Chapter 3: Goom and Doom Part 1
Prisca was tending to her herb garden and relaxing with the onset of the afternoon. It was much warmer in the afternoon. She needed occasional breaks to drink more well-watered wine, but the heat and sweat relaxed her.
She often prided herself on being fit enough to tend her house and garden. Doing some physical labor in the afternoons did a body good. Even if that prissy bint Elokwa from the north village, Banks shire, disagreed.
The healers of each village were somewhat jealous of their domains and disagreed on many of the finer points of healing. The most common argument was what foods were good and when to eat them to promote the best health.
Oh, they agreed on many of the basics of treating the more common injuries and ailments in their respective villages. Just small details were debated. Efficacy of one herb for a particular poultice, how long one should steep a specific tincture. How much of an arm should be amputated when a break didn’t heal cleanly? What the best follow-up herbs should be, the little things.
She still thought that Healer Elokwa hadn’t taken enough of farmhand Luke’s hand last fall at Kvatch’s farm, but he seemed to be doing well with the three fingers he had left.
Prisca would have taken the arm up to the elbow to be sure all the rot had been removed. Elokwa’s smug glances at her during the market day when Luke passed by didn’t bother her, at all.
Prisca didn’t rub it in for her part when she correctly diagnosed Cooper Johnson’s appendix last harvest. Instead of calling her an idiot, she had insisted on calling for the mage healer from the guild last fall…vociferously.
With Healer Craser acting as the surgeon, even if Elokwa had sworn it was just Johnson belly-aching for attention from the handsome healer, Prisca had helped save that man. It wasn’t about the competition…that time.
There was some competition, most days, with all of the healers being so closely located to each other. Lord Tom insisted that many hands make light work and stop bickering. This statement by their sovereign lord could have helped more if any of them believed they were wrong.
‘He is an odd lord. Most lords wouldn’t care about the farmers as long as the crop came in’.
Prisca thought to herself.
She and the other three healers were grateful that he was an odd lord. He was kind to those he interacted with, even the lower citizens.
If young, he was still fair and firm during court trials. However, his eccentricities were apparent in his willingness to financially support his citizens with services unavailable to others in the surrounding counties.
Their taxes were higher than in other counties, with better lives, most agreed. But, whatever Kvatch and his group of bellyachers complained about, they didn’t let a peep out when they needed the services their lord paid for with their taxes.
The citizens of Red Adder were lucky to have him as a lord. However, tales were abundant that some surrounding counties were less fortunate. The most common story of horror being that the citizens were mostly held responsible for any misfortune in the county. They even had penalties levied against them during harvest time if a bad storm blew through and ruined part of the crop.
Being employed directly by the Lord of Red Adder was a prestigious post for anyone. The protection of his employ gave all of them protection when something inevitably could not be healed, especially when fellow citizens in his domain started thinking about burning a witch.
Most of her fellow subjects were good folk, but it was easy to rile them up when they were scared of something they didn’t understand. So even if magic was more common than the inn side stories made out, her thought’s on this were more succinct.
‘When upset, everyone flings mud at the most obvious target, regardless of the truth. Not that it makes too much sense how magic works. Glad that it does work when it benefits them, though.’
In the past, Bagear, the southern healer specializing in birth, had been incredibly grateful when farmer Jenkins had lost his wife and child. A good man, but with a vicious fury when stirred to anger, had blamed Bagear along with Craser. Jenkins was well-liked in his town, and his word carried weight, but less than Lord Tom.
He almost started a riot when his wife had been unfortunate enough to suffer a breach birth and pass on during the delicate surgery. However, most of the women who had heard about it had been understanding that as sad as it was, it happened sometimes.
It had been too late to summon a mage healer to assist with the blood loss during the attempt of healer Craser, the Eastern village surgeon, to cut the baby free, trying to save mother and child. As a result, the battle for childbirth was a tragedy.
It was unfortunate but a fact of life in their rural villages. As much money as Lord Tom spent on keeping four healers of various specialties employed, keeping a Mage healer around was too expensive.
They were needed to help the adventurers guild fight in the dungeons of Keiltaire on request. The adventurers fought both for precious resources and to prevent a dungeon breakout from occurring.
