A Rogue's Tale
Jothan
I stood, head bowed, in front of Mathias Shaw. I'd been caught sneaking into SI7's headquarters yet again; and this time they'd dragged me before the master himself.
"Look at me, boy!"
His voice was quiet, not sounding angry.
Slowly I raised my head and looked at him. He had an amused expression on his face.
"You really want to join us, don't you?"
I nodded. He gazed at me in silence for some moments.
"Right, here's my offer. I will allow you to train here with our recruits. You'll learn everything they do, including the use of poisons and the full range of weapons."
I opened my mouth to thank him, but he continued before I could say a word.
"However, there are conditions. First, you continue your studies at school and keep up with your chores. Second, you will not use anything you learn here outside the compound until I give you permission. Third, you must get your parents' permission."
My heart sank at that last condition; my father was not going to give his permission easily; he'd probably have more conditions than Master Shaw. However I nodded willingly and thanked him.
"Very well. Return here tomorrow with your father's written permission and you may begin training."
I turned to leave and had almost reached the door when he said quietly,
"Before you leave you can return that trinket you stole."
I glanced down at my closed fist and opened it to reveal the coin I held. I didn't think he'd noticed; I should have known better than to try to fool the master thief himself.
"You're good, lad, I'll grant you that; but you need to be much better to deceive a rogue. I take it you're responsible for a lot of the misplaced things that turned up later in unexpected places?"
I nodded. "I never kept anything," I said. "I was just practicing."
"I know. We wouldn't be having this conversation if you had."
I reached out to put the trinket on a nearby table before I left.
To my surprise my father agreed to let me train with the rogues. I think that he was just pleased that I'd finally given some thought to my future. Though more than once I'd heard him voice the opinion that rogues were little better than thieves; the only difference being that they were sanctioned by the crown.
His only comment was,
"If you're so determined to be a thief, better to be one employed by the state. Maybe then you'll avoid getting yourself hanged."
And so I arrived at the SI7 headquarters the next day ready to begin my training. I was twelve, three years short of my majority. Every spare moment of my time was spent with SI7. I had no social life, but I never felt the lack, I was doing what I wanted. In those three years I learned all they could teach me; I honed my skills, determined to be the best I could be; and the day I came of age I became a fully-fledged member of SI7.
At first I was sent on easy missions as part of a team, both to allow me to grow in confidence and to let my superiors assess how I handled myself. Then as I became more skilled the missions became more complicated and I worked more often than not alone. Over the next few years I must have travelled much of the Eastern Kingdoms, learning of places I'd scarcely known existed. I was seldom at home, and though I missed my family I didn't complain. I was doing what I'd chosen and I was good at it. I enjoyed pitting my wits against the enemy, whoever they were, took pride in each success, in my service to my people, in each new morsel of information I uncovered. The one thing I took no pleasure in was killing. If I had to do so I would, always aiming for a quick, clean and painless end for my target, but my first choice was always to complete my mission without any unnecessary deaths.
Not for me the life of a farmer as my father was. I had found my calling, and I was content.
Then, it seemed, for a while, my life fell apart. Word had come to Stormwind that a new race of beings had come through the Dark Portal along with reinforcements for the orcs. Mathias asked me to go and investigate, to find out if they were a serious threat to us.
I set off on horseback, well supplied with provisions, for there was no settlement closer than the town of Darkshire in Duskwood where I could get more. My route took me southwards, through Duskwood, into Deadwind Pass, staying well to the north of the Tower of Karazhan. I didn't want to attract the attention of the Guardian Medivh. From there I went eastwards into the Black Morass, the most unpleasant part of the journey. My horse struggled to make his way through the thick mud and tangled undergrowth and we were both exhausted by the time we reached the southern border. I camped there overnight, waking early, well-rested and ready to go on.
After a leisurely breakfast I set off. I didn't hurry; instead I allowed my horse to amble along as I scanned the ground for herbs. Alongside my rogue training I'd learned the skills of herbalism and skinning. They provided a legitimate reason for me to be in any area, with the added bonus of any profit I made from selling whatever I gathered.
