Page 138 of Blood of Ancients

Shooting her a quick smile, I said, “Right. Probably don’t have too many humans stopping by the hospital here.”

“Maybe more, now that the portals have opened.”

After a slight nod, the leftmost woman stepped and led me into the building. It was a three-story affair—the buildings on this mountainside were built vertically rather than horizontally. Rather than squat longhouses like at Vikingrune, this place had crammed structures together in their limited space by building up rather than out.

Inside was a bare place, devoid of the lavishness our spring-hold had. The walls were gray, the floor was marble and squeaky-clean, and our boots clomped loudly and echoed off the high walls.

We took steps to the second level. The maid stopped at a door. Bowing to me, she said, “Inside,varus.”

Before she could retreat, I asked, “Um, how . . . is he?”

She looked at me blankly. “He will live. Recovery may be slow. Our green magic was used to extract the poison from his liver, where he had been pierced. The physical damage was extensive, and that is what needs rest in order to heal.”

“Green magic, right,” I muttered, nodding, not knowing what that was. I assumed it was the elves’ natural magic that dealt with the forests and spirits. “Thank you.”

She nodded and left me alone at the door.

I knocked.

A gruff voice called out, “Ladies, back so soon? I thought I bored you to death already.”

I snorted and pushed the door open.

Kelvar’s smirking face flattened. “Oh. It’s you.”

Stepping inside, I closed the door behind me and stood over his bed. The room was a hospital room like any other, bare and ordinary.

It seemed even healthcare could not escape the constricting dullness of Midgard, and had gone extraplanar in its reductive qualities. That was to say, hospitals were not impressive even in other worlds.

Then I remembered these people lived a life stuck in the Dark Ages, medieval and old, with carts, horses, and the like. When I compared this sparse, clean room with that, I decided it was much more impressive because of how modern it looked compared to everything outside these walls.

“Are you just going to stand there like a fool, drooling off into the distance, boy? Or are you here to pry questions out of me?”

I blinked and looked down from the wall to Kelvar. My face was empty of emotion. I took in my “father,” trying to decide if I believed it. He was shorter than me, yet with a similar bone structure. Gaunt face, slender body, a bit older and more wrinkled, with bags under his eyes. His hair was black while mine was nearly crimson—a rare shade of auburn not seen naturally in most people.

“I want the truth, Whisperer.”

He repositioned himself on his bed, facing me more completely, partly on his side. He winced when he moved, and I noticed him favoring the side where he hadn’t been stabbed. A fresh bandage was wrapped around his middle.

“The elves saved your life, you know,” I said.

“I’m grateful to them for it.”

“Will you stop hating them? Your allegiance is to Vikingrune, and we know their viewpoint on Ljosalfar.”

“Why do you care if I hate the elves or not?”

“Because Ravinica does. In case you haven’t noticed, she does not wish to continue the centuries of hate our people have shared with the elves.”

“Aye, she wants to bring them together.”

My brow furrowed. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“You don’t know what I know, boy.” His gray eyes sank, averting from my body.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Then tell me.”

“About the elves? Or about what you truly came here to discover?”

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