Vainglory 3.32 - The Medicant

Here's your chapter! Enjoy :)

-Plum

32 – The Medicant

It was close to the middle of the night when they emerged from the gate, into the moonlit market square from which they’d entered the challenge. The only person present to see them exit was a sleepy guard standing watch over that corner of the market. He almost dropped his spear in surprise when the gate swung open and the three of them walked out, with Trent still comatose and hanging between Lali and Ward.

“Oh! Um, who—er, what’s your business?”

Ward frowned at the man, who was probably nearly thirty years old. His uniform was ill-tailored for him—too large around the shoulders, too short around the ankles—and his face hadn’t seen a good shave in several days. It seemed the graveyard shift watching over a seldom-used gate wasn’t where the sharpest of the Ordo Caelus City Watch were stationed. “We’re just coming out,” he said, pushing the gate closed with a heavy clang.

“Right. Right. Of course! Entrants, then, were you?”

“Obviously, ya daft knob,” Lali growled. She hefted her half of Trent. “Where’s the nearest surgeon’s house?”

“S-surgeon?”

“Ward, so help me, if this man doesn’t start uttering some useful syllables, I’m gonna—”

“Easy, Lali.” Ward knew better than to further panic an already startled simpleton. If Lali continued to escalate, the man might resort to bluster and threaten to arrest them or something. “You heard the questions, sir. Do you know of a nearby surgeon, doctor, or—I don’t know—healer? Our friend is badly injured.”

“Oh, right. Right, my good man. There’s a well-regarded doctor in this very square. See the narrow building there, on the other side of the fountain? The one with the black and white awning? That’s Brem’s clinic, but he ain’t going to be open at this hour.”

“Right, but does he live there, too?” Ward pressed.

“Oh, um, perhaps, perhaps. I’ve never been inside to see if he has living quarters.” He frowned and rubbed the wispy blond hairs sprouting from his chin. “I imagine he could, couldn’t he? The building is fairly large for a simple clinic. Where would he have his kitchen and bath? On the second floor? If he does, can you imagine how nice it must be to have his breakfast, then just head downstairs to start his day? What a thought!”

“Thanks.” Ward started walking, tugging a growling Lali along with him. Haley, quiet inside her hooded cloak, followed close behind. As they went, Ward contemplated the fact that he hadn’t heard a peep out of Haley since she’d guided them up to the gate. He looked at her, but her head was down, her hood drawn low. “You good?” he asked, giving her shoulder a nudge.

She looked up, her pale eyes glimmering in the moonlight. “I’m fine.”

“You haven’t done any Gopah since the fight, but that wasn’t too long ago.”

She narrowed her eyes into a scowl. “I’m just thinking. Don’t worry.” She glanced at Lali, as if to remind him to keep her personal business personal.

He nodded. “Fair enough.”

When he reached the stoop of the doctor’s office, he was pleasantly surprised to find a doorbell labeled, After hours—Emergencies Only! He grunted in approval and jammed his finger onto the button. It depressed with a click, and he heard a chime sound from the depths of the building. He continued to press it every few seconds, watching through the window beside the door, until a light flickered on, illuminating a set of stairs a good way beyond the reception area.

“I’d say he’s coming,” Lali chuckled.

Her words proved true a few seconds later when a man wearing a checkered housecoat and gray, silken pajamas descended the steps and approached the door. He was middle-aged, with a well-trimmed brown and gray beard and sharp-looking dark eyes. He pulled the door open, narrowing his brows as he looked at Trent’s silent form. “A simple ring or two on the bell would suffice.”

Ward shrugged. “I wasn’t sure it would wake you.”

The man looked at him and continued to scowl, but didn’t press the issue. Instead, he pulled the door wide. “Bring him in, then. My after-hours fee is a hundred glories, which’ll be added to the healing fees. There’s no guarantee of success.”

“We can pay,” Lali growled, and gave Ward’s shoulder a nudge, getting him moving. The doctor led them past the reception area through a pair of lovely, maple swinging doors into a high, vaulted room with a bronze table at the center, complete with leather wrist and ankle straps.

