Chapter 13 - Review

Even after spending two straight days unconscious, Encrid slept another half day. When he awoke, bread and soup had been set before him. A long shadow passed over the food, then vanished. He turned his eyes toward the half-open tent entrance. It seemed to be dawn. There were no sounds of people coming and going, and far less light entered than before, perhaps because only a few torches had been set out. Everyone else in the barracks was asleep. Encrid reached for the bread.

'My arm moves without any trouble.'

While he was at it, he turned halfway over and tried to sit up. Pain shot through his side, sharp enough to make even the back of his head tingle. 'Still, if this is all it is...'

Rem had said his ribs weren't broken. His own judgment agreed. He had also been told that the jolt to his head had knocked him unconscious, but fortunately, nothing seemed wrong with his head. He wasn't dizzy, and his eyes, nose, and ears were all fine. He dunked a torn piece of bread deep into the cold soup and popped it into his mouth.

'My tongue's fine too.' He must have been starving, because even this tasted good. His tongue picked up the subtle sweetness of the flour. Whatever they had boiled in it, the soup was barely more seasoned than plain water, but it was enough to fill an empty stomach. As though the thick soup and bread had come from a proper restaurant, Encrid chewed each mouthful thoroughly and swallowed slowly. 'Eat too quickly after being unconscious, and your stomach turns.'

He knew that from experience. Normally, the soldier attending the Medical Barracks should have warned him, but the one he had seen that evening looked as though everything was a bother. For that matter, was manning the Medical Barracks really a necessary military specialty? 'Must have someone backing him.'

Why else would an able-bodied man be here doing nothing but looking after wounded soldiers? Once his stomach was full, he forced himself upright. Lying down right after eating was bad for digestion. When injured, the first priority was to eat well and rest well, and eating well included properly digesting what you ate. "Whew."

Letting out a quiet sigh, Encrid stared blankly at the flickering light by the tent entrance. His eyes rested on the swaying torches, but his mind was full of other things. That repeated day. That today. The day he had finally made it through. Encrid Reviewed that "today" again and again, revisiting the moment until it appeared even in his dreams. The stab itself had been excellent. Even by his own assessment, the strike could not have been cleaner.

'I didn't do badly getting the fight to that point, either.'

The Valen Mercenary Sword Technique had helped a great deal. So had the training he had done through countless repetitions of today. But that didn't mean he had done everything well. 'It was clumsy.'

That was his conclusion after going over the moment countless times. Someone passed in front of the barracks.

FWOOSH.

The soldier's shadow stretched long as he passed the blazing torch. In Encrid's imagination, that lengthening shadow became the stabbing pervert. 'When I stabbed...'

What if his opponent had dodged? The shadow evaded the stab, then whipped its sword around in a slash. The blade cut through the neck of the shadow playing Encrid with terrible ease. 'Then I'd be the one who died.'

He had prepared for everything? Like hell.

'It wasn't enough.' If his opponent had been just a little smarter, known just a little more about fighting. If he had gained even a little more experience. If he had survived at least until the next battlefield.

'No, that's going too far.' That was a stretch. Thinking like this would get him nowhere. The sword-fighting shadows were products of his imagination; when he shook off the thoughts, they vanished. Encrid stopped dwelling on what had already happened. 'Instead of wasting time on what-ifs, let's think about the next step.'

Rem had told him he needed to know how to put everything into a stab. But surely that didn't mean he could attack that way every time. So he had put his mind to work. He would reveal his stab only once. Until then, he would keep getting under his opponent's skin. When the provoked opponent tried a stab, he would counterattack.

'I staked everything on a single stab.' A stab that meant death if it failed. Was that really right? That was no way to conduct a fight. Even Encrid knew that. If it had failed and he had woken to another today, what should he have done? 'If the stab hadn't worked, should I have relied on luck?'

