The healer’s tent stood tall, a comforting red and white box of cheap fabric sewn together in checkerboard patches. Healers donned in red and white stalked about without humor, their faces marked with the cynical edge of post-battle exhaustion; most would have gone without sleep since the battle, and the rest would have only slept minutes at a time in between patients.

Alden approached the tent with hesitant steps, the smell of blood and dirt and sylweed so strong he had to cover his nose as he approached. Inside were those left unattended after the battle, the ones hurt but not so hurt as to die. Not soon, anyways. The smell of pus and sickness permeated the inside of the tent; severed arms and legs were piled up in the far corner, rotting away, flies and maggots swarming over the veritable buffet of gore. Many of the limbs not yet amputated weren’t much better. Lacerated, torn, and shredded, what little skin that was left had turned brown and black and green and leaked noxious liquids.

Alden sighed and shook his head. Healing wasn’t his preferred job, but it needed to be done, and by him no less. The other healers just couldn’t compare, a fact that made his chest swell with pride one moment and irritation the next.

“Alden,” called a low voice. He turned, spotting a tall, muscular man with thick black hair who looked more a warrior than half the soldiers. Tybold, the only true doctor in the army. A far call from Elmswood, though that could be said of most all doctors.

“You look like you could use the help,” Alden said.

It was true enough, even if he meant it in jest. The man had dark bags around his eyes and seemed to have aged a dozen years since Alden had seen him last.

Tybold nodded, a relieved grin spreading across his face. “I could, yes. We’ve only got infections left, though. Sylweeds over there if you need to make a poultice.”

“Understood.”

He started with one of the worst-off patients; comatose, or close enough, the man lay sweating, his forehead bright red and burning hot. Alden inspected the man’s leg next. The flesh had turned a deep green, and sweet-smelling white pus leaked from underneath the gauze placed over the wound. Peeling the gauze away revealed a deep cut, an inch or two deep, its recesses filled with vile red and white goo. Bad.

The pus would need to be cleaned, first, and then the infection would need to be fought off. Only then could he close the wound. Without a doctor as skilled as Elmswood closing the wound in its current state would be treacherous, as the infection would spread throughout the leg and decay what healthy flesh remained. There were no antibiotics in this world, after all.

Scowling, he held in a gag as he cleaned the wound with water, brushing away the milky liquid. Content, he put out his right hand cast diagnosis magic, focusing on the particles of infectious bacteria. Millions of dots formed in his mind, almost too many to keep track of. Almost. Coalescing the dots into an image, he found that it was clearer than any he’d made before. Thousands of the dots were highlighted near the region of the man’s leg, glowing yellow and red. Red was for the wound, as it always was, but the yellow…

Skill Up

The Diagnosis Magic Skill has advanced to Rank C

Reward: 50xp, 1 bonus point to Intelligence.

He grinned, then dismissed the box. Focusing on those yellow dots, he cast Healing Magic on the man’s leg. Slowly, the green began to fade away, leaving the skin pasty white.

The man jolted upright and Alden nearly leapt from his skin, heart beating fast. The man’s complexion had paled slightly, having returned to a healthy pink, though sweat still coated his face.

“Are you alright?” he asked the man. Dazed, the man stared at him, eyes scrunched together in confusion, then glanced at his leg.

“What happened? Is the infection gone?” the man asked.

“Maybe,” Alden replied. “It’s cleared up a good ways, but this is my first time handling an infection, so I’ll have Doctor Tybold inspect you when he has the time, okay?”

The man nodded. “Okay. Okay. Think it’s good, though. Don’t hurt as much as before.”

“That’s good, then. Just rest here a moment, I’ll be back with the Doctor.”

Tybold looked the leg over, cast his own magic, then stood. With a hand of iron he pat Alden on the back, nearly sending him to the floor with the force of it.

“How the hell did you do that?” Tybold asked.

Alden shrugged. “I don’t know. It was just… easier to keep track of things in my head, I guess.”

