*Several days earlier*
Roland sighed heavily as he finished searching yet another grove of trees for any of the herbs. No luck. Everywhere he'd been over the past months was barren of what he needed. He'd searched further and further Southwest and now was at the edge of the forest. Beyond him lay scrubland, and according to his maps, desert beyond that. Nothing of value to him grew there.
"Another dead end, Buck." He walked to where he'd tied the horse who'd become his constant companion. Buck raised his head from his grazing to look at Roland. "What do we do now?"
He had gathered precious little despite his long search. Were the herbs that rare, or was he that bad at searching for them? No, it wasn't just him. Every village healer he'd asked had claimed a shortage of herbs as a reason not to sell him much, if any. Either they were all in on it together, or there was some sort of problem.
A blight didn't make much sense. The herbs were so varied in species that it would be unbelievable for a single disease to affect them all, especially with the trees, grasses, and bushes being... actually, Roland didn't know what the landscape was supposed to look like. But nobody he spoke to had mentioned any other plants dying or being affected.
Changing course back into the forest from its edge, Roland kept a sharp eye. He didn't know exactly how long he should search before giving up. Doctor Sherman had warned him it might be a long journey. Roland should have asked exactly how long he meant. Suddenly, he worried that he had taken too long. He'd been gone a couple of months. He'd hate for Mrs. Sherman to be anxious about him.
He mounted Buck and turned him back towards the interior of the forest at a slow walk. He considered whether to keep searching or head home to the city. "What do you think? Should we head home? Maybe you're the wiser of the two of us."
Buck snuffled his agreement.
"Ok then, what say we cut East before heading North to meet the road? At least we'll cover a bit of new ground on the way. Maybe we'll finally get lucky and spot something." He tried to keep up a cheery tone to smother the pessimism he felt.
It had been a fun, if slightly intimidating, journey at the start. Roland couldn't remember ever leaving the city before this. Striking out, with pack and saddlebags, had been a great adventure. He was saddle-sore after the first day. And the second. And every day for the first week or two. Eventually he'd warmed to the fact that riding meant he didn't have to walk the long distances over open country and through thick forests, but the journey wore on him.
It was lonely, so he'd taken up having long, deep conversations with Buck. The horse probably knew Roland better than anyone in the world now, so patient a listener was he. Roland never stayed long in any villages or towns he encountered, except to make his inquiries about the things he needed. Could he buy any, and if not, where could he find some?
The people were generally kind, if perplexed by his demeanor. Maybe his city manners were different than what countryside people expected, or maybe they just didn't get many visitors at the outlying towns and villages.
"Yes, it's time to get home. I don't think I can avoid it any longer." If he'd counted the days correctly, his twenty-first birthday was coming soon. "I don't want to go, though."
Every young man in Klain and the surrounding townships had to offer one year of their life in military service and training to the kingdom. He could have volunteered when he turned sixteen, but he'd put it off longer and longer. Medical training was more important, he justified.
But the deadline to begin was a man's twenty-first birthday. To fail to present himself on time would be tantamount to treason, and abandonment of duty. He had no choice in the matter, despite his reluctance.
It wasn't as if Klain were at war. There hadn't been war in two hundred years, but the leaders of the city maintained that the way to prevent war was constant readiness. After the year of training, each man was released from service and issued a ceremonial but functional sword to keep in his home. Continued occasional training after that was not required, but was heavily encouraged.
Very few men spent their entire lives in the military, mostly just high ranking officers and administrators who organized training and supplies, but if war were to come, every man in the city would be called up to fight.
The deterrence value of having the entire city and surrounding area be functionally one enormous army had worked well for a long time, and peace had reigned in the region.
"It's just excessive, Buck." Complained Roland. "Everything's peaceful, and if I can become a full doctor I wouldn't fight anyway, I'd be tending wounded. I don't see why they can't make an exception. A year is a long time."
