Chapter 7 Practice #2
The teacher did not seem willing to give a less cryptic answer, and when a voice from behind interrupted their conversation, she used the opportunity to leave the classroom along with Kraghtol, who wasn’t much wiser.
“Krasen.”
The melodic voice was unmistakably that of Valir, and Kraghtol turned around, curious about what the noble had to say to him. Since the night of the solstice, he hadn’t seen Valir and assumed Valir was too embarrassed to speak of the events.
“Yes, Valir? What is it?”
Valir’s face was flustered, showing unmistakable signs of embarrassment for a second, before he straightened his back and answered in his usual haughty tone.
“As I have been made aware of, the rules of courtesy dictate that I must extend my gratitude for your assistance on the night of the solstice.”
That came as a surprise. His voice was low enough that no one else could hear it, and for a moment Kraghtol considered asking him to repeat it louder. But that would have been just petty, and he was better than that.
“You mean to thank me? That must have been hard for you. You’re welcome.”
Kraghtol could not suppress the grin forming on his face as he noticed Valir fiddling with his signet ring.
“And don’t worry. I told nobody about what you said that night.”
“What I —”
The noble’s head was red as a tomato now as he searched for words.
“You must forgive me, but I cannot recall any details of the evening. Whatever I might have said in that state was nothing but the inebriation speaking and must not be taken seriously.”
At least the first part was a lie, and they both knew it.
It was clear Valir remembered at least parts of what he said and sought refuge in his stilted words.
Not that Kraghtol hadn’t considered exposing the arrogant man with what he had said that night, but it just wouldn’t have been right, regardless of the satisfaction it could bring.
In a way, he felt bound by the same confidentiality he would give to a patient, no matter how little Valir deserved that.
“I understand.”
Valir’s relief was obvious. With a small, courteous nod, he fled the scene, leaving behind a still-grinning Kraghtol basking in schadenfreude just a moment longer before he returned to his project.
After he had produced enough glowing potion to light up the old workshop at the base of the clock tower, he could start cleaning it out.
This too proved more difficult than expected since he had to be careful not to be seen when carrying out the debris and dirt.
Some items were in better states than others, including a surprisingly well-preserved massive wooden desk, but nothing was clean enough for him to use for his future practice.
Over the course of the days, he got rid of what he could and moved the bigger and heavier items to a side room that used to be a bedroom.
It took him longer than expected, but finally, in the first week of the second month, the room had taken on an acceptable state.
It was still cold, and even though the glowing jars lit up the place just enough to work, there was no way he could make a fire here without anyone noticing.
Until he learned a recipe to produce heat alchemically, this would have to do.
Getting patients had been a bit of a riddle, but in the end, Kraghtol confided in Mrs. Brott, enough to let her slip a word or two to her own customers, many of which belonged to the poorer inhabitants of the Crafters Quarter, about his ‘Freeday practice’.
He trusted his landlady enough not to tell any guild officials or orderkeepers.
Come next Freeday, he nervously paced up and down the cleaned room, waiting for his first patient to arrive. Now that it was actually getting real, he was not so sure anymore that all of this was such a good idea. Wasn’t it stupidly risky? Wouldn’t the orderkeepers find out, eventually?
A knock on the secret door interrupted his rising panic, and Kraghtol dashed forward, only to hesitate slightly before opening it. His anticipation quickly gave way to surprise when he recognized the person entering.
“Aniriel?”
“Hello, Krasen.”
The Elven woman was smiling, as usual, and her silky voice was just as dreamy as in the classrooms.
“Why… I mean, how do you know I —”
Kraghtol stammered, but Aniriel just chuckled.
“Oh, Krasen, you really aren’t as good at keeping a secret as you think you are. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. But I was curious about what you were up to, with all the glowing potion you made in the student laboratory, so I followed you here. What is this place?”
She turned her head to take in the surroundings, and Kraghtol sighed. Aniriel was not the person to rat him out, and she had been nothing but nice toward him.
“Fine, I suppose you deserve to know. It’s my practice. A secret practice.”
