He had seldom felt so inadequate when he offered someone his "best."
"He still won't wake up," Pedi said softly. "And he's hot; his skin is dry."
"Afternoon, Your Highness," Dobrescu said. The medic climbed down from one of the carts to stand beside the litter and gestured at Cord. "I heard you were checking on the wounded and figured I'd find you here."
"How is he?" Roger repeated.
"He's not coming out of the anesthesia," the medic admitted. "Which isn't good. And as Blondie here noted, he's running a fever. That isn't anything I've run into before; they're cold-blooded by nature, so a fever isn't normal with them. It's not all that high a fever, but he's about three degrees above where I think he should be, based on the ambient temperature."
"He's..." Roger paused, trying to decide how to put it. "He's sort of a... warrior monk. Is it possible that he's unconsciously... ?"
"Using dinshon to increase his body temperature?" Dobrescu finished for him. "Possible. I've seen him use dinshon a couple of times to control his metabolism. And the fever might be whatever metabolic remnant lets him do it reacting to the infection. There's a reason people develop fevers; the higher temperature improves the immune response. So fever, under certain circumstances, might be normal in Mardukans. But he's still in a bad way."
"Is there anything else to be done?" Roger asked. "I hate seeing him like this."
"Well, as far as I know, I'm the expert on Mardukan physiology," the medic said dryly, "and I'm afraid I can't think of a thing. I'm sorry to put it this way, Sir, but he's either going to pull through, or he isn't. I've given him the one antibiotic I know is usable in Mardukans, and we're pumping him with fluids. Other than that, there's not much we can do."
"Got it," Roger said. "I'll get out of your hair. Pedi?"
"Yes, Your Highness?" the Shin said miserably.
"Wearing yourself down caring for him isn't going to bring him back any sooner," the prince said pointedly. "I want you to rotate with those other slaves we 'rescued' and get some rest when you can. I'm going to need you up and ready to deal with the tribes as we're moving. If we get overrun because you're too tired to wrap your tongue around the words to get us through, it's going to kill him deader than dead. Understand?"
"Yes, Your Highness. I'll make sure I'm available. And capable."
"Good," Roger said, then sighed. "This is going to be a long trip."
"What?" Dobrescu said darkly. "On Marduk? Really?"
"Rastar, we also need intelligence on what we're heading into," Pahner said, after the prince had left. "Pedi has never used this route herself."
"I've talked with the locals," Rastar replied. "The language problem is pretty bad, but I got Macek to use his toot to check the translation for me. According to the locals, the road to the pass is steep and apparently of poor quality. It's maintained for turom carts from here to the pass itself, but past the keep, it's nothing more than a track. I don't think we can use the carts after that. Or, at least not very far after that."
"Well, if your Vashin are rested, head up the road, slowly." The captain shook his head. "I never thought I'd be back to the days when my idea of good intel was some vague descriptions of the road and cavalry a couple of hours out ahead of me."
Roger's civan balked at what passed for a crossroads. The road through Sran had been steep enough, but just the other side of the town, it went nearly vertical. It was paved with flat stones and had obviously been maintained, but a fresh Mardukan gullywasher had just opened up, and the roadbed had turned instantly into a shallow river of racing brown water laced with yellow foam.
"This is insane, Captain! You know that, right?" Roger practically had to scream over the thunder of the rain and the bellowing of panicky turom. After the caravan had passed, the roadbed would be awash with more than rain.
"It is, indeed, Your Highness!" Pahner shouted back. He'd been in conversation with the Vashin cavalry scout who'd been left at the intersection, but now he turned and crossed the road to look over the far side. There was a sheer drop to the white water fifty meters below. "Unfortunately, it's the only route. If you have any other suggestions, I'd be happy to hear them!"
"How about we click our heels together three times and say 'there's no place like home, there's no place like home'?" Roger suggested, and the captain laughed.
Theres a wheel on the Horns 'o the Morning, An' a wheel on the edge of the pit, An' a drop into nothing beneath you, As straight as a beggar can spit...
"Kipling again?" Roger said with a lift of an eyebrow.
" 'Screw Guns,' " Pahner informed him.
Roger grinned through the pounding rain, then kneed his mount back into motion once more, ascending into the storm. After another hundred meters or so, the road flattened out a little, going from a twelve- or fifteen-degree slope to one of a mere six or seven. The prince began to relax just a bit... only to have the civan's foot slip. Roger threw his weight against the saddle as the civan skittered on the slick paving stones, searching for footing. After a moment, it recovered, and he kicked it in the side.
"Come on, you bastard! Onward and upward!"
Krindi Fain grunted and heaved at the wheel of the turom cart. For a moment, nothing happened, and then someone else shouldered in beside him. Erkum Pol's massive muscles flexed, and the cart lurched upward, lifting out of the crevice hiding under the knee-deep water roaring down the roadbed. Fain straightened his aching back and watched the cart move farther up the hill, then turned as someone tapped him on the shoulder.
"Captains don't, by and large, push carts up mountains, Captain," Armand Pahner observed.
The line of carts was barely moving—not too surprising, perhaps, given the steep slopes they'd encountered since leaving Sran. The first three had been bad enough, but the fourth was the worst so far, nearly two hundred meters long, and climbing at a constant fifteen-degree angle. Virtually everyone, human and Mardukan, had a shoulder into the carts, and the turom had been unhitched from the rearmost carts and doubled up on the lead ones to make the ascent.
As Fain turned towards the human, a ripple of lightning struck, jumping from one side of the gorge to the other with a sound like an artillery barrage. It started a small landslide, and the turom went berserk—or tried to, straining at their harnesses and slipping on the stones of the road as boulders careened about their feet.
"Well, I'm not a commander at the moment, Sir!" Fain shouted over the tumult, jumping forward to throw his shoulder back into the cart beside Erkum's as it started to slide backwards. "And I don't have any significant duties. So it seemed to be the best use of my time."
Pahner grabbed a chock and threw it under the right wheel as one of the turom slipped to its knees.
"Just don't get yourself killed, okay?"
"Not a problem," the former quarryman panted. "What is it you humans say? 'Caution is my middle name.' "
"To the winds," the Marine laughed. " 'Captain Krindi Caution-to-the-Winds Fain.' "
"Maybe so," the Mardukan captain grunted as the cart slipped again. "But at least 'caution' is in there somewhere!"
"This isn't going well," Roger said, "but at least we don't have company."