The Impatient Patient

[McIan]

“Where did he go?” the healer asked the attendant. Standing among beds filled with seriously injured combatants of the recent battle of Trinsic, was one that had no patient when there should have been. The healer-physician, dressed in a blood-spattered full apron, hefting a leather bag of medical supplies, stood beside it in utter confusion. “Where in the nine hells is my patient?!!” he fairly roared, looking around anxiously. “I have not yet released him!”

Appearing completely baffled, shocked, and now fearful, the attendant shrugged his shoulders. “I… I don’t know sir,” he muttered. “He was here just a while ago, sleeping soundly. I had changed his head bandage and gave him something to help him rest, dull the pain,” he offered.

“When was the last time you saw him?” the doctor queried.

“Uh… about… twenty minutes ago.”

“Ask around. See if the other attendants or healers have seen him. Maybe one of them took him to relieve nature or something!”

“Yes sir!” the attendant replied, nearly saluting his superior.

“This isn’t good,” the experienced healer muttered as he sat down on the bed.

Moments later the attendant returned shaking his head. “No one has seen him in a while. He just disappeared!”

“Well what was his name? I guess we have to go looking for him and tell his kin if we cannot find him!”

“He went by the name Scar. He would not say more than that.”

“Scar?! What kind of stupid name is that?!”

“Maybe he is scarred… badly… or something?” the attendant volunteered, grinning meekly.

“Never mind that! Take a few others with you and make a quick search. If you can’t find him, report him as missing to the Constable or somebody. I will get word to his kin.”

“Right away sir!”

Hours later and after questioning numerous possible witnesses to the patient’s disappearance, the healer sat down to pen a letter to the man’s next of kin, Deminatza, his wife. It was short and to the point: Scar had been sleeping and was doing well, but was either led away or walked out himself, which was unlikely. They are reporting it as a kidnapping to the Trinsic officials. He signed it and sent it via courier according to the directions he received when the patient was admitted to the infirmary. This was not the first time this had occurred and it would be another bad mark on his record and sully the reputation of the hospital.

Heads will roll for this!

 

[McIan]

Tables Turned
​

Damian paced the rooftop of his palace, the spot where he liked to sit and formulate plans. It offered a scenic view of the green crystalline fields far below, offset by a blue-gray mountain range that rose up and bordered the lands to the north. Normally he sat on a plush throne that comfortably assisted his musings, allowing the cool breeze to refresh his spirit and guide his thoughts.

That was not the case today. Jexmir, his devoted nemesis, had not been seen for weeks. His most trusted and effective scouts and trackers could not locate him. This was most disturbing. It was not part of his plan to lose sight of his foe. He had wanted to have him implicated by the officials in Yew for conspiracy, that he might be jailed and perhaps even tortured to death, slowly, by them.

One of his guards appeared and awaited approval before approaching him. Damian waved him forward. The guard handed him a sealed envelope. “This came for you, my lord. I have detained the courier in event you wished to question her.”

“Her?” Damian asked, as he finally sat down and opened it.

“Yes m’lord, a female. Nondescript, haggard, she looks like some waif from the slums of Britain. I admitted her and gave her leave to eat.”

Damian nodded. “Kind of you,” he added. “Make sure she is comfortable but do not allow her to leave… just yet.”

The guard bowed and exited. Damian read the letter slowly:

“My dear friend,

No doubt you are looking for me. I have evaded all the pathetic attempts to track me by your inept and clumsy minions. It was such good fun to watch them scramble around fruitlessly searching, even as I stood not far away, observing them.

But enough humor. I am fully aware of the designs you had on me. I say, “had” because they are no longer meaningful. You have failed and failed miserably to outwit, contain, control, or kill me. I am more than your match, you old fool.

Here is the point of this: I have your son, Scar, in my keeping. I abducted him from the hospital in Trinsic. It was so very easy. He was in such a stupor, he dreamt it was you coming for him. We all look alike to those brainless humans, don’t we? Oh fear not, he is well and still recovering. I am making sure he still thinks it is you, and not I, who came to his assistance. He is in my power now. There is no, are no, god nor gods who can save him. His fate is in your hands.

First, I will let this settle upon that thick pate of yours for a time. I will allow you to send out all your forces, use all your skills, to find us. As I watch that fail and thrill to it, I will eventually send word to you on how you can save him.

As for the courier, she is an innocent. I found her on some deserted Trinsic street and paid her well for giving you this message. If you harm her, it will only add to your crimes, you murdering swine. I, frankly, could care less.

Rest well, my dear friend, if you can.

Best Regards,

Jexmir”

Damian crumpled the note and threw it into a fire blazing nearby.