“Put him there,” the doctor said, gesturing.

Ward and Lali hoisted Trent onto the table, and the doctor stepped over, bearing a faintly glowing blue marble. He held it between his forefinger and thumb and moved it over Trent’s body, from his feet to his chest, then down each arm. After that, he held it over Trent’s forehead, and the blue glow darkened to purple and then brightened to red. “He took a blow to the skull.”

Ward glanced at Lali, and she snorted. “We could’ve told you that, doctor.”

He glared at her. “Medicant.” After she nodded, though her face was confused, he pointed to some wooden chairs near the wall. “Wait there.”

“Can you help him?” Haley asked.

“I’ll need to drill his skull and administer a potent tincture to the injured gray matter. He’ll likely recover, though his memories may suffer. I’ve found that, given time, most patients with such injuries recover most of them eventually.”

As Haley nodded, face paler than usual, Ward asked, “And the cost?”

“Three hundred for my service, two hundred for the tincture. With the after-hours fee, six hundred altogether.”

Lali, already walking toward the chairs, waved her hand. “We’ve got it.”

Ward followed her over and sat beside her. Haley lingered for a moment, speaking softly to the doctor, but before Ward noticed and tried to focus his better-than-human hearing on the conversation, she was already coming his way. When she sat down, he nudged her with his elbow. “What was that about?”

“I was just telling him that Trent’s a good man and deserves his best work, despite his boorish companions.”

Lali snorted again and jostled Ward roughly. “The lass must be used to apologizing for you.”

Ward looked at her with an arched eyebrow. “Right. I’m sure it’s just me.”

Lali smiled and jostled him again, but Ward was distracted by something else; his pocket was getting hot. Frowning, he held his hand against the offending portion of his pants and felt the amulet’s outline. The heat was definitely coming from it. He stood, clearing his throat. “I need a little air. You two keep an eye on the doc, will you?”

“Like a housecat with a mouse,” Lali replied. Haley didn’t respond. She was leaning forward, elbows on knees, head cradled in her hands. Ward wanted to ask her what was wrong. He wanted to pull her out with him and look into her eyes and make her tell him what was up, but he had the pressing need to figure out why the amulet was about to burn through his pants. Promising himself he wouldn’t let the matter slip down the cracks, he left the room and walked out to the “medicant’s” reception area.

He moved around the corner so one of the ladies wouldn’t see him if they looked out the door of the surgical hall, then pulled the amulet out. He frowned, finding it hardly warm at all now that he held it. In his pocket, it had seemed like it could’ve competed with a hot coal’s temperature. “The hell is going on with this thing?”

Before he could wonder further, a shimmering, phantom-like image of the tall, long-limbed “old one,” Pallishae, appeared before him. “Ward! I’m pleased to see you followed your instincts and found my gift for you.”

“Your gift?”

“The sap of the Yarrim Tree. It has further awakened your harrowguard heritage, which allows me to speak with you more easily through the amulet.”

Ward scowled. “Just what the hell is a harrowguard?”

“Those with the sight—the ability to feel and intuit encroaching danger. Some even experience visions and, with that foreknowledge, guard against a coming calamity. With your third eye almost fully open, my communication with you is nearly effortless.”

“Third eye? Come on, man.”

“Do you object to figurative language, or is something else bothering you?”

Ward shook his head, cussing softly. “I’m just tired of all the goddamn mystery. Yeah, I’m seeing visions, yeah, they all seem to revolve around this damn thing”—he held up the amulet—“and, yeah, I’d like to know what the hell I’m supposed to do? The people in this city don’t like dreadmarked people, and I’m going to get kicked out in a week or so. I might be a tough asshole, but there are sorcerers involved with your little cult who, apparently, can blast me into the next time zone with a wave of their hand. You get me?”

“We must find their leader, and, when he or she is alone, you must complete a ritual, binding them to this amulet. That will give me purchase in their mind, and I will be able to do battle with the corrupted echo of myself that resides in the other version of the artifact.”

“I think I know who their leader is.”

