Pain, red hot and everywhere, was the first sensation to greet Vester's senses. His entire left side was an inferno, some fever set deep within his flesh. A white-hot shaft of agony pierced his breast, all the way through to his back. With every breath he drew, he could feel his lung struggling to inflate, his breathing a ragged wheeze. He stifled a groan at the pain, instead trying to focus before opening his eyes.
The Witcher was laying on crisp linen. Clean, but not exceptionally so. Not a noble's house, then. a wealthy homeowner would have scented their bedding with something like Lavender, or Verbena leaves. He shifted slightly, feeling the prickle of straw through the sheets. A peasant, then. Perhaps a farmer, although he couldn't smell the odour of livestock. Not close by, anyway. The typical village's scent of horse, cattle and wet dog was ever present. The day had risen, judging by the brightening light that shone against his eyelids. Sometime around noon.
As he lay there, contemplating all of this, trying to remember the last few moments before he'd lost consciousness, the low singing finally reached his consciousness. A voice, gentle, soft-edged, slipping between actual words and just humming, tenderly caressed his ears.
"Heigh-ho...
Who is there?
No one but me, my dear...
Please come,
Say how do...
The things I'll give to you.
A stroke as gentle as a feather...
I'll catch a rainbow from the sky
And tie the ends together..."
The song was slow, gentle, the voice delivering it light and airy, accompanied by the tender plucking of the strings of a lute. For a moment, Vester was tempted to keep his eyes closed and just lay there, listening in contentment, but then a sharp stab of pain coursed through his torso, forcing him to wince, drawing in a sharp breath. It was time to wake, and check what injuries he had sustained in the fight. He slowly opened his eyes.
The room he was in was small. The thick clay walls were painted white, and the ceiling hung low overhead. There was little in the room other than the bed, a small chest for holding clothes, and a chair facing the single window. A slight figure sat in that chair now, idly playing a lute. It was the girl, the victim of the vampire's attack. She still wore the same yellow dress, with cream chemise underneath. The tears that the Bruxae's claws had left in the garments had been neatly stitched up. The girl rocked a little as she sung, swaying to the melody.
Now he could look at her more closely, the Witcher took a moment to observe all the little details. The way her midnight black hair, cut to be in line with her jawline, contrasted sharply against her white skin, a northern complexion if he was to judge. Finely shaped cheekbones and a small nose sat above a pair of rose-red lips. Two hazel eyes watched the world, a flash of curiosity, creativity, and something else in them.
The Witcher's breath caught in his throat in just the wrong way, forcing a sharp cough from his lungs. As pain raced through his veins again, he curled up, the wheezing, hacking cough sending fresh shivers of agony through him. At the sudden noise, the girl with the lute jolted in her chain, playing a flat note as her singing abruptly halted. She spun, leaping to her feet as she saw the monster hunter curled up around his injuries. She rushed to his side, quickly rolling him back onto his back.
"Please, try to keep still." She spoke softly, straightening the sheets under him. "You lost a lot of blood, and the wounds were starting to turn rotten. I'm worried the infection may spread."
"Water." Vester's tongue was thick in his mouth, a slimy, cracked lump of numb muscle. Still, he managed to force the word out.
The girl nodded, producing a waterskin from a satchel next to the bed. Vester drank greedily from the skin, the cool, clear liquid cleansing the inside of his mouth, sending a shock of pure cold down his throat. New life flooded his veins. A sigh of relief rose from the depths of his belly. The girl stepped back, watching him warily as he pulled aside the sheets to look at his injuries.
A simple poultice had been applied to his chest, cotton bandages holding a thick wad of fabric in place, treated with what Vester could smell was a mixture of Oxeye Leaves, Verbena and Celandine. Carefully, with the girl's help, he lifted the poultice away. Underneath, where the vampire's claws had pierced his chest, was a reddish-brown mess, a series of deep, sucking wounds. The smell rising off it was foul, and would have made a lesser man retch. Thankfully, the Witcher was made of sterner stuff.
"I tried to clean it as best I could." The girl explained, wringing her hands. "But there's no healer here in the village. The nearest herbalist is some three days' ride away, and the alderman refuses to pay to bring him here." Her cheeks reddened. "Said he wouldn't shell out that kind of coin for- for 'a filthy mutant'."
"Not the first time I've heard that." Vester said dispassionately, eyes still fixated on his wounds. "Monster's dead, they don't need to worry about keeping me alive. Its a wonder anybody was willing to even allow me in their home like this." His eyebrows creased as he looked up. "Speaking of which, how are we to pay for the room?"
"About that..." The girl hesitated. "I- uh... I used the coins in the pouch of your belt, for the first night. Since then, I've been paying our way with music and song in the local tavern."
