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Aberhaf’s farmland came into view from the road, the signage notifying the group that they were still about a mile off of the town. Hedgerows and low timber fences flanked their sides, providing the sounds of small birds and mammals going about their evening routines to the group’s monotonous trudge.
“Is that the town?” asked Kolt.
“Yep, Aberhaf. They’re currently in a bit of a lockdown because of the risk of tainted arcanum. So, stay behind us, and we’ll get you in,” said Angharad.
Ifan was still unconscious, held aloft by a tired Kolt and agonised Ryker. Fendrick too, had yet to rouse, being carried by a brooding Dai. Rhian and Angharad walked alongside one another, both near fully recovered from their near-death experiences. The trip had been mostly silent, following Dai and Rhian’s outbursts, and thankfully uninterrupted by the pursuing figure, much to their surprise. They’d taken a detour through a disused side-route that Angharad had noted on the map before leaving on the mission, and it seemed to have worked.
The sun was dipping below the horizon as they came up the last hill on the main road to Aberhaf, a final struggle for the weary elves. The road winded down, with farms and miniature hamlets dotted around the countryside, their torches lit and ready for the coming nightfall. The wooden walls of Aberhaf had come into view as well, surrounding the core of the eastern coastal town. Their earlier battle site was now visible; a secondary dock a couple hundred metres from the town itself, the anchored ships bobbing gently in the rolling waves of high tide. Angharad felt a pang in her chest as its sight brought the memory of her stalwart ally to the forefront of her mind. She turned to Rhian and saw that she had succumbed in much the same way. Her eyes were glazed over and red, her freckled cheeks adorned with a few tears.
Another few minutes of walking and the group had reached the inner gates. Angharad took the fore.
“Dewi? It’s Angharad, Rhian, and Prince Ifan, back from our quest. The others with us are adventurers we picked up on the way, they’ve two wounded men with them, alongside the prince himself.”
The gate pulled open, revealing the innards of the town. Angharad could hear the sounds of boots hitting the soft dirt from above, as two trolls emerged from the right of the opened gate.
“Dewi has been relieved, but we’ve been made aware of your group, Lady Angharad.” A troll of relatively tall stature welcomed them in, nodding at each of them and bowing deeply at the sight of the unconscious prince. “Is there ought we can do for the prince? The infirmary is full with the sick and malnourished, but he and the others can be tended to within the town hall. I’ll fetch a doctor.”
“Thank you. We appreciate your assistance.” Angharad spoke clearly and authoritatively, indicative of her previous position in the Trefynnon guard.
“We were told your group had four people, are we to expect a straggler?” asked the guard.
“Unfortunately, he didn’t make it. But we were being followed by his killer. Keep the gates closed, and be on the lookout for a naked man, standing about six foot five. If you can, double the guards on the wall. He’s unnaturally strong and can make the use of some unknown magics.”
“Aye aye, ma’am.” The other guard nodded to Angharad, her tone inflicting a sense of purpose only a superior could instil in a guardsman.
The two guards made their way to their respective responsibilities, and the group continued onwards to the town hall. The dusk had settled in, and the poorly lit streets were a struggle for Angharad and Rhian to navigate. After a few wrong turns, they eventually found their way to the hall, at the same time as the guard and another troll, dressed in a grey robe with a neck adorned with beaded necklaces.
“Sorry for leaving you to find your own way, thankfully you made it here. This is the town’s head shaman and soothsayer, Val’ag Char.” The guard bowed to the robed figure, before stepping towards the large wooden doors of the town hall.
“Is this the prince?” Val’ag approached Dai, peering at Fendrick’s unconscious head.
“No, that’s another adventurer, Fendrick. Those two are carrying the prince.” Angharad gestured over to Kolt and Ryker, still carrying the comatose prince. Ryker was holding his own hand, and waved it to the shaman, a crooked smile breaking across his pale face.
“Gods, your hand!” The doctor grabbed at Ryker’s forearm, pulling his jacket up his arm and away from the wound. “Well bandaged, the blood loss has been kept to a minimum. Let me see that,” Val’ag pointed to his severed hand.
Ryker passed it to him, its stump well covered by a now bloodied bandage. “Will we have any luck, doc?”
“Hmm, it’s well bandaged too. Come, I’ll see to you indoors.”
“And the prince?” asked Rhian.
“Yes, yes. Him and the other human seem fine. Just unconscious. Bed rest and some water and food will see them both to good health.”
