There was a boy, sitting on a rock watching his brothers train one last time with their father before leaving on their adventure. Arturo watched closely, absorbing the knowledge that Archard was giving his sons.
“Marcus, you can’t make a mistake like that!” Archard snapped after smacking his backside with his wooden sword. “That’s how you’ll die. Never let your guard down!”
“It was a mistake! I won’t do it again,” Marcus said, rubbing the spot where he’d been hit.
“If you make a mistake like that in battle, you won’t be around to make it again. You only get one chance in a fight. Once you die, it’s over,” Archard said harshly.
“Father, a little mercy,” John pleaded. “You’ve been training us like dogs for the past month. We’ll be fine!”
Arturo remembered this. However, something was off. Archard should be reprimanding John. Instead, Archard, Marcus, and John turned to him. Blood was gushing from their arms, legs, mouth. It was everywhere!
“What’s going on?” Arturo was frightened and his voice quivered. “What’s happening?”
The three spoke as one. “You can’t die. Not today, not tomorrow, and not next year. You must survive. Don’t give up. Now wake up. Wake up! Wake up! WAKE UP!”
Arturo’s eyes snapped open to the sight of healers standing over him. “Stay calm,” one of the healers said and pushed him down.
His breathing was irregular and it took him a moment to realize where he was. A medical tent. I’m still alive, Arturo thought with relief. He hadn’t died. Images of his dream flashed before him. What kind of dream was that? Never in his life had he experienced anything like that. His father’s last words echoed in his brain. You must live… you must live… Why was that running through his mind now?
“How you’re still alive?” Morandis muttered to himself.
It felt like he was on fire and the pain was spreading. With a mighty effort, Arturo held back a scream. This torment was unbearable.
“Here, drink this.” Morandis shoved a cup in his hands.
“What is it?” Arturo said weakly. He barely kept his grip on the cup.
“Water mixed with safian pine. It’ll lessen the pain.”
Arturo downed the liquid in one gulp. Within ten seconds, the pain faded away and was completely gone within a minute.
“Now stay down,” Morandis ordered.
Bandages were being wrapped around him. Arturo could feel them, but it was as though someone were brushing his skin softly with a feather. His head, arms, chest, and stomach were already bandaged and they were doing his legs now.
Now that he could focus, Arturo saw who was in the room. On his left side, watching him closely, was Veldahar. His black hair was ruffled and the crystal on his chest plate shined from the sunlight peeking through the tent.
Next to him was Tarmon. His short blond hair looked tidy and dry blood had crusted over his shirt and some of his face. His right foot was bouncing up and down as he watched the healers work.
Gosford and Kellan were talking to one another, glancing over at Arturo before continuing their conversation. Three healers were working on him. Judging by their eagle insignia, they were all from Azzellia.
Arturo stared at the ceiling. How had he survived? At times he cursed Tarmella for what she did to him and yet, she allowed him to live. Why? He didn’t know if he believed in any god anymore until something like this happened. By all accounts, he should have bled out. There was no way Tarmon had been able to heal him with so many witnesses.
The dream replayed in his mind. A sign? Did his family enter his dreams somehow, forcing him to endure to get revenge for them?
More sunlight entered the tent as a flap opened and faded away as the flap closed.
Whoever had come in was hiding behind the healers.
“That’ll have to do,” Morandis said, as he stood up and wiped his forehead. “You’ll be lucky to fight again unless a mage heals you.”
“What do you mean? How long until I heal?” Arturo raised himself off the bed but one of the healers placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him from rising any further.
“If you heal… I would say at least six months.”
Six months? I can’t wait that long! Arturo felt panic rising and forced it away. The healers said a mage could heal him and Tarmon was still alive. He would owe him a lot for healing him again. “I’ll recover and keep fighting far quicker than that,” he said defiantly.
Morandis shook his head irritably. “You do whatever you want. I’ll warn you: If you fight anytime soon, you’ll die.”
Without another word, the three healers left the tent.
It was Norman who had come into the tent. “I’m glad you survived. I owe you my life,” he said.
Stolen novel; please report.
“I had a mission,” Arturo grunted, allowing himself to lie down again. “Nothing more.”
Norman laughed. “Nonetheless, I wanted to thank you. What you did was incredible. Never in my thirty years have I seen someone fight as you did.” He reached into his pocket and took out a brown bag. “This is a bonus, from me.”
He placed the bag on the bed and Arturo opened it. In there were gold pieces, along with silver. There was something else in there; an odd-looking medallion with a fire insignia. This was enough money to buy a farm and then some. Arturo looked up at Norman, unable to hide his surprise.
“The mage you saved gave me that medallion before leaving. He said he owed you,” Norman said.
“The mage? Didn’t he die?” Arturo asked.
“No. He fell to the ground and remained still until the fighting stopped.” Norman shook his head. “Most cowardly mage I’ve ever met. He asked me to relay a message. When you want his help, hold the coin in your hand and say ‘Jahonas Oshar, come to me.’ That was the name of the mage.”
“Why the money?” Arturo wondered what use he could have for a mage, though he would keep the coin if he ever needed one.
“Like I said, thanks for saving my life. If you hadn’t been there, I would either be dead or imprisoned,” Norman continued. “That should be more than enough for you to relax without having to worry about money for some time.”
“I have no intentions of settling down,” Arturo said.
“As the healer said, do what you want. Either way, you earned the money,” Norman shrugged.
“Thanks,” Arturo said. He didn’t want to appear rude, though part of him didn’t care. “Try not to get captured again.”
Norman nearly doubled over laughing, as if hearing the funniest joke in the world. “I hope not. Being a prisoner is no fun. Well, I’m off to Carhan. I need to give the king the good news,” he said, bowing slightly before leaving.