Cooper Johnson had been more fortunate indeed that the mage healer had been available to assist Healer Craser last fall. Randomly, the mage had been passing through on assignment for the guild.
Straightening from tending her garden, she brushed off her knees and stretched her back. She threw the weeds she had removed into the waste bin she had next to her for the purpose.
She wandered through her back door and then into the front room of her house. The front area of her clinic for minor ailments was located conveniently and pragmatically.
Sighing contentedly as she sat in her favorite chair, she propped her feet up on the small stool the town carpenter had made for her after she had refused his coin. Lord Tom would not accept her patients paying extra for his healers’ services.
Double dipping would swiftly end her tenure as a healer for Crook shire. He didn’t seem to mind the smaller gifts they loved bringing the healers, though.
It varied considerably from the differing occupations the village hosted. She had received; an article of clothing, a bottle of wine, and small pieces of furniture, though she was still wondering what to do with the four full-sized barrels the cooper had gifted her.
Sipping her watered wine to cool her thirst, she sighed as the bell rang, and the excitable Robby ran into her home, already jabbering as soon as he saw her. He was used as a runner of messages when their import wasn’t worth stirring the crier out of her drunken stupor and gathering the whole town.
“Butcher Kmir cut h’self again! And there was blood everywhere! M’stress Kana said it wasn’t serious an’ no sewing needed, but I h’aint never seen so much blood,” he yammered at her.
Standing swiftly but not hurriedly, she set her watered wine down, grabbed a roll of laundered bandages off her shelf, and handed them to the excitable boy.
“That was probably blood from this mornin’s butchering, Robby,”
she chided gently before continuing,
”Give these to Mistress Kana and tell her to pass the expense form onto Lord Tom’s castellan as usual.”
Bobbing in agreement, he dashed to the exit of her clinic and slammed into the large farmhand, Fred, entering. The bell seemed to jingle ominously as the boy fell to the floor and gaped as the farmhand Fred looked down, startled at the boy running into him.
Fred was sweating a little and his breathing was a bit challenging as he helped the boy to his feet and then stared around the clinic as if forgetting his purpose in coming to this place. Frowning at the boy, he said,
“Rushin’, A’evryones rushin’ t’day.”
His vocabulary exhausted, he stared around again, frowning until Prisca spoke to him gently.
“Hello Fred, are you hurt?”
She would not put it past the lovable lout, hurting himself, then heading to her clinic and forgetting why he came.
He seemed to brighten briefly at the word “hurt” and then glowered in concern at the floor while mumbling under his breath. He was always shy around the women of the village. Robby edged towards the door and, closer to him, heard his muttered words.
“Farmer Jenkins was attacked?! I gotta tell the lord!”
So shouting, he scampered out the door quick enough that Prisca was only able to call after him,
“Take those bandages to Kana first!”
Seeing him swing on the hitching post outside her clinic and abruptly changing direction toward the butcher’s place, she knew he would heed her. She looked over to Fred and sighed,
“Since yer not covered in soot or sword wounds, I'm guessing it wasn’t bandits. Of course, it can’t be too urgent, or the guards would be stampeding that way already.
“Stay there while I gather my kit, and you can help me carry it out to the farm,”
Seeing his quick nod of assent, she continued,
“Small or large hurt?”
Fred seemed to think momentarily and held his hand low to his waist, then moved it closer to his belly. Prisca thought a moment and then fetched her emergency kit from her closet.
It was larger than her standard mending kit but had several different prepared concoctions and healing implements. Better to have what she needed on hand. Fred was a big man; he could carry it without too much trouble.
The two of them made the trek to Farmer Jenkins’s plots of land within a half hour. It wasn’t too far out past the borders of the town.
In truth, few of the farms were. Quick response from the few town guard made that necessary. Horses were obscenely expensive, and Lord Tom could only fund a few dozen for his entire county. The precious animals were mostly for his patrols to use. Easy transport was needed to keep the local monster population under control. A few were set aside for his rangers and formal messengers.
Approaching the farmhouse, Prisca didn’t stand on propriety or ceremony as she briskly walked into his kitchen through Jenkins’s front room. Ignoring Jack’s grin at her and seeing the flame-haired farmer with his bloody boot resting on the chair, she bent over it and quickly but gently examined the injury.
