The Bristling Wood - Katharine Kerr [93]
Eventually the chestnut raised its head with a drowsy nicker and broke the spell. Perryn mounted and rode on, guiding the horse instinctively through the dark forest. Although he rode for the rest of the night and on into the morning, he felt no hunger, no pain, his wound only a distant ache like a bee sting. About an hour after dawn, they came out of the trees just a mile from Nedd’s dun. He trotted up to the hill, then dismounted and led the tired horse up to the gates. He heard shouts and people running, but all at once, it was very hard to see. He concentrated on keeping his feet as Jill raced toward him.
“Lord Perryn! Are they all lost, then?”
“Cursed near. Besieged.”
Then he fainted into a merciful darkness, where it seemed a great stag came to meet him.
Between them, Jill and a servant named Saebyn got Perryn up onto a table in the great hall. As she soaked the blood-crusted shirt away from his wound, Jill found herself trying to remember every small thing Nevyn had ever told her about herbcraft, but the memories did her little good, because she had no proper tools and precious few herbs. The only thing Saebyn could turn up for a vulnerary was rosemary from the kitchen garden. At least Nevyn had always said that any green herb was better than none. When she finally loosened the shirt from the wound, she sent Saebyn off for more hot water and some mead, then carefully peeled the crusted linen away. Her gray gnome popped into reality and hunkered down on the table for a look.
“It’s not as bad as I feared,” Jill said to him. “See? It just sliced the muscle and missed those big blood vessels in the armpit.”
With a solemn nod, the gnome tilted his head to one side and considered the unconscious man. All at once it leapt up and hissed like a cat, its skinny mouth gaping to show every fang, its arms extended and its hands curled like claws. Jill was so surprised at hearing it make a sound that she caught it barely in time when it launched itself at Perryn and tried to bite him.
“Stop that!” She gave the gnome a little shake. “What’s so wrong?”
Its face screwed up in hatred, the gnome went limp in her hands.
“You can’t bite Lord Perryn. He’s ill already, and he’s never done anything to you, either.”
The gnome shook its head yes as if to say he had.
“What? Here, little brother, why don’t you come back later, and try to explain.”
It vanished just as Saebyn returned with the stableboy behind him. Jill washed the wound with water, then had Saebyn hold Perryn’s arms down and the stableboy his feet. Gritting her teeth, she poured the mead directly into the open wound. With a howl of pain, Perryn roused from his faint and twisted round. It was all the two men could do to keep him lying there.
“My apologies, my lord,” Jill said firmly. “But we’ve got to disperse the foul humors in this wound.”
For a moment he merely gasped for breath; then he turned his head to look at her.
“Forgot where I was,” he mumbled. “Go ahead.”
Jill wadded up a bit of rag and made him bite on it, then washed the wound again. He trembled once, then lay so still that she thought he’d fainted again, but his eyes were open in a stubborn resistance to pain that she had to admire. Mercifully, the worst was over. She made a poultice of the rosemary leaves, laid it in the wound, then bound it up with clean linen.
“Benoic,” he said at last. “I’ve got to ride to Benoic.”
“You can’t. You could bleed to death if you try. Tell me the message, and I’ll take it on.”
“Ride to my uncle. Tell him Nedd’s trapped in Graemyn’s dun.” His voice fell into a whisper. “Your Rhodry was still alive, last I saw of him.”
“My thanks.” Although she nearly broke, she forced her voice steady. “I’ll pray that he still is.”
While Saebyn told her who Benoic was and what road to take to Pren Cludan, Jill cut one of the embroidered wolves from Perryn’s bloody shirt to take as a token. When she rode out, she took two horses. By switching her weight back and forth, she would be able to ride at close to a courier’s speed. As soon as she was well away