Brass' physician had barely finished tending to his ripped stitches, when a nurse with a small glass bottle of thick yellowish liquid arrived: a Troll-Blood-Potion. Brass winced at the sight of the stuff, remembering all-too well its taste. The brew would bestow the powers of regeneration upon a man, healing most wounds in minutes, but it came with a price. Not only was the elixir worth its weight in gold-it also tasted like rotten eggs spiced with pus. As with many other alchemical wonder-brews, the trick was to keep it down long enough for it to start working.

The nurse, a small robust woman, handed him the bottle with a smile. "Bottom's up. Just swallow, don't try to keep it in your mouth or anything. I have a chaser for you if you're a good boy."

"Yes, mam," Brass muttered. He took the bottle, frowned at it as if it were his nemesis, then growled, unplugged the cork with his teeth, and drained the foulness in one gulp. The stuff even had the consistency of watered down pus. Immediately his stomach rebelled, trying to expel the filth and the nurse-angel that she was-handed him a metal flask.

Brass didn't care what it held; even piss would be preferable over the taste in his mouth, so he took a gulp and started rinsing. His violated taste buds rejoiced at the flavor of herb liquor. Both sweet and sharp, it almost neutralized the violation of his mouth. He swallowed, feeling his stomach unclench somewhat as it too reaped the liquors benefits. He took another gulp, then a third, emptying the flask, rinsing his mouth each time. Which each swallow, the turmoil in his stomach calmed down until he was almost sure he would not projectile vomit everything he ever ate.

Smacking his lips, Brass looked appreciatively at the bottle. "Hmmm. Not bad. What is this stuff?"

The nurse took the empty flask from his hands. "Wyrmwood liquer. We found it helps most to keep the Troll-Blood-Potion down long enough for it to start working."

"Why don't you just mix the two together?"

"Tried it. Didn't work quite as well. Are you ready to go?"

"Go where?"

"We had to bring your friend to another room for the operation. It's just down the corridor."

Brass nodded, following the nurse, feeling better with every step as the elixir began to work its magic. He felt a rush of heat wash over him, the telltale sign of his body reacting to the brew. Even while looking, some of the smaller cuts on his arm mended.

"I'll never get used to that sight," he muttered.

They made their way down a cold stone corridor interspersed with large pictures and furnishings until they came to an unobtrusive set of doors. The nurse pushed them open and the harsh aroma of disinfectants mingled with the sickly sweet stench of decay was like a punch in the face.

"Brace yourself," the nurse said. "Your friend isn't a pretty sight."

When Brass entered the makeshift operating room, his eyes went wide with something approaching shock at the sight of Draemaugh. Like himself, they had covered the barbarian in bandages, though his leg with the terrible wound remained free and looked even more alarming in the bright light of several Everglows. The leg had swollen half again to its normal size and reminded Brass of an overcooked sausage, ready to burst. Pus and a clear liquid were constantly seeping from the wound around the barbed spear that loomed from his flesh, no doubt the source of the dreadful stench.

"H... How is this possible?" Brass asked. "The wound is only hours old but it looks as if it's been festering for days."

The nurse shook her head. "We don't know for sure but suspect that the weapon has been coated with some kind of poison and hoped you might be able to tell us more."

Brass took a deep breath, instantly regretting it and almost gagging from the foul smell. Retreating a step, he muttered, "We fought Bloodmaws tonight and their weapons have been less than clean as you can imagine. We also had to make our way through the ancient sewer system. He might have gotten something into his leg there too but... Shit, I don't know, we all got wounded and none of my wounds have turned into something like this."

The door to the operating room opened with a creak and Brass and the nurse turned around in unison.

"Don't count your blessings yet," the Lord Ashk said without a word of greeting, stepping into the room, the surgeon Sebastian following in his wake like a beaten dog. "The night is still young but at least you and your friends have not sustained wounds as grievous as he." He turned his blindfolded eyes and his staff towards the nurse. "Did you give our large friend the Troll-Blood-Potion, Maria?"

"Yes she did. It was... delicious," answered Brass in her stead, suppressing a wave of nausea.

"Splendid! That should go a long way boosting your immune system. Let's just hope it will be enough after the operation is complete."

"Yes, about that... What the hell am I doing here? I may be an expert in taking people apart but can't say I'm any good in putting them back together."

