“It’s gone,” he murmured.
“Ah, good,” faltered Azhur. “Has it?”
“What’s gone?” asked Wyrdha. He peered under the covering. “No bleeding. Yauva, what has gone?”
Yauva slowly wiped the sweat from his face. “The black thing,” he whispered. “It’s all right, though.” He sighed deeply and began to sleep.
Wyrdha leaned over his patient, frowned and shook his head. “See, Tyr? The even breathing, the relaxed limbs and features. This is a deeper rest than my sleeping-draught gave him.”
Tyr, still gripping Yauva’s legs, peered close. “What’d y’ give him?” asked the lad, thinking he had better sound knowledgeable.
Wyrdha drew in his breath. “Three measures.”
Tyr straightened up. “Three?”
“Three.”
“He shouldn’t have woke up till tomorrow with that in him!”
Wyrdha nodded. “Precisely, Tyr, you’
