Brewer King 41 (Patreon)

San knocked on the apartment door, still perturbed by Panchavi’s appearance. The Landed crime boss knew far too much about San and the others. That put the Exonaris family in danger, as he understood that Panchavi was hurting for money and even if it was a lie, he would try to obtain what he could from those he claimed owed him.

Pavano would know where to go. The old man was wily and clever.

The door creaked open, with Azios standing there, crossbow in hand.

“San!” he cried out, relief on his face.

“What’s the matter?” San asked, worried as he saw the boy armed and ready for a fight.

“Pavano and Elgava left to the Exchanger,” Azios stated when the door was shut. He leaned the loaded crossbow against the wall.

“Without me?” San asked.

“Pavano said they needed it to pay for the delivery of the copper pots and to get some men cleaning the warehouse for you.”

San paused and then nodded. It seemed reasonable. The warehouse was theirs to use but Herokov had not been one to keep the building clean or tidy. San sighed, the events of the day had pushed a lot of other things out of his mind.

“Wehre’s Bostarion?” he asked.

Azios shrugged. “He said he needed to do something and left after Pavano and Elgava did.”

Bostarion had been silent and simmering with anger after he had returned from meeting with Havatair the day previous. The old ranger had gone to see what was being done about Ilagio’s betrayal and attempted murder of San and the others, but from what he gleaned that meeting had not gone well. Ilagio was still out there and Bostarion was not a man who would let attempted murder, abandonment, and lies slide.

“Hope he’s not going to do something stupid,” San said. He moved to his belongings, Azios trialing. The pack was mostly empty these days, battered, but still sturdy even though it had gone through some hard uses. San removed the first aid kit, quickly inventorying the items he had left. Small bandages, needles, aspirin, and the remainder of the antibiotics that he had used on Endaha when she was suffering from the bonewing infection.

“You’ve returned,” Endada’s voice jerked San’s head up. “Azios, watch over Kovass and Cassa,” she said. The boy glanced to San and then nodded.

“What’s wrong?’ San asked, as he tucked the antibiotics and first aid kit into his satchel.

Endaha led him into the room that she and the children maintained. The camping tent was still set up, occupying a corner, with various blankets and his sleeping bag tucked into a corner. Endaha stood beside a tiny window that allowed a small amount of light into the room, her face expressionless.

San settled by the door, his back against the roughly plastered wall and waited for her to speak. The urgency of returning to Densa and the Keep was pushed aside. He realized that this was the first time Endaha and he had been alone in the same room for weeks.

“Azios, I, and the children should leave,” she said.

“Why?” San asked.

“Kovass is alive. We have abandoned the land of his ancestors. We should not have come here,” she said.

“You plan on returning to the komai?” San asked.

“Yes. We should not have left.”

“You’ll die there,” he said bluntly. “There’s no food, no fuel, the house is shattered, and the heaviest part of winter is still tom come.”

“We must,” she said, there was an odd tone in her voice. “Kovass is alive.”

San pondered her words for a moment, letting them sink in and trying to look at it from her point of view. She was a married woman, the wife of a Komai, and now she was galavanting around White Tower with San and other strangers. How much trust and faith did she have in him to uproot her entire family to come to a strange city and put their lives in his hand?

What was his own connection with her? Besides rescuing the family and helping them as much as he could. They would have died if Pavano and he hadn’t gotten to their komai in time. Saving their lives did not indebted them to him, he didn’t want that. But he did feel responsible for them, to ensure that they lived, to keep the children alive, and to see that they survived this winter until her husband returned.

That was the issue, he supposed. The intersection of their responsibilities and their feelings. Did he love her? Did she love him? San didn’t know. His own romantic inclinations had died on that rainy afternoon nearly seven months before. The ache was still there and with it the memories he had made with the woman he loved and his own children.

He looked to Endaha, seeing her. She was young, according to Azios she was eighteen years old, nearly a decade younger than he was, and had lived a life that he could not imagine. One filled with starvation, fear, and exploitation. Enough that simple kindness could look like love. And for him? A toddler, a newborn, and a woman who would love him because of what he had done to help her family. A replacement for the one he had lost.

