For two weeks Judeau remained in bed, mostly living on soup and foul-tasting healing potions, as he was gradually introduced to solid foods. First as bread soaked in the soup, then as porridge with bread on the side, and so on.

Even though there were many uncomfortable things about being bed-ridden like this, none was quite as unpleasant as having his bandages changed. The first time that Shammael had removed the bindings and Judeau had been awake to know it, he had not been able to keep from crying out when the bandages caught in the stitches and the dried blood. He also had to sit up while this was being done, which didn�t agree well with his sore ribs no matter how heavily he leaned against the old man.

But the worst part was probably what he saw when he looked down on himself without the bandages on. Judeau could hardly believe that he had actually survived when he looked at the carefully stitched-up wounds, edged with dried blood, and the large, purplish-blue blotches around them.

Though, it did help him to understand where the pain was coming from.

*
One night when he felt exceptionally sore and just couldn�t go to sleep, Judeau decided to attempt to find every individual wound�s location. He had nothing better to do, after all. After feeling and fidgeting for a while he had most of them nailed down: the worst wounds were the ones the whip-demon had left on his back, if one didn�t take his right arm into account, which was so badly mangled that he counted the whole limb as a single wound.

Damn those demons! Damn them all to hell, and may they take Griffith with them and torture his soul for eternity! Judeau had heard him, clear as day: He had willingly and knowingly branded the Hawks as demon sacrifices. Was that how he rewarded their faith and loyalty to him? How could he? How dared he?

With a serious effort, Judeau brought his trembling left hand up to his face to glare menacingly at the demonic brand. He blinked, blinked again and turned his hand over, flexing his fingers to feel the very real ache in them and assure himself that he was not dreaming or hallucinating, but there was no mistake: The pale, blue moonlight shone on the unbroken skin of his palm, and not a trace of the demonic brand remained. Perplexed, and a little unsettled, Judeau decided to ask Shammael about it in the morning.

*
Morning came, and still his palm looked the same. No brand, not even a scratch. When the old man brought him breakfast Judeau brought up the question, but got the harsh reply that Shammael had never seen any kind of mark on either hand, and he was told to be happy that it wouldn�t be another scar to worry about.

Judeau still felt that the disappearance of the brand was important, somehow, but the issue seemed to agitate the old man for some reason, and he decided not to speak any more of it. He did not really feel strong enough yet to begin arguing with his grumpy old benefactor.

*
Also of some note were the occasional pangs of grief and loss he experienced when he thought about his comrades and friends, and that, if he really was in a different world, he would most likely never see them again - if any of them were still alive at all. But he had always been the one who could keep a positive view on things, and he found it a bit more easy than he had expected to begin to accept their absence.

He told himself that, if he didn�t know what had actually happened to them, why not suppose the best instead of the worst? Maybe a lot of them had survived, maybe they were happy, and maybe they had formed a new band with Gatts, Caska or maybe even Corkus as leader.

And maybe not, but since he didn�t know for sure, he opted for the first and gradually began to worry less about them.

*
While he was bed-ridden, Judeau learned more about Shammael and his dogs; The man was a so-called Healer, which meant that he could both stitch people up like a field surgeon, find herbs and cook up healing potions like a wise woman, but above all else that the man had been born with a mystic gift; a power of the mind that almost worked as magic � which, Judeau learnt, was very real in this new world: He could heal wounds, even lethal ones, with the force of his mind. The process of this Healing would leave the old man weakened, tired and nauseous, but it was more effective and failsafe than any medicine or surgery.

When Judeau asked him how that had come to be, Shammael had simply replied that it was his Birthright. He had been born a Healer; it was rare, but happened occasionally.

He had three dogs that he had named Tail, Paw and Muzzle, and Judeau found them all likeable, each in its different way.

Tail was absolutely the most social of them, possibly the most social dog Judeau had ever met. He loved everybody and everything and usually wagged his slim, whip-like tail so hard that his whole body wagged along with it. He had the strange habit of bringing small, wounded animals to the house, where he would put them in Shammael�s or Judeau�s lap and whine sadly, waiting for someone to heal it. This was cute, but it made him a very bad hunter.

The hunting dog in the group was definitely Paw. Slightly smaller than Tail, but much more muscular, there was no mistaking of the wolf-hybrid in him. His eyes were yellow and shone with almost human intelligence, and where Tail�s coat was short, smooth and glossy, Paw�s was thick and shaggy. He was also the undisputed leader of the dogs, stronger than Tail and faster and smarter than Muzzle.

Not that it was very hard to be smarter than Muzzle. The third dog was a huge, lumbering beast, its shoulders easily reaching up to Judeau�s hips if he were to stand next to it, and muscular enough to be the canine answer to Pippin, the Band of the Hawk�s resident giant.

