"There are times for suspicion, times for paranoia, to doubt the intent of seemingly every kindness offered. There are also times for trust, belief in others, and to accept kindness as they come. The ability to juggle these contradictory feelings are crucial in a ruler.

I am proud that I had not failed to choose the right thing for the right situation when the trial was before me. Keep that in mind, and try to do the same when your time comes to choose." - Jarl Harald Svennson of the Jarldom of Istria to his son and heir, circa 214 VA.

"Can any of you explain how this might have happened?" asked Jarl Harald Svennson, the young Jarl of Istria, to the trusted retainers he had gathered in his command tent that frosty winter morning.

"I have no excuses to make for this failure of security, my liege," replied Hakon, his friend since youth who now served as his general of the army, for what little military his little slice of land possessed. "Whoever did this trespassed into our camp and did everything unnoticed. Not a single guard reported spotting the intruder."

"Four hundred seventy nine injured men and women had recovered overnight, regardless of the severity of their injuries," reported Gustaf, an old man who served as the Jarl's personal physician and healer. The old man had fallen asleep in one of the tents with the wounded the night before, as he had worked late into the night and was so tired he slept sitting at his workplace. "This is not something easily done."

"It was an unexpected boon, to be sure," replied the young jarl as he scratched the stubble of a beard that had started to grow again on his chin. "Still, it bothered me that some people had apparently walked into our camp without anyone noticing and pulled this off in a single night. Had they been an enemy we all might be dead right now."

"A few of the injured had been half awake when it happened, my liege," replied the old healer. "In their testimony, all of them mentioned a cloaked, pale woman with silver hair. If this is true, then that sheds some disturbing implications on the matter."

"How so?" asked the Jarl, as he didn't understand what the old physician referred to.

"If what happened last night was truly the work of one person, then that person would have to be one of the most powerful and skilled healers I have ever heard of in my life," explained the old physician honestly. "Some of the injured who recovered had missing limbs grow back! That alone is something that only very good healers could do, and it would tax most of them!"

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"This unknown woman had healed over forty missing limbs last night, on top of all the other assorted injuries, all in the span of a few hours," he added with some evident passion in his speech. "It's the sort of feat you only ever hear of in legends and stories most of the time!"

"Should we tighten security at night, my liege?" asked Hakon from the side. The man seemed rather unnerved at the idea of an archmage sneaking past his security detail. It was a feeling the Jarl did not blame him for.

"No, Hakon, you are not to do such a thing," replied the Jarl with a smile after he pondered his options for a few moments. "We are not to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially under these circumstances. Lighten the guard around the infirmary, and Gustaf, don't work too late into the night and make sure you get all the injured sleeping early. Use sleeping draughts if you have to."

"Understood, my liege," replied the old physician as the young Jarl and his general stood up and walked out of the tent. Both of them already wore their arms and armor, and their troops were already arrayed outside the tent, part of the soldiers still having breakfast.

Much of the chatter the young Jarl heard as he walked through the camp talked about the "miracle" of the previous night. He even saw a soldier from his personal troops flexing his right arm at his friends.

He recalled that the man was unconscious and missing his right arm when he last saw him yesterday after the battle. Now he looked hale and hearty as if nothing had ever happened to him in the first place.

Harald smiled and waved at his soldiers as he walked. If his soldiers called what happened a miracle, then let it be so. He was not foolish enough to turn down such a gift in these desperate times.

******************************

The fighting that day proved to be more intense than the day before. Even so, the Jarl noticed immediately how the "miracle" had buoyed the morale of his men. He fought hand in hand with them, with shield and spear as he helped where he could.

Several times he had to insist to a few of his men before they withdrew, as they had been injured. He had left standing orders to his commanders that the injured were to be rotated to the back immediately, and to minimize fatalities as best they could.

By sunset, only thirty or so of his people lay dead, while nearly ten times as much of the enemy paid with their lives. He knew that when it comes to total casualties, including the injured, the enemy's doesn't exceed double his casualties, however.

That night Jarl Harald Svennson went to a fitful sleep wondering if the "miracle" would happen again. He was doubtful, and tried to keep his hopes smothered, but that had not prevented him from tossing and turning in his sleep.

By the next morning, he woke up to a report from a smiling Gustav that all six hundred twenty three injured troops they had from yesterday's battle had recovered to full health once again. None of the sentries noticed their benefactor's coming and going, but the Jarl did not care.

The miracle repeated itself, and it was plenty for him, and his men.