
The knight looked up at the faces of the priests bending over him. Fresh blood oozed from his wound, opened again by his exercise.
“Worry not,” said Biorkis soothingly. “You will remain with us until you are able to resume your errand.” He motioned to several of the younger priests to help him lift the soldier onto a pallet which had been brought. “No one will bother you for the details of your mission. Your secret is safe within these walls. Rest now. I do not like the look of that wound.”
“No!” the knight shouted hoarsely, his face contorted in agony. Then in a queer, rasping whisper, “I’m dying. You must deliver my message to the Queen. It must not wait.”
Biorkis stooped with the knight’s head gently in his hands as the man was carefully transferred to the pallet. The knight clutched the wooden sides of the bed and raised himself upon his elbows. Blood ran freely down the side of his head and neck, staining his green tunic a dull, rusty gray.
“You must help me!” he demanded. “One of you must go in my stead to the Queen.” With that he fell back in a swoon upon his bed. The color had run from his face. He appeared dead to those who looked on in fear and wonder.
The priests glanced from one to another helplessly. Biorkis stood, his hands dripping with the knight’s fresh blood. He searched the faces of his brothers and gauged the worry there. Then he stepped close to Izash who motioned him aside.
“Here is an unwanted problem,” the old priest observed. “I see no help we can offer, save all that is in our power to heal his wounds and send him speedily on his way.”
“The delay-what of that?”
“It cannot be helped, I’m afraid.”
“Though we do all in our power to heal him, still he may die,” Biorkis objected. “He is as good as dead already.” Something in the knight’s voice, his look, spoke to Biorkis. The man had certainly overcome crushing odds, and even now refused his deathbed on the strength of his message alone. Whatever the tidings, this news of the king was of the highest importance. More important than life itself.
