The second trial ended on the second day, and the recruits who survived were escorted back to Ironhold. Many of whom were badly wounded, so Lucen made the new Thornefang base a temporary hospital.
He called for all the healers in Ironhold to help; he contacted every cleric in the city to save those that could be saved.
The wide hall that had only just been finished days ago was already unrecognizable. The walls, still bare stone without banners or polish, echoed with groans and muffled screams. The air was so thick with the smell of blood, charred flesh, and pungent herbs that it coated the tongue like ash.
Straw cots lay crammed together in crooked lines, each one occupied by boys and girls far too young to carry scars like these. Some clutched their sides, biting back whimpers, while others cried openly.
There were also the veterans who, despite having more injuries, did not dare make a sound. They remained silent throughout the healing as if feeling pain was shameful.
