image [https://i.imgur.com/qS07IW9.png]

THE HEALER

Monte knew the House of the Infirm had been taken over by the Charlatan. When he’d been here earlier in the day for the sermon, there were chairs lined up in the center of the room facing the stage. There had been so many people, he hadn’t noticed the beds pushed to the periphery of the room. Now, only a few hours later, the massive room was empty of people. He noticed the beds, and the other obvious indicators of this place’s former purpose. The chairs were swept away against the wall, save for two.

“Please sit Monte.” The Preacher was standing behind one of the chairs and indicating the other. Monte sat.

“I know you. I’ve been told so much. Yet I believe you know nothing about me. Am I wrong?” The preacher spoke those last word like he expected Monte to answer the way his flock had.

Yeah, right.

“I know you’ve caused quite a stir with your nonsense. I know you have the ability to poison minds with your vapid speeches. I know nobody would listen to you if you couldn’t threaten them.” Monte retorted. It had sounded better in his head. The preacher laughed in response. Monte thought it sounded like the nervous laugh of a guilty man.

“So you know nothing.” The preacher said, feigning confidence again.

“I know you’re a charlatan.” Monte replied. He was already in as deep as he could get. Pulling punches now wouldn’t get him anywhere.

The preacher’s face didn’t react to the insult. Monte knew then that the man across from him was certainly not any kind of real man of any god. To be called a charlatan, to be accused of being fake, would illicit a response from someone acting in good faith. It was a specific admonishment that deserved a denial. This man didn’t present one.

The charlatan glanced to the pulpit. Monte followed his eyes. Leaned against the pedestal were two sheathed swords. His father’s and one clad in a dark leather, almost black. Monte looked back at the charlatan, who was starting back at him expectantly.

Of course.

“My most devout followers are with us.” The charlatan spoke and Monte felt as his arms were grabbed and pulled behind him. He looked over his shoulders at two large men in dark clothing with miserable haircuts held him down. One of them bound his wrists with cord again.

“They’re here to make sure you comply.” The charlatan sneered as he spoke.

“Now that you know me. You must know why I want that sword. But I want you to tell me a lot more than that.” The charlatan pointed towards the pulpit.

He didn’t have much of a plan. If he lost control of his calm, it wouldn’t improve his situation in any way. He hadn’t expected the charlatan to have his own sword, a grave mistake. He hadn’t expected to be tied down or put in a stockade either. As he thought through it, Monte realized he was afraid.

Even if I am, I can’t let this man know.

“I’m not telling you a thing. I’ve brought it to you like you asked. I would kindly ask now that you allow me to leave. And that you leave Thorna and her family, and ideally this entire town, alone.” Monte replied.

It had been so long since he’d truly been afraid for his own life. What fear was left in him when he entered the Academy had been trained out. Being faced with so many situations and asked to get out of them, there was little he couldn’t handle. It wasn’t true for every cadet, but Monte had been forged in his father’s shadow. He had the strength and talent with a sword to fend for himself. Now though, he was bound, and in the presence of a man he assumed must have quite a good deal of skill wielding it.

“Tell me how your father crafted that blade.” The charlatan said, paying no attention to Monte’s words.

“I don’t know.” It wasn’t a lie, Monte didn’t truly know.

“Monte, be reasonable. You have nothing to bargain with anymore. You’re bound, I will be taking this sword when we’re through.” The charlatan hissed.

“You’ll have to kill me then.” Monte replied. Once again the line sounded better in his head.

“Of course I will. And nobody will miss you either. You have no friends. Even your Dancia has come over to my side.” The charlatan cherished the last words.

So it’s all over then.

Dancia must have been the one to give him over. Monte assumed it was Thorna who sold him out. The pieces of this puzzle were coming together.

“If the Company kills me like they did my father, it will mean the end of them.” Monte tried his best to sound unfazed by the revelation. He didn’t have time in the moment to reflect on it.

The charlatan let out a hearty laugh. Monte thought it sounded somewhat faked. The charlatan’s eyes darted to his two followers and back to Monte’s.

So they don’t know.

“Leave us. Go. But first bring the tools.” The charlatan spoke to his men without looking at them. Monte felt them turn and leave. They padded silently away, which Monte assumed was all part of the planned show he had walked into.

“Very astute. But of course, you’re wrong. You will tell me what you know about your father’s special crafting before you die, or I will make it slow and nearly intolerable.” As the charlatan spoke, the men returned with a small table. On it they placed an assortment of blades and implements. Some of them Monte recognized as devices for torture long since banned by the Guard. Some he had only seen drawn in books. Some were completely new to him.

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“Now go. And don’t return until I call for you. Remember nothing you hear here is to be repeated. Am I wrong?” The charlatan said, sounded a little more insistent than was called for.

Is he scared? Of what?

“You’re never wrong.” The men replied. Monte didn’t hear them as they left him alone with the charlatan.

“Your father could make things. Special things from metal. You know this. Things they can trick the ear, like that sword, if the rumors are true. And can trick the eye. And you’re going to tell me how he did it.” The charlatan composed himself again.

There are rumors?

Monte thought about who might know about the lamenting wail the sword made when unsheathed. So few people aside from him had ever heard it. Monte knew his father had crafted bells with special abilities. His father had made the sword to mourn him. But Monte didn’t need to lie to the charlatan.

“I don’t know anything about his crafting technique. He never told me a thing." Monte spoke the words confidently. If he was going to get out of this, it would be through telling the truth to this man. He knew there was nothing to hide.

"Well if you're going to go that way, fine. I will enjoy this." The charlatan spoke gravely. Monte watched him select a tool from the assortment of them on the table. It was a narrow knife about 3 inches long. He stood up and walked around behind Monte. The charlatan grabbed one of Monte's hands and extended the first finger. He held it tightly.