“Damn geniuses. Know how to do it but can’t teach for shit. Well, good work. And here.”

Tybold took his hand and gave it a vigorous shake, something rough rubbing against his palm. Letting go, Alden noticed the object was a small red sack, a white symbol emblazoned at its center.

“That holds a Prayer Token for the Church of Aspaneous,” he said. “Take it to one of their churches when you have the time and offer it to a priest. They’ll treat you well. It’s supposed to offer a blessing from Aspaneous herself, too, but, well, I’ve had a dozen of those over the years and never felt particularly blessed.”

Alden smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Tybold,” he said, the words not quite matching the warmth he felt. Appreciation of any kind always made him feel good. As if his life had purpose.

“I’ll get back to work, then,” Alden said.

The other patients were much the same; deep, infected cuts that no one could heal. Except for Alden. It took only an hour or so to fix up the rest of them, and another hour of waiting after that before Frenna arrived.

For once she did not wear her plate armor, instead opting for the sharp dress of an officer, dark blue pants and overcoat with a white undershirt, the golden sigil of Titemore sewn into the chest.

She looked about the healer’s tent quizzically. Spotting Alden any questions she had seemed to fade.

“Ready?” she asked.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“Yes, ma’am.”

They weaved their way through the camp, dodging past impatient soldiers as they went about their own business. None seemed too concerned that they were technically in an army, and fewer still seemed to recognize the status of a knight in officer’s garb. An angry glare from Frenna set most of them straight, and they made good time, considering.

“I take it the lockdown’s over?” he asked.

“Why’s that?”

“They seem… busy, I guess. I thought with the lockdown and all there wouldn’t be much for them to do.”

Frenna flashed a cruel grin. “Is that so? Knights see it a different way. Idle hands are lazy hands, and it’s better to do useless work than no work. Complacency kills more than anything.”

They arrived at the Baron’s tent once more, the fabric of its walls billowing as a strong gust passed them by. Half a dozen knights stood outside its entrance wearing full, shining plate armor. Between them was Peren and Commander Dhatri, each in full officer’s garb.

“Inside,” Dhatri said simply. Alden followed along with Peren, Frenna, and two of the armored knights. They closed the tent’s entrance behind them, casting the interior into shadows despite the lanterns. “Sit.”

At the center of the tent was a simple round table of polished dark wood, circled by chairs of similar make. Alden sat, back facing the entrance, and waited for Dhatri to take his own seat. The others remained standing, their towering visages enough to send a spark of cold fear through him.

Plopping a handful of papers onto the table, Commander Dhatri flipped through them noisily. Quiet, the crinkling of parchment was the only sound in the tent. Nothing of the outside world could be heard from inside the tent, as if it were in a different world entirely.

Dhatri passed one of the papers to Alden. A map, neatly drawn, it displayed a number of local towns of the Licester Barony. A handful were circled in bright red ink.

“We’ve received intelligence about a few small groups of Hilva and Licester soldiers residing in the local towns,” Dhatri said. “They would have set up station there before the battle, in case things went south for them. You know the drill.”

He nodded. Checkpoints. A place for those retreating to resupply, gather forces, and send word further east.

“I’ve no grand plan to stop word from making it back to the Kingdom; it’s not possible. What is possible, however, is converting these towns to our cause.”

“This information came from them, I take it?” Alden asked.

“Yes,” Dhatri replied. “Commoners don’t take to becoming traitors against their will too well. Especially not those on the frontlines. They’ve given our scouts information on these three towns in particular; small groups in each of them, and one target in particular. A knight.”

Eyes wide, he resisted the urge to stand and leave.

“Since I’m here, I take it you want me to kill this knight,” he said. Dhatri nodded.

“Not just the knight, but every Hilva soldier in each town. The investigation has gone far more poorly than anticipated, and we can’t spare a knight to attend to this matter. So, we’ve opted for the next best thing.”

Alden rubbed his mouth, the stubble of his chin rough against his hand. He needed to shave.

“How many men can I take?”

