Kurtz, Katherine - Deryni Chronology 06 - The Bastard Prince by Katherine Kurtz

Author:Katherine Kurtz [Kurtz, Katherine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781504031288
Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY

Righteous lips are the delight of kings; and they love him that speaketh right.

—Proverbs 16:13

It was not yet dark when the king’s party returned to Lochalyn, satisfied with the arrangements at Culliecairn, but Rhys Michael was exhausted. His hand had not ceased throbbing, and he feared he was beginning to run a fever. After picking halfheartedly at supper in the castle’s hall, he asked Stevanus to have a look.

“Maybe the bandages just need loosening,” he said. “I expect it’s more swollen than it was, but that’s normal, isn’t it?”

At Stacia’s invitation, they retired to the lord’s solar formerly shared by her parents, where his belongings had been moved up from camp during his absence of the afternoon. Though the new accommodation afforded greater comfort and privacy, and a woman’s touch gentled the process of baring the hand for inspection, neither Stacia nor Stevanus looked particularly pleased. Most of the back of the hand was now a livid purple, and the skin around the sutures in the laceration was tight and shiny.

“There’s certainly a good deal of swelling,” Stevanus murmured, prodding at it gently, “but that isn’t unexpected. I am concerned about your fever. It could mean that an infection is developing. I think I need not tell you that a horse’s hoof makes an incredibly filthy wound.”

“But we cleaned it,” Rhys Michael protested. He winced as Stacia began applying a fresh dressing of sphagnum moss.

“’Tis difficult tae clean sicht wounds properly,” she murmured. “Ye shattered bones, too. That makes an injury like this especially dangerous.”

“How dangerous?” Rhys Michael asked, turning his gaze on Stevanus.

The battle surgeon shrugged and began winding the bandages back over the splints. “I will not lie to you, Sire. Whenever bone is exposed to the air, there is danger. It could become necessary to take the hand. God knows, that would be a measure of last resort, for amputation carries its own dangers, but—”

“No,” Rhys Michael whispered, hugging the wounded hand closer to his chest, remembering the Healer Tavis, who also had lost a hand. “Stevanus, I won’t lose my hand. I won’t!”

“We’ll hope it doesn’t come to that,” Stevanus reassured him. “It’s early on. A certain amount of fever is normal, with any wound. With luck, it will pass.”

After Stacia had gone out, the surgeon prepared another draught of the syrup of poppies, watching the king drink it down before he left him to the ministrations of Cathan and Fulk for the night. When the drug had taken the edge from the pain but not yet made him too drowsy, Rhys Michael asked Cathan to show him the codicil he had drafted. Fulk had bedded down on a pallet near the door and, with a little encouragement from Cathan, was already fast asleep.

“I hope this is what you had in mind,” Cathan said, perching on the edge of the bed beside the king. “If you approve, I’ll make five copies during the night. I’m not sure exactly when we can arrange to get everybody to sign, but we’ll manage something.

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