Chapter Fifty-Two: Decay

Chapter Fifty-Two: Decay

Two weeks.

Two weeks Tom had spent, carving a path through the forest, Sesame plodding along beside him.

Two weeks, although it felt longer.

Tom was a knot. He was an alloy forged of anxiety and frustration. He was certain he wouldve broken down if it werent for Sesames dependable presence.

He checked Val continually. At first, she didnt seem to change. Her skin was ashen, waxen. Her breathing was shallow, and it felt like if he looked away too long, it would stop. A sheen of sickly sweat covered her forehead. Blood leaked in slow dribbles from multiple wounds.

An hour after they started, he called Sesame to a stop. He needed to bandage her wounds, to ensure she was keeping as much of her blood as he could manage inside of her, instead of leaking onto the forest floor.

He felt they were far enough away from the scene of the attack, now. He hadnt wanted to try and deal with her wounds and fight off an attack from some opportunistic predator at the same time. He was ever conscious of the fact that they had just fought an orc hunting party, and that more could be anywhere, even if it seemed to be at the extreme edge of their range. He had no idea what passed for logic among their species, and wouldnt bet Vals life on it.

He gently peeled away her ruined shirt from the handfuls of small blades buried in her stomach, one on either side of her abdomen. As the torn, blood-encrusted fabric came away, he hissed in shock. The flesh around them was fever-hot, and grey as a winter storm cloud, where the rest of her ranged from merely washed out, to leaden.

She was dying. That much was clear. She was only managing to fight off the decay imposed by Honeyfields skills with the help of Smitten, who had curled up beside her on the litter.

He could do little about it. All the potions Harvey had given him were poisons, and could only heal with the help of his Sweet Suffering. He had various herbs and such, gathered over his time as a Hunter, and he knew some of them had restorative effects, but they were only mild, and he had no way to give them to her at present.

A problem for later. He had bigger problems now.

He ransacked his brain for any memories from his Academy medical classes. He remembered being taught that stab wounds often punctured vital organs or arteries, and if you removed them, the victim would bleed out. It was best to leave them in, and let a Healer deal with the injury.

He didnt have any Healers on hand, though. There wouldnt even be one at Corins Grove. If he was exceedingly lucky, one of the Guards there might have a healing skill, which they could hopefully use to stabilise her until help came from one of the hospitals in Wayrest. A long hope, but the only one he could think of.

He tried to weigh the pros and cons in his mind. Was it better to leave the knives in, or take them out and bandage them?

He dithered, then realised his dithering was achieving nothing. He couldnt know what was best. He wasnt a Healer. He had to be decisive.

He began pulling the knives from her stomach. As gently as he could manage, he tugged on them until they came free, one by one. The inflamed flesh around them was tight as a drum, and dragged on the lengths of metal hungrily as he pulled, like lurid, greedy fish sucking on silvery fingers.

As the last came free, he pulled out some spare clothes from his inventory, and cut them into strips with his belt knife. Any useless pieces he formed into a wadding, which he pressed to the wounds. Though they were numerous, he was helped by the fact that they were gathered in two small bunches. The wadding covered them easily.

He bound strips of cloth over the wadding, as tightly as he could manage. Then he repeated the process for the knife wound in her back.

As he checked that wound he was glad to find it more towards her shoulder than her lung. There was no bubbling around the wound either, indicative of a punctured lung. Just a little bit of luck, but it gave him hope.

He quickly scanned the rest of her, and bandaged a few more nicks and scrapes that he found.

Pulling the blades from Vals stomach had triggered a momentary thought in Tom, and he immediately sent Sere on a small jaunt back to the scene of the ambush.

Then they began the long journey back.

For the most part, it held blades. Many different types and varieties, ranging from near-copies of the enormous greatsword Honeyfield had wielded, to thin little numbers more similar to Vals own blade, now safely stored in Toms own inventory. There were knives and daggers, hatchets and axes, and polearms of all types.

There were more eclectic weapons, those he had only heard of, and some he had never heard of at all. Bladed rings, and bizarre weapons with multiple blades sticking out at odd angles. Throwing weapons of all descriptions, in every shape you could think of.

Many of the weapons were enchanted, Tom could see at a glance. As he picked them over, occasionally taking one out to look at it properly, he began to get an estimation of the value of them all.

If he wanted, he would never have to work again. Even the value of the ring itself was absurd.

Aside from the weapons, there were a scant few changes of clothes, some spare cloaks, some foodstuffs and water, and other provisions. No mice in the ring, either.

But there were a few items in particular that drew Toms attention. Some potions, to be exact. And therein lay his dilemma.

There were eight potions. None of them were labelled. Tom took each one out of the storage, inspecting them closely, looking at them from every angle, sniffing them, even, but he couldnt figure out what they were.

In each of these potions, did he hold death, or life, or something completely unrelated? He felt like a man such as Honeyfield would likely have some kind of restorative potion among his belongings, but he also knew without a doubt that he would definitely be carrying deadly poisons too.

When he had stabbed Val while Silenced during their fight, she had clearly been under the effect of some kind of debuff. It couldnt have been an active skill. It could have been a passive one. It could simply have been an innate effect of the ritual weapons he was wielding, which was the most likely explanation.

But it also could have been poison wiped on the blades. Tom couldnt decide.

He could try the potions himself, and if they were poisonous, Sweet Suffering would activate and he would know. But, if they were beneficial, he wouldnt. This was the issue.

He thought back to the Thought-Painting Frog Venom. It hadnt activated Sweet Suffering. If he drunk one of the potions now, and it also didnt activate it, he could still incapacitate himself, or kill Val.

He couldnt risk it either. He wouldnt put it past a man as nefarious, as patently evil, as Honeyfield, to carry some kind of potion, a poison, that actually worked as a buff, technically. It seemed like his kind of thing.

It didnt mean that Tom didnt want to try them. To throw caution to the wind and just see what they were. But each time, he heard Vals stern voice in his head, warning him against rash decisions, counselling him to caution and patience.

He oscillated wildly back and forth. Several times, he caught himself, pulling himself forcefully to a stop, with his hand on the tiny cork of a bottle, just about to wrench it free. He must have taken them from the storage and replaced them a thousand times.

Sesame could feel his pain, his worry, his anxiety over the conundrum. The bear sent him a steady stream of thoughts, each one as predictable and dependable as the great beasts footsteps.

Its okay, Tom. Its okay. Well help Val. Well help her. Not long now. We will make it. Its Val. We will make it. Dont worry

In the end, he agonised over the decision for so long that he didnt notice right away when they had arrived. Suddenly, Sere was sending him images of peach and apple trees, laden with blossoms in the spring sun, and his heart jolted into his chest.

He checked Val, and found her in the same state, Smitten still by her side, still making piteous little whines.

Hold on, Val, he told her. Were here. Just a little longer.

They broke the treeline, and stepped from the Deep onto the worn path to Corins.

Just a little longer, Val. Youre gonna be fine. I know it.