by Robert Adams
"The young lord journeyed quickly, Master," commented Eeshmaheel.
"Both quickly and deeply," Ahlee nodded, handing back the disc. "As I oft have said, some journey more easily than others. It helps if they have no fear, Eeshmaheel, such as this young man."
"Eeshmaheel, there are noblemen and noble men, and a man need not be one to be the other. But this man is that rarity, both together. It is seldom that Ahlah grants long life to such, but, in His wisdom, He allows them to do much good within the short time that they remain amongst men."
"Now, Eeshmaheel, uncover the head and tell me of the wound."
The apprentice first peeled back the lids and minutely examined the eyes. Then he removed the bandages, starting a fresh flow of blood. Disregarding this, he tenderly probed about the wound site, then spread the edges and sponged away enough blood to allow him a glimpse of the depths of the injury.
"Master, there is no blood on the eyes and the pupils are of equal size, nor did the patient have difficulty in focusing them before he journeyed. The swelling around the opening is hard and the bleeding had entirely ceased, ere my examination started it afresh. There is no bone visible, nor is the scalp torn, only cleanly split."
Ahlee asked, "Were you the master, what would you do?"
Eeshmaheel's brown eyes never left the wound while he answered. "Master, it has bled copiously, so is certainly cleaned of foreign matter and dirtinesses; nor is there sufficient depth for matter to hide. Since he is a cleanly man, the scalp need not be shaved. I would but place over it a thick cloth well soaked in brandy and tightly bandage it."
Ahlee raised his brows. "You would not, then, suture it? Why not?"
"Master, Ahlah already has begun to heal this wound, so it were impiety to attempt improvement upon His work. But even were the injury fresh, it is very shallow and not quite so long as my thumb. I would do no more than I have said, Master."
Ahlee nodded his approval and ordered, "Then do it, and Ahlah guide your hands." While he watched the sure, quick actions of the apprentice, he thought that very soon now Eeshmaheel would be departing, taking ship to the north. He would bear with him Master Ahlee's letter to the Elder Masters of Kohoz, to whom he would swear his oaths and begin to train his first apprentice. And the Elder Masters would send Ahlee another gangling lad.
When Eeshmaheel had done, he and the Master gently turned the patient facedown on the bed. Ahlee watched while his apprentice removed the bandage from the leg. Removal brought on no such crimson flood as had the lifting of the head bandage. There was but a continuation of the slow, steady ooze and trickle of pale-pinkish water.
"Eeshmaheel . . . ?"
The young physician—young being a relative term, for he was a good ten years older than Bili—scrutinized the wound, leaned close to sniff it, moistened a fingertip in the discharge, touched it lightly to his tongue-tip, then gently kneaded the flesh about it.
"Master, it appears a deep stab, I would say at least a finger-length. Almost did it pierce through, for the flesh opposite shows much discoloration. I would agree with the patient about the weapon involved, for a sword or dirk would have cut cleanly, but here there is some evidence of tearing. The spear was probably not poisoned though, for I can neither smell nor taste any venom. But it should have commenced to close by this time, unless those who washed him damaged it."
"Very good, Eeshmaheel, very good, all save the last. Bring the surgical chest and the brandy and I will show you why the wound continued to weep."
The apprentice never ceased to marvel at the master and had long since despaired of ever being his equal, in any save the simplest ways. Wordlessly, he poured brandy into a shallow pan, then immersed those instruments indicated by the master in the liquid. That done, he poured a generous quantity of the brandy over the master's hands, then his own.
A brief but knowing glance at the pile of clothing as he entered had provided Master Ahlee the answer to the weeping wound. Within a few, short minutes, that answer was clamped betwixt the jaws of a blood-smeared brass forceps.
"What is it, Eeshmaheel?" He opened the instrument, dropping the gory morsel into the younger man's palm.
"Why, it is a bit of fine leather, Master. But you knew, even before you extracted it, didn't you?"
Extending his bloody hands, that the apprentice might pour over them more brandy, Ahlee admonished, "Observe, Eeshmaheel, observe! A good physician prides himself upon missing nothing. Look at that boot atop the pile near to the door. See the place where the point tore through? There is a piece missing, yes? Now, true, it could be inside the boot, or lying in the horse litter or somewhere on the road, or even back at the battleground."