 

[McIan]

Of Visions and Dreams​

He loved everything about her: the gracefulness of her moves no matter the pose or purpose of them; the flowing silky blue hair when the wind caught it; her delicate features, her smooth skin, her kindly face; her hands, soft, supple, always tender and helpful; the total acceptance of her femininity, kept within the bounds of decency owing to a conscientious modesty for which she would not apologize.

Her most winsome feature was the composed innocence he saw when she did not know he watched her, going about her business, her daily routines, especially early morning.

What would I do without you? I lost you once. That shall never happen again.

Scar suddenly opened his eyes and the vision of her charm and beauty instantly vanished. He was in a bed, fastened to it by strong leather straps. The room was small, the walls made of stone, simple and rustic. A fire burned nearby, contained within a ring of stones set to confine and limit its progress. His eyes darted to a chair where sat a robed, hooded, figure, his face hidden beneath the cowl. "Who are you? Where am I?" he inquired, feeling his temper rise.

"Calm yourself my son," came the reply. "You have suffered a grievous injury and I was forced to limit your movement. You see, besides your head injury, which is still healing, you fell trying to walk and broke your leg and some ribs. They must be allowed to heal."

Scar's eyes widened. "Father? Is it you?"

The hooded figure nodded. "Yes. Allow me to explain. First, the so called "healers" in that derelict city were negligent to have allowed you to fall and injure yourself further. I had eyes on you. When I saw their absolute incompetence, I paid them for their efforts and brought you here. I knew you would not wish to go to my palace, and I knew that my presence is an offense to all those at your home. I will be contacting your wife and she will be allowed to come and see you, but, not like this... not for a short while. I brought you to this quaint spot and am ministering to you personally. I do have some worthwhile healing skills, you know."

Scar eased his head back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. "I cannot remember anything except the battle, and a visit. They gave me something for pain and I have not been myself," he explained.

"They are dolts, unworthy of their lofty title. You may have died there for all they care. No, I will see to your wounds. When I am finished, you shall be as good as new."

"I want to see Demi. Bring her here. She must be frantic."

"Fear not. I have told her. I did have to restrain her impulses as I am doing yours. She is safe and is making you something special. You shall see her soon enough. Rest now, sleep. You seemed to be enjoying the dreams. Forget plans. Dream my son. Dream."

Scar closed his eyes and the images of her beauty soon brought him peace and with it, slumber.

 

[McIan]

Explanations​

Days and nights seemed to melt into the other and for some reason Scar did not feel he was gaining any real strength. Once in a while he was awakened by his father who held his head up slightly to give him medicine – some hideous concoction that seemed to push him back into pleasant, dream-filled, sleep. That he was being well cared for and attended hygienically was obvious by the fact that his clothes were changed daily and his bodily functions in no way announced themselves either in the condition of his bedding nor in his nostrils – all was clean and fresh in an amazing sort of way. He determined to stay awake long enough, the next time, to talk to his father.

When he felt the gentle touch of his father’s hands as they curled behind his head, he opened his eyes and stared into the face of his keeper – one who was not, actually, his father. He tried to move but, again, his actions were limited by the wide, thick, leather straps which bound around his torso and kept his arms and legs thoroughly immobilized.

“Who are you?!!” he croaked, still squirming to get free.

Jexmir smiled. “A friend of your father’s. He had business to attend and left me to care for you. I am a healer, quite renown among my people. My name is Jexmir. I am your humble servant,” he calmly replied.

Scar ceased his struggles for a moment. “That name… it is familiar to me.”

“Of course it is. You may recall that I aided your friends of that group… what was its name?”

“The Emerald Fist,” Scar replied.

“Yes, yes! I located a criminal for them and turned him over to them. Sadly, as I heard later, the little pig escaped from your oversight at Papua. He is still out there, somewhere, spreading mischief and mayhem, no doubt.”

Scar scowled. “Don’t remind me!” Recovering from that distraction, he added, “Why do you still have me bound this way? And who else is looking after me? Anyone? Where is my wife, Deminatza? Have you not told her of me?”

Jexmir removed his hand from behind Scar’s head and stepped back, sitting on a stool positioned beside his bed. “She has been here to help you, daily. She is the one who looks after your person, not I. You have seen her and spoke to her – don’t you remember?”

“No, I don’t,” he replied, trying to recall any vestige of her visits. “Why am I kept here? Why did she not take me home?”

“We cannot move you as yet. You are in stasis as we try to ensure the bones you broke in your fall set properly. Healing spells and bandages can restore health, but bones require a bit more time. If we move you at all, we risk causing fractures to the repairs we have made. Please be patient. Your wife asked the same things. She desperately wanted to take you home and look after you herself – but she understood the danger and left you in my, our, care, for the time being.”

