Credit where it was due, the General was not at all idle on the long walk. As the wagons trundled along the east road and it began to turn south, the General sent out dozens of attack parties.
His scouts were on constant rotation leaving and returning the main body of the army and with every small pocket of trolls or goblins discovered, a party twice the size of the reported numbers left to dispatch it.
It seemed every time he sent out another group, one that had been sent out in the past few hours returned with bloody trophies and bloodier wounds.
“Here, take this,” said Healer Dalvad, as he handed me yet another bloody bandage. It was gross and I grabbed it by what looked like the cleanest edge and brought it to a corner where a small pile of the things was being thrown in a hemp bag.
I was waiting for healing. Reid sent me off to get healed after he accidentally jostled my wound kissing me. I’d told Mom I would go see the army’s healers this morning anyway. I was unfortunately distracted by the whole being drafted thing.
Of course, they weren’t just going to let me sit and wait. This was a mobile hospital and as such, bloody bandage bags were tied to the back of wagons, and healing happened on the move.
The healers were kept on constant alert, but it seemed to be a work-for-your-healing sort of service. They obviously prioritized injuries by severity and mine was pretty low priority. I’d been living with it for a few days now. I was fine and more than capable of helping in little ways.
Fortunately, my ankle had almost completely recovered, so I didn’t have any trouble keeping up with the slow pace of the army.
I returned to Healer Dalvad, disgust in my soul, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
“Hope up here, private. I need someone to hold this wound closed,” he said, gesturing to the back of the open wagon where a patient was sitting.
I climbed up into the wagon, making sure not to fall as the cart continued moving. I took a step over to the patient’s side, and promptly gagged as I saw the bleeding wound gushing blood. I hadn’t noticed it as the man had been talking jovially to the healer, and had given no indication that he’d even been hurt.
The soldier and the healer both laughed.
“What the hell!?” I screeched at them. “Does that even hurt?”
“Oh Gods, it never gets old,” cried the patient as he wiped at amused eyes.
Healer Dalvad collected himself, before gesturing to the man. “Private, this is Lancer Lewisson. We tend to call him Lancer Leeks on account of his ridiculously high Pain Tolerance skill.”
“I can tank just about anything. Just… tend to start losing my blood afterwards, see?” he said, as blood continued gushing out.
“What…” I started but then paused, turning a little green as I realized what the man had asked of me. “You… want me to hold that closed?”
“Preferably pretty quick, if you could. The man might barely be able to feel it but if he runs out of blood, that’s pretty much it,” the healer joked.
I licked dry lips and knelt down next to the man.
“Don’t worry girl. Just wrap both hands around the wound and squeeze tight. Dalvad’s going to close that right up,” the wounded man said jovially.
Well. Fuck. I’d signed up for the military and wounds were obviously a part of that. I grit my teeth and grabbed the man’s skin, pinching the bleeding wound together as best I could. Leeks didn’t even flinch as I pinched the open segments of skin together.
“Huh. Not bad,” the healer said, before green light began to wash over my red fingers.
“Aw its no fun when they aren’t squeamish,” the Lancer complained.
I was squeamish, but I was doing a decent job of hiding it. In that moment, I knew that I would never be a true healer. Sure, I’d learn it if I could, but I was pretty sure I’d never have a passion for this. Healing sounded great in practice but in reality, it was a lot of blood, gore, guts, and sick people.
Magic made healing somewhat simple. Throw green light at the problem until it stopped being a problem, you ran out of energy, or you determined that nothing was improving. If nothing was improving, the wound was probably infected, or the patient was sick in some other way. There were specialists for that. Small town healers like Normuran were usually jack of all trade types but it seemed that healers in the army specialized.
From what I could tell, the relationship was similar to that between medical and surgical doctors in April’s world. Or at least how their relationships had been depicted on television.
I would much rather make some sort of healing tonic or medicine than actively use magic to heal. In this world, I had the option of making items that could enhance the magic of other healers, which was exactly what Dalvad’s need bubble would allow me to make.
Why his item needed spiced rum, I didn’t think I’d ever know but it currently required nearly a full barrel of it, along with ether dust, a few herbs I’d never heard of, string, and wood.
“I really feel like it would make a lot of sense for you to not get your arm split open,” I told him as the wound began to seal itself closed.
“Maybe, but where’s the fun in that?” Lancer Leeks replied as I let go of his arm. The healer handed me a dingy towel that looked like it had been washed hundreds of times. There was no telling what its original color was.
I wiped off my hands with the towel as best I could but I knew I’d need to drop them into the lake before I felt comfortable with them again. Or ask a water mage for help.