“Thirty total. Any more and you’ll be too easy to spot, and sparing that many is dangerous as it is, but it’s necessary.”

That it was. Knights were a strategic resource as much as soldiers; kill enough of them and enemy morale would plummet.

But thirty men alone was a difficult ask, even for him. He could kill the knight with magic, if he got in range. The problem was just that, though. Getting in range. The knight during the battle had been cocky, intoxicated by the fear of his enemies, believing himself invincible. He would have been, too, had Alden not had All-Maker.

But with the battle over and Hilva’s troops retreating with tails between their legs, this knight was unlikely to be so arrogant. All the other knights from the battle had been killed in the aftermath, after all, outnumbered by Drygallis knights and mages. Unless this knight were a particularly powerful individual they would be far more cautious.

Still, the thought frightened him. Even the mention of an enemy knight sent phantom pains through his missing arm. The other was little better, trembling weakly and without the strength to even make a fist.

“This mission is technically optional,” Dhatri began, “but I thought it best to offer it to you. I know that it may seem difficult, especially with missing an arm and all, but I think the Knight Slayer can manage.”

Difficult. Try impossible, Alden thought. Instead, he said “Are there any particular rewards for this, ah, optional mission.”

“The good will of the people and the thanks of all who serve the Empire,” Dhatri said.

“I was hoping for something a bit more… concrete.”

Dhatri stared coldly, then broke out in a smile. “Land,” he said.

“What?”

“Land,” he repeated. “Technically speaking, as of now, though you are a freeman, you are little more than a serf. Yes, you have your freedom and can travel and work as you see fit, but you, like almost all in the Empire, are not authorized to own land. I can change that.”

“Land in exchange for the head of some nameless knight?”

“Oh, she has a name. Amice Witchester, the younger sister of Baron Witchester of the Hilva Kingdom. A strong woman, by all accounts–she is a knight, after all– but her knighthood is newly established; as far as knights go she should be among the weakest. Not easy pickings by any stretch of the imagination, but doable. And if you were to capture her…”

“Capture her? I’m a one-armed mage, not a miracle worker.”

Quest Created

Kill (or Capture) the Target Amice Witchester

Requirements: Kill Amice Witchester

Reward: 2000xp, 10 bonus points to Charisma, ability to own land.

Advanced Requirements: Capture Amice Witchester

Reward: 3500xp, 10 bonus points to Charisma, 10 bonus points to Strength, ability to own land, ???

Secret Requirements: ???

Reward: ???

Alden stared at the floating box as it appeared, almost too distracted to hear Commander Dhatri’s words.

“Well, if you manage it, just know that there’s a little surprise in store for you.”

“Surprise, huh,” he muttered.

All things considered it was a generous enough offer. Most career soldiers devoted long years of their life in servitude for land rights. He had been a soldier for only a month.

That was, of course, assuming he could accomplish such a task.

Mulling it over, Alden realized he was tapping the table with a finger. He stopped, feeling the flush of embarrassment in his cheeks.

“I’ll do it,” he said.

Dhatri smiled brightly, perhaps the first time in days. “Good. I’ll have thirty soldiers ready for you tomorrow, as well as more detailed maps, if we can manage. You’ll have to search each one for Amice; she alternates between the villages on a semi-regular basis, but there’s no telling where she might be at any given moment.”

“And if she’s not present?”

Dhatri shrugged. “Kill the soldiers, then move on to the next village. Amice may be the main course, but the others make for a delectable hors d'oeuvre.”

“Understood.”

“Then unless there’s anything else, you’re dismissed.”

Alden stood and saluted. Exiting the tent he squinted as his eyes adjusted painfully to the sunlight. Staring out across the camp he spotted the horses standing majestically next to piles of dirt and grain and their own horse shit, the smell of it now penetrating his nostrils. Sighing, he walked hesitantly toward the beasts. Better to practice now than wait for the morrow, he reasoned, regretting every step forward.

Skill Up

Horsemanship has advanced to Rank C

Reward: 50xp