Chapter Six #4
“As you wish, Guard Captain.” He faked a courtly bow.
The urge to roll my eyes at his foolery was strong. Imagine a mahouk bowing to a palace guard. Rolim’s eyes must be bulging. “Forgive me, I did not think…”
“Please do not ask for forgiveness for something that I find appealing.” He took off, me falling in slightly behind him, the subtle scent of sand sage tickling my nostrils as we made our way through the sullen halls.
The staff were nowhere to be seen, but their sadness was palpable.
News had spread through Avolire. There were few secrets in the castle.
Hopefully, our clandestine departure tonight would remain confidential. Those in the solar were to be trusted without question. How Teryn would explain our hasty exit to his children and staff had yet to be revealed, but he was a clever man. Perhaps too clever at times.
The corridors of Avolire were silent, our footfalls louder than normal on the cool white tiles as we hurried to the infirmary.
Airy and open to the soft ocean wind, the Hall of the Sanguine’s walls were white stone with wide windows covered with sheer draperies to keep the insects and gulls from entering.
Smoke from the healing herbs burning in thuribles that healers wafted back and forth over their patients hung thick in the air.
The hall was vast, built many centuries ago to deal with the influx of wounded soldiers.
Now, thankfully, the wars with the dwarves and yeti were over.
Treaties of peace were signed and in place with those not possessed of pointed ears.
We were still working on coming to terms with elves of differing skin tones.
And the humans that inhabited our lands were so few that they were considered unworthy of wasting the vellum to scribble out an accord.
They would never rise up, or so we were certain, although with the passage of time more and more humans were born, so their numbers were swelling.
Perhaps someday we would need to reach out to them with a treaty of friendship.
Right now, we were no threat to them, nor they to us.
The largest menace to the humans were the diseases they always seemed to be plagued with and their propensity to harm each other.
They had few laws and even fewer rules to govern lawful behaviors.
Not to sound superior, for we elves were also known to lash out at each other for trivial reasons.
Just look at the dislike thrown at our cousins of the woodlands and of the sands.
No, sometimes, as much as we liked to think we were above the humans, we were not—not really—we just hid our toxic behaviors behind a veil of supremacy.
My attention waned as I strolled along a row of cots, most empty, to the last two beds. In one lay Nanny Vilde. The old sister of the Steppes looked her age as the morning sun warmed her pale cheeks. A healer clad in the white and blue of the Melowynn clerics rubbed a bit of balm on her arms.
“How fares the sister?” Teryn asked, pausing at her bedside as I made my way to the next cot.
I could hear them discussing the nanny as I took a seat at the head of the pristinely made cot.
Lying on a pillow, wrapped in small white robes, was my friend Tezen.
Her wings lay limply out to her sides, frozen in mid-flight, her eyes wide, a snarl locked into place to show her pointed teeth.
Her eyes seemed to be frozen in a stare.
The healers had covered her with a soft cloth that acted as a blanket.
Somehow they had massaged a pale pink lotion into her skin, coating her face and arms, as well as the rest of her, I imagined, even her wings.
The healer—an older male elf with a roundness to his form—spoke with Teryn behind me as I lifted Tezen’s small hand to let it rest on my finger.
“The sister is recovering as well as can be expected given her age. The paralytic that was used is a particularly virulent one. An elf in their prime would simply tumble to the ground, muscles clenched, unable to move. An elderly elf might have more serious complications. Her heartbeat was unstable for the first few hours, but Healer P’tash began applying this pink unguent to her flesh, and it seems to be helping.
The sister is no longer having difficulty with her breathing, and her heart seems to be responding to the Sandrayan potions and oils. ”
“Good, good. And the pixie?” Teryn enquired softly, his voice moving closer as he stepped up to stand beside me.
“That is a more difficult situation,” the healer whispered as he moved closer, his robes swishing as the scent of lilac calendula and bog sage smoke entered my nose.
