‘Grooming is not just about the coat,’ answered Kebra. ‘That horse is cold and tired. The brush helps to improve the circulation of blood, and tones the muscles.’
Antikas stepped back from the horse, cleaned the brush and returned it to his saddlebag. Then he removed his crimson cloak and laid it over the gelding’s back. It was then that the others saw the dried blood on his torn, satin shirt. Ulmenetha rose from the first of the fires and bade Antikas to remove his shirt. He did so with great difficulty. Satin fibres had stuck to his wounds, and as he pulled the shirt clear the small cuts in his chest and the long, jagged slice along his ribs began to bleed once more. Sitting him down by the fire Ulmenetha examined the wounds. The smaller cuts she could heal immediately without stitches, but the wound caused by Golbar’s last thrust first needed more traditional treatment. Nogusta
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handed Antikas a cup of broth, which he accepted gratefully. As Ulmenetha prepared her needle and thread Antikas stared around the firelit cave. The ape, Bison, was asleep by the far wall. Alongside him, huddled close for warmth was a young girl and a child. Beyond them the queen was sitting in the shadows, holding her babe close to her breast. Antikas saw that the child was feeding, and looked away guiltily.
‘Stand up,’ ordered Ulmenetha. Antikas did so. The priestess came to her knees, and began to stitch the wound, beginning first at the centre, drawing the flaps of skin together. Antikas looked across at Nogusta, and their eyes met.
‘He died well,’ said Antikas.
‘I know.’
‘Good, for I am too tired to discuss it further.’ He winced as Ulmenetha drew tight the centre stitch. ‘You are not knitting a rug, woman,’ he snapped.
‘I’ll wager you did not whine so when the Krayakin faced you,’ she responded. Antikas grinned, but said nothing. Three more stitches were inserted, then Ulmenetha laid a slender hand over the wound, and began to chant in a low voice. Antikas glanced down at the priestess, then gave a questioning look to Nogusta. The black man had turned away and was untying the bundle of wood.
Antikas felt a tingling sensation begin in the wound, heat flaring from it. It was mildly uncomfortable, but not at all painful. After some minutes Ulmenetha removed her hand, then, with a small knife, cut the stitches and pulled them clear. Antikas touched the cut. It was almost healed. More than this he felt curiously rejuvenated, as if he had slept for several hours.
‘You are very talented, lady,’ he said.
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‘You should see me knitting a rug,’ she answered, rising to stand before him. She repeated the Healing Prayer on the smaller chest wounds, then reached up to pull clear the blood-stained satin strip around his brow. ‘Bend your head,’ she ordered him. Antikas obeyed.
As she healed the cut she spoke again. ‘You are a lucky man, Antikas. Had the blow been two inches lower you would have lost an eye.’
‘Strangely, the more I practise the luckier I get,’ he said.
Ulmenetha stepped back from him, and appraised her work. Satisfied she moved back to the fire and sat down. ‘Had you remained at the bridge you might have saved Dagorian,’ he said. Ulmenetha shook her head.
‘His internal injuries were far beyond my powers.’ So saying she turned away from him. Kebra handed him a clean, folded tunic of off-white wool. Antikas thanked him. Lifting it to his nose he smiled. ‘Scented rosewood,’ he said. ‘How civilized. You are a man after my own heart.’
‘Probably not,’ said Kebra.
Antikas slipped on the shirt. The arms were too long, and he folded back the cuffs. ‘Well, Nogusta,’ he said, ‘what now? What do your visions tell you?’
‘We go to the ghost city,’ answered Nogusta. ‘That is all I can say. I do not yet know the outcome of this quest. But all questions will be answered in Lem.’
The child sleeping beside Bison suddenly cried out and sat up. The girl beside her awoke, and took her in her arms. ‘What is wrong, Sufia?’ she asked, stroking the child’s blond hair.