"What's wrong?"
The priest shook his head and turned with his hands still clasped together.
"The wound is lethal," the priest whispered. He looked troubled, his pale grey eyes moving back to the injury. "To heal something this deep... it would usually take a group of priests working together to share the strain. The toll on one person is too much."
Alaric scowled, his arms folding over his chest. "We only have you. So you have to make it work."
The priest frowned and let out a long sigh. He looked like he wanted to argue, but he knew he didn't have a choice.
"I will need time then. Twenty-four hours at the very least to mend the bones and the nerves."
He felt that was reasonable. But the Duke thought otherwise.
"We don't have twenty-four hours," Alaric said, his voice hard, leaving no room for debate. "Make it twelve. He needs to be healed before noon."
The priest snapped his head around, staring at the Duke in shock.