Gingerly unwrapping the kerchief wound around the foot, soaking with both blood and brandy, she jumped slightly as Fred thumped her kit down near her.
“Careful!”
Both she and Jenkins yelled. Him from the jarring of his foot and the jarring of her calm, along with possible breakage of her gear.
Fred grunted in what could be assent, then wandered out the door to start working on his other chores. Routine was calming to him, and this whole series of events unsettled him.
Chagrined, she continued her examination, softly apologizing to the slightly inebriated, injured farmer. It looked like he had been treating the wound and his pain with both. She whistled low at the damage.
“Well, at least you cleaned it with something, too much of that for your head, though,”
She told him offhandedly.
Digging through her kit, she plucked out her medical scissors and gently cut away the boot from the wounded limb. She hissed at what was revealed after she had removed what was left of his damaged footwear.
This was significant damage, but she wouldn’t need to amputate if an infection didn’t set in. She retrieved the salves and water of life from her kit.
The brandy may have been a good start, but she needed to be sure the wound was clean before she wrapped it. Using the vitae water would ensure that. It was much stronger stuff than the homemade brandy Jenkins had used.
Cleaning the wound and removing a strip or two of leather from the damaged flesh, she fetched her stitching thread and needle once the bleeding had seemed to slow. Jenkins swore again when she did the last.
“Can you hold still, or must you be held?”
“Do it,”
He tersely replied.
She didn’t think Jenkins agreed for Jack to come over behind him and place both hands on Jenkins’s shoulders, but neither she nor Jenkins objected when he did. Instead of commenting, she calmly and efficiently stitched the few cuts needed as Jenkins took another large swig of brandy and held the table to keep himself from jerking away when she started.
He needed a lot of stitches but took it well. Some more cursing from him, and she was done with the stitching. As she tied off the last knot, Jack removed his hands and stepped away from Jenkins.
Cleaning the whole foot again, she covered them lightly with one of her salves and started to bandage the foot. She started slowly, unrolling the bandages as she went, then more swiftly as she covered the wounds.
Finishing up, she placed her unused supplies back in her kit in the proper places. She left a few rolls of bandages and a jar of her salve on the table. When done, she gave instructions,
“You are to change the bandages twice daily and give the wounds time to breathe for at least a quarter-hour between bandaging. Then, put another light, light mind you, coating of that salve on after they get the air, between bandage changes for the first week.
Keep off the foot for at least a week, or I’ll have to take the whole foot by the end of that week. I’ll remove the stitches in about two weeks and check on you throughout all of it. Any sign of redness or excessive swelling or the wound souring, and you send for me right quick, or you will die.”
She was blunt in her instructions. She found that needed with the farming folk as they tended to ignore her advice otherwise. Grimacing, Jenkins replied,
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“How am I supposed to get anything done with only one foot?”
“I’ll send Robby with some crutches so you can get around, but keep off the foot, or off the foot will go. I’ll not have you become a cripple over this. What happened?”
He told the same story to her that he had told Jack. When he saw something burrowing under his fence, Jenkins had been inspecting his fields. He was trying to scare it off with stomping and yelling when his foot sank through the dirt and got scratched up.
Prisca’s brow was furrowed as she listened before replying,
“That’s a sight more than scratched. Most critters round here wouldn’t latch on and cause that much damage. Would have to be a mob to cause that much damage through yer boot as well,”
She sighed in resignation at slipping into the local speech pattern that happened no matter how little time she spent around folk with her upbringing. Sometimes it put her patients at ease, which wasn’t all that bad. She thought to herself,
‘Still not as bad as Robby, though, thank the heralds.’
She continued out loud,
”Lord Tom will have to send one of his Rangers to confirm, but the Adventurers Guild may need to come and deal with it. His soldiers might be able to handle it if it’s only one or two small ones, but it’s probably a nest if they are moving that close to the village.”
Jack’s face paled, and he started nervously twitching towards the door. She spoke to him sharply,
“Hold it right there, Jack! I’ll not have you panicking our village.”
“But you said-”
“I said that the rangers would have to confirm, and we might, MIGHT, need to call in the AG. So don’t go spreading tales of a breakout before we even know for sure what it was.”
