Sword Masters (11 page)

Jena left to tell her father that Arvon and Brakston were there, and that Arvon was wounded. Tarius stayed with Arvon while Brakston went to find the surgeon who had apparently gone home for dinner.

"So tell me how you saved the king, Sir Tarius," Arvon said. He lay back on the soft bed. "Damn! That feels good, now go on tell me." Tarius told him the story, and Arvon laughed. "You are indeed worthy of the title, Sir."

"The title annoys me," Tarius said.

"And Jena?" Arvon asked with a smile. "How did you win her favor?"

"Apparently by trying over and over again to get rid of her," Tarius said in a far away tone.

Arvon laughed again then coughed. "I will have to remember that one."

Tarius grew tired of leaving her friend there to suffer with no help. It wasn't as if she knew nothing of caring for wounds. She got up and started taking Arvon's pants off.

"Tarius! And you an almost married man, too," Arvon teased.

"Would you stop it." Tarius laughed. The pants came off, and she was no longer laughing. The dressings were filthy and stunk like death.

She carefully removed the filthy dressing. The arrow had gone through close to the bone. It had been removed properly, but improper care and improper cleaning had left the wound to become a mass of oozing green and yellow puss with red leech lines running in every direction. She didn't say anything. She just went to the sink and drew a bucket of water, grabbed some soap and a rag and started cleaning the wound. Arvon didn't complain that it hurt him, and Tarius knew this was a bad sign.

"It's bad isn't it?" Arvon asked.

"Well, it isn't pretty," Tarius said managing a smile. "Don't they cauterize wounds on the front?"

"There's no building a fire out there. There's nothing but rain day in and day out. Besides there's never time. There aren't enough medics, and very damn little in the way of medical supplies," Arvon said. He sighed and added. "I don't even know why we're fighting."

"That's because you haven't seen what the Amalites do to a land. No one who doesn't conform to their perverted rules is allowed to live. People like you and me are killed first because we are immoral, and don't conform to their idea of 'normal.' They are like locusts; they creep in at your borders eating at your land, and before you know it there is nothing left of you. They send their filthy missionaries ahead first. People ignore them because they seem harmless. The missionaries look for the lost ones in a community—the ones that don't have families or homes. They promise them a better life, and so slowly they take over from the inside. They find your weaknesses and your strengths and report their findings to their leaders. When they finally strike, their people are on both sides of the line, and you don't know who the enemy is. They are evil to the very core of their being . Their primary belief is that anyone who doesn't believe as they do is evil, and therefore they are under no moral obligation to treat us any better than bugs. Their history is littered with slaughter and death.
That
is why we fight; we have to kill them. We have to kill them before they can kill us, because given half a chance they will kill us all. Have no doubt of that."

"They should have you speak to the troops, Tarius, the men need to know what they are fighting against and for," Arvon said.

Tarius just nodded silently.

Tarius had been taught how to bind and tend wounds as a child in Kartik. She knew that the Jethrik ways were different than Kartik and certainly different from the way the Katabull did things, but there was still no sign of the surgeon, and she got the impression that Arvon was running out of time. She found a piece of wire and some alcohol. Then she secured a piece of cloth to the wire. First making sure she had left no sharp edges hanging out, she dipped the cloth into the alcohol. If it ran into the wound easily, that would mean that it was rotting instead of healing.

"This is going to hurt a lot," Tarius said.

"Thanks for telling me," Arvon said with a forced laugh.

Tarius poked the swab into the wound gently. Yellow and green puss immediately erupted from it, and instead of screaming in pain, Arvon let out a sigh of relief. The smell was awful, and Tarius almost threw up. She ran the swab through the wound several times. It was no wonder Arvon was running a fever.

He was all over filthy, so Tarius undressed him and started to give him a sponge bath as much to clean him off as to reduce his fever.

"Ah! My dream come true," Arvon coed.

"Shut up, ya blaggard, or I'll leave ya set in your own filth," Tarius said but not without a smile.

His fever was bad, and he shook with the cold. As soon as he was clean, Tarius dressed his wound and pulled one of the surgery's tunics on him. She covered him with blankets and wondered where the hell the surgeon was.