Val’ag pushed past the guard, the heavy door at his back. The others followed closely behind, Rhian, Kolt and Dai nodding to the guard as they passed. Val’ag vanished down a corridor to the right, and Angharad sped forward to keep up. The others hobbled behind, and as Dai struggled to fit a horizontal Fendrick through the narrowing hallways, Rhian stepped forward to help.
“I can take his left side, or grab his legs?”
“Hmph. Take his left side.” Dai knelt down and placed Fendrick’s feet on the floor. Rhian slipped under his shoulder and picked up the weight as Dai stood back up.
“Sorry for not helping earlier. You looked capable, and to be honest I was feeling a little frustrated from our little ‘heated exchange’.” Rhian flashed a smile at Dai, her lips curling to form faint dimples in her cheeks.
Dai remained silent as the two shimmied through the corridors, barely keeping up with the others.
Catching a glimpse of Kolt and Ryker disappearing into a door up ahead on the left, Rhian let out a sigh of relief. As the two approached the open doorway and saw a small nursing station with a few army cots, Angharad waved them to the left-hand side of the room.
“Thanks.” Dai offered his gratitude to the space between both Angharad and Rhian, making both of them unsure of who it was for. The pair helped Fendrick onto the cot, and Dai pulled up a nearby chair and sat over his captain.
“Ifan is over there,” Angharad gestured to the cot across the other side of the room.
Rhian nodded and made her way to his side. Pulling up her own chair, she grasped at his hands and tucked her fingers into his palm. She sat in silence, watching the rise and fall of his chest.
“Can you reattach my hand, doc?” asked Ryker to Val’ag, sat on another cot in the centre of the room.
“With a vial of arcanum, it should be doable, yes. The cut was clean, and the nerves were severed cleanly also. The cost will be two hundred marks.” Val’ag pushed the small spectacles up his nose, scrunching his forehead and cheeks to lock them into place in front of his eyes.
“Two hundred marks? I, uhh, I don’t have any money.” Ryker looked dumbfounded, and stared around the room, hoping to grab the attention of one of the two humans. Angharad answered his prayers.
“Put it on our tab, Doctor. Guild Terananth.”
“Very well. Not the royal purse?”
“I’m afraid not, the prince’s care will be paid for by the guild too. Along with his.” Angharad pointed to Fendrick.
“As you wish. I’ll have a bill written up tomorrow.” Val’ag grabbed at Ryker’s forearm once more, and with his other hand rifled through his robes. The glint of a small glass vial caught Ryker’s eye as it emerged from Val’ag’s person, engulfed in his large blue hands. Popping off the lid with his thumb nail, the troll placed the vial to his lips and swallowed down the liquid. The sensation of magic suffusing his body sent a jolt of electricity through his muscles, and his hand tensed around Ryker’s forearm. Ryker winced, and the wound seeped lightly into its bandage. “Sorry about that, young man. Now then, I’ll have to remove the bandages so this might hurt a bit to start off.”
Ryker nodded. Val’ag pulled the bandages off the elf’s wrist, quickly undoing the series of knots holding the tight bonds around his wound. Doing the same with his severed hand, Val’ag pushed the wound into Ryker’s wrist. Ryker tensed in agony as the wound slowly reopened and blood began dripping onto the shaman’s robes.
In an unknown tongue, Val’ag began to chant a prayer to the troll gods. With a wave of his other hand, white light danced at his fingertips and threads fell onto the wound. The threads of light pierced both sides of wound; wrist, and hand, and began tying the two together. Ephemera danced around the shaman as he continued his magical incantation, and the threads finished their journey around Ryker’s forearm. Collapsing his hand into a fist, the threads visibly tightened, and Ryker shouted out in pain as the two bloody stumps were forced together. Val’ag brought the wound to his lips, the white threads shining in the low, candle lit nursing station. With a kiss, the threads vanished, and Ryker felt his fingers regain feeling.
“All done.” Val’ag placed the hand away and slapped it hard.
“Seven hells!” Ryker recoiled his arm back to his side.
“Sense of feeling seems to be fully restored,” Val’ag grabbed Ryker’s head and with a squinting eye inspected the elf’s pupils. “No adverse effects of the spell.”
Ryker stared at the troll’s milky white eyes, the unnatural colouring a result of their people’s fishing heritage. A layer of protective mucus covered most all trolls’ eyes, allowing them to see in the murky depths of the sea. After a few more seconds, Ryker began to pull away, and his neck snapped back as Val’ag released his grip.
“Thanks, doctor.” Kolt raised to shake Val’ag’s hand, who returned the gesture.
“Glad I could be of service. Now, to take a look at the other two sleeping beauties.” Val’ag stood, towering over the standing Kolt and Angharad, and dwarfing the sitting members of the group.