Seeing Jack reluctantly nod his head in assent, she looked over her kit and the kitchen one more time. Mainly to ensure Jenkins had enough bandages and salve.
She took extra time to ensure her supplies were packed away correctly. As a result, she wouldn’t need to scramble for something later if another emergency cropped up in the farms.
“Clean up that blood and mess. We don’t need disease on top of everything else. I’ll inform Lord Tom. He’ll decide before the end of the day, I’m sure. Expect Robby before supper to bring the word and your crutches.”
Jenkins nodded,
“Good enough. Jack, fetch Fred to help healer Prisca, then Sam when he’s on the way. We’ll go over what needs doing on the farm while I’m,”
Pausing, he looked to Prisca with a sour expression and sighed before continuing,
“Keeping off the foot.”
She smiled at him sweetly. The ladies of the gossip circle had him all wrong. He was perfectly capable of being charmed with the right words.
“Good man.”
Jack complied with his orders. Shortly Fred was helping healer Prisca with her kit out the door as Sam, Jack, and Jenkins discussed what would be done around the farm while Jenkins was out of commission.
Meeting the group of soldiers hurrying towards the farm on her way back with Fred, she told them they weren’t needed. At their head was Guard Captain Lowry.
The guard captain was of medium height with dirty blond hair and a short beard to hide his deceptively weak-looking chin. His uniform was clean and well-fitted to the lean frame that bore it and his weaponry. He wore a shortsword with a dagger at his waist and a few pouches containing useful items. He wore hardened leather with shaped steel plates covering his shins and metal vambraces.
Speaking to Guard Captain Lowry, she told him a summary of events. She informed him that she would be coming to the manor to inform Lord Tom fully. She recommended a ranger be sent to investigate the area thoroughly.
The captain nodded his assent to this, not arguing with Prisca, common sense trumped gender. He turned his men around, moving back toward their small barracks near the manor.
Looking over his shoulder as he left, he called,
”Ranger will be on his way shortly.”
He had been with Lord Tom since the last war with Keirmont and knew his lord’s moods and needs well when protecting the people.
Delay and hesitation caused more deaths than most people knew. Lord Tom would overlook a slight breach of authority if it helped his people.
Arriving back at her clinic, she had Fred place her kit on the counter and thanked him for the help. Then, blushing, he stammered an unintelligible reply and headed back out the door, presumably toward Jenkins’s farm.
She refilled her kit with what had been used after Fred left. She put it away while grabbing a pair of crutches and a sign from her storeroom before heading back outside and leaning them against the wall.
She was turning around to secure her door before heading to Lord Tom’s manor when Robby came panting up to her,
“Lord Tom wants to talk to you! His rangers gonna go to Jenkins farm! M’stress Kana says thank you!”
He was shouting excitedly; Prisca winced at the volume.
“I know, Robby, I expected that,”
She took the pair of crutches and handed them to Robby, who was much shorter than her but still able to carry them,
”Take these out to farmer Jenkins and let him know about the ranger.”
She hung a sign depicting the lord’s manor house, complete with the House Adder arms as not all the villagers could read, from the door handle. Then, she shooed the excited and burdened Robby towards the farm.
Robby looked disappointed at carrying something awkward while running around but nodded and scurried toward the farm. Watching him run off, she shook her head as she headed towards the manor house and smiled at the energy he had.
She couldn’t run around as much as he did, even if she were in pretty good shape.
‘Nostalgic thoughts of youthful endurance, eh?’
He was still young enough to enjoy running around that much. If he kept it up, he would end up as a messenger for Lord Tom, as his family had enough children to help at the tailor’s shop and mill.
Robby was the youngest son of the Millers family and would need the work as his brothers and sister took over the mill and tailoring shop, respectively.
Seeing the lone horseman trotting steadily towards Jenkins’s farm in the distance, she laughed as Robby looked over his shoulder at the horseman, his eyes widening and his feet speeding up.
She was glad Lord Tom hadn’t waited for her full report before sending out the ranger, or maybe it had been the Guard captain, as she had suggested.
Maybe she should say yes to the captain next time he asks for a walk. One or two mobs in the area wouldn’t be much of a problem for the guard to handle, but more would be a severe threat to Crook shire and the county.
