting or ignoring the instruction of silence. "I thought we were done for."

"Zaida... defeated what was left of the de- the horde."

"Really?" Marama's eyebrows rose and a smile played at the ends of his lips. "How did she manage that?"

Yorresie looked away and toward the other knight. The demon in disguise was racing from one wagon to the next in frantic search of the materials to heal the sergeant; clearly grasping and acting in accordance with the urgency of the situation. Yorresie bit her tongue.

"She's... quite the warrior," the nun eventually nodded to the man. "You knights certainly do your job well." She **** an appreciative smile. Marama spluttered with what turned out to be laughter. Yorresie almost managed to keep from getting blood splattered on her face.

"If only the same could be said for me," he mused.

Zaida hurried over with the desired kit in hand. With all the appropriate haste, Yorresie opened it and set to mending Marama the best she could. Just about every nun had some education in healing. Yorresie was now glad that her knowledge went beyond the basic principles of anatomy and sanitation.

While she was busy suturing the sergeant's neck shut, more noises arose from the site of the skirmish. Zaida left the two of them to investigate each one and before long, it became clear to them: every single member of the caravan was alive. It was baffling. It was an immense relief, but it was still baffling. A great many of the traders, churchgoers, and knights had suffered some form of injury that no one had the right to survive. And yet, there they were, breathing and speaking with only some pain to endure. As more of them were resuscitated, there were more people available to help those in worse states. Understanding that no one seemed to be in mortal danger, priorities shifted from life support to pain relief. By sunset, everyone was up and accounted for.

"I don't believe it," Marama remarked, looking out over his universally injured - but alive - convoy. He took a swig from a canteen and cringed as he did his best to swallow the water.

Yorresie and Zaida were at his side once more. They shared a look when they noticed the trickle of pink fluid seeping from the stitches on his throat; silently agreeing to say nothing about it.

"Geod was very generous with us all today," the nun nodded.

"I don't know about that," Marama said, drawing the eyes of the two beside him. "This seems like more than some blessing," he elaborated. "I've never seen people walk away from things like they did today. Something's up."

"Sir."

"What is it, Sergei?" the sergeant answered his approaching subordinate.

"You should see this." The knight handed Marama a bone that was rather clearly pulled from the remains of a fiend that had been slain that day. It looked to be a leg bone from something big - a horse, perhaps. Pressed into the side of it was a mark. The dark patches of it implied that the bone had been branded, leaving behind some sort of symbol that none of them recognized.

"What am I looking at?" Marama asked.

"That's an impotence hex," Sergei explained, tapping the mark. "We've found them on every dead demon we've bothered to search today."

"And what does that mean for us?"

"Mages use them to reduce the power or efficacy of things such as the strength of a sedative, the brightness of a candle - to bolster contraceptives, to cover smells, or... to reduce lethality."

All three of them looked at Sergei in suspense. "What are you suggesting?"

"I'm not suggesting anything, sir. I'm just saying that a hex that can curb the deadliness of a blade is a funny thing to stick on your soldiers."

Silence hung between them as they let that sink in. Marama gave Yorresie a look before making a realization and turning to the shorter man. "Wait, you know magic?"

Sergei shrugged. "I do some reading."

"Hm. Well, it looks like we've got a fair bit to share with Dyna when we get back." The sergeant stepped clear of his group and raised his voice. "ATTEN-" He quickly succumbed to a fit of ragged coughs, reminded of the shape his throat was in. When he had recovered he beckoned Sergei over and instructed him to repeat his words in announcement.

"Attention, all!" Sergei repeated the words in his ear. "We're heading back to Merridian now! Get your things loaded and your wagons turned around! Dark will be here soon, and we're not spending a minute longer in it than we have to! Everyone who's too injured to walk, hop on a wagon! If the mules can't take the weight, then dump some of the load! Our lives are worth more than anything on this caravan! Don't be greedy! Knights, if you can stand on two feet, then you're fit to fight! Form a perimeter around the train and keep your bloody eyes peeled! You can stop now! Oh, that was for me."

With no small amount of cumbersome maneuvering, the caravan reversed its heading, facing back toward the town it came from. Yorresie took several experimental steps before coming to terms with the fact that she simply would not be able to keep up on her bad leg. She looked to the wagon she walked beside to find that it was already full of injured passengers. The adjacent carts were a similar story.

Zaida took notice of her trouble and offered to help. After some hesitation, Yorresie swallowed her pride and accepted aid from the demon. Rather than take her arm over her shoulder or something similar, the larger woman reached into the cart and pulled out some blankets. She threw them over one pauldron, one on top of the others. Then, without warning, she seized the nun by the waist and hoisted her on top of the improvised padding. The size difference between herself and Zaida was not great enough for the arrangement to appear elegant, but the knight seemed to have no trouble at all supporting Yorresie on her shoulder. It was not the nun's first choice of perch, but the padding made for a tolerable ride.