16 - A Pint With the Devil

  “How the hell did this happen?!” Garrick shouted.

  He prowled and paced, stalking back and forth in front of the lineup of knights and healers like a panther, hackles raised. His boots beat a hard staccato on the cobbled stone. His gaze was lightning and thunder all at once. Maeve flinched beneath the heat of his anger. The knights had a little more discipline, standing rigid in the dark of the evening and flickering torchlight. Riven’s men breathed hard, torn from evening drills. Edain’s men had only just fallen asleep and now quietly teetered towards exhaustion. Still, they held the line. Only Bran was mercifully absent - lucky he’d been on cell duty, luckier still he caught the fever first and reported it.

  “You were supposed to keep an eye on it! I told you - report every change. How the hell did we miss a damn fever?! Must I demand you report to me every time the thing twitches or takes a damn shit? Is that the only way to get you to do your fucking jobs? This is the damn Monster of Savidor we’re talking about! We can’t afford to slip up here! Every moment that thing is still breathing is another chance for Savidor to get their fucking hands on it again, and if we’re half asleep at our posts - can’t even catch a damn fever - we might as well throw our hands up and invite them in. What the hell has everyone been doing?”

  His voice thundered over their heads. The knights tightened their fists at their sides. Maeve looked ready to cry.

  Garrick marched over to Senior Healer Reynold, who stood a little straighter as the high commander began to question him sharply.

  “What happened?”

  Reynold swallowed. “We missed the signs-”

  “Why?”

  “We…we didn’t have a good understanding of-”

  “Hard to have one when you don’t get close.”

  Reynold winced. “It’s difficult, sir, impossible.”

  “It’s your job to figure it out!” Garrick thundered.

  One of the other healers frowned.

  “Well, sir, if you hadn’t placed its care in the hands of a mere assistant,” he mumble under his breath.

  Senior Healer Reynold’s head snapped to the side, glaring openly at the younger man, but it was too late. Garrick’s eyes were already on him. The high commander stepped into the healer’s space, their noses barely an inch apart.

  “I don’t want to hear that coming from the very same people who abandoned their duties to the said assistant healer because they couldn’t put their self-pride aside for a single moment of honor and patriotism,” Garrick rumbled.

  The healer paled and took a step back, bowing his head and burning furiously.

  “It’s my fault,” Maeve whispered.

  Garrick’s head snapped towards her. “What?”

  She flinched again, trembling beneath his gaze, but she didn’t back down. She looked up at him again, eyes teary but determined.

  “It’s my fault. I didn’t - I couldn’t get near the eye. It got infected. He’d been fighting so much.”

  “You mean to tell me after all the progress we’ve made, you haven’t even been following through?”

  “I know-”

  “-and you let the damn thing fester?”

  “I know, and I’m s-”

  “Don’t you dare tell me you’re sorry. Why didn’t you fetch the knights to help you?” Garrick growled.

  “They-” Maeve glanced at them and looked down at her feet. “I just didn’t think - I didn’t want to impose.”

  Garrick’s brow furrowed in anger. “That, healer Maeve, is their damn job. And they can’t do their damn jobs if you won’t ask them!”

  Her eyes flashed up defiantly at him, cheeks red and blotchy. But she said nothing, only glanced at the knights before stalking towards the tower, wiping at her eyes with the back of her sleeve. Garrick didn’t even bother trying to stop her as he whirled on his knights.

  “Knight Captain Hawthorne! Sergeant Edain!” he shouted.

  Riven and Edain stepped forward and saluted loudly, shouting in unison, “Sir!”

  “Who were the men on cell duty this morning and afternoon?” Garrick demanded.

  Riven turned and nodded to the knights stiffly. Two men stepped forward. Victor and Nealan. Garrick frowned and stepped closer, his tall, broad shouldered presence intimidating at just a foot away.

  “What happened?” he demanded.

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  The two knights swallowed. Victor began.

  “I had duty this morning, High Commander, when the healer first dropped by,” he admitted. “There was nothing out of the ordinary. The monster snapped, but that was usual.”

  “Did Healer Maeve ever ask you for help?”

  “...no.”

  Garrick’s eyes narrowed at the hesitation.

  “Let me clarify. Has Healer Maeve ever asked for your help and you’ve refused to give it or ignored her?” he asked, voice clipped.

  Victor dropped his gaze in shame. “Yes, sir,” he whispered.

  Garrick’s nose twitched and his jaw tightened. He turned to Nealan, who already had his head bowed, expression pale.

  “And you! Report!” he ordered, nearing a snarl.

  “I-it was quieter today, but I thought that was because it was hungry. It threw its meal across the cell at me when I tried to deliver it, so I just closed the door.”

  “Have you ever refused Healer Maeve’s request for help?”

  “No, sir! But, that’s because she doesn’t visit at midday,” Nealan said quickly. “Although…”

  He trailed off, burning crimson with shame.

