Four more of the Desert Cats had reached the wagon, and they all spoke at once as they saw their Kaigan lying unconscious on the wagon’s rear platform. The babble grew noisier as more of the clan hurried over and the questions became more insistent.
“Yes,” Dukkai called out. “I will do that. I will see that no harm comes to Baru Ksoka.”
“Watch closely!” shouted someone in the gathering crowd.
As Ro-shei reached the wagon, he had to push through the press of Desert Cats to reach Zangi-Ragozh. One glance at Baru Ksoka was enough for him to realize how grave the situation was. “Did a boar slash him?”
“No; those are wolf bites,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “I need to get to work on him now. You know which direction the hunt went—Imgalas needs five men to ride out to help them bring home the pigs and pony and the wolf-pelts. Those of you who go, tell Imgalas that the Kaigan will live, if his wounds do not fester.”
“You must stop that happening!” Neitis sounded terrified.
“If you cannot keep him alive, you had best have a fast pony ready,” threatened another voice from the rear of the group.
“Go ahead with what you must do,” said Ro-shei quietly. “I’ll stand guard and do my best to explain.” He noticed Neitis standing very near the back platform and said to him, “Do you want to help your uncle?”
Neitis nodded. “Why is he so quiet?”
“He is hurt,” said Ro-shei. “He must have rest, so that he can regain his strength.” He nodded over his shoulder to Zangi-Ragozh. “We will handle things, my master.”
“Thank you,” said Zangi-Ragozh, and climbed onto the rear platform and picked up Baru Ksoka in one easy gesture. He shouldered through the double hanging flap and saw Dukkai sitting on her hanging cot, anxiety carving lines in her countenance. “I suspect it is worse than it looks, but it is bad enough,” he told her. “It is important that he stay warm.”
“Has lie lost a lot of blood?” She held out her hand. “Tell me; I have to know.”
“Yes. But he has not lost so much blood or turned so cold that he will die.”
“How can you be sure?” She was pale, more from worry than from her own condition.
Zangi-Ragozh stared at her as he put the Kaigan down on a large chest. “If there is one thing I can be certain of, it is blood. The cold is less certain, but he has not become icy.”
“Is that a danger?” Dukkai was growing upset.
“Cold is always dangerous to the living,” he told her.
She studied him, nodded once more, and lay back on the hanging cot. “Do you have enough light?”
“I see well enough in the dark,” he replied, then saw the apprehension in her eyes and went on, “But if you will move that oil-lamp, I will have fewer shadows to deal with, and my work will go more quickly,” he said, working to peel back the leather leggings the Kaigan wore. “These are ruined,” he said as he dropped the leggings, letting them fall into a basket near the head of the chest where Baru Ksoka lay.
“What happened?” Dukkai wondered aloud.
“He had slain a boar and was gutting it,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “So he was by himself when a wolf pack came upon him. His pony bolted, and the wolves caught it.” He bent over Baru Ksoka. “I have clean water in that blue cask.” He pointed. “If you will hand it to me?”
“That I will,” said Dukkai, reaching for it and holding it out to Zangi-Ragozh. “Will water be enough?”
“To clean the wounds? yes,” said Zangi-Ragozh, prying up the wide top of the cask. “It is essential that the injuries be washed free of all material so that the medicament may work without impediment.” He opened a large container and took out a stack of cotton squares, two of which he put into the water to soak. “He will have to sleep for as long as possible. I will prepare a draft for him when I have done with dressing his injuries. It is made from poppies—”
“We know about poppies,” said Dukkai. “They can rob a man of his wits.”
“And they are anodyne,” said Zangi-Ragozh; he took one of the cotton squares from the water.
“You said—out there—that if his wounds do not fester, he will recover.”
“Yes, and so he shall. He has an excellent constitution, and even now, when times are hard, he has kept up his strength and his stamina. Such men do not usually fail in their health unless rot of one kind or another sets in, and I have a sovereign remedy that makes such a development less likely.”
