6. Bromelene and Arnica
Chapter six
Bromelene and Arnica
Rerdas leaned over the wall, wrists aching from holding his weight for too long. He couldn’t tear his gaze from Imalroc’s slumped form. Scarlet fog spread through the water around his body.
“No,” Rerdas whimpered. “Eternals, please, please don’t—” The noise of the crowd spiked through his panic. It was half wail, half ecstatic shout, prompted by the sudden appearance of Vativa on the surface. She floated facedown, arms and legs limp.
“Battle’s end!” cried the fight marshal, lifting a flag, and the crowd groaned.
Rerdas whirled away from the wall and collided with Etiana.
“Gods above, I’ve never seen anything like that!” Etiana yelled over the noise.
“They were underwater for too—” Rerdas tried to break in.
“I know, and you can’t see anything when they go below like that. Can’t believe he beat her even in the water! He’s extraordinary!”
“Eti, he’s not even moving.” The words scraped his throat.
His cousin didn’t seem to hear him. Her gaze danced over the crowd. “Do you realize how much onyx we just—”
“Etiana!” Rerdas grasped her shoulders, turning her to face him. “He might be hurt. Or... or...” His mind stuttered into blankness.
“Don’t say that.” Her expression hardened. She looked into the battlebox, lips pressed tight as she spotted Imalroc.
He still had not shifted, and from this distance it was impossible to say whether he was even breathing. Across the box, the clearers assembled. Two of them doused the still-burning raft with a jet of water.
Rerdas bolted away from his cousin, running around the wall. “Get him out!” he shouted, bearing down on the startled battlebox clearers. “Get him out of there now! Carefully!”
“Master Toriem,” one of them stammered, “we must first drain the box.”
He dragged the unfortunate man forward by the collar of his tunic. “Get him out of that water and into a medic’s chamber, or I’ll toss you over and they can fish you out too!”
“Do as the handler requests.” Mistress DeRosco’s command came from somewhere over his shoulder. He spun to see her inexplicably smiling at him. “You have an awe-inspiring fighter on your hands, Master Toriem.”
“Where is the medic?”
“I will take you there, but first, there are two honored guests who have asked to have a word. The Baron and Baroness are Vativa’s owners.” She stepped to the side, making way for a large, bald man and a petite woman. Behind them stood a wan figure Rerdas recognized as Vativa’s trainer.
“Extraordinary fight, young sir.” The bald man toyed with the rope of pearls that dangled across his round chest. “I believed Vativa would come out the victor, but earthbound gods, I must admit that when your fighter brought down the mast, I began to have my doubts. Most impressive.” He shook his head with a rueful chuckle.
Rerdas barely turned his face to them, most of his attention still on the clearers, who were lowering a small boat into the battlebox.
“I am honored that you brought such a worthy opponent to the fight, my lord,” he mumbled, bowing slightly.
It was ludicrous that they were even having this conversation, as though any of them had actually accomplished anything.
“You will stay for the celebration, will you not?” the baroness asked.
“My cousin, Lady Etiana Toriem, will undoubtedly be here, but I must excuse myself.”
“Nonsense! You must stay, and we can toast to your success!”
“I cannot.” Rerdas forced a smile and tried to take the bite out of his words. “Imalroc must be tended.”
“Of course.” The baron patted his wife’s shoulder. “You can’t blame the man for looking after such an asset. It was a well-fought pleasure, Master Toriem. Fair night to you.”
“And to you, my lord, my lady.” Rerdas swept them a formal court bow and turned his attention back to Mistress DeRosco. She led the way toward the medic’s chambers, blathering all the while about what an excellent sporting attitude the baron displayed. Rerdas balled his hands into fists.
Once they were below the battlebox and out of hearing range from the crowd, she let loose a contented sigh. “I must thank you for bringing such a fighter here, Master Toriem. We have not been graced with a battle like that in some time.”
“You owe your thanks to Lady Toriem,” he replied shortly. Really, she owed her thanks to Imalroc, but the battleboxer would probably flatten her nose for the insult of her gratitude.
Rerdas said nothing else, even when Mistress DeRosco gave him a curious glance. He knew he was not behaving like a handler who had just won a prestigious battle and a great deal of onyx, but he couldn’t muster the act until he saw Imalroc.
They stepped at last into a small room. Harsh light from mirrored lanterns spread across piles of gauze and ointment jars scattered over a long bench and a broad wooden table. Rerdas’s chest unknotted at last when he saw Imalroc stretched out across the table. Alive and angry.
