The blade whizzed through the air, and Fritz flinched as it connected with bone. Vhalla felt the crack reverberate through Grahm’s arm. The man screamed into the rag in his mouth.
Elecia was undeterred. She freed the blade with a small jostle, and raised it again for a second swing. Marrow oozed from the wound, blood pooling on the benches and dripping to the floor.
It took two swings to sever Grahm’s arm from his body.
“Aldrik, cauterize it, lightly,” Elecia instructed. “I only want to help the clotting along, I may need to remove more later once I see what the taint or infection is doing.”
“Remove more later?” Fritz swayed weakly.
“Hopefully when we have proper medical supplies,” Elecia murmured.
Grahm moaned in agony as wisps of flame sealed his wound. But his pain seemed to be lessening due to Fritz’s numbing of the spot, a makeshift sedative. Vhalla prayed that, when he woke, he would barely remember what occurred.
Elecia quickly bandaged the wound. But she didn’t release the tourniquet until the blood stopped seeping through the cloth. Fritz hadn’t let go of Grahm; he stared in dumb shock at his lover’s face.
“I’m going to go find something for him,” Elecia announced. She swayed slightly. Vhalla knew the exhaustion was just as much mental as it was physical. “Some cleric in the rear guard must have something . . .”
“Will he be okay now?” Fritz whispered.
“I hope so.” Vhalla cringed as she picked up the severed arm, enough meat left above the elbow for it to wag uncomfortably. She deposited it in the alleyway behind the tavern. Vhalla ran her hands over her pants legs all the way back, trying to remove the feeling of liquefied tainted flesh and a limp severed limb.
Grahm groaned softly. Vhalla quickly kicked away the bloody bench upon her return. It was bad enough what had happened to him. She didn’t want him waking up and having to see the remnants.
“Grahm?” Fritz breathed.
“Fritz?” The Eastern man began to rouse.
“I’m here. I’m here with you,” Fritz reassured.
“I need, I need to bring updates . . .” he murmured, almost delirious.
Shock did incredible things to the body, Vhalla reasoned.
“Hush, it’s all right.”
“No,” Grahm refused Fritz’s consoling, squinting his eyes open. “I need to tell the Emperor . . .”
“What?” Aldrik stepped into Grahm’s field of vision so the patient wouldn’t have to turn his head.
“Silver Wings,” Grahm fought for every word. “My Emperor, they fight for you.”
Vhalla stood, taking her place next to Aldrik. Grahm’s eyes widened a fraction, as though he was struggling to see her.
“Lady Empress, it’s true?”
“Grahm, thank you for your service,” Vhalla soothed.
“It-it was our honor.” He swallowed thickly. No doubt his mouth still had the cotton taste of the rag. “We have one hundred men and women who escaped the palace. They fought with me.” Grahm looked up at Fritz. “Did they make it?”
“Most.” Fritz nodded.
“Thank the Mother,” Grahm’s eyes pressed closed. “They’ll know the paths, once you get in. There’s another hundred or more, if they . . . fighting in the palace. They will help you. Victor’s retreated - up. They’ll help you get there . . . He’s . . . There’re more monsters. He’s not done . . .”
“We understand. We do. Now rest.” Fritz smoothed away hair from the man’s forehead.
“Fritz . . .” Grahm stared up at his man, who was doing a better job of holding Graham than holding his own emotions together. “I’m glad I could see you again.”
“Me, too.”
“I love you,” Grahm whispered.
“And I love you.” Tears fell from Fritz’s eyes. “Now, don’t die.”
Elecia returned, crossing over to Grahm with intent, ending the conversation. She poured three vials down his throat that she swore would have nearly the same effect as Deep Sleep and helped Fritz carry Grahm up to the second floor of the tavern to be kept safe and hidden during the remainder of the battles.
Vhalla let out a heavy sigh. Aldrik’s arms wrapped around her; she accepted his comfort and strength, stealing a moment alone with her husband. The room was quiet; even the night outside was still.
“What are we fighting for?” Vhalla closed her eyes for a moment, but all she saw was blood. Blood of her allies. Blood of her enemies. Enough blood to drown in ten times over. “What will be left when the wars are done?”
“That’s what we’re fighting for.” He squeezed her gently. “Whatever, whomever, is left.”
“Even if that’s not us.” Vhalla stepped away, not giving into the alluring comfort of retreat that his presence offered. There was still a war to win.
CHAPTER 33
Victor had little concern for the unspoken etiquette of war. Just as Grahm and his soldiers had forewarned, the false king had been preparing another wave of monsters and abominations. The lull was only long enough for him to plan that next attack.