Being pleasantly on the guard captain’s special-friend-shaped side wouldn't be bad.
Lord Tomelein Adder awaited her at the manor gates as she walked towards them. A man of above average height with dark hair neatly cropped and combed. He was powerfully built, showing he was an active lord.
He didn’t let his household do the hard work without setting an example in his duties. Daily, dirty, exhaustive training with his guardsmen had also helped his physique and reputation.
His clothing was of a quality befitting a minor lord. His tunic and pants of expensive cloth if a simple cut. His house colors of blue and white, with a red adder embroidered on the breast of the tunic.
He wore soft, well-made leather boo, a finely worked leather belt, and an unadorned fine dagger. The only jewelry he wore, the signet ring done in silver and gold on the ring finger of his right hand, completed his outfit.
Prisca wouldn’t turn down an offer of a walk from him. However, it would probably never be offered as he was nobility, if from a minor house.
She hurried her pace slightly to meet with her lord. Keeping him waiting was not a good idea. He would get impatient quickly when the safety of his county was at stake.
“Healer Prisca,”
He greeted her shortly,
”What happened? Robby said there was an attack. My guard captain says you disagreed?”
“Robby is too excitable sometimes, M’lord. Farmer Jenkins was injured, but it wasn’t an attack like Robby thought he heard.”
She told the tale related to her by Jenkins. She explained why she had recommended a ranger be dispatched to scout the area. Lord Tom listened to her explanation before nodding firmly in agreement.
“You were right to make that recommendation. We’ll see what Ranger Brynnly finds. Please come in. While we wait, we can review this month’s expenditures of Crook shire’s healing house with Castellan Joclyn.”
Prisca agreed with slight hesitation and followed Lord Tom back into his Manor. She wasn’t looking forward to sitting with and being grilled by the lemon-faced, wiry castellan.
He wasn’t bad at his job, quite the opposite, but he wasn’t pleased about it. He would turn rabid if he felt his Lord’s subjects were taking advantage. The healing houses had long been a minor bone of contention between Lord Tom and his castellan.
The Lord led Prisca through the manor house to the library, where he conducted most of his business. As they entered the room, a man stood from a small desk near a much larger one.
Joclyn pursed his lips in distaste at seeing the healer follow his lord into the small library where most of the administration of the county was done. He still viewed it as partially his domain, evidently.
She thought that his distaste of the healing houses stemmed not from the cost to his lord but Elokwa’s rejection of his advances when he had first arrived in Red Adder county. He had sought treatment from the bubbly healer for chronic headaches and mistook her personality for encouragement to be forward.
Joclyn said nothing about that, as it would not be proper in front of the young lord. Prisca knew if the lord weren’t around; however, she would get an earful from the man about appropriate respect.
It hadn’t helped his temper about the rejection when the other healers backed up Elokwa’s attitude towards the unwanted attention. A bit of extra laxative that slipped into the man’s headache powders probably had also hurt the relationship.
“The Ranger’s report should end your ridiculous claims of monsters in the village. Honestly, the expense of sending for an adventurers party would ruin our budget for this quarter,”
Joclyn stated abruptly upon Prisca’s entry into the library.
‘Not that he won’t find other nasty things to say about us,’
Prisca thought to herself.
“Enough of that,”
Lord Tom answered the criticism with a dangerous expression on his face,
”You know my will on this, Joclyn. That should be sufficient to justify it for you. While we wait for Brynnly to return, we can review this quarter’s medical expenses for the county.”
Looking chastened, Joclyn passed a sheaf of papers with numbers and short notations scribbled next to them to Prisca and Lord Tom as they seated themselves.
“As you wish, my lord, here are the numbers for Healer Prisca’s domain.”
He said in a chastened voice.
The three of them perused the papers after splitting them up amongst themselves and sitting at a table in the room. A boring discussion of financial tedium was had.
They replied briefly to each other when a particular expense was in question. This continued with Prisca giving much shorter replies when she felt an injury healed required less information.
“Broken leg from fall. Severed finger during harvest. Heat stroke,”
And the like.