“A practice? Like a healer?”
“Yes. I know a thing or two about herbs and healing, and although I’m not an… official… healer, I noticed people here in Winterstone are in need of an affordable one.”
Aniriel was silent for a moment longer with her silver eyes taking in all the details.
“This is… illegal. You know that, Krasen, right? If the orderkeepers find out, you might get into a lot of trouble.”
“I know,” he said, even though it sounded far more real when she said it. “But they won’t find out if nobody tells them. Right?”
Aniriel nodded slowly, her smile returning.
“Right. Again, I won’t tell anyone. And even though it’s not allowed, that’s just beautiful of you. You’re a kind man, Krasen.”
He couldn’t meet her eyes. While it wasn’t wrong that he liked to help and heal, he also couldn’t deny that he tried to earn his tuition by this.
“Perhaps, but —”
Another knock on the door interrupted him. When he opened the door, he looked into the scruffy face of an unfamiliar man in his forties.
“Sorry to bother you, but I’ve been told there was a healer here. Would you know them?”
The man’s face was twisted, and Kraghtol noticed he was holding his right arm close to his body with his left.
“Yes, that’s me. Are you in pain?”
He ushered in the patient, who let his uneasy eyes wander around, stopping momentarily at the glowing jars.
“Yes, my arm is… I mean, my wife told me to go see a healer after the accident at the dock, but I’ve never been to one before. Are you… I mean, is it… expensive?”
“Let’s see what we’re working with first.”
He guided the patient to the one chair and carefully checked his arm for injuries.
It was like his time in Mistpine, and yet, completely different.
Now, the only thing his patient was afraid of was the price of the treatment, and didn’t object to his examinations in the slightest. And compared to his one and only patient before, the nameless old one who gave him the potion, this man was decidedly more mentally stable and behaved as he would expect.
When he felt the broken bone in the forearm, the patient twitched and winced, and when he set the bone as carefully as he could, he could even hear a muffled cry.
“Your arm is broken, and I will have to splint it. This will hurt a bit, and you won’t be able to use it properly for the next few weeks, but after that, it will be as good as new.”
He smiled encouragingly, and the other man smiled back nervously, while Aniriel watched in silence.
“That’s good, but, uh, about the price…”
The dockworker really seemed to worry more about his coins than his arm, and Kraghtol could understand why. Without the guild guidance on prices, he felt helpless himself, and his patient was expecting city healer rates.
“5 copper coins.”
This was exactly the guild-dictated price for such an injury for healers in remote villages like Mistpine, and decidedly less than what one would have to pay in Winterstone, and the man seemed relieved.
“Oh. Good. Go on then!”
Treating a broken bone, while not exactly pleasant for the patient, was easy for Kraghtol, and after just half an hour, he had not only splinted the patient’s arm and sent him home again, but also had earned as much money as for a whole evening in the warehouse.
“You really like doing that, hmm?”
Aniriel, who had watched the whole thing silently, was smiling.
“Hm? How do you mean that?”
“You were humming. I’ve never seen you do that in class.”
Was that true? He hadn’t even noticed. But now that she mentioned it, he realized he had subconsciously mimicked what his foster father always did when treating patients. When he was happy. The memory made him smile.
This second patient of his wasn’t the only one to visit him this Freeday.
By the end of the day, he had treated half a dozen different ailments and injuries, and earned more than for a full week of moving crates in the evening.
But the most important part was that he found it made him genuinely happy, like a childhood joy he never knew he had missed.
Nobody who came to a healer was happy. And nobody who left, left completely healed. But that didn’t matter: contrary to the name of his profession, Kraghtol didn’t sell healing. He sold treatment and hope — and just enabled the bodies of his patients to heal on their own.
Even though he had never planned for it to happen, it also felt good to let in Aniriel on his secret practice.
It was one secret he didn’t have to bear alone, and it felt like the burden had lessened ever so slightly.
She had left soon after the first patient, but promised she would keep her word, and when she smiled, Kraghtol was inclined to believe her.