As I left the pass through the mountains that bordered the Black Morass I could see how barren the land had become. I didn't hold out much hope of finding many herbs here, but maybe there would be a few wild creatures to provide me with skins. No matter, it was the pretence, the appearance that was important.
I followed the road, constantly alert, but maintaining an appearance of casual indifference. As it veered eastwards I could see on the high ground the almost complete walls of the new fort that had been built here to help protect our world against further incursions by the orcs. I turned my horse to head up the road towards it. In these uncertain days with the ever-present threat of war it made sense for any traveler to make themselves known to the local authority. Besides, I was curious and it would help my cover story and possibly gain me some knowledge.
At the gate the sentry greeted me cheerfully.
"Welcome to Nethergarde Keep," he said before waving me through.
I rode into the keep, looking around me curiously. The walls were more or less complete, the buildings inside less so. To one side of the gate was the flight point, a simple wooden tower that enabled the gryphons to more easily take off over the wall, surrounded by a handful of nests for them to rest in. Bypassing the barracks and inn I headed to the stable to see my horse taken care of; he still bore a coating of mud from the Morass and he needed to be cleaned up. There were a handful of men, probably off duty soldiers or workmen gathered nearby chatting with the stablemaster and drinking mugs of beer. They ignored me as I approached.
Dismounting, I unburdened the horse of my bags and the saddle; then found a bucket of water and began to wash him down. As I did so I unashamedly eavesdropped on the conversation. They were talking about ogres, the creatures I'd come here to learn about. I quickly decided to stay at Nethergarde for a day or two to see what else I could learn here. Nothing beat firsthand knowledge and observation, but it was always better to be prepared. I learned a lot as I went about grooming my horse in a leisurely fashion.
Eventually though I became aware that I was attracting some curious glances. I didn't want to outstay my welcome; time to leave, I decided as I finished my task.
I turned to the stablemaster and asked him if I might buy some feed for my horse. He agreed and measured it out into a bucket for me. I counted out the gold he asked for, more than it was worth, but if they thought I was a little ignorant so much the better. More could be learned that way than by appearing too clever.
Gathering up my belongings I asked,
"Is there anywhere I can get a meal and a bed for the night?"
"The inn doesn't have any rooms, but I daresay there'll be a spare bunk in the barracks," one of the older men said.
I thanked him and began to walk away in the direction he indicated.
"Pretty boy like that won't need a bunk of his own," someone commented, to be swiftly hushed by the first. I ignored it, though inwardly I hoped that wouldn't prove to be the case. The last thing I needed was the complication of dealing with lecherous soldiers.
I walked into the barracks and was immediately and uncomfortably aware of becoming the centre of attention.
"You seem a little lost, lad," one grizzled old warrior commented.
"I was told I might get a bunk here."
He considered for a moment."Aye. I think there's one free in the men's bunk room; unless of course you'd prefer to share with the ladies."
To my annoyance I flushed with embarrassment and they laughed.
"That's enough. Stop teasing the man."
The voice that gave the order was authoritative and female. I turned to face the woman who stood silhouetted in the doorway. She was small and slender, I could tell that even with the plate armour she wore, but, dazzled by the sun behind her, I couldn't see her face clearly.
"My patrol leaves in 15 minutes," she said. "If you're not ready, you'll get extra duty as builder's labourers."
She turned and strode away leaving a sudden flurry of action behind her as several soldiers hurried to get themselves organised. After they'd gone I was pretty much ignored. I found the bunk the old warrior had mentioned and left my bags on it, then I returned to the common room, found a seat in the corner and took out my journal. For some moments I wrote innocuous garbage that anyone could read without learning anything important. Then I began to record what I'd learned so far. I filled the margins of the pages with seemingly innocent doodles that were in fact an SI7 code only another agent would be able to read.
"What's that you're writing?" the old warrior asked, determined, it seemed, to be friendly, or maybe he was just lonely. He seemed out of place among all the younger men and women.
"Just writing what I've done and seen so I can remember to tell my ma when I go home to Stormwind," I said playing up on the dim-witted persona I'd chosen to project. After I'd given a few more pointless replies to his questions he finally gave up trying to learn more about me. Instead he asked what I was doing in such a Light forsaken place.
"I was told I could get some good skins here," I replied. "Is that right?"
