The horses didn't run for very long. Once they were out of sight of the Count's castle, the coachman stopped urging them on. They were soon trotting at an easy pace and the trees stopped whipping past the windows. The road soon turned left and they continued their journey. Suddenly the Duke realised that the road was taking them back toward the castle and stuck his head outside to tell the coachman to keep going quickly but he was too late. The peasants had run to meet them and one threw his pitchfork toward the carriage and it struck the Duke in the forehead as he was pulling back into the carriage. The horses picked up speed again and they were soon around another bend and heading away from the peasants. The Duke's head had a large gash from which blood flowed freely and soaked into the carriage upholstery. Dana quickly ripped a strip of cloth from the bottom of her skirt and wound it around the Duke's head. The blood slowed but did not stop. She wound another around his head but did not seem to do much more than slow his death. She stuck her head out to tell the coachman that his master was dying, so he stopped the carriage.

Once stopped the Duke's servants got down and looked at his wounds.

'There's not much point in unwinding that dressing,' said the footman. 'We need to find a leech, or a priest.'

'Quite right,' his fellow said. 'Let's continue on to the next village and see if they have a leech there. He has lost a lot of blood already, the leech will know what to do.'

The footman got into the carriage with the passengers and the coachman returned to his position and continued their journey. After a time he stopped again and called to a farmer walking along the road. They talked for a little while and then the coachman continued on. Soon they were in a village. The coachman got down and called out the footman. Marchan got down with him.

'The farmer I talked to on the road said there's a healer in this village,' said the coachman. 'I just saw someone over there. Bob, you stay with the Duke and the Lady. I'll take the dwarf with me and see if we can find someone.'

The village looked deserted. Some of the houses looked like they hadn't been lived in for some time. Weeds were growing everywhere untended. A few houses had apparent holes in their roofs. Marchan thought it strange that a healer would live in an abandoned village as he walked with the coachman toward where the coachman had seen someone. They reached an old tavern. It looked almost as abandoned as the rest of the town, but someone had repaired the roof and there was a clear path up to the front door between the weeds.

They knocked and called out 'Hullo!' They heard some movement, but were not quite sure they weren't hearing rodents of some type. They opened the door and called again. Marchan's eyes adjusted quickly to the gloom. Inside he could see table and chairs, a small fireplace and a large crater jar. The crater was under one of the unpatched parts of the roof and full of water. He heard a creaking sound like someone walking across a wood floor. He turned to the sound and saw a small man in the shadows.

'Hello,' he said to the man.

'A dwarf and a man!' the man exclaimed. 'Why that's unheard of, or has been these many long years. A decade at least since the dwarves were last in these parts.'

'Yes, I was left behind after a battle when I was a babe. Who are you?'

'Who am I? Now, that's a good question. Who am I?'

'We were hoping you could help us,' said the coachman. 'My master is hurt and needs a leech or a healer.'

'A healer. Yes, I am a healer,' the small man said. 'Since I guess you'll want to call me something, I suppose you should call me Healer. That way my name is what I do, much easier to remember that way.'

'Why? Don't you remember your own name?' Marchan asked.

'My name?' the Healer queried. 'Why, I do declare! I don't remember my name. Isn't that odd? But you said something about needing a healer?'

This last part was addressed to the coachman and he responded, 'Yes, my master is injured. Will you come and see him.'

'Certainly,' Healer responded.

They returned to the carriage and the Healer climbed inside after the footman got out. He hummed and hawed and hummed and hawed some more. He started to undo the dressing that Dana had wound around the Duke's head, but when he noticed the blood flowing again he quickly wrapped it back up. He tenderly touched the area around the wound. Finally he got back down.

'My Lady,' he said addressing Dana who was still in the carriage, 'you are doing all that can be done at this point. I would not care to do anything until his blood recovers. He has lost so much blood he will take several days to recover from that. Then I will need to do some other work, possibly cut him open and repair the skull. I am afraid of what may have happened to his brain inside. I leave him in your very capable hands. Change those dressings when the blood seems to have slowed enough.' He turned to the coachman. 'Come and find me again in two days. It will be time then for me to see him again,' and he started to walk back to his tavern.

Marchan followed after him and called, 'Wait! Do you know where to find the Dwarves?'

'Eh? Oh, you're a dwarf.'

'Yes, we've established that. Do you know where I might look for more of my own kind. To tell you the truth I've never met a dwarf.'

Healer looked at Marchan with a sad look on his face. 'To tell you the truth,' he said. 'I don't even remember where my people are. I can't even remember yesterday. I remember nothing. When I woke up today I found a note beside my bed. It said to make sure I kept the note beside the bed I sleep in tonight. It also told me where to find the loo. It's over there.' He pointed. 'And where to find food to eat. I think I must have been working very hard yesterday, because my muscles are very sore and I've got all kinds of odd scrapes and bruises.'

'Oh, that's horrible,' said the footman.

'I don't know,' said Healer. 'The scrapes aren't that bad, and I really can't remember anything naughty I might have done yesterday, or the day before.'