"Oh, don't worry my formidable friend. You are not here to help in the actual task, but will rather serve as a resource."

"And what the hell does that mean?"

"I take it you are aware what an ordinary Life-Giver's powers are? To put it bluntly, we are able to use our own life energy to heal others, yet this is not magic as you know it. We don't use the life-essence of the world around us but rather transfer our own health to the wounded."

Brass frowned. "Sounds rough."

"It is, though not as much as you may think. Every Life-Giver is blessed with remarkable health and healing capabilities. I may heal a gutted man or one suffering from the plague and even though the exchange may almost kill me too, I'll usually recover within a day. Alas, this is not an option here. I've already spent much of my energy over the past few hours and will not be able to expend myself on behalf of your friend - the king's orders, you see. However, unlike many of my brethren, I have a skill equally valuable. I can transfer the life energy from one to another... You see where I am getting at?"

Brass nodded, stone-faced. "You are going to use my life-energy to heal him?"

"Exactly, but I have to warn you, this is neither a painless nor a harmless procedure. While Sebastian here is operating I will syphon life-energy from you and transfer it to your friend to boost his metabolism and speed up his healing. For the duration of the procedure, his pain and suffering will be yours. You may be as strong as an ox but even with the Troll-Blood-Potion you don't have my powers of self-healing. The life I am taking from you will be permanently lost. I'm talking about months of your life here, possibly years. It may even kill you..." Lord Ashk turned towards him as if staring at him from beyond his blindfold as well as from his staff. "Do you still want to do this?"

"Yes."

There was no hesitation, no doubt in his voice, even though inwardly Brass was reeling from the news. Years... Fucking years. He was not that young anymore, his body already reminding him of this fact every morning he opened his eyes, but he would be damned if he let Draemaugh die or turn into a cripple just to save him a bit of grey in his beard. He owed him at least that much.

"I told you I'd die for my friends," he continued. "This is just another battle. Besides, considering how things are right now, chances are good none of us will survive this whole mess anyway. So what does it matter in the end?

Lord Ashk smiled. "Spoken like a true hero... of a sort. Are we ready Sebastian?"

The surgeon, now wearing a white mask covering the lower half of his face and something that disturbingly looked like a butcher's apron, turned towards them and nodded. The scalpel in his hand all but gleamed in the bright light of the Everglows above. It was a less than comforting sight. Maybe he shouldn't have given the guy so much grief in the hospital after all...

Lord Ashk ushered Brass to the second table in the room. "Lie down. We'll have to strap you down, I'm afraid. As I said, the procedure will cause a lot of pain. Can't have you thrashing around."

Brass frowned but nodded. This was getting better by the minute. Before he lay down, he turned toward the surgeon. "One more thing, though. I... I apologize for my behavior in the hospital. Wasn't right what I did there and had I seen the state Draemaugh's leg was in... Damn, I'd probably cut it off myself."

The surgeon, meeting his gaze for the first time, nodded reluctantly.

Brass smiled. "That being said, if you think about getting some payback with that sharp little blade of yours, either I or my comrades will make you eat it. Understood?"

The surgeon paled. "Understood."

Lord Ashk wacked Brass onto the head with his staff, not hard, just a love-tap the kind a scolding parent would give an unruly child. "That's quite enough out of you. Stop bullying my best surgeon or I'll shove my staff into some orifice or other."

Brass rubbed his head, smiling ruefully. "Yes-sir."

He sat down and stretched out on the table, trying to remain calm as the first bound his wrists, then his ankles with thick leather straps. Reflexively he tested the ones binding his arms and found them quite sturdy. Three more straps followed, one across his knees, his waist, and finally his chest. To say he didn't like this would be the understatement of the hour and his heart began hammering in his chest. He wished Idana were here...

Hell, he would even be happy to see Echser's or Craven's face.

Well, maybe not Echser's...

"Calm down, big fellow," Lord Ashk said. "No need to be afraid. You are amongst friends here."

Brass frowned. "I'm not afraid. What makes you think that?"

"Oh, your heart beat, your blood pressure, the heat emanating from your body... Don't forget that we Life-Giver's see the world differently. I can see your inner workings like the inside of an open clock."

"Even without eyes?"

