Leonhardt guided the limp form of Alden to the edge of the arena's clearing. The bloodied sand gave way to a curtained alcove where Leonhardt had set up a makeshift infirmary. He laid Alden gently on a pile of coarse blankets. A deep wound ran across Alden's ribcage, flesh torn open by the first duel. The scent of iron and sweat filled the narrow space while candles guttered around them, casting a flickering light on silver chalices of herbs.
With practiced hands Leonhardt fetched poultices of crushed yarrow and willow bark, soaking them in hot water. He winced as he dabbed the bitter salve into Alden's cut. "Hold steady," Leonhardt murmured softly. Alden's face was pale, teeth gritted against the pain. Each breath came out ragged and shallow.
Leonhardt ground a sharp blade against a piece of oak for splinters to stitch the wound closed. He threaded linen bandages taut over the gash, stopping the blood and binding the ribs together. "The bleeding's done," Leonhardt said as he wrapped an oil-slick bandage around Alden's chest. Alden's eyes were half-lidded with fever and shock.
Alden tried to rise from the blankets, pain twisting his expression. He rasped, "I'm fine, Leon. Just let me—" But Leonhardt held him firmly to the blankets.
"Quiet," Leonhardt snapped. His voice was brusque but steady. "You fight tomorrow only if you're well. Right now you need sleep." He pressed a cool cloth of chamomile to Alden's forehead and thrust a cup of thick herbal tea into his limp hand.
Alden's eyes fluttered at the bitter taste, and exhaustion washed over him. He sank back onto the blankets, breathing easier under the effect of the brew. Leonhardt eased a leather strap under Alden's head like a pillow. All around them, the distant roar of the crowd faded behind heavy canvas walls.
When Alden finally drifted into sleep, limp and drugged by the tea, Leonhardt kept a silent vigil. He cleaned and re-sheathed his knives, then knelt by his friend's side. Quietly, he whispered a brief prayer, though no god came to answer. Leonhardt watched Alden's chest rise and fall with slow, steady breaths. Outside the tent, the sun sank low beyond the colosseum walls, and Leonhardt sat on a crate until darkness fell, willing the broken man to heal.