"Please," the newest entry begged, shouting through the chaos. "Please, don't let me die!"
"You're not going to die, sweetheart, you're going to be just fine," one of the nurses cooed. "Healer! Quick! I've got a critical! This kid's coughing up blood!"
Neal rushed forward, leaving one of the apprentices to keep a pressure bandage on his current patient's bleeding neck.
"Okay, stats?" he asked the nurse. She looked like he felt – absolutely exhausted.
"Coughing up blood – punctured lung, I'd say, two broken ribs and an arrow's broken the skin on his thigh," she said, swiping her hair out of her eyes again while holding a bucket to his mouth, covering his face.
"Bandage the leg as best you can," he ordered, taking the bucket and finally looking at his patient.
This one had a face.
"Keirran?" Neal asked.
"Queenscove!" the older man said. "Oh, my, thank the Gods!"
Keirran ha Minch had seen better days. Vida was a good nurse – she had taken in all of his injuries – those that required immediate attention – the two ribs, the apparent lung problems and his rather nasty arrow wound. He had blood on his face, mainly dripping from his mouth, and the odd droplet from his nose, and he was dirty, smelly and as disheveled as the nurses and healers that had been working virtually solid for thirty seven hours.
Neal checked Keirran's lungs. Thank the Gods, they were still intact. Punctured lungs were a healer's worst nightmare, especially when the healer was tapped. He'd been coughing so much, he'd probably just run his throat raw. It would heal.
"How-" Neal began before another patient was dragged in on a stretcher.
"Not breathing!" the stretcher bearer cried.
"Take the bucket, Vida!" Neal shouted at Keirran's nurse, already running towards the stretcher.
"Drop him!" Neal ordered at three steps away, and skidded down immediately to perform CPR. It was then that he realized he knew this face, too. This face he had been wrong about – a female, not a male face
"Oh, Uline," he cried, then began to breathe into the married woman's mouth, attempting to make his friend breathe once more.
"Compressions?" one of the stretcher bearers asked.
"Her heart's pumping, she's just not breathing," Neal said. "Besides, she does have a punctured lung. Leave her to me. Go get more patients, you slackers!"
Neal was almost drained – of his Gift, that was. If he could just get a couple of hours sleep, he'd have some more. If he could just rest a moment… that's why, even if it was his friend he was trying to revive, it was a relief not to have to use magic.
"Uline?" a voice called. "Nealan, tell me that isn't my wife you're kissing!"
Neal refused to answer, and continued to push air into Uline's lungs as best he could. He put his hands on her chest, trying to coax more Gift to his fingers from his tapped supplies. She might never breathe of her own accord if that puncture didn't fix, and the puncture couldn't fix if there was a rib in it…
"No, damnit," he cursed. "Breathe, come on!" he ordered, shaking out his hands to try and force some magic. "Okay, if you refuse to breathe, we'll have to go medieval on you! Drusilla! Deila!"
Drusilla Pennilworth was a local midwife, and was not suited for anything in combat warfare healing, but Neal could sure use her now. Deila followed orders easily.
The old woman and her daughter marched over as fast as they could. "Yes?"
"Hold this woman's chest right there," he ordered. "I have to shift a rib. Deila, do the breathing motion, please."
"Yes, Healer," Dru said, moving Neal's bloody hands to place her own in their red-stained stead.
"This is going to feel a little awkward," Neal warned her, then moved his newly freed hands in a swift motion, emitting a crack.
"Just move your hands up one inch," he said tiredly, and repeated the motion once she was ready.
"I need you to bandage this as well as you can, then keep doing CPR. I'll get Keirran over here, and pray he has some Gift left for her. Don't stop breathing, or she might have near permanent brain damage." Neal sighed and squared his weary shoulders to face his friend.
"ha Minch, I'm afraid I need some Gift," Neal said resignedly once he reached Keirran.
"No," Keirran said carefully. "No you don't. No Neal. Please. Please tell me that wasn't… Please."
"I'm afraid that one of your wife's ribs has punctured her lung. I've seen dozens of these – why, I've dealt with two in the past hour – but I'm afraid I'm out of magic. I can fix it… I just need you to concentrate on healing…"
"Oh Uline," Keirran cried. "Uline…"
"It's going to be okay," Neal coaxed. "It'll be fine. I can fix it. I just need a little help."
"Queenscove," Keirran whispered, grabbing Neal's tunic. "She's pregnant."
Neal's eyes widened.
"That's okay. That's okay, we'll take her to the infirmary. You see that woman with her? Drusilla? She's a midwife. She's going to take care of Uline, I swear. But that baby needs it's mama to breathe, so Keirran, I need some Gift."
"I'm almost out," he whispered. "I don't know if it will be enough. You can have it all. I never need it ever again, if you save my wife. Please, please save her."
"I swear it," Neal said, taking Keirran's gaze steadily. "Just take my hands."
"On the heads of your children?" Keirran asked.
"I don't have any, ha Minch, you know that. But on the graves of my brothers, I swear. On the head of my wife, and on the sword of my knighthood, I will do everything in my power, and yours if you entrust it to me, to save your wife."
Keirran took his hands and began to shed his Gift. "Save her," he whispered, before passing the last of his bright orange Gift from his hands to Neal's.
"I will," Neal said to his now unconscious friend. Neal stood and wiped his bloody face with a grimace. "It's my Duty."