He paused. Buck wasn't listening to him anymore. His ears were swiveling quickly, trying to pinpoint something his keen hearing picked up that Roland hadn't yet. Probably a rabbit or other small animal. They hadn't seen anything large in a long time, despite the fact that deer were supposed to be common in the forest.
Maybe Roland's conversations with Buck scared them away.
Buck stopped and shook his mane.
Something was off. Roland remained silent, looking to see or hear what his horse obviously worried about. Should he dismount and hide, or stay atop Buck's back in case escape from something became necessary?
He mentally conceded that maybe soldier training would teach him skills like this that could be useful to him.
Suddenly, before he'd made his decision, a movement caught his eye. A wolf, no, several wolves, moved through the brush ahead of him. Thankfully they were upwind and didn't seem to have caught the scent of the potential prey that Buck and Roland constituted.
Roland had never seen live wolves this closely. People in the city sometimes used pelts for carpets or decoration, but this was something entirely different. They were not tame and friendly like the pets some had, or even shy and withdrawn like the stray street dogs he occasionally encountered.
They snarled as they moved through the brush, snapping at nothing, but focused on an unseen goal. Roland held his breath as they quickly passed beyond his sight, turning for the North. He hoped they did not pick up his scent or Buck's on their journey. He swallowed in trepidation. A large animal like Buck might make them a good meal if caught, and Roland was no fighter.
Hopefully they would stay their course and find easier prey to satisfy their obvious hunger.
Roland shuddered and gently nudged Buck, whose ears had finally eased from their tense state and resumed a relaxed but vigilant slow swiveling for signs of other problems. The horse began walking, slowly at first, then at a comfortable pace, eager to get further away so long as the movement didn't attract attention.
The next few minutes passed in near-silence as both horse and rider breathed and listened to the oddly still and quiet forest. It made Roland nervous. No breeze to ruffle the leaves, no birdsong to break the tension.
Ahead, through a break in the trees, Roland saw smoke. A village? Usually a village had more than one cooking fire going. But people, nonetheless. Maybe they would know where to find herbs, Roland thought cheerfully, setting aside his nerves from the close encounter with the wolves. He steered Buck in that direction.
Coming closer, he could make out a single cottage in the woods. The home was East-facing, meaning the horse and rider were approaching from the rear. Raised voices could be heard and Roland pulled back on the reins. The accent was one Roland had never heard in his travels.
"You let those things loose!" A gravelly voice yelled.
"Wasn't my fault, Dwayne, it was him!" came the answer, "He knew we wasn't supposedta let them out until we gave them a target. We'll go catchem, don't worry."
"You'd better! Do you know how much work Boss put into all this? Every one of 'em counts." The gravely voice called Dwayne seemed somewhat mollified by the promise to correct the problem.
"Where was you anyway?"
"Dealin with that family what lived here. Couldn't have 'em in the way no more. They knew too much, that girl was a snooper." Dwayne despised snooping above all else.
"They dead now?"
"Just 'bout. Left 'em to bleed out a half klick East. Maybe our wolves'll catch scent of the blood and turn 'round for an easy meal."
Roland's concern intensified and he wondered what to do. The situation seemed serious, and those people needed medical help if they were still alive. Who were these bandits? What was their connection to the wolves?
Pulling gently on the reins, Roland backed Buck away from the cottage until they wouldn't be readily seen by anyone walking around it. He dismounted and led the horse in a roundabout circle of the home. An unexpected gap in the underbrush gave him a clear view of a group of five men in a makeshift corral beside the cottage.
They stood together, all dressed the same as if in uniform. It wasn't a soldier's uniform like Klain's, but a light sandy color, with a scarves covering the head and half the faces of the wearers. Instead of long swords, each held a javelin-like pole and had a curved blade sheathed on their belts. They were like no weapons Roland had ever seen.
He ducked out of view, and after a short distance, remounted Buck and headed due East, searching for the family that had been mentioned by these mysterious men.
Coming further into the woods, Buck grunted deep in his throat and shook his head in displeasure. "Smell blood? That's what we need to head toward. Please, boy." Roland spoke quietly and patted the horse's neck soothingly.
