WarDance (Chronicles of the Warlands #5)(54)

Amyu pressed herself against the shelves to make way. Jars and bottles rattled behind her. Eln called for his apprentices and the other healers.

The unconscious warrior’s lower back was a mess of torn leather armor, blood, dirt, grass, and sizzling flesh. Amyu wrinkled her nose as the stink of the poison rose from the wound. It smelled as rank as ehat musk.

“Two of the wyverns came swooping down as they rode out of the woods,” a guard explained. “Poor bastards didn’t know to watch for them. The others with her didn’t make it.”

The guards settled the warrior onto the table facedown, as gently as they could. “She’s breathing still,” one said. “We think maybe she’s from the Plains.”

Amyu sucked in a breath at that, and craned her neck to see the warrior’s face. “Eloix,” she said, recognizing the lax face. “She was with Simus of the Hawk.”

“Send word to the Warlord immediately,” Eln commanded, and one of the guards leaped to obey. “I need a few of you here,” Eln said. “In case—”

“Aye,” the oldest Guard said, nodding in understanding. “Best to be careful.” He reached over, and removed Eloix’s weapons from their sheaths.

Amyu slid toward the door, feeling in the way, but Eln stopped her with a look. “Stay.” He jerked his head into the corner near Eloix’s head. “You speak Firelander, and we don’t.”

Amyu obeyed, darting into the corner, and trying to make herself small as Eln called for supplies. “Wine,” he ordered his apprentices. “Water hasn’t worked before this. I need this armor cut away. Be careful not to let any of that venom get on you.”

There was another rattling of jars and bottles as they all moved about the room, getting into position. An older apprentice with leather gloves stepped forward, and started to peel back the shreds as another cut with a large knife. The sight of the wound got no better as the leathers and padding were removed.

The city guards were stoic, but they averted their eyes. One was having a hard time, and started to retch.

“Go,” Eln commanded and the guard released his hold on Eloix’s arm and darted for the door. “Amyu, take his place,” Eln instructed, and she did so. But even as she gripped Eloix’s wrist and shoulder Amyu couldn’t help but stare in revulsion and fascination. The bloody flesh bubbled and frothed before her eyes. She’d heard that wyvern poison ate away the flesh it touched, but she’d never seen it. She glanced at Eloix’s lax face, glad that the warrior wasn’t feeling the pain of the wound.

But that ended at the first touch of wine on her back. Eloix heaved up, half off the table, her hands clutching the edge with a white-knuckled grip. Her pained howl filled the room as hands pressed her back down.

“Skies above,” she panted, her eyes wild and unseeing as she was pressed back down on the table. “What has happened?”

“You were attacked,” Amyu spoke in the language of the Plains. “Injured by a flying beast.”

Eloix was gasping, taking in air, her eyes wild and dazed. Amyu kept talking, repeating the words as Eln worked furiously.

“Wine isn’t working, Master,” one of the apprentices said.

“We will try milk next, but only to a small area,” Eln instructed. “Keep trying the wine.”

Amyu looked down to see sanity return to Eloix’s eyes. “You,” she struggled to speak. “Child.”

“Yes.” Amyu set aside the all too familiar pain of rejection. “We have sent for the Warlord,” she said.

“We will give her something for the pain,” Eln said. “Tell her to drink it.”

Eloix blinked up at her. Her sweat-soaked hair was plastered to her skull. “What kind of wound is this?” she gasped out.

Amyu took the small bottle from the apprentice. “A sting, from a creature they call a wyvern.”

Eloix’s breathing came in harsh pants. “How bad?”

“Bad,” Amyu said. “This potion he offers you will take away the pain.”

“And my wits?” Eloix asked, taking the bottle.

“Probably,” Amyu said honestly.

“No, then.” Eloix took a breath, her face contorted, her voice shaking with strain. “These city-dwellers are soft. We are of the Plains. Give me the truth, child.”

“As you request,” Amyu said in their language as Eln and his people worked around her and Eloix. “It is said that the poison of the beast eats the flesh. The Warprize has told me that they have not found a way to heal it.”

“He can’t cure it?” Eloix drew in air between clenched teeth.

“The cure has been to cut off the struck limb.” Amyu felt her own voice quake. “But you were struck in the back.”

Eloix panted and rested her forehead on the rough wood of the table. “Is there an adult of the Plains near that I can give my message?”

She was so used to being dismissed as a child, Amyu wasn’t even surprised. “Eln sent word to the Castle, but there may not be enough time.” She tightened her grip on Eloix’s sweaty arm. “I swear that I will deliver the words you speak, and I will see that your rites are done properly, by a warrior of the Plains.”

Eln swore under his breath, and Amyu glanced over in time to see the despair on his face. He caught her looking, and scowled. “Have her drink,” he ordered.