“Don’t leave,” San said.

“I have to,” she replied.

“No, you don’t.”

“I have gone against the vows I spoke to the Blessed Mother, my husband still lives and I have shamed myself by running after another,” she said, tears forming in her eyes.

“You have only done what you must to keep your family safe,” San said. “Leaving the komai and coming here for the winter is the the best choice you had. You have not shamed yourself and you have not dishonored anyone. You did the pragmatic thing, you did what you had to do.”

“What will Kovass think?” she asked.

“He will think that his family is safe and that they survived monster attacks, harsh weather, and the winter as best as they could.”

Endaha looked back at the small square of light coming in from the window. The horn sheets that covered the opening cast her face into contrasting amber hues.

“Why do you keep helping us?” she asked.

“I could not abandon you all,” San replied.

“Why?” she asked, her eyes locking onto his. There was a deep searching need to know. San knew what she was asking for, the question she wanted answered.

“For the children,” San said. “They are innocent and they are in danger. I did all of it for the children.”

Relief, pain, and sorrow flooded across Endaha’s face as she continued looking at him. “The children,” she repeated.

San took a breath, holding himself steady. “For the children. I had a family once,” he said, “I cannot stand by while children are in danger. I will do whatever I can to ensure that they are healthy and safe, this I swear upon all the gods of your land.”

Endaha stared at him. Tears were running down her face as she turned away from him. It was a wordless dismissal. San choked down the words that wanted to come out and then left the room.

Azios stood in the common room, Kovass in his arms and Cassa play on the floor with toy blocks.

“Is she okay?” Azios asked.

“She’ll be fine,” San said. He leaned forward and ran a finger across Kovass’ face. The newborn stared up at him with eyes that were wide, his head lolling back as his mouth opened and closed.

“The walls are thin,” Azios said softly.

“Don’t think ill of her,” San said. “There was no betrayal.”

“I know,” Azios said. “Even I thought that Brother might have died.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “The komai was everything to him, he did all he did to ensure that it continued and prospered.”

San was silent. He set a hand on Azios’ shoulder. He didn’t say anything, but Azios seemed to take strength from the contact, his back straightening and eyes clearing up.

“Thank you for what you’ve done for us,” he said.

“I would never abandon any of you,” San said. “The world is dangerous and is only becoming so.” He paused, remembering his encounter with Panchavi. “Keep the door locked and the crossbows loaded. Panchavi knows we’re here.”

A shocked looked filled Azios’ face. He too had forgotten about the man.

“Are we safe?”

“When Pavano returns, tell him we need to move. We need to keep watch and make sure that he doesn’t try to attack anyone of us when we’re alone.”

Azios nodded.

“I have to go,” San said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Keep them safe, Azios.”

The young man nodded, his eyes flickering toward the crossbow against the wall. San reached down and gave Cassa a hug before leaving.

The door closed behind him and he heard the lock engage. He stood in the darkness of the short hallway for a moment, taking a breath. He double checked his satchel and weapons, then headed down the rickety stairs.

***

The closet that San had even been to witnessing surgery had been the birth of his children. The delivery room had been swamped with doctors, nurses, and the beeping of machines.

The Baron’s suite was filled with people too, but from what San saw, they were the higher nobility or people of worth in the barony. Many were dressed in rich clothing or in military garb like Havatair. They stood at one end of the suite, noses covered with scented cloth and drinking wine and socializing as Densa and the other healers were preparing for the surgery.

San had to wince at the amount of people and the lack of proper sanitization of the room.  There were five other healers with Densa, San only recognized Zomia who looked surprised to see him.

“I had heard you returned,” she said, nodding at him. “What brings you here?”

“I’ve brought some medicine from my homeland that may help in the Baron’s recovery. I also have a Power that may help in reducing the chances of infection.”

The healer raised an eyebrow and looked to Densa who was approaching them.

“Sanj-San, good to see you return,” she said. “What does your Power do again?”

