Chosen (The Warrior Chronicles, 1) Read Free

dead?”
    “You’re the doctor, moron !” Rachie, another trainee, shouted. The rest of the boys smirked, shifting closer to get a look at the girl.
    “ Silence!” Sanders barked. His glare backed the boys away.
    It also made Marc flinch back.
    Sanders pulled his irritation back in and hatched it down. He didn’t need anybody pissing themselves, and this girl was in a bad way. He adopted the high, quiet voice he used with his two-year-old niece. “She has a faint pulse. Don’t you remember anything of your training about faint pulses?”
    Marc gulped and stared down at the girl. He shook his head.
    A vein began to thrum along Sanders’ neck. His manic smile did not hold any humor. What it did hold, however, was the promise of agonizing pain.
    The boys all took another step back.
    “Think, Marc,” Sanders tried. His voice sounded like a knife sliding across a whetstone. “Check for wounds.”
    Marc raised his hand to shade his face from Sanders’ glower. The other hand hovered over the girl’s torso, shaking, afraid to touch her frail skin.
    Sanders’ clenched his fists and took a steadying breath. Marc was barely on the man side of puberty, still a virgin, and had never seen anyone hurt with more than a broken arm. A half dead woman was out of his league. The kid tested way above anyone else in his class, and his teachers said he knew all the information backwards and forward. But he refused to apply his knowledge in real life, retreating into his own introverted world.
    If ever there was a time to rectify that little problem, it was now.
    Sanders smiled again. Marc’s gulp echoed.
    Sanders bent, looking over the still body. Her chest barely rose with each breath. She was covered in dirt from head to toe, but he didn’t notice any blood. No obvious injuries, either.
    Leilius scuffled up with a bucket of water. Considering his effort, one would think he carried the bottom half of a cow.  “I got the water here, Chief.”
    “It’s Commander,” Sanders enunciated as he took over the bucket with one hand. “Rag?”
    Gracas scurried up with a blue cloth. It looked like a piece of someone’s uniform. Judging by his sleeveless arm, it was his.
    With quick movements, Sanders started to gently wash the dirt from the frail limbs. As the sludge rolled away, he noticed her skin color, pale where it wasn’t red.  A foreigner. A distant foreigner at that. She looked about mid-twenties, if he was any judge.
    He continued with his treatment, washing everything in sight, and emptied half the bucket over her filthy head. Other than a few scratches, however, she was devoid of visible injuries or bruising. And he couldn’t help but notice she had more muscle development than was normal for a female.
    “Help me remove her clothing,” Sanders said as he lifted the bottom of her cover.
    Marc’s face turned bright red. “Are you sure?”
    Through clenched teeth, Sanders answered, “If you don’t start following orders, I am going to finish with her, and then beat you senseless. You get me? Now, help-me-remove-her-dress.”
    Marc reached for the filthy garment with shaking hands, gingerly lifting it past her groin. The girl was bare underneath, and Marc strangled a petrified groan as everyone else gasped.
    “Evacuate!” Sanders barked, clearing the space in seconds.
    They’d all been on the receiving end of Sanders’ displeasure once or twice, and while looking at a naked girl was high on the list of very important things to see , he was pretty sure it ranked low on the list of ways not to get noticed . As well it should. Sanders would not hesitate to punch out a few more bruises.
    As Marc worked off the rest of the fabric, Sanders continued cleaning, not finding anything of note. That was, until they got to the torso. Her skin sunk between each rib. Starved.
    “She needs food and water. Nutrients,” Sanders whispered, covering her as a list of needs raced through his head. “Get a clean rag and dribble water