Arnold kicked the bandit in the stomach, eyes blazing with cruelty. "That's all the thrill you offer me after I went to the trouble of drawing my sword? Barely worth it. I'm bored already."
He wasn't angry; on the contrary, he stared his enemies down with chilly disappointment, as if this had all been a letdown. Even Arnold's own knights seemed terrified of their master when he was in a mood. Arnold smoothly flicked the blood off his sword, wiping the blade on the bandit's shirt before sheathing it. The rest of the men on the ground seemed to be unconscious.
Wait, he didn't kill anyone? Why not? Is it because we haven't reached Galkhein?
She supposed even Arnold knew better than to go around killing the citizens of other countries. Or perhaps he had yet to become the ruthless monster she knew him as.
Arnold seemed to sense her gaze, turning around with a start. Genuine emotion bloomed on his face, worlds away from the blank mask he wore to face down the bandits. "How did you get out of the coach?"
Rishe shrugged. "If I tell you, you'll be able to prevent me from doing it again."
Arnold snickered. "You continue to amaze me."
How can you go from ice-cold to suddenly looking like a normal nineteen-year-old? It's disconcerting.
Rishe fought down her disquiet as a man alighted from a coach and shouted, "Your Highness! Not again!"
He was Oliver, one of the prince's attendants. He had silver hair and was roughly as tall as Arnold.
"What do you think all these knights are for, decoration? Why do you insist on endangering yourself?"
Rishe had only met Oliver briefly a few days ago, but he didn't appear to be intimidated by Arnold at all. And, well…he's not wrong.
She feared the menace would return to Arnold's expression, but he just looked annoyed. "I could tell they were prepared to kill. I'd prefer to take the burden on myself than risk multiple injuries so far afield. And we already have casualties."
He was right. Several injured knights leaned listlessly among the trees. Arnold issued orders to those still able-bodied. "First squad, see to the wounded. Second squad, arrest these men."
"Yes, sir!"
Oliver appeared unsatisfied. "Your Highness, that is a weak justification. I'm overjoyed you're well, but you must consider Lady Rishe. Perhaps next time we run into a team of murderous brigands, you could allow your consort to remain in the coach."
"I told her to remain in the coach!"
Rishe quickly averted her gaze, turning her attention to the wounded knights.
They didn't appear badly injured, yet they all seemed exhausted.
"Excuse me, can I take a look?" Rishe approached the knight acting as a medic. He looked round, startled by her presence.
"Nonsense, my lady. Don't trouble yourself, you must have had quite a scare."
This was not unreasonable, but the wariness in his eyes made it clear he wanted her nowhere near his comrade.
He isn't just being polite. He truly is on guard.
Beside them, an injured knight groaned as another helped him up. "What's wrong with you?" The second knight asked them first.
"I-I feel…numb."
"What? Damn."
The knight grabbed up one of the fallen bandit's swords, going pale as he inspected the blade. "Your Highness, look at this. Poison."
Arnold clicked his tongue. "Locate every laceration and bind them close to the heart. Suck the poison from the wounds."
He mostly got that right, at least. In the meantime, Rishe located the nearest bound bandit and pulled his dagger out of its sheath. Its wet coating gleamed in the sunlight, just as the knight had said.
They applied the poison liberally—whatever it is must be cheap and easily bought in bulk.
She wafted the smell toward her, bracing for something rancid, but detected nothing. Then she brought it closer to her nose.
It smells sweet, like an overripe apple. Shea grass and…bluecap mushrooms. All the knights appear to have the same symptoms, so I won't have to check every blade.
Rishe stood back up and headed for the coach.
Oliver took a step after her. "Your Highness, Lady Rishe is—"
"Leave her. She may do as she pleases."
"She's well trained," Oliver mused. "But a battlefield is no place for a young lady. She probably wasn't prepared for such a dreadful spectacle."
Rishe ignored the murmurs and focused on her work. There they are. I'll take these, these, and…
"The poison must be a sleeping drug," She overheard Arnold saying. "Hunters use such drugs to weaken larger prey. I doubt this dose is lethal."
"But it certainly is annoying," replied Oliver. "We're still two days out from Galkhein. Lugging a company of sleeping men in armor won't be pleasant."
"We'll have to stop somewhere nearby. A hunter's settlement. Perhaps they will have an antidote—"
"Excuse me." Rishe, who'd returned from the carriage, raised a hand. "I have an antidote."
"What?"
The entire company stared at her in awe.
**************************************
As it turned out, Arnold's guess was right.
This sweet-smelling substance was a hunter's drug, made from ingredients that were only toxic in their raw form. Heat rendered them harmless. Rishe had encountered this poison several times before, curing a customer afflicted with it during her life as an apothecary.
"A lethal dose for a grown man would fill a wine glass. They likely got less than a hundredth of that," Rishe explained to Arnold, not looking up from her work. "Still, the numbness can block their airways with the roots of their tongues. It's best to lay them on their sides."
"Yes, I understand the theory and the solution." Arnold gazed down at Rishe's hands.
"The part I'm struggling with is why you're the one telling me this."
"Well, I know how to make the antidote," Rishe said patiently as she muddled the herbs together in the white soup bowl she'd borrowed for her flowers. She crushed them with the back of a spoon before adding another dried flower, crushing that as well, and combining them to form a paste. This process would be easier with a pestle, but she wasn't about to complain. "This poison is common—it's cheap and easy to make, which often means the antidote is simple as well."
The antidote was synthesized, in fact, when hunters witnessed a deer showing no symptoms after eating a certain mushroom. They tested those along with other common herbs the deer ate. Rishe mentally thanked them for their scientific rigor as she added a bit of water, straining it all through a cloth.
Rishe stood up, brandishing the bowl of bright green medicine. "Boiling would make the antidote more potent, but this works in a pinch."
That was when she noticed the astonished stares. Unsure of what social faux paus she'd perpetrated, she looked away. Oliver was completely stunned.
Arnold looked thoughtful. It was imperative the knights were treated as soon as possible, but to Rishe's dismay, no one was moving.
Do they not trust me? That makes sense. Anyone would be reluctant to use medicine concocted by a complete stranger. But the longer we wait, the harder the poison will become to cure.
She needed to dispel their doubts. Rolling up her sleeve, Rishe approached Arnold and drew his sword from its scabbard. "I need to borrow this for a moment, Your Highness."
"What are you—"