Doctor Fos stood behind her assessment-bench, a slab of white slickstone in front of her. On the slab, brilliant bloody red in the glow-lights, were chunks and strips of meat. The blade of the sharp pointed knife she held between thumb and finger was similarly covered in a sheen of bright blood. When she heard her visitors approaching, she turned and wiped it clean on a dark cloth, which was hanging from a hook beside the sink.
"Ah, Commander," she said as she turned back.
Pride-commander Kralaford crossed the room to stand before her. It seemed that the knight had dressed hastily, and his hair was still tousled from sleep. High Madriel-master Sprak entered the room behind him, wearing his customary scowl.
Sir Kralaford looked down at the contents of the bench.
"What have you found?"
Doctor Fos was in no way perturbed by the knight's bluntness. She lay down the knife, before picking up a pale stone bowl from the bench, tilting it to allow him to see its contents. Inside were three small spiralled balls, each the size of a thumb nail. There was still a residue of blood ingrained in their patterned surface.
"Crueshiens." She looked up into Sir Kralaford's eyes. They were normally dark and brooding, but just then they were lit by a barely contained anger. "I have seen this type in the north. The doctors use them on the javacs as sedatives, where their natural armour makes using a needle problematic."
Sir Kralaford picked up one of the spheres between his fingers.
"Even on a madriel as strong as Hakansa, in this dose they would have been fatal."
"When?"
"Eight hours for them to break down and take effect, maybe a few hours more for death to occur."
Master Sprak, studying the bloody meat on the bench, looked ready to kill.
"Who did this?" asked Sir Kralaford, turning to him.
"I have told you everything I know."
"Could the boy have been responsible?"
The High Madriel-master spat his answer, the derision in it clear.
"The boy was inside Hakansa's pen, and the meat was outside. If he intended to poison your steed it would have been the other way around."
"The child displayed outstanding bravery," said Doctor Fos, who had turned to the sink behind her and begun to clean her hands.
"If he survives the night you can call it an act of bravery," growled Master Sprak. "If not, then he will have died a fool's death."
"Will he live?" asked Sir Kralaford.
Doctor Fos took a handful of washing salts and began to clean her bloodied fingernails.
"More than likely he will, Commander."
"Can you wake him?"
Doctor Fos took another cloth and dried her hands. Only then did she turn to look at Sir Kralaford.
"No."
Sir Kralaford dropped the small spiralled ball back into the bowl.
"He must have seen something. I want to know what."
"Then you will have to wait until morning."
"I've posted guards on the Pride-alphas," said Master Sprak. "They will be safe tonight."
Sir Kralaford turned on him, his rage barely constrained.
"They should have been safe already, High Madriel-master."
"Are you questioning my competence?"
The effort for Master Sprak to restrain his own anger was clear in his voice.
"No, High Madriel-master. This event is unprecedented."
Sir Kralaford placed his hands on the bench before him and stared down into the bloody bowl containing the three poisoned shells.
"We have come to dark days when someone would even dare to contemplate such a thing as this."
* * * * *
Master Dramut heard the Infirmary door slam closed and turned to watch Master Sprak as he stamped down the garden's gravel path. The High Madriel-master spat vehemently into the plants of the herb garden as he passed, and kicked the gate at the end of the path open, causing it to crash back on its hinges.
"What news, High Madriel-master?" asked Master Dramut, once the gate had swung closed again.
Master Sprak stood glaring into the darkness of the Enclosures for a few seconds before he answered.
"The boy will probably live. He's got a thick head."
Master Dramut picked up his training stick from where it had been leaning against the Infirmary wall.
"And talent with it," he said as he slung it over his shoulder. "His performance at the riding-contests showed his potential, but to face down Hakansa like that is something incredible."
"He should not have been in his pen in the first place. The boy's a fool."
The criticism was harsh, but Master Dramut could not help smiling at the hint of respect he could detect in the High Madriel-master's voice.
"It looks like your instincts were right about him." Master Sprak merely grunted in response. "I look forward to continuing his training. It will be interesting to see what he has learnt from this night."
"He had better have learnt not to be a witless idiot."
"Indeed."
They were interrupted by the sound of a swiftly approaching madriel, and Master Dramut turned to see the beast emerge from the darkness between the pens. Its rider issued a brief command when she saw them, and swung her leg over the madriel's saddle to dismount, as its haunches lowered and its paws clawed the earth to halt its progress.
"High Madriel-master!" said the messenger as she gave the briefest of bows to Master Sprak. "Is Commander Kralaford still here?"
"Inside." Master Sprak motioned with his head towards the Infirmary. "What do you want with him?"
The messenger nodded her gratitude and hurried past, while her beast stood panting, its own head lowered in Master Sprak's presence.
"It is his son," said the messenger as she hurried through the Infirmary gate. "He has been taken."
After all the years, Master Dramut believed he had heard every vitriolic profanity that Master Sprak had to offer. He quickly amended that opinion as the air was rent with the High Madriel-master's curses.