The Fifth Dawn by Cory Herndon

pain, it also expanded with his diaphragm as he breathed, and remained fast against his hide, even as he slipped off the side of the bed and straightened to his full imposing height.
    “The nim’s claws have proven to be quite resistant to our healing magic, my Kha,” Shonahn said, flashing teeth in an expression of frustration, “That’s why I had to rely on those stitches, by the way, and the bandages. They’re of Lumengrid manufacture, I found them on my travels. I ordered several lots for distribution to the healer’s corps while I was there. Come to think about it, they’re late. But what do you think? They work, do they not?”
    “We did not need stitches … or vedalken trickery … to heal—”
    “Yes, you did,” the healer interrupted, “And you must listen for a change, my Kha, to your elder. Grant me that courtesy.”
    Raksha nodded.
    “You were unconscious when they brought you in from the battlefield. Every binding spell I attempted simply flashed into nothing. You were bleeding to death. The nim have some enchantment—something—that I can’t counter.” She turned and busied herself with putting away her medicines. “The bandages are a stopgap measure, and will let your body heal the wound on its own. I despised turning to the slavemongers for aid, but our losses … many more warriors will die without this ‘vedalken trickery.’” She bowed her head. “My Kha, I must be blunt.”
    “You usually are.”
    Shonahn nodded in respect. “You must let Yshkar take command of the troops. You know he desires command, even if he won’t tell you directly.” Shonahn left her medical kit and placed a hand gently on Raksha’s shoulder. “And our people cannot afford to lose you. The bandages can only do so much.”
    He thanked the gods once more that the old nurse had survived so many campaigns at his side. Her counsel, even when he didn’t agree with it, always prompted him to find a better solution on his own. The Kha doubted he’d be the leader he was if not for Shonahn, and her recent return from journeys abroad had been welcome. Though ostensibly a sabbatical, the wise old leonin had acted as an ambassador with some scattered tribes, forming trade pacts with other humans, goblins, and others that had never met a leonin before.
    Still, some of her more outlandish claims were best taken with a grain of salt. In her later years, Shonahn had developed a habit of embellishing her stories for effect. Or maybe he’d just started noticing. She claimed to have seen, for example, a pit in the Oxidda Mountains that went all the way to the center of the world.
    Whatever her proclivity for fanciful stories, her advice hadnever steered him wrong. Raksha placed his paw over Shonahn’s. “I have already considered it,” he said. “But I cannot return to Taj Nar. They drove me back there once.”
    “But they had help, did they not? These artifact creatures? Please, Kashi,” Shonahn pleaded, “Think of your wounds, and your recovery—and the omen.”
    Raksha bristled slightly at the childhood nickname. “You were right, Shono,” he growled, responding in kind and lapsing into less formal speech, “Our people can’t afford to lose me. That means I can no more return home than leave this world. Our survival will be decided on these plains, under my watch, though I give immediate control of the troops to Yshkar. Nothing else is acceptable.” He added, “As for the omen, you said yourself the seers hadn’t been able to determine whether it’s even an evil one.”
    “My Kha,” Shonahn insisted, “how could a new sun be a good omen? The very world we stand upon is coming apart!”
    “I don’t think so,” Raksha said, shaking his head. “I can’t explain why, but the presence of that green sun—it feels right. The world feels right. Like a great weight has shifted in the sky, bringing everything into balance. I can sense it in my bones. It can only be an omen of victory. It is no