‘About four, maybe five hours’ ride away. The older one is sick. He’ll die soon.’
‘You’re sure of that?’ Tennyson put in.
‘Yes. The poison is in him. He’s been wrapped in his blankets for almost two days now. I haven’t seen him move. There’s no way he will survive. Nobody does.’
Tennyson nodded several times. A cruel smile formed on his lips. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘I hope he dies in pain.’
‘He will,’ Bacari assured him.

Halt's Peril, Chapter 32