Chapter 34Sylvriss’s eyes opened in alarm and dismay as she looked at the group of men trudging wearily back into the camp. She wrapped her arms about her child protectively.
Since news had reached the camp that the battle had been joined, she had been pacing to and fro fretfully. Her responsibility to her child, and her deep need to be with her people, both Rgoric’s Fyordyn and the Muster, shifted and changed relentlessly, and like ill-matched horses yoked together they twisted and turned her as they rampaged through the day.
Tirilen, bloodstained and strangely vital, had dismissed her from the groaning butchery of the Hospital Tent.
‘You can do nothing here,’ she had said without pausing in her work. ‘We were prepared and you are not. You’ll burden us.’ There was no reproach or bitter