"First night?" Vester asked. "How long was I unconscious?"
"Four nights." She replied. "The villagers have told me we can only stay another night, then we both must leave."
"Both?" Vester asked curiously. "Why must you go, too?"
"Capricia... spent a great deal of money in the village. She'd buy grain from the farmers for her staff at the manor on the hill. She'd pay to have expensive silks and luxury wines from Touissaint imported. The villagers would turn a blind eye to the odd missing person, usually a passing traveller, if it meant continued wealth for them. I... 'exposed' Capricia to you, and got her killed."
"I see." Vester clicked his tongue. "Stupid motherfuckers. They never learn. Of course they wanna keep a Bruxae around just so they can have a few extra coins in their pockets..."
"Forgive me, Master Witcher." The young bard clenched her hands in front of herself, unable to meet the Witcher's yellow stare. "But I once heard that a Witcher's elixirs could allow him to heal from any wound. Isn't that true? I didn't want to just try giving you any of the mixtures that were on your belt without knowing what they did..."
"Aye. A Swallow potion would have healed me up fairly quickly."
"I'm sorry, I didn't know." The bard said dejectedly.
"You did a good job." Vester was surprised at the sudden desire he had to encourage her, resisting the urge to get up off the bed and pat her on the shoulder. "The wound has been bound well, which kept more air from getting into my chest cavity, so you prevented things from becoming much worse. Do you still have the phials that were on my belt when you found me?"
The girl turned to the chest, opening it to reveal much of Vester's gear. a few moments, and she produced his belt, with phials and glass spheres still attached. Vester gestured for her to come close.
"The red bottle, image of a swallow engraved into the shoulder of it." He instructed. "Pop the cork, and give it to me."
She quickly obeyed, pouring the sweet red mixture into his mouth.
Wildfire coursed through his veins. His heart began to race as all his muscles contracted and released at once. The bard rushed in closer, a worried expression on her face.
"Oh Melitele save me..." She breathed. "I must have chosen the wrong one!"
"No... Its fine!" Vester managed through grit teeth as he felt the tissues in his chest begin to knit back together. "The potion takes its toll on the body, but the benefits are worth it."
In moments, the savage response from his body to the potion subsided. He could feel his system's regenerative properties taking over, fixing the damage far faster than any natural body could hope to. In minutes, he experienced the kind of healing that would normally take months for a normal man. As soon as his breath steadied, he gestured to the girl again.
"This time, the yellow mixture. The bottle smells of garlic. Then, unscrew the cap on the glass sphere filled with black powder. I need three pinches of the powder."
The bard passed him the bottle, then did exactly as he said with the powder. Vester popped the cork on the yellow potion, wrinkling his nose a little. Golden Oriole was not a pleasant elixir. The odour was often said to be able to wake the dead. Fortunately, he wasn't planning on drinking it. Bracing himself, he held the bottle over his wounds, allowing three droplets to fall into each injury. A small groan escaped his throat as he did so, the burning fire of the mixture working its way deep inside his wounds. He clenched his free fist, the knuckles turning white from the strain. Once he was done, the girl was there, black powder held in her palm. Vester nodded.
"Sprinkle it into the wounds. Be careful not to spill any elsewhere."
"What will this do?" She asked.
"The Golden Oriole will purge corruption and infection." The Witcher explained. "As for the Dragon's Blood, take a step back, and I'll show you. Have a damp cloth ready."
Once the girl had backed away, Vester steadied himself, calming his mind. He knew the next part was going to hurt, but he was ready. Taking a deep breath, he traced the symbol of Igni, muttering the magical command under his breath. Sparks leapt from his hand, finding the Dragon's Blood powder. The black grains caught light swiftly, with their characteristic intensity. Vester's back arched as the flames burned him, cauterising his wounds. The girl quickly rushed in close, dousing the fire with her cloth. She then refreshed the water and placed it back on his skin, cooling the burnt flesh. Vester, chest heaving, nodded his thanks to her.
"I admit, it is easier to do this with someone helping..." He commented. "Thank you... I do not even know your name."
"Its Valentina." She dabbed at his wounds again with her cloth, cleaning the soot and blood from his broad, muscular chest. "And your name, Master Witcher...?"
"Its Vester." He leaned back on the bed, allowing the bard to continue tending to him. "Vester of Oxenfurt."
Valentina nodded, continuing her ministrations. In a few seconds, she began to hum, then words began to tumble from her lips. As the day began to darken into night, Vester slipped back into the realm of sleep, lulled there by the bard's gentle voice and tender attentions.
"Heigh ho... I am here
Am I not young and fair?
Please come
Say how do...
The things I'll show to you.
Would you have a wondrous sight?
Mmm, the midday sun at midnight..."
