Excerpt: The Tale of Martindale - Part 2

“Good morning, sir,” Martindale greeted as he pulled on the thin gloves. “I will be tending to you this morning. Could I see your...”

The young man stopped mid-sentence as he turned towards his patient, and his heart nearly lept from his chest as he recognized the man seated before him. The dark features and scowling expression was all too familiar. For the briefest moment, Martindale was at a loss of what to do.

Then the army officer looked directly at him and their eyes met. Regan Beilden, the eldest son of the duke of Secrest, was a handsome young man with strong Valorian features: dark brown eyes, straight nose, high cheekbones, and sturdy chin. Other than growing into his height and broad shoulders, Martindale’s older brother had changed very little in the last six years.

The moment Regan recognized him, his face went through a myriad of emotions before darkening into anger. Martindale knew that familiar look, but he was unable to stop the explosion.

“You!” Regan spat venomously. “How dare you show your face before me! I refuse to be treated by such an impudent coward!”

The army officer’s loud voice carried over the din of the field hospital, attracting the unwanted attention of some of the other patients and apprentices. Martindale was conscious of their stares, but he was more concerned with thinking of a way to calm his older brother down. His mind was flooded with the horrible memories few months when they had lived together at their father’s palace estate in Valoria City. The taunting and bullying that always led to blows, and the instigator Regan – older, stronger, and taller – had always been the victor.

“Get out of my sight!” Regan bellowed. “I won’t allow the worthless son of a foreign wretch to touch me.”

Martindale felt his face growing warm as he tried to control his own anger. How dare this egotistical bastard speak about his own mother that way? Regan waved his non-injured arm and it smashed into the tray sending the surgical tools flying. The contents landed noisily.

“Sir, please calm down. If you wish to have a different surgeon, then so be it,” the red-headed youth said as calmly as he could.

He turned towards the closest apprentice. Ira. She was watching the exchange in surprise, but she was quick to pick up Martindale’s hint. She left her own patient and came forward, a friendly smile appearing on her face.

“Excuse me, sir. My name is Ira...”

But Regan was not listening. He was completely engrossed in his hatred for his brother. Martindale’s sharp eyes saw the miniscule changes in his brother’s body, changes only a physician could see. He anticipated the attack seconds before it came, just in time for him to grab Ira by the arm and pull her out of the way of Regan’s punch. The officer’s iron-like fist connected with Martindale’s cheek with enough force to knock the young man off balance. There was a collective gasp of horror from the other apprentices. Martindale released his grip on his startled friend.

“Ira, find Mistress Camille,” he ordered in a voice that was too calm. There was an edge to his voice that Ira had never heard before, a tone that was not to be disobeyed. Ira hurried away in search of the surgeon.

Martindale straightened his shoulders. He saw the second punch coming and his body reacted instinctively. Swaying to the right, the punch missed him by a few inches. Martindale deftly avoided a third punch and a fourth. No matter how fast or hard Regan came at him, Martindale was able to stay just enough ahead to dodge the attacks.