"Finally, one of those fools have realized that their wounds will not dress themselves," he'd muttered, before launching into a grizzly account of the many legs he'd amputated, and why he'd done it, and how you know where to mark your amputation, so that the rot did not spread.
For the first half, most of the terms that the man had used had sounded like a foreign language to Oliver, but once he started interweaving his own stories as a battlefield dic into the mix, Oliver had sat up in his seat, eagerly enraptured, making ntal note of all that the man had said, being quite sure that he would need such knowledge himself one day, if he was to lead an army, and keep his n well.
As the man spoke, Oliver even found himself asking questions, which drew more heads his way.
"How do you judge how long the wound will take to heal?"
At first, the man had seed surprised that he'd spoken at all, but with a grunt and glint of his angry eyes, he gave a swift answer.
"Depth, and width of a wound. The deeper you go, the longer it takes to heal. Muscle is slower than the skin, bone is slower than both."
"Are there no other ways to save a leg, other than amputation?"
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"Not if you want to keep the man alive. Aye – he'll curse you for it. You all should expect that. You're crippling him. But that's your decision. Leave the rot to spread, and what you cut away will only be larger, until you have to cut away the man's whole life.
Make your choices carefully."
The others, he noted, weren't particularly keen on asking questions. He found himself, for much of it, being the only one that bothered to. He wondered if he was breaching etiquette by doing so, or whether the girls in the class were simply scared of the gruff scarred physician that lectured at them.
But before the class was over, one girl tentatively raised her hand.
"In the absence of alcohol, what might we use to cleanse a wound?"
A sensible question. It seed to be going outside of their course material. Oliver had likely instilled such an effect, for he had no idea what the course material was, and rely asked questions based on his curiosity.
But the man surprised them all by grunting, and sketching three equations of the board.
"Bogroot. Fla, then boiled. You get a syrupy ss. Should you be on campaign, and your supplies run out. That would be your first choice. It looks similar to dock leaves, but it has a serrated edge to the leaf.
You'll want to keep an eye out for that," he said.
He must have noted the curious glances that were being shot his way, for he grunted an explanation. "Aye – yes, alchemy, a basic form of it. I know I've cursed the alchemists in the past, but what works, works. Learn it, rember it, use it."
"Aside from bogroot, there's round leaves, and northberries, all of them with antiseptic properties. These are things that need preparing in advance. If you find yourself in the field, unprepared, your only other friend is fla."
He looked at her, as if to ask 'does that answer your question?' the girl nodded seriously, and hurriedly finished off the rest of their notes.
By the ti they left the classroom, Oliver would have liked to imagine that so of the other student's hostility toward him had faded. Now their glances seed to be filled with more curiosity than the distaste that they were showing him earlier. He returned a few of the looks with pointed stares, making a handful of them flinch, and blush.
As he left, the professor called out to him.
"Patrick."
Oliver turned to look at him. "Yes, professor?"
"You have true interest in this?"
Oliver nodded the affirmative. "I do, and I've learned much today. I hope to learn much more."
The gruff professor gave another one of his characteristic grunts at that, and nodded, waving him off with his hand. It seed to be a good enough response for the man.
The days did not pass uneventfully. Every mont was a new experience for Oliver. That which the rest of the nobility took for granted, he found himself pausing to marvel at.
As he walked the grounds of the Red Castle – that which he was staying in – he'd paused, for far longer than he'd intended, to admire the vast boating lake, with the visiting geese resting there, as they flew further south for the winter.
The lake itself was of an admirable size, for that which was rely a courtyard feature. It was large enough for a boatsman to exert himself properly as he canoed around its periter. And there were trees growing all around it, so creeping over the water themselves, like piers. It was a beautiful spot. He knew it would be even more beautiful co spring, and sumr.
The slightest flakes of winter had finally begun to make their way towards the Academy, and a dusting of snow covered the grounds. Pausing his admiration of the pond, once more Oliver looked back on the Red Castle.
Four solid towers at each corner, complete with four gate-keeping pairs in the middle of each wall, and then a central keep, and a cluster of buildings, all for training, and for classes. It was an enormous marvel. And surrounding that marvel were acres and acres of fields, all carefully tended to, and filled with picturesque delights like the boating pond that Oliver had discovered.
And that was only one castle of four. There were five castles in total, each of them equalling the Red Castle in size. The Yellow Castle and the Blue Castle contained a handful of Oliver's other classes, and he found that what they offered was at least equal to that of the Red Castle… But as he walked to and fro, he could not help but marvel at the true scale of the Academy.
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