That smell of canvas. It fills your nose. Luckily it’s mostly that and the smell of distilled spirits used to clean the wounded that fills the air of the Healing Tent. You’ve lost track of how many weeks you and the others have been here. Originally the Queen’s dispatch said that you would have a ‘building to cleanse and heal those damaged by the fighting’. But what Her Majesty didn’t know is the military officers and sorcerers took every sound structure in the area and turned into an operational outpost or barracks.
When you pleaded your case, both the army and the mages, stood together saying that they needed sturdy and secure places for conducting and planning the war. It wasn’t their fault that the hobgoblin army and their shaman destroyed everything larger than a farm house.
You’ve operated in field conditions before, and the sorcerers provided you their best and largest tents. Larger than yours alone, so there is plenty of room for the wounded to recover. You walk between the cots filled with recovering people. Many of the younger medics are maintaining those that they can. You stop and talk to one that you don’t know well, “Are there any problems? Is there any sign of infection?”
She looks up at you as she removes an herb-infused bandage and replaces it with a plain, clean one. “No, Mistress Healer. If I find anything beyond my herbalist skills, I’ll request help from you or one of the other healers.”
“Very good.” You say and move to the next one. That’s why you didn’t know her, she’s one of the herbalists. They, along with the surgeons, can treat and cure most of those who are sick or wounded, allowing the healers to save their magic for when it is truly needed.
When you first arrived, the worst of the fighting was still going on, so you set up a schedule of work and rest for the healers. A healer drained of their magic is of limited use, so rest, to replenish magic is as important as eating.
The herbalists and surgeons set up their own schedules, but it was your job to coordinate all of them. Their skills and knowledge is different than yours and many times, needed more.
Those first weeks could have drained and exhausted everyone, which would have left many wounded untended. But you balanced it all, and saved as many as you could.
Now, the sorcerers and the army have pushed the hobgoblins and their shaman back to their side of the border, so things are calmer. It allows those in the Healing Tent, time to recover and return to their lives. The scouts and knights are patrolling and keeping the area safe for now.
You finish your daily check of the Tent and head for the field kitchen and the dining tent. Before you get there, a warning horn is sounded as a pair of riders head straight for the Healing Tent. You see arrow fletching sticking out from chest of one. “Mistress Healer. Wounded Scout!”
It’s the thing you dread most. “Off the horse and lie him on the table.” You yell.
The surgeon is also there. The leather armour fasteners are cut but everyone waits for you to look at him. The other scout is checked by an herbalist while you focus on his partner. Not a lot of blood visible, but the armour and arrows are probably holding it in. You close your eyes, let the magic flow. Without opening them, you “see” clearly into the chest of the man. One arrow went between his ribs and was stopped by the backplate of his armour. Using the magic, you look carefully at the barbed arrowhead. The hobgoblin arrows are wicked and have to be pushed through. You tell the surgeon. “That one is a straight through, but passed through the lung.” He nods and has his assistants bring the wet bindings that will make a temporary seal, and keep his lung from collapsing. You shift your focus to the other arrow. The breastbone is nicked and one of the ribs is cracked. The arrow was stopped by where his ribs connect. “We’ll have to move and push this one through too, but I’ll also try to heal some of the damage.”
An assistant shortens the shafts and clips off the fletchings, as a couple of others ready to remove his chest plate. “When I say, pull it off.” You direct as you still watch the arrowhead. There is an artery that is nicked but not fully severed. If the barbs shift the wrong direction, they will slice through it. You put some healing force into him. The cracked rib is slowly mending and the nick in the artery is stitching itself together. You can’t do too much because the arrows still have to go through him. The surgeon knows what you are doing and stabilizes the shaft closest to the heart. “Are you ready to remove the chest plates?” He quietly asks, while trying not to distract your focus. Sweat forms on your brow as you delicately guide the healing energy, fixing what you have to. “Ok. Now.” You say.
You keep focused on the chest of the scout. The leather back plate slides off, but the front one is lifted off. The scout moans in pain as the arrows shafts move. You have to block the pain by feeding his pleasure center. You place a hand on his forehead and use a ‘Merging spell’. It allows you to share what he feels, and for you to counter it with your strength. The expected pain moves into you, but you grit your teeth and then exhale. Pleasure chemicals in the body flood both yours and his brains. Your breathing matches his, as do your heartbeats. You feel his shirt being cut away as if it was your robe. You feel his erection as he feels your wetness. It’s not pleasure for pleasure’s sake, it’s pleasure to block the pain. You know the surgeon is working. “I’ll push the arrows when you are ready.” You try to keep him delirious with pleasure. “Do it.” You tell the surgeon. You feel sharp piercings penetrate through your chest. You and the scout moan in a mix of pain and pleasure. An orgasm ripples through both of you. It’s a side affect of being linked. “Can you close the wounds or have me stitch?” The surgeon asks. Your breathing is hard now. There is still more healing magic in you, so you answer in a tone full of lust and desire. “I’ve got this.”
Tears in the skin and muscle join and knit. Parts that were violently cut rejoin as you guide the magic. Pleasure moves through you again as you repair and strengthen his body. Sweat covers both of your bodies. Your energy is starting to fade. A younger healer takes your hand. “Mistress, Break the contact. It’s done.”
Even with your hand removed the magic link is still there.
A weak voice croaks “We’re finished.” It’s the scout whose thoughts echo in yours. A post orgasmic glow radiates from you as separate from him. Looking down, you see the scout drift off to sleep, with a post coital smile on his lips. His bare chest is slightly scarred but he is healed. An herbalist wipes the semen from his crotch. “Mistress, I’ll fetch fresh clothes for him.”
You nod and take a step. Hands grab and stabilize you. With the magic gone, you are drained and exhausted.
“You shouldn’t have healed him fully.” The surgeon scolds you as he walks you to your tent. “We would have stitched him up.”
In a drowsy tone you respond, “I was in too deep. Can’t let another one die like that.” You barely notice lying down on your cot. Deeply you sleep.
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