Elven Kind

By Villi Archer

A human is befriended by an elf and his life is altered in unexpected ways. His travels include battles, love, madness, and transformation. His friendship persists despite prejudice and time. His love for horses and music steadies him against life's sudden changes, and he is healed and wounded by friend and foe. He discovers an herb that transforms the future of the Elven people, and is befriended by the Selkies, a race that lives in the seas and rivers. He gains wisdom from dragons, and is possessed by a demon that lives in an enchanted weapon. He can't seem to keep two coins in his pockets, even though he comes by great wealth from time to time. He creates an odd and addictive drink called draco brandy, and inherits a tavern due to an odd local custom. An elven woman teaches him the secret of the terrible blood thorn bush, and he uses it to his advantage. He is not what he was, nor is he now what he will become.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Villi Archer
• Release date: Feb 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311767202

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Elven Kind

Copyright 2015 Villi Archer

Published by Villi Archer at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter One: And So We Begin

Chapter Two: Erlandth’s Hundred

Chapter Three: Outfitted

Chapter Four: Quencher’s Defense

Chapter Five: Put to the Question

Chapter Six: Anjala

Chapter Seven: The Siege of Kir Lena

Chapter Eight: Lady Nightshade

Chapter Nine: To Speak the Words of Peace

Chapter Ten: Into the Beckoning Woods

Chapter Eleven: A Fool’s Life

Chapter Twelve: Horse Country

Chapter Thirteen: Toad Tower

Chapter Fourteen: The Weir

Chapter Fifteen: Into the Desert

Chapter Sixteen: The First Clutch

Chapter Seventeen: Homecoming

Chapter Eighteen: The Flea Circus

Chapter Nineteen: The Cook’s New Soup

Chapter Twenty: Happy Jack’s Coin

Chapter Twenty One: Poisoner

Chapter Twenty Two: The Winter Campaign

Chapter Twenty Three: The Red Queen

Chapter Twenty Four: The Tower

And So We Begin

The night settled down on us like a dirty blanket. My shoulder had stiffened during the day. Neither of us had eaten since the night before the battle. I tried to wrap my mind around when that was, but let it go. Remembering was not worth the effort.

We had been part of a diversion. My quick tongue had earned me some enemies, and this was the way they repaid me. My companion was quick in other ways. We had not met before we were thrown together, two turnips in a fool's stew.

He had looked down at me from his horse. I was sharpening my lance against a stone.

So, he said. What earned you a place on this road to death?

We both knew what diversion meant. You rode into a superior force. They pulled in even more troops and then they slaughtered you.

Well, I confessed, we were all sitting table, and I was in my cups, as they say, and we started swapping stories of the women that we’d known. Being a bard's son, my tale was much anticipated, as well it should have been. It was the most explicit and detailed. I left nothing out. It had drama and humor.

It sounds like a worthy tale, he said, dismounting.

Indeed. How was I to know that Bardalach had married the lass the spring before?

He smiled into his hands. Bardalach. The war chief?

I turned back to the other edge of my lance. The war chief. So what's your story?

If my blood was not enough, Bardalach has a brother who had a son.

Oh yes. Timeaon. Bold, mouthy little Timeaon. It's a good thing you killed him in front of so many witnesses. It still threatened the alliance.

Will our deaths make the alliance stronger? he asked. Of course, it would not. The alliance between such dissimilar groups was always fragile. I handed the fellow my wine bota. He drank of it, but sparingly.

You have not watered the wine, he said.

No, I replied, Actually, I was thinking of getting stinking drunk.

Don't, was his reply. That was the first time I took his advice, but not the last. That was before the battle.

Ahead of me, I saw him lean forward and half fall from his saddle. Only his grip on the horn kept him from going straight into the dirt. I tried to dismount as well, but found something prevented me. I leaned forward and saw that my legs had been tied together under my horse's belly. I removed the poniard from my boot sheathe and slit the cord. The effort overbalanced me and I collapsed beneath my mount. She was too tired to even shy. I had seen her give greater attention to a fly bite, but as I gazed up at her sad brown eyes, I knew that her best days were behind her. I had ridden too far, too fast. She stood with her legs akimbo, her neck drooped low.

Graceful dismount, I heard from some distant place.

Yes, I replied. I worked on that one for many years in my youth. Usually I practiced after a couple of bottles of wine.

It was a struggle to sit up and undo the girth strap.

Why bother? my companion asked. At first I was a little irritated, but then realized he could not see what I could.

Let her last night be free.

I reached under her and pulled on the far stirrup and the saddle flapped to the ground, like a dead gull. I leaned my head against her ribs. A powerful hand gripped me under one arm and lifted me to my feet. I grabbed the blanket from her back and turned to see him remove the bit and bridle.

He let go of me and grabbed the saddle. I followed him to a tree where he had tied his mount. The saddle become our pillow, the blanket our mattress, our cloaks, blankets.

The last thing I remember hearing that night was him saying I doubt I will ever wish this again, but tonight I wish you were a fat, sweaty woman, that would warm me through the night.

In the morning, I cut us each some meat from the rump of my dead horse. We couldn't risk a fire yet so we held the bloody hunks in our mouths as if we were able to chew it. Some of it must have dissolved, out of boredom I suppose. His arm was worse. We had not been able to remove the point of the arrow. The bastards had notched the wood right behind the head so just this sort of thing would happen. He was feverish. I couldn't move my left arm at all. I knew the bone was broken. My shield had been shattered within the first few passes of the melee. When that red-bearded fellow swung his chain mace at me, there was naught that I could do but try to use my sword to dampen the blow. The chain wrapped around the sword, and the weighted end hit my shoulder. It felt like all the hangovers I had ever had, rolled into one. It seemed as if lighting flashed behind my eyeballs, and thunder rumbled through my veins. If someone had not grabbed the reins of my horse and led me out of the fray, I would have perished soon after.

The morning was half gone now. I got him onto the horse. His scalp wound had crusted over. Fortunately we were high enough so that the flies wouldn't trouble it.

I'll have to cut that arrow out of you tonight, or you'll lose the whole arm, I told him.

He shook his head. We're almost there.

I took this to be fever-speech. Thankfully, I was wrong. The sun burned off the morning mists. Our cloaks were damp through, and we had taken the best of my booty and shifted it to his horse. I walked, holding the bridle. The horse was of one of the ancient blood lines, built for speed and endurance. He would survive. Perhaps he would survive his owner, I thought grimly. His owner, and his owner's friend.

We walked through the narrow chasms, fjord like in the mountain foothills, first turning left then right at his direction. I had to trust him. He had led my horse from the fray when it was certain that all was lost. The diversion had not fooled the enemy. As a result, we rode into a fairly thin part of the defensive line. They proved ample in turning aside our attack. However, we did break through, and some few of us fled. Had the tactic worked and drawn troops from left or right, none of us would have survived. I thought of Bardalach with crows sitting on his chest, feasting on his eyes. Such would be his fate if he fell in battle, was captured, or ran in defeat back to the castle of his benefactor. In this my hour of need, the thought fortified me.

The vegetation was sparse, but I was still nearly on the little twig and rubble shelter before I saw it. There was a tiny mine shaft behind it, the entrance covered with a horse hide.

Blessings be. We've made it. The look of relief was so great I feared for his life. Sometimes a man who nearly drowns will expire when he feels himself lifted into a boat.

Don't let down you guard yet laddie, I whispered as I helped him from his horse. Maybe nobody's home. I put my head against the horse, wishing I could gain some of his strength. Sliding a wounded man from a horse one-armed is no mean feat