“Sanitize,” San replied. “It reduces the germs on surfaces, tools, and implements to safe levels, not true sterilization, but better than nothing.”

Densa gave him another quizzical look. “What are germs?”

San offered up a brief explanation, trying to keep the explanation in layman terms. The two healers only looked at one another and shrugged.

“Shouldn’t hurt,” Zomia said. “Odd beliefs, these foreigners.”

“Tiny unseen bugs,” Densa chuckled and she headed back to the Baron’s bed.

The nobles and military officials watched them as they spoke, Esomir was in the midst of the men and women, a glass of wine in hand. San hadn’t seen the Young Baron, the boy that had been dismissive of him and the others when they first arrived.

Two soldiers stood beside the bed, their backs straight and their eyes locked on the wall across from them. One’s nose twitched and the other looked pale. San peered down at the Baron, the bandages were being slowly removed by another healer San hadn’t been introduced to. He was carefully pulling the cloth and wrappings from the leg, the smell of rot and decay growing stronger as he did so.

San believed he had a strong stomach. He had saved the Tribal man when his friends had abandoned him, stitching up his wounds and binding them to keep him alive. He had done the same after the Nox had attacked the caravan, trying to stop bleeding, stitch wounds, and save the injured after the battle. He had seen his fair share of blood and he had not been rattled by it.

The Baron’s leg nearly caused him to stagger back in shock and horror. He had seen blood and ruined flesh, but the sight before him was something entirely different. Even Densa gave a shocked gasp.

Necrosis had settled into the limb, a black bloated leg was unveiled, dripping with puss and black blood. San shuddered at the sight, it was one thing to see upon the Flesh Horror, but to see the same kind of flesh on a living person was disturbing.

“This is horrible,” Densa whispered, her hands hovering over the wound. The Baron groaned. “We’ll need to sever the leg here,” Densa gestured to a site above the knee. “Garatov managed to keep the infection from spreading too much, but we can’t save the leg.”

Another healer, a younger man, began laying out tools and implements on a wooden table within reach of Densa’s hands. Another healer set their hands against the Baron’s temples, her face expressionless.

San walked over to the tools and hovered his hands above them. “Sanitize,” he spoke. The air hummed and he could feel the mana flowing out of him. Nothing occurred to the tools, but he could feel that the Power had done it’s job. San Sanitized everything within reach, including Densa and Zomia’s clothing. The two seemed to be the doctors doing the operation, while the other healers were assistants.

Enchanted implements were brought out. One was a lamp, providing a bright white light to illuminate the operation. Another was a scalpel, or a narrow dagger. San could feel the mana coming off the tools, one to create light the other to cut through flesh easily. From a locked steel chest several vials of brightly colored liquids were set upon the table besides the tools. A guard stood near the vials, a hand on his sword.

“What are they?” San asked, gesturing to the vials.

“Potions,” Densa replied without looking. “There’s a Potion Maker in Suvanna, another reason they’re considered wealthy. There are even more powerful Potion Makers in the Empire, with potions that could heal a person just as well as a Level gain.”

“But very expensive?”

“Very,” the healer agreed.

San Sanitized the items and stood out of the way.

“We’re ready,” Densa said, picking up the enchanted blade.

“A Healing Slumber,” the healer at the Baron’s temples said. The soft groaning of pain coming from the Baron stopped and he stilled, breathing slow and deeply.

San winced as the blade bit into the Baron’s flesh, slicing through as if there was nothing resisting it. He stood his ground as the gathered nobility stopped their chatter and watched with little reaction. They were all soldiers, they all knew war, and they all knew the consequences that came from it. San noted a few men with folded sleeves or patches covering missing eyes and scars.

Densa was fast and efficient, the movements of the blade sheared away the dead flesh, exposing bone. Antoher healer handed her a saw and she moved quickly to sever the bone. The leg was detached mid-thigh and another healer pulled it away from the bed. There was a mild gasp from the gathered people as they saw the blackened limb set on a tarp on the floor.

“Caravane,” Densa spoke. One of the soldiers jerked and then laid his hands on the Baron.

