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a strong, healthy boy like Loke could defeat this? The medic hadn t even
bothered to set his leg. The blankets were brought, as were the bandages
and finally the wine. Arman replaced the bandage over his belly, and covered
him with two blankets even though the tent was stifling hot. He tried to help
the boy to some wine but Loke refused.  Feel sick. Sorry.
 Never mind, lad, it doesn t matter. The only thing that Loke seemed to
want was for Arman to hold his hand, and while he wanted that, Arman would
not move from his side.
Outside, he could hear shouting, and much activity. He should, he knew,
feel guilty for abandoning his post. He would apologise to Jozo later. But while
his dearest friend lay injured, Arman could not find the will to leave him.
Reports came in, delivered with an obvious respect for what was happening
in Arman s tent. Five soldiers killed, three injured, one seriously. The person
or persons who threw the bomb had not been discovered, the villagers had
been rounded up and were all under guard. Two urs beasts were dead, but
the village had enough to replace them.
Arman listened to it all, not really caring. All he could really hear was the
harsh sound of Loke s breathing, and the small choked whimpers he made,
trying to hide the extent of his pain from his master. To look at the boy, you
would never suspect him of such strength, a slight, fair creature, with eyes
which seemed to draw you in with their sorrow when he was sad, and which lit
up his face when he smiled. There was good breeding in Loke, and an iron
will. Arman prayed hard to Lord Niko that he would spare his friend.
The day wore on, the heat got worse. So did Loke, who began to ramble a
little, having a mumbled, mostly incoherent conversation half with Arman, half
with his dead father. Arman did his best to follow him, wiping his forehead,
and despairing at the cold feel of it. He changed the dressing again  the
bleeding was a little abated, but not much. Loke still refused wine, but allowed
Arman to trickle a little water into his mouth. It only made him cough and
choke, so Arman stopped and helped Loke sit a little until he could breathe.
The medic returned, Arman wasn t sure how much later. Regretful eyes,
damning words  nothing had changed, he said.  But the bleeding is slowing,
Arman hissed, drawing the man out of the tent so Loke could not hear him.
 Sei, he s bleeding inside. I ve seen this before.
 Then why in the name of all the gods don t you know how to treat it?
 It s been tried, General. The patients suffer agonies, and die of infection
anyway. None survive. I wish I could offer you better news. Loke is a good
lad.
 Get out of my sight, Arman growled. The man nodded and walked away,
unperturbed by his general s anger. Such acceptance only made Arman more
enraged, but there was nothing and no one he could vent his anger against.
He turned to go back into the tent, but heard his name called. He stopped
and waited for Jozo to reach him.  How is he?
 The medic says he s dying. The man lies, Jozo.
 A gut wound, I heard. I m sorry, Arman.
 Everybody s sorry, no one has an answer. He forced himself to rein in his
bitter temper.  I apologise for leaving you to deal with things...but when I
saw.... He shuddered and drew a breath.  Have you found the perpetrator?
 Not yet. We re secured the supplies and hostages have been selected. We
won t move until you re ready.
Until Loke dies, Arman realised he was saying.  They will pay for this
outrage, Jozo. Loke was no threat to them. We have killed no one on this
campaign.
 No, Arman, I know that, and they will pay, I promise you. But for now,
you re relieved, my friend. Go to him and give him comfort.
 Wait  the men who died. I don t want their bodies anywhere near this
wretched village.
 We ll carry out rites for them tomorrow, Arman. Don t trouble yourself.
Jozo clasped his shoulder.  I know this is hard, my friend. But it s war.
 Loke is not at war with anyone, Arman bit out, and shrugged off Jozo s
hand.  I will be on duty tomorrow.
 As long as it takes, Jozo said kindly.
Arman stalked back into the tent, and was immediately struck by the stink.
Loke had soiled himself, and was distressed by it.  Never mind, Loke, it s
nothing, Arman said gently, soothing his anguished friend s embarrassment,
cleaning up unobtrusively and settling clean blankets around him. Even these
gentle careful movements caused Loke acute pain. Every bitten off cry was
like a knife in the heart to Arman.
But at last he was settled again.  I m so cold, Arman. Hold me?
 Of course. He tucked more blankets around the shivering body and sat on
the pallet, lifting Loke s head and shoulders into his lap.  Is that better?
 Yes, Loke sighed.  It doesn t hurt so much now.
 That s good, Arman said with a sinking heart, for he knew this was not
relief that came from anything but the beginning of the final struggle.
Unbidden, tears began to trickle down his cheeks, but Loke s eyes were
closed, so he could not see them, thank the gods. He forced himself to smile,
so that his voice sounded cheerful.  Did I ever tell you about the time Tijus
and I stole two jesigs and decided to race them across my father s garden? I
was only eight.
 No, Loke whispered.  Tell me.
So Arman told him about the escapade and the unholy mess they d made,
then about the time they trained Karus pet tuktuk bird to swear. And how he
had once tried to make the fish in his mother s pond turn pink by feeding them
clisel berries, but all it did was to send them into a frenzy and the gardener
had had to net them and separate them before they fought themselves to
death. Loke laughed a little, even though it clearly hurt him.  You...were a bad
child, Arman.
 Very naughty. Karus said I was one of the worst boys he d ever taught.
 And...the best...man. He said...you...the best man.... [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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