A Physician

Low cries of pain sounded inside the crude house. It was the sort of wooden cottage most common among the forest's inhabitants, roofed with dry thatch. A heavy enough downpour might make it leak, but it was adequate for everyday living.

This one seemed particularly run-down. Even the thatch piled on top had rotted and grown moldy. It looked as though it had not been replaced in years.

Outside the house stood an anxious-faced Hols man. He had built a roaring fire in the cooking hearth nearby and kept adding wood, trying to boil the water in the pot. Beside him sat a wooden basin and a towel worn black with use...

From time to time, the Hols man glanced back at the room, his heart wrung by the low cries coming from inside. Yet he dared not leave his post without permission. At least at a time like this, a physician's instructions were enough to make him keep his temper in check.

He spared no fuel, and the great pot of water soon came to a boil. He used a wooden ladle to pour the boiling water into the basin and let the towel soak for a while. Then he added some cold water and scrubbed the towel along with several white bandages.

Only when the hot water grew cloudy did he stop scrubbing. He poured away the dirty water and carefully rinsed the basin with boiling water once more. Then he picked up a large basinful of hot water and rushed into the room.

Their best bedding had been spread over the low, small wooden bed. It was still full of holes and blackened with use. But with a few pelts from their hunts added, it could keep them alive through the cold winter.

His wife lay on the bed, crying out loudly, her face flushed red. Sweat pasted flaxen strands of hair to her cheeks, and her hands and feet struggled incessantly with the terrible pain.

Several experienced old women from the village were helping. One reached out to take the basin from the man's hands, then began shooing him outside again.

"For Aifas's sake, get out! You'll only get in our way. Don't forget to boil that twinleaf grass in the pot. We'll need it in a little while."

Before he was driven out, the man saw the most striking sight in the room. A tall, full-figured woman was directing everyone. A plain gray dress fell to her ankles. A leather waist cincher outlined her slender, strong waist, drawing the otherwise loose cloth into full curves.

A small deerskin herb-gathering pouch hung against her rounded hip. Those breathtaking curves radiated an undeniable feminine allure.

Her long gray-blue hair was pinned behind her head with a deer-bone hairpin, exposing a long, pale neck. Two slender ears, though not particularly pointed, extended from either side of her temples. They were not very noticeable in the dimly lit room. Without paying close attention, one might even overlook them.

This woman was their village's physician, or rather, its witch doctor... And right now, she was the only person in the village who could bring his child safely into the world. Even if...

The man shook his head, dismissing that sliver of doubt. Returning to the hearth, he scooped a large handful of green leaves from the wicker basket beside it and dropped them into the pot. In the blink of an eye, the clear boiling water turned a greenish blue, and the color continued to deepen.

Bringing this child into the world would not be easy. Especially here in the forest...

* * *

The worst had happened after all. Night had fallen, and his wife still had not given birth. Her once-loud cries had grown weak and breathless. Clearly, she had no strength left.

The man paced in frantic circles outside the house. Several times, he even tried to rush inside, but the old women stopped him each time.

Just as he stood there helpless and desperately anxious, he suddenly stopped moving. His long, slender ears twitched faintly, as though he had heard something... Alarm swiftly appeared on his face.

To confirm his suspicion, he pressed his head to the ground. Then he distinctly sensed that thunderlike vibration...

In the blink of an eye, the vibration became true thunder. The sound of several hundred pairs of iron-shod hooves pounding the ground began to reverberate through the village...

* * *

The woman on the bed had begun to turn pale. At the tall woman's direction, however, the other old women made her drink a large bowl of blue-green liquid. Her color quickly improved. Then they prepared to continue what they had not yet finished and deliver the child.

"Cavalry!!! ..."

A cry of utter terror suddenly swept through the village. Then someone began striking the iron pot hanging at the village entrance with all their might. Its clear, shrill clanging filled the small settlement. More panicked shouts and cries followed, filling the quiet village with an uproar of voices in an instant.

But while the pot was still clanging, a sound as shattering as thunder and as swift as a storm surrounded the entire village. A large group of bad-tempered warhorses began to surround the small settlement. Their hard hooves trampled swath after swath of grass into the soil, leaving deep impressions in the ground.

Amid that stormlike, terrifying noise, everyone was like a blade of grass tossed through the air. Panic seized them in an instant. The women dropped what they were holding and rushed out through the door.

Only the pregnant woman, still unable to move, and the physician remained in the room. No one else appeared, not even the woman's husband...

The pregnant woman was terrified. She even began babbling incoherently, sweat and tears mingling on her face. She tried to climb straight out of bed, but her exhausted body, wracked with terrible pain, still would not let her move.

"Lie still."

A long, slender, strong hand pressed against her chest, settling her back onto the bed. The physician calmly continued her work, showing no intention whatsoever of fleeing.

"Keep pushing the way I told you. Our only chance of survival now is for you to have the baby, and then we'll run together... Hurry."

The woman's voice was slightly hoarse from giving instructions all afternoon. Yet it carried a reassuring strength that calmed the mother-to-be.

Perhaps the crisis had drawn out her hidden reserves. Amid her cries of pain, the child, who had made no progress all afternoon, now emerged smoothly from the birth canal.

But alarmingly, the child did not move at all and showed no sign of crying. His mother immediately began to cry out in panic.

The physician remained composed. Her pale, slender fingers were deft and strong. With a small knife gleaming gray-blue, she swiftly cut the umbilical cord. Then she grasped the infant's feet, held him upside down, and gave his bottom a few slaps, neither too hard nor too soft.

Red marks quickly appeared on the pale skin that had been soaked in amniotic fluid. Some murky liquid also flowed from the infant's nostrils. After a few coughs, a loud cry immediately filled the room.

With a large towel, she briskly wiped the moisture from the infant's body, then placed him in his mother's arms. Sensing her familiar presence, the baby, who had been wailing without cease, immediately quieted and curled his whole body as tightly as he could.

The mother's body was still weak, but they dared not delay any longer. Just as the physician was about to help her patient up, the sound of iron scales scraping against one another suddenly came from beside them.

Stiffly, the physician turned her head toward the door, revealing a young face, fair-skinned and delicate.

A tall man encased in heavy armor stood there, with a hideous blade wound across his face. He had already been watching them for some time. Several cavalrymen in full iron armor stood silently behind him, their weapons glinting with a dazzling, cold light...