“Senta’s Blood,” he said. “Second Wind.”

The Baron shuddered slightly, but San didn’t see anything else occur. Densa nodded her thanks and began working on the leg again.

“San,” she said.

San moved over and used Sanitize on the leg. Over the course of using the Power, San had realized that although the Power was good at Sanitizing items, it wasn’t as good against living flesh. It would remove surface germs, but not those already infecting the flesh.

Densa nodded her thanks again and then Zomia handed her a roll of cloth. San looked at it in shock as Densa unspooled the bandages. She was using what looked like filthy rags to bind the wound.

“What-“

“The Blessed Bandages,” Zomia said, cutting him off. “It reduces the healing time by half and stops bleeding.”

San shut his mouth ,watching as Densa expertly wrapped up the leg.

“Haranna,” Densa spoke.

The second soldier laid his hands upon the Baron.

“Body Strengthen,” he spoke. “Endurance of the Bull.”

The mana flowed from the man and the Baron shuddered again.

Densa walked to a basin and began washing her hands. The detached limb was removed and servants began swarming the room, pulling bloodied rags, sheets, and materials from the room. Zomia applied some potions to the wound, small drops that seemed to be absorbed by the skin.

“Boosting potions,” she said. “It helps the body fight infection and recover faster.”

San nodded, peering at the potions. He thought once more on what else he could make from the Powers he had gained and the yellow gems. San Sanitized the bindings and the bed the Baron lay upon. He kept at it until he figured he’d done as much as he could.

The antibiotics he handed to Densa, giving her a rough explanation on how to use them and what they could do. She was impressed by them, but like San, she was also concerned at the limited amount he had.

“Well done,” Esomir announced, walking up to them with a glass of wine him hand. He looked down on his father and smirked. “Sleeping like a babe.” He quaffed down the drink and left the room. The other nobility followed him, with only Havatair standing in the back of the room. His face expressionless.

“Will he survive?” he asked.

“Only Senta knows,” Densa said. “The infection was deep and we’ll have to constantly clean the wound to make sure it does not spread. If we can keep him strong, he should be able to make it.”

“Tell me what you need. I shall gather it,” Havatair said.

“We have what we need,” Densa said. She sat down on a chair and looked weary. A servant poured a glass of wine for her and set in on the table beside her. The woman smiled and thanked the servant before taking a sip. Havatair walked up to the Baron, now slumping peacefully. “How does it compare to doctoring in your land?”

“It’s different,” San said.

Densa chuckled at that. “Somehow I feel you’re trying to be diplomatic.”

“I suppose in my land we try to prevent the germs I told you of from entering where surgery is done. Everything is about washing and sterilizing everything to prevent the spreading of germs.’

“Do your doctors truly fear something they cannot see?” Densa asked. “Or is it superstition?”

“It’s science,” San said and shrugged.

“Science,” Densa repeated the word and drank more wine. She leaned back in the chair and looked to the ceiling. “Is that your land’s god?.”

San wanted to tell her more, to explain they did not have magic in his land. That there were no Levels, no Powers, that Mages only existed in fiction. He held back his words and kept silent. Perhaps they would think he was some kind of void horror, breeching the different planes and invading this world.

“No, it’s just a way of doing things,” San said. “One creates a hypothesis, vigorously tests that hypothesis, and then changes the hypothesis based on the test results.”

“How interesting,” Densa said.

“Honestly, I don’t know much about it. My occupation was not as scientific and required different skills.”

Densa drained her glass and rose to her feet. Zomia was cleaning the tools and the servants had left. Havatair still stood watching the Baron, like some kind of massive muscled statue. The other healers had left, expect for the woman who had put the Baron to sleep. She sat by his bedside, and hand a hand on his skin, her eyes closed.

“I shall return to the temple to gather more supplies,” Densa said. “The sun sets and I shall need a chaperon, San.”

San nodded, noting that more candles and oil lamps had been lit.

“I’d be my pleasure, Lady Densa,” San replied. She smiled and they left the room.

