The Supreme inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement, it seemed to Tarlac, of more than his words. Then the claws dug in, made a swift slash down the Ranger's chest and upper belly.
Tarlac screamed and fell to his knees, blood running over hands that instinctively clutched at the terrible wounds.
He'd been hurt before, sometimes badly. He'd been hit by shrapnel, burned, shot—everything that could happen to someone in combat, short of death—but none of it had prepared him for this drug-aided agony that left him unable to move, gasping for irregular breaths as blood soaked the front of his trousers and began pooling on the altar dais.
His world narrowed to himself, to the pain in his upper body and the need to remain conscious. Nothing else could be allowed to matter: not the blood he couldn't hold back, its loss draining his strength; not the bitter foam that choked him, obstructing his already-labored breathing. He had to concentrate his full attention on staying away from the darkness that offered to gather him into its eternal peace if he should relax for even an instant.
Hovan stood watching Steve's motionless struggle to remain conscious. He himself had been neither silent nor unmoving under the torment the man he sponsored was now enduring, and he felt deep pride in his clanmate. He'd seen nearly a hundred n'ruhar go through this, and Steve was doing very well. Yet … something was wrong.
Ordeal poison did make blood flow more freely, yes, and let wounds bleed more than was normal, yet even now, when its effects should be starting to wear off— Hovan felt a stab of dismay. Humans bled so much more easily than Traiti did to begin with, and Steve had needed medical help after the blood exchange—had Channath allowed enough for human differences in calculating Steve's dosage?
He glanced at the two physicians, and wasn't reassured by their evident concern. Not surprisingly, the human doctor looked angry as well as worried—but Channath was worried too, which wasn't normal for her. Hovan realized that she had allowed for human frailty … but not even she could allow for a possible over-reaction, as unpredictable as his earlier allergy to their liquor!
Tarlac tossed his head, muscles no longer locked by agony though he still fought the pain assaulting his weakened system. He coughed, spitting out a last mouthful of the bitter froth, and took a deep, gasping breath as he collapsed to the dais. The inviting dark beckoned more seductively, its promise of an end to pain harder and harder to fight… No! He had to resist that pull! But his eyes were closing, his breath taking more effort …
At least his mouth and throat were empty—no more foam—and the pain was subsiding to a more normal intensity. Yeah, sure, he thought in English, but the rest of the thought was in Language: the drug must be wearing off. He felt light, almost floating, as if he were in a low-grav field.
Channath's sharp "Now!" as she and the human doctor moved toward the Ranger freed Hovan to kneel beside Steve and raise the man's head.