The road south was untroubled, and Simon made good time, arriving five days ter, just in time for a hanging in the square of Sny. He didn’t remember this exactly, and as he moved among the crowd and listeo the charges being read out, he uood immediately what this was. Endangering the Baron's heir. Attempted flight. Cowardi the field of battle.

  This was the man that the Baron had attempted to repce him with. Simon took a long look at the broken-down merary oform that had beeed and wondered how close he’d e to such a fate himself. Not that the Baron’s men would have been able to take Simon so easily, of course, but as a lesson, it was still very easy to see himself ending up in that pce. Especially given how much less magic he’d known back then.

  Simon was tempted to save him because the way that Baron Corwin was handling this struck him as unjust. He didn’t, though. The first reason was that he would have definitely aliehe Corwin family iempt, but the sed was more important. This had all apparently only happened a couple of days ago, which meant that there robably still time to save young Gregor’s arm and, if he was lucky, the man attached to it.

  So, he said nothing as the patheti begged for his life and was left to choke and da the end of a rope. It was an ugly sight made uglier as Simon couldn’t help but see his own face there.

  As soon as it was done and the Baron was walking back to the house, Simon approached him. The reception was much chillier than it had bee time Simon had e to town in this timeline, but the reason was fairly straightforward. He’d sought to avert a war, and in doing so, he’d e here too te.

  “Apologies, my Lord,” Simon said, bowing slightly as he saluted the man with his fist to his chest. “My name is Simon, and I’ve heard from your people that your son’s injuries are severe and that your doctors are preparing to remove the boy’s arm. I’d like to help if I may before that happens.”

  “I doubt you know any more about Medie than that buffoon Karls’s knew about hunting goblins,” Baron Corwin said jadedly, “but as thanks for your passion, I will let you walk away now instead of letting my me you for your insolence.”

  There was a ess in the man’s eyes that showed just how much this event had already cost him, and it saddened Simon but not enough for him to give up.

  “I might look young, your lordship,” Simon said, “but I’ve seen several battlefields and served under both knights and healers. So if I must beat you men bloody to show you I know my business, I’m happy to do it.”

  Baron Corwin ughed at that, unsure if he was serious or simply a bad joke, but when he shrugged, the three men that had been esc the Baron all moved as oo do their Lord’s bidding. Simon wasn’t afraid. He didn’t even draw his bde. He’d fought all three of these men more than once, and though he didn’t remember the exact foibles of their fighting styles, he was certain he could best them, especially with a few words of minor forbsp;

  The first o down without any magic at all. All it took was a feint to the right before an uppercut to the left, and he was down, vomiting his lunch up thanks to a hard blow to the gut. The sed one was warier, and he and Simon exged several blows before he e with a head but to the man’s flimsy nose guard. It cut Simoy deeply but knocked his oppo unscious.

  The st one, he tripped with a whispered word of minor force. Then Simon stood there with his boot resting lightly on the man’s throat, making it clear that he could end this in a rather ugly fashion if he so desired. The Baron’s response was to draw his sword a few inches from his sheath before he hesitated.

  “Why?” Baron Corwin asked. “Why not simply take 'get lost' for an answer? Why do you think that beating my men will make me let you see my son?”

  “I Just wished to show you I was serious,” Simon said, whispering the words for minor healing under his breath before he wiped the blood off his forehead with his leather gau. “If you don’t see how a man of my talents could be useful, then I am willing to take my leave.”

  Truthfully, that little gesture, showing that he no longer had a wound, would have been enough to get him branded a wit some of the pces he’d been to so far. It might be enough here, but Simon was willing to take that the hopes that it was enough to tap into a father’s desperation as well.

  The Baroated but finally sheathed his sword and said, “I’m not paying you a single copper for this, you uand? I should put you iocks for assaulting my men.”

  Simon that, smiling as he was led into the familiar manor. The st time he’d been here in this timeli had been a nice pce, but now it was a house in m. When they reached Gregor’s sick bed, the curtains were drawn, and the much younger version of the broken-down man he’d seen so retly y in his sick bed.

  The smell of rot overpowered the flowers that had been brought into the room, and young Gregor’s eyes barely flickered open at the sound of their entry. Simon said, “Alright, every one of you leaches out, now.”

  It was the only rea possible. He was sure that they were doing their best, of course, but seeing what bad shape their patient was in made any other reapossible. Here they were, sharpening their saws and deg how much of their patient's arm to cut off when the bandages of his arm were brown and foul-smelling. It was revolting.

  Everyone looked in shock, from him to the Baron, for approval, and when he hey began to leave. Ohe two of them were aloh his dying son, Simon said, “Baron Corwin, I’m going to need linens, boiling water, and the stro alcohol you have in the manht in here immediately while I remove whatever this is.”

  “It’s a poultice for the iion,” Baron Corwin said immediately.

  “Really?” Simon asked. “And does it look like it’s doing any good against the iion burning through him?”

  Simon started to peel away the crusted bandages, revealing the pale pus-soaked skih. He could smell the stench of goblin immediately, but to him, it looked like Gregor had been mauled by a Pitbull or a rottweiler. He found more than two dozen puncture wounds that went to the bone and a deep bite mark on the forearm that had probably do least some nerve damage.

