The aftermath of the bandit attack brought a new wariness to Fort Marrow. Kael had the bodies of the fallen raiders buried far from the well; no sense in risking contamination of their precious water source.
The workers continued their labor on the irrigation trenches with renewed purpose, but now they did so with makeshift weapons close at hand and lookouts posted on the rocky outcropping.
Word of the skirmish spread quickly through the scattered settlements of the March. By the time Kael and his workers returned to the fort three days later, having completed the main irrigation channel, the story had grown to mythic proportions. According to tavern whispers, the new lord had single-handedly slain a dozen Sandblight raiders without taking so much as a scratch.
"Let them believe it," Garek advised as they unloaded tools in the fort courtyard. "Fear keeps bandits at bay as effectively as walls."
Kael merely nodded, too exhausted to correct the exaggerations. The truth was impressive enough; he had killed three raiders and wounded two others, driving off a band that had grown accustomed to unopposed plunder. But more importantly, they had secured a water source that could potentially transform the March's fortunes.
As the workers dispersed to their homes, Kael noticed a commotion at the fort gates. A donkey cart had arrived, its driver engaged in a heated discussion with the guards. Even from a distance, Kael could see it was a woman, her posture radiating impatience despite her small stature.
"Let her pass," he called, curious about this unexpected visitor.
The guards stepped aside, and the woman drove her cart into the courtyard. She was perhaps in her mid twenties, with dark hair pulled back in a practical knot and skin tanned by long exposure to the sun. Her clothing was travel-stained but of good quality, and the apron she wore bore dark stains that Kael immediately recognized as blood.
"You're the new lord?" she asked without preamble, her eyes assessing him with clinical detachment.
"Sir Kael Tanner," he confirmed, approaching the cart. "And you are?"
"Elara." She gestured to the contents of her cart, wooden boxes and cloth bundles that clinked with the sound of glass vials. "I'm a healer. Or I was, before circumstances required a change of location."
Kael noted the careful phrasing. A person didn't end up in the Southern March by choice, and those who arrived often carried complicated pasts.
"We have no dedicated healer here," he acknowledged. "Your skills would be welcome."
"I'm not offering charity," Elara replied, her tone businesslike. "I'll tend your sick if you bury the corpses fouling the creek."
Kael frowned. "What creek? And what corpses?"
"The seasonal creek that runs a mile north of here after the rare rains. It's dry now, but the channel still holds water in deeper pools." Her expression hardened. "Someone dumped bodies there; bandits, soldiers, I couldn't tell. But they're rotting in what little water remains, and your people have been using it."
Garek stepped forward, his face grim. "The northern creek? We've been sending women there to wash clothing when the well water is too precious."
"Then you've been sending them to poison themselves," Elara stated flatly. "The water's contaminated with decay and disease."
Kael's mind worked quickly, connecting this new information with reports he'd received of illness in the northern settlements. "How many bodies?"
"I counted five, but there could be more upstream. They need proper burial, away from any water source." Elara's gaze was unflinching. "Do this, and I'll stay to treat those already sick. Refuse, and I'll find somewhere else that values clean water."
It wasn't really a choice. The March desperately needed medical expertise, and the contamination needed addressing regardless.
"Sergeant Garek, assemble a burial detail at first light," Kael ordered. "I'll lead it myself."
Elara nodded, apparently satisfied. "I'll need space to work. Somewhere clean, with access to boiled water."
"The keep has a chamber that served as an infirmary once," Garek suggested. "It hasn't been used in years, but the structure is sound."
"Show me," Elara said, climbing down from her cart. She was shorter than Kael had initially thought, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder. But there was nothing diminutive about her presence. She moved with the confident efficiency of someone accustomed to taking charge in crises.
As Garek led her toward the keep, Kael began unloading her supplies from the cart. The bundles were heavier than they looked, packed with herbs, bandages, and instruments whose purposes he could only guess at. One jar slipped from his grasp, nearly falling before he caught it.
"Careful with that," Elara called over her shoulder. "Those are leeches. Worth more than your sword in these parts."
