“This way!” she cried, backing her horse down the opening between the soldiers at her back. The healers would come to her, as they had discussed in planning as they rode.

“This way!” yelled Briar. Riverdancer, her translator, and Jimut were shouting the same thing in their own languages. There was a ripple among the eastern edge of the column of soldiers: They beckoned the galloping soldiers to them. Behind their racing allies came the enemy, several hundred Yanjingyi swordsmen and archers.

Rosethorn grabbed one of their wounded as he came through the opening in their front ranks, dragging him across her saddle with a care for the arrow that jutted from his back. A soldier ran forward to seize the reins to the wounded man’s frantic horse. Briar grabbed the bridle of the next mount. The rider was able to stay upright; she had a sword cut that bled into her eye.

Healers ran forward to take Rosethorn’s wounded soldier from her saddle. “Carefully,” she cautioned them. “He’s got an arrow in his back.” They nodded and carried the soldier facedown to a wagon.

Rosethorn looked for Briar. He had turned his mount over to a soldier and kept his medicine packs. He began to examine those with lighter injuries as they came in, mostly cleaning sword cuts. Riverdancer’s translator stood beside him, a roll of bandages in her hand.

One by one everyone on the opening in their lines caught one of the wounded and guided them to the healers. Once they were relieved of their charges, they returned for more wounded, if any came, and to fight. The Yanjingyi archers were raining crossbow bolts into their ranks.

Rosethorn glanced at the returning warriors who rode to Parahan. One was a dusty Soudamini. She held a bloody sword, but showed no injuries herself. She spoke rapidly to her twin as the small army’s archers shot into the oncoming enemy troops.

Rosethorn turned at the sound of a cry and ran to help two wounded on one horse as they came through the opening in the lines. The air around her filled with the sergeants’ yells for archers to take aim, then shoot. After that she was too busy to keep track of what took place along the battle lines.

As a plant mage who had also studied healing, she had learned her fair share of basic surgery. Riverdancer came to help as she began to remove arrows from the flesh of the wounded. It was nervous work. To stay calm, Rosethorn focused only on her assistants. She had been known to cut while a temple was falling down around her. It was a useful skill to have that day. They had no sooner cared for Souda’s wounded when those hurt in the more recent fight with the Yanjingyi soldiers began to come in.

Finally Rosethorn stopped to catch her breath. She hadn’t realized that it was already dark. Someone shoved a large pottery mug of tea, heavily buttered and sweetened, into her hand. She gulped it thirstily.

“How are you managing?”

She looked up and blinked at Souda. “Well enough.” Her voice came out a croak. “How goes the fighting?”

Souda shrugged. “The enemy has retreated to the other side of this ridge. Parahan split his warriors. Half of the archers are up there.” She pointed to the top of the hill. “They have them pinned down, I think, but it’s too dark to tell…. What’s that?”

Over the hill a greenish light bloomed brightly enough to show the archers Souda had mentioned. Rosethorn finished the mug of tea, forcing herself to stay calm. That green light was mage work. None of the mages in their small army was capable of that kind of spell and neither she nor Briar did magic that cast a light.

“I’ll go look,” she heard Briar say. “If they have willow or oak or gingko on them, I’ll put a stop to that.”

“Briar!” she cried, but he’d taken a saddleless horse and ridden off around the side of the hill. The hill itself was too steep for a rider.

They were bringing another wounded victim from the battlefield. This one had a gash down his chest. If she didn’t clean it and get it sewn, he would die of infection. She could treat these people, or she could go after her boy.

An open sword cut that bared ribs had to come first. Briar was sixteen and a man in the view of the world. She raised a prayer to Yanna Healtouch for the warrior before her and to the Green Man for Briar’s safety. Then she got to work.

Riverdancer sent her off much later; she didn’t know what time. No one had seen Briar. They promised to look for him if she would only rest. Rosethorn hesitated, but her hands were shaking; she needed food and a break. The tents were up, including one for the healers. She lay on a mattress there and told herself to wake in two hours, no matter how tired she might be.

Someone was shaking her awake. It was Jimut. Seeing the look on his face, she struggled to her feet. Then she followed him at a run. He took her straight to the healers’ tent.

Two assistants were caring for a warrior by lamplight. One of them cleaned his bruised face. The other was carefully trying to cut his leather breeches away from the gash in his thigh.

The warrior was Briar.

Jimut was talking to her, but his words could have been thunder for all she understood him. For a moment she thought she would go to pieces. Her bones felt loose and watery. Her father’s ghost shouted in her ear, “Don’t you come the pretty princess, Niva! Get your arm in there and ease that calf out or I’ll give you so many stripes you’ll sleep on your belly for a month! There’s a chamber pot because I won’t let you so much as go to the privy, so do as I bid!”

Thanks, Da, she thought as she stepped over to the cot. She felt for Briar’s pulse — strong — and his warmth — colder than she liked, but he was wounded. She glanced at his thigh. The healer cutting the leather breeches off was carefully pulling them away from the wound. It was deep and dirty.