Warsinger by James Baldwin (most important books of all time txt) 📕

a life spent outdoors. It was good to see he was cheerful, but he was pale, fever-eyed, and visibly clammy. “Let’s see… we have my lovely Arshak walking with an honored elder of the Southern Churvi, if I’m not mistaken, and… who's this? Lord Dog, returning from his tour of pissing on every lamp post between here and Dalim?”

Istvan looked aghast. “Vash!”

“That's Voivode Dog to you, you dirty peasant.” I grinned back at him. “I just finished 'Your Gracing' Taltos after Ignas called us there.”

“Hah!” Vash sunk his head back onto the pillow. He was fighting the fever, but his thin face was starting to look practically skeletal, cheeks hollow and unshaven. “Dirty peasant is right. This damn machine arm is rotting me alive.”

Lazar was last to react. He looked up from his work and nearly jumped out of his chair, startled to see Masha glowering at him from the doorway. His eyes narrowed, then widened behind his spectacles. Then, awkwardly, the tall, crane-like man scrambled to his feet and bowed deeply. “By the gods! Masterhealer Masha of-”

“Yes, yes, Master Masha of Taltos,” the old woman muttered, hauling her trunk on wheels behind her. “What has happened here? Ach, that stench... did you louts go through ALL of the surgical steps before attaching this Artifact to our gentleman's shoulder? Proper handwashing? Proper sterilization?”

“Y-Y-Yes, Master Physician.” Lazar was as giddy as a schoolgirl at her first boyband concert. He watched her set up her station in awe. “I worked with the Master Artificer over there, and we properly cleaned, sealed, and dressed the wound, provided aftercare... antiseptics...”

Masha sniffed, eyes narrowing. “Yes, but this castle was recently occupied by the undead, wasn't it? Mounds of shambling rotting flesh... you can only imagine the contagion they carried. Artificed prosthetics are always a gamble in the cleanest operating theatres of the land, let alone in a place where the dark humors of the dead hang on the air.”

“Then we'd better just cut it off, or unscrew it or however you detach metal from a man.” Vash sighed mournfully. “I'll just have to learn how to play my whistle with the other hand.”

“Vash, I swear on the Nine...” Istvan pressed his lips together and pinched the bridge of his nose.

The monk leered. “I'd have you to do it, Arshak, but there's ladies present.”

“Oh, you're a fiery one, aren't you?” Masha cackled as Istvan turned the color of a strawberry and sunk down out of sight in his chair. “That's good. Means you're more likely to pull out of this. Alright... Lord Tuun, you're studying the grand arts of healing. Let's see if you can diagnose what's wrong with our lecherous friend here and start the cure.”

I swallowed. I'd been slowly learning the medical skill trees of Archemi since I arrived in the game, but I'd never had to diagnose a friend before, and never in front of an audience.

“Do you mind if we have a bit of privacy?” I asked them. “I, uhh...”

“No, Tuun. Steel your nerves.” Masha clicked her tongue. “If you're nervous in front of others, how would you fare in a busy hospital? Make your assessment. Infections can turn fast, and this man already has fever bad enough to damage his brain if we aren’t quick about it.”

“Too late for that, fair lady,” Vash sighed. “As Arshak here will happily inform you, my brains are only slightly less damaged than an apple in the bottom of a cider bin.”

When she stepped aside, I got a better look at what had caused Vash to start slowly losing hitpoints in the KMS. The prosthetic limb had been fitted after he’d lost his arm punching a swooping dragon right in the face. The arcane blowback had shattered the limb to the high upper arm, so Lazar had amputated it just below the shoulder. The artificed limb Rin had made for him was easily as good as the sophisticated BCI prosthetics I'd seen in the Army, capable of very delicate motions and even possessing a sense of touch. However, something had gone seriously wrong. The flesh around the edge of the prosthetic was necrotizing, turning black. The muscle and tissue above that was inflamed and red. Lazar had cleaned out and packed several abscesses already.

I ran through the basics first. I had enough levels in Field Medicine that I could take his temperature with my hand and know what it was: in his case, 104 degrees, which was bad enough to soon become fatal. I didn't even need the augmented reality assist the skill gave me to have a rough idea of what was wrong - he had a serious case of blood poisoning, and the only reason he hadn't gone into shock and died was because he was as tough as old boot leather.

Archemi's healing skill tree combined some modern germ theory with the medieval system of the four humors as the basis for administering medicines. The NPCs had a basic understanding of germ theory and the importance of keeping medical tools and surfaces free of bugs, but no antibiotics. Herbal and alchemical potions took their place. The former were generally safe, the latter only safe for people like me, dragons like Karalti, or other creatures immune to mana.

My AR highlighted areas of diagnostic interest on Vash's body with a soft blue glow. The glow was concentrated on his prosthetic arm, naturally, and more diffusely around his chest and neck. As I watched, the light crept little by little toward the center of his chest and up toward his face.

I frowned down at it. “Okay… first things first. Istvan, I want you to go wait outside.”

“No,” he said quickly.

“Look at me.” I shot him a dark look, and whatever he saw in my expression made him blanch. “I’m the count now. That’s an order.”

“You heard him. Go on, Istvan,” Vash croaked.

Rin went and caught him under the elbow as Istvan hesitated. “Come on. We’ll go get something to eat. Well, for YOU to eat, because