Kael raised an eyebrow but handled the jar with increased care. By the time he had transferred all her supplies to the designated chamber, Elara was already organizing the space, directing Garek and a bemused Corporal Tomas in moving furniture and cleaning surfaces.
"This will do," she announced finally, surveying the room. "Now, about the well."
"What about it?" Kael asked.
"I need to test it. Bring me a fresh sample."
When Kael returned with a bucket of water from the fort's well, Elara examined it with disturbing intensity. She held a vial up to the light, then sniffed it, finally placing a single drop on her tongue before spitting it out.
"As I suspected," she said grimly. "The water's poisoned with wyvernrot."
Garek paled visibly. "Wyvernrot? But that's..."
"Fatal if untreated, yes." Elara opened one of her boxes, removing the jar of leeches Kael had nearly dropped. "You've been drinking your own men's sepsis."
Without further explanation, she uncorked the jar and dumped its contents into the bucket. The leeches wriggled through the water, their sleek bodies undulating in the murky liquid.
"What are you doing?" Kael demanded, startled by the seemingly reckless action.
"Cleaning your water," Elara replied matter-of-factly. "These are bloodworms, not common leeches. They feed on the bacteria that cause wyvernrot. In three days, this water will be safe to drink."
She turned to face Kael fully, her expression serious. "Your well is contaminated, likely from improper disposal of waste or bodies. The new well you've dug at the spring should be clean, but this one needs treatment before more fall ill."
Kael processed this information with growing concern. "How many are sick already?"
"I counted twelve cases on my way here, all in the northern settlements. There will be more." Elara began unpacking herbs and vials, her movements precise and practiced. "I'll need assistants, people with steady hands who can follow instructions without question."
"You'll have them," Kael promised. "And whatever else you require."
Elara paused, studying him with renewed interest. "Most lords I've encountered care more for their pride than their people's health."
"I'm not most lords," Kael replied simply.
"No," she agreed after a moment. "You're not."
That night, as Kael prepared for the burial detail the following morning, he felt the now-familiar warmth of the system activating.
***
[New Advisor: Elara (Medical)]
[Health Crisis Identified: Wyvernrot Contamination]
[Loyalty: +2 (Cautious Respect)]
***
The information appeared in his mind with that same clinical precision, cataloging Elara's arrival as an asset and the water contamination as a threat. Kael found himself wondering if the system would have activated at all had he not begun working the land himself, had he not connected with the territory in a physical, tangible way.
Dawn brought a grim task. Kael led a detail of six men, including Garek, to the northern creek. The stench reached them before they arrived, the unmistakable odor of decomposition made worse by the heat and stagnant water.
The scene was as bad as Elara had described. Bodies lay partially submerged in the deeper pools of the creek bed, their features distorted by decay and the attentions of scavengers. From their clothing and the few weapons still present, Kael could identify them as bandits likely a group that had run afoul of a rival faction or perhaps the Sandblight leader himself.
"This water feeds into the northern fields during rains," Garek observed grimly as they surveyed the contamination. "No wonder sickness has been spreading."
Kael nodded, already planning the cleanup. "We'll need to bury them far from any water source, then burn anything that touched the contaminated water."
The work was gruesome and exhausting. They wrapped the bodies in cloth brought for that purpose, then carried them to a rocky area where the soil was too poor for farming. There, they dug graves deep enough to prevent scavengers from disturbing the remains.
As Kael helped lower the final body into its grave, a flash of memory struck him not from this life, but from his first. The antiseptic smell of a hospital room. The sound of a heart monitor. The feeling of sheets against skin that could no longer move.
He had been a teacher then, before the accident that left him paralyzed. He had saved a student from falling from a rooftop, but at the cost of his own mobility. For five years, he had lain in that hospital bed, cared for by his estranged sister, until pneumonia finally claimed him.
The memory faded as quickly as it had come, leaving Kael momentarily disoriented. These glimpses of his past life had become more frequent since arriving in the March, as though the land itself was drawing out buried memories.
"Sir Kael?" Garek's voice brought him back to the present. "Are you well?"
"Yes," Kael replied, shaking off the lingering echo of his former existence. "Let's finish here and return to the fort. There's much still to be done."