He's not going to do it.

Monte knew it was illegal to torture prisoners. He also knew he wasn't truly a prisoner. He knew quite clearly this man had no intention of following any laws. Monte knew what was about to happen, yet he tried to remain calm.

"Tell me how your father made gold from iron." The charlatan whispered.

Monte felt his stomach rise into his throat.

Do what?

In all the time he'd spent working with his father, nothing of the sort had ever come up. Monte wanted to reject what the charlatan was telling him. But, he knew it must be true. He could see the truth now as clearly as he could see that Dancia had never felt anything real for him. He could see it as clearly as he could see that it was his own insecurities that had kept him from joining the Guard. Suddenly his upbringing, the sudden turn from being like everyone else in town to one of the wealthy families, made perfect sense.

"The Company killed my father because he could spin gold." Monte spoke the realization as though it were a thought that had simply escaped through his teeth. And then he screamed.

White hot pain emanated from the tip of his finger. Instantly he couldn't think of anything else. He writhed in the chair and began to sweat.

"Tell me how he did it. Tell me how he made the gold. He said you were the only other person who knew." The Charlatan was more forceful now, speaking over Monte groans. He pulled the device from the finger so only the pain remained. Monte tried to ball his fist but couldn't. He could feel hot blood welling up and dripping from his hand. The charlatan grabbed his next finger.

"Tell me Monte." The charlatan insisted.

"My father never told me about this. I don't know anything about it. He gave me that sword before he was killed. Before the Company killed him." Monte spoke the sentences through gritted teeth, through ragged breaths. The charlatan jammed the device into his next finger.

"That's right. He hid the sword from us. He gave it to you and now we've found it. Now I've found it. And now you will tell me the secret. They say the thumb is the most painful. You might want to get to it, Lad." The Charlatan was shouting now.

The way the charlatan called him lad sounded familiar to Monte. Even through the agony he was in, it was clear.

"You killed him. You murdered my father!" Monte screamed. His ring finger was being torn into. His hand was ablaze, he wished he could cut it off to end the pain right then.

"I didn't swing the blade, Lad. But I was there. I saw him die. Pathetic in the end. Reminds me of you. He wouldn't say a word. But you will." The charlatan was still trying to get something Monte didn't have.

"He never told me. I never knew. I have nothing to tell you." Monte could feel the pain start to fade away. His vision was getting bleary. He tried to shake his head to get himself back into the moment and focus on something other than the pain. Then he noticed that the black clad sword was missing from the alter. Monte had to shut is eyes and grimace as he felt the device removed from his third finger.

"Your father said you were the only other person alive who could turn simple iron into pure gold. I heard him tell us myself. The Company's leaders were all there, but the stubborn old mule wouldn't give us what we wanted, so we strung up him and left him. Now we're going to get the answers we need." The charlatan said. Monte braced for the pain to absorb his little finger.

Instead, he heard a grunt and saw blood spray into his lap. He heard gurgling behind him and turned. Behind him stood the Blacksmith. The large man had run the Company issue sword through its owner. The charlatan was dead. The Blacksmith had tears in his eyes.

Monte stared at the man. He wasn't afraid at first. The man broke down in tears. He let go of the sword and the charlatan slumped over. Monte stood up. He stared at the man again.

"You didn't know, did you?" Monte asked the blacksmith. Without answering, he nodded. After a few sobs, the blacksmith spoke.

"I should have known. I should have. I couldn't have guessed things would get more violent. We almost lost Thorna, we almost lost Tor. For what? No coin is worth that." The blacksmith hung his head. He had removed his jacket and rolled the sleeves of his fine shirt up to his elbows. To Monte, he almost looked the part of a blacksmith again.

"I'm sorry about your father and all. You must think we're all just backwards folk the way we was all taken in. Used to be folk like us knew we owed somethin' to each other and this fella told us to forget it, and we listened." The blacksmith's gaze stood fixed on the body lying in front of him.

Just then, the doors to the House of the Infirm burst open. The two devotees who had bound Monte's wrists stopped just inside the door. When they saw what had happened, they too broke down into tears. Behind the two of them were more of the devotees, and much to Monte's surprise, Thorna.

She rushed to him. The temporary shock had worn off and Monte could feel the white hot pain in his fingers again.

"How is Torsten?" Monte asked. Thorna looked at him the way his mother used to, with the same head tilt and gentle smile. Then she spotted the blood pooling between his feet.

"He'll be fine. Now what is…" She turned him around halfway to see his wrists, still bound.

"Gods be. We will need The Healer's blessing." She exclaimed, grabbing on the torture devices as comfortably as a chef grabs a knife and cutting the bindings.

"What did the preacher do to you?" She asked.

"Honestly I couldn't see, but I know I'd rather not relive it." Monte replied. Leaving out the real pain the charlatan had inflicted.

Monte glanced over at the small crowd forming. The other devotees had gathered around the blacksmith and the body of the charlatan. Monte could see that most were crying. Some were hugging one another. The blacksmith was being led out of the hall by the two large men. There was no time to contemplate his fate now.

Finally, Thorna noticed the rising chaos just steps away from her.

"What in the world happened?" Thorna said, looking past Monte for the first time.

"I'm sorry but you'll have to ask someone else." Monte said as forcefully as he could, trying to shut down the conversation without coming off as rude. He wasn't ready to recount what had happened and the pain in his hand was getting worse by the moment.

"Well… let's get you bandaged up then. Luckily I still know my way around this place." Thorna said, looking around.

"Just one thing." Monte said. He walked over to the alter, and with his only good hand he put the sword back over his shoulder.