"Crawl in with me and keep me warm," Arvon said through chattering teeth.

Tarius laughed as she cleaned up the mess she'd made. "You really are incorrigible."

"Do you really only like women?" Arvon asked.

"Yes, sorry," Tarius said with a smile. "If I liked men, I'm sure I'd go for you in a heartbeat. However, I'm afraid you would be gravely disappointed in me," Tarius said.

Brakston walked in then. "Where's the surgeon? He said he'd meet me here."

Tarius shrugged. "I cleaned it up and dressed it the way I was taught. I'm sure the surgeon will want to do it all over again when he gets here."

"It feels better all ready," Arvon said. He was starting to get tired.

"He hasn't kept any food down in days. Water either for that matter," Brakston said.

Tarius nodded. "I'll go get him broth then." Tarius left.

Brakston watched him go. "He is a puzzlement that one. Looks like a kid, yet he knows so much more about everything than I do."

"His life has been a hard one," Arvon said.

The surgeon swept into the room then, and ran to Arvon's side. "I'm sorry it took me so long. It's the leg, isn't it?"

Arvon nodded. "It's all right. Tarius has seen to it."

The surgeon looked at the dressing. It was different than he would have done it, but it worked the same way. "Well, he seems to have dressed it properly. Let's just see the leg." He peeled the dressings back, and a frown darkened his face. "The infection has spread; the leg will have to come off."

"You'll not take my leg," Arvon said.

"I'll give you something to kill the pain." He walked over and started mixing powders.

"Isn't there some other way?" Brakston asked.

"I'm afraid not," the surgeon said.

Arvon looked at his partner with panicked eyes. "Don't let them take my leg. I'd rather be dead."

"He will be if we don't take the leg," the surgeon promised. He got out a huge knife and a saw.

"No, no!" Arvon cried. "Please don't do this! Brakston, don't let them do this."

"I want you to live . . ."

"Without the leg he won't live," Tarius had stepped into the room. She looked at the surgeon. "The leg will heal. It was filthy; I cleaned it. If we keep the wound clean and dry, there is a chance that it will heal."

"Sir Tarius, would you challenge my skill as a surgeon? I tell you this man will die unless we remove his leg," the surgeon said.

"And he will die if you do remove his leg," Tarius said. She looked not at the surgeon but at Brakston.

"Listen to me. I have seen what happens with wounds like this, and I have seen what happens when they take a man's arm or his leg. His chances are better with the leg than they are without it." Tarius moved to stand between the surgeon and Arvon.

"Sir Tarius," the surgeon started in a patronizing tone. "I know you have your friend's best interest at heart, but if he doesn't have this surgery soon . . . "

Arvon took hold of Tarius's pants leg, and Tarius looked down at him. "Tarius, a thousand blessings on your head, and on that of your fine lady. My gratitude and loyalty till the day of my death if you save my leg from this butcher."

The surgeon took a step forward with his knives and his saw, and Tarius drew steel.

"The only thing that will be cut off this night is your head if you come one step closer to my friend," Tarius said with venom. "He will live, and he will have both legs."

Brakston drew his blade. "Tarius, good brother, hear me. The surgeon knows what's best in this matter."

Tarius saw the servant in the back take off running, no doubt to go and get Darian. She didn't care. Arvon was her friend, her mentor, and he had made a pledge to her like no person ever had.

Darian and Jena ran in one door as Justin ran in the other.

Darian reviewed the situation keenly. "What's all this then?"

"Arvon needs surgery, and Tarius won't let the surgeon touch him," Brakston explained. He didn't know what to do. Who was wrong? Who was right? The doctor said Arvon would die without surgery. Arvon didn't want the surgery. Brakston didn't want Arvon to die. Tarius said he was as likely to die with the surgery as without it. Brakston was tired, hungry and confused. He knew only one thing for a certainty he did not want to fight Tarius. For one thing, Tarius was his friend, and for another he knew he could not beat Tarius in a sword fight.

"I don't want my leg cut off," Arvon said.

"As long as he doesn't want his leg cut off, I'm not going to allow anyone to do it," Tarius said.