"Well I guess the basilisks give decent skins but they're not easy to catch. Then there's the ogres; you need to keep away from them."
"Ogres… what are they? Not heard of them."
More than one person laughed; fully convinced I was an imbecile.
"You've heard of orcs, right?"
I nodded.
"Well, ogres are like orcs, only bigger, uglier, and a whole lot more dangerous."
"I'll be sure to stay away from them," I assured him.
Standing, I stowed away my journal and wandered out into the sunlight. I was hungry and I figured I'd check out the inn and see what I could learn there. Behind me I heard more than one disparaging remark about me. The general consensus seemed to be that I was too stupid to survive out here.
I stayed at Nethergarde for a few days before deciding I'd learned all I was going to. Freshly supplied, I rode out from the keep deliberately heading away from where I'd been told the ogres were. For the first day or two I hunted a few basilisks and skinned them to back up my cover story. I should have taken the time to clean the skins and at least start the curing process. In the heat they pretty soon got smelly and attracted flies. My horse wasn't too impressed either and not happy about having to carry them.
It didn't take me long to find the ogres' encampment, a random collection of awnings enclosed by cave-pocked hills. They and their fires smelled even worse than my skins. Leaving my horse at a safe distance and hidden from their view I crept close to the camp and began to observe them, making mental notes that I'd later add to my journal. I'd observe them for a few days to be sure that their behavior was consistent before writing and dispatching my report. It all went well until the last morning. I'd packed up my camp ready for a final day of observing and was riding to the place I usually left my horse when an ogre wandered out from a hidden cleft in the rocks. They didn't usually normally come this far from their camp, and neither of us expected to see the other. I don't know who was more startled; he however was faster to react. With a roar he ran at me brandishing a huge club. My horse, already skittish from the constant smell of the skins, panicked, reared up and threw me. I hit the ground hard and lay there winded for a moment, watching my horse disappear in the distance. The sound of the ogre's heavy footsteps drew my attention back to my situation and I sprang to my feet, drawing my knives to defend myself. It was a foolish mistake thinking I could take on the creature single-handed; with the reach his massive weapon gave him I couldn't get close enough to make a single hit on him. I'd seen how fast these ogres could move; there was no way I could outrun the creature, but I had no choice but to try. Sheathing my knives I started to run, not realizing I'd got turned about. Instead of heading for safety I ran straight into a group of ogres. For an endless moment we stared at each other. My breath caught in my throat as I felt panic begin to rise. I had absolutely no idea how to get out of this.
"Mine!" I heard the ogre behind me yell before a blow to my head knocked me unconscious.
I woke up in the darkness of what I assumed was the ogres' cave. I soon realized I wouldn't be going anywhere. I'd been secured by a chain locked around my ankle. Normally I could have picked the lock easily, but my tools were in a hidden pocket in my leathers, and while I was unconscious they'd stripped me of all bar my underwear. I wondered about that at first, but eventually realised that to the ogres who wore nothing but a loincloth my clothes must have seemed un-necessary. It quickly became obvious that the ogre who'd captured me regarded me as little more than a plaything. When the mood took him he'd allow me close to his fire and feed me morsels of food that I ate despite not knowing what they were. Sometimes they were so vile I couldn't help throwing up, but I forced myself to eat what I could to keep my strength up. But when he was annoyed with me, more often than not, he'd leave me hungry and thirsty and cuff me away from the warmth.
I had no way of knowing how long I'd been there. There was no difference between day and night in the depths of the cave, and from what I could tell very little variation in their activity. I quickly became weak and succumbed to the cold and damp, developing a fever that mercifully left me largely oblivious to the abuse dealt to me. At one point he hit me so hard for some imagined fault that he knocked me clear across the cave, slamming my spine against an outcrop of rock and leaving my lower body numb. Aware I couldn't take more of that punishment I stayed where I fell and ignored all his attempts to coax me to him. At first I could feel blood running from the open wound, then infection from the filth under me took hold. I couldn't see it obviously, but even through the stench of the cave I could smell its sickly sweetness. And as the swelling increased so did my feeling diminish until I could no longer feel anything below the injury. I made no attempt to move, I wasn't even sure I could. I was past caring about anything by now. I wanted only for it to end.
