Bayle walked Michael through the courtyard and into the interior wall where the Tusinian prisoners were still being accounted for. The Count and his family were simply confined to their quarters in the tower, and the officers got placed in servant’s quarters, but it seemed that the footsoldiers would be contained in fenced off tents.They made their way to a wide room that smelled of blood. It was dimly lit, so Michael raised his hand, focusing just enough to make it glow, and saw that it was full of injured men lying on the floor, or against the wall. A number of elderly men and women of various ages were all trying their best to tend to them, but it was clear that they had limited means and supplies.Michael moved to the nearest of them, and they all flinched back from him in fear.“It’s alright,” he said as he started to focus more on the heat in his hand. “I’m a healer.” He started by mending those nearest to him, feeling bones mend and leaking wounds stitch back together as he did so. He moved slowly and deliberately, finding that the worst of the injured were already dead, which meant that those left had injuries that, while they needed healing, were not immediately life threatening. By the time he was done he was feeling light headed, but he managed to start walking back toward the door where Bayle was standing with the guards.One of the soldiers on the ground grabbed him. He had small tattoos on his face and a metal piercing of some kind in the top of his ear.“Run if you can. They’ll kill you long before they let you go.”Michael turned to look at him, “Wha-”“Penitent Michael,” said Bayle gesturing for him to follow.Michael looked back at the man for a moment, the man was looking at him with pleading eyes, and he walked toward Bayle who was already moving to leave the room.“There are a few officers that still need treatment,” said Bayle, “But I know you have the stamina for all of them, so (...)