“nothing to concern you, Father,” ’Deisha said briskly. “Just a stray, hiding in the stables-a thief, I daresay. The little fool bolted off into the storm as soon as we discovered him. But he can’t have gone far, his legs would hardly carry him. ’Cacia and the boys will find him. He’ll still be in the yard somewhere.”
Jenisorn, Tepicacia and Nicorin had already taken the dogs out on field-chains, long chains used for measuring plots of land. With one end fastened securely to a pillar of the porch, they could search the length and breadth of a field in safety. By this time, they were thoroughly tangled up with the chains and the dogs, and enjoying themselves immensely.
’Deisha led Nyctasia off to the kitchen. “Come, Nyc, we’ll see to that mulled wine. They’ll all be wanting some.”
As she predicted, it was not long before the three returned, snow-covered and sneezing, carrying with them the still form of the dazed boy. They came down the low passage leading from a back door to the scullery, then up a short flight of stairs to the kitchen, preceded by the dogs, who bounded in and enthusiastically shook snow and ice on everyone. Greymantle, much relieved to find that Nyctasia had survived an hour without his protection, leaped up to greet her, knocking her against the table. On his hind legs, he was a good deal taller than she.
’Deisha swatted him. “Down, you brute. It’s your own fault, Nyc, you encourage him. He’ll be unmanageable soon. Ah, here they are,” she said, as the others came in with their burden. “Lay him down by the fire, and get those frozen clothes off him.”
“He was by the paddock, half buried in snow,” said Nicorin. “’Deisha, I think his feet are frostbitten.”
“Rub them hard, ’Corin. And Jheine, rub him all over with tallow. ’Cacia, hot poultices. Nyc, is the wine ready?”
“Yes, just.” She had poured out bowls of the steaming, spiced drink for the others, but brewed the boy’s portion a little longer, adding herbs to ease pain and give a healing sleep. Now she knelt beside him and raised his head gently.
Greymantle crowded in beside her and licked his face to show that he was forgiven for being a prowler, nearly spilling the wine Nyctasia was trying to hold to his lips. Jenisorn pulled the hound away.
Revived by the heat of the hearth, the boy managed to drink some wine, despite his trembling, and stammered a few words of thanks.
’Deisha stood over him, frowning. “That was a fool’s trick, running out into the open like that. You’d have soon frozen out there.”
The youth closed his eyes again. “Yes,” he whispered, “I knew that, lady. The snow is kind, but I don’t know if you are…” As feeling began to return to his numb limbs, he gasped in pain, twisting his head helplessly from side to side.
’Deisha turned away. “We’ll do what we can,” she said. “Try to rest now.”
“He’s getting some color back,” said ’Cacia.
Nicorin paused. “Is it enough, ’Deisha?”
“Soon. When the mash is hot for the poultices you can stop rubbing. Never mind if it hurts him-if he can feel it, he’s lucky.”
“He’ll not feel it for long,” Nyctasia murmured, “He’ll sleep soon.” She had heard and read of frostbite, but never seen it, and certainly did not know how best to treat it. It was strange to her to stand by uselessly and watch others tend to the afflicted. But she was well able to care for injuries, and she soon set herself to cleaning and dressing the boy’s dogbite wounds. He hardly seemed aware of her, but when she took his hand and began to unwrap the dirty cloth bound around it, he suddenly cried out and pulled away from her, shielding the bandaged hand against his chest.
“If it’s as painful as that, it must be seen to,” Nyctasia said. “I’m a healer, I shan’t hurt you.”
He tried to ward her off with his good hand, clutching the other to him. “No, don’t,” he said weakly.
“Don’t be afraid, child, let me see your hand. If a wound’s not properly cleaned it will never heal.”
She reached for him again, but ’Cacia barred her way, leaning over him protectively. “Don’t, Nyc. There’s no need.”
“But-”
“Nyc, let be,” ’Deisha said firmly. Taking Nyctasia by the arm, she pulled her to her feet and drew her away from the others. “Let them tend to him. They know what they’re about.” She picked up a bowl of wine and took a deep drink, then handed it to Nyctasia. “Here, even a devoted Vahnite like you can drink this.
Hot wine’s as weak as water.”
Nyctasia sipped at the wine and watched as her young cousins applied the poultices to the boy’s feet and calves, then wrapped him in furs and blankets.
He seemed limp and lifeless in their hands, and Nyctasia realized that the sleeping-draught had taken hold of him.
“You can take it in turns to watch him tonight.” ’Deisha was saying, keeping her voice low. “If you lay a hot stone beneath his feet you won’t have to change the poultices as often. Use sacking to wrap it in, and see it doesn’t burn him.”
“We know how, ’Deisha.”
“Very well. And try to give him some broth later.”
“Hush, you’ll wake him,” whispered Jenisorn. He sat with the boy’s head in his lap, lightly stroking his fair hair.
Nyctasia joined ’Deisha and made a last attempt to be of help. “He’ll not wake,” she assured them. “And perhaps now that he’s asleep, I-we-could see how bad that hand is…?”
The others exchanged a look, and ’Cacia shrugged. “Why not? He won’t know.”
“Yes, show her,” said ’Deisha. “Then we’ll go.”
’Cacia folded back the furs, uncovering the boy’s arm. “It’s not a wound, Nyc,” she explained, carefully unwinding the bandage. “This is what he didn’t want you to see.” She held up his hand to show Nyctasia the dark scar of the slave-brand burned into his palm.