Imalroc sat halfway up with his arms braced behind him, sopping wet and nearly growling at the medic in the process of wrapping a bandage tightly around one of his shins.
The battleboxer whipped his head toward them when they entered, and for a moment Rerdas caught the full force of his glare before Imalroc lowered his murderous gaze.
“How fares Master Toriem’s prize, Ilvette?” Mistress DeRosco asked the medic.
The woman looked up with a surprisingly cheerful face, still tightening the bandage with deft hands.
“Very well, Mistress. He’s swallowed more water than he wanted, I imagine.
A few cuts and bruises, but the worst of it is here on his leg.
It’s not a deep cut, Master Toriem. He’ll be ready to go back into a battle in no time. ”
“You see, Master Toriem? No need to worry.” Mistress DeRosco tried to pat his shoulder. He sidestepped it.
Ilvette glanced over at Rerdas. “He’s got a beastly temper, this one. Scared the guards clear out of the room when he woke up, spewing river water everywhere and screaming like he was still in the box.”
Mistress DeRosco frowned. “The guards left you alone in here?”
Ilvette shrugged. “He calmed down soon enough.” She finished tying off the fabric around Imalroc’s leg and tapped his knee. “That’s done.”
“What sort of treatment do you recommend?” Rerdas crowded the medic away from the table.
“Mostly rest. The leg bandage should be changed daily, and I can give you some salves to prevent scarring if you’d like to purchase them. The best ones would need to be mixed fresh by an apothecary, of course, but I could have them delivered to your rooms at Manolia, sir.”
“We’ll take whatever you think best,” Rerdas said. “All of it.” While he counted all the onyx ingots he had into Ilvette’s open hand, a pair of guards burst into the chamber. One spoke rapidly into Mistress DeRosco’s ear, and her face tightened.
“You’re sure it was them?” She drew back, voice strained.
“There is little doubt, Mistress. Apparently, there were three. Dressed as guards, but they had four battleboxers with them as well.”
“When was this discovered?”
“Just... just now, Mistress. But we think they may have been gone for some time. Word has been sent to the city guard.”
“Quiet.” Mistress DeRosco raised her hand to stop the man from saying anything more.
She turned to Rerdas, and he saw that all her good humor had vanished.
“I am afraid I have a pressing matter I must rectify, Master Toriem. I am sorry to leave you so abruptly. Fair night.” She strode out of the room with the guards running after her.
Rerdas spared a glance for the door when it banged shut, but turned back quick enough to catch a strange look on Imalroc’s face. Despite his trembling in the cold air and the blood staining his ruined battle clothes, Imalroc looked almost elated.
***
It took Rerdas longer than he would have liked to get Imalroc back to Manolia.
Etiana insisted they attend the banquet Navona was holding after the fight.
He steadfastly refused until she threw up her hands and went to the useless dinner alone.
Then there was the matter of actually getting through the hordes on the avenue outside the battlebox.
He was adamant that Imalroc ride in the carriage with him, and not in the cage.
When the nervous battlebox guards finally relented, Rerdas climbed into the carriage after Imalroc and drew the curtains on the windows. The melee of revelers in the streets shouted at the carriage as it passed, most of them lamenting Vativa’s loss but proclaiming it a good fight.
Imalroc seemed to disappear deep within himself. Rerdas eyed him anxiously, studying the battleboxer’s dull countenance and half-lidded eyes. He might have taken it for exhaustion, except that he was almost certain Imalroc was deliberately avoiding looking anywhere near him.
He lingered beside Imalroc’s bed once they were back in the rooms at Manolia. The battleboxer emerged from the washroom, where he had cleaned off most of the blood and changed into dry clothes. He crawled straight beneath the coverlet without a word, yanking it up to shield most of his face.
“Your leg is still numbed?” Rerdas asked. “Pain isn’t too bad?”
Imalroc nodded.
“I’ve sent down for some food,” he tried again.
“Not hungry.” The battleboxer’s voice came out in a strange, throaty rasp. He rolled away onto his side.
Rerdas drew back but stopped with his hand lingering on the door. “If you need anything, call for me.” He bit down on the inside of his lip, staring at Imalroc’s immobile back. He got no answer but the faint whisper of steady breathing.
He slipped into Etiana’s room and busied himself with the purging tonic.
Fussing over the medication at least kept his hands busy, if it did not distract him from the horrible feeling pulsing in his gut.
Why this felt so much worse than Imalroc’s previous battles, he could not say. Perhaps it had been too close.
It was unbelievably selfish. This had to end. He needed to ask Etiana how close they were to collecting enough onyx.