***

The keep was filling with men and women dressed in rich clothing and already glassy eyed from too much wine. San paused as an older woman in heavy robes was carried down the corridor on a chair, with four men holding it up.

“What’s going on?” San asked.

Densa paused, cocking her head as if listening to something. “The Cults are arriving,” she said and sighed. “I think it’s going to be a long night.”

San thought back on the woman he had met on the streets. The Corvanus priestess.

“How long until Midwinter?”

“Two nights away,” Densa said. She yawned. “The Senta representative will be arriving soon, we must make it to the temple before she arrives. They are always moody after a long trek and feel that just because they are from the Empire they are better than us.”

San nodded and they moved down the corridors, dodging well dressed people heading into the keep.

“With the Baron injured and the representatives arriving, it will be a long few days,” Densa said. “I would like to rely on your help, If you’re willing, San.”

“Of course,” San said without hesitation. He grimaced. “I have my companions I need to talk to first and some issues that need settling.”

“Yes, your brewery,” the healer said. “I understand. I’m sorry for taking up your time.”

“No, it’s no problem, Lady Densa. I just need to settle some stuff and I’ll gladly help you with what you need.”

Densa smiled at him. “Thank you, San.”

They walked in companionable silence as they left the Keep and it’s protective walls. The people in the streets didn’t lessen, instead it seemed to grow more so. San heard a booming voice, rising above a crowd that was gathering at an intersection.

Lamps and torches were being lit as they paused at the outskirts of the crowd. San’s height provided him a clear view of the the crowd’s focus. A large man, bigger than Havatair, stood on a platform. He wore a red robe that glimmered in the light of the lamps and torches, his hair was shock white and his face was painted in white with black encircling his eyes to make them appear huge.

“She’s fighting for you all!” the man shouted. “A million times a day she dies and is reborn, blade in hand, to fight the horrors that fill the void!”

“Hesna cult,” Densa replied, annoyance on her face.

“Aren’t they the ones who brought along the civil war?” San asked.

“Yes, they are protected by the Last Emperor’s Son. They have been given great power.”

“And the Barony lets them spread their beliefs?”

Densa looked confused. “Why wouldn’t they? All the gods are allowed their own priests and followers, even Hetvanna whom everyone believes is evil.”

“It is our duty to worship her, to work to free her from the void! All that we have, all that we are is because of her. This world exists because she keeps the horrors at bay!” the man had a fevered look in his eye, reminding San of Revivalist preachers. He just needed to be thumping a bible and speaking in tongues.

A group of equally red dressed men and women rose onto the platform the man occupied. They carried a large iron brazier between then, within it burned a flame, nearly as black as the the oncoming night.

San felt sick as he looked at the flame, he felt a great weariness begin to settle over him. A ghost of a smile, the haunting echo of a laugh filled the air.

“What’s wrong?” Densa asked, she looked at him and she had tears in her eyes. “Why am I crying.”

San wiped away his own tears. Why was he crying? San shuddered as grief began to flood through him, shaking and rattling his bones. He saw Mary and Julia and Sanjay. They were dead. Gone forever. He would never see them again.

It was a physical pain that burned through him, the months and months of grief suddenly coming all at once. He bore down, gritting his teeth and felt blood as he bit his lip. The pain cleared his mind suddenly and San gasped as the intense emotion flooded away.

He gulped down fresh air and looked back to see that the red garbed man and his assistants were gone now. Around him stood the dazed and weeping men and women who had come to see what the cult had to saw. San felt hollow, like something had been gouged out of him. He patted his robes and shivered.

The sun had set and the night was deep. San looked around, noting that there were more people gathered, not participating, but watching in fear and shock. San moved and hissed with pain as his limbs ached and throbbed. Densa let out a gasp and nearly collapsed, San moving fast and catching her before she fell.

She looked up at him, eyes still glassy with tears.

“They’re all dead,” she whispered.

San didn’t know what she had seen, but he could feel the grief emanating off of the woman. He helped her to her feet and heard the wail of pain and grief as the others who had witnessed the flame came to once more.

He stood there with Densa, shuddering as the abject wailing that filled the air.