Flight of the Maiden

"Strap his arm down securely," he ordered the women, "It must be kept motionless." When the arm was securely lashed, Davion found a bulging vein and inserted the sharp probe. Once he was satisfied that the tube had entered the vein, he removed the pin and sealed off the tube. He had given exact instructions to the women for the preparation of a saline solution. He knew it was risky. There was no telling what contaminated filth passed for salt here, but he had no time to travel to his ship and retrieve pure sea salt. He shook away the doubts and began the solution dripping into the wounded man's arm. Once he was sure that his makeshift I.V. would work, he moved on to other business.

With a rough, but clean cloth he scrubbed out the wounds. Having done this many times the women immediately began helping him. When they had been thoroughly debrided, he doused the wounds in nearly pure alcohol. He then assigned each woman to a wound and cut off lengths of pliable, light thread. Again, suturing wounds was something that was nearly daily in their lives and the women were good at it.

After getting him sewn back together and infusing several pints of saline solution into him, Davion instructed the women to keep the fires well stoked and Valdstok covered. They carefully moved him down from the table to the fur covered stone floor directly before the massive rock fireplace at the head of the hall. They moved the great table and its benches where the tribal leaders and elders sat at banquets. The great stage-like area looked bare with only Valdstok's body and the makeshift intravenous apparatus to fill it.

The great red-haired woman refused to leave his side for even a moment. Davion thought this just as well. Better her than him to monitor him all night. He was bone-weary after the day's travails. He sat back against a huge tree trunk that served as a pillar in this mighty hall and was asleep before he could think another thought.

He was awake, warhammer in hand and moving toward the great dais, before his eyes could focus. The screech of fury that had awakened him was repeated. When their lids finally unglued themselves, his eyes beheld a fantastic sight. It was the snow-maiden again, but here in the ruddy light of the hall she outshone everything else. It was as if an unseen beams of sunlight were shining directly on her and her skin reflected and diffracted the light like the smooth contours of a virgin glacier.

She hovered over Valdstok’s body, looking more like the steam rising from the dying bodies in the snow earlier this day than like a mortal woman. The warrior chieftain’s fiery haired and similarly tempered woman was uttering the fierce cry that had awakened the traveler. In her right hand was a long dagger reflecting both the red of the fire and the blue light of the other woman. Her left hand was twined in the hair and beard of her man, clenched as if to hold him to her forever despite death.

She stood poised astride the senseless body, poignard in hand and ready to sell her and his life at high cost. The snow-maiden looked at her casually and stepped incautiously forward. With an effortless flick of her hand, the beautiful apparition disarmed the barbarian queen. The blade clattered against the hearth and to the floor several feet away. Undaunted, the fiery-hued Viking-woman threw herself bodily at the luminescent ice-creature. Her effort was in vain, however, as the vision-in-white was not there, but just off to the left.