‘I can see that,’ said Waylander. ‘What can you do?’ The middle-aged man shrugged, then moved to a washbasin and began to scrub his hands. ‘I have bathed it in lorassium, which is usually effective against any infection, but the blood does not clot. In fact, were it not impossible, I would say that whatever is in the wound is eating away at the flesh.’
‘He is dying, then?’
‘I believe he is. His heart is labouring. He is losing body heat. He will not last the night. By rights he should be dead already, but he is a tough man.’ Wiping his hands on a clean towel, he glanced down at the grey-faced Yu Yu Liang. ‘You say it was a hound that bit him?’
‘Yes.’
‘I hope it was killed.’
‘It was.’
‘I can only assume there was some kind of poison in the bite. Perhaps it had eaten something and some rancid meat was caught between its teeth.’ Pinching the bridge of his long nose, the surgeon sat down beside the dying man. ‘I can do nothing for him,’ he said, exasperation in his voice.
‘I’ll sit with him,’ said Waylander. ‘You should get some rest. You look exhausted.’
Mendyr Syn nodded. He glanced up at Waylander. ‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘You have been most kind to me in my research and my one chance to repay you is ending in failure.’
‘You do not need to repay me. You have helped many who needed it.’
As the surgeon rose the door opened and the shaven-headed priestess, Ustarte, entered the room, followed by Kysumu. She dipped her head towards Waylander, and then to Mendyr Syn. ‘Please pardon my intrusion,’ she said, looking into the surgeon’s pale blue eyes. ‘I thought I might be of some assistance. However, I do not wish to offend.’
‘I am not an arrogant man, Lady,’ said Mendyr Syn. ‘If there is anything you can do for this man I would be grateful.’
‘That is most gracious,’ she said, moving past him to the bedside. Her gloved hand lifted the poultice clear and she examined the festering wound. ‘I will need a metal dish,’ she said, ‘and more light.’ Mendyr Syn left the room, returning with a copper bowl and a second lantern, which he placed by the bedside. ‘It may be too late to save him,’ she continued. ‘Much will depend on the power of his body and the strength of his spirit.’
Dipping her hand into a pocket at the front of her red silk robe, Ustarte drew forth a gold-rimmed circle of blue crystal some three inches in diameter. ‘Bring a chair and sit beside me,’ she told Mendyr Syn. The surgeon did so. Ustarte leant across him, placing her hand over the copper bowl. Flames sprang up within it, burning without fuel. Then she handed the blue crystal to Mendyr Syn. ‘Look upon the wound through this,’ she said.
Mendyr Syn held the crystal to his eye – then jerked back. ‘By Missael!’ he whispered. ‘What magic is this?’
‘The worst kind,’ she told him. ‘He has been bitten by a Kraloth. This is the result.’
Waylander stepped forward. ‘May I see?’ he asked. Mendyr Syn gave him the crystal. He leant over the wound, and lifted the crystal. Scores of luminous maggots were devouring the flesh, their bodies swelling as they fed. Ustarte drew a long, sharp pin from the sleeve of her robe, offering it to Mendyr Syn. ‘Use this,’ she said. ‘Pierce the centre of each maggot then drop them into the fire.’ With that she rose from her chair and turned to Waylander. ‘The merest scratch inflicted by the teeth or talons of a Kraloth is generally fatal. Tiny eggs are deposited in the wound, and these swiftly become the maggots you saw.’
‘And the removal of the maggots will give him a chance?’ asked Waylander.
‘It is a beginning,’ she said. ‘When the wound is clean I will show Mendyr Syn how to prepare a new poultice. This will destroy any eggs still present in the bite. You should know, however, that it is possible that some of the maggots may have moved deeper within his body, devouring his flesh from within. He may awake, or he may not. If he does he may be blind – or insane.’