WOT Adv 149

--- The Wheel Turns ---
"I don't know, Keb," Maeslyn shook her head in wonder, still gazing at the heavens. "I wish I did, but I don't. All I know is that something big just happened, something that will be recorded for future ages to wonder about." Maeslyn's face was pallid, covered with a sheen of perspiration and grime and her hands trembled.

Fiznak stood and surveyed the battlefield. Bodies lay in clumps as far as he could see and buzzards flew overhead, seeking an easy meal. Whitecloaks lay interspersed with wounded and dead mounts. The screaming of the animals and the groans of the wounded mixed with the cawing of the buzzards made an awful medley of death. So many, Fiznak thought, so many have gone to the last embrace of the Mother. Death. The final embrace. He sighed at the destruction all around him. Then he noticed Maeslyn's shaking hands.

"Milady," Fiznak said, coming to her and taking her slender hands in his. "You are trembling." He spoke to her gently and brushed a strand of hair away from her face, wanting to hold her, wanting to say more, but holding himself in check.

She shook her head squeezed his hand and then gently pulled away. "I am tired is all. I think I need to rest. As do they." She nodded to Maynard and Megda.

"I think we all need rest," Fiznak agreed, nodding. "But where to? A shelter nearby?"

"Here? With all the dead?" Keb asked, looking about, her nose scrunching up in disgust. "I don't think so..."

Eliesanna stood nearby Keb her face extremely white, she looked like she would fall over at the slightest breeze.

Maeslyn looked about the battlefield for a moment before answering. Then she shook her head. "No. We will go back to Falme," she said. "The Seanchan are routed. See there," she pointed to the harbor where fire licked up several square sails and other ships were sailing at full speed to the west. "Several ships are burning and others are fleeing. Falme appears to be liberated, though by what power I am not sure. We will go to Falme and find an inn for Megda Sedai and Maynard. They need someplace dry, warm, with hot water if they are to pull through this. Maynard especially is very close to death."

Maer nodded to several rider less mounts. "Apprentice Wise One, perhaps we could make use of some of these wetlander walking sticks. While a cruch is not good for the healthy, for the lame, it can be useful."

Maeslyn nods, her mind numb. "Very well, you and Fiznak please see to it. I will tend them and try to prepare their bandages as best I can for movement."

Fiznak nodded, suddenly anxious to be doing something. He clapped Maer on the shoulder. "Aye. We'll take care of it, Maeslyn. Come, my friend, I hope you're as good at gathering up feisty war horses as you are at fighting!"

...


Nearly two hours later, they had gathered up some mounts and other odds and ends from the battle field and were now moving back towards Falme, the two wounded carefully strapped down to some litters that Maer had constructed. Fiznak and Maer had decided to settle on some smaller more malleable mounts used by some of the Seanchan Sul'Dam. After Maer was nearly clubbed in the head by a steel-shot hoof from a rearing stallion, they had decided that the Whitecloaks' war horses were too uncontrollable and went for more tame prey.

Fiznak knew that these horses wouldn't do in a battle, but at least they had four legs that he didn't have to use. He felt suddenly tired as he watched the Seanchan ships slipping into dots on the horizon. He nudged his horse into a trot alongside Eliesanna.

"You fought well out there." He said, trying not to look too hard at the lovely woman. Her face and hair were dirty too, but for some reason it just seemed to accentuate her facial features, and her shift was covered with soot. Fiznak found himself staring at her leg and then shook his head away and coughed to himself. "Uh...I saw you bring down that rider near Maer. That was an excellent shot."

She shuddered at the memory and her face tugged into a beautiful frown. It seemed to Fiznak like the sun went down. "I'm afraid I'm not much of a fighter." She shrugged and gave a sigh. There was a pain behind her eyes. "I didn't like all that killing..." Her face grew pale at the memory and her lower lip trembled. "So much death..." She drew in a shaky breath. "Is war always like that? All the blood? The fear that the next moment might be your last? Light, how do you stand it?"

Fiznak shrugged. "In our lands, along the blight, death is as constant as the sunrise. It is as sure as the wind in the canyon. It is a daily part of life."

"You seem to have handled yourself well," Eliesanna said grimacing. "I felt like I was baggage and in the way most of the time." She swallowed and looked into the distant ocean where the Seanchan were disappearing. "I don't like feeling that defenseless, milord. So alone." Her eyes suddenly came back to him with a hungry look. "Will you teach me how to fight, Fiznak? How to use the sword to defend myself?"

Fiznak looked into those lovely eyes. Blood and ashes, how could he refuse a woman's request? Especially this woman's request? "Of course," he coughed and looked at Maesln's back riding at the front. "Although I'm not sure where our journey will take us next. But as we travel, I would be happy to teach you what I can."

She smiled at him and it seemed that the very sun rose from behind dark clouds. "Thank you," she laid a hand on his arm for a moment. "Thank you, milord."

...


The city of Falme was in chaos. Everywhere, crowds filled the streets, jabbering about the battle and the strange images that had filled the skies. Seanchan ships still burned in the harbor. What Seanchan soldiers did not escape must have scattered or were killed by mobs. Some of their bodies lay in the cobble stone streets, being picked clean by looters. Fiznak rode close to Eliesanna, blocking her view, keeping the crowds at bay.

Of the whitecloaks there was no sign. Their legion had disintegrated; their survivors fled across Toman Head.

"Here," Maeslyn said several minutes later as she rode into the yard of a wealthy inn, just north of the main market section. A sign claimed it as "The Dancing Badger". Two stable boys appeared and took their horses.

A third boy ran inside yelling for the innkeeper when he saw the wounded. The innkeeper, a serious looking man with large jowls dry-washed his hands and muttered to himself about 'just his luck'.

"Milady. These are hard times. Our rooms are already taken, I don't think--"

"Sir," Maeslyn eyed him coldly, sitting on her horse in such a way that her hand with the serpent's ring was obviously visible. "What is your name?"

The innkeeper gasped and bobbed his head. "Master Rovick, milady. I did not know that you--"

"Master Rovick is it?" Maeslyn said with an air of distain, her voice suddenly ice. "Sir! Perhaps you didn't see, but we have wounded with us! We have fought in the battle against the Seanchan dogs, and I have neither the time nor the patience to bandy words with you! I would have your best rooms made available to my friends here!"

"Yes-- Yes, milady!" he stammered.

"And see to it that your serving maids bring hot water, clean bandages, and clothing. I have the coin to pay. See to it."

"Yes milady." Master Rovick was suddenly very anxious to please. He bobbed his head again, sweat beading on his forehead. Then he ran inside the inn, shouting out orders.

"Bring them inside," Maeslyn said to Fiznak and Maer. "It looks like Master Rovick will be most accommodating."

...

The rest of the day at The Dancing Badger passed in a blur of activity for Maeslyn. She hardly saw the others. She spent most of it in her private quarters where she had Maynard and Megda put in clean beds.

Fiznak, of course, offered to help, but this was not the time for clumsy men's hands. There were bandages to change, ointments to apply, dressing and redressing of wounds. She had barked commands and the servants had jumped to obey, bringing boiling water when she called, bringing fresh clothes, fresh bandages. "Light," she muttered to herself. "I sound like snobbish noblewoman. But if it gets the job done--"

The hours passed and day slipped into evening and then into night. Finally she emerged from the room and ordered a bath with hot, perfumed water, and also a change of sensible clothing.

For far too long, she had been in that smoky, sweat covered dress and she longed to be rid of it. An hour later, feeling clean, and fleshly clothed, and so tired she forgot how hungry she was, she fell into her own bed and drifted into a long deep sleep.