‘Yes, sir. I also sent riders to the hospital in Carlis, where Mendyr Syn’s two assistants are working. They should be here soon to help with the wounded.’
Waylander moved across to where Yu Yu Liang was sitting with his back to a tree. Keeva was beside him, her arm still around the shoulders of the blond page. The boy looked up at Waylander and gave a nervous smile.
‘Were you very frightened?’ Waylander asked the boy.
‘Yes, sir. Is my uncle safe?’
‘He was when last I saw him.’ He turned his attention to Yu Yu. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.
‘Like I want to be ditch-digger again,’ said Yu Yu. ‘Like I could throw this puking sword in sea and go home.’
‘You can do that,’ said Waylander. ‘You are a free man.’
‘Later,’ said Yu Yu, ‘but first we have to find Men of Clay.’
Many of the servants were reluctant to return to the palace, but as the boldest of them moved through the doors most of the others followed. Another fifteen joined the thirty who had already quit the Grey Man’s service and journeyed to Carlis.
Waylander walked out through the banquet hall and found Kysumu sitting cross-legged on the terrace stones. The Rajnee’s arms were extended outwards, his head bowed. Waylander moved silently past him, leaving the warrior to his meditation.
The sun was high now in a clear blue sky, shining down upon the myriad colours of the flowers in the terraced gardens. The scent of roses filled the air. It made the events of the night seem like a dream. Waylander strolled down to his apartments. The door was open, and there was a crimson smear upon the frame.
Inside the priestess Ustarte lay naked in one corner. Blood from a number of wounds to her flanks, arms and legs was seeping through her striped fur. Waylander knelt beside her. She was unconscious. Stretching her out on her back he examined the wounds. They were deep. Way-lander drew the blue crystal from his pocket, slowly moving it over the tears in her flesh. He could see no sign of the flesh-eating maggots. Finding his medicine bag he took from it a curved needle and began to stitch the largest of the jagged rips in her side. Her golden eyes opened and locked to his gaze. Then they closed once more. Way-lander continued his work. Her fur was not soft, like that of a cat. It was wiry and thick, the muscles beneath supple and immensely strong. Indeed she was far stronger than the slim form suggested. There was further evidence of this when he tried to lift her, to carry her to his bed. She weighed at least as much as two tall men. Unable to move her, Waylander fetched a pillow and some blankets and laid them on a chair close by. Then, using old cloths, he mopped up the blood around her. Wiping his hands clean, he lifted her head and slipped the pillow under it. Then he covered her with the blankets.
Having done all he could, Waylander left the building, pulled shut the door and walked to the waterfall. Stripping off his clothes he stood beneath the cold water.
Refreshed, he returned to his rooms. He found a fresh shirt and leggings, dressed and returned to the priestess. Her breathing was shallow, her face ashen. Her eyes opened and she tried to speak, the effort causing her to wince. ‘Don’t talk,’ he said softly. ‘Rest now. I will fetch you some water.’ He filled a goblet, raised her head and held it to her lips. She drank a little then sank back. ‘Sleep,’ he said. ‘Nothing will harm you.’ He was aware even as he said it that he could, in truth, make no such guarantees, but the words were out before he could stop them.
He walked to the door and sat down on the step. The fishermen were out in the bay, the white sails of their boats bright in the sunlight. Waylander leaned back against the door frame.
Eldicar Manushan had been torn apart battling the demons in the ruins. He could not, surely, at the same time, have summoned more monsters to attack the palace. Waylander considered the attack. There had been three targets, Mendyr Syn, Yu Yu Liang and Ustarte. Since Yu Yu and the Rajnee sword had been in the hospital building, the death of the surgeon may have been merely a tragic coincidence. Anger flickered in his weary frame. Life was full of such meaningless tragedies.