The Assassin's Redemption Chapter 3 Part 1

Dracon rode hard through the city, the boy slumped unconscious in front of him. The blood was continuing to flow from his wound, soaking Dracon’s make-shift bandage and seeping through onto the saddle. The Assassin shivered subconsciously. The temperature had dropped rapidly and all he was wearing was an undertunic.

The two passed through the portcullis hurriedly, not stopping until they reached the Healer’s Tower. Dracon jerked on the horse’s reins and leaped nimbly off the horse. He carefully pulled the bleeding boy down, pain radiating from his injured arm in the process. The Assassin ignored the throbbing and rushed up the steps of the tower, taking them two at a time. Reaching the door of the infirmary, Dracon maneuvered his body so he could pound on the door while still holding the boy.

“Open up Mistress Helen! Quickly!” he shouted, the sound echoing down the hall. After a few minutes that seemed to stretch on for eternity, there was the loud crunch of a latch opening and then the door swung back. An old, withered woman, her hair pulled back in a bun and clothed in a long gray nightgown, appeared in the doorway. Her face went from irritated to shocked within a second of examining the scene.

“Master Dracon! What happened?” She pulled the door open all the way and moved aside so he could enter. The room was large, beds lining one wall, cupboards, herbs, and medical instruments the other. The infirmary glowed softly from the candles that were scattered across the room. A small fireplace was built into the south wall, embers the only evidence of an earlier fire. Dracon had been here many times, and didn’t bother to examine the room again. All his attention was on Mistress Helen.

“Master Ramar ran after the man who tried to kill the King. They fought and the rebel won. He was about to kill Ramar when this boy attacked him with a knife. The rebel ran him through.” Dracon grunted. The Healer pointed a finger at an empty bed, and Dracon lay the boy down softly.

“Guardians help me!” Helen said, pulling back the Dracon’s tunic to reveal the wound. “This boy’s lost a lot of blood.”

“Can you save him?”

“I don’t know. This is extreme. Come over here and put pressure on the wound.” The Assassin hurried over, taking his soaked tunic from the Healer and applying pressure once again. She rushed off to the other side of the room, ruffling through piles of herbs and medicines. After a few minutes, she returned, a needle, thread, bandages, and a towel in one hand, a small bottle of clear liquid. She laid the items down on the table next to the bed and walked up next to Dracon. She removed the tunic, replacing it with the towel.

“Master Dracon, will you go start a fire. There should be some firewood in the corner,” Helen said.

“Why?”

“I have to cauterize the wound to stopped the bleeding. And in order to do that, I have to have a heated iron. And to get that, I need a fire,” she said, slightly irritated.

Dracon walked over to the corner, grabbing a log from off the top of a pile. He tossed it into the fireplace and picked up the flint resting on the edge of the hearth He pulled his knife from his belt. Minutes later, a fire was blazing in fireplace.

“Now stick the iron rod in there and wait until it turns red,” Helen said. Dracon pulled the iron from its resting place near the hearth and stuck it into the flames. Then he waited. The fire was small, causing the iron to heat up slowly. Ten minutes had passed before iron was as hot as Mistress Helen instructed.

“Ok, good,” she said. “Now bring me the iron.” Dracon obeyed, pulling out the rod and taking it to her. Her hands wrapped around the cool end as she removed the towel from the boy are wound.

“This young man better be glad he’s unconscious. This would really hurt.” Then, she stuck the iron to the stab wound. She held it there for a few seconds, burning the skin. When she removed the rod, the bleeding had stopped.

Placing the iron back into the fire, Mistress Helen moved to the bedside table, picking up the bottle. Then she turned back to the bed.

“What’s that?” Dracon asked.

“Pure alcohol. It’ll clean the wound and hopefully keep it from getting infected.” She uncorked the bottle, then poured half of the contents onto the gash. The wound began bubbling under the liquid. After waiting it for a few seconds, Helen took the towel and dabbed away the alcohol. She then replaced the cork and laid the bottle back onto the table. She grabbed the needle and thread and began stitching up the wound with expert hands. When she was done, Helen took a deep breath.

“That was impressive, Mistress Helen,” Dracon said.

“Years ago, before I came to the castle, I was a priestess of the Guardians. They are the best healers in the land. I learned a lot there. But never mind about that. I’ve done all I can. He’s lost a lot of blood. Only time will tell if he’ll make.”

“He was brave.”

“He’ll make a fine Assassin one day, if you of the Order have the mind to except him.” Helen said.

“Assassin?”

“He’s a Hopeful. You don’t recognize him? I met him earlier today. He said you stopped Katric from killing him.”

With all that had been going on, Dracon had not put two and two together. Looking at the boy again, he realized he was the Hopeful from the morning.

“I remember now,” Dracon said.

“ Now, sit down and let me see to your arm,” Helen said.

Dracon, now remembering the bit of arrow sticking out of his arm, raised his hand.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.”

“Sit Down!” the Healer said, stopping any further argument. Dracon settled down onto another bed, defeated.