I believe I was close to death when rescue finally came. I was aware only of the sounds of fighting and human voices, of a clouded vision of bright paladin armour, then intense cold and the nauseating sensation of a teleport. Then the soothing oblivion that I believed was a precursor to death.
Hestia
We were just returning from a patrol when we spotted a rider-less horse wandering near the lower reaches of the road leading up to the keep. He was clearly spooked and it took us a while to catch him.
"Looks like that rogue's horse," one of the soldiers commented. "Figured sooner or later he'd get into trouble. Lad didn't seem all that bright. We warned him about the ogres but he didn't seem to think they'd be a problem. Said he was just after skinning the beasts round here."
I thought quickly. If the rogue had been wandering too close to the ogres' encampment he could be in trouble. I turned to the soldier holding the horse's reins, trying to calm the nervous beast.
"Take the horse back to the keep, report to the commander and tell him I'm going to look for the rogue. Then come back here with a mage. We may need their help."
"Yes, Sir" the man saluted, re-mounted and set off up the road.
At my order the rest of the patrol dismounted to rest their own horses, some setting a watch, the others relaxing in a group. I stood apart, gazing out across the land, trying to decide the best course of action. If the rogue was after skins he'd have gone further south where there was a greater concentration of wildlife. There was also a series of caves occupied by ogres. By and large we avoided them so long as they kept away from the keep, but that seemed the most likely place to search.
About an hour after I'd sent him my messenger returned from Nethergarde with a very miserable looking mage in tow.
"What's up with him?" I asked the soldier escorting him.
"He didn't want to come with me. Said it wasn't in his job description."
"We'll see," I commented.
Without further delay we set off riding south. It was late, the sky darkening as the sun began to set; but that could work in our favour. By the time we arrived at the caves of Bloodmaul Post our eyes would be accustomed to the darkness and we'd be more able to get close before the ogres, dazzled by firelight, noticed us. That was the theory anyway.
We left our horses some distance from the caves so they wouldn't make a noise and betray our presence. It was bad enough that we were all, except the mage and our scout, wearing full plate armour; not the best for stealth.
Fortunately the ogres had mostly gone into the caves by now so we should be able to deal with them one at a time. The largest cave would be most likely where they'd keep a prisoner, I reasoned, so we made for that first, swiftly dealing with the sentries. Cautiously we made our way into the tunnels, killing any ogres we came across, searching for any clue to the whereabouts of the missing rogue.
Eventually our scout reported that he'd found him in one of the deepest caves but unfortunately not alone. He was being guarded by a massive ogre. I knew that the longer we remained in the cave system, the greater the risk of the alarm being raised. We couldn't delay. I had the scout gather all the men together then lead the way.
"The boy is chained up. I should be able to pick the lock," the scout told me, "but you'll have to get the ogre away from him."
I nodded; then quietly gave my orders before stepping into sight. The ogre was truly massive; it was crouched down beside the motionless rogue, poking at him and muttering in its guttural language.
"Take your filthy hands off him, beast!" I ordered. It looked up, saw me and lurched to its feet.
"New toy!" A leer lit up its ugly face as it reached for me. I swung my sword at it, catching it off-guard and cutting a deep gash in its arm before springing back out of reach. It hardly seemed to feel the wound it as it reached for a massive club and began its attack only to hesitate as the rest of my patrol moved into view. The dismay on its face would have been amusing if not for the situation. It was no coward though as it took on my men.
With the scout I slipped past the fray to the rogue's side. While Fredric busied himself with the lock on the chain tethered to his leg I examined him for any serious injury. His captor's comment suggested that they regarded prisoners as mere playthings and had no regard for them, and it was clear from his condition the ogres had treated him carelessly. He'd been stripped of his gear and left in only thin cotton underwear that was ragged and did nothing to protect him from the damp and cold of the cave. There wasn't an inch of his skin unmarked by livid bruises or unstained with blood. And the smell from being left to lay in his own filth was appalling. I pulled off my gauntlet and touched his shoulder gently; despite the chill he was burning with fever. His eyes flickered open and gazed, unfocussed, at me.
"Please, no more," he begged hoarsely. "Just let me die."
