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assigning five healers to oversee them, and
the space was so full you could barely move
through it.
Yrene hurried onward, mindful of the
debris scattered on the tower stair. She’d
nearly snapped her neck yesterday slipping on
a piece of fallen wood.
The groans of the injured reached her long
before she entered the great hall, the doors
flung open to reveal row after row of soldiers,
from the khaganate and Anielle alike. The
healers didn’t have cots for all, so many had
been laid on bedrolls. When those had run out,
cloaks and blankets piled over cold stone had
been used.
Not enough—not enough supplies, and not
enough healers. They should have brought
more from the rest of the host.
Yrene rolled up her sleeves, aiming for the
wash station near the doors. Several of the