No. He couldn't do that. It was unacceptable. Skill, not luck. Encrid considered that the best way to make use of the opportunity he had been given. All this thinking didn't mean he was wallowing in self-loathing. He was simply going over the facts, separating his shortcomings from what he had done well. Just as he always did after a battle or a sparring session. ["If you survive a fight with half your life on the line, that fight will become an asset, Enkie."] The old swordsman had been a swordsmanship teacher who taught children in a quiet coastal town. His skills were too unimpressive to make a name for himself even in a small trading town, much less a large city. But he wasn't bad at teaching. To Encrid, at least, he had been an excellent teacher. ["If you plan to live by the sword until you die, then after every battle, digest everything you gained from it, shit it out, and digest it again. That's how you'll stay alive."] It must have been a road the old teacher had walked himself. He limped on his left foot, and his entire body was covered in blade scars. A lesson earned by putting his own body through hell. That instructor had charged plenty for his lessons, too. Encrid didn't begrudge the expense. The time had been well worth it. Now was the time to revisit what he had learned from him. 'There has to be another way.'

He couldn't put everything into every stab. That would get him killed. Rem wouldn't fight like that, either. Yet whenever he actually sparred with that crazy bastard Rem, he could feel crushing weight and killing intent in every single swing of the man's axe.

'How does he do that?' The joy of landing that stab had lasted only a moment. Encrid hadn't let the achievement go to his head. No, he was happy. Overcoming a wall through his own efforts had brought him immense satisfaction. But he hadn't stopped there. Naturally, Encrid pictured tomorrow. What lay beyond that successful stab. Now he could see a tomorrow that had been invisible until he succeeded. He was walking toward that tomorrow's sun, reaching out his hand. 'What if I thrust with all my strength, but don't commit my whole mind?'

He was drawing closer to the answer. There was only so much he could learn by thinking alone. But that was all right. This couldn't be all the time Encrid would ever be given. The faceless boatman had said this wasn't the end. That walls would keep appearing.

'Did he say it would repeat?'

Then all he had to do was put his life on the line and try again. Knowing another such moment would come made his heart race. A strange heat rose from his lower belly and warmed his whole body. Encrid ignored it. This wasn't the time to exert himself. 'Rest first.'

He didn't need a doctor to tell him that his throbbing side required at least several days of proper rest. 'But how did I end up here, anyway?'

What usually happened when a soldier was wounded? No matter how serious the injury, he would be treated in his own barracks and either die there, or...

'If he has enough pull, he'll have a doctor at his bedside.' Or, if the goddess of luck showered him with coins by the handful, he might receive a priest's prayers. Divine healing required both luck and powerful backing. It would be a different story for a high-ranking commander, of course. In any case, none of those three applied to Encrid. Which meant someone must have pulled strings here, too. 'No idea.'

He was beginning to burp, so his food seemed to have settled. Encrid lay down and slept. Deeply. When injured, nothing beat eating well and sleeping well. When he opened his eyes the next day, he saw a pair of large, round eyes.

"Back your face up."

He reached out to push Big-eyes' face away, but Big-eyes withdrew before his hand made contact. "You were sleeping so soundly I couldn't bring myself to wake you. Good timing."

"Sure."

He would count himself lucky if this fellow didn't kick him awake for wasting his time. "Tsk. Who do you think got you in here, Squad Leader?"

Big-eyes squared his shoulders as he spoke. So that was whose handiwork it was. Come to think of it, none of his squad members besides Big-eyes and Jaxon had that sort of resourcefulness. "I dipped into my own purse for this. You owe me. Don't forget it."

Encrid hadn't asked him to get him admitted. Still, a good thing was a good thing. The Medical Barracks had better food than the regular barracks, stood in the rear, and offered the advantage of having nothing to do. He was exempt from duty and everything else. Anywhere else, he would at least have had to keep his men in line, groaning and clutching his aching side. 'But will the squad manage without me?'

A pointless worry. Who was the weakest member of Squad 444 worrying about?

