“Aaarrgh!” The burning flash of agony struck the old man with such unexpected suddenness that he cried out before he could clamp down his worn teeth to stifle the cry. His wasted body involuntarily flexed, and this gave birth to more pain.
Abruptly, the speakers broke off their low-voiced conversation, and after a second, one hurried out, to return with a brace of dark-skinned men clad in flowing, white garments, the younger of them bearing a small, brass-bound leathern chest.
Dimly, seemingly floating above him, Bili recognized the wrinkled face of Master Ahkmehd, concern, pity and sorrow mingling in his brown eyes.
“Well, old friend,” rasped Bili hoarsely, from between his clenched teeth, “we’ve not many more rods to ride in company, you and I.”
The Zahrtohgahn nodded, sadly. “If only my lord had seen fit to allow me to remove the smashed, poisoned limbs…”
A fresh wave of pain caused old Bili to tighten his jaws until the knots of muscle stood out at the corners and beads of sweat popped from his forehead. When he again spoke, his voice was noticeably weaker. “I’d have died anyway and you well know it, Master Ahkmehd. Since Sacred Sun granted me the choice, I simply chose to die whole. Now, if it please you, I’ll have a bit more of that vile concoction you brew… that, and a sharp-pointed dagger, for I feel that it is about time that I commence another journey, one long-deferred. And, please, have your apprentice take my axe off yonder wall and lay it here, beside me. Who truly knows but what I may not need it on this new road I’ll so shortly ride?”