"But combine the two details, Eeshmaheel, a stab which will not close and a missing bit of boot."
When Bili opened his eyes, the physician still sat before him, but he no longer held the disk pendant.
He moved his leg slightly, then grimaced. "There is now a fierce stinging in both my wounds, Lord Ahlee. Perhaps your apprentice had best fetch your brazier and irons and get on with this unpleasant business. But give me a good burn on the first try, please. It's not the sort of thing I want a second serving of."
"There will be no burning of your flesh, Lord Bili," Ahlee softly boomed, smiling. "Your wounds have both been tended. The scalp will close of itself, if you are considerate of it. I have cleaned out the stab and closed it with stitches which I will remove in a week or so, Ahlah willing. The stinging is caused partially by the stitches and partially by the reaction of the raw flesh to the brandy with which the innermost bandages are soaked. It is uncomfortable, true, but it has been observed that wounds heal more easily and quickly when such bandages are employed."
Bill's skin crawled, his neck hairs prickling. "Are . . . are you then a . . . a sorcerer, Lord Ahlee, to have accomplished so much in but the twinkling of an eye?"
Again, the warm, comforting smile. "Some might call certain of my skills sorcery, Lord Bili, especially my manner of willing you to sleep. But sleep you did, feeling nought of the pain of my surgery. It was barely dawning when first I came to you. The sun is now above two hours in the sky."
8
At a little past the nooning, Komees Djeen, Vahrohnos Spiros, and a half dozen Freefighters had been laboriously interrogating the luckless Kreestofohros for some hours. They had had no trouble in finding a secluded place to conduct their messy business, for Morguhn Hall was far larger than most halls and its cellars were extensive and multileveled.
Equipment and instruments were another matter, however, for their morn's labor was an activity seldom practiced in the Duchy of Morguhn, in recent years at least on the rare occasions that Thoheeks Hwahruhn had ordered such, the activity had invariably been conducted at the prison in Morguhnpolis, where a qualified professional torturer-executioner maintained a modest shop. But since Komees Djeen wished to conceal his possession of this prisoner, use of the professional or any of his tools was out of the question. Therefore, they had had to improvise.
Thanks to hearty applications of these improvisations, Kreestofohros would never again be whole or hale or handsome. Thus far, however, all that they had wrung from his shredded lips had been screams and moans, pleas and prayers, curses. Now he had again fainted, and the troopers were finding it harder to revive him this time.
Spiros shook his head, frowning. "I like it not, Djeen."
"What else can we do?" expostulated the old Strahteegos. "I know there's a conspiracy and you know there's a conspiracy, and it's certain sure that boy-lover Myros and that old gasbag, Skiros, are in it up to their dirty ears. But they're too big to legally touch, without proof."
"Now, I've known Hari and Drehkos all their lives and I don't like to think that one or both is into this sorry cesspool of superstition and anarchy, but . . . I told you how all his servants mysteriously disappeared last night. Well, among the scum who attacked the boys, I recognized at least four bodies. They were all Hari's people. One, who bore the mark of young Bi
li's big axe, was majordomo of Horse Hall!"
Spiros' eyebrows shot up. "Hofos, Djeen?"
"None other," growled the Komees. "So it becomes obvious that we have a more serious problem than we thought. If supposedly respectable upper servants of the water of Hofos and this bastard are involved, no one of the Kindred is safe in either city or country! This is another reason why we must know names, Spiros! Getting some answers from the tough nut over there is of utmost importance."
"Admitted, Djeen, admitted," Spiros nodded briskly. "And that's why I so dislike what we're doing. We are trying to perform something that we know very little about. If we're not extremely careful, we're going to take it too far and kill the prisoner. Then where will we be? Who will then give us answers or names, eh?"
Komees Djeen's roar filled the large chamber. "Sacred Wind take it! What else can we do?" he repeated in exasperation. "Even if we could get him into Morguhnpolis and into the prison unrecognized, how do we know that we could trust Master Mahrios? After all, if he's not a Kath'ahrohs, he's damned close to it!"
