Sword Masters by Selina Rosen Page A

three others had all come back from the front wounded. Two of them had died.
    "It must be getting bad," Tarius said more than asked the two Swordmasters.
    Both men looked at Jena.
    "Jena is no faint heart, Arvon," Tarius said knowing what he was thinking.
    "I am aware of that," Arvon said, but he wasn't about to fill her in on all the gory details. Not when very soon Tarius would be slung into the middle of it. Unless he was mistaken, there would be no internship for these boys. They would be shipped right to the front where their skill both with weapons and leadership were needed. "You, you know what war is, Tarius. You have lived through the horror. I really hadn't. I'd been in a couple of battles. The kind you hear about—the glorious battles where everyone dies clean, and in an afternoon the battle is over. This just goes on and on and on. I don't have to tell you, Tarius; you know what I'm talking about. I was sorely prepared. I'm still not prepared." He lowered his voice. "I don't know if I can go back."
    Tarius whispered also. "Then why should you go back? Stay here and train men to fight. You have done your part. Find yourself a mate; fall in love. Live before you have to die. Who would deny you that?"
    Arvon nodded then smiled at him. "I could have loved you, Tarius."
    Tarius laughed. "Ah, you are full of the fever. You could never love me! I'm a filthy wild little bugger. There is no air of refinement about me. You, my friend, need a gentle man."
    Jena left to tell her father that Arvon and Brakston were there, and that Arvon was wounded. Tarius stayed with Arvon while Brakston went to find the surgeon who had apparently gone home for dinner.
    "So tell me how you saved the king, Sir Tarius," Arvon said. He lay back on the soft bed. "Damn! That feels good, now go on tell me." Tarius told him the story, and Arvon laughed. "You are indeed worthy of the title, Sir."
    "The title annoys me," Tarius said.
    "And Jena?" Arvon asked with a smile. "How did you win her favor?"
    "Apparently by trying over and over again to get rid of her," Tarius said in a far away tone.
    Arvon laughed again then coughed. "I will have to remember that one."
    Tarius grew tired of leaving her friend there to suffer with no help. It wasn't as if she knew nothing of caring for wounds. She got up and started taking Arvon's pants off.
    "Tarius! And you an almost married man, too," Arvon teased.
    "Would you stop it." Tarius laughed. The pants came off, and she was no longer laughing. The dressings were filthy and stunk like death.
    She carefully removed the filthy dressing. The arrow had gone through close to the bone. It had been removed properly, but improper care and improper cleaning had left the wound to become a mass of oozing green and yellow puss with red leech lines running in every direction. She didn't say anything. She just went to the sink and drew a bucket of water, grabbed some soap and a rag and started cleaning the wound. Arvon didn't complain that it hurt him, and Tarius knew this was a bad sign.
    "It's bad isn't it?" Arvon asked.
    "Well, it isn't pretty," Tarius said managing a smile. "Don't they cauterize wounds on the front?"
    "There's no building a fire out there. There's nothing but rain day in and day out. Besides there's never time. There aren't enough medics, and very damn little in the way of medical supplies," Arvon said. He sighed and added. "I don't even know why we're fighting."
    "That's because you haven't seen what the Amalites do to a land. No one who doesn't conform to their perverted rules is allowed to live. People like you and me are killed first because we are immoral, and don't conform to their idea of 'normal.' They are like locusts; they creep in at your borders eating at your land, and before you know it there is nothing left of you. They send their filthy missionaries ahead first. People ignore them because they seem harmless. The missionaries look for the lost ones in a community—the ones that don't have