“We are sadly lacking in knowledge of how to treat pixies. We have sent a raven to their court to ask for a healer or someone knowledgeable to come to Avolire to tend to the princess. Given that the dosage was intended for a mature elf, we are assuming, obviously, the children would be affected strongly but should come out of their immobilized state within a day or two. Princess Tezen is a thousand or so sizes smaller than an adult elf, so her systems are doubly stricken.”
I stared down at the formidable little woman lying like a small statue on a goose-down pillow.
“You say the Sandrayan lotion seems to be helping?” I asked, gently patting her small but deadly hand.
I had seen this tiny woman drop elves and creatures two thousand times her size with those war picks of hers.
Bards like to tell of my encounter with the lust-raged yeti, but Tezen was there as well.
She had blackened the eye of one of the monstrous brutes and driven her boot so far into the stones of another that I feared the thick-furred beast might never reproduce.
Why her story was not sung in the alehouses, I suspected, was due to her not being an elf.
She was a fierce protector and a dear friend.
We had shared many adventures, from helping to fetch our queen to driving out bandits to facing down inflamed yetis.
We shared bunks, sleeping rolls, stale tack, and ribald stories around a campfire.
We had been sick together, drunk together, and eaten more meals than I could recall together.
If she did not recover from this tainting of a nursery drink, there would be no stopping me from striking down those who had done this.
Be they mainland or Sandrayan, they would fall to my blade and let the kings and envoys sort out the mess left behind.
“Aye, yes, Captain, the rictus around their eyes and mouths has improved. The flesh is softening, and we were able to dribble water infused with pressed lemon tea into her, but she is unable to swallow, although we think some may have gotten into her stomach. We know that the pixies are fond of pressed lemon tea with a dabble of lichen sprinkled on top.”
I had never seen Tezen drink such a thing, but who was I to question a trained healer? “I am glad to hear that the aid given to her by Healer P’tash is helping.”
The old elf nodded, his lips pressed tightly for a moment before he worked them into a forced smile.
“The king has sent word to us that we are to step aside and learn as we watch the ambassador’s son tend to the princess. I am sure we will acquire many skills from the Sandrayans as they do from us.”
“Yes, I am sure that you will,” I replied, patting the small, chilly hand resting on my finger before gently placing it back to her side.
“Rest and recuperate, my friend. May Ihdos bless these learned men and women who tend to you. May his light lead you from the darkness that you now linger in back to us.”
“We should go and let the healers return to their patients,” Teryn said, placing a hand on my shoulder. I nodded, rose, and glanced around the infirmary looking for Teryn’s son.
“Where is Healer P’tash?” I enquired. The healer pointed at a closed door to the right of the hall.
“He is in the apothecary right now. Creating more unguents and infusions for the stricken,” the older elf explained.
“I shall go speak with my son. Pasil, feel free to return to the barracks to rest,” Teryn said, but I shook my head. There would be time for resting and packing once the ambassador was safely back in his chambers.
“My duty is to protect you. I shall linger here until you are ready to go back to your quarters, Mahouk.”
Teryn appeared to want to say more, but he merely smiled softly and entered the apothecary with me on his heels.
The small room was packed with shelves, which were overflowing with bits of plants, bottles, vials, mortars, pestles, and devices for distilling liquids.
Working with P’tash was his sister, I’llra.
They stood at one of four long tables, baskets of shimmering flowers, rare herbs, and tiny glowing seeds from the apothecary’s garden on the eastern side of the castle.
Small windows high on the walls allowed the sea winds to blow in, rustling the dried stems tied with rough twine that hung from hooks in the ceiling.
The smells in the room vied for my attention, from the woody smells of balsam to the spicy aroma of peppercorn to the floral beauty of rosewood and lavender.
“Father!” both cried out as Teryn moved to embrace them.
Once I was sure there was only the lone way into the room, I stepped outside, closing the door to give the family privacy.
Their conversation was not mine to overhear.
Planting my feet and folding my arms, I rested my back to the doorjamb to wait.