Markus hurried across the forecourt with Tiderius supported around the waist. He went as quick as he dared, for Tiderius could take little of his own weight. As they neared the castle gates, two guards hurried over, shouting for assistance.
“Fetch the healers,” the wizard said to one of the guards, “and inform the queen of our return.”
The man nodded and hurried away, leaving his partner to assist Markus Taal. Together, they struggled with Tiderius through the entrance hall and up the nearest staircase.
Two floors up, they reached the healing rooms and heaved Tiderius’s form onto one of the operating tables. No sooner had they achieved this, two healers entered, one carrying a basket of fresh herbs from the kitchen gardens, and began to strip their patient. Pulling out small knives, they hacked at his surcoat and flung the pieces aside. They drew his belt apart and slit his left trouser leg from thigh to ankle to attend to his wounds. But still Tiderius clung to his sword with one hand, his knuckles white. It was as though that was his only thought.
As the healers hurried around the room, fetching bowls and instruments, there came a cry from outside and Markus turned to see a flustered Emil enter, leading Angora, a glowing rope around both her wrists.
“Where are you taking him?” she was screaming. “What are you going to do to him?”
“The king is our prisoner now, thanks to you,” Emil replied angrily, “we’ll treat him accordingly. Now, since you’re the cause of all this, help Tiderius!”
“I am the cause?” Angora exclaimed. “You deceitful beasts! You were the ones who laid siege to my home!”
“Tiderius is wounded, Angora!” Markus cried.
“He had every chance to save himself, as did you all! You have two herbalists already. Use them instead!”
Angora uttered a cry of pain and crumbled to her knees, a red coil of light flickering around the rope that bound her. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she turned and looked up at Emil with pure hatred in her eyes. Markus glanced at Emil, troubled that the shaman had been forced to pacify her in such a way.
“They were right about you,” she said, staggering to her feet, gasping for breath. “Varren especially. He knew you were nothing but an animal, an uncivilized beast!”
“Angora, please!” Markus grasped her shoulder and led her to the table. “We can argue later. Whatever you may think of us, whatever you may think of Tiderius, what of Rasmus? How could you face him knowing you had let his brother die? Please, help him. You were always the best herbalist we could find. Please.”
She surveyed Tiderius and tightened her jaw. “Fine, but you must release my hands and leave, shaman.”
Emil’s eyes narrowed for a moment, but then he nodded and the rope disappeared. The two stared defiantly at each other before Emil grunted and left the room. Angora rubbed her bruised wrists and approached the table where the healers were already wiping Tiderius’s chest clean of the blood from his arm. She surveyed the room while she rolled up her intricately decorated sleeves.
“Hold still,” Angora advised Tiderius, who had begun to shake with shock. She caught the attention of one of the healers and pointed to a bottle on one of the shelves lining the walls. “Give me the ferrin.”
The young woman hurried to fetch it and thrust it into Angora’s hands. She flicked the stopper off the bottle and sniffed, wrinkling her nose. In the three years that she had been in Te’Roek, she had taught the castle healers a great deal of islander healing methods and they did not question her skills. Angora snatched up a small cloth and wiped away the fresh blood seeping from the wound on Tiderius’s arm.
“This is going to hurt a little.”
She lowered the bottle and poured some of the clear liquid directly onto the laceration. Tiderius roared in pain and kicked out viciously with both his legs, now fully conscious.
“A little?” he yelled, his eyes wide. “This hurts more than the blow, you – ”
“Heal yourself, then!” Angora screamed back at him. “If you are going to cry about this, then think twice about hurtling into another fight you cannot win!”
She picked up a fresh cloth and pressed it to the wound to stem the flow of blood, then she handed the bottle to one of the healers and motioned for the other to hold the cloth in place. She did not even look at Markus, who stood safely out of her way, watching. She moved over to a set of shelves in the corner of the room and took down a small box. She opened the lid and brought out a needle and thread and returned to the operating table. She motioned to Markus Taal with a jerk of her head. “Hold him still.”
Markus came forward immediately and put his hands on Tiderius’s thighs. A male healer moved around the table and pressed his hands firmly on the swordsman’s shoulders.
Tiderius looked from Markus to Angora. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said.
“Shut up.”
She lifted the cloth from Tiderius’s arm and inspected the wound. It was jagged but not too deep. Angora raised Tiderius’s arm and placed it across his stomach as she threaded her needle.
“I need a bowl of hot water,” she said to the idle healer, “and fresh cloths. And if there is any firewater, I could do with that as well.”
“You drink now?” Tiderius asked.
“For you, idiot. You will need it.”
It took a little over an hour to stitch Tiderius up and bandage his wounds. After knotting the last thread, Angora straightened up, wiped the back of her bloody hand across her forehead and stood back. Tiderius had long since fallen into an unconscious state from the pain and a great deal of firewater but he now looked restful. Markus Taal was very weary from holding Tiderius’s thrashing legs and collapsed into a chair by the door.
“I hope you are happy,” Angora said bitterly. “Now, if you will permit me, I will attend to my husband. I assume he is being held in some rat-infested cell where his wounds may surely fester?”
“I cannot say,” Markus admitted.
Angora picked up her box of needles and thread. As she strode to the door, she picked up a few bottles and flung a towel over her shoulder. Then, without even a backward glance at Tiderius, she went to the nearest staircase that would take her to the dungeons.