Lora of Two Worlds

”Alive?” The Redmane were stunned. No breath, no pulse, and alive? The middle-aged commander’s heart stirred: ”The young lady is a physician? If he lives, can you save him?”

The Redmane had been unlucky. At Eastmarch, Windsor Yvain had led three thousand men to block them. The Redmane had crushed them and captured the second son.

They’d meant to besiege Stoneford: the duke would want his son, Deepford could be abandoned. If the duke refused, Stoneford besieged would destabilize the Deepford campaign.

They needed a living man. A corpse would only rally the enemy. They’d been sent by their chieftain, Zarek Zachary, who had volunteered to the Eastmarch marcher duke for this campaign.

The duke of Eastmarch, loyal to the crown, but old and ailing. He’d asked to retire. The King refused. So he held on.

This was why the Duke of Greyhollow March hadn’t feared an attack from the west, only White Horse Gate stood between him and Eastmarch.

The Northern Plains Command had volunteered. The duke had given them the mission.

And now, at White Horse Gate, they’d found the young lady.

Corpse-swoon syndrome: whether it could be treated depended on the cause. Blood deficiency or excess-deficiency. Lora wasn’t certain she could cure him. But she could stimulate him awake.

”Lady Odenheim, if you have a way, please save the second lord!” Lothair, on an emotional roller coaster, dropped to one knee, fist to chest.

Lora dodged the old general’s bow. Then:

”I have private medical techniques. Please, everyone step back.”

Medical families had secrets. No one objected. They turned away.

Leon had wanted to stay, she’d never hidden her treatments from him. But she seemed to glare at him. He turned obediently, like the rest.

Lora quietly slipped off the Rose Needle. She pinched the tail and pulled. This time, the needle didn’t become a hair-fine lancet needle. It became a three-edged lancet.

She breathed a silent sigh of relief: Good, I got it right. A life is at stake. Grandpa, watch over me.

”Shawn, help me undo his cap.”

Shawn turned back, undid Windsor Yvain’s coif and braids. He was about to turn away again when Lora said:

”No, stay. Light a fire-stick. I need to heat the needle.”

Everyone who heard, this was needle work. Hot-needle lancing. The man was ”dead”, she was pulling out the heavy guns.

Lora felt Windsor Yvain’s scalp. Found the crown point. The Rose Needle, in lancet form, went in, fast. The three-edged tip was sharp enough to draw blood from a pressure point.

She pressed beside the point. A bead of dark red blood welled up.

”Keane, take off his shoes and socks.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author’s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

The two assistants bared Windsor Yvain’s feet. Both silently thanked providence, this was a lord, attended by servants, who changed his socks. Not too bad.

Lora went to the end of the cart, heated the Rose Needle, and, as before, needled each toe and drew blood. All ten toes done. Windsor Yvain hadn’t moved.

Was he too far gone? Lora frowned. She closed her eyes, recalling the needle-work rhymes Grandpa had made her memorize.

Right, try unblocking his spine-channel and back-sinew line. Drain the toxins, generate vital spirits. No time to lose. She had Corin fetch oil from the gate. From her satchel, she drew two copper coins.

Corin brought lard. Lora spread it on Windsor Yvain’s back. She used the coins as scraping boards, from top to bottom, along the two sinew-lines.

She scraped for the time it takes to drink a cup of ale. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her arms were leaden. Then, Windsor Yvain, lying on his side, let out a long breath.

Everyone’s heart unclenched.

The men who’d turned away now looked back, and saw: Windsor Yvain’s back was bare. The young lady’s hands were on his skin.

Oh, no wonder she’d asked for privacy. How difficult for a noble girl. To save a life, she’d put aside her dignity, her modesty. A remarkable woman, worthy of deep respect.

In the modern world, male doctors treating female patients and vice versa was normal. In this age, women often went untreated. And a woman treating a half-naked man? Unheard of.

Most importantly, Windsor Yvain opened his eyes. And lived.

Lothair rushed forward: ”Second lord, you’re awake! I thought I’d never see you again...”

”Luo...”

He’d spoken. Lora stopped. She lifted her arm to wipe her sweat. Her hands were slick with oil. Leon, after long deliberation, reluctantly, drew from his tunic the handkerchief Lora had used to splint the dog’s leg. He handed it over.

”Thanks!” Lora took it, wiped a few times. Then noticed: ”Wait, isn’t this...”

”Yes.”

”Explanation?”

”Alone.”

”Fine!”

Lora rolled the handkerchief and stuffed it into her satchel. She looked back at the cart, Lothair had helped Windsor Yvain sit up.

”Second lord, it was the lady physician, Lady Odenheim, who saved you.” Lothair’s affection for Lora was at maximum. Beautiful, skilled in medicine, the General of Lohenheim had raised a fine daughter.

Windsor Yvain bowed: ”My thanks, Lady Odenheim. I have nothing worthy to offer in return...”

”Don’t thank me. We’re the crown’s forces, come to suppress the rebellion. We’re your enemies. Your father incited a mutiny, that was his crime. The King pardoned him, let him keep Greyhollow March. And instead of mending his ways, he rebels again. As his son, why not wish for your family’s peaceful continuation, rather than abetting your father’s suicide by rebellion?”

Windsor Yvain, just roused and still groggy, opened his mouth, but had no words.

Lothair explained: ”The lady doesn’t know, the second lord opposed attacking Yarrow-Deep. That’s why the general sent him to garrison Eastmarch. As punishment.”

Windsor Yvain sighed:

”Deepford and Stoneford share a border. There’re always disputes. My father always wanted to reclaim Yarrow-Deep. He convinced the household generals that taking Yarrow-Deep would bring them more rewards...

I knew that defying the crown would bring retribution. I urged my father and brother to stop. They wouldn’t listen. When the guards realized that the grain and cloth they’d been given didn’t come from Yarrow-Deep, but from...”

He didn’t finish. But Leon and Lora both understood: someone behind the scenes had supplied the provisions, deceiving the guards into thinking it came from Yarrow-Deep.

The supplier, nine times out of ten, was Cedric Salt.

That man, a persistent shadow. What did he want?

Leon heard Windsor Yvain’s words and made his decision. He smiled, cool:

”The crown permits the three northern domains to pass titles outside the bloodline. Not because it’s weak, but because it makes you fight among yourselves. Your turmoil gives your household generals their chance to rise. If you return late, the Windsor house may never return to power.

Yorvik and Weybrook are smarter than you. When they answered the crown’s call to suppress the rebellion, neither of them remembered Greyhollow March as a ’brother.’”

”Yorvik? Yorvik killed the envoy, they were the first to revolt!” Windsor Yvain couldn’t believe it.

”We’re the Lohenheim garrison, escorting the envoy home past your territory. What does that tell you?”

The Redmane commander, silent till now, spoke up:

”Indeed. My lord sent us to assist the Lohenheim forces. White Horse Gate is already in their hands. If the Eastmarch army marches through, it’s easy.”

Windsor Yvain looked at Lothair. A long silence. Then:

”All right. I’ll take you into Stoneford.”