“I don’t remember a fall. I don’t remember anything except lying in a bed in Trinsic! This doesn’t seem right to me.”

Jexmir smiled and shook his head. “You were in the hands of rank amateurs… idiots by comparison to my skills. Your father knew my ability and sought me out. I am a dear friend of his friend, Dharzhal, whom you know, do you not?”

Scar calmed a little at the mention of his name. “Yes, I know him. He is drow but acts like a decent human. He has a code and honor.”

The drow nodded. “That he does, though I disagree about the human part. I find few, if any, truly what I call, “decent.” They prattle and parade as paragons of piety, but anyone can see it is a parody, a pretense.”

Scar frowned. “I resent that! I’m human and I have some virtue, thank you!”

“Take no offense. I apologize. You need your medicine. More rest is required. May I?”

Scar nodded, and lifted his head. “The stuff tastes vile. Can you not flavor it with something appealing?”

Jexmir stood and opened a vial of some brownish-yellow liquid. “I did,” he replied, smiling, pouring it slowly into his patient’s open mouth.

 

[McIan]

Final Terms​

The sentinel allowed the courier to pass after checking her for hidden weapons. She tried hard to remain composed, but her face could not conceal her true feelings: fear, uncertainty, and a diminishing aspect of hopeful resignation. A second sentinel led her to the one for whom she had come to deliver a letter, the master of the house, Damian. He sat upon a plush couch within a compact, but lavishly furnished lounge, sipping a goblet of his favorite wine.

“My lord… a courier. She has no weapons,” the sentinel reported and then departed after his master’s accepting nod.

“Sit down, if you wish? Would you like some wine?” Damian courteously offered.

She shook her head. “I have a letter for you, sire… at least I was told it is for you,” she extended a trembling hand to give the missive to him, which he, nodding, accepted. “May I go now, please?”

Damian raised his head to look at her. He perceived her to be of Malas, young, vibrant and very much alive, though modestly dressed. “What is your name, and from whence do you hail, my dear?” he inquired in an interested, friendly, tone.

“Please, sir, allow me to depart. I have been well paid for this and I have fulfilled my task.”

“You do not wish some food, some wine?”

Again the head shake. “No, sire. I wish to leave is all.”

Damian nodded. “You may go then. Thank you for the visit.”

She turned and exited the door.

Damian opened the letter and began reading:

“My dear friend,

I think I have permitted you to stew long enough, if you have such a thing as love for your kin dwelling within that black, withered, heart of yours. Your son is doing well. He has fully healed. I am prepared to release him. However, for me to do that, and to leave him be, and his lovely wife, and his friends, you must do something for me.

I am sure you would not trade your life for him, and I am just as certain I would face insurmountable odds in trying to capture you for myself. I have reasoned this out and, frankly, I tire of this game and of this dreary world in which you live. Oh, I may visit from time to time, but I long to go home. Before I do, however, you must pay me. I know you have mountains of gold and jewels. I could use some of it. I lost most of my valued possessions when you permitted my house to be invaded by drow raiders. So you shall give me what I desire. I want you to make this parlance with our mutual friend, Dharzhal. Give him five hundred million in gold, jewels, or jewelry. When I am sure he has it, I will leave you and yours in peace, having exacted enough revenge for what you did to me. I shall live like a king in Targrancimon and happily forget you all.

However, if you refuse, or try to trick me in any way, I assure that you and yours will suffer in ways indescribable and relentlessly. I shall make my entire life being your adversary, and drawing others into the mix. I have no other priorities. If I cannot enjoy life with riches, I shall enjoy life making you miserable. And one day, I will kill you.

Speak with Dharzhal about this matter. He knows nothing yet. I will give you some time to consider, say, three days? If I do not hear from him in a week, I will know you have refused me.

Your son will go free as a good will gesture. Do not, do not, give me cause to regret my decision.

All in truth,

Jexmir”

This time Damian did not destroy the letter. He took another sip of wine.

Five hundred million! I have it, but to hand it over to that dog is impossible!

He considered the alternative. Jexmir held the initiative. He knew everything he needed to know to fulfill his threat. The thought of his son suffering and dying, and of the lady in blue whom he secretly loved, was too much. With a sigh he arose and proceeded to collect the payment price.

 

[McIan]

The Payoff
​

Jexmir found his way back to Targrancimon, the drow city of his birth, safely. He was certain he was not followed, but to be absolutely sure, he chose a different way into the city. He also had hired counterfeits, drow who posed as him, to appear in places he frequented to serve as decoys. He went to the mage school to meet his old friend, and mentor, Dharzhal, the Black Prince, now headmaster of the school and more.

