My eyes fly open. With a jerk, I sit upright abruptly.

Too abruptly. My head crashes into another's, making the person scream and topple backwards. He clutches his head; a mop of red hair is the first colour to jump into my sight. There's only a buzzing sensation in my head, so I figure that the person has received the brunt of the sudden onslaught. I instantly scramble out of the bed to check for any injuries on him.

"Are you all right?" I crouch on the floor to level myself with Leigh, Galennus Asa's assistant boy. He's currently doubled over, reeling from the pain.

"Fine," he manages a small squeak. "Could yeh get me some ice, please? It's right o'er there in the box."

I follow his instructions like an obedient hound, walking towards the direction he pointed at. Sure enough, a box filled to the brim with ice sits beside Galennus Asa's worktable. I spot a few square pieces of cloth on the table; I scoop some of the ice up and dump it onto one of the fabric.

Cradling the ice pack in my hands like a sacred offering, I make my way back towards Leigh, who has recovered sufficiently to stop digging the heels of his palms into his forehead. I extend the pack out as an apology. Leigh receives it in mock politeness, cursing darkly under his breath.

"Ah. Squire Rutherland. I see that you've awaken." A familiar voice sounds from the entrance to the room. I look up to see the impossibly tall, wiry figure of Galennus Asa. His brassy gold hair, unexposed to illumination, appears a dark shade of brown. His dark brown eyes, on the other hand, have an interesting light in them. "Are you all right?"

"Yes." Gesturing towards Leigh, I add, "He's not."

"Nasty noggin on me head 'e gave sir," grunts the boy, who allows the ice cubes to dribble all over his hair, the cloth that used to hold them discarded on the floor.

"Just continue to apply a cold compress," says the Galennus noncommittally. Turning towards me, the wrinkles on his face deepen when he speaks, "Are you sure you're fine, Squire Rutherland?"

"Yes." My voice is firm, surely cancelling the physician of any further doubts. Strangely enough, I do feel a good deal better compared to the last time I was forced out of my vision. Perhaps if I take the initiative to step out of the 'room', I recover at a faster rate in the physical world. Suddenly remembering Abner's instructions, I ask, "Where's Squire Falkner? I need to see him immediately."

"Please, Squire Rutherland, you've only just woken up," says Galennus Asa, blocking the exit. His voice makes an attempt to be soothing, but it has just the opposite effect on me. "Take some time to recuperate. Additionally, this is the second time you've collapsed within the span of a week. In case you haven't noticed, these symptoms are worrying, especially for a Champion of your calibre. I recommend—"

"I was fighting a ghost," I growl. "Shouldn't it be normal for me to collapse right after that?"

"Perhaps. But still—"

"Where is Squire Falkner, Galennus Asa?" All patience and control escapes me. I square my shoulders, trying my best to look like a true Champion of Pst. Bronicus.

The Galennus finally relents, although not without reluctance. If I'd known any better, I'd say that he's trying to prevent me from getting out of the room, or to stop me from finding Gilbert. Or both. "As you wish, Squire Rutherland," he says coldly. "He is currently under the care of Galennus Haelen, second room on the left after you turn right down into the corridor."

"Thank you, Galennus Asa," I offer meekly, in hopes that it can quell the growing tension between us. Leaving the physician and his assistant to their own devices, I escape the room.

Subconsciously, my fingers worm their way into the insides of my sleeves, scratching the fabric as I try to make sense of all the chaotic events that had taken place during the last few hours. Disjointed and random thoughts circle about my mind—too many theories try to prove themselves accurate, all while each of them contradict with each other. For the first time in my life, I truly understand the meaning of confusion.

I follow the Galennus's instructions and find myself in a nondescript, fairly plain room. Galennus Haelen's workroom seems to have been stripped of its embellishments once upon a time, leaving behind only the bare necessities. With only a single candle for illumination, a very pale, shockingly fair man of thirty odd sits hunched over his patient—who is lying on the bed face-down—applying some sort of cream to a wound on the back. The assistant, a boy with a patriarchal nose, stands beside his master, silently awaiting his next orders.

"Galennus Haelen?" I ask. Then as an afterthought, I knock on the door, which had been flung wide open before I entered.

"Hmm?" is the physician's dreamy reply. He tears his eyes away from his work to inspect the intruder. Light grey eyes study me with mild bewilderment.

"I am Squire Rutherland," I introduce myself. "I came here to inquire after Squire Falkner." My eyes slide towards his patient, whose limbs are sprawled all over the bed. "Is he conscious?"

"Not for now, no." The Galennus looks at the bottle of salve in his hand. His eyes flick back towards Gilbert. "We've already removed the arrowhead. I think all he needs is a little more rest. Never fear, Squire Rutherland, a Champion of the Pietists should be able to recover fast enough."

"An arrowhead? Seven Heavens! What had happened while I was trying to distract the ghost?" I exclaim.

The physician wrinkles his nose, as though deep in thought. "Well, I wasn't actually there during the onslaught, but one of the knights—who was it now? Sir Roderick? Sir Evan? Or was it—"

"It doesn't matter which knight!" Pst. Kamira give me patience, why is everybody grating my nerves nowadays? Is it my problem, or theirs? "Just give me a brief recount of the injury."