“Are you so certain he will—”
“You need not worry, Dukkai.” He leaned forward, using the wet cotton square to clean out the savage bites on Baru Ksoka’s legs and arm. “He has a deep gash on his arm, and there may be some difficulty in healing.”
“Why should that be?” She was becoming agitated, trying not to look away as Zangi-Ragozh continued to bathe the Kaigan’s wounds.
“Because tendons are torn, and they often do not knit well, particularly in the arms, for they are so crucial in riding and fighting.” This last addition was said as if from a distance as he concentrated on his task. “Those wolves—Baru Ksoka might well have been killed and eaten.”
“Eaten?” she asked sharply.
“Of course. The wolves are as hungry as you are. Usually they avoid men in numbers.” He put the red-stained cotton square into the basket with the leggings. “If you have any magic to offer him, it would be wise to do so.”
“I will chant for him,” she said, and began a three-note repetitive pattern of invocation to the gods of the flesh and healing, and to the Lord of the Skies, all the while keeping a wary eye on Zangi-Ragozh.
Taking the second cotton square from the water, Zangi-Ragozh sluiced the wounds thoroughly, then cleaned off Baru Ksoka’s hands and face; while he was wiping the Kaigan’s brow, the man finally stirred, murmuring disjointed syllables as he tried to shift his position on the chest. Zangi-Ragozh held him down with deceptive ease. “Calmly, Baru Ksoka, calmly,” he urged. “Lie still and you will soon feel better.” He reached with one hand to his container of medicaments and reached for a vial, and then a small jar, which he set on the end of the chest. Keeping Baru Ksoka still with his right arm, he took a cup from a braced shelf and dipped it in the cask of water, then emptied the contents of the vial into it before adding a dollop of thick, amber-colored syrup to the cup. He stirred the contents with an ivory chopstick and then helped Baru Ksoka to raise his head. “Drink this. It will lessen your pain.”
Obediently Baru Ksoka drank, sputtering a little once as he tried to swallow too quickly. When the cup was empty, he looked blearily up at Zangi-Ragozh. “Where am I?”
“In my wagon at your camp. Imgalas and the rest of your men are bringing back boar, pony, and wolf-pelts.” He disposed of the cotton square with its fellow in the basket. “I am going to dress your wounds and bind them with cotton.”
“I believe his sovereign remedy will help you,” Dukkai interjected.
“A sovereign remedy.” Baru Ksoka was having trouble fixing his attention as he looked blearily from Dukkai to Zangi-Ragozh. “I need rest. Let me sleep.” The last ended on a sigh as Zangi-Ragozh eased his head back down onto the chest.
“Yes. If you will rest, the remedy will do its work.” He reached for his container of medicaments again, and this time took out a twist-lidded jar. He opened it, revealing an unguent that was the consistency of rabbit-skin glue. He fingered out a small amount and smeared it on the worst of the Kaigan’s leg wounds, then repeated the application on the other. Straightening up, he took a length of cotton from his container and began to wrap the leg, working slowly and methodically. When he had finished with both, he took another fingerful of unguent and spread it over the deep punctures on Baru Ksoka’s arm, taking care to work the substance deep into the injury; he paid no heed to the occasional grunts of pain that came from Baru Ksoka. When he was finished, he said, “I do not want you to use your arm or your hand for at least three days.”
Baru Ksoka was growing weary, but he sighed, saying, “You must … I am not … a weakling.”
“No, Kaigan, you are not,” Zangi-Ragozh agreed. He stepped back in the confines of the wagon, taking care not to intrude upon Dukkai’s chanting. He looked out the double-flap and saw Ro-shei standing nearby. “His wounds are medicated and bandaged. Will you inform his women to make his bed ready? He will be more comfortable among them than lying here.”
The Desert Cats who had remained a short distance from the wagon looked up, many emotions on their usually impassive faces. Gotsada held up his hands. “Dukkai, my cousin, is summoning the gods to heal the Kaigan.”
“Yes, she is.” Zangi-Ragozh surprised the clan members with this statement. “All medicaments are improved by the might of the gods.”
“Do you truly endorse her magic?” Gotsada demanded.
