From Darkness Won by Jill Williamson Page A

until she finished assisting the wounded and was safely indoors.
    “There!” Gren pointed past Vrell, down the next row. A young soldier lay on his back, writhing.
    Vrell ran toward him. Upon seeing his condition, she bit back a cry. He had been hit with a mace in the neck and chest. Blood had completely soaked his scarlet Kingsguard cape to a deep maroon. Vrell crouched at his side.
    The man’s eyes focused on hers. Deep brown eyes, pleading for help. He sucked in short, strangled breaths and grunts, as if trying to speak. From the wound on his neck, Vrell feared he could not. His entire body trembled as if he were freezing. The shock of pain to his body had taken control. Vrell began to tremble herself as she considered what, if anything, she could do to help.
    Gren’s footsteps approached. “Sorry, my lady. I can’t keep up. I’m queasy most mornings and I— Cetheria’s hand! What happened to him?”
    Vrell spun around, fixing the deepest scowl she could muster. This man would not live, but there was no reason he need know. “He fought bravely, Gren—that is what happened. Now, hold your tongue and get me some fresh linen.” Vrell turned back to the solider and smoothed his sweaty brown hair back off his head. “Do not try to speak. Just blink. Once for yes, twice for no, all right?”
    The man blinked once.
    “Good. I know you are in pain, but try to relax and lie still. You are bleeding. I would like to stop that, but it might hurt some. Are you ready?”
    One blink.
    “Very well.” Vrell took a bundle of linen from Gren and tore it in two. She rolled half into a wad and handed it to Gren. “Put pressure on his chest.”
    “Me?”
    “Now, please.”
    Gren crouched beside Vrell, her black skirt puffing around her. Arms shaking, she set the linen on the man’s chest and pressed down with her fingertips.
    “Harder.”
    Gren’s hands shifted a bit. Vrell pushed her hand over Gren’s to show how much pressure.
    The man groaned. His body stiffened.
    “Shh. You are very brave.” Vrell laid her linen over his neck and pressed down lightly, concerned about his breathing. “Are you thirsty?”
    The man’s face turned pink. One blink.
    “Good. We’ll get you a drink in a moment.”
    The man sucked in short gasps. Vrell lifted the linen from his neck, uncertain where to press to stop the bleeding and not cut off his air. She pressed down with two fingers where the blood seemed to pool. Better.
    She reached for her water jug with her free hand, wedged it between her knees, and pulled out the stopper. “Here is a drink.” She tipped the jug over the man’s lips. His chin quivered as he lapped the water. “Tell me, sir, do you know Arman, the One God?”
    The man blinked once.
    Joyous heart. Arman would save his soul, then, if she failed to save his body. “I would like to ask Him to ease your pain. Would that be acceptable?”
    The man gurgled an intelligible response. His eyebrows sank, and he blinked.
    Vrell took hold of his hand and closed her eyes. He squeezed until her fingers pinched. “Arman, You are aware of this man’s pain. We ask for Your healing touch on his body. We know You are able to mend these wounds.” The man’s grip relaxed. Vrell forced her voice to remain even, though tears tightened her throat. “We also know You will choose what is best. Bring this man comfort and strength. Be glorified in his life. May it be so.”
    Vrell opened her eyes. The man’s eyes remained closed. He had stopped trembling. She laid his hand over his chest and set hers on top of Gren’s.
    “Thank you, Gren. That will do.”
    Gren pulled her hands away. “Is he dead?”
    “I’m afraid so.”
    Gren sucked in a short breath. “I knew him. Not his name. But up until a few weeks ago, he served night duty between the great hall and the kitchens.”
    “And he joined the Kingsguard?”
    “Captain Loam assigned him to personal guard. The man was mighty proud. I heard him bragging to his