Page 2 of The Elven Healer's Apprentice

All went smoothly until the middle of the afternoon.

“Elf!”

I checked my hat. It still hid my hair and ears. Deciding to ignore the rude man, I plunged my fingers beneath the plant before me and began loosening the dirt.

“You! Elf!”

The voice had drawn closer. Glancing over my shoulder, I spotted a man stomping his way through the yaron patch, grinding the precious plants I had just replanted beneath his dusty boots.

He caught me looking and glared. “Yes, you. Come over here.”

Closing my eyes and hanging my head, I quelled the impulse to muzzle him with a spell. Emrys, my cousin, who also happened to be king of Eldarlan, had just lectured me on maintaining civil relations with humans:They are weaker. That doesn’t mean we abuse our advantage.With a heavy sigh, I withdrew my hands from the cool dirt and rose, turning to face the vulgar man.

“Are you speaking to me?”

“Of course, I am!” He spat into the dirt on one side and squinted at me since I stood with the sun at my back. “Our master has need of you, healer.”

My eyebrows rose of their own accord. How did he know I was an elf and a healer? Then I spotted his partner standing on the trail on the other side of the field I had crossed to reach the yaron patch. The bully gripped my satchel in one fist and in the other the arm of the farmer, who had allowed me access to the patch. The poor farmer appeared terrified.

Taking pity on the farmer, I dusted my hands off on the front of my shirt. “And your master would be?”

“Warlord Hectorius the Mighty. He commands your presence immediately.”

“Is that so? And what use does he have for an elven healer? I hope his mightiness hasn’t fallen ill. It would undermine his reputation for invulnerability.” I barely kept my tone benign.

The armored grunt hesitated, probably to muddle out whether or not I had insulted his master. “My master’s son is gravely ill. He demands you attend him.”

“Attend your master or his son?”

The man’s confusion deepened. “His son, you blithering elf.” He narrowed his eyes to suspicious slits. “I don’t like your tone.”

I almost rolled my eyes. My tone wasn’t the issue but arguing the point would’ve been futile. “I will come and attend him as soon as I gather my harvest.” Thankfully, I had collected enough to provide for the year.

“No need. My junior has your satchel.”

“That isn’t everything.”

“It’s all you are getting. We have no time.”

I eyed him, tilting my head. “You will let me collect my harvest or I will refuse to come with you. And if you try to force me, I can guarantee your master’s precious son won’t receive any of my expertise.”

I strode past him to approach his underling. “My bag,” I demanded.

For a moment, the underling appeared to panic, eyes flicking back and forth between me and his glowering superior. Apparently deciding I was more intimidating, he offered me my satchel.

“I am so sorry,” the farmer whispered. “I didn’t want to, but they threatened my family.”

I nodded briskly. “Best release him too,” I told the underling. “He is of no use now. You have found your healer.” Stalking off to where I had left my harvest drying in the sun, I made quick work of gathering and stowing them in a special compartment in my satchel. The preservation spell worked into the fabric would protect them from decay until I returned home.

By the time I had finished, the farmer had been released and run off. The pair of grunts masquerading as soldiers stood on the path, watching me intently.

“I am ready. Which way?”

“Follow behind and see he doesn’t escape,” the superior ordered before striding along the path to the south.

I followed without comment, acting calm despite my rising anger at the human’s demands. Warlords had no power over elves. Each warlord’s domain functioned like an isolated country composed of a few towns and villages under the warlord’s protection. Occasional skirmishes broke out between domains, but of late, more negotiations happened over a table than on the battlefield. There were exceptions, but I knew for a fact that Hectorius had signed an agreement of non-aggression with Emrys five summers past. By its terms, Hectorius was allowed to request the assistance of any elf on his lands, but he couldn’t detain me or harm me. To do so would invite war. Also, of more importance, I had no obligation to provide help. And considering the day’s interactions, I was not inclined to act beyond the absolute minimum required by the agreement.

After an hour of walking, we arrived. Hectorius’ gray stone fortress loomed on top of a slope. The tree line stood nearly a mile away from the walls all the way around, offering those walking the highly fortified wall plenty of opportunity to spot invaders. It came as no surprise that guards forced the gates open before we crossed half the distance.

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