Honoured Enemy. William Forstchen

son.’

      Richard, shaking, looked down at the Tsurani. There were tears in the corner of the man’s eyes and he suddenly realized just how young his enemy was: about the same age as himself and the wounded Kingdom soldier with the broken leg. The Tsurani was obviously struggling for control, looking up at Richard in confusion, his emotions mixed between gratitude and hatred for an enemy.

      The priest knelt, softly muttered a prayer and made a sign of blessing over the wound, finishing by lightly touching the man’s forehead again.

      Wiping the now-cooled daggers, he bundled up his kit and then picked up the arrow, which was covered with blood, and a hunk of flesh still on the barbs.

      ‘Evil weapon,’ he sighed, ‘No bone splinters though; he just might make it.’

      He tossed the arrow aside. The room was silent: all were staring at him.

      ‘I’m pledged to healing,’ the priest said, ‘it doesn’t matter who.’ He looked back over at Richard. ‘You’re a brave lad for helping.’

      The Tsurani Patrol Leader approached, bowed to the priest and said something.

      Corwin looked over at Gregory.

      ‘He said that the wounded man, Osami, now owes you a debt which the clan must honour. If we fight and they don’t kill you, they must make you a slave. So if we fight, they’ll let you leave before they kill all of us, so they won’t have to capture or kill you.’ Gregory explained.

      Corwin said nothing for a moment and then began to chuckle softly. ‘Hell, tell him I think you’re all crazy,’ Corwin replied. ‘When you’re done killing each other I’ll take all your coins, and whatever the Tsurani use, and consider it a donation to the church.’

      Gregory translated and now the Tsurani laughed. The tension in the room eased for a moment.

      Gregory knelt next to Corwin. ‘You a chirugeon?’ He pointed to the small kit Corwin had used and was now cleaning ready to put away.

      The priest shrugged. ‘As a boy I apprenticed to one for a while.’

      ‘What happened?’ asked the Ranger. ‘Get the calling?’

      Putting away his medical tools, the priest said, ‘No, that came later. I was a mercenary for a while.’

      Remembering how frightened the priest had been when they had first met, Gregory could barely hide his surprise. ‘A mercenary?’

      Corwin nodded. ‘Not all mercenaries are swordsmen, Ranger. I have no skill with blade or bow. I earned my living with a company of engineers building siege machines. Give me two men with axes and in less than a day I can turn a tree into a ram that would knock down that stone wall out there in under ten minutes. Throw in a pair of hammers and one bow saw, and I can do it in six hours.’ He paused as if remembering. ‘Saw most of my fighting from a distance, though I’ve had a few close calls under a wall or two, trying to collapse a foundation.’ He smiled at Gregory’s blank expression. ‘I used to be a fair sapper, too.’ He sighed and lost his smile. ‘And I had more than my share of practice keeping other men alive, I can tell you.’ He stood, and Gregory did as well. ‘Then I got the calling and entered the temple.’

      Gregory nodded. ‘I thought you priests used your magic to heal.’

      Corwin shrugged. ‘Like anything else, healing magic takes talent. Some brothers could heal every man here in a couple of days. A rare few can lay on hands and make a wound vanish or a bone heal in an hour. I have no such gift. I have to rely on my tools and prayer. The bit of “magic” I used to calm the boy is simply a healer’s trick; anyone can learn it.’

      Gregory didn’t comment.