Miracle of the Red Stag

The Red Stag was quiet in the early morning hours. It had survived the liberation of Portage with a few exterior scars, but the interior had been starkly improved by the ejection of the Boeruinese.

Cedric, though tired, eagerly bussed what remained of the previous evening’s tankards while Trevard’s lively sweeping made quick work of the floors.

The pair were enjoying some tea when the Shield Sister entered the pub. She was dressed to march with the Wilder troops for home - resplendent in polished plate beneath the quilted tabard of Cuiraécen. Her white plumed helmet was held carelessly beneath her right arm.

“Master Cedric, young Master Trevard, I apologize if I am interrupting - but it was important that I come to see you today.”

The Shield Sister placed her helmet on the table closest to her, and gestured to Trevard, her hands outstretched, palms up.

“ If you would act as my squire a moment, Trevard, I need my arms free.”

The boy rushed to her aid.

“I owe you an apology, Cedric. When first we met it was imperative that the Boeruinese not suspect us. I hope you can forgive my ignoring things so long - it means you have suffered unduly.”

Freed from her gauntlets, vambraces and couters, she thanked her temporary squire, who, taking his role most seriously, laid out her armor pieces in an orderly fashion next to her helm.

Cedric himself had not moved from his chair. He watched the Priestess warily - torn between awe and fear. His eyes widened and a small whimper escaped when she knelt at his feet and rolled up the sleeves of her gambeson.

“Please,” Aerona said, “I wish only to ease the wound inflicted upon you by the occupiers. I will not if you object, but Countess Cuinn cannot speak but a fond word about yourself and young Master Trevard, and I would repay all your kindnesses.”

He nodded.

Aerona revealed from beneath Cuiraécen’s tabard his symbol: a silver bolt and longsword crossed like bones on a silver chain. She placed her hands upon Cedric’s knee and ankle, her grip tight enough for him to yelp.

“Cuiraécen, Learned Son, He who sat at the feet of Nesirie, through Your servant channel Your cleansing might.”

The healing of a Priest of Cuiraécen is not often gentle, save for those young or infirm, for whom he shows mercy. The Storm Lord has little use for subtlety, and when a man needs to throw himself once more into the breach, time is of the essence. Bones snap back into place; tendons, muscles and ligaments are rebuked for having ever been unaligned.

Cedric thrashed and bucked, his teeth clenched hard enough to clack and grind audibly. Aerona’s grip held. His hip, knee, and ankle untwisted - muscles and bone moving unsettlingly beneath his skin. He almost passed out, but euphoria rushed in as the pain ended. He collapsed in the chair, clutching his leg and panting hard. The Priestess continued on.

“Send not your Spear Brother into the fray unarmed, lest he be cut down, for he is Your kin. Cuiraécen, grant Your warrior unwavering courage, so that we might drive back the usurpers of Your name.”

Warmth and something akin to confidence suffused Cedric now - even the memory of his pain was dulled. He rose out of the chair unsteadily, but his first steps were sure. Trevard clapped in delight to see that he no longer limped.

Aerona nodded, content that his leg seemed to have healed neatly. Cedric kept his distance as Trevard refastened all the accoutrements of her harness, but his eyes were filled with tears.

“Never, my Lady, have I ever thought I would see all the wonders these eyes have seen these past weeks. The Countess and Lady Mara and now this - it is almost too much for the old heart to take.”

“Take heart, Cedric. The Wilders march for honor and glory beneath the Shield of Cuiraécen - we war to free Taeghas from her shackles, not to oppress her people. The Spear of the War God is never to be used to upon the meek or defenceless, for to do so would dishonor him, and bring with the it the Judgment of Haelyn.”

She nodded as if this was at all comforting. Cedric only cowered before the ginger giantess adorned in plate that towered over him. Helmeted, she easily was a foot taller than the top of the door. Only after she ducked to exit and has disappeared, and the Wilders themselves had long departed, did Cedric relax enough to cherish his miracle.

Trevard, however, could not wait for the Countess and her friends to return to the free city of Portage.