"Let us send for that physician, Master Ahlee," suggested the Vahrohnos. "Allow him to examine the man before we go on. And let us keep him by, that he may keep the Ehleen dog alive until we've broken him."
The trooper sent abovestairs returned with Master Ahlee's flat refusal to take any part in the proceedings, so Vahrohnos Spiros betook himself to the suite occupied by the physician and his retinue. He was greeted courteously; but as soon as he had indicated his errand and uttered his urgent request, the friendly, brown face became devoid of expression and the tone of the deep voice took on the hardness of steel.
"My Lord Baron, I cannot condone torture. It is a bestial practice, whatever the motives of those who employ it. I have never and will never take any role in its commission! Do I make myself clear?"
"I did but request, Physician," grated Spiros, unaccustomed to non-cooperation on the parts of persons of inferior rank and status. "This matter is of the gravest importance to the good of the Duchy, and too many lives may well hinge upon the information which this stubborn man can give us to cater to your likes and dislikes and whims. Therefore, I, Spiros, by grace of Sun and Wind, Vahrohnos of Taheerospolis and Subchief of Morguhn, do command your instant obedience to my wishes! Do I make myself clear, Physician?"
Ahlee drew himself up, squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw. "Perfectly clear, my Lord Baron, you speak your language well. A pity that you cannot understand it so well. But, I will repeat: I—will—not—be—a—party—to—torture!"
Snarling, Spiros loosened his heavy dirk. "Why you impudent barbarian pig! How dare you to disobey my order? Are you then mad? Know you not how quickly I can have your hairless head on a spear?"
Bard Klairuhnz opened the door and strolled into the chamber. With no preamble, he inquired, "Kinsman, are you then unaware that Master Ahlee, like all members of his guild within the boundaries of the Confederation, practices under the auspices and personal protection of the Undying High Lord, Milo? It were senseless to threaten him, and it would be treasonable to harm him."
To protect the Vahrohnos' pride, he had employed mindspeak.
"Kinsman," Spiros answered him silently. "You are unaware yourself, unaware of the extreme gravity of this case. Komees Djeen has told me much of you, and so I know that you fought hard and well to aid my House. For that reason, I'll trust you. Know you the problem." So saying he lowered his mindshield, baring the inmost recesses to Klairuhnz, that he might fully realize what had occurred and was presently occurring in the Duchy and thus better comprehend the dilemma.
And what Bard Klairuhnz learned was serious enough! The attack on Bili's party had not been the first such. Indeed, no less than three poorly armed or virtually unarmed parties of Kindred had been butchered to the last person on the roads. Within the cities, most Kindred went armed and guarded by day and by night, in justified fear of the dagger or the strangling cord. Servants of Ehleen blood were become, with few exceptions, surly and secretive, while Ehleenoee peasants and free-farmers and tradesmen were proving ever harder to deal with. And these troubles were not something which had gradually built to the present intensity, but had sprung up full-grown, just after the Duchy's last harvest.
"All right, Kinsman Spiros," Klairuhnz beamed. "I was not aware that matters had progressed so far here. And I agree that you needs must have Master Ahlee's aid. Your reasoning on that is quite sound. But he is a strong-willed man and quite stubborn on what he considers a matter of principle. Because of his protected status, you cannot physically force him to help you, and circumstances have rendered your patience too short to allow for diplomacy."
"So, it might be best, Kinsman, if you left the chamber and allowed me to attempt to reason with the physician."
"Do you think you can truly bring him around, Kinsman?" Spiros, recognizing hard truth, would now grasp at any straw.
"I think so," the Bard assured him.
Wordless, Spiros bowed stiffly toward the foreigner, nodded at Klairuhnz, spun on his heel, and stalked out.
Klairuhnz waited until the footfalls had faded into the distance, then mindspoke Master Ahlee. "You received both my mindspeak and his, then?"
Ahlee's sudden start would have been imperceptible to one not watching for it. Just as quickly as he had reacted, however, he regained his composure, then frowned, saying, "Sir, I did not bid you enter. Nonetheless, I bid you welcome and peace. What matter brings you to this humble instrument of Ahlah?"
