“Easy, lady,” Kalam said. “Nobody wants a Hound loosed in the city. I spoke from fear.” He still would not look at her.
The assassin's admission startled Tattersail. It was shame that kept his eyes from her. Fear was an admission of weakness. “For Hood's Sake,” she sighed, “I've been sitting on a pillow for the past two hours.”
That caught him. He stopped, faced her, then laughed.
It was a deep, smooth laugh, and it pleased her immensely.
The bedroom door opened and Mallet entered the room, his round face shiny and flushed. The healer glanced briefly at Quick Ben, then walked to Tattersail, where he crouched down in front of her. “By all rights,” he said quietly, “Captain Paran should be in an Officer's Hole with five feet of mud on his pretty face.” He nodded to Kalam, who had joined them. “The first wound was fatal, up under his heart. A professional thrust,” he added, with a meaningful look at the assassin. “The second would have done him more slowly, but no less certain.”
Kalam grimaced. “So he should be dead. He isn't. Which means?”
“Intervention,” Tattersail answered, a queasy feeling settling in her stomach. Her heavy-lidded gaze fixed on Mallet. “Your Denul skills proved sufficient?”
The healer quirked a smile. “It was easy. I had help.” He explained, “The wounds were already closing, the damage already mended. I quickened it some, but that's all. There's been a deep trauma, both body and mind. By all rights it should be weeks before he recovers physically. And that alone could be a problem.”
“What do you mean?” Tattersail asked.
Kalam strode to the table, retrieved a jug of wine and three clay cups.
He rejoined them and began pouring as Mallet said, “Healing should never be separated between the flesh and the sense of the flesh. It's hard to explain. The Denul Warrens involve every aspect of healing, since damage, when it occurs, does so on all levels. Shock is the scar that bridges the gap between the body and the mind.”
“All and well,” Kalam growled, handing the healer a cup. “What about Paran?”
Mallet took a long draught and wiped at his mouth. “Whatever force interceded cared for nothing but healing the flesh. He may well be on his feet in a day or two, but the shock needs time to heal.”