Even though by all accounts he was a successful commander, he was afraid, and he wore it miserably.
---
Normally they would have been in a dark office of the unlit building.
That’s where they began but, upon reading the urgent message from Edge about a bizarre incident that ended with two dead lieutenants, Mal found himself unable to speak. He also could no longer breathe regularly, but clutched his heart and began to sweat profusely.
Brisack rushed him, with the help of two of his guards, to his immense bedroom formerly belonging to kings.
“Get to my house!” he shouted at the guards. “My emergency bag. Tell my wife the heart one. Run!”
It was fortunate for the chairman that Dr. Brisack lived only three houses down, because the guards came running back with the correct bag in only minutes.
“Empty the bag on the table,” Brisack shouted, still pushing rhythmically on Nicko Mal’s chest as he had ever since they left, “then retrieve two of my assistants.”
The guards quickly dumped the bag spilling out bandages, small glass bottles of various colors and sizes, along with leaves and berries wrapped in white cloth, all of which disrupted papers scattered over the bedside table. They left the room even faster, shutting the large oak double doors behind them.
“Stupid, stupid man!” Brisack mumbled as he snatched up a smaller uncorked bottle rolling in a slow circle on the table, gripped the cork with his teeth, spat it out, and held the bottle to Mal’s gray lips. “Drink this—it’ll calm you. Of course, had you not pursued this course—which I TOLD you not to—you wouldn’t be needing this, now would you?!”
The weakened Mal dribbled some of the brownish liquid on his chin, but Brisack was satisfied enough went down his throat.
He set down the bottle and tore open Mal’s ruffled white shirt. Then Brisack grabbed another larger bottle before it rolled off the table, uncorked it, and poured some of its contents on the gasping man’s chest. The thick brew which bubbled from the bottle packed with leaves, bark, and shriveled berries smelled simultaneously like an herb garden and a rotting forest.
“And where’s Gadiman right now? Probably hiding in his office again with the doors locked? Is he here helping save your pitiful life? No, of course not! No one will see him for days, probably. The weasel hiding in his hole. No wonder.”
He straddled his patient and massaged the liquid into his chest over his heart while the old man could do nothing but gasp and perspire.
Brisack turned, keeping one hand in the same constant massaging motion, and with his other twitched open a wrapped white cloth to reveal several red berries.
“Lucky for you some late hawthorn berries are still on. Gives me an opportunity to test if the fresh ones applied topically will work in conjunction with the ones I just administered orally, although I don’t know if you deserve it.”
He crushed the berries roughly in his hands, then plastered the juice and skins on Mal’s chest.
“Three lieutenants gone in one season. Three!” he grumbled as he worked the juices into Mal’s narrow gray chest. “You’ve nearly exhausted our supply of new officers. The next batch won’t be ready for another two years, yet. And now we can’t even use them because the army will realize Guarders have infiltrated Command School! Such waste! So much gold!” he seethed as he massaged. “I could have told you this wouldn’t work. Oh, wait. I did. But you listened to Gadiman. So bent on getting what you want you’ll listen to any fool who tells you what you want to hear. You didn’t break the Shins, you’ve only made them more powerful. Why, look at what they’ve survived! Right now Relf and Perrin must think they’re invincible! You idiot!”
He continued to massage the berries and tonic over Mal’s heart, watching for when his lips would turn pink again. The good doctor complained loudly all the while since no one could interrupt him.
“The most far-fetched, impulsive undertaking. Everything we planned for by using officers in the army is completely destroyed. The next five years? Gone! Well done, Nicko. Brilliant.”
With one hand he grasped the old man’s wrist and checked his pulse while he continued to massage with the other. After a minute the doctor sighed with exhaustion and slid off his patient and the bed.
“Excellent work, Dr. Brisack. Your patient’s heart rate has stabilized and his color’s coming back, too. He’ll live.”
He plopped into a chair, clearly not satisfied with the prognosis.
“When my assistants arrive they can clean up this mess,” Brisack said, gesturing to the bottles, berries, and liquids spilled around the bed and side table. He started to wipe his wet hands on his red jacket, sighed in exasperation, and instead glared at the Chairman.