Iften eyed me, but made no response.

“If you don’t let me set it, you may heal, but you will not heal true. You may lose all use of your hand, or never regain the strength in it again.” I paused. “It is your sword arm.”

He responded then, glowering in my direction.

“If you allow me to care for it, the chances are good that the arm will heal true. If you wait to see a warrior-priest, the damage maybe too great for them to fix.”

“You’d cast your spells, eh, Warprize.” He mocked me.

“I cast no spells, Iften. I have only the skills and knowledge of my craft. The rest is in the hands of the Goddess. Or the elements.”

There was a long pause, and for a moment I held the hope that he would agree. But his face darkened, and anger flared in his eyes. I’d lost.

He spat out his fury. “I’ve listened, and the wind has brought me nothing. Leave.”

“Fool,” Prest said.

Without a thought, Iften reached for his weapon, but the pain caught him even faster as the arm began to move. He hissed, drawing the limb back against his chest.

I turned and left without another word. As we emerged and headed toward Keir’s tent, I questioned Prest. “What was that?”

He smiled, the wind catching his braids. “A teaching tool.”

“For children.” Rafe shook his head. “For a quiet man, you can sure make someone froth at the mouth.”

Prest grinned.

Rafe turned back to me. “It goes like this, Warprize.

I nodded, then looked over at Prest. “You insulted him.”

Prest shrugged, but there was no grin this time. “How long, Warprize?”

“Before he loses the use?” At his nod, I continued. “It depends on the swelling. But the damage will be permanent if he doesn’t get it seen to within the next week or so. And even then, I might have to re-break the bone.”

Prest grunted, but he looked oddly satisfied.

The combats proved to be both unsettling and exciting.

Unsettling because these warriors went at it tooth and nail, with bare steel and grim faces. I was used to watching practice sessions, but that didn’t prepare me for naked combat. True, they were to first blood, but they took the fighting deadly seriously. Each combat had a judge, usually one of the warleaders, or Keir himself.

Exciting because each combat had warriors watching, warriors who yelled out their support, their criticisms and encouragement. More mob than audience. The first one or two, I had sat there in fear, waiting for one to kill the other. But Isdra pointed out the level of skill that the warriors were using, and Yers explained that it was considered disgraceful to kill someone in these types of fights. So I started to relax. The noise was startling but the fever was catching, and I found myself yelling as well. Keir, laughing at my enthusiasm, had reminded me that it would be best if I showed no favoritism. It was hard to sit there and watch without really participating, so I spent more time in my stilltent. Because the combats accomplished more than just determining a winner: They also had warriors seeking me out for aid. The last one for today was standing before me, holding his right arm in his left hand.

“That looks deep.” I reached for his arm, to see it better. The blood was oozing through his leather armor. It looked clean, thank the Goddess, and I looked up to offer reassurance. Large brown eyes stared at me glumly through fairly long brown hair. “I made it through four rounds, Warprize, but Ander’s blow went right through the leather.”

If he was twenty, I’d be surprised. A warrior, and his disappointment was obvious. I turned the arm carefully, to look at it closer. “A nasty cut. Sit here, and let me see to it.”

The lad shifted from foot to foot before sitting down rather slowly. I called to Rafe, standing guard outside, then turned back to my patient. “What is your name?”

“Cadr, Warprize.”

With Rafe’s help, we eased the young man out of his armor. Rafe whistled when he saw the cut through the leather. “Who was your opponent?”

“Ander.”

Rafe nodded. “He’s a strong one. How many rounds did you make it through?”

The lad looked up. “Four, Warrior.”

“Well done, to make it that far.” Rafe gave me a nod, and went back out to his post.

The lad straightened at Rafe’s parting words. I started to clean the arm, although it wasn’t all that dirty.

“Gonna use bloodmoss?”

Startled, I look at him. “Why, yes, I think so.”

He nodded. “Gils told me. Told me that the wound had to be clean.” He gave the wound a critical look. “Looks clean.”

“You knew Gils?”

He nodded, and used his good hand to open a pouch at his side. He pulled out a small package of bloodmoss, wrapped carefully in a clean cloth. “Gils and I were friends, Warprize.” His face was stoic, but I could hear the pain in his voice. “I wanted to take his place as your guard.”

“Gils wasn’t my guard, Cadr. Gils was my apprentice.” I choked a bit on the words.

“Guardian of your knowledge.” Cadr answered quietly.

I reached for the dried leaves as I blinked back my tears. Cadr watched in silence as I packed the arm carefully, pressing it tight to the wound. The familiar moldy smell filled my nose as the plant did its work. As soon as the color changed, I pulled the leaves away to reveal the pink skin beneath it. “Favor the arm for a day, Cadr.”

“I will.” He adjusted his seat as he struggled into his tunic with my help. “Warprize, what Gils told me was interesting, and I’d like to leam more. Not sure I want to give up being a warrior… ”

I looked at him and smiled. “If you want to learn more, that’s fine. Come when you have time, and I’ll be glad to teach you some useful things.”

Cadr nodded, picked up his other bits of armor and turned to leave. But a memory came to me, something Gils had said. “Cadr?”

He turned, with an enquiring look.

“Didn’t Gils tell me that you had a boil?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “I tried to deal with it myself, Warprize. Thought you’d be angry. But it’s back, and bigger, and hurting.”

“Drop your pants, young man.” I moved to get my lances, a sense of quiet joy in my heart. Here was something I could cure. “I’ll explain about boils while we take care of this problem.”

Cadr sighed, and dropped his pants.

After dealing with Cadr’s problem, I returned to the command tent. Keir was still out, but Marcus had promised to have four buckets of hot water waiting, with my soaps laid out for me, and drying cloths. Keir’s people may be comfortable bathing together naked in the river but not me. While a hot bath might be out of the question, using the drain in the privy room to shower myself with warm water was the next best thing. Rafe and Prest took up position by the tent entrance.

Marcus was waiting inside. “Everything is laid out, Warprize. If you need help with the water, call.”

“I will.” I turned and glared at my guards. “No interruptions.”

“Even the Warlord?” Prest asked with a sly grin.

“The Warlord may enter.” Actually, I was hoping the Warlord would enter. I’d not seen him most of the day. “No one else, unless they are ill.”

“As the Warprize commands.” Prest bowed, as Rafe and Marcus chuckled.

Once in the privy, I checked the water temperature, set my bag on a bench and started to undress. I did miss the hot baths under the castle of Water’s Fall. Soaking in their warm depths was a luxury that I had taken for granted. But given the living conditions in this camp, I was grateful for what I had. Remembering the temperature of the water in the lake made me shiver.