“You’re good to go, Leeks. Tell Ennicka to save me a seat around her campfire tonight,” Dalvad said with a laugh.
Leeks gave a jaunty salute, while I cocked my eyebrow at the newly healed arm. There was a definite scar, and I couldn’t help but feel like Normuran would’ve done a better job. Then again, Norman was in his fifties, while Dalvad was only five or six years older than me.
“Feels good as new!” the soldier declared before scooting over to the edge of the cart and hopping off. “And you can ask Ennicka to save you a seat yourself.”
The man waved the soldier off before turning back to me, while Lewisson jogged off to join a different part of the caravan.
“Now, let's undo that shoulder bandage and see what’s happening here. How’d you get hurt anyway? Weren’t you just recruited today?”
“Fought off three goblins that got through the town’s defences!” I bragged. “Killed two of them myself, but someone else shot the last one, before I could take him down!”
His eyes did widen a bit at that. “That so?”
I nodded emphatically. “It was a few days ago.”
“Well, damn. If we don’t have a new general in the making,” he chuckled.
There was a bit of condescension in that tone, but I’d always felt like that particular brand always came back to bite people in the ass. Soon enough, perhaps I would be a general. Healer Dalvad would be eating those words then. Until then, it was best to just ignore them.
The tone of the Army was surprisingly upbeat and Dalvad was no exception. These soldiers were well fed, and had not run across any significant difficulties. Every encounter they’d had with rift monsters so far had been a decisive victory and there was no reason for them not to continue to believe so.
After the gloomy disposition hovering over Pemolar’s Hill the past few days, I actually found the attitude of most of the soldiers refreshing. They were optimistic. I wondered if there’d been some sort of good news that hadn’t made its way to me yet, but I made a note to ask and find out what had made them all so upbeat.
I took the bandage off gingerly and was unsurprised to see the jagged cut along my shoulder. It was actually quite similar to the wound that Dalvad had just healed on Leek’s arm.
“Ah. A healer did touch this already. Did they not finish the job?” he asked, curiously.
I shook my head. “Our healer did what he could but he’s been stabilizing hundreds of people. Refugees from Mitoras and our own injured from the attack. He did what he could to make sure the wound wouldn’t turn to rot, and then had us bandage it.”
The healer paused in thought. “In that case, your healer does good work. No sign of rot here, but I bet it’s been hurting.”
It certainly had been. I wondered idly what the requirements were to get the Pain Tolerance skill, but then decided I probably didn’t want to know.
He turned his green light on my arm and I instantly began to feel relief. Pain that I had forgotten about, evaporated like it had never been as dried scabs began to slough off the partially healed wound.
“Gods that feels better,” I said. “Thank you Healer Dalvad.”
He shrugged. “Don’t mention it. This won’t be the first time I’ll heal your wounds. It’s a war out there and soon enough after you get some training behind you, it’ll be you going out to quell the rift monsters. Especially if you’ve already killed three goblins.”
He was being sarcastic, but I smirked. “I killed a War Troll once, too.”
His eyes actually did widen at that, as he didn’t hear any lie in my voice, but I stood up and hopped off the healing cart before he could ask about that particular story.
I was going to let that one spread slowly, and tie it to my pepper paste. My mom’s merchant habits and April’s knowledge of how to capitalize on fame both contributed to that decision. There would be ridicule, right up until the moment someone saw my Pepper Spray in action.
After all, I hadn’t technically killed it, but I shared in the experience. I was counting that.
I returned to my wagon and was irritated to find that no one but Reid or Dad were willing to talk with me. Even Oxana and Teskin didn’t seem very interested in striking up conversation, as well as the few refugees from Mitoras that had been drafted.
We trudged on through the night. Some people had talents that produced light throughout the evenings and torches burned on the edges of each wagon, lighting up the path of the army as if it were nearly daylight. We were given trail rations to eat on the road and told that we would likely set up camp near Mitoras. Unfortunately, Wagons of food moved quite slowly, and it was nearly a half a day's walk to get to Mitoras on foot at the best of times.
We walked for the entire night. I would’ve expected to be weary and nearly exhausted, but yet again, people with different talents allowed us to continue on. I was given a draft of beer from a bartender who’s talent allowed his alcohol to invert the sleepiness most people felt when drinking. He was, predictably, an elite talented bartender.
I was incredibly curious about how his talent awarded free points, and made a note to ask about it as soon as I met the man. His own talent might’ve been even better than Lupkep’s, and with the army putting him to work refreshing thousands of soldiers, I was sure he must be raking the points in. I still felt refreshed as the first rays of sunshine began to peek over the horizon in the morning.
I felt that way until the moment I laid eyes on the remains of Mitoras.