There would be no surviving the assault, Uhtred realized now. Whether it was fear or pride urging him forward, there would be no time to determine the truth. He caught a glimpse of his men- his friends. They had followed him across England and back from battle to battle, sometimes for glory, sometimes for reputation, sometimes for Aethelfled and Mercia, anything to keep her safe. The moment slowed and he wondered if it had all been for nothing. As Time and Death rumbled and exploded before them, were the Gods laughing harder than ever? Had destiny abandoned him in the end? The madness of the world exploding before above below and around him- magic. There was smoke, He thought he saw a dragon. Would Ragnar the Fearless believe this tale when Uhtred finally reached Valhalla? Uhtred gripped his sword more tightly. Valhalla awaited.
As with most wars, the world seemed ended and destroyed. That those remaining would simply turn to dust where they stood, hope defeated and that the last thing anyone living at Tettanhall would see was the hooded demon with a sword in each hand that had come out of nowhere to stop Kiertan and his army and send it fleeing in every direction. Most were too dazed to realize the body she pulled from the destruction was Uhtred Ragnarson's. His surviving men realized. The figure seemed unharmed and while not large in stature, able to carry Uhtred from the battlefield with ease.
Finnan ran his hands over his head and face in distress. "He will...Lord Uhtred-will he be all right? The Irishman's concern consumed the room. The woman Salah did not look or respond directly to the question, nor did she take her eyes from the man in the bed clinging to life.
"We need to prepare. If you would help," She finally turned to Finnan but looked to the other men, "If you could all assist me, there are things requiring collection and the sooner I have them the better." Salah began naming the items.
"And the most important will be water from upstream."
"Upstream?" Sihtric questioned.
"The water is cleaner, no one has bathed or relieved themselves. I must boil the water but it is best to have as little pollution as possible and I am sure all of you could also use your share of water."
"Ale might be the better tonic," Finnan tried to bring levity for a moment.
The men divided the tasks and assisted one another in silence. From boiling water to cutting and crushing herbs to laundering strips of any spare fabrics they combined, Uhtred's men assisted her as she undressed and meticulously cleaned their lord whose fever seemed unrelenting. Uhtred 's breathing was shallow and labored, the fever dreams set in. He moaned and struggled within them. Finnan and Sihtric would take his hand and try to reassure him, each saying silent prayers to their gods. It was the clots of blood in his urine that worried her most as they cleaned Uhtred again and changed his bedding. She did her best to keep her face stoic but Sihtric was certain he saw the flicker of worry. Salah felt the Dane's eyes on her, she tried to smile. Honesty and clarity were going to be the only way to gain their trust that she wanted and needed, especially for their lord's sake.
"You can save him." Sihtric said, seemingly to suggest he knew she could do something more, something beyond a simple healer's care. Sihtric rested a hand on Uhtred's leg and the other on Finnan's shoulder. Salah brushed the damp hair from Uhtred's sweat drenched forehead, gently lifted his lids to check his eye coloration and then put the back of her hands to his unusually cool cheeks. The fever was stubborn and unnatural. It had to be broken. The warrior tried to speak, his throat parched. For a moment, Uhtred found his voice.
"Destiny." he whispered. The word took her back to another time and place, to another great warrior, to her lord...
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