Page 11 of Tashama
“General Karam. He’ll wish to question you, but after the healer has seen to your wounds.”
Nearing the tent, she observed a circle of fair-haired, strapping men wearing brown leather tunics and leggings, standing around the lighted area, gaping at her. She was carried inside the hospital tent, where twenty cots were lined up across the back. Only two were empty. Several of the wounded prisoners sat up on their thin mattresses when the man laid her in one of the vacant beds.
“She’s shivering hard,” he said.
Tashama’s teeth chattered when she opened her mouth to speak. “I must lead my people.”
The slightly built healer nodded and pulled up her sleeves, using caution. “She’s delirious. Cover her with the blanket, Sergeant.” The healer motioned to a shelf filled with woolen blankets. “You, there, Private,” he said to a man peeking through the tent entrance, “make yourself useful and get some of those aloverat leaves for me.”
Tashama wrinkled her forehead. “I cannot stay here.”
The sergeant pulled the blanket over Tashama, while the healer grabbed a candle and shone it into her left eye. She closed her eyes.
“Hand me a cup of that tea,” the healer ordered.
“But the general wishes to speak to her, and it’ll make her…”
“Yes, yes. Do as I say.”
The sergeant shuffled off to get the tea while the private stood by with the aloverat leaves. “Wet them down in the solution in that pan,” the healer said.
When the sergeant brought the tea to him, he helped Tashama to sit.
“What is this for?” She breathed in the minty-moist fragrance. The steam rose to the tip of her nose.
“To warm you.”
She nodded, then sipped the concoction. “It tastes like mint julep.” Her face warmed, then her body slowly heated as the mixture circulated through her system.
You thought I would be mistreated here, Aleron, but my people are good to me. They warm me as the heat of your body did.
She swung her legs over the edge of the mattress.
“Whoa.” The healer grabbed her arm and pushed her legs back onto the cot. “You must stay in bed and drink the rest of the tea.”
“I feel warmer already.” Her words sounded slightly slurred.
“More,” the healer insisted.
“I’m not able to drink…”
“She’s not like our women at all.” The sergeant shook his head.
“Drink the rest, miss.”
Tashama studied the sergeant’s light blond hair, cropped short in a military manner, and finished the tea. Her eyes met his amber ones, then she touched his hand. “You’ll be free soon.”
The healer helped her to lie down, but the sergeant’s mouth gaped open. The healer shook his head. “Her words are not her own.”
“Are you sure she has not the gift, Healer Throckmorton?”
“She hasn’t.” He studied her left arm and brushed away the glass still clinging to her skin. She closed her eyes. “She’s sleeping now.”
In a dreamlike state, Tashama found herself listening in on the conversation of the men while her body felt imprisoned on the hospital bed.
“What do you make of her?” the sergeant asked.
“I don’t know.” The healer brushed the glass from her right arm. “Get me the green box on top of that chest.”