Dharzhal met him in one of the vast library/museums, a public place, yet in a section reserved for private conferences and meetings. After exchanging pleasantries, both seated themselves. Dharzhal began. “I received a letter directing me to the surface to deposit into my bank vault in Umbra a most valuable cache of jewels. There was a note given me whilst there. In fact, there were two notes. Mine was from Damian, the Elder which I read. He directed me to deposit the gems into my vault and give them to you. He also asked me to give you the other note,” he explained, offering the letter.

Jexmir took it and, despite the dim lighting, was able to read it easily.

“My dear friend,

I have complied with your wishes. I gave to Dharzhal enough jewels to pay you off and then some. I figure it is twice what you asked for, which, for me, is still a pittance. Having done this, I expect to neither see you nor hear from you ever again. If you break this deal, if you even come anywhere near me or those I care about, I will, by all the gods, find you and flay you alive, savoring every snail-pace moment of it. View this as no threat; it is a vow, a promise. I have enough resources and power to burn down your entire city if I desire, with you in it. Scoff at this if you wish – being the smug little cockroach you are – but it will happen. Enjoy your miserable life in your miserable city. I am sure, one day, you will cross the wrong drow and your filthy corpse will be maggots’ main course.

Unenviably yours,

Damian”

Jexmir smiled and folded the letter. “Quite the temper, has he not?”

Dharzhal scowled. “Do not underestimate him, my young friend. He makes no idle threat. You are fortunate he went along with this. I will make sure the gems are worth the price he says, and have no magic properties that might harm you or us. I suspect he would not risk that, but I have learned to be most careful in dealing with our kind, and his kind.”

“Ah, I am done with him… but I am not done with the realm above. I find it fascinatingly dangerous, and exciting. I shall leave him and his alone, per our deal, but I intend to create a business up there and lend what skills I have to the highest bidder.”

“Stay here and help me train these younger ones. There are many and they need someone like you who can direct them. Besides, your penchant for foreseeing danger can be of great use to me, to everyone here,” Dharzhal reasoned.

“I may, but later. I want to see how far I can go with my venture. I find the human and elf world interesting – I would learn things from them, and bring that word back here to us. Besides, now that I have all the resources I will ever need, I need to spend it on things other than wine and women. There is a world above to explore! There is mayhem to spread! Come back with me, Dhar! Together it all can be ours to plunder!”

Dharzhal smiled but shook his head. “I have my life here and it suits me well. Be careful my young friend. Keep your wits about you. When you have had your fill of that youthful nonsense, come back and find real purpose for living.”

They parted in friendship. Dharzhal went home to his study and began writing a letter to Damian confirming the success of the transaction and his protege's acceptance.

 

[McIan]

Home Free​

Scar awoke to something new – he was no longer strapped to the bed. He arose quickly, turning to sit up, his feet on the floor, but almost too quickly, as his head spun for a moment. He lowered it to ensure he did not pass out.

“It is time my friend – time to send you home. You are well enough to travel and I will take you there once you gain your bearings,” Jexmir calmly explained.

“Where are my things… my armor and weapons… the ones I was using in Trinsic?”

“Friends of yours collected them and brought them to your home. Save for a few dents and nicks, they all survived the battle. I kept several robes here for you, having them cleaned each day.”

Nodding, Scar stood up, swaying a bit. He wore a light blue robe but nothing else, not even shoes or sandals. “This thing doesn’t open in the back, does it? The last thing I want anyone to see is my bruised butt,” he commented.

Jexmir grinned. “It is one piece. You have only one thing wrong with your posterior, but it is a small thing.”

“What?”

“It has a rather long crack in it.”

Scar shook his head. “Oldest joke in the world and I fell for it,” he smiled. “I am ready to go then,” he added.

Jexmir began casting a gate spell. As it opened, he led his charge through it.

Moments later they arrived at the entrance to Sanctuary, the haven for paladins and those of noble heart.

“I cannot enter here. I gave my word to your wife. I am sure if you ring the large bell, someone will come and tend to you.”

Looking at the drow mage, Scar nodded. “For what you have done for me, I thank you. I still don’t understand or believe why you did it, but here I am, whole again and healthy. I will not forget what you have done.”

“You owe me nothing. Your father has paid me well for my services. I suspect our paths shall never cross again, so I wish you and your wife well – may your lives be blessed and happy,” he remarked, sincerely.

Scar gave a respectful nod and walked to the monastery bell, ringing it three times. He saw the door open and therein stood his lady in blue, her face lit brightly, as was his, by the glow of true love.

~ Finis ~