"We're here to rescue you," I said quietly. "Can you stand, do you think?"
"No. Can't move, can't feel anything. He broke me…"
I hadn't been able to examine his back without moving him, now I was glad I hadn't tried. What he'd said suggested an injury to his spine that could be exacerbated by movement. I glanced round, aware that the sounds of battle had diminished as the ogre had been drawn out of the cave into the passageway. I spotted the mage cowering in a corner, trying to look inconspicuous.
"Get over here!" I ordered him. He obeyed reluctantly, constantly glancing back at the combat behind him.
Fredric, having finished dealing with the lock was rummaging in a chest at the back of the cave. He muttered a disparaging comment aimed at the mage before turning back to us. In his hands he held a bundle of clothing and a pair of mismatched knives.
"I guess these are his," he said nodding at the rogue.
"Give me something to cover him," I asked and he tossed a grubby length of cloth to me. I was about to remonstrate before realizing that it was less dirty than the man himself. No point in ruining his decent and possibly only gear for the sake of a few minutes.
"You, mage, Tairel? I want his spine immobilized to avoid any more damage; then I want a portal directly to the infirmary. The less he's moved the better. And a portal for the men, to the barracks."
Tairel began to cast, weaving a casing of ice round the rogue's torso that would keep him immobile while we transported him.
"Call your men back. I can't hold it open for long," he said. I raised my voice to issue the order as he began to cast. The patrol came back, some of them injured and blood stained but all thankfully alive.
"The ogre's dead, sir," one of them said. "But it won't be long before the others get up the courage to attack."
"Right, we're getting out of here. You two help us with the rogue. The rest of you, through the portal."
They didn't need telling twice. I watched them hurry through, all bar the two I'd chosen.
"Wait, let me handle this."
I looked at the mage.
"No need to move him. I can teleport him without doing so."
I took him at his word and gestured the last of my men through as the portal faded. Only the scout and I were left with them.
"Stay close together. I need my hands free to cast, but it will be easier if you're linked together."
We obeyed, both Fredric and I grasping one of the rogue's hands, and I reached up to rest my hand against Tairel's arm as he began to cast. I experienced a moment of gut-wrenching disorientation as the cave faded from sight to be replaced by the familiar stone walls of the keep, the smooth flagstones of its floors beneath my knees. Beside me I felt Tairel stumble, grabbing my shoulder for support. Releasing the rogue's hand I stood and helped the mage to a nearby seat. He was shaking, his face deathly pale.
"Give him a mana potion, the blue bottles on the shelf beside you. He's drained himself too far."
I didn't look round or question who was giving the order; I knew well enough the disorienting effects of mana-deprivation, though I'd never suffered it to that degree.
I pulled off my gauntlets and reached for a bottle; then unscrewed the cap and handed it to Tairel. He drained it thirstily; then leant forward, arms resting on his knees, his head bowed.
"You hadn't done that before, had you?"
He looked up at me and shook his head.
"Not with so many at once."
"You did well."
Gently I rested my hand on his shoulder, letting the Light flow from me to strengthen him.
"Thank you," he said softly.
I turned my attention to the other occupants of the room. The rogue still lay on the floor, motionless, apparently unconscious; the doctor crouched beside him trying to examine him round the casing of ice that showed no sign of melting despite the warmth of the room.
"Help me lift him onto the bed," he said to Fredric.
The scout, still crouched at the rogue's side, put a restraining hand on the doctor's arm; then nodded toward me.
"Wait," I said. "He may have spinal damage. He said he couldn't feel anything."
"This is beyond my skill," the doctor admitted. "I'm more used to dealing with battle injuries."
I walked back across the room and he moved out of my way so that I could once more kneel at the rogue's side. I lay my hand on the ice over his chest letting the Light channel through me so I could sense any damage. I could feel his heartbeat, his breathing, but tell very little about the damage to his spine.
"Tairel?" I glanced round at the mage.
"Will this ice hold if we turn him over?"
He nodded. "It will hold until I remove it."
