The warrior blinked. ‘It is taking me a long time to die,’ he said.
‘You are not going to die,’ Sieben promised him. ‘Your wound is healing, and you are a strong man.’
‘They pierced my guts.’
‘Sleep now. In the morning you will feel stronger.’
‘You speak the truth?’
‘I do. The wound was not as deep as you believe. You are healing well. Sleep.’ Sieben touched the man’s brow; instantly his eyes closed and his head lolled to one side.
Sieben made his way to every wounded man one by one. Most were sleeping. Those who were awake he spoke softly to, and healed. At the last he came to Nuang. As he floated within the old man’s injuries he found himself drawn to the heart, and here he found a section so thin it was almost transparent. Nuang could have died at any time, he realized, for his heart – under strain – could have torn itself apart like wet paper. Sieben concentrated on the area, watching it thicken. The arteries were hard, the inner walls choked and narrow; these he opened and made supple.
Withdrawing at last, he sat back. There was no feeling of weariness in him, rather a sense of exultation and rare delight.
Niobe was asleep in another corner of the room. Placing the jewels in a pouch he hid them behind a water cask, moved to Niobe and lay down beside her, feeling her warmth against him. Drawing a blanket over them both, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. She moaned and rolled in to him, whispering a name that was not his. Sieben smiled.
She awoke then, and raised herself up on one elbow. ‘Why you smile, po-et?’ she asked him.
‘Why not? It is a fine night.’
‘You wish to make love?’
‘No, but I would appreciate a hug. Come close.’
‘You are very warm,’ she said, snuggling alongside him and resting her arm on his chest.
‘What do you want from life?’ he whispered.
‘Want? What is there to want? Apart from a good man and strong babies?’
‘And that is all?’
‘Rugs,’ she said, after thinking for a few moments. ‘Good rugs. And a fire-bucket of iron. My uncle had a fire-bucket of iron; it heated the tent on the cold nights.’
‘What about rings and bracelets, items of gold and silver?’
‘Yes, those too,’ she agreed. ‘You will give these to me?’
‘I think so.’ Turning his head, he kissed her cheek. ‘Amazing as it might seem, I have fallen in love with you. I want you with me. I will take you to my own land and buy you an iron fire-bucket and a mountain of rugs.’
‘And the babies?’
‘Twenty if you want them.’
‘Seven. I want seven.’
‘Then seven it will be.’
‘If you are mocking me, po-et, I will cut out your heart.’
Sieben chuckled. ‘No mockery, Niobe. You are the greatest treasure I ever found.’
Sitting up she looked around the large hospital. ‘Everyone is sleeping,’ she said suddenly.
‘Yes.’
‘I think some must have died.’
‘I don’t believe so,’ he told her. ‘In fact I am sure that is not the case – just as I am sure none will wake for several hours. So let us return to your earlier offer.’
‘Now you want love-making?’
‘Indeed I do. Maybe for the first time in my life.’
Master Sergeant Jomil pressed his thick fingers to the cut on his face, trying to stem the flow of blood. Sweat trickled into the shallow wound, the salt stinging him, and he cursed. ‘You are slowing down, Jomil,’ said Premian.
‘Little bastard almost took my eye out . . . sir,’ he added.
The bodies of the Nadir defenders were dragged from the rocks and laid in a line away from the pool. The fourteen Gothir dead had been wrapped in their cloaks, the bodies of the six slain Lancers tied across the saddles of their mounts, the infantry buried where they had fallen.
‘By the Blood of Missael, they put up a fight, didn’t they, sir?’ said Jomil.
Premian nodded. ‘They were fighting for pride and love of land. There is no greater motivation.’ Premian himself had led the charge up the slope, while the infantry stormed the rocks. Weight of numbers had carried the day, but the Nadir had fought well. ‘You’ll need stitches in that face wound. I’ll attend to it presently.’