“Yes,” I said,” they were.”
“there is a subtle contaminant in the woinds,” he said.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“I have not detected it,” he said. “But there seems no likely explanation.”
“A contaminant?” I asked.
“Poisoned steel,” he said.
I said nothing.
“Sullius Maximus,” he said, “is in Tyros.”
“I would not have thought Saurus of Tyros would have used poisoned steel,” I said. Such a device, like the poisoned arrow, was not only against the codes of the warriors, but, generally, was regarded as unworthy of men. Poison was regarded as a woman’s weapon.
Iskander shrugged.
“Sullius Maximus, “ he said,” invented such a drug. He tested it, by pin pricks, on the limbs of a captured enemy, paralyzing him from the neck down. He kept him seated at his right side, as a guest in regal robes, for more than a week. When he tired of the sport he had him killed.”
“Is there no antidote?” I asked.
“No,” said Iskander.
“Then there is no hope,” I said.
“No,” said Iskander, “ there is no hope.”
“Perhaps it is not the poison.” I said.
“Perhaps,” said Iskander.
“Thurnock,” said I, “ give this physician a double tarn, of gold.”
“No,” said Iskander,” I wish no payment.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“I was with you,” he said,” on the 25th of Se’Kara.”
“I wish you well, Physician,” I said.
“I wish you well, too, Captain,” said he, and left.
I wondered if what Iskander of Turia had conjectured was correct or not.
I wondered if such a poison, if it existed, could be overcome.
There is no antidote, he had informed me.
The refrain ran through my mind: “Do not ask how to live, but, instead, proceed to do so”
I laughed bitterly.