Gently Fredric and I turned the rogue onto his front. Tairel thinned the ice over his spine and I ran my fingers lightly down it from neck to buttocks; and here I stopped. Whereas the rest had been undamaged, here the flesh was raw and swollen. Had this been what he meant when he said he was broken. He'd obvious been hit against something rough and sharp to do this amount of damage, hard enough to crack the bone. Still I couldn't sense any break in the nerves that ran through his spine; maybe it was simply that the swelling was pressing against them. I hoped that was the case and that he'd regain feeling and the use of his legs as the swelling went down.
When I was done the doctor summoned an orderly and the four men gently lifted the rogue and lay him face down on a bed well covered with protective cloths.
Once the doctor was content that the rogue was safely settled he turned to Tairel and said,
"Now you can defrost the boy before he freezes to death."
The mage did as he was bid, then made a hasty retreat to the far side of the room. He looked as nauseated as I and probably the others felt.
"I'll need some help," the doctor commented and I volunteered to stay. Fredric helped me out of my armour then he went off to do my bidding, to see if he could find if the rogue had any family who should be informed of his condition. The scout mentioned that he'd heard the rogue talk about a mother in Stormwind; maybe he could find an address in his belongings.
"Best thing for the boy would be to send him back to Stormwind," the doctor said as we began to clean the rogue.
"They're better equipped to care for him."
"If the journey didn't kill him," I muttered.
"What?... Oh! Yes I see what you mean. But couldn't the mage teleport him?"
For a long moment I just stared at him in disbelief.
"You saw what Tairel was like after teleporting us a couple of miles; now you want him to do the same across the whole of Azeroth."
The doctor had the grace to look embarrassed at his mistake.
"Actually, I could do it." We both looked round at the mage.
"It's not the distance that's the problem; it's how many people. If I were to send him with one person as escort, it wouldn't be that hard."
"Thank you, Tairel; I'll bear that in mind."
Less than a week later I was teleported along with the rogue to Stormwind Cathedral where our best healers could be found. I carried his belongings and a single bag for myself, having been told by the commander to stay as long as I was needed. Tairel would bring our horses and the rest of my belongings in a day or two.
Jothan
I woke to a warmth and softness that baffled me; darkness, silence, the absence of pain. I couldn't move; couldn't even feel much of my body. I lay there, trying to make sense of my fragmented memories, to decide what was truth and what the product of my fevered nightmares?
The last thing I remembered was a battle, a boyish voice and intense cold; then oblivion. The clearest memories were of what had happened in the ogres' cave; memories I wished desperately I could forget; yet knew I would not. I'd been trained to have perfect recall.
How long had I been here? For that matter; where was here? Not Nethergarde, that was certain; it was too quiet.
Eventually I fell asleep and woke to the pale glow of dawn through a high window. From the little I could see I seemed to be in a small room on my own. I was not left alone for long; the door opened and I heard quiet footsteps approach the bed. I turned my head as far as I could to look at the newcomer, a young man in the white garments of a hospital orderly.
"Good to see you're awake at last," he said.
"Do you feel up to a visitor?"
"Yes," I whispered hoarsely.
"Ok, I'll send him in and see about some breakfast for you."
He was gone before I could ask anything. Moments later a familiar face appeared in his place.
"Hello, lad," Aralen greeted me with a smile. "Mathias asked me to come see how you are, once we found out where you were."
"Thank you, but where am I?"
"Did they nae tell ye? You're in Stormwind, in the Cathedral. They had a mage fetch you back here."
"Why can't I move?"
"You damaged your spine. They didn't want you to make it worse, so they kept you sedated and immobilised while the bone healed."
"How long have I been here?"
"Two weeks. The Light can only do so much to speed up healing in an injury that bad; it still takes time."
"I need to report to Mathias. But I've lost my journal. It was in the bags on my horse. The stupid creature threw me and ran off when the ogre attacked me."
"Don't fret about that, lad. Your horse was found. It's how Captain Yates knew to rescue you. All your gear is here."
"Will you take it to him?"
"Of course; but first you can tell me about what happened."
I knew the dwarf well, knew he wouldn't take no for an answer. And sure enough he persuaded me to tell him everything; including the cruel treatment I'd suffered at the hands of that sadistic ogre. Aralen kept trying to persuade me that what happened wasn't my fault, but I couldn't help wondering if I could have done things differently and spared myself the ordeal.