"Oh, I'm not as blind as it may seem but I'm sure you've already assessed as much. Here bite down on this," he said, placing a leather wrapped length of wood between Brass teeth. "We wouldn't want to ruin those strong choppers. They look sturdy enough to chew other teeth, mind you. Is everybody ready?"

No! Brass thought but nodded anyway, as did the others. Lord Ask placed himself between Draemaugh and Brass, and then put his left hand on Draemaugh's shoulder, the other hovering in the air like the blade of an executioner's axe.

The mender's blindfolded eyes turned towards Brass. "Brace yourself."

His hand fell and Brass' world exploded into agony.

The pain came on so suddenly and so intensely, the weaponmaster almost bit through his teeth-protection. He felt as if somebody had just emptied a bucket full of scolding water over his body, his leg hurting worst of all. Instantly he began fighting against his bonds in the blind fury of a trapped animal trying to get away from the pain, thick veins popping on his arms, his neck, his temples, yet to no avail. They had bound him well, so the only thing he could do was endure...

He tried to embrace the pain, to feed from it just as he had done so often before, but this time it was just too much. Healing magic worked by speeding up the natural process of regeneration. Wounds that would take many weeks or even months to heal did so in seconds but along with it came the pain one would have had to endure in that period. The agony, the sickness, the weeks of getting back to shape - all compressed into a fraction of its natural time.

Brass had endured magical healing before and thought he knew what he was getting into. He had been wrong. For this was not only another man's pain, it was also his suffering. The emotional agony of having lost his beloved brother tormented Draemaugh more than any physical wound could ever have, and his agony, became Brass's. As with bearing physical healing, Brass too had to endure Draemaugh's suffering. Months of grief, of self-loathing, of guilt, of regret... all compressed to a never-ending moment of torment. Like Draemaugh, Brass almost lost himself in that agony and retreated to a place where the pain could not touch him.

His innermost self-Consciousness, Awareness, or whatever you want to call it-left him. It slip from that tormented mind and body the world called "Brass" but remained in the room. With the eyes of everyone and no one, it saw the weaponmaster's body shaking in his torment; saw Lord Ashk standing between Brass and Draemaugh, his blindfolded face a mask of intense concentration. It saw the surgeon Sebastian and the nurse work feverishly on Draemaugh. Before its all-sight, they cut free the corrupt weapon along with chunks of necrotic tissue, pus and blood soon soiling their pristine white garments.

Even while they were operating, Draemaugh was healing, Brass life energy pouring into him like a constant stream of water quenching a raging furnace. Slowly the fires of sickness and suffering died away. The swollen leg deflated, pus and blood turning clean, cut away necrotic tissue replaced by healthy one. When the surgeon and the nurse stepped back, both breathing hard from their combined frenetic effort, the wound in Draemaugh's leg slowly closed, then scabbed over, then healed, faster and faster. Still Lord Ashk was pumping life-energy into Draemaugh, making sure that none of the corruption that had taken root in him remained.

Lord Ashk looked up, his blind eyes seeing more than they should...

"It's safe to return now," he whispered.

Awareness stretched towards the two Skulltakers bodies like hands reaching towards well-worn gloves...

Brass opened his eyes - and he screamed, once again feeling all the pain and suffering of his comrades, yet the agony slowly abated, eventually fading away as Lord Ashk lifted his hand from Brass shoulder. Breathing hard, he let the protection he had almost chewed through fall from his slack jaw. He tasted blood in his mouth, was drenched in sweat, snot and tears oozing down his face. At some point, he must have soiled himself, felt and smelled the foulness even over the tang of corruption and blood still lingering in the air.

"Well done boy, well done!" Lord Ashk said, padding him on the shoulder.

Against his will, Brass flinched away from his touch, the flesh remembering the pain that hand brought all too well.

The mender smiled ruefully, withdrawing the hand and turning towards his helpers. "The same goes for you Sebastian and you too Maria. Marvelous work!"

Brass did not get his last words, for he had finally - blissfully - passed out.

************************************

Hey guys.

I hope you didn't mind the delay, but lot's of stuff has been happening. Good stuff too!

My story Archetype made it onto the Shortlist for the Watty's, so if you speak German, go and check it out. :)

If you don't, worry not, since there is something to celebrate, I'll have a second update of Harvest Wars for you tomorrow.

So stay tuned and enjoy the read.

:)