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Clop, clop.
The horses struggled to stride forward. They had barely escaped from Lungell's domain. Urich had led the group through waterways and mountain paths several times to prevent the chase parties from tailing them. After two days without any incident, he had concluded that they were safe from the pursuit.
‘The wound on his thigh is rotting.’
Urich examined Bachman's wound. Sticky pus was oozing from the bandage onto the scorched wound, which seemingly had only worsened the condition. The wound was too deep to burn shut in the first place.
‘I can’t even amputate his leg because the wound is on the upper part of the thigh.’
If it had been on the limb's distal ends, amputation could have been a solution. But Bachman’s wound was on the upper thigh. Cutting it off would require slicing close to the pelvis, which would surely be fatal for Bachman.
"Getz has died." One of the mercenaries reported to Urich.
Getz, who had gotten a deep chest wound from the battle with the cavalries, had died. With deep wounds, survival depended solely on luck. If the wound festered, it led to death; if it healed, they survived.
"Right."
Urich nodded quietly. The mercenaries wrapped Getz’s body in a cloak and tied it behind a horse. A proper funeral would involve cremation, but they opted not to do that to avoid attracting attention with the smoke. Cremation was going...
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