Gosford and Kellan were up and next to him the moment Norman left. “You look rough,” Gosford commented.
“You can say that again,” Kellan said and handed Arturo a cup. “That’s some of the best ale in this region.”
Arturo took a drink and hid a smile. It tasted no different than any other ale. Some people were odd when it came to ale. “Thanks,” he said and took another sip. Getting drunk sounded good. He was about to ask for another cup when he saw Tarmon shaking his head.
Kellan took the cup and walked back to the pitcher. “Not now; I’ll drink later,” Arturo said before Kellan could pour more.
“Suit yourself,” Kellan said. He poured a cup anyway, then drank it himself. “A good ale is what I need after that battle.”
“Word spread around the camp like wildfire,” Gosford said.
“Word of what?” Arturo asked.
“Your fight.” Gosford took a sip of his drink before continuing. “You killed at least fifty men by yourself and there were witnesses. Even the rebel prisoners are talking about it. My friend, you’ve made a name for yourself.”
“He’s right,” Veldahar said. “The battle was brutal. We lost a lot of good men. Your fight with the rebels made the battle easier for us, as a few hundred of them headed your way. The rebels thought an entire army was behind them. That gave us the chance to break through their front lines and storm the rest of the compound.”
Arturo looked at the ceiling again. How had he done that? The fight was a blur in his memory. Images of him swinging his sword and taking out rebel after rebel flashed through his mind, along with the wounds he had taken. Spears, arrows, swords, and almost every type of weapon had hurt him. Even with his wounds being taken care of, if just one got infected, that would be bad. He shook his head to clear the thought. No point in worrying about something he had no control over.
“Brutal doesn’t describe what we went through.” Kellan shuddered and took a big gulp of his drink.
“No doubt.” Gosford turned to Arturo. “I thought you were going to die. There were so many rebels—many more than Corvin’s spy reported.”
“How did you survive?” Veldahar asked.
Tarmon shifted a little and Arturo understood how he was still living. “I don’t know. Before I passed out, well, I definitely thought I was going to die,” Arturo said.
“You have a strong will.” Gosford put a hand through his hair. “We should let you rest. You look tired.”
“Before you go—” Arturo almost got back up but decided against it. The healers would kill him if he reopened his wounds. “How many in my unit died?”
Gosford pursed his lips before responding. “Over half. Cevelt took a couple of arrows but will be fine. Rogoth has cracked ribs. Too many died. I’ll get you a list later.”
Arturo said nothing and Gosford took that as a cue to leave. Kellan opened his mouth, closed it, and followed Gosford out. “We’ll speak about the losses and get you more men later. You did well,” Veldahar said and left.
Losses were expected, but to lose so many when he wasn’t there hurt. It was rare for more than a few to die in battle because he could usually protect them. But they wouldn’t be the first or last people he would fail to save in the battles to come. He tried to accept that.
“Tarmon,” Arturo said as the man got up. “Come here.”
Tarmon looked around before taking a seat.
“How did you keep me alive and not get caught?” Arturo asked quietly.
“It wasn’t easy.” Tarmon scratched his head and looked around as if expecting to see someone in the tent. “I convinced the others that we needed to get your armor off. Once it was off, I was able to use the power to keep you alive. Barely, mind you. I like you but I didn’t want to risk someone finding out about my talents.”
“You did more than I expected,” Arturo said. Tarmon had proven his loyalty and healed him twice now. “Thank you.”
Tarmon cocked his brow and grinned mischievously. “There was no other choice. If I didn’t, you would have died for sure. I don’t know why, but I don’t want you to die. Perhaps it’s because you’ll be important in the war to come or maybe it’s because I like that you know my secret. Either way, I couldn’t let you die.”
“Where is my armor?”
“It’s safe. That should be the last thing on your mind.” Tarmon got up and checked outside the tent before coming back. “I should start healing you now.”
“Now?”
“Yes. Your wounds were extensive. Nobody will notice what I’ve done after this session. It’ll take me a week with my skills to get you in decent condition. It’ll still take time for you to heal.” Tarmon hovered his hands over Arturo’s chest and closed his eyes. “I don’t know how you did it. Killing fifty men by yourself. I never thought I would meet a legend, let alone befriend one.”
“I’m no legend,” Arturo said. Tingling spread from his chest, to his head, then his stomach, and all the way down to the tips of his toes. This was far more intense than the last time. Exhaustion took over, and he struggled to stay awake.
“You know, I didn’t think I would find anyone in this mercenary band that I would like,” Tarmon continued. “My original plan was just to earn some money and leave. Now I don’t know what to do.”
“I can’t figure you out,” Arturo chuckled. Tarmon never talked about himself. One day, he would learn the truth about what Tarmon was running from. “How long do you think it’ll take me to heal once you’ve finished?”
“Hmm…” Tarmon waved his hands over Arturo’s body, concentrating the power into his most grievous injuries. “Hard to say. At least a month, if you’re lucky. Shouldn’t be more than two.”
“A month or two, huh?” Despite the good news, Arturo found himself irritated. That was too long. There was so much to do and he’d barely gotten over his broken arm. “Still, better than six months to never.”
“That it is. I’ll see if I can make it quicker, though I make no promises,” Tarmon said.
Arturo laughed. “I can’t complain. You’ll do the best you can and I’ll be back to normal before we know it. Just have to make sure no one else knows about this.”
Tarmon nodded but said nothing, focusing on healing.
If someone discovered Tarmon was healing him, Arturo would deal with it one way or another. The least he could do was keep Tarmon safe from the mages, even if it meant killing them. With that last thought floating in his mind, Arturo dozed off.