Zand spent several days at the inn mending. He had been unable to afford medical attention due to the loss of the twins’ gear, but the innkeeper was willing to extend him credit due to his affiliation with Davros and Grigor. He was at least able to wash out the cuts with soap and hot water. Zand also spent many hours trying to force magical healing on himself. He had heard that some sorcerers of renown had devised new spells through sheer willpower and magical aptitude, but all he ended up with were headaches from the intense focus.
When his bruises were only yellow and his scabs thin and flaking, Zand was called upon to help around the inn. The innkeeper required one day of work per two days of stay, and provided free room and board during the time it would take to work off the debt. Zand appreciated the chance to work off his debt, and he much enjoyed the stew that was served at dinner, so it was not a bad deal at all. The days went by with Zand preparing the cooking fire in the morning, a simple thing to do with magic, as well as scrubbing the floors, a thing he had to do with his own muscles and sweat. He wondered how the innkeeper managed all this before, as there were no other people working. It was standard for an inn to be run by a family, but the black flu had taken his wife while she was with their first child.
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After five days, the innkeeper declared the debt paid. He then offered Zand the opportunity to stay on as his employee, but Zand was already refusing before he heard the terms. There was almost no chance he would ever develop his powers by staying and working at the inn. He needed to be out in the world, seeking adventure and taking risks. The innkeeper made an offer then that if Zand would stay two more nights and work just one more day, he would hand over three gold coins as well as some dried meat and journey bread. Zand realized it was a generous offer, unless he had been undervalued in his time working off the debt. Either way, it was enough money to last him a week while he sought a more adventurous job. They shook on the deal, and Zand agreed to delay his departure by two days.
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Zand frequented the taverns, looking to sell his sword. No one had any bandits to clear out or lost children to find. He missed Davros and Grigor, and even more so the adventure they provided. With only a few silvers left in his pouch, even a lost cat would be welcome right now.
“It’s terrible! All that blood and gore!” an old man burst in, bleeding from the shoulder. “Mead, and some bandages, if you have them!”
The barkeep disappeared into the back room and returned with a small wooden box, which he sat on the table next to the old man. He walked by the fire and placed the poker in the flames, then fetched a mug and filled it from a tankard.
“I’ll comp your next mug and dinner if you’ll help me, mage,” the barkeep said as he pulled a basin from behind the bar.
“Sure, what do you need?” Zand asked, thankful to stretch his last coins.
The barkeep sent him to fill the basin from the well. When he returned, he found the old man barechested with half an arrow sticking from the shoulder.
“Do you know how to put a man to sleep? With magic, I mean,” he said, pulling out a small bottle from the box and setting it in on the table.
“No. We always just relied on a solid club on the back of the head for that,” Zand replied, wondering if he could learn how to put someone to sleep through magic.
“Bah, well, a deal’s a deal. Fine. Set that down on the table. Can you come and hold him?” the barkeep said, then to the old man, “Here, bite down on this piece of cloth.”
Zand positioned himself to hold him down while the bartender checked on the poker. It was glowing red. He nodded to it and headed back to old man. He called to another patron and offered a free mug if he’d hold the poker. Satisfied with his preparations, he sat on the man’s lap facing him. He steadied his left hand on the shoulder and the other grasped the wood. Zand grabbed the man by biceps. The barkeep took a deep breath and then pulled with great effort. The old man moaned in agony and tried to buck the men loose, but he did not have the strength. A second tug pulled the arrow free. The old man screamed. Zand wanted to cover his ears, but knew he needed to keep the man still. The barkeep grabbed a cloth from the box and dipped it in the water before wiping away the blood. Then he grabbed the small bottle and pulled the cork with his teeth and then poured a small amount into the wound. The screaming intensified.
“Take this, don’t spill. Now give me the poker. Not that end, the handle.”
The barkeep twisted the rod around and placed the red end to the wound, causing a terrible smell to fill the air. The old man fainted at this point, thankfully. After a few more seconds, the barkeep pulled the poker back and inspected the wound. He grabbed another cloth and dipped it in the water and wiped over the cauterized flesh. It looked as good as he could do it. He stood and then walked over to put the poker back in the fire to burn away the blood. He then placed it in a metal bucket to cool. He walked back and took the small bottle, eyed how much was left and then poured a little more onto the wound. He stoppered the bottle and then dressed the wound.
“Dinner too if you help us carry him to that corner,” he said to the man who had held the poker.
The three of them carefully picked up the old man and lay him on the floor out of the way. The barkeep disappeared into the back again and returned with a thin blanket, which he draped over the old man.
“Right. Thanka both. I’ve studied yer faces, come back tonight for your payment. I’ve got to close up for a while,” turning to the rest of the room, “Alright, shows over. I’ve got to close up for now. Come back after sunset.”
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