Blowing air from his nostrils, the animal complied. Within a matter of seconds, the pair entered a small clearing where a grisly sight awaited.
A man, a woman, and two children lay in pools of blood. The adults' hands were tied behind their backs as they lay facedown on the ground. Roland had seen plenty of blood, but this carnage affected him in a different way. It was senseless and evil, not accidental. He jumped off the horse and ran to check each person, starting with the smallest.
The little girl still breathed, shallowly. As Roland gently turned her over to check her face, her eyelids fluttered.
"Hello, little one. I won't hurt you. Can you hear me?" Roland's voice was soft but firm. He received a faint nod in return.
"I don't want you to try to talk much right now, just a little. Can you tell me where it hurts?"
"Tummy," came the tiny voice in reply.
"Ok, thank you. Can you tell me your name so I know who I'm talking to?" Dr. Sherman used people's names whenever possible, especially when they were in critical or semi-conscious condition. He said it kept them from giving up as easily.
"Abby."
"Abby, my name is Roland. I'm going to look at your tummy now." He pulled away torn fabric to reveal a gash across the girl's midsection. From the pattern, he guessed it was one of those wickedly curved blades. He hoped it hadn't been rusty. Rust in a cut could make it so much worse.
Roland quickly cleaned the wound from his water skin and held a kerchief to her stomach to slow the blood.
"Abby?" She opened her eyes a little. She'd groaned once during his cleaning but had otherwise stayed still. "May I have your hand?" She lifted one and extended it to him. He placed it on the bandage.
"I need you to be so strong right now and use your hand to press here for a minute. I need to check on your family but I'll be back as soon as I can, do you understand? Just push your hand right here even if it hurts." Abby nodded once more.
Roland quickly checked the larger boy next to her. He was gone, and had been for some minutes at least. So was the woman. He closed each of their eyes as he moved on.
Coming to the man, Roland turned him over and placed one hand on his chest to feel for breath or a heartbeat, and with the other felt the man's forehead for warmth.
He was surprised to feel movement, and a flurry of hope stirred. "Sir? Can you hear me? I'm a doctor, almost, and I'm here to help." The man's eyes slid open.
"Help... family. Children."
"Your daughter Abby is still alive. I've cleaned her wound and am tending to you now." Roland mentioned only Abby to give the man something to live for. There would be time for the man to grieve loss later. He hoped.
"Army... Klain. Attack." Roland didn't understand. Did the man want the Klain army to come fight the bandits? It was probable that shock had set in, blurring the man's judgment.
"I'm here to take care of you. You can tell me what you need to later." Roland assured. He moved his hands to begin checking the abdominal wounds of the man. This cut was deeper. From the blood, they had miraculously missed major blood vessels, but nicked the intestines.
There was nothing for Roland to do. He had never tried surgery on his own and didn't even own the instruments that would be needed. This kind of death was the worst he knew of, the slow leaking of intestinal fluid into the rest of the abdomen. It was like being burned with acid inside. And the man was in the end stages as he lay there in the grass next to his slain wife and son.
"Sir, can you still hear me?" Roland asked hopelessly.
"Take Abby. Warn city." Final words given with enormous effort, the man's eyes closed for the last time.
With a deep steadying breath, Roland quickly turned back to the little girl. There was no time to care for the dead when the dying were present. She breathed slowly but evenly, and somehow had kept her hand in place to slow the bleeding.
Roland heard a howl from a distance. Had the wolves picked up the scent of blood on a change in the wind? There was no time to find out. Against his medical judgment which said never to move a patient like this, but using his common sense that to stay was to die, Roland picked up the little girl.
"Buck, come." The horse obeyed. It took a moment, but Roland was able to lift the girl up into the saddle and climb up behind her. She had enough consciousness to cling to the saddle horn and not fall, but it was fading.
"Hya!" Roland turned Northeast, to the main road and to Klain.