But Muzzle�s mind wasn�t quite as grand as his body. The big dog wasn�t allowed in the house, because he didn�t really know how big he was and always ended up breaking something or accidentally sitting on one of the other dogs.

He was also that kind of dog who would chase his tail, catch it, bite down real hard, howl in pain and then growl angrily at the tail and begin to chase it again. But if you didn�t know him, his hulking, black and ragged appearance could be quite terrifying.

*
After one week in bed, Shammael decided that it was time for Judeau to begin to walk again, but the first week of progress was spent indoors, limping around in the room supported on the Healer�s shoulders for short periods of time with a lot of rest in between. Judeau felt a little ashamed at the way his body had weakened so much, so fast, but the Healer reassured him that it was exactly what could be expected, and that with some training he would be fully restored.

One day, Shammael came in with a pair of crutches and grudgingly announced that he was sick and tired of hoisting Judeau around, and that he would now be able to get things for himself when he needed them.

Judeau was getting used to the old mans grumpy attitude, and thanked him very much for crafting the crutches for him. Soon he was hopping around the house, and even out into what Shammael referred to as the �garden�.

The house was small but sturdily built and timbered, with two rooms, one of which was the main room where Judeau still spent his nights, the other a combined kitchen/sleeping area where Shammael slept if he, like now, had a guest or a very ill patient.

Outdoors the forest was almost immediately at the door, but in the small glade outside the kitchen, the Healer grew vegetables and some herbs on a very tidy little patch of earth.

In a nearby stable the Healer held a cow, and two horses grazed in a surprisingly green forest-glade-turned-pasture a little bit off. The cow was called Emma, and the two horses were aptly named Blaise and Sock.

*
Time passed, and a month later Shammael had removed the stitches. Judeau could now move without the crutches, even if he still had to be a little careful. He was nonetheless amazed at how fast the healing process had been; he could even use his right arm again, nevermind that it was yet sore and a little bit stiff.

The big, purple blotches were all gone, but the scars were still angrily red and tender. The Healer had told him that wounds inflicted by a demon were extraordinarily hard to heal and left scars that never faded away completely. That was okay, though. Judeau felt that wounds of that size should leave some scars; it would have felt rather strange otherwise.

Shammael then told him that he�d better start providing for himself and that he couldn�t expect the Healer to do all the hard work, so he was to come along on the hunting trips from now on. It turned out to be very good exercise, and Judeau felt himself slowly begin to regain what he�d lost. And also, he felt a little useful again. It was a nice feeling, when he brought home his first kill, to be able to give a little back to the Healer after all that the man had done for him.

*
It was at about that time that Shammael made an announcement.

�I shall be going to the Great City in a week or two," he said as they sat down in front of the fire to eat supper one evening. "I think you should come, too.�

�The great city? Why do you need to go there?� Judeau asked, at the same time slightly surprised that this place had great cities, and a little bit excited at the prospect of seeing people again.

�There are some things I can�t make for myself. I need a new axe-head, a new pair of boots, repair my old crossbow and some other stuff. The best and only place within reasonable distance to get all that I need is in the Great City, the capital of this land.�

�You call your capital the Great City?�

�Yes. If you come along, you�ll see why.�

They sat in thoughtful silence for a while.

�I would like to go with you, and see the city,� Judeau finally said.

�I thought you would,� Shammael replied, and that was that.

*
So one week later, Judeau found himself on the back of a horse once again. On Sock, to be more precise, as he rode through the forest following the Healer, who was mounted on Blaise and trailed by the three dogs, towards the Great City of the land called Ducarron. With them they had skins and herbs that the Healer would sell, as well as a fold-up tent and other items for sleeping outside since the journey would take them a full week to finish.

Said journey was generally dreadful for Judeau. Riding, even at a slow pace, hurt like hell for the first three days, and for five days out of seven it rained heavily - but only after they had left the protective roof of the forest, of course.

The plain they rode on for the rest of the trip seemed to stretch on endlessly, and there were no roads to speak of, nor any villages as far as he could see.

It seems I have come to a very desolate world, so far, he mused as he rode through the pouring rain, trying to ignore the pain in his ribs.

*
But on the morning of the seventh day, he got his first glimpse of the Great City through the waning rain. At first glance, it looked like a strangely shaped mountain, but as they got closer he began to see the sun glinting off of it in odd places, and soon he noticed white towers, fighting for attention with great, light blue cupolas. By noon, the Great city stood before them in all its awesome glory, and it was undoubtedly one of the greatest achievements of man that Judeau had ever seen.

The Great City was built like a single, gigantic palace that could easily have fitted the entirety of the Midland army comfortably, still have room for the Chuda knights, and enough space left for them to wage battles on each other.

Great, gleaming towers reached for the sky, enormous cupolas laid like well-fed house cats lapping up the sun, walkways and bridges spanned from tower to balcony, from balcony to staircase, and from staircase to other walkway.

