Exeres shook his head and the captain led him down the hall and marched down a wide stairwell. The flavors of the kitchens greeted him. Fumes from the bread ovens and cheese vats combined with the sour smell of wines and sauces. The kitchen doors were open, the interior crowded with soldiers, many of them officers and Kiran Thall.
“This is the governor’s mansion. The kitchens are going all day and night, and so is every inn throughout the city. If you’re hungry, this is where you’ll come to eat. I don’t have any beds left, priest. You’ll have to stay with your own. If you need to leave the city, come to me for a pass to see Lord Ballinaire. Only he can grant a request to leave. There’s enough wounded down here in the dungeons to keep you busy for a month.”
“Thank you, Captain. What was your name again?”
“Brade. So food is in the kitchens. Let me take you down to the dungeons so I can introduce you to the prison master. It’s getting late so you might want to start in the morning.”
“I’m not tired. Just bring me to the prison master. I’ll get started tonight.”
“It’s your choice, Zerite. This way.”
Captain Brade took Exeres down a steep inlet. The smell from the dungeons overshadowed the kitchens. Rankness beyond belief. How many were hunched over with tide fever, cramping and miserable? It would take a dozen Zerites or more to cure so many.
“The reek of this place,” Brade said, his face twisting. “One can hardly stand it. Over there. That’s the prison master. His name is Nool.” The captain waved over the prison master, a Bandit soldier with a huge belly. He was tall, a giant of a man, with long dark hair, a mustache that shaped his face in a frown, and eyes that seemed small for his head.
“Nool, this is Exeres, a Zerite. He’s here to tend to the sick. Druids sent him from Isherwood.”
“Isherwood? Good enough. Welcome lad. You really blind?”
“That wasn’t very kind, Nool,” Brade said. “Banned Inlander. You’re in the Shoreland now. Cut your hair.”
Nool puffed out his gut. “I’m an Inlander, Captain. N’ain’t no man tells me to cut it. There’s enough sloshy trope to deal with in here, priest. Might have you shoveling out trope. We can hardly keep up with it in here.”
“They have tide fever,” Exeres said, rubbing his cheek. “If you’d spend a moment curing some of them, then you wouldn’t have to shovel.”
He smirked. “We don’t shovel no Dos-Aralon trope, priest. I make ‘em that can stand shovel it. Need all my men to keep the feisty ones from rioting. Killed fourteen already, and the captains keep bringing me more. They’ll be sleepin’ on top o’ the other before long. I’ll take the priest, captain. This n’ain’t the place for officers.”
Captain Brade nodded and took Exeres’ arm. “Call for me if you need to see Ballinaire. I’ll see what I can do. These sorry ones will thank you for coming. They’ll be Lord Ballinaire’s subjects ere too much longer. But we need to get the fight out of some of them first.”
Exeres nodded and followed Nool into the foul-smelling corridor. He saw several prisoners with shovels and barrows and the sound of scraping sewage grated right down his spine. The fevers would only spread in a place like this. More than half would die if they didn’t clean up quickly.
“What we got here, priest, is a prison full of breathing flaming rebels. Nearly every banned lot of ‘em. The merchants we caught in the Shadows Wood were set free in the city, but they can’t leave. No one can leave. Not even you. It’s the soldiers we’ve had to lock up down here. Heard we had a knight earlier but he’s dead. Banned missed it. I would have loved to have a knight as a prisoner.” He waved his meaty hand down the corridor. “More men than we know what to do with. I want you to start in that little corner cell right there. Got a Drugaen in there. I’d love it if you could bring him around so he could help shovel the trope.”
“A Drugaen?” Exeres said. He looked up at Nool.
“Caught him in the tunnels fightin’. Thought he was one of the banned Krag at first, but they all left weeks ago and this one blustered like a Ilvaren pirate. He’s very ill, or at least pretendin’ to be.”
Exeres went to the small cell and waited for Nool to unlock the door.
“Give me a holler when you need to be let out. Can’t risk one of ‘em running free in the tunnels.”
Exeres nodded and loosed his travel pack from his weary shoulders. The torchlight from the corridor wasn’t bright enough to see very deep into the cell. He only saw the scuffed bottoms of the Drugaen’s boots. Exeres grabbed a torch from the hall. A single hoop was nailed to the wall near the door, and he inserted the torch into it. Nool shut the door and the lock clicked.
The Drugaen was filthy, his shirt, vest, and pants stained with blood. He had a short beard that glinted with autumn highlights. The Life magic gushed from him as Exeres looked into his feverish eyes. A huge walnut-sized bump stood out on his forehead. His mouth was clenched in an angry frown but his shoulders were slack, his hands lying placidly on his lap. He was a big fellow, but he looked like he was wasting away.