Pallishae shook his head. “If you think so, you’re probably wrong. I don’t know who it is, and I still have the memories of my corrupted echo. No, the leader has kept a strategic distance from the active cult members. This person doesn’t need the influence of my alter ego to do evil; he or she is evil enough. I just don’t know who they are.”

“Okay, that’s a direction at least—an action I can take. How am I supposed to find out who this leader is?”

“Capture a high-ranking member of the cult. This person might not attend the rituals and might not feed their blood to my alter ego, but they must be in contact with the cult. They must be directing their strategies. Once you’ve captured someone with clout, you’ll have to get them to speak, which will be no mean task.”

“Yeah, none of this is going to be easy. I already told you, I’m not really what people in this city consider ‘high-tier.’ Do you have some ideas?”

“Have you no allies?”

Ward frowned. “I might, but I’m not sure which ones I can trust.”

“You’ll have to be clever, Ward. You’ll have to use subtlety to find your mark and lay a trap. Once I’ve infiltrated the mind of their leader, I’ll be able to help you more effectively. I’ll take an active role against those you call sorcerers.”

“All right. I need some damn sleep and then, with a clear head, I’ll try to put a plan together. Can I talk to you anytime?”

“Unfortunately, no. It costs me mana to project myself this way, and my ability to harvest mana while bound to the amulet is quite limited. Perhaps once a day—possibly two.”

Ward nodded, his mind spinning. There was so much he wanted to know, so much he kept putting off, figuring he’ll eventually find someone to ask. Here was an old one, though, one of the people who created the catacombs. Shouldn’t he try to learn something from him? He asked the first question that came to mind, “Well, while I’ve got you, can you tell me anything about my, um, anima heart and anima pathways?”

“Your…” Pallishae wrinkled his brow, apparently confused, but after a moment, he slowly began to nod. “I think I know what you mean. My people refer to those constructs as a ‘spirit forge’ and ‘spirit channels,’ respectively. You know nothing about your spirit forge?” Ward shook his head. “The magic you work with mana, using the words of power, was something my people considered minor workings. Spirit energy, or as you call it, anima, fuels major workings.”

“Minor? I brought Haley back from the dead!”

“Magic is spectacular, even minor workings. Tell me, did your friend return unscathed?”

Ward frowned, thinking of Haley back in the surgical hall, her head buried in her hands. “No, I suppose not.”

“You may not have realized this, but the greater the magic fueled by mana alone, the more likely it will have a drawback. Add your anima, weighted by the intention and nature of your spirit, to the mix, and you can complete far greater workings, and often without the dark price of so-called free magic.”

“Why do you call it that? Free?”

“Because mana is in everything, even the air we breathe. Your anima, on the other hand, is a part of your eternal being. To use it is to risk oblivion. Yes, you can recover it from other beings with developed spirit forges—anima hearts—but there’s always the risk that you’ll perish before you manage to do so. That’s why no one considers the use of anima-fueled magic free.”

“How do I? I mean, how do I cast magic with my anima?”

“I’m happy to try to instruct you to the best of my ability, but my mana is running out. I must rest. Try to speak with me again in a day.”

“What if I have an artifact—a mana well? Can you use it?”

“Were I not limited by this amulet? Absolutely. Unfortunately, the nature of this vessel won’t allow it. Give me a full day to rest and I’ll have more time to spend with you. Goodbye for now, Ward. Be cautious.” With that, the tall, alien-looking specter faded into nothing, and the amulet became cold in Ward’s hand.

“That was very interesting!” Grace said, grabbing Ward’s wrist in her excitement.

“Yeah, it was. I guess it kind of tracks with the way you and your kind can do pretty damn miraculous magic using other people’s anima.”

“Yes! If there’s a way you can enhance your spells with anima…” She trailed off, shaking her head, apparently lost for words.

“I mean, it might even the odds with some of these stronger casters. Still, you heard what he said about the risk. That’s no joke.”

“No, of course not. I agree, Ward.” She gestured down the hallway. “Why don’t you get Haley and bring her back to your rooms? She’s not feeling well! Lali can watch over Trent, and you can all meet with Fitz tomorrow.”

Ward nodded. “Yeah, I was thinking something similar. I’ll go see how things are going.”

