yet?â Ulric Skakki said. âIt would be nice if we did, but thereâs no guarantee.â He gestured at the misery all around. âYou can see for yourself there isnât.â
Hamnet Thyssen winced. âYou know what I mean.â
âSo what?â Ulric said. âWhereâs the connection between what you mean and what is? If you canât find one, what does what you mean have to do with the price of peas? Weâre in trouble. Wishing we werenât wonât get us anywhere. Am I right or wrong?â
âOh, youâre right, sure enough,â Hamnet said. âDo you suppose wishing youâd shut up anyway would get me anywhere?â Ulric Skakki laughed, forall the world as if he were joking. Any sort of cheery sound made most of the people who heard it stare at him, plainly wondering if heâd lost his wits.
Totila came up to Count Hamnet and Ulric. âIs it true that you Raumsdalians know more about curing wounds than we do?â
To Hamnetâs way of thinking, it was hard to know less about curing wounds than the Bizogots did. All the same, his nod and Ulricâs were both cautious. Battlefield surgery was a risky business for anybody. âWhat do you want us to try to do?â Hamnet asked.
âCome see the wound. Judge for yourself,â the Red Dire Wolvesâ jarl answered.
A Bizogot warrior writhed and groaned. He had an arrow embedded in his calf. When Hamnet made as if to touch it, the big, burly man said, âDonât. The point is barbed. You canât pull it out.â
âPush it through?â Hamnet wondered aloud. The Bizogot groaned again. Count Hamnet understood why. That would add fresh torment and make the wound worse. But they couldnât leave the arrow where it was, either.
âYou see?â the jarl said.
âI see,â Hamnet said glumly. âI see, but I donât know what I can do. How about you, Ulric?â
Ulric Skakki took from a belt pouch a bronze contraption with a long, flat handle and a curved tip with a small hole in the center. âWhatâs that?â Totila asked.
âArrow-drawing spoon,â the adventurer answered. âI slide it down the shaft, get hold of the point with the hole, and pull up. It lets me bring out the point, but keeps the barbs from doing too much more tearing when they leave the wound.â
âTry it,â the injured Bizogot said. âThat God-cursed thing has to come out.â
Hamnet Thyssen and Totila held his leg to make sure he couldnât twist away. âHave you ever used this thing before?â Hamnet asked in Raumsdalian.
âIâve seen it done,â Ulric answered in the imperial tongue. That wasnât the same thing. He switched back to the Bizogot language to speak to the wounded man: âIâm going to start. Do your best to hold still.â
âIâll try.â The mammoth-herder braced himself.
Despite that, he gasped and tried to jerk free when Ulric Skakki pushed the arrow-drawing spoon into the wound. The injured warrior groaned andcursed, none of which did him any good. He gasped again when Ulric tried to slide the very tip of the arrowhead into the hole in the spoon. âIâm sorry,â Ulric said. âRemember, Iâm doing this by feel. Iâm not hurting you on purpose.â
âI know,â the Bizogot got out. âBut that doesnât mean youâre not hurting me.â
âIâm close, curse it. It should be right aboutââ Ulric moved the spoon a little. The Bizogot groaned on a different note. âThere!â Ulric exclaimed. âIâve got it. I can feel it.â
âSo can I, by God!â the wounded man said.
âIâm going to bring it out now,â Ulric told him. âIâll go slow, as slow as I can. Try to hold still. It will help. Are you ready?â
âNo,â the Bizogot said honestly. âBut go ahead. Waiting