As the men started moving, I got up and visited my other patients, checking wounds, using my salves and potions where needed. At first, I’d been pushed away, treated rudely whenever I tried to help. It had taken time, but I was tolerated by most, and welcomed by a few. But now there was a difference. While the men treated me well, I could tell that their attention was on my newest patient. Some who had never spoken to me before even went so far as to try to ask me about the man.
Whoever he was, I suspected he was important.
The kettles for the hot water were brought, and the bathing began. I had smuggled some old soap out of the castle that had hardened, forgotten in a storeroom. It had the faint scent of flowers, but was mild and worked well. I never made mention of this part to anyone in the castle. One could imagine the response to the idea of a Daughter of the Blood in a tent with naked men. But for some reason, it hadn’t occurred to anyone that a healer at some point had to deal with the actual body.
I’d gathered old tunics and trous, so that they had spare clothing. Each man washed out his own, and the guards had been bullied into setting out a drying line. It was when they stripped down for bathing that I’d first seen the tattoos that each man had on his arms. A different pattern on both arms and I could make no sense of them. I’d asked about them but been rudely rebuffed.
Before I returned to my new patient, I went to the guards by the entrance. The older one jerked his chin toward the back of the tent. “Is he bad, Lady?”
“Yes. I’m going to clean the wound. It won’t be quiet.”
He winced. “Aye, I would think not. I’ll warn the others as to what you are about.”
“Thank you.” I cocked my head. “More water would not go amiss, either.”
He sighed. “You know the King’s commands…” His voice trailed off as I looked at him. “Aye. More water, then.” He called through the tent flap as 1 turned to go back to my newest patient.
They had stripped the man and gotten him on a pallet. Prest was standing to one side, carefully folding the man’s clothes in a neat pile. As I knelt, I could see that he looked better. The beads of sweat were gone, and his eyes were closed. His breathing seemed easier, too. Instead of tattoos on his dark skin, there seemed to be scars, but in a pattern as the others.
“Two swallows.” Prest reported. I nodded, but my eye had already been caught and held by the wound.
I waved the men out of my light, and leaned closer to get a better look.
The wound had been packed with the man’s cloak. It was wadded up, and the blood had crusted to the cloth. I took fresh water, and soaked the material, easing it away from the scabs. Clearly, the wound had been tended in the field, but neglected since then. I glanced at Joden. “You did this?”
Joden grunted. “It was all I had time for, before we were taken.”
I grimaced in understanding and worked in silence. Once the material came free, I let it drop at my side as I got my first good look at the leg.
It was bad. The gash started at the groin and got deeper as it went the length of the thigh. The edges were swollen, and white pus had gathered in its depths. There was grass and dirt and small stones embedded in the flesh. I reached out, touching the sides lightly, and felt the heat radiating off the flesh. I bit my lower lip.
“Will he lose the leg?” Joden was standing above me.
I looked up, noticing for the first time that Joden didn’t seem to have a hurt on him. But my eyes were drawn back to the gaping wound. I worried my lip, then spoke. “I don’t know.”
The men around us murmured, but I had no time to fuss with them. “We’ll start with the cleansing.” I turned to my supplies, and dug out the bottles and cloths that I needed. “It is going to hurt. I’ve warned the guards. But I need your help to hold him down.”
Joden sank to his knees next to me but made no move to help. “I wished for something to sing of, and the elements answered.” His tone was one of sorrow. “It would have been better to have granted him mercy and be done.”
The men around me recoiled. “You failed to give him mercy?” Rafe asked, hushed, his eyes wide.
I jerked my head up. Joden’s face was haggard and looked gray in the light. There had been tales of this practice, of the Warlord’s men killing their own on the field, but I had not believed. I rose on my knees, glared at them all, then jabbed Joden in the chest with my finger, drawing his attention. “You will not. To come this far, only to have you ki—.” I could not finish that word. “No. I will not have it so.”
He considered me, and seemed to laugh behind the pain in his eyes. “You think to save him? And the leg?”
“I think to try.” I glared at him. “I think to hope.”
He huffed again, looking at my small finger in the center of his broad chest, but nodded slowly. “We will try, healer.” The unfamiliar word caught on his tongue. “We will hope.”
I sat back on my heels. He gestured to some of the others. “It will take more than me to hold him, though. He is a strong one, make no mistake.” Three other men approached. Each, with Rafe, Prest and Joden, settled down, and took a hold. I moved closer and grabbed up the bandages.
The men tensed. Joden frowned at me, then muttered something about chants under his breath.
Rafe snorted. “She uses no spells, Joden. No chants to the elements.”
“No?” He sounded slightly disappointed.
I ignored the comments, and went to work. We were fine for about three breaths. I had even convinced myself that the orchid root would let him sleep through it. But as I spread the wound to scour deeply, he started to thrash under our hands.
