She laughed. ‘Yes, I—’ She stopped herself, glared about. ‘Where are they?’

‘Who?’

‘Tay – the men I came in with.’ She jumped up, groaned as her side knotted. ‘Are they gone?’

The man drew her down again with a touch of his hand. ‘Relax. I’ve a message, and there’s hot stew over the fireplace. Have some?’

‘Who are you? Oh. You’re the medicer aren’t you? Yeah, I’ll have some.’

‘Seal’s the name. Yours?’

‘Kiska.’ She plucked at her sweater. ‘Why the clothes?’

‘Ah, sorry.’ Seal shrugged an apology. ‘Best I could do. Your old clothes I had to burn.’ He leaned to the black pot, ladled out a bowlful.

Burn? Kiska wondered. Did he really have to burn them?

‘Well, Kiska. Speaking of frights, you gave me an ugly one last night.’

She took the bowl of steaming stew, tore off some bread and started stuffing it into her mouth. She hadn’t realized how famished she was. Seal watched her eat, a smile tugging at his mouth. ‘Where are they and how are they?’ she demanded around a mouthful.

‘We’ve got time – and they’ll live. The one, a Seti tribesman I believe, I take especial credit for. The other, well . . . he pretty much took care of himself. I do take credit for you too, however.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes. Spraining and bruising of the bones of the knee. Sundry mundane cuts and contusions of the flesh. Worst: a bruised kidney and torn musculature. Possibly resulting from a serious impact or blow.’

Kiska grimaced, remembering that. She’d felt as if that table had cut her in half, but she’d run on anyway. Amazing what being scared out of one’s wits can do. She swallowed, forced down the food against a rising tide of nausea. ‘And?’

‘And?’

‘What’s the message? Where are they?’

Seal sat up straighten ‘Ah! You ask what you should do about the various injuries you have inflicted upon your body? Well, I advise a hearty meal. And if you get sick tonight I suggest a regurgitant. Boiled alder leaves, I understand, works well for that. Also, I advise you take things easy for the next few weeks. Rest; no undue strain. Definitely no fighting or running. Understand?’ Kiska stared at the man, noted his drawn face, the sunken eyes circled in shadow and the tremor of his hands at his bowl. He caught her gaze and waved languidly. ‘Don’t bother to thank me.’

The man was utterly wrecked. He had obviously drawn upon his Denul Warren to the utmost to accomplish what was needed last night. She suspected she owed him much more than he’d suggested. Pushing the stew around the bowl for a moment, she cleared her throat. ‘So, is there really a message or not?’

‘Oh, yes,’ and he smiled secretly, pleased with himself.

‘And? That is?’

He raised a finger. ‘Ah! Treatment first. Finish your meal.’

The boy came to her elbow and handed her a ladle of water. Distracted, Kiska took it and swallowed. The water was sweet, fresh and cool, straight from an inland well. She thanked him. He stared at her with big brown eyes full of curiosity.