Caracara's Hunt 98 The Price For Being A Doctor

"Friend of a friend," Sylvester answered in a nonchalant manner. "But he's not here for you. If I leave, he's leaving as well."

"That's not for you to decide," the lord said with a slight grin, but he looked away from Arawn and looked over Mutallu before returning his gaze to Sylvester. "I thought you refused my pursuits?"

Sylvester shrugged. "That was back then. Katalan offered me more, so I went to work for him. Now he's no more, and you had the second highest offer for my skills."

"Did it never cross your mind that I might not need you anymore? It's been two years, and I've hired other doctors."

The lord spoke in a calm and pleasant manner. His words were punctuated in an unfamiliar way to Arawn, but his speech sounded highborn and refined. It finally fit with his station, unlike his speech when they had just entered.

A shadow crossed Sylvester's eyes, but he did not let it linger. "Can you really afford to let me go at such a time? War is imminent, and you'd want the best you can get."

"Seems like time hasn't eroded your conceit. What do you have to prove that you're still the best?"

For some reason, Sylvester clenched his teeth at that question. When he spoke next, it was almost in a hiss.

"That's why I chose to leave last time. You're annoying. If you don't want my expertise, I can leave again. I'm sure I can find someone who'll offer me enough."

With those words, he stood up and marched out of the room. Arawn looked between him at the lord, then ran to catch up with Sylvester. Mutallu was right behind him, not looking too happy. There was a definite scowl on his face.

The majordomo tried to steer them in a particular direction, but Sylvester ignored him and found his own way to a lavishly decorated bedroom. It had an adjoining room for servants, and he motioned for Arawn and Mutallu to go there.

They looked at each other, then went to examine the room. It wasn't large, but had three single beds. They were covered with white, linen sheets. There was a dresser on the side and a small sink with a bucket underneath.

Arawn chose the bed by the far wall and threw his bag next to it. Mutallu chose the one on the opposite side, and they returned to the main room where Sylvester was already availing himself to a bottle of wine.

He seemed in a murderous mood, but once he sat down with a gla.s.s of wine and started sipping it, his features relaxed and he closed his eyes. The room around him fit his image to perfection. It was decorated in light and dark blues, creating an icy and cold atmosphere.

There was a double bed with four posters portraying mythical figures against the far wall and a small table next to it with a candle and a reading book. Next to it stood a large wardrobe, while the rest of the room contained a low table with a couch and armchairs.

There wasn't a dust fleck to be seen nor any dirt on the floor. It seemed like the room had been cleaned just hours before.

"How do you know Lord Bernard?" Arawn asked while standing next to the couch. He didn't feel like sitting down and leaving a black mark from his dirty clothes.

Sylvester opened one eye and glared at him. "I spent my practice months here, to gain real-life experience of working as a doctor."

"What were you doing before then?" Arawn asked, a little puzzled. Wasn't healing people in a city no different than when working for some lord?

Mutallu gave him a deadpan look and turned around to go back into their new room. His reaction left Arawn dumbfounded. He was clearly missing something!

"Healing is not free," Sylvester said with a snort. He poured himself another gla.s.s of wine and took a sip. "In the academy, it was rare for us to work on human subjects. The lowborns are not worthy of being seen by doctors, and highborns would never risk their well-being under apprentices."

"So what did you do? How did you practice?"

Before Sylvester could answer, a maid knocked on the door. She was a pretty girl of twenty. "Would you like to have food sent to you or a bath prepared, milord?"

"Get the bath ready."

The girl curtsied and quickly left to make the preparations. In no time, a man came into the room with a large barrel of water floating behind him. He bowed to Sylvester then went to the door behind the wardrobe that Arawn had missed and poured a bath.

He was followed by another man who sparked a flame to heat the water at a speed much faster than it would have been done naturally. In no time, there was a steaming bath in the small adjacent room.

Sylvester went inside without another word, and Arawn went back to the small room where he would sleep from then on. Mutallu was sitting on a stool by his bed and going through his things when he entered.

"Do you know something about him that I don't?" Arawn asked after a moment. He was sure that he was treading on dangerous ground with his questions to Sylvester, but he simply did not understand why.

The dark-skinned boy lifted his head. Their gazes met for a moment, then Mutallu took out a small vial and lifted before the light coming in from a single window on his side of the room. "Your lack of common sense is abhorrent. Ask him to show you his forearms and you'll understand."

"Forearms?" Arawn wondered, but Mutallu refused to say anything else. He brought out his daggers and coated them in the scentless liquid from the vial. "Are we going to be attacked soon?"

"In case we are, I don't plan to lament my laziness in not preparing."

There was a sharpness to his words and an accusation in them that left Arawn feeling uncomfortable. He felt like he should do something to prepare for the unexpected as well, but he didn't have anything. Ether was always at his reach, and he didn't have a single other skill he could put to use in combat.

For the next half an hour, he explored the room while waiting for Sylvester to emerge. When he did, the man looked at least a couple years younger and in a much better mood. Dressed in a thick bathrobe, he dropped onto an armchair and picked a book from the stack beneath the table.

Arawn watched him for a moment, debating whether he should ask his question or not. It was more likely that Sylvester would answer when in a good mood, but at the same time, if Arawn's question fouled it, he would feel guilty.

"Why do you keep staring at me? Just say it."

"I still want an answer to my last question," he said softly. "How did you learn to heal if you didn't have any people to heal?"

A frown stretched across Sylvester's face, then he looked at the heavens as if searching for patience he did not have. Alas, the ceiling blocked his way, and he scowled at it.

Before Arawn could take back his question, he rolled back his sleeves and revealed arms full of small cuts. Some were shallower and some deeper, some criss-crossed each other and some looked like ravines going down his forearms.

"We used ourselves," Sylvester said while lowering his sleeves. "Most professors healed their students if they couldn't do it themselves, but mine hated n.o.bodies like me. In his eyes, b.a.s.t.a.r.ds and other sc.u.m should not pollute the honorable profession of the doctors."

"I'm sorry…"

Sylvester did not wait for his apology. He waved him off and raised his book again. "He was a fool. There's no honor or prestige in being a doctor. We're all b.a.s.t.a.r.ds and sc.u.m, for anyone better becomes a combat mage.

"Now off you go. Pour the water in the bath down the drain and get yourself some clean one. You won't freeze if it's a little colder, will you?"

Arawn shook his head and marched into the small room that fit only the bath inside it. He poured himself new water from the barrel and lay down in the still warm bath. His eyes closed in pleasure as his muscles relaxed and unwound themselves.

Yet his mind could not do the same. He couldn't help thinking about what it really meant to be a doctor. He thought it was simple before, but it seemed that nothing was easy in the outside world.

He raised his arm and looked at his flawless skin. There wasn't a single mark on it despite the many times he had been injured. Should he try it then?

But how could hurting oneself be the right way to learn anything? It wasn't even pus.h.i.+ng oneself beyond one's limits to achieve greater heights. Instead, it was simple self-mutilation until one could hide all of its effects.

Healing others sounded like a much more preferable choice, but what if something went wrong? Based on the dozens and dozens of scars on Sylvester's arms, the learning process wasn't short or easy. Then what if he hurt someone when trying to help them? Could he live with himself then?

When playing with wood or steel, there was always the option of reforging the same thing or just picking new material, but it was not the same with people's lives. It wouldn't be right to risk their well-being and even whole existence just to get better at some skill which he might never master.

And yet he still wanted to become a doctor. Combat mages could achieve stunning feats of bravery and skill, but he would rather be a n.o.body like Sylvester than someone like Corwal.