"Why not fetch a priest?"
The moment the question left his lips, Alistair felt like a fool.
The chubby boy gave him a strange look, hesitating for a moment before answering.
"Have you forgotten, my lord? You… you killed all the priests. And even if they were alive, we couldn't afford one. A single healing spell costs a hundred gold pieces." The boy added quietly, "Not that they ever wanted to heal the likes of us anyway."
Alistair rubbed his nose in embarrassment. It had been a simple calculation at the time. The priests were useless. They refused to serve the civilians, had been unwilling to even look at Abby, and had openly disdained him as their lord.
He'd figured he might as well send those sheepdogs to meet their god.
"Right. I'll go with you to buy the medicine, and then you'll take me to your home." Alistair's tone was decisive. "As your lord, if one of my knights has erred, then the responsibility to make it right is mine."
