Immediately, moving briskly, the physician opened his linen bag and extracted a small sachet. He strode to the fire and tossed the contents onto it.

The flames turned blue, and a scent of wildflowers suddenly filled the room like an eastern springtime. Vinaszh blinked. The figure on the bed stirred.

"Ispahani?" said the King of Kings.

The physician looked surprised. "Yes, my gracious lord. I would not have imagined you-"

"I had a physician from the Ajbar Islands once. He was very skilled. Unfortunately he courted a woman he would have done better not to have touched. He used this scent, I recall."

Rustem crossed to the bedside. "It is taught that the nature of the treatment room can affect the nature of the treatment. We are influenced by such things, my lord."

"Arrows are not," said the king. But he had shifted a little to look at the physician, Vinaszh saw.

"Perhaps that is so," said the doctor, noncommittally. He came to the bedside and, for the first time, bent to examine the shaft and the wound. Vinaszh saw him suddenly check his motion. A strange expression crossed the bearded features. He lowered his hands.

Then he looked over at Vinaszh. "Commander, it is necessary for you to find gloves for me. The best leather ones in the fortress, as quickly as possible."

Vinaszh asked no questions. He was likely to die if the king died. He went, closing the door behind him, and hurried along the corridor, past those waiting there, and down the stairwell to find his own riding gloves.

Rustem had been terrified when he entered, overwhelmed, summoning all his reserves of composure so as not to show it. He'd almost dropped his implements, feared someone would see his trembling hands, but the captain of the guard had moved quickly to take them. He'd used the formal movements of genuflection to speak a calming invocation in his mind.