'Oh, right. He's the weakest.' Big-eyes was hopeless at fighting. That didn't mean he had no talents. Who knew how he managed it, but whenever fighting broke out, he always slipped safely to the rear on the pretext of being a specialist. Quite a talent. This time, Encrid had benefited from it too. "Want me to bow my head to the ground in thanks?"

"No need for grand gestures. Just don't forget."

'Why does it matter so much that I remember?'

"All right."

"Good. I'm busy, so I'll be going." A bedside visit despite his busy schedule. Encrid was simply overwhelmed by the honor. Nor were Big-eyes and Rem his only visitors. Jaxon said he had stopped by on his way past and tossed him a small jar.

"Apply it to your side once a day. It'll ease the pain a little. Don't tell anyone you got something like this."

"Especially our squad members, I take it?"

Jaxon shrugged and promptly left. Encrid twisted open the jar, which was about two finger joints tall, and found a dark-green ointment.

'Made from crushed herbs or something?'

If Jaxon had made it for him, that would have been quite the devotion. Of course, that wasn't the case. He had seen the stuff several times before, though this was his first time using it. He scooped some ointment onto a fingertip, shoved his hand under his clothes, and gently spread it over his side. Every movement sent sharp pains through him, but the skin where he applied the ointment grew hot, and the pain eased considerably. 'This is good.'

Deciding to use it sparingly, Encrid closed the jar securely and put it under his bed. 'But were the Medical Barracks close to ours? I don't think they're close enough to just drop in on the way past.'

What did it matter? He had received an effective ointment. That was enough. Two more squad members visited afterward.

"I'm sorry, Squad Leader. There's nothing I can do for you."

One spoke as though he could do something but had chosen not to. "The squad's a fucking mess without you, Squad Leader. Here, eat this."

The other tossed him the half-eaten apple he had been eating and left. That last visitor had definitely just happened to pass by. The bastard was always getting lost. Encrid had even heard him say outside the Medical Barracks, ["Our Squad Leader's in here? Why?"] 'That bastard didn't even know I was hurt.'

All the work of raising squad members, for nothing.

'Not that I raised them.'

Aside from Encrid himself, they all knew how to fight and flee perfectly well on their own. 'Let's worry about my own problems.'

How much of a mess could the squad become just because he wasn't there? They would all get along fine. Best to set aside pointless worries. Besides...

"You little shit."

This was more concerning. A new visitor had come in while he was resting peacefully alone. The man had entered the barracks around lunchtime. The Medical Barracks were spacious. More than ten people could lie down inside if they squeezed together. Yet there were only three patients in the large tent: Encrid with his aching side, a Platoon Commander admitted today who was staring at him, and a blond lying in the far corner, idly staring at the ceiling and twitching a finger. It was the Platoon Commander who had spoken to Encrid.

"You're barely as skilled as a bottom-rung soldier, and a former mercenary besides, yet you're a Squad Leader? Do you take turns letting your squad members fuck you in the ass? How did you become a Squad Leader?" See? This was the bigger problem. Encrid knew this Platoon Commander. He belonged to the neighboring company and was forever looking for a chance to tear into him. His name was Vengeance. Whoever had named him had done a damn fine job. Why did Vengeance hate him? He didn't know. The man had been snarling at him since their first meeting. "And now the Medical Barracks? You've got it easy, you bastard."

'Yes, I think so too.'

He did have it easy. It would have been perfect without Platoon Commander Vengeance beside him. "Yes, it's good to see you, sir."

"Good?"

Should he say it was fucking awful instead? Encrid was a grown man. He knew how to put on a mask. "Yes. A little."

"A little?"

"I'm not that pleased to see you."

"You little shit." Vengeance flared with rage, but he didn't attack. More accurately, he couldn't. Apparently, he had taken a deep cut to the thigh in the previous battle, so bad he could barely stand up. Which meant...

'Isn't this the perfect chance to mess with him?'

Encrid was a grown man. He knew how to put on a mask. And he knew how to needle a bastard he disliked.