"He's dead," the serf explained. "He took a Mallorean arrow right through the chest." He looked down at the dead man's face. "Poor Detton," he sighed. "He died in my arms. Do you know what his last words were?"

Ariana shook her head.

"He said, 'At least I had a good breakfast.' And then he died."

"Why didst thou bring him here, since thou didst know he was already dead?" Ariana asked him gently.

The lean, bitter-faced serf shrugged. "I didn't want to leave him just lying in a muddy ditch like a dead dog," he replied. "In his whole life, nobody ever treated him as if he mattered at all. He was my friend, and I didn't want to leave him there like a pile of garbage." He laughed a short, bitter laugh. "I don't suppose it matters very much to him, but at least there's a little bit of dignity here." He awkwardly patted the dead man's shoulder. "Sorry, Detton," he said, "but I guess I'd better go back to the fighting."

"What is thy name, friend?" Ariana asked.

"I'm called Lammer, my Lady."

"Is the need for thee in the battle urgent?"

"I doubt it, my Lady. I've been shooting arrows at the Malloreans. I'm not very good at it, but it's what I'm supposed to do."

"My need for thee is greater, then," she declared. "I have many wounded here and few hands to help with their care. Despite thy surly exterior, I sense a great compassion in thee. Wilt thou help me?"

He regarded her for a moment. "What do you want me to do?" he said.

"Taiba is boiling cloth for bandages over that fire there," she replied. "See to the fire first, then thou wilt find a cart just outside with blankets in it. Bring in the blankets, good Lammer. After that I will have other tasks for thee."

"All right," Lammer replied laconically, moving toward the fire.

"What can we do for her?" the Princess Ce'Nedra demanded of the misshapen Beldin. The princess was staring intently into Polgara's pale, unconscious face as the sorceress lay exhausted in the arms of Durnik the smith.

"Let her sleep," Beldin grunted. "She'll be all right in a day or so."

"What's the matter with her?" Durnik asked in a worried voice.

"She's exhausted," Beldin snapped. "Isn't that obvious?"

"Just from raising a breeze? I've seen her do things that looked a lot harder."

"You don't have the faintest idea of what you're talking about, blacksmith," Beldin growled. The hunchbacked sorcerer was himself pale and shaking. "When you start tampering with the weather, you're putting your hands on the most powerful forces in the world. I'd rather try to stop a tide or uproot a mountain than stir up a breeze in dead air."

"The Grolims brought in that storm," Durnik said.