"Jena," Darian said under his breath, as if just realizing she had followed him. "Go back to the house. This is a matter between men."

Jena shrugged and didn't move a muscle. She even had the bad manners to speak. "It's Arvon's leg; it should be his decision," she said.

"Daughter, this is a matter between men," Darian said hotly.

"But she's right," Arvon said. "It is my leg."

"He's filled with fever from the infection. His judgment is skewed! You can't allow him to make this kind of decision now. It must be done for him," the surgeon said.

"Tarius, step aside. The lad will die without the surgery," Justin said in a calm voice.

Tarius stood silent, sword still drawn and ready. It was obvious that he didn't mean to back down.

Darian looked around, carefully trying to weigh out the situation. Arvon was a fighter—a man who didn't want to even consider living without both legs. The surgeon was a proud man who didn't want his decision challenged by the likes of this out-country barbarian. Brakston was war, road- and worry-exhausted, and didn't really know what was right.

That left Tarius. Tarius had made up his mind. They'd have to kill him to go against his will, and Darian doubted that he, Justin and Brakston together could take him. In fact, he was
sure
that they couldn't.

Besides, as Darian remembered it, Tarius was right. Most men who had amputations died anyway from the shock.

Justin looked at him, obviously anxious for him to make a decision.

"Arvon does not want his leg removed. We all know that none of us can beat Tarius in a fight, and with Tarius as his champion I believe that Arvon's decision will have to stand," Darian said. "Surgeon, put your tools away."

Brakston's steel went back into its sheath, and Tarius's was sheathed at once.

"Fine, but I can tell you I'll have nothing to do with this," the surgeon said. He glared at the out-country wild man. "You think yourself a better surgeon than I. Fine! Let his death be on your head." He stormed out.

Darian motioned with his head for Justin and Brakston to leave, and they did so without question.

Tarius redressed Arvon's wound and covered him. Then he walked over and got the mug of broth he had brought for Arvon. It was still warm, so he helped him to sit up and handed him the mug, which he emptied gratefully. When he had finished it Tarius helped him to lie down. When Tarius set the mug down, Darian motioned for Tarius to join him and Jena.

Jena and Tarius both squirmed, not quite sure which offense they were about to be scolded for. Both were hoping against hope that Darian didn't know about their little romp in the woods. If he knew about either the fighting or the sex, they'd both be in for a beating.

"Can't you just once act like a lady and keep to your place?" Darian said in an angry whisper to Jena.

Jena and Tarius looked at each other and sighed a heavy sigh of relief knowing that they hadn't been caught. Jena even managed a sly smile, and Tarius, red faced, looked quickly away.

"I'm sorry, Father," Jena said.

"Are you really, or are you just telling me what you think I want to hear?" he asked suspiciously.

"Why the former of course, Father," she said sarcastically.

"See that's what I'm talking about, Jena. You're a woman, as such your job is to do as you're told," Darian said.

"She has her own thoughts and ideas," Tarius said hotly. "She's a woman, not a toad. Her thoughts and feelings are as valid as any man's, maybe more so."

Darian literally tugged at his hair. "Ah, Tarius! Can't you see what you are doing? She is bad enough already, but you encourage her to be even worse! It's as if you prefer her because she is head-strong and messy."

Tarius smiled unashamed, "I do."

"You are mad! You are both quite mad and iritating! You expect the whole world to change for you!" Darian ranted.

Oh, you have no idea how true your words are. If only the world would change for us, then I could be who I am, and Jena could be who she is,
Tarius thought.

"Look at you, Jena! No shoes, and your hair looks as if you've been rolling around in the woods!"

Again Jena and Tarius looked at each other with hidden meaning.

"And you Tarius, you can not continue to throw yourself into the middle of things like this. If you are wrong, then Arvon's blood is on your hands."

"No, his blood will be on the hands of an Amalite archer, and at least I will know he died with a full spirit," Tarius said. "I will stay with him till he is well."

She looked at Jena then. "You'll see, he'll live, and he'll have both legs."

"I only hope you're right, or we'll all have to hear about it forever," Darian said. "Come along, Jena."

Jena moved to embrace Tarius, and they kissed.