  “Continue,” Garrick ordered.

  Nealan looked down at his boots. “We haven’t…we haven’t exactly been following the protocols she leaves in place. We’re supposed to be dosing the midday meal with these herbs, but we didn’t think it was a big deal, especially since it was harder to get the thing to eat with them on. So we left them off…”

  Garrick’s eyes narrowed. “These herbs wouldn’t be the self-same ones meant to keep the fever at bay, would they?”

  Nealan swallowed.

  Garrick growled and stepped away, pacing again, his boots beating in the same rhythm, but angrier now. Sharper. He couldn’t speak. Wouldn’t. Every time he thought to open his mouth, he knew he would say something he would regret.

  Edain and Riven exchanged glances. Finally, Edain stepped forward.

  “Sir?” her voice was firm, questioning.

  The high commander stopped pacing to glare at her.

  “What is it, Sergeant Glennan?” Garrick said, each word carefully punctuated.

  “Sir,” Edain said, her voice stronger this time. “I will not excuse our failings. We have not upheld our duty or honor as knights of the realm or upheld your honor as members of the Second Order. We have failed in our duties, and accept any punishment you deem necessary. But may I speak freely?”

  Garrick hesitated, but nodded tightly.

  “Sir,” she began. “We are tired, and we don’t understand. This thing - we’ve all seen it. Lost friends. Even family.” She swallowed. Behind her, Riven’s jaw tightened and he looked down. “Why is it still alive? Why are we even here?”

  Garrick blinked and looked around. The Second Order had fallen silent under Edain’s blunt questioning. This was the question he had avoided answering many times, but for the first time, it seemed he had an answer.

  He took a deep breath. It trembled ever so slightly - not with weakness, but with weight.

  “Do none of you see it?” he hissed. “That thing is not just some enemy we’ve captured. He is the weapon Savidor has used time and again to bring Adern - to bring us - to our knees. And now we have it alive.”

  He stepped forward, his voice cold, gaze sweeping over them like a blade.

  “Kill the monster, let it die, and it becomes another ghost in this war. But alive? He’s answers. He’s knowledge. He’s a chance to understand what they did to make him a weapon. That knowledge will protect every single family in Adern and give meaning to the men we’ve already buried. He’s everything.”

  A pause. A breath. Then, someone - maybe one of the younger knights - spoke up from the line.

  “Then why treat it like it’s human? Why not take what we need and send the rest to the mage tower?”

  Garrick didn’t hesitate.

  “If I had to treat the devil to a pint of beer and a five-course meal in order to protect my family, I’d do it with a smile on my face and wish him good day. This isn’t about kindness. It’s not about sympathy. It’s about war.”

  He paced again, voice raised.

  “We don’t get to pick and choose our battles. We’re knights. We fight them. We’re not just fighting exhaustions or nightmares. Savidor isn’t going to sit back and mourn their losses. They won’t sit back and do nothing. They’re planning. Watching. Waiting. And every edge - every single scrap - gets us one step closer to victory.”

  And then he stopped, voice rough.

  “I will not entertain imaginings of defeat. We will fight. Every one of us. Until our last breath. That is why I chose you - all of you. So get your heads out of your asses and wake up. This has nothing to do with keeping a monster alive. It has everything to do with keeping Adern free.”

  For a long moment, no one spoke.

  Then, Garrick turned on his heel and stalked off, the sharp echo of his boots slowly fading as he stepped into the tower. The healers slinked off, tails tucked between their legs. The Second Order remained silent. A few of them exchanged glances - not uncertain this time, but steady. Shoulders squared. Spines straightened. The fire in Garrick’s voice still lingered in their ears.

  Riven looked over them.

  “Double the guard on the cell from now on,” he said. “One to watch, one to help the healer. Once reinforcements are here, we’ll relax our guard, but until then, I expect everyone to pull their weight. The high commander is right - this is our only chance to get what we need to end this fucking war. It’s time we gave it our all, too.”

  “Every man here will undergo double drills on their next three rotations,” Edain added quietly.

  Riven nodded. “See it done. Dismissed.”

  The Second Order came to tight attention and saluted. “Sir!”

  They dispersed. As Riven’s men renewed their drills, he noticed them attacking the posts with more vigor than before. Edain turned to look at him, dark circles under her eyes.

  “Think there’s any truth to the high commander’s words?” she asked.

  “I think there’s too much truth and that’s what irks me,” Riven grumbled.

  “He wasn’t wrong, though,” Edain admitted. “We’ve been thinking about this too selfishly.”

  Riven just grunted. Edain turned and looked at him, worried.

  “You know,” she began, but he cut her off.

  “Sergeant Edain, get some rest,” he said quickly. “We need you at your best tomorrow morning.”

  Edain shut her mouth and watched him walk away. Shaking her head, she went to do as he was told.

  But no matter where one of the Second Order went - whether it was drills, duty, or rest, no one could forget the echo of their commander’s words.