Peter knelt over Caspian. He'd called for a stretcher, but none was forthcoming. The Commodore's son was in bitter shape.
One of his eyes was gone, and his face was badly torn across that side, with clawmarks marring his features. The bleeding was intense. Peter pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and tried to staunch the bloodflow.
"HELP US!" He cried again. He had no authority over the Cetoans, but surely they would obey when they saw it was Caspian on the ground?
Unwilling to wait any longer, Peter tore his shirt to tie the kerchief in place and hooked one arm under Caspian's knees. The other, he put behind the man's back, and, fueled by adrenaline, rose to his feet.
He cried out in miserable pain and nearly dropped the man he meant to save. His ribs were screaming. He fell back to one knee, knowing that he wouldn't be able to make it a few steps carrying Caspian, let alone all the way to the infirmary.
He looked around. The battle was raging, and no one could spare him any attention. It was madness. Clearly, Cetoans had not been trained for this kind of warfare, and were losing their heads.
If only–He paused for a moment, his eyes flickering back down to Caspian. "Stay here just a moment. I'll be right back. I hope."
Peter ran into the middle of the danger, towards the giantess.
She was valiantly holding as still as she could, still bound hand and foot. He ran around to look at her face. She was bleeding, but conscious.
"I want to help you," He said as her eyes focused on him. "I'm going to cut your bonds. Please don't panic or hurt the men. If you're able, I need you to carry a man to the infirmary. The doctor there will be able to help you too, I hope."
His mouth pressed into a serious line. Dr. Sherman's house was probably the closest designated infirmary. Mayra and Mrs. Sherman were his assistants, but he dearly hoped they were inside, sheltered from the carnage being wrought by the gargoyles.
The giantess nodded slightly, and Peter rushed to fulfill his word.
Running back around her head and towards her hands, he marveled at the thick vines which had been used to tie her. He'd never seen plants like that. They must come from another world.
It took longer than he wanted to cut through the vines, but he did have to stop twice to fight off a pair of gargoyles jealous of his proximity to their meal.
At last, he was able to make some headway and loose the woman's hands. She, to her great credit, did not make any sudden movements, as tempting as it would have been to do so. She gingerly moved an arm to the front of her, where she could see what she was doing, and brought her mighty hand down to squash a gargoyle that was fighting a Cetoan.
Peter barely observed the action, as he was already to her feet, methodically yet urgently cutting through more of the thick vines. He wondered how injured the giantess had been by the fall, and landing on the hard square. The cobblestone area was absolutely shattered by the impact.
Were her bones strong enough to withstand such treatment? Was he freeing her to no avail? Perhaps she would be unable to move much at all even without being bound. Her injuries could be extensive, even fatal.
Peter had heard Mayra talk about internal bleeding in a patient before. The giantess could be in a world of trouble.
With that thought, he managed to break through a bond, freeing the rest of them to loosen and fall away. The giantess moved slowly, with enormous self-control considering she was being slowly devoured by dozens of gargoyles chewing at every part of her exposed flesh.
She swatted several down to the ground before looking around and finding safe places for her hands to push to get to her feet.
Peter imagined trying to stand up from the ground while surrounded by a bunch of scurrying mice without stepping on or hurting any of them. It was humbling to be the size of a mouse to the giantess.
"Here! He's here!" Peter ran back to Caspian, who was eerily still in the snow. Was he breathing?
The giantess bent, with a wincing groan that hurt the humans' ears. Despite her injuries, she tried to pick the Commodore's son up as gently as she could, holding him flat in one hand while she swatted away another gargoyle with the other.
"This way!" Peter could hardly run with his ribs crying out for aid, but he hobbled quickly in the correct direction. His slowness allowed the giantess to pick her steps as carefully as she could. The streets were wide enough for her to barely fit, if she placed her feet just so.
Sliding sideways here and there, she did her best not to bump into anything important. Several gardens were trampled by her feet, but Peter reasoned that she would have to get out of the city sooner or later, and moving her out of the city center was a step in the right direction, both literally and figuratively.
The swarm of gargoyles followed her, and the Cetoans who could pursue them did so. Peter bit back some bitterness that they could pay attention now, but wouldn't listen to him before.
He ducked a swooping figure and pressed onward. It was a grueling journey to make the few blocks to the Shermans' home. Every step was another jarring pain, and he continually looked over his shoulder to make sure the giantess was all right and hadn't dropped Caspian in her fight to keep the gargoyles at bay.
He couldn't have said exactly how long it took to reach the infirmary, but he finally saw it through the whirling snow.
"Here! Put him here and let me take him inside! I will send you help!" Peter shouted.
The giantess squinted, bending carefully to place Caspian down at Peter's feet. He was thankful the woman was so cooperative, but then, he had freed her, and the humans were valiantly defending her from the gargoyles.
It made sense for her to listen to them as best she was able.
Peter knelt. Caspian had not regained consciousness. He couldn't even be absolutely certain the man was still alive, and he didn't want to wait to check. Hauling the man up into his arms and sucking in a sharp, painful breath, Peter lurched towards the door.
He lifted a boot to kick at it awkwardly, unable to knock with his hands.
The door opened only a crack at first, and then flew open at the sight of him. Dr. Sherman ushered him inside, slamming and barring the door behind them.
"Lay him there," The doctor calmly directed, getting to work. Mrs. Sherman bustled in with a clean towel full of freshly washed and boiled instruments.
"Will he be all right?" Peter asked anxiously, wincing and holding his side. The pain he'd been trying to ignore was now far worse than it had been before.
Dr. Sherman spared him a glance.
"Mayra!" He called, and she appeared suddenly from another room.
"Yes, Dr… Peter!" She cried, looking him up and down. He hadn't taken a chance to look over himself, and made a face. He was covered in Caspian's blood, and was dirty and worn-looking from battle.
"Yes, it's Peter. I suspect he has sprained or broken ribs. Check and bind them for me while I tend this patient, will you please?" Dr. Sherman calmly kept his gaze focused on his primary patient.
"When you get him stabilized…" Peter gasped out. "You have another patient outside."
"Bring him in," The doctor said with irritation.
"She. I can't bring her in. She's a giant. And she's being currently chewed on by gargoyles, so don't let Mrs. Sherman or any other women outside." Peter ached from talking, but his message was delivered.
Mayra took his hand and led him to another room. He recognized it as the same room he'd woken up in, two years earlier, when he'd been injured in the last war. A couple of injured Klain soldiers already occupied two of the cots in the room. Both were sleeping, and Mayra ignored their presence.
"Shirt off," She commanded. Peter's eyebrows flew upward despite the danger of the world around them.
"Slow down, there. We're not quite married yet," He chastised her. "My virtue is very important to me."
Mayra's face flushed a very attractive crimson, but her expression remained serious. She reached up and began removing his armor. He froze, struck by the intimacy of the moment. Her hands seemed confident as she remained in a medical frame of mind.
Her fingers faltered slightly when it came to undoing his shirt buttons, and both his hands instinctively came up to cover hers. She blushed deeper still in the lamplight, shaking off his grasp to continue her nursing.
In the next moment she gasped, and he blinked in confusion, following her eyeline to his ribs.
A large black bruise marred his right side, and he suddenly felt the urge to vomit.