“Oh, no, no, no, no … don’t chain my hands, don’t- Mother, mother … don’t let them … oh, don’t … oh, no, no!” and the thin tearing screams again. Magda had never heard such terror. She could “not bear it. Quickly she cut the bandage, lifted Jaelle’s hands one after another to show that they were free. Somehow that penetrated Jaelle’s delirium; she stopped shrieking and lay back quietly. About an hour later she began restlessly to tear at the bandage on her face again, but Magda had no notion of repeating whatever had terrified her so; instead she took the unconscious woman’s hands firmly between her own and held them tight. She said quietly and firmly, “You must not do that; lie still, you will hurt yourself. I will not tie your hands, but you must be still.” She repeated this over and over, several times, with variations.
Jaelle opened her eyes, but Magda knew she did not see her. She muttered, “Kindra,” and later, “Mother,” but let her hands rest in Magda’s without struggling. Once she said, to no one present, “It hurt. But I didn’t cry.”
Most of that night Magda sat beside Jaelle, listening to her delirious mutterings, holding her hands tight whenever she tried to tear at the bandages or, as she started to do later, to climb out of bed, under some agitated impression-Magda gathered from her raving- that she was needed somewhere else, at once. Magda had nothing to give her for the fever; there were some medicines in Jaelle’s saddlebags, but Magda did not know how to use them or what they were. She sponged her several tunes with the icy water from the well, and tried to make her drink, but Jaelle pulled away and would not swallow. Toward morning she sank into quiet; Magda did not know whether she was asleep or had lapsed into a coma and was dying. In either case there-was nothing she could do. She lay down at the unconscious woman’s side and closed her eyes for a moment’s rest; suddenly the shelter was full of gray light and Jaelle was lying with her eyes open, looking at her.
“How do you feel, Jaelle?”
“Like hell,” Jaelle said. “Is there some water, or tea, or something? My mouth has not been this dry since I left Shainsa.”
Magda brought her a drink; Jaelle gulped it thirstily and asked for more. “Did you stay by me all night?”
“Until you fell asleep; I was afraid you would tear off your bandages. You tried.”
“Was I delirious?” When Magda nodded, Jaelle said with a wry grin, “That explains it; I dreamed I was back in the Dry Towns, and Jalak-well, it was frightful nonsense, but I have rarely been so glad to wake up.” She put a tentative hand to the bandages.
“You will have a dreadful scar, I am afraid.”
“There are some women in the Guild-house who think their scars a good advertisement for their skill,” said Jaelle, “but, then, I am not a fighter.”
Magda had to smile at that. “I should say you were quite a fighter.”
“I mean, not a professional fighter. I do not normally hire myself out as soldier or bodyguard,” Jaelle said, and shifted her body uncomfortably. “I don’t remember much after you cut off my tunic.”
“I’ll tell you more after I dress your wound,” Magda said. Jaelle had run so high a fever that Magda feared to find infection; but there was at least no renewed bleeding^ though the edges of the wound looked ugly. Poisoned? Jaelle said, “I have some karalla powder in my saddlebags; it will keep the wound from closing too soon with rot beneath.” At her directions Magda sprinkled the wound with the gray stuff before re-bandaging it. Jaelle was exhausted and pale, but coherent; she ate some of the dried-meat soup, with Magda’s help, and drank more water.
“You killed both of them? That does surprise me!”
“It surprised me, too,” Magda confessed.
Jaelle uneasily fingered the bandage on her face. “I am not one of those who make a fetish of displaying their scars, but I may have to pretend that I am. Better scarred than buried-or blind! Camilla told me, once, that there were some men who found knife-scars on a woman irresistible.” She sank back wearily against the rolled saddlebag under her head. “It was a fool’s wound, really. Gwennis, or even old Camilla, could have driven them both away without taking a scratch.”