Page 12 of Revenge of the Elf Lord

An appreciative light glowed deep in Tarran’s gaze, and he leaned back in his chair with a nod. “Good. I knew Haman well, and even though you carry his name, you did not seem like him.”

“That’s an observation I will take as a compliment. I spent most of my youth trying to prove I wasn’t like him, but with age, I have learned it doesn’t matter. I am who I am supposed to be, and those close to me accept me. My mother was a more gifted healer, and I learned more from her than Haman. She would often have to revisit his patients and heal them or redo the potions he had given them because they didn’t work.”

Tarran nodded. “I knew Teriani, and you are correct. She was an exceptional healer. I thought it was a mistake when the king was swayed to accept Haman as the royal healer instead of her. I have often thought back to that time and wondered why.”

“The only people who know are gone, but I believe Haman magically influenced the decision. Several things have come to light in recent weeks that reinforce that suspicion.” Cyran said, trying to taper the bitterness in his tone.

“Lamruil has appointed me as the interim healer until I decide whether to accept or do something else. While I have no wish to follow in Haman’s footsteps, I also sense my mother’s influence, so I remain undecided. I was also asked by Ailuin’s wife, Raisa, to train a small group of werewolves and draugar, which I enjoy almost as much as potions and healing spells, so I may do that for a while. Evidently, they don’t get along. With all the discord and strange happenings in the realms, we need them to work together.”

Siall leaned forward. “We’ve heard about the Dark Fae’s experiments.” Cyran couldn’t help but hear the underlying excitement in the youth’s voice. He would have reacted the same way at his age. Siall leaned in even more, teetering on the edge of the seat. “I have seen the werewolves, but what are the draugar like?”

Cyran stilled. “You saw a group of them here? In Svartálfheimr? Where?”

Siall glanced at his brother and then back at Cyran. “We saw them twice. Once was almost a year ago. They were camped near here. We watched them for one night, but they were gone by morning. We followed their tracks for several miles.”

“You should have mentioned this to me. In what direction were they heading?” their father asked.

“Southeast.”

Cyran thought back to the map in the twins’ palace, mentally picturing the layout of this realm. From what he could recall, there was only one reason why they would be headed in that direction. “And the second time? Where and when did you see them?”

“It was almost a month ago.” Siall glanced at his father. “It was when you sent us on the scouting mission so we could improve our skills with the more learned guards. We had just set up camp when they passed us—on the south river between the border and King Windsworth’s palace. There were ten of them, all blending into the night and heading straight for the mountain.”

Niall frowned. “Why do you think they were going there?”

Tarran dropped his gaze to the tabletop, his brown eyes narrowed in thought. “I have heard…rumors over the last couple of months. Whispers amongst the village leaders who have been called to the palace. They said they were forced to swear allegiance to the king once again, but no one ever explained why. As our first king, we all swore to him when he was coronated. It does not make sense.”

“You were not asked to swear allegiance again?” Cyran asked.

“I was, but duty held me back. I am supposed to travel to the mountain in two days.”

A frantic knocking filled the room, stopping whatever else he might have said as he motioned for Siall to see who it was. The heavy wooden door swung open, and Cyran heard someone whispering in sharp, clipped speech. A few moments later, the young dwarf returned with a gaunt-looking elf.

Tarran frowned and stood. “Elreth, what is it? Has something happened?”

The sickly man nodded. “Nala is sick…very sick.”

“You don’t look well yourself.”

The newcomer waved off the words. “I am fine, just tired. Playing nursemaid is not for me. Give me hard labor any day compared to waiting on someone who is sick. I am worried, though. This sickness is unlike any I have ever seen.”

“What are her symptoms?” Cyran asked.

“Where are my manners.” Tarran gave the newcomer a half smile. “Elreth, this is Cyran Daralei from Alfheimr. He was sent to us by the new co-regents to reinstate the ancient law and will be helping those who need medical help.”

Elreth studied Cyran for a moment, then scowled at Tarran. “We can trust him?”

“I sense no evil or malice in him, if that’s what you mean. His mother was Teriana Daralei. You would have known her by the surname Gillar.”

His brows rose. “Keryth’s girl?” Tarran nodded. “That’s another thing then.” He turned to face Cyran, holding his arm out in greeting. Cyran grasped the man’s wrist without hesitation, then dropped his hand.

“You asked about symptoms,” Elreth continued. “She can’t get out of bed and has been running a high temperature. She sneezes like she is allergic to the air around her and then almost passes out from coughing because she can’t catch her breath.”

“Does she have any rashes or marks on her skin? It can be anywhere on her body, not just her face. Has she spit up any blood?”

“Not that I can see for either.”

“Would you mind if I take a look at her?” Cyran met Tarran’s worried gaze. “I have a few spells that will protect me if she’s contagious. If you’d like to see her, I can have another person with me inside the spell dome?”

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