They continued for a time until there came a firm knock on the door. Entering swiftly at Lord Tom’s call, Ranger Brynnly entered and moved to the table. The three of them had papers scattered across the table neatly. Brynnly placed a small dirty piece of paper in front of the Lord.
“Interlopers.”
The dark man said with a grim face. The lord and his two advisers paled at the grim tone.
“Or at the least a mob colony breakout.”
They relaxed marginally.
Brynnly was only fond of speaking as necessary, probably a byproduct of being alone scouting the woods for Lord Tom. A tall, dark-skinned, rough-looking man. He and the much shorter Temlin worked for Lord Tom but were part of the Royal Lookiloos used by the crown for scouting and spying.
Joclyn thought of something and paled visibly. Lord Tom and Prisca leaned closer to the small, dirty paper the ranger had placed before them.
It was covered in squiggly lines that formed a small maze on the paper. To one side, there were blurred but still recognizable symbols denoting directions towards another location to the south and west of the farm Jenkins worked.
Lord Tom spoke a question. His lips pursed in thought.
“How large an infestation?”
“Three hundred meters of tunnels looks like young-ling work, but if it is, they has been at it for weeks. Or there are more than two younglings. I’d guess ten total mobs, minimum, in this nest,”
Replied the ranger quickly before continuing,
”Gonna need at least a small party from the AG. Scouting further alone would be foolish.”
If that’s what the mobs were, interlopers were a significant threat. The bogeymen of every border town.
The researchers guild, whose members identified themselves as Knowets and were a subset of the Adventurers Guild, had determined that interlopers were unbelievably dangerous.
While not technically a dungeon monster, they were a type of wild monster that burrowed and could lay the framework needed for a dungeon to form if left unchecked. More of a category than a clear mob type.
It was believed that once the interlopers had created sufficient tunnels, the area's ambient magic accumulated significantly faster.
A core would be formed, and then a dungeon would appear. No one knew if this effect was intentional by the interlopers. There were arguments that some were sapient. Why would they create competition for resources?
“Damn,”
Lord Tom swore unexpectedly,
”Alright, Brynnly, head into the interior quickly and brief the outpost for the AG on what we need. Draw the necessary funds from Maria.
I’ll have Temlin scout the outskirts for further infestation. Then, Joclyn, find the funds in the budget, five gold, then thirty for each AG member. We’ll cover room and board as well.
The quest needs to be completed within two days, and don’t forget the extra ten percent the guild charges for setting up the quest,”
At this, the Castellan looked to Lord Tom with a stricken face,
”Don’t look at me like that, do it, Joclyn. We can sell some useless but oh-so-expensive jewelry my mother left me if needed.
Prisca, gather the other Healers and make sure my citizens are informed of what’s going on. We don’t want people to panic. The healers can answer some of their questions after Crier Kitron makes the announcement.”
Move people. We need to get on top of this quickly.”
The three subjects of Lord Tom scattered to do his bidding. Joclyn not going anywhere but hurriedly pulling out ledgers. His lord drew a fresh piece of parchment from a drawer in his desk for the announcement his crier would give his people.
Brynnly stopped briefly to talk with Maria near the manor house entrance. The matronly head maid smiled at the dark man. He quickly received a bulging purse from her.
‘How did she know?’
Prisca thought as she moved out the front door.
Outside the manor house, Brynnly mounted and gave the nod to Prisca, who smiled and nodded back before he turned to start the long ride ahead of him.
”Good luck at the outpost,”
She shouted to him as she hurried towards the village. She needed to find Robby and get the healers together.
She glanced back towards the manor house worriedly. She had hoped it wouldn’t be too bad, but there’s no healing a broken limb without time and pain. So she moved forward with purpose.
As Brynnly waved back at Prisca, he turned his horse to the north. He continued at a ground-eating pace that wouldn’t harm his horse.
Smaller branches of a tree located along the forest’s edge near the manor house shifted slightly. No one noticed the slight movement as the two Goom retreated closer to the tree trunk. They then started traveling through the canopy back toward their home.
While the two Goom couldn’t know what had been said inside the large house, they did recognize the distinct clothing the rider had worn.
They also had a good idea of what his leaving to the north meant. But, unfortunately, the worse had happened, and the settlement would need to move forward with their preparations.
The humans were coming.
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