The Crown of blood

II

"Seven hundred and thirty-eight dead," Anasind announced grimly. "Another seventy or so that won't survive the night, and hundred and six more that will probably live but can barely breathe or walk."

Ullsaard took this news without comment. He rubbed his bristled chin and looked at his First Captain. The prevailing wisdom was illness, but Ullsaard was not so sure. It was not the number infected that shocked him, but the sudden speed of the affliction's onset. And though he had said nothing, like everyone else he had heard those sinister voices in the air. He had been feeding Blackfang and thought it was just the guards outside the corral tent whispering to each other. Then the panic had started.

"How many desertions?" he asked quietly.

"Not too bad," said Anasind. "At last muster, less than two hundred men accounted for, and half a dozen officers. It's not a rout."

"I think they've been poisoned," the general said.

"Poison? How?" replied Anasind. "It's affected men from companies across all three legions here. If it was the food, it wouldn't be so widespread."

"Something in the air, maybe," said Ullsaard. He shook his head angrily. "I don't know how, but it's an attack. Plague doesn't strike in winter. Check all of the food stores, and double the number of men accompanying the caravans. If you find anything suspicious, anything the slightest bit odd, burn it. We can't take any chances."

"Nobody has had access to the food except the men," said Anasind. "And no man in the camp would poison the supplies, because he'd be just as likely to die himself."

"What else would you have me do?" Ullsaard asked, slamming a hand on the arm of his campaign chair. "Stop the men from breathing? While you're at it, send patrols up the rivers, make sure the water isn't being tainted. And check the storage butts too. Something caused this, and we have to stop it happening again."