Harold lay on the doctor's table, grimacing as the man repeatably poked through his skin with a needle. He had always hated needles, but was appreciative of their use.
The same, he supposed, now went for the High Virgin.
"There," the elderly man with leathery skin said, tying off the last of the stitches, "All you need is stitches now." He smiled a toothy grin.
"Thank you, "Harold grumbled as he stood. He still needed a shirt, but the poison, from what the old doctor had said, was no longer a problem. Well, it was good, but part of Harold wished he had died. It was looking preferable to spending more time with that woman that had tried to kill him twice now. Why had she saved him, anyway?
The old doctor put a hand on Harold's chest and urged him down. "You need rest," he said, then looked at Harold's bare chest and rough pants and boots."And I doubt anyone will like seeing you out there like this. The Nevelock has rules against public nudity."
Harold jumped up, despite the old man cursing at him. "The Nevelock?" he said in wonder. "Of course, no wonder you have been so nice." People in the Nevelock, despite other countries rumors and encounters with them said, were an extremely nice people. The warlocks themselves were sinister and manipulative at their best, but they did an incredible job at keeping their subjects happy.
Every evil hides best in light, though.
"I have sent your woman out to get clothing for you," the old man said, looking annoyed, "So you should rest until she returns." Harold barked a laugh, but did as the doctor said. There was no need to worry about things. Victoria needed him. He was sure of it. Why else had she saved him? And with her in a hurry as she was, Harold would only slow them both down by not waiting.
"Who is the warlock in charge of this town?" Harold asked the doctor, who now cleaned up from treating Harold. From the looks of the neat room full of medical supplies, this man took his profession seriously.
"That would be Master Jerta. He lives north of here, watching over Feron Edge with his magic." The man cursed as he dropped a needle. He would need to sanitize it in boiled water now. Harold knew his type. They were the good doctors.
"Master Jerta, huh?" Harold said idly. Why did that name sound familiar? "Does he have a family?" Harold had suspicions, but he hoped he was wrong.
"Why, yes." Water started to boil behind Harold. It was probably to sanitize the needle. "He had a brother named Jerot. They were twins and very close." The water boiled louder. How hot did the water have to be to sanitize one needle. "Of course, the brother was killed by a boy in the southlands. I heard that boy became a general, later on."
Harold jumped off the bed just as a large amount of scalding hot water splashed onto it. Harold cried out as a good bit of the water hit his leg. It immediately turned red and shot a wave of pain through his body. This was no ordinary water.
"Jerot was evil," Harold told the doctor, "You probably saw his lust for power, Jerta!"
The doctor frowned and slowly changed. Harold had seen it before and had suspected the man the moment he uttered his own name, but was still surprised when the doctor turned into the spitting image of the warlock Harold had killed years upon years ago.
"I know," he said slowly, "but I still must avenge him." A large snake made of water rose from a pot near the rear of the room, it's body steaming rapidly, and shot at Harold.
'So, another person I killed has a relative after me,' Harold thought as he ran out the door and onto the street, 'Damn my damnable luck!'