“I do.” He signaled to Ro-shei. “He will need a carry-pallet.”
“How can you know what is best for the Kaigan of the Desert Cats?” young Neitis asked with a little bravado in his manner.
“I can know because he is made of flesh, as are all men. He is strong, and that bodes well for him, but he is not made of anything stronger than flesh,” said Zangi-Ragozh in a tranquil tone.
One of the Desert Cats laughed, and this broke the rising tension. Soon all the clan members keeping watch over the wagon were laughing, as much from relief as from mirth.
“I will see to the carry-pallet,” said Ro-shei while the Desert Cats were distracted. “I will be ready in a short while.”
“Very good; so will he,” Zangi-Ragozh answered, then ducked back into the wagon’s interior.
“Is it safe to move him?” Dukkai asked, her nervousness now more controlled than before. She had stopped chanting just as Zangi-Ragozh had come back into the wagon.
“It is,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “Ro-shei will bring a carrying pallet, and that should be enough for the distance he has to cover.”
“Are you sure that you have done all you can for Baru Ksoka? Have you used all your knowledge to aid him?” This bordered on an accusation.
“For the time being, yes. Now he needs a chance to strengthen himself and to be restored. It would be best if he had as few disturbances as possible.”
“Is that important?”
Zangi-Ragozh nodded once. “Out here, on the trade route, rest is the most potent medicine of all. If he is bothered, jostled, fussed over, or his rest impeded in any way, it will only serve to slow his recuperation. As he improves, there will be more I can do.”
“You do expect him to improve, don’t you? If you think he will get worse, let me know now so that I may chant for him more diligently.”
“He may have some fever, but I have treatments for that if he should need it; however, the sovereign remedy should keep rot at bay. He may have swelling around the bites. But unless the wolves were rabid, he should recover, if his wounds are kept properly dressed.” His voice was level and assured, and he looked at Dukkai somberly. “We will know in a day if he will recover: believe this.”
“Then I shall chant for as long as I can today, and as long as I can tomorrow,” she announced. “It is what the clan expects of me, and what I must give them.” She looked from Baru Ksoka to Zangi-Ragozh. “I hope you are right.”
Before he could answer, the back flap was lifted and Ro-shei climbed onto the platform. “I have the carrying pallet, and two men to bear it.”
“Will that be enough?” Dukkai asked sharply.
“Two men should be sufficient,” he told her, “if they are careful.”
“Have Gotsada walk with them, to keep the clan away,” said Dukkai.
“A very wise precaution,” said Zangi-Ragozh. He signaled to Ro-shei. “Leave the carrying pallet here and go find Gotsada, if you would; bring him here quickly. Tell him he is needed to protect the Kaigan.” As Ro-shei moved away, Zangi-Ragozh pulled the carrying pallet into position, bracing it in place with a small, heavy chest. “I will make this as easy as I am able,” he said to Baru Ksoka, although only Dukkai gave any sign of hearing him. With a swift, powerful motion, he lifted Baru Ksoka and lowered him onto the carrying pallet, then set about securing the two broad belts around him. “There,” he said as soon as he was finished. He reached for one of the folded lengths of wool and put it over the Kaigan’s recumbent form. “This will keep him warm.”
“Is cold really so dangerous?” Dukkai asked as if she expected a different answer than before.
“Men die of it,” said Zangi-Ragozh, lifting the carrying pallet with no apparent effort; he moved this to the rear platform and saw two young men—Ksuintol and Erasai—waiting. There was no sign of Ro-shei or Gotsada. “Baru Ksoka is almost ready for you to carry him.” Behind him, from the wagon, he heard Dukkai start to chant again. “Carry him as lightly and gently as you can. Let nothing intrude upon him.”
Erasai seemed a bit dubious. “Nothing? Not even his family?”
“Only his women, when he is in their care. Otherwise you may interfere with Dukkai’s magic.”
The two young men exchanged glances, and Ksuintol was about to speak when Gotsada arrived to take charge of the situation. “Your companion told me what must be done. I will see that the Kaigan is undisturbed as we go through the camp.”