11.01 Death of a Hero Read Free Page B

away, a man was moaning. He tried to turn his head but a sudden flash of agony greeted the movement and he grunted in pain.
    He raised his hand to his forehead and felt a thick bandage there. Then the memory began to come back to him.
    The battle with the Wargals. He remembered that. Remembered the club that had caught him on the side of the head. That must be the cause of the flaring headache he now felt. And he remembered a sergeant. What was his name? David? No! Daniel. Daniel had saved his life.
    Then he was overcome with sadness as he remembered the words of the litter bearer. Daniel was dead.
    How long had he been here? He remembered that as the medical orderlies had lifted him onto the litter, he had lost consciousness. It seemed that it had happened only minutes ago. He tried to rise and the headache speared him behind the eyes again. Once more, he grunted in pain, and this time a face came into his field of vision, looking down at him.
    “You’re awake,” the orderly said, and smiled encouragingly at him. He reached down and laid a palm on Halt’s forehead, testing for fever. Seemingly satisfied that there was none, he touched the bandage lightly, making sure it was still tight.
    “How . . . long . . .” Halt’s voice was slurred and his throat was thick and dry. The orderly held a cup of cool water to his lips, raised his head carefully and allowed him to drink. The water felt wonderful. He gulped at it and choked, coughing so that water bubbled out of his mouth. The action of coughing set his head aching again and he closed his eyes in pain.
    “Still feeling it, I see?” the orderly said. “Well, the healers said there’s no serious damage. You just need a few more days’ rest to let the headache settle down.”
    “How long . . . have I been here?”
    The orderly pursed his lips. “Let’s see. They brought you in the evening before yesterday, so I’d say about thirty-six hours.”
    Thirty-six hours! He’d lain here asleep for a day and a half! A sudden chill of fear struck through him.
    “Did we win?” he said. He remembered that the Wargals had retreated ahead of Daniel’s attack, but that might have been a localized event.
    The orderly smiled, nodding his head. “Oh yes indeed. Morgarath and his brutes were thoroughly beaten. Someone referred to it as a rout. I hear you had a little to do with that, as a matter of fact?”
    He added the last curiously, as if interested to hear more about Halt’s battlefield escapades. But the Ranger waved that aside.
    “So Morgarath is retreating again?” he asked.
    “Yes. The cavalry are pursuing the enemy, of course. But the rest of the army is still here. Not for long, though. They’ll be moving out soon.”
    “Moving out where?”
    “Disbanding. The war’s over. The men will be going back to their farms and their families. And none too soon.”
    Farms and families. The words stirred another memory in Halt’s mind. Daniel had spoken of a wife and baby. And Halt had promised to help them. But now he realized that he had no idea where they were, and if the army was really disbanding, he might never find them. He sat up without thinking and swung his legs over the side of the bed, then doubled over as the crippling pain hit him. The orderly tried to restrain him.
    “Please! Lie still, Ranger! You need to rest.”
    But Halt seized his forearm and managed to stand, swaying, by the bed. He blinked several times. The pain eased a little. But it was still there.
    “I don’t have time,” he said. “Get me something for this headache. I’ve got to find out where he lived.”
    He remembered that the men he had been sent to lead were a mixed group from Seacliff, Aspienne and Culway. The soldiers around him when he forced his way through to the front rank had worn the crest of a black badger on their tunics. He had seen the same crest on Daniel’s. He had no idea what group marched under that banner, so he headed for the command tent, and the