The sun sets, and the bell is rung for first watch. From my vantage point, I can see the guards making their rounds. They march around the walls ten circuits an hour, so it doesn’t give me much time to get myself down there. It doesn’t help that the world’s starting to shift around me every time I move my head. I suppose there’s not much point in waiting. With every round the guards make, the fever will only grow stronger, and my memories weaker. So I wait until the guards pass by one more time, and then I make my move.

The ground lurches as I get to my feet. I bite down on a curse and stumble to the side before I catch myself. My stomach heaves in protest. I swallow the bile in my throat and force myself to put one foot in front of the other. Don’t fall down. The night air feels colder and colder.

A wall materializes before me, and I barely keep myself from slamming into it. My knees buckle; I scrabble at the bricks to stay upright, but it’s no good. My head feels like someone’s driving a spear through it and twisting.

Footsteps sound as I crumple to the ground, voices as well. I look for them, but my eyes won’t focus. I make out helmets and armor, swords, and shields. Amparan soldiers. I can’t get captured, not now. I need to get back to Gatha, the rest of my tribe. I throw up my hands to block their blows. My arms feel weighed down with stones.

“Another one left here,” says a voice. “Blast it.”

They reach for me. I scream and try to push them away. They brush away my efforts like I’m nothing at all.

“Load him onto the cart.”

They fling me onto some kind of wagon. I’m back in prison again. They’re going to march me through the streets in front of jeering crowds. They’ll lock me up and whip me bloody, and this time they won’t stop. I scream until someone stuffs a rag in my mouth. Then I gag.

“Cover him up,” says a voice. “Might as well keep the cart in case anything else shows up tonight.”

Chapter Sixteen

I’m in the front room, trying to get a fevered woman to drink, when the soldiers finally arrive at the hospital. It’s all I can do to keep the cup steady at the woman’s lips as I watch the soldiers carry a stretcher through the door.

A blanket is draped over the stretcher. I can’t see who’s lying underneath.

The patient I’m treating turns her head away from my cup, and I help her back down.

“Just one last night?” I ask the soldiers.

“A young man,” says one soldier.