  All in all, it was an ugly se, but Simon didn’t see anything that wasn’t fixable here. When the Barourned with the requested items, he paled to look at the severity of the wounds.

  “This? This is what my gold paid for?” he growled as he looked at the t flesh of his heir. “I’ll have them hung in the square for this if he… if you ’t…”

  Baron Corwin couldn’t plete the thought, which was fair, Simon decided. He was a good man in a bad spot.

  To distract him, Simon proceeded to list off half a dozen herbs he wanted brought to him. None of them would do much. They were more for pain relief than anything. He just wao keep the man busy while Simon started tearing the sheets into thin strips and sterilizing them in the boiling water.

  The bandages wouldn’t do much either except hide the magic he pnned on using. “Gervuul Delzam,” he whispered, using the words of greater g to focus on the bacteria and toxins running rampant in the boy’s body.

  Simohe power flow through him as the greater word purged the bacteria that had brought young Gregor to death’s door. That alone would have been enough to save his life, but Simon knew he could do more.

  Gregor would almost certainly live now, but he’d probably still have to deal with a crippled arm for the rest of his life, and Simon didn’t want that. Not for a friend.

  So, instead, he started with the worst of the wounds, whispering the words of healing as he visualized the muscles rebuilding and the flesh c them over. He tried to imagihe nerves ing together, too, but his knowledge of anatomy still wasn’t what it should be, and he k.

  In the dim light of the empty room, no one saw what he was doing, which was fortunate for both their sakes. Simon made no effort to elimihe scars he was leaving behind, though. After wounds this bad, everyone would expect scars, so he left them behind everywhere.

  “Aufvarum Hyakk,” he whispered repeatedly, closing up the puncture wounds o a time and f them to vomit out the deg flesh as they healed from the i.

  It was disgusting, and the smell made Simon gag, but he ig. Instead, he focused on his work. Whenever Baron Corwin was in the room, Simon focused on bandaging the parts he’d already healed, and whenever he made the Baron leave to find something else he wasn’t going to use, Simon tio weave his magie small wound at a time.

  Half an hour ter, the arm had been pletely bandaged by ragged ugly strips soaked in herbs and brandy to hide his work, and his charge had been almost entirely healed, though Simon hoped that no one would know that for at least a few days.

  The Baron became much friendlier once he saw that his son’s fever had broken and there was some color returning tor’s cheeks. That night, he was io dih their family as he had so long ago, and he volunteered to go and purge the goblin iion at the silver mihat still remained undone even after all of this.

  Over brandy afterward, Baron Corologized and tried to pay Simon for all he’d done, but he wouldn’t accept it. “I’ll take a silver a head for the goblins but nothing for doing right by your son,” he said with a smile.

  Simon smoked the monsters out, the same as before, and by the time young Gregor was out of bed, the mines were clear, and Simon had gotten fortable in the very same cottage he’d lived in for months as he tried to uand a bit more about magibsp;

  Holy, he didn’t kly what he was doing here, and he felt like he should leave on a high note, but something about seeing that young man struggle with his newfound disability made it impossible for Simon to leave right away.

  So, he tutored him in swordpy in the same way that Gregor had oored him so mahs ago. Holy, it wasn’t getting him any closer to the bottom of the Pit, but Simon ehose quiet weeks as he rebuilt a retionship with a very familiar stranger.

  At least until the war arrived once more. This time, it wasn’t the Duke’s men that had e to ruin their peaceful life. It was the local Earl.

  Simon discussed it with the Baron over dinner one night when the rumors started to fly. Apparently, after the gods had seen fit to strike down the King’s brother, the King died almost immediately, and some took that as a sign of disfavor from the gods. “In the weeks sihen, everything has started to e apart, at least acc to certain merts,” the Baron expined. “All the nobles with a little power or a small army are apparently warring with themselves now, and Earl Greyden wants me to raise the banners and march with him on the capital.”

  “I don’t see how that possibly end well,” Simon said.

  And he never would, either. He went with Baron Corwin to a pary to discuss the terms under which he and the other Barons of the region would ally with him as the Earl made a py for the thro was an ugly, tentious affair oral ground near a crossroad.

  Each of the barons had been allowed t only a single bodyguard, and Simo as Baron Corwin’s. Sadly, even though he suspected a trap, he did not figure out what it was until it was too te.

  Late in the night, when they reached an Impasse, the Earl announced he was stepping outside to relieve himself, and as soon as he was clear of the rge paviliohey’d beeing in, dozens of crossbow bolts ripped through the vas walls, striking everyone in attendanbsp;

  Simon was hit three times, but still mao mumble the words of healing through numb lips enough to stop the bleeding and draw his sword. Regardless, even calling dower fire and for his enemies, it wasn’t enough to fight free of the trap, and he died along with Earl Greyden, all five barons, and most of the unit that had arrived after the iations had started to ambush them. It was a bloodbath, and Simon’s st thoughts, beside how cold the sword pierg his liver was, was that he hoped this version or would be strong enough for whatever came .

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