And yet Judeau could only see the outside of it, like the top of an ant-house - and like an ant-house, the Great City was teeming with life.

As they entered what felt like the Great City�s shadow, Judeau saw two things: the first was that the city did not end where the colossal structure ended; hundreds of small, separate houses stood on the plain and appeared to Judeau as if they were shyly huddled against the shining giant in their midst, like dirty children around a saintly mother.

The other thing he saw was that the city was sitting on the edge of a very large ravine that stretched out from horizon to horizon as far as he could tell, and was at least as wide as the berth of the Great City itself.

If their enemy should come from that direction, they have a really good tactical position, Judeau thought and smiled at himself for still thinking like a soldier.

*
They rode through the outer city, which mostly seemed like a permanent gathering place for merchants as far as Judeau could tell. There was a constant din of voices, sometimes punctured by a shout from some merchant with exceptionally good lungs.

Judeau found that he felt better by all these sounds and the presence of the people - but couldn�t help noticing how Shammael seemed all the more irked as they rode deeper into the milling throng.

Finally, they stopped at a large area, crowded with tents of different sizes and colours, and Shammael tied the horses to a pole sticking out of the ground, apparently meant for that use.

�OK, here�s where I stay. Hand me those skins and the tent.�

Judeau obliged, and helped the Healer set up the tent and hang up the skins and herbs inside it. He found it increasingly difficult to focus on the job, though, as enticing smells and interesting sights constantly assaulted his senses.

�Do you want to go and have a look around?� Shammael�s tone was polite, but in a slightly strained way. Judeau nonetheless jumped and grinned guiltily.

�Yes, I would. I just wish I had some money so I could buy me some decent clothes�� He pulled his borrowed cloak tighter around himself. When the Healer had found him he had had nothing with him but the clothes on his body and his wrecked armour, so he was currently wearing one of Shammael�s shirts (his own was bloodied and torn beyond repair) as well as a cloak, both of which were some sizes too big for him.

He had been able to save his own trousers, though. He had had to scrub them for hours, but he had got the bloodstains out, and his boots were still in prime condition.

�What?� Shammael frowned teasingly and pulled at the sleeve of the borrowed shirt. �these aren�t good enough for you? I�d wear them, myself!�

�Yes�� Judeau smiled back. �And that�s exactly where the problem lies.�

Shammael shook a finger at him in mock warning. �Oh, you watch that tongue of yours, boy, �r else I'll rip it out for you!� Then he gave a little sigh and untied a purse from his belt. �Here, take this. It�s not much, but it�s all I can spare.�

Judeau looked at the Healer, once again astonished by the kindness of this grumpy old man, who had done so much for him already.

�I couldn�t possibly take that money. You need it for yourself.�

�Dammit, boy! I didn�t ask you if you could take it or not, I told you to take it!� The Healer pressed the purse into Judeau�s hands with a scowl.

�Shammael�� Judeau held the purse out for the old man to take it back. �Please, you have done so much more than you�ve had to for me. You saved my life, you�ve fed me and taken care of me. Please don�t deepen my debt to you.� The Healer huffed and made no move to take the purse, so Judeau continued, with his most winning smile:

�Did I ever tell you that I used to work as a travelling performer once? I still know all the tricks. I can earn my own money by entertaining bypassers, just like the other performers we�ve seen here.�

Shammael regarded Judeau for a little while, then he cleared his throat and reached for the purse. But instead of taking it, he pressed it into Judeau�s hands once more, and when he spoke his voice was oddly thick:

�Do your tricks, earn your own money, but take these coins as a gift� from a friend. You�ve been a very pleasant company, boy. I know I may not have made it seem that way always, but I want you to know that it felt good to have another human being in the house again. I� I like isolation, and I feel bad among the crowds, but sometimes� the loneliness can get to me too. Despite the dogs.� The last was said with a slight smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and somehow made him seem even older. �However�� he continued, �I know you won�t stay with me in the forest. You can�t. You�re a city person; this is where you belong. Where things happen and people mill about.� He let Judeau�s hands go, and with them the purse. Then he turned away and spoke quietly, as if to the universe at large:

�Maybe I should get me an apprentice this year. I always say that I�m going to, but I never actually get to it. I can�t let all my knowledge die with me, and I�m really not getting any younger��

Judeau stood still, holding the purse, surprised at hearing so many words at once from the usually so quiet Healer. He then tied the purse to his own belt and laid a hand on the old man�s shoulder.

�Do that. You�d be a great teacher, and your apprentice would become a great asset to the world.�

Shammael smiled at him again and placed his big hand on Judeau�s shoulder.

�Good bye� Judeau. And good luck.�

�Thank you, Shammael, and I wish you the same.�

With that, they shook hands, and Judeau took the sack with his ruined armour in it, and left.

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