Eventually the orderly returned with food for me, and Aralen departed with my journal for Mathias. It was then I learned how truly dependent I was. Unable to move without assistance I could do nothing for myself; I was as helpless as a newborn baby.
Hestia
"Go easy on him, lass," the dwarf said softly.
"The boy feels shamed at what those ogres did to him; and blames himself for what happened. He fought bravely, but even the most skilled warrior would have struggled to hold his own against so many. Then to be so brutally treated as their prisoner… In time he will heal I believe but meanwhile he needs to be handled gently, compassionately."
I nodded; I'd sensed his torment when we'd brought him out of the cave, his utter hopelessness at being unable to do anything for himself.
"I'll tread carefully," I promised, "But if he's ever to walk again he needs the healing of the Light."
For a moment Aralen reached up to rest his hand on my shoulder; then he turned and walked away. I watched him leave, my heart sinking. What had I agreed to take on? I knew that given time my healing would deal with the physical damage to the rogue; but I was less sure of my ability to deal with his psychological needs. Maybe a priest would have been a better choice as healer, but apparently he'd asked for me. It had been a week or so since he'd woken from his induced coma, and in that time he'd driven away every healer who tried to help him. Then Patriss, the young priest who dealt with his day to day care, had mentioned that I was a healer.
His face was turned away when I entered the room.
"Go away, you damn dwarf," he muttered. "I don't want to talk anymore."
"I'm not the dwarf," I said quietly, "You asked for me, so here I am. Jothan, isn't it? I'm Hestia."
For some moments he was silent, ignoring me, but I was nothing if not stubborn, so I stood there waiting for him to acknowledge me. Eventually he realised I wasn't going away and turned his head to look at me. His bewilderment was clear, he didn't recognise me.
"I asked for the paladin who rescued me, not a girl."
"That was me. I realise I look different without the armour and sword, but I'm still the same person."
He muttered an expletive under his breath.
"I thought…"
"That I was a man. Yes it happens a lot. Sorry to disappoint you."
"No matter. I dare say you can heal as well as anyone."
Talk about damning with faint praise. If he thought he'd drive me away with his attitude he was mistaken; as I said I'm stubborn, my most redeeming fault.
I stepped forward.
"Will you allow me to examine you?"
He flushed in embarrassment; he wasn't to know of my involvement so far. From first sight of his battered blood-stained and very naked body in the cave, to helping care for him throughout the course of the fever that had brought him close to death, bathing him, dealing with bodily functions, assisting with healing, I knew pretty much all there was to know about him, I'd just never been with him while he was conscious before. My request was a mere courtesy now that he was aware of me. After a moment's hesitation he assented.
I helped him turn onto his front so I could examine his spine. The open wound had closed now and was healing well. I knew now that there was no damage to the nerves of his spine, but there was still a lot of swelling. Gently I held my hand over the scarred skin, channeling the healing Light. I'd been doing this every day since I'd brought him here; but it was a slow process. There were times I wondered if I was having any effect, but I couldn't give up.
Jothan lifted his head from where it had been cradled on his arms, and looked at me.
"I can't feel if you're doing anything," he commented. "Is it working?"
"Slowly. You suffered massive damage, Jothan, both internal and external. The healing is putting a great deal of stress on us both. I can't speed it up anymore than I'm doing now. I'm sorry but you need to be patient."
"Guess I don't have much choice."
"Not a lot," I agreed.
He lay his head down again and said no more, but I could sense his disappointment. I could understand it; from what Aralen had said Jothan was naturally an active person, and to be unable to move must have been so frustrating for him. I know I'd hate it.
After a few moments his eyes closed and he slept. Healing had that effect; it was draining on both patient and healer. I however didn't have the chance to rest; there were other patients needing my attention.
Jothan
It wasn't until several days later that Aralen returned with Mathias' thanks for my report. By then I was bored out of my mind and eager to hear the latest news. I wasn't accustomed to being idle. Being alone I could handle; I spent most of my time by myself. But that was by choice and easily changed if I felt like some company. This was different; no one had the time to stay and talk.
The young paladin Hestia Yates came every morning to work her healing on me, but she seldom had time to stop and talk. And honestly we had little in common other than my rescue; and I wasn't that keen on discussing that.
