Page 1 of The Elven Healer's Apprentice

Chapter One

Adela

“Don’t close the windows,” I protested. Servants crowded my brother’s chamber. Familiar and strange faces passed by me to disobey my instructions. My fingers caught the sleeve of the nearest woman, but she pulled free before I tightened my grasp. I moved to block another servant bearing an armful of split wood from getting to the hearth. “He needs cool, fresh air.”

My head swam when I glanced over at my little brother’s form on the bed across the room. His normally energetic body lay so still. It made my heart ache. My head too. “Don’t lay a fire,” I pleaded. “It will only make his fever worsen.”

“Ignore her!” My father’s voice bombarded my ears, causing me to flinch.

The servant woman carrying the wood darted around me, taking advantage of my distraction. Focusing on the larger threat, I sought out my father standing near the door. If I persuaded him, Henri still had a chance.

A large man, our father used his weight to intimidate those beneath him, and he considered everyone beneath him. Striding into the middle of the already crowded room, he planted his thick legs far apart. Flush with the heat rising from the moving people and the lack of air, the red of his cheeks clashed with the red of his hair.

“Henri needs rest, quiet, and fresh air.” Someone jostled me, and I stumbled. My senses whirled. I had probably caught what Henri suffered from, or it could be exhaustion. Pressing a hand to my temple, I prayed for strength. Henri’s life depended on me.

My brother stirred on the bed, turning toward us. His voice was a thin whisper. “Water, Adela? So thirsty…”

“Coming.” I turned toward the water pail I had filled an hour or so before, but a strange man blocked my way. Dressed in an overabundance of expensive cloth, he peered down his long nose at me. “Pardon,” I whispered and moved to go around him.

But he matched my step to the side, looming over me. “No water for the boy.”

“He needs water.” I stared at him in horror. “He’s sweating profusely.”

The man snorted. “This is the healer, Warlord?” he asked Father. “It is a wonder that any of you are still alive. Giving water to a plague patient only endangers him. The humors are unbalanced in his blood. We must bleed him and sweat the sickness out.” He snapped his fingers at a servant. “Bring in my instruments.”

“No.” Lunging to grab the servant’s hand, I tried to stop him. “That will kill Henri. He needs water, cool air, and sleep.”

The servant easily pulled his arm free from my clutching fingers.

“Remove her!” my father commanded, snapping his fingers at his enforcers who stood near the door. “Lock the witch in her room. If the boy dies, so shall she. Vile woman, you brought sickness into my house and cursed my son!” He spat in my direction, hatred burning in his contorted features. “You poison everything you touch. First your mother and now my son. Be thankful I am giving you a chance. Remove this curse from my son, and I will see your death is swift.”

A cold sweat broke out across my whole body as a shiver wracked my being. I blinked my father’s indulgence-swollen features into focus with great effort, queasiness churning in my gut. “It is a sweating sickness, not a curse. Please, for Henri’s sake, don’t trust this fraud. He is going to kill Henri. Get outside help. Go to the elves. They can help. Plea—”

Pain exploded in my face. Before I reacted to the dawning reality that my father had struck me, two of his guards hauled me backward through the darkened corridors.

The men moved so quickly on their long legs. I scrambled for footing, tripped, and succumbed to the pain as they drew me toward my chamber. My senses whirled. Pain in my shoulders barely registered through the fog clouding my mind.

“Please, stop. Just for a moment.”

“Silence, witch.” A guard struck my head, and lights exploded across my vision. Sick with the sudden pain, my stomach heaved, and I struggled to keep it from emptying. I doubted I would be allowed food anytime soon.

Finally, we reached my door. Kicking it open, they threw me into the darkness before closing and bolting the door behind me.

Exhaustion washed over me as my body grew heavy. Aware that my bed was not far, I attempted to crawl in that direction, but my arms gave out and oblivion claimed me.

∞∞∞

Merlon

Yaron root grew only on the human side of the Lisper River. No matter how many cuttings I brought back to my compound orhow many times I tried to cultivate it under the same conditions within Eldarlan boundaries, it never took. I suspected it had something to do with the fact the very ground of Eldarlan was imbued with magic. Regardless, the stubborn root’s lack of tolerance meant I had to cross the river once a year to harvest a year’s worth.

To make matters worse, the place to find the most potent plants was on the land of my horrible neighbor, the warlord Hectorius. Bold and brash, the man never missed an opportunity to demand something from me, which was why I traveled incognito.

Dressed in rough homespun leggings, a linen shirt, and a floppy straw hat to hide my eye-catching white hair, I tramped along the rough trails of the deepest forests. Only my favorite elven-made boots didn’t fit the image I wished to project.

When tramping over a dozen miles, I had no intention of giving up my well-made footwear. I couldn’t spare the four days of rest that would be required if I wore the horrible boots my assistant had purchased at the local market.

Despite the inconvenience, I enjoyed the trek. The summer sun warmed the trees and fields; flora and fauna flourished. Only the absence of the underlying hum of magic in the dirt beneath my feet indicated I wasn’t on the Eldarlan side of the river. By midmorning, I reached my goal, delighting in the sight of a crop more bountiful than the year before. Dropping my satchel under a great oak tree, I knelt in the dirt and set about harvesting the roots.

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