The Last Ring-bearer - Kirill Yeskov [26]
Tangorn suddenly raised himself on an elbow; Haladdin realized with horror that he had been fully conscious while they were busy with his wound. The firelight clearly showed the baron's face, shining with sweat, but his voice was just as steady, even if a little hoarse: "Don't worry, guys. After all, I was supposed to be dead two days ago; were I to play this round again, I'd use this break in the same way…" With those words he pulled down his collar, baring the carotid artery. "So, Sergeant, just do it: one-two, and all set. I'd really rather not be stuck in the sand again. Then get away, and good luck to you both. Too bad that our acquaintance had been so short, but that's life."
"Baron, I'm a simple man," Tzerlag answered calmly, "and I'm used to doing things by the book. The Field Manual, paragraph forty-two, says clearly that the 'strike of mercy' is allowed only when there's an immediate danger of the wounded man falling into the foe's hands. When such a danger appears – tomorrow, say – then we'll discuss it."
"Quit fooling around, Sergeant! Why the hell would you doom all three of us, when you won't save me anyway?"
"Quiet in the ranks! We came here together and we'll leave together; the rest is the One's will. Doctor, check the Elf's pack, maybe he has a medkit there?"
Haladdin called himself an idiot; he should have thought to check. What's he got in there? All right, an excellent bow and a quiver with thirty arrows, each with a leather sheath on the point, so they must be poisoned; a wonderful weapon, I'll have it for myself. A coil of elvenrope: weighs half a pound, takes up a pint of space, a hundred feet long, can hold three mûmakil; this'll come in handy. Elvish bread and a flask of Elvish wine, which isn't wine at all; wonderful, the baron could use some right away. A purse with gold and silver coins, probably to pay the Easterlings since the Elves supposedly don't use money; we'll keep that, can't have too much money. Writing implements and some notes, written in runes… damn, can't make out anything in the dark; all right, if we live, we'll read them. Oh, here it is, the One be praised! Having opened the medkit, Haladdin was stunned: it had everything he could think of, and all of the best quality. Antiseptic – spider webs covered with gray-green spots of healing lichen; analgesic – little balls of dehydrated Khand purple poppy juice; coagulant – powdered mandrake root from the high meadows of the Misty Mountains; stimulant – cola nuts from Harad's swampy jungles; tissue regenerator – a brown resin-like substance capable of mending a broken bone or a trophic sore in five days; plus much more he had neither time nor need to discern right then. Just let Tzerlag figure out how to throw the pursuit off track, and he'll have the baron in good shape in no more than a week.
In the meantime the Orocuen was going through the Easterlings' packs in search of flasks and rations – in their position another ten or fifteen minutes meant nothing. What they needed was an idea; they were finished without one. So: they could go onto the hamada, he knew a few outcroppings nearby with suitable cracks; however, those were likely to be searched first. Hiding in the sand was not an option – with no wind, there was no way to conceal their tracks, they'd be tracked down in no time. The only thing he could think of was to head west at best possible speed, towards the mountains, and try to reach the edge of the Morgai plateau with its wind-hollowed caves, but what chance did they have of covering over thirty miles with a non-walking wounded?.. The baron, revived somewhat by a couple of good draughts of Elvish wine, interrupted his thoughts: "Sergeant, a minute of your time? Please examine the Elf."
"Whatever for?" the scout was surprised. "I've already checked – dead as a snake skin."
"That's not what I mean. I keep thinking about that leather breastplate of his that a sword can't pierce. Please check whether there's anything