The kind priest knelt with the knight’s head on his knees and pushed the man’s matted hair from his forehead. He gently loosed the bindings of the breastplate and two priests set it aside. A groan emerged from the man’s throat, shallow at first then gaining in strength.

“The vial,” Biorkis ordered. Snatching it up and dipping two fingers into the salve, the priest smoothed the healing ointment upon the man’s face. Its aromatic vapors produced an immediate result, for the soldier’s eyes flickered again and then snapped open as those of a man struggling out of a dream.

“So, he is to be with us a little longer,” said Izash. “Give him some wine. He may tell us of his errand.” The old priest stepped closer and leaned low on his staff to better hear what might transpire.

Biorkis administered the wine as the knight, without strength enough to tilt his head, allowed the liquor to be poured down his throat. In Biorkis’ hands the wine seemed to have a magical effect. Color seeped slowly back into the man’s face and his breathing now deepened where before there had been no discernible breath at all.

“Welcome, good soldier.” Izash addressed the knight respectfully. “If you feel like talking, perhaps you could tell us how you have come here, and why.”

The fair-haired knight rolled his eyes and attempted to twist his head in the direction of the speaker. The effort brought a wave of pain that washed full across his features. He sank back into Biorkis’ lap.

By now other priests had gathered close about, drawn by the summons. They spoke in low voices with one another, speculating upon the strange visitor that lay before them. The knight opened his eyes again and they shone bright and hard as if strength or will was returning. He opened his mouth to speak; his jaw worked the air but no sound came forth.

“More wine,” Biorkis called. As the cup was handed to him the plump priest tugged out a pouch from the folds of his robe. He dipped into the small leather bag and sprinkled a pinch of the contents into the drink. He then lowered the cup to the knight’s lips once more. The prostrate man drank more readily, and finishing, paused before attempting to speak again.