Cleric Of Al-Qalesp, The Divine Physician
The cleric awoke from a fitful sleep. A drowsy warmth met him as he opened his eyes . His dark hair was tousled from sleep and his head cloth lay in a heap on the floor. He got up from his mat, stretched, and walked over to the basin of water on the table. He splashed the cool liquid over his face and on his neck. Refreshed, he left the tent. Outside, the sun’s position had greatly changed, and he could tell that it was late in the day. He walked down the dusty road, set in the middle of the camp, hoping to find something to eat. As he walked, a man on a horse suddenly rode up to him.
“I need help, will you help me?” the man asked hurriedly.
The puzzled cleric thought for a second then answered.
“What is this thing you need help with?”
“There is no time to explain. Just ride as quickly as possible to where the generals are staying. And hurry! it is a matter of life and death.”
“I will not go riding across half the camp unless you tell me what it is you need help with, or the generals for that matter,” the cleric answered.
“Fine, if you will only go if I tell you, I will. Though it is not my fault if lives are lost for this delay. About one hour ago, I went to the oasis to fill my water skin. As I was approaching, I heard voices. Carefully, I crawled up the sand bank. Looking over the ridge of the hill, I saw three or four men with quivers on their backs. They were talking like they didn’t want to be heard. As I crept nearer, I heard what the men said. They were going to kill the general and his staff this afternoon!”
“When did they say they would attack?” The cleric quickly asked.
“They never gave a specific time, just the afternoon.”
“Then I must go with haste. Lend me your horse and I will go as quickly as possible. If the general is saved, I will see this act will not go unrewarded.
At that, the cleric jumped on the horse and rode off at top speed. As he approached the general’s tent, a movement in the bushes caught his eye. There is something hiding there, he thought to himself. He started toward the tent. Just then, the flap on the tent opened, and out walked the general with his advisors. Suddenly, out of nowhere, jumped three men, clothed from head to toe in black, and carrying short bows, already strung with grey-feathered arrows. The cleric leaped from his horse just as the bowmen fired. Three arrows came whistling through the air at the generals. The cleric quickly forced two of the arrows away but one found its way through.
The cleric fell to the ground, an arrow wedged between his ribs. His hand grabbed at his chest and tried to pull the arrow out. It was stuck. Warm blood trickled through his fingers as his hand fell away, empty. Slowly, the pain engulfed him. It was burning like a fire that had caught dry leaves resting in a pile. In a final attempt, he called the name of his master, Al-Qalesp, the Divine Physician. His vision grew blurry, and he closed his eyes. Suddenly, he felt a hand touch his chest. Opening his eyes, he saw the great physician, Al-Qalesp leaning over him. Seeing the physician gave him hope and renewed strength. Slowly the arrow came out. There was no pain and after his master had put a healing cream on the wound, it felt like he had never been hurt.