Mister Harris Bloodwort, latest physician of The Bloody Dawn, was a skinny man in his sixties. He didn’t talk much while he was examining Hellrien, he settled for short questions. The woman in front of her was a trembling, sweating, stuttering mess, but Mr. Bloodwort showed little sympathy towards her distress, only professional curiosity.
”When was the last time you had an alcoholic drink?”
”F-four days ago.”
Bloodwort pushed aside some ashen brown hair and found more scars in Hellrien’s scalp.
”Seizures, stomach pain, muscle contractions?”
”A-all of the above.”
”Anything else?”
”T-the Night Walkers.”
”Say what again?”
”N-night Walkers. The c-curse of the Red Maiden. They c-come at night, trying to get inside the b-barracks. They w-whisper to me t-through the cracks in the walls. T-they wont let me sleep.”
”Hrrrm.”
The healer raised Hellrien’s eyelids and leaned forward to take a close look into her eyes, one eye at a time. Then he raised a finger.
”Follow my finger with your eyes. Don’t move your head, only your eyes.” Bloodwort moved his finger slowly left and right, and Hellrien tried to fix her eyes on it.
”Hrrrm. Open your mouth and stick your tongue out.”
The healer seemed to recoil and turn his nose up at the sight of Hellrien’s tongue.
”Hrrrm. All right, miss Hellrien, stand up.”
Hellrien stood quietly as the healer listened to her lungs and poked her ribs. Once Bloodwort stroked the many thick scars on Hellrien’s upper body with his long, cold, spindly fingers.
”You seem to be quite unpopular”, he commented dryly.
Hellrien grumbled. She couldn’t stand the man’s touch. It was like a reptile’s touch, cold and clammy.
”Dress up”, Bloodwort said bluntly.
Hellrien obeyed. The healer sat on a worn leather chair and stared at her from beneath his bushy brow.
”W-well?” said Hellrien. ”C-can you help me?”
Bloodwort didn’t move a muscle. ”The symptoms will abate in two or three days. I know some healers would prescribe a small amount of alcohol to keep the symptoms manageable, but personally I find such an approach counterproductive. Cold turkey is the way to go, and it won’t kill you”, he said, and added after a short pause: ”Probably. I will prescribe you some herbs. Make tea of them – it will calm your nerves a little. Spend the next few days in a quiet environment with soft lighting and limited contact with people. Drink lots of fluids – no alcohol, mind! Eat healthy food. Lots of vegetables. You’re doing a fine job if you have managed to stop poisoning yourself for four days already. Keep it up. Where do you live?”
”I-in the b-barracks.”
”What? In the barracks with a bunch of rowdy, drunken cutthroats? No, no, no. That won’t do. Don’t you have a house of your own? Many mercenaries do.”
”N-no. I l-live in the b-barracks.”
”Hrrrm. Well, the barracks it must be then, if you can’t think of anything better. Because you’re not staying in my home! I value my privacy. And you shouldn’t drink so much.”
The healer pointed his fingers towards the scars, visible under Hellrien’s open shirt.
”Those mean nothing”, he said. ”Skin and flesh heals. But your internal organs are important.”
”T-there’s nothing w-wrong with my internal o-organs.”
The healer squinted his eyes. ”Really now? I take it you are also a pipe-weed smoker, am I correct?”
”Yes. B-but listen…”
”No, you listen, Hellrien! I have been instructed not to report my findings with you to your Captain Ebold, and so I will not report them, but nobody can prevent me from speaking up and fulfilling my duty as a practicing man of medicine!”
Hellrien gritted her teeth, but didn’t say anything.
”You think you have been cursed and that the curse is causing you to see ghosts, and maybe that’s one way to put it, but not the way you think. You have a thick layer of scum on your tongue, miss Hellrien – caused by immoderate consumption of alcohol and pipe-weed! You are at least forty pounds overweight in proportion to your height. Five foot ten, right? Ten and a half. And you weigh 16 stones. I’m not saying that weight and health are one and the same, but your obesity is caused by immoderate consumption of alcohol, unhealthy food, too little sleep and erratic lifestyle. You will be back on your feet in a few days I’m sure, but this will not be the last time we will meet under these circumstances here unless you adhere to my regimen.”
Hellrien tightened her belt. ”W-what regimen?”
”I recommend you to abstain from alcohol entirely. And quit your disgusting habit of pipe-weed smoking. And also, I recommend you to change your profession.”
”What? Now hold on…”
Bloodwort raised his hand. ”I didn’t mean to quit the company. I understand that work opportunities are sparse as times are difficult. But there are a lot of positions within this company that don’t entail stabbing people to death. It’s not natural you see – killing other human beings for a living. It warps your mind. You’re not as special or extraordinary as you think, Hellrien. In fact, you are all alike – you mercenaries. What I have witnessed in you today I have also seen in most if not all of your colleagues to a varying degree. You see ghosts. You spook shadows. You have trouble sleeping. You have nightmares, depression and violent mood swings. You medicate yourselves with alcohol. But there comes a point when alcohol doesn’t medicate anymore, but makes the symptoms worse. Have you ever seen an old mercenary, Hellrien? Me neither. But not all of your kind get killed in battle. Some of you are forced into early retirement when your minds collapse. Take a walk around the Beggar’s Alley in Bree, miss Hellrien – there you will find a goodly selection of old mercenaries – retired! Some of them have not yet turned thirty years, but they are still old! That’s the price you pay for your trade!”
”Are you finished with your lecture, Mr. Bloodwort!” Hellrien screamed.
”Quite! I can’t force anyone to listen, but nobody can prevent me from speaking up and telling the unpleasant truth none of you want to hear. That is my duty. Until next time, Hellrien!” Bloodwort thundered.
Hellrien trembled and sweated alone in the barracks that same day until midnight. The other mercenaries were in The White Wolf Inn. or somewhere else. Nobody wanted to spend much time around Hellrien as she reeked of sweat and was irritable as a wounded bear. She listened to the Night Walkers outside the barracks, scraping the walls and whispering her name. As she was about to hang her worn cloak in the closet she paused and stared at the bottle she had forgotten she still had there. It was Dalish whisky in there. She couldn’t take her eyes off the bottle. She tried to clear up her own mind. She felt the need to have a drink. That’s it. She didn’t need oblivion or comfort. She just needed a small measure of Dalish whisky. So that the Night Walkers would shut up. So that she could sleep. Was that too much to ask? Sleep, just this one night.
She boiled herself a mug of tea from the herbs Bloodwort had given her. Then she grabbed the bottle, pulled out the cork and poured a goodly measure of whisky in the tea. She drank the bitter tea slowly, savoring every sip as a sense of calmness slowly spread in her body.
The whispering and scraping outside quieted down. Then she put the bottle and the mug back to the closet, took off her clothes, blew out the candles and sat in the chair by the open window. She heard footsteps and drunken laughter outside. A couple of sellswords were approaching across the yard after a merry evening at the White Wolf. With a sigh Hellrien knocked the ashes off the pipe-chamber and crawled into her bed, pulled the blanket to her chin and pretended to be sound asleep.
She still couldn’t sleep, but at least the Night Walkers were quiet now. That was something at least. She spent the night staring at the ceiling and listening to the comforting sounds of snoring.