My life fell into a routine of sorts, a mix of brief periods of activity and a lot of boredom. Every morning the orderly Patriss would appear to bathe me and tend to my personal needs. I hated this feeling of helplessness but at least Patriss lightened it with his humour. For a priest he knew a surprisingly endless amount of dirty jokes which he would share with me, as well as telling me the latest news. It helped to distract me from what he was doing and soon we became close friends.
After I'd eaten breakfast he'd leave me to rest until Hestia arrived for my daily healing session. That usually left me exhausted and I'd sleep the day away until Patriss arrived with my evening meal. Then I would sleep again.
The days blurred one into another until I had no idea how long I'd lain in that bare, lonely room. I'd given up on my journal after two or three days with nothing of interest to write in it. Nothing seemed to change. For all the healing I received I saw no improvement in my condition. I still could not move unaided, could feel nothing in my lower body. The wound, cleansed of the infection, was healing, Hestia told me, and gradually the swelling was going down. Sooner or later I should regain my feeling and movement; I just had to be patient. I had to take her word for it; I had no way to tell. But patience wasn't one of my virtues. Sure, I could sit for hours, unmoving, spying out an enemy target, waiting until the time was right to steal or kill. But I always knew there was an end in sight and I could move on to the next job. This was different; I saw no ending, no change, no hope for something new to distract me.
Then one morning Patriss didn't appear. I didn't know why; an emergency maybe. I'd heard a disturbance in the night. I had no choice but to lie there and wait; an uncomfortably long wait. I was hungry, sore from lying in one position for so long, and desperately in need of a piss. With nothing better to do I turned my face to the window and watched the sun creep slowly along the sill. It must have been well after noon when I finally heard the door open and soft footsteps approach.
"I'm sorry I've kept you waiting so long," Hestia said.
"We had several casualties from a skirmish brought in last night. Now, are you ready?"
Oh Light! No way was I ready, but I couldn't tell her why, so I just nodded and hoped I wouldn't embarrass myself. She helped me to turn on my side so she could get to my wound and gently laid her hands over it. For so long I'd felt nothing there that I was totally unprepared for what happened. The gentle warmth that normally radiated from Hestia's hands became a searing heat that burned through my body. My cry of pain caught in my throat as my body convulsed and my bladder released, soaking the bedding under me.
"Jothan?"
Startled by my reaction, she pulled her hands away.
"Are you all right? What happened?"
I couldn't answer, couldn't think straight, as I tried to ride out the pain. She touched me on the shoulder and I flinched, unable to bear any contact at that moment. She removed her hand and I heard her move away.
I had no idea of the passage of time, it could have been minutes or even hours, before I heard Aralen's familiar voice. He sounded worried.
"Jothan, lad, are you all right?"
With an effort I opened my eyes and looked at him.
"I – I pissed myself," I whispered hoarsely. It was all I could understand just then.
At that he grinned.
"Dinna worry, lad. We'll get that sorted."
He rested a hand gently on my arm, his touch cool, soothing away my pain.
"Hestia said her healing was hurting you."
"It felt like ... like I was burning from the inside out," I muttered, struggling to get my head round the words I wanted. "What the hell went wrong?"
"I don't know, lad. Patriss is supposed to increase your pain tolerance, to numb your nerves so Hestia can be more aggressive with her healing. The lad is good at his job; I've never known him fail before."
"He didn't come today," I whispered. "Something happened."
Aralen looked past me to someone by the door.
"He was helping us with the casualties from the skirmish, but I thought he'd already been to Jothan."
Hestia walked forward and I sensed her stop just behind me.
"I'm so sorry, Jothan," she said softly. "If I'd known… but you said you were ready for me."
"I didn't know what Patriss did," I ground out. I couldn't keep the anger from my voice.
"Nobody told me anything. Don't you think I had a right to know what you were doing to me?"
"Aye, lad, you're right. We should have made sure you knew."
"It won't happen again, Jothan, I promise," Hestia said.
Again she laid her hands on me to channel the healing, and this time it was a gentle warmth that suffused my body, soothing away my pain. I began to doze and was vaguely aware of Aralen saying,
"I'll see you later after you've rested, lad."