"I think a stray arrow hit him." Finally opting to stick with the bare facts, Galennus Haelen gives me a disdainful sniff. "He'll be fine though—no major tendons damaged. A Champion of War should be up and running in a few days' time.

My head bobs up and down in response. "I see. In that case, may I remain here so that I'll be able to see him when he wakes up?" There was an urgency in Abner's tone that I couldn't ignore. My current priority is to talk to Gilbert, no matter the circumstances. I suddenly recall Abner calling me 'pig-headed', and realise that I am alike in my father in some ways.

Ways that I'm not sure if I'm comfortable with.

Galennus Haelen stares at me as though he's noticed me for the first time. "We Galenni usually don't allow this privilege save for family members." It's a hint for me to back off.

"I won't interfere with your work. I can just stand in the shadows until he wakes."

Returning to his vague disposition, the physician mutters under his breath, "Oh, very well. Oreius, bring him a stool."

Oreius the assistant moves to bring me a wobbly-looking, three-legged stool. I take it from him with a murmured thanks, and lower myself onto it. With my height, I might as well be squatting on the floor.

So I sit. And wait.

******

Smash!

A raucous crash sends a jolt throughout me, forcing me awake from my drifting slumber on the stool. The noise was courtesy of me—I crashed onto the ground while I was slowly lofting into a deep, empty sleep.

I hastily jump onto my feet, meeting the mildly annoyed eyes of Galennus Haelen. "Mind you, please keep it down," he says.

My head nods apologetically when I note that Gilbert has been rolled onto his back. He's now struggling to sit upright. Within a fraction of a second, I cross over to the other side of the room. Desperate, I grab Gilbert by the shoulders and start to shake him. "Wake up! I have to talk to you!"

"Squire Rutherland!" exclaims the physician, his mouth agape at my actions. Embarrassed, I instantly release my fellow Champion, only to have him drop onto the thinly cushioned bed with a groan. As though in apology, I attempt to straighten the bedrolls. "It would be very much appreciated if you could—so kindly—leave the room immediately if your main purpose here is to disrupt my work—"

Suddenly, Gilbert cuts in, "It will be all right, Galennus. I have to talk to Squire Rutherland as well."

The physician gives a grunt. Oreius watches the scene unfold with tangible interest—perhaps this is the most excitement he ever got. However, neither of them make any motions to leave. I shift uncomfortably. Will they realise that we need to speak of private matters?

"Alone," adds Gilbert, just realising the duo's continued presence in the room.

"Are you sure?" Galennus Haelen eyes me nervously, as if he were waiting for me to burst into flames anytime. Or at least, into a hazardous threat to his patient.

"Yes."

The forcefulness behind that single word manages to bend the physician into a complying bow towards us. He scuttles out of the room, his assistant close on his heels. As an afterthought, I follow up behind them and shut the door, its hinges creaking loudly as I do so.

"No one will eavesdrop on us," says Gilbert.

I give him an apprehensive look. "Better to be safe than sorry."

"Let me rephrase that—I mean, no one will eavesdrop on us because they can't," he replies with an amused smile. "We'd hear them before they come within listening distance.

"True," I remark. "But I feel safer this way."

"Does that explain the Captain's pose you're adopting again?"

I look at myself consciously. Sure enough, my arms have folded themselves to form a protective barrier around my torso. My feet are spread wide apart, as though in anticipation of a surprise attack. Rolling my shoulders, I loosen my muscles and try my best to appear as complacent as possible, though from the expression on Gilbert's face, I know that I am failing to do so—miserably. It seems as though my emotions are becoming more difficult to suppress.

"Can you sit down, please?" Gilbert moves uncomfortably beneath the blanket. He tries to recover from his logwood position and get himself into a slight recline. "It will be easier on my neck."

Taking it as a logical excuse, I drag the three-legged stool to the bedside and squat on it, haunches resting on jagged wood. Now it I who have to look up to Gilbert. He looks at me from his upright position on the bed patronisingly. "Much better."

His tone is lordly. I feel heat simmering beneath a layer of skin. My fingers curl themselves into tightly-drawn fists.

Then I release them. Anger will do me no good here.

"I—"

"I—"

Gilbert and I abruptly cut ourselves off when we realise that we're interrupting each other. Tentatively, disguising the foul mood that suddenly came over me a few moments ago, I say, "Why don't you go first?" Although I'm sure that Diomedes' return is an extremely pressing matter, I should try to hear what he has to say. Besides, I know him well enough to know that he never listens unless he speaks first.

"Are you sure?"

"Perfectly."

"Oh really? Well, all right." He twiddles his thumbs nervously. I narrow my eyes at this— why is impulsive, brash Gilbert suddenly shy and nervous? A thousand theories race through my mind.

After he remains silent for more than ten seconds, I huff impatiently. "What is it?" I growl.

His eyes finally meet mine, the amber turning into a dark hazel in the dim lighting. His eyes seem to tremble with fear for a moment, as though he is seeing a monster. At last, he steels himself, speaking with a hard-edged resolve.

"You're a necromancer."

*******

A/N: Remember to click on that little star to make it yellow if you liked the chapter, or comment down below if you don't like (or like!)

Pst. Coltiver - Lady of the harvest and agricultural activities; farmers pray to her for a good produce every year.