Page 3 of The Elven Healer's Apprentice

“How fares the child?” the superior grunt demanded of the guard at the gate.

“He lives, for now.”

Additional guards joined our group and marched me into the largest building of the fortress. We wound through wide corridors deeper and deeper until no natural light lit the dim passages. Then, abruptly, the men stopped. The lead man rapped on the door to the left. It opened and a thin man with an anxious face stepped out into the corridor.

“Did you find a healer?”

“Better than that, we brought an elf healer.” The spokesperson waved at me as though I were an animal.

There was no way I was going to volunteer my actual status as the king of Eldarlan’s master healer. Instead, I attempted to appear aloof, yet uninteresting.

The anxious man pursed his lips in disbelief. “I doubt he will do anything different from the healer we have, but the warlord will wish to interview him regardless. Come in.”

They urged me through the door and into a throne room of sorts. Natural light filtered in through narrow horizontal windows high up the walls. In an effort to enhance the natural light, huge candelabras laden with smoking candles crowded the walls. And packed into every available spot along the walls were chests, lavish tapestries, gold and gilt, and flashily expensive objects. They offered a sharp contrast to the smoke-blackened walls and ceiling.

“Who is this?” demanded a massive man lounging on a heavily decorated chair I suspected served as his throne.

“I have brought an elven healer to save your son and heir.” The anxious man waved an arm toward me.

The corpulent reclining man that I assumed was Hectorius lurched to his feet. I had never met the man, only dealt with his minions. His height didn’t match his breadth. Although I wasn’t tall for an elf, I still was taller than him. As he approached, he puffed himself up like a bird trying to scare off an attacker.

“Take off your hat in the presence of nobility,” he commanded as he leaned close to peer at my face.

Noting his shortsightedness, I removed my hat. The sight of my pure white hair caused a mild sensation among the occupants of the room, but my attention was on the man before me. He stank of sweat, dirt, and a sickeningly sweet scent I had learned long ago was a sign of a specific illness common among humans, especially fat ones. The longer I observed, the moreclues manifested. This man wouldn’t be long for this world, which was perhaps why he was so desperate to save his son. As the guard had said, he needed an heir to keep his little fiefdom stable.

But as I met the warlord’s sharp gaze, I realized the man didn’t know that death knocked at his door. Strangely, I pitied him.

He finally spoke. “A witch has cursed my son. Can you cure him with your magics, elf?”

“My experience with curses is not extensive, but I cannot know until I know the particulars of the case,” I pointed out. “Thus, I can make no predictions as to my success or failure.”

The man grimaced. “A fancy reply for such a low-born elf. There is no call for that here. I am a plain-speaking man. Tell it to me straight. Can you or can’t you heal my boy?”

“I don’t know. I need to assess the boy’s condition before making a prognosis.”

Again, sharp eyes scanned my face before the man turned and stalked back to his throne. “Show him the boy.” He waved at the anxious man. “See that he has all he needs. Execute the poisoner. He has done my son no good. Perhaps this freak of an elf can succeed where the other has failed.”

With a flick of the anxious man’s hand, a guard grabbed me and rushed us out into the corridor. A blur of turns and stairs brought us to yet another door. This time, they did not bother to knock. One guard opened the door, and another shoved me through. Barely a moment later, the door was closed again as someone whispered an incantation against the plague.

The room assaulted me with smells and sounds. Darkness cloaked the corners where servants scuffled about, whispering in hushed murmurs about the stranger in their midst. I waited for my eyes to adjust to the dimness. Slowly I noticed the bed in the center of the room and the still form stretched out on it.

When no one approached me, I took initiative. But a single step in that direction almost overwhelmed me. Vomit, rot, and the stench of sickness enveloped the bed. Accessing my magic, I realized the severity of the problem.

My gaze fell on the blood-soaked bedding and the tools for bleeding. The rotting smell came from the carcass of a rabbit bound to the boy’s stomach. A mug of a concoction stinking of a known poison made it perfectly clear the child had been murdered. Done in by good intentions or bad, the lad was too far gone to save.

Rage roiled inside me. Humans had such short life spans. Why waste them like this? Every life had value, no matter how brief.

Although it was too late for the boy, I might save the souls that would grow sick from the same disease.

“You there.” I pointed at one servant. “Remove this swill. It is poisonous. Drinking it would kill a well man, let alone a sick child. You—” I pointed at another servant. “Remove that carcass. Killing animals never healed anyone.”

Within minutes, I had commanded them all to open the windows, clear away all contagions, and change the child’s bedding. As I moved his hot, unresponsive body while the servants replaced the soiled linens, I sensed the being within struggling to survive.

I eased the child back into his bed with a heavy heart. Despite the valiant spirit within the boy’s body, I feared it was a losing battle. Demanding water, I began pouring it through his cracked lips.

“You are killing him, sir,” a servant said. “The healer said that giving him water would kill him.”

I glanced over at the middle-aged woman bold enough to question me.

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