Healing Geralt.

"Yurga?" - came a voice from the woods.

"Your servants?" - Alan asked, observing the showed up men with attention. He first made sure that no weapons are present in their hands and for unexpected events shifted so he can see them all.

This world really forced him to expect attacks from everywhere. But it seems this time it was unnecessary.

"Yes, your excellency, they didn't abandon me it seems." - he gave a hollow smile and turned to the witcher coming up to him and unlike Alan, who noticed long ago, saw his mortifying condition only now. - "Oh, Melitelle! We need to find doctor fast."

"N-No... need..." - came a hoarse reply.

"Oh shut it old man, knew people like you." - suddenly a youthful voice barged into their conversation. - "Yurga, tell your servants to lift a cart, I will fix it. And put Geralt inside." - than he ran up to the white haired witcher who could barely stand and helped him from the side of the wounded leg. - "Lean on me and don't say anything. Damn, if I knew it would be that bad..."

"Thank... you..."

"I do what has to be done. Can't leave you laying there bleeding to death on me, right?" - he said while carrying witcher to the cart. - "Where are you elixirs? Do you have any Swallow or Troll concoction?"

"You... even know... this..."

"Geralt, I know Lambert and Coen, traveled with them for weeks, but we can talk about it later. I'm a mage and can heal you, but currently I need time to restore mana, got a rough day like you, you see. So let's first go with your elixirs and then I will patch you up in no time. So, Swallow or Troll?"

"First... my bag..." - he said weakly. Man, to make a killing machine like Geralt a mess like that should be a lifetime achievement for a ghoul who performed the deed, albeit a death one.

"Where?" - he asked and without waiting for answer shouted to Yurga, who found it in no time.

"Here, it should be this bag. Master Geralt, don't fret, we will do everything to put you back on track. And as for reward, I am serious, I will pay you when we are there and for now rest. His Excellency will help you." - Yurga said, trying to rummage the bag to take out the potion.

"Stop! Do you want to die? And stop calling me excellency this, excellency that. It annoys me, Yurga." - Alan took it and carefully located Swallow, taking it out.

"You... yourself..."

"Don't worry, your potions... I can even drink them as admirable concoction for active celebration." - Alan waved him off and opened Geralt mouth, pouring it in.

"Another... green."

"You kidding me, right? You want Maribor? What for? To test your luck whether you will die from blood loss or intoxication? Geralt, no way in hell you are drinking that hallucinogenic shit. Over my dead body. Now you need good sleep and not narcotic ecstasy." - Alan refused and hold himself under harsh glare of cat like eyes, starting to grumble. - "Currently I'm treating you, so you will listen to me, later when you are alive and kicking, you can drown in it for all I care. So much work... witchers."

He didn't notice a slight trace of a smile on the aged face. Before drifting off to sleep Geralt heard some voices and creaking of wood, saw flashes of light and sensed his amulet getting restless clearly due to magic in play.

Then his body was lifted, but not by arms, he opened his eyes a bit and saw he was levitated to the cart. And after that he was put to sleep, before some other spell was cast and made him a bit stronger.

Alan slumped down near Geralt with difficulty. He traced his own nose with an arm and saw blood. That was one of the consequences of severe mana drain. One really effective way to make yourself a laying mess.

"Yurga, I need rest too if you don't mind me being here." - Alan said.

"Naturally, master Alan. Just rest here comfortably, you did well. If only my rascals were half as good as you." - said Yurga with emotions. Tonight was a time when his whole life ran before his eyes and he met two people, who were very different from his usual acquaintances. But both were a people interesting to talk to and he viewed them with due respect.

Alan drifted into meditation and started to absorb mana. Dry source was a problem no mage wanted to see. Next day by the morning he opened his eyes already rested and fully prepared for another battle, this time for Geralt and his life.

"Yurga, stop for some time, we need to patch up Geralt."

"Pokvit! Stop the cart." - screamed the owner on this little caravan. - "Pokvit! You deaf burp of a troll! Stop the cart and go tend to the horses, while we will treat master Geralt!"

"Yes, leader." - said the worker not even minding the tone in the slightest. Perhaps, he heard just a fraction of what was said, enough to understand what is needed from him.

A nice trait to have, especially if you are a servant.

Yurga turned to the insides of the cart with worried face. It was nice to see for a change, after dozens of faces that either count the amount in your pouch with their eyes, judging coins weight from the volume, or trying to kill you directly for some semblance of excuse.

What can be said about this world? It is charming in it's own way.

"You can't help anyway, Yurga, so just rest yourself." - said Alan, while unbinding the bandage.

"I'll go prepare some hot water and clean towels."

Alan wanted to say it was unnecessary, but eventually silently relented to let him do what his heart told him.

He took out lots of fresh meat from his ring and placed them near Geralt. Then, with a wave of a hand and a will to mana through spell it dissolved into pure nutrients and was infused into his body through the wounds.

Next came the work of regeneration spell, as the wound was the one to heal naturally. He guided mana through the wound and closed it in a matter of minutes. After all was done, slight rejuvenation on the whole body and Geralt became even slightly younger.

Alan sighed and sat down inside the cart. He surprisingly wasted a lot of mana and was nearly empty again. Not to the point of nosebleed obviously, but still exhausted.

"Healing people is a tedious work." - weakly noted tired youth, wiping sweat from his forehead with a sleeve.

"True." - came the voice from the front. - "Come, sit here, it is always better under the sun than staying inside."

"Sun, huh?" - he looked through the leaves growing yellow at the cloudy sky, plunging the world in cold and bleak tones.

Never the less Alan nodded, hopped on the front seat and entered meditation.