He returned to the surgical room, carefully opening and closing the door without making much noise. He needn’t have worried. Brem, the doctor, was noisily cranking a hand drill, grinding a hole through the top of Trent’s forehead. He’d strapped him into place, and Ward wondered if it was to hold him still or to keep him from thrashing if he happened to wake up during the procedure. The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

“Better?” Lali asked, looking at him askance.

“Yeah. Just needed a little air.” He gestured toward the table. “He say how long it would take?”

Haley looked up, answering for Lali, “He said if Trent lives through the next few minutes, he’ll probably recover by morning.”

“All right.” Ward leaned a shoulder against the wall near Haley’s chair, not really feeling like sitting. In silence, the trio waited, watching as the doctor set his drill aside and lifted a tiny black bottle. He pulled out the cork stopper, then dipped a slender pipette into the opening. A moment later, he held the pipette to Trent’s forehead, and his position blocked his further actions.

Not long after that, he set the pipette on his tray and then turned to regard the three of them. “He’ll live. I won’t promise he’ll remember everything or act exactly the same, but he’ll live. You can pick him up in the morning.”

“What does he mean by ‘act the same?’” Haley asked, looking at Ward with wide, alarmed eyes.

Ward cleared his throat. “Hey, what do you mean by that? He’ll be different?”

“Well, brain injuries are tricky, sir. The healing tincture will mend the gray matter, but sometimes things change. A girl I treated lost her ability to write. Another fellow became rather lethargic, well, lazy, if you ask his wife. The point is, I make no promises other than that the man will live.”

“Let’s go,” Lali said, scowling. “He ain’t gonna tell us anything different, no matter how many different ways you ask.”

“Excuse me,” Brem said, stepping their way, wiping his hands on a white rag. “There’s the matter of payment.”

“Right. Six hundred.” Ward narrowed his eyes, then said, “Do you mind looking the other way a minute? I’d rather not give away where I hide my coins.”

The doctor returned his scowl, shaking his head. “Ridiculous. As if I’d rob a man like you.” Nevertheless, he turned his back and continued wiping his hands. Ward reached into his magic pouch and brought out Lali’s pack—the one filled with gold, silver, and jewels. He held it open so Lali could fish around for the payment. When she held a handful of gold coins—no more than five or so—Ward closed the bag and stuffed it back into his pouch.

“Here, sir,” Lali said, holding out her hand. The doctor turned and, still scowling, accepted the handful of heavy gold.

“These aren’t glories!”

“No, but that’s enough gold to buy you six hundred glories pretty damn quick,” Lali said with a growl.

“Well, that’s more work for me, but—” He held up one of the coins, easily double the size of a hundred-glory coin. “Yes, I can see you’ve been more than fair with me.”

Ward clapped the doctor on the shoulder, staring into his eyes. “We’ll be here in the morning. Don’t let Trent wander off without us.” With that, they left, showing themselves out into the moonlit market square. When they stood facing each other under the doctor’s awning, Ward said, “Can you let Fitz know we’re back, Lali? We can all meet up in the morning. Let’s collect Trent here around mid-morning, and then we can go somewhere to talk and give Fitz the treasure.”

“You wanna give it to me now? I won’t touch it ’til we’re all together.”

Ward could tell she was leery about leaving all the valuables with him, and he didn’t blame her. Fitz had hired her, ostensibly, to keep track of the treasure, after all. Nodding, he pulled all her packs from his pouch, including those laden with her adventuring gear. “Hate to make you carry all this around the city at night.”

“Nobody will trouble me, Ward. I’m getting a room in that inn yonder.” She pointed to a big, brightly lit building on the left side of the market square. “It’s you two who have to walk to the Assembly Square.”

“Ah, that’s good. Okay, then. Tomorrow. We’ll meet right here.”

“Aye. I’ll let Fitz know when I’m awake.” With that, Lali waved one of her big, gloved hands, turned, and marched across the empty square.

Ward put his arm over Haley’s shoulders and steered her toward a street that would take them in the right direction. “All right, miss.”

“What?”

“Spill. What’s bothering you?”