“Begging your pardon, ser.” Kusyl clears his throat and steps forward. “Thought you might like these.” He extends several biscuits.
“Thank you.” Lerial takes the biscuits and immediately eats one, then the other, before taking another swallow from his now nearly empty water bottle. Then he turns to Jaermyd. “We need to do this.” Before everything else gets worse and while you can.
Lerial and Jaermyd fashion a brace, using wood and canvas, to keep Rhamuel’s lower back as immobilized as possible, since there is little else that they can do, not that Lerial knows of, anyway. Then Lerial lets Jaermyd take the lead in setting Rhamuel’s leg, but does at one time stop the older healer. “Wait. There’s some wound chaos…”
Throughout both procedures, Rhamuel is silent, except for breathing heavily, but his forehead is damp by the time the two finish.
“Are you two done?” the arms-commander finally asks, his voice ragged.
Lerial forces a smile. “For now. Don’t move for a bit.”
“How could I, the way you’ve trussed me up?”
“That’s the point,” replies Lerial. “I’ll be back in a moment.” Then he leaves the chamber with Jaermyd. He says nothing until they are outside and well away from the doorway. “Thank you. You have more experience in setting bones.”
“You would have done just fine, ser.” The healer pauses. “You can sense wound chaos inside a body?”
Lerial nods. “There was a touch of it at the end of the spot where the bone broke. I thought it might heal better with a little order. I’m just glad the bones didn’t break the skin.”
“You know … ser…?”
“That he may never walk again? Or that he may not survive for that long? I know both are possible. It is also possible that he will live many years, even if he cannot walk.” But Afrit and Cigoerne both need him alive and alert for as long as possible, and many years would be for the best, especially if Natroyor is still alive. Or Mykel, for that matter.
“I will wish for the best.”
“You’ll have to do more than that, I fear, Jaermyd. You’re going to have to take care of him. I have this feeling I’m going to be needed elsewhere in Swartheld. I’ll need you to stand by near here. He’ll need to be moved to somewhere in the west wing of the palace where he can be guarded and where he can recover.”
“There are others…”
“You can tend to them, but don’t go far. Rhamuel is not only arms-commander of Afrit; he may also be the duke, or acting in place of the heir until he can be found.”
“Oh…”
“Exactly. Now … I need to talk to him.” Lerial pauses. “Thank you.”
Jaermyd looks down for a moment, then replies, “It’s what I do. I will do my best.”
“That’s all I ask.” With that, Lerial nods and then turns and walks back into the small room.
“Am I supposed to lie here while all Afrit falls apart?” Rhamuel demands.
“No, but you’re going to be mostly on your back for a while. We can tilt you, so long as your back is stiff. That’s why you’re bound so tightly…” Lerial is amazed that Rhamuel can talk so coherently with all his injuries. “In a bit, Jaermyd and Norstaan will have you moved to somewhere in the west part of the palace.”
“You’re not telling me everything.”
“I don’t know everything. I’ve told you all I know about the Heldyans. We haven’t had any word—”
“Ser…” Norstaan peers into the small room.
“Do you have the orders? And a pen and ink?”
“Yes, ser.”
“What orders?” demands Rhamuel.
“The ones we talked about. You can read them. If you don’t like them, we’ll change them, but we need to get them out to Sammyl and whoever’s in command at the Harbor Post.”
“We need to get them out?”
“You need to decide the orders. We need to get them where they go.” Lerial hands the first order to Rhamuel.
Rhamuel has to squint to read the words, but he finally looks up. “It sounds like me. Not you. That’s better.”
“I had Norstaan write them. I thought he might know how you write.”
“He drafts most orders.”
“Here’s the second order.”
Rhamuel’s hands are shaking by the time he lowers the second sheet. “Good. Your ideas?”
“What I thought should be done. Can you sign them?”
“I’ll see.”
“I brought a writing board,” Norstaan volunteers.
“Good.”
With Norstaan holding the inkwell, and the two troopers holding the writing board, Rhamuel manages to sign both orders … and add words to the effect that his seal was not available.
“There.” The arms-commander takes a shallow breath.
Lerial hands the signed orders to Norstaan. “You’ll need to send those out as soon as you can.”
“The messengers are ready, with escorts.”
“Good. What about copies?”
“I wrote one of each, ser. They’re not as neat.”
“They’ll have to do.”
As Lerial watches Norstaan leave the chamber, he wonders what he has forgotten or overlooked and turns to Rhamuel. “What else needs to be done?”