Role

Chapter 3

I woke again amid a long monologue of half-hearted dwarven invective, cursing the
airs of wood-elves and foolhardiness of drow who fight cavefishers without proper
triage. Despite the barrage, it was clear that that he took satisfaction from his work.

''Yer bein a dumb bastid with the sense o lint from a troll's navel, you is, fightin a
fisha. Yer eyes shoulda seen 'im, an it ain no sense ter what yer done.''

He prodded my shoulder, and I gave an involuntary groan. ''Yer thinkin I kint tell
when a man is tryin ta fool me by takin on the fake sleep? I ain yer wet-nurse ya
tea-drinkin nancy! Up wit yer an feed yerself, an then we see yer ter be earnin yer
keep.''

I found myself hoisted into a seated position and wooden bowl thrust into my hand.
''Ya kin starf or ya can eat wit yer eyes closed, but ya kin belief I wol beat yer senseless
before I wol be feedin ya agin.''

I had no tableware, but the smell of the gruel kindled a hunger inexplicable to my
upbringing. Like a rothe-herder I dipped my fingers into the bowl and began
shoveling the paste into my mouth. I was ravenous.

''Yer legs liable ta be wobbly, as ya were asleep for three days an rollin in the feva,
but we is goin' ta have a swell o blokes in here soon bleedin ta all get out, an
we is goin ta need that pallet ya bin hoggin all week.'' He tossed something that
landed lightly on my shoulder, and when I touched it I felt a sheer piece of
cloth. ''Peel tha there bandich apar' an drape it overt yer eyes like a weddin veil.
That should help yer adjust some, an when we get our firs' customers from today's
warrin ya kin help by movin cots an' washin wounds.''

I wiped my hands on my trousers and took the gauze and wound it loosely
over my eyes. Cautiously I opened them, and the stabbing light caused me
to curse in my native tongue. ''How do you stand it, dwarf?''

''Quit yer bitchin. We got boys comin in wit real pain, an' stories o glory
they will tell ta the tavern wenches an they ta their bastids long from now.''

And even as he spoke, men were being carried in, and the smells of blood
and burnt flesh filled my nostrils, and the lamentations of the wounded
filled my ears. Even with my limited knowledge, the dwarf found things for
me to do between applying poultices to poisoned flesh, setting bones, and
dressing wounds. His work was an art, and I admired his mastery over life
and death.