There was a glad whoop and men surged toward the bar. "But what about Egil?" cried Tryg, shouting to be heard.

"Ar, there's nought can be done till Thar arrives," bellowed Orri above the clamor. "Besides, wound or no, fever or no, should Egil wake he'll want an ale o' his own."

As men crowded forward to get one of the mugs of brew being served across Egil's prostrate form, Olar wormed his way through the press to get one of his own. As he stood behind Orri, he craned his neck up and looked over the raider's shoulder at the wounded man. "Aden's daughter Elwydd," Olar burst out atop the milling din, "Egil's lost an eye!"

At these words, Aiko, standing unnoticed in the shadows along the wall, drew in her breath and glanced at Arin just as the Dylvana started forward.

Hoy! What th'-?" Men on the fringe of the clamoring crowd turned 'round to see-

"Make way for the Dara."

– a small, yellow woman in bronze scale pressing her way through the ranks to make a path for-

"By gar, 'tis an Elf or two."

– the even smaller female who followed.

The tall warriors stepped aside, for here come among them were two the likes of which they had never seen: an ebon-haired, armed and armored woman of saffron skin and slanted eyes of black-

"Aden's foam, but she's yellow."

"Top o' her head won't even reach my chin."

"But th' one behind her-"

– and a chestnut-haired Elf of ivory and alabaster, her tilted eyes hazel-

"-why, she can't be no more'n chest high t' me."

– both females dressed manlike, as if they had traveled far.

A quietness fell upon the raiders as they parted ranks to form a corridor for these exotic strangers to pass through, the stillness broken only by the drumming of the rain on the roof and an occasional thunderbolt. Aiko's hands rested on the pommels of her two swords and her dark eyes scanned these warriors as she led Arin toward the unconscious man on the bar.

Wide-eyed, Orri, the last raider between the females and their goal, stepped aside. Aiko, too, stood away as Arin came to the bar and gazed at the man lying there. Slender and tawny-haired, he was perhaps in his early thirties, and his fair skin was flush with fever. As others crowded near, Arin laid a hand to the man's forehead, then gasped, "Vada!" She turned to make her way around to the other side; men stood in her path.

"Out o' th' way, Svan, Bili!" bellowed Orri. "Can't y' see she needs t' pass?"

Svan stumbled back into Bili just behind, and they both nearly fell, spilling splashes of ale from their mugs. Tangle-footed, they managed to move aside to let Arin by.

With dark gaze Aiko looked up at Orri, the warrior woman seeming taller than her five feet two. "Captain?"

Orri nodded, his ear catching the hint of a lilting accent in her spoken word.

"Have your warriors give back, Captain. The Dara will see to your wounded comrade… if it is not too late."

As Orri bellowed for his men to move hindward, the door banged open and Yngli came splashing in, wind and rain following, a white-haired man coming after and carrying a leather knapsack.

"Here be Thar!" cried Yngli, closing the door with a flourish to shut out the storm. "Now we'll get Egil tended to, good and proper."

Yngli's words were greeted with a cheer as the white-haired man set down his knapsack and stripped off his wet cloak.

Arin, now on the far side of the bar, paid no heed to the uproar, but instead scanned Egil's face. An angry red gash sliced downward from his forehead to his cheek, his left eye completely destroyed. Arin glanced up at Orri. "Hadst thou no bandage?"

Orri spread his hands wide. "He ripped it off in his nightmares, Lady, in his fever."

"Hadst thou no healer with thee?"

"We bind our own wounds, Lady, just as we bound his," bristled Orri. "But we were too busy fighting off Duke Rache and his men most o' th' way back-flaming arrows and quarrels and sling bullets and such-till finally we managed t' set fire t' their sails and left them cursing behind, then lost 'em in th' dark. But as t' Egil, every able man was needed and none were free t' see t' his hurt. 'Sides, he was fightin' th' Jutlanders as well, even though he was wounded and fevered and could see but from one eye. And when th' fight ended, well then we tended him-salt water on his wounds t' keep 'em free o' fester, bandages. But Egil ha' ill dreams, Lady, mayhap made worse by th' fever, and he j'st kept pullin' free th' dressin', and finally we let be."

As Arin acknowledged Orri's words, Thar came to the side of the wounded man. The old healer's eyes widened slightly at the sight of the Dylvana and her yellow-skinned companion, but he shook his head as if clearing it of vagaries and then began examining Egil.

Arin glanced up at Thar. "The eye, what remains, it must come out."

Thar nodded. "Be ye a healer, Lady?"

"I have some skill at it," replied Arin. "Yet I have no herbs and simples at hand, nor tools."

"I ha'e mine," said Thar, gesturing at his leather knapsack. "But he be y'r patient, Lady. J'st tell me-or whoe'er else-what it might be ye need."

Arin canted her head in acceptance, then turned to Tryg, the taverner, filling mugs. "Hast thou a crate on which I can stand? I need be at a level to work on his wounds."

Tryg motioned for Olar to take over the duty of dispensing ale, then with a practiced eye, measured the Dylvana's four feet eight inches of height. He stepped into the storage room, emerging moments later with a wide wooden box and set it to the floor. The Dara smiled as she stepped upon the crate, then said, "I will need a knife, glowing red with heat. Two, if thou canst provide. -And a bottle of thy strongest brandy."

Tryg reached under the counter and pulled forth a flask and set it at her side, saying, "This be th' best I ha'e." Then he caught up two knives and stepped to the small charcoal burner he used to heat the poker for mulling wine.

Arin uncorked the brandy and sniffed. Satisfied, she poured some in her palm and washed her hands with it and looked across at Thar. "Hast thou wire nips? Something to pluck away the flesh when seared? And a needle and gut to sew up the sword gash? And clean cloth for bandages and other needs?"

Thar rummaged through his knapsack and pulled forth a curved bronze needle and thin strand of gut thread and pair of bent-wire tweezers. Too, he fetched out a rolled length of washed muslin.

Under the bar Arin found a candle and holder and soon had the taper lit. She then began passing the bronze needle back and forth through the flame.

"Ah," murmured Thar, his eyes taking in all she did. "Burnin' away th' bad vapors, aye?"

Arin nodded. "I'll need a piece of clean white cloth to lay these on."

Thar took up the muslin and tore off a square and spread it out. Arin placed the flame-cleansed needle and gut thread on it, then took up the tweezers and began passing them through the flame. "How be the knives?" she called out to Tryg.

The taverner looked into the fire, then held up a hand palm out. "Soon."

"We're goin' t' need t' set th' leeches on him, too, y'know," said Thar.

"Leeches?"

"T' bleed th' fever away, Lady."

Arin shook her head. "Nay, healer. Leeches will but weaken him at a time he will need his greatest strength."

"But we always bleed for fever," protested Thar.

Arin fixed him with an eye. "Dost thou oft cure the ill by doing such?"

"A good half o' them," responded Thar with some pride.

"Then that means thou loseth half as well, neh?"

"We lose a share o' them, aye, but that's t' be expected."

"Nay, healer. By bleeding, thou weaken the afflicted when they can least spare strength. Instead thou shouldst fortify the blood of the sick and not drain it away."