The injured man was a little older than the woman, maybe twenty-eight,
and he had several wounds to boast about. He also had a bloodied
harrowing knife in his hand. He stared at me with unreal eyes, and I could
tell that there was a problem. The woman knelt beside me and cradled his
head in her arms.
"He's going into shock. Tyndal, your cloak! Is he your husband?"
She shook her head. "My brother-in-law, Sagal. We were headed to
Hymas, and they came out of nowhere. How bad is he?"
"I'm not a healer," I warned.
"I know who you are," she said, her pretty eyes flashing. "But I bet you
can do something. Or are all you good for is tracking down wandering
cows?"
She was right. I'm not a healer, but I had learned plenty of combat aid in
the Army, and every spellmonger does a little healing on animals or people,
depending on his situation. Blushing indignantly, I summoned magesight
and pushed my awareness into the muscles and bones of his shoulder.
It was a mess. The scapula was cracked and the humerus was crushed,
but not beyond repair, and certainly not life-threatening. A stab wound in
his gut was more worrying – it wasn't bleeding badly, but it was
dangerously close to the intestines. A punctured gut could lead to
peritonitis, which would kill him in a few painful days if he wasn't tended
to. But that would be in a few days. He needed to be stabilized long before
that.
Tyndal brought his cloak and covered the man as I opened the leather
satchel that I had carried to Farise and back. My supply of bandages was
low, but there was enough there to cover the gut wound. I opened a vial of
Memphor's Liquor and poured it onto the bandage before I pushed it into
the wound.
The man moaned and his eyelids began to flutter. I took half a dried
charro root and crushed it between my palms before sticking it in his mouth
and holding my water skin to his lips. It would need a little time to work,
but it would likely keep him out of shock if we could get him off the road.
"What's his name again?" I asked the woman while I began to fashion a
litter out of Tyndal's cloak. I used my staff for one side, and hers for the
other.
"Sagal. He's married to my sister Ela. Their farm is about half a mile
back up the road. She's going to go insane when she sees him, just to warn
you. What was your name again? I just remember that you're the new
spellmonger." She didn't seem impressed. So I tried to impress her.
"Master Minalan of Castal, among other places, at your service," I
grunted. "Warranted by the Duke to practice general spellcraft and
thaumaturgy."
"That's right, I remember you. You set the firewards at Goodman Iarl's
place last month. I saw you there that day. My holding is just behind his, up
the ridge and north."
"So, now you know me, what about yourself? Do you have a name?"
Tyndal and I took the ailing farmer and placed him as gently as we could in
the stretcher. He moaned in pain at the movement, but he seemed to be a
little more comfortable.
"Of course. Alya, daughter of Roral, of Hawk's Reach. That's our
farm."
"I've heard of it. Your dad, too. Well, Alya of Hawk's Reach, I hope
you're fond of your brother-in-law. Goddess willing, he will survive. If you
are not fond of him, there is still time to poison him before he gets home.
This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity."
She grinned and showed a fetching set of dimples that paled in
comparison to her smile. "No, I really am fond of him. He was friends with
my late husband."
"A lass as young as you, a widow?"
"Yes," she said, her smile fading. "He died in a riding accident a year
and a half ago. I gave our farm back to his parents and moved home. I help
my father run the creamery, now."
"I'm sorry," I said, and I meant it. Damn it, I wanted that smile back.
"Thank you. Now, can you answer me this: where the bloody hell did all
of these damned goblins come from?" Her voice broke at the memory of the
fight she was just in. "We were headed out to Hymas to see about some
shears and some tonic -- Sagal's got a sick calf – when they sprang out from
the trees.
"At first I thought they were begging – that happens sometimes," she
explains, "and I've traded with the mountain folk food for firewood often
enough. But then out came the clubs and suddenly we were fighting for our
lives. I'm glad you showed up when you did," she said.
Finally. When one does go out of one's way to rescue a damsel in
distress, an outpouring of heartfelt thanks and gratitude is to be expected on
the part of said damsel. Perhaps some light kissing and hugging.
Occasionally the offer of a reward, either monetary or sexual, is added (and
usually refused), but the regulations governing such things are pretty
straightforward on the gushes of gratitude, from what I recall of the legends
and sagas.
"Really? It was no trouble. My apprentice and I were just passing—"
"Yeah, it would have taken me most of an hour to finish them all off,"
she said, without a trace of doubt.
I stared at her just a moment too long, and inspired a blush that showed
off every freckle on her face.
"Well, since they were obviously interrupting your busy schedule, I'm
happy I could help out."
"They are just gurvani," she said, dismissively. "I don't know about this
lot, but most of them would scatter at a loud noise."
"It's not just this band. A hundred or more of them attacked Minden's
Hall two nights ago. Almost forty people died, buildings burned, it took
Sire Koucey to drive them away.
"Not many beggars in that lot, either. Lots of clubs, lots of spears, lots
of snarling fangs and bloody claws. My lady, I've seen the gurvani fight,
deep in the jungles of Farise, and I assure you that they are a most capable
foe, when properly roused. From what Sire Koucey tells me," I said, on the
theory that dropping the name of the local lord might possibly impress her,
"they haven't been a problem here since the Goblin Wars."
"That's right," she agreed, thoughtfully. "They've always been very
respectful to us. Can we move him back to his hold? It's not far."
"This litter is ready to go. Tyndal, help me get Goodman Sagal home to
his wife. Goody Alya, I have no idea what has troubled them so. But now
they are troubling me, and that is something for which I cannot stand." I
tried to sound brave and resolute, and only realized after I said it that it
sounded pompous and self-important. Luckily, I still had some points left
from saving her life, and she overlooked it.
Tyndal pulled the litter behind his horse while I let Alya lead Traveler
and I cleaned my sword. We walked slowly and warily, but that also
allowed me a chance to speak with her at length about all sorts of
completely unimportant but vital things. The walk lasted twenty minutes,
and by the time we approached the front gateway to her sister's house I was
genuinely smitten.
Quite odd for a first date, I know. But I've been on worse.