Throwing back his head, Klairuhnz gusted a laugh at the ceiling, then went on, still in mindspeak, "Master Humble Instrument, we are both of us too old to play games and there is no time to dissemble. Your mindspeak is known to be excellent and your receptivity even better. So states the Undying Lady Aldora, and she is never wrong about such talents!"
When it came, Ahlee's mindspeak proved to be almost as strong as the Bard's own. "Who are you?"
——«»——«»——«»——
Having consumed the second evening meal since the bridge fight, the Kindred nobles all gathered in Bili's spacious bedchamber. Only a few hours earlier had word reached them that Bili's only uncle, Tahneest Bili of Morguhn, had been murdered, along with his wife, two sons, and bodyguards, while journeying to Morguhn Hall. This was a grim-faced aggregation.
Bili sat propped on his greatbed, flanked on the one side by his mothers and on the other by his six months younger brother Djehf, who had ridden in unexpected and unannounced to spend a few weeks before the commencement of the spring campaigning in the Middle Kingdoms.
Komees Djeen had drawn a chair close to the hearth and its fire, kindled to dispel the chill of the damp, foggy night, where he sat frowning and ceaselessly cracking his big, scarred knuckles, his stiff leg extended before the blaze. Ever and again, his eye strayed to the portable bed, on which lay Ahndee's unconscious form.
Master Ahlee had permitted his patient to be borne to the conference only on condition that he remain in attendance throughout, promising to awaken the young Vahrohneeskos briefly, if need be. The physician sat at the head of the cot, conversing in low tones with Spiros and the Bard. Clan Bard Hail leaned over the back of Spiros' chair, listening but making no comment.
Geros, clad in a new scale-shirt and abbreviated helm, occupied a low stool at his master's side. He was nervously fingering the hilt of a fine saber and hoping that he looked as hard and businesslike as the two Freefighters occupying the bench which blocked the barred door.
Two more Freefighters guarded the door of the Thoheeks, who had taken a turn for the worse, while Eeshmaheel and Master Ahlee's two servants, all armed, kept watch within.
All horses had been summoned from the pasture to stamp and snort in the crowded hall stables, while as much livestock as possible had been crowded into makeshift pens in the outer courtyard. Forge fire flared where the resident smith and his helpers labored, fashioning old tools and stray scraps of metal into arrowheads and points for dart and javelin, rep
airing plate from the armory, and straightening scythe blades. The heavy gate was barred and the iron grille which protected it from rams had been lowered into place, for the first time in any man's memory. A weaponsmaster supervised several Freefighters and servants as they assembled a pair of small catapults and a large dart thrower. The remainder of the hall's Freefighters, those of Komees Djeen and a number of armed servants, stood the walls.
A knock on the door of Bili's chamber brought Geros and the other two guards to their feet, hands on sword hilts. When the bench was shifted and the bar removed, the knocker was discovered to be Sami Kahtuhr, majordomo of Morguhn Hall, and now castellan as well. He was an old soldier, and his new role was quite as comfortable as the infantryman's armor he had donned.
Though gray thickly streaked his light-brown hair and his face was seamed and wrinkled, he had miraculously regained a youthful appearance since Komees Djeen had had Morguhn Hall put on a war footing and all had begun to prepare for siege and battle. The little man probably had more Kindred blood flowing in his veins than most in the room, and he looked it—slight but wiry frame, flat muscles, fair skin, flashing blue-green eyes. As a cadet of Clan Kahtuhr, he was ranked as a petty nobleman, his senior-servant status notwithstanding.
He marched over to stand between Komees Djeen and Bili. Although he rendered his Confederation Army salute to the younger, he rendered his report to the elder.
"My Lord, within the hour the hall will be as ready as it can be for whatever is to transpire. In addition to the noble Kindred, fifty-seven men are available. Of these, forty-five are either Freefighters or former soldiers, and the others are good men who will stand firm for the honor of Morguhn. All prisoners have been so lodged that no guard will be required, so all may man the walls if it comes to that. There is more than ample food in the magazines and near ten score head of cattle and goats, along with threescore sheep in the main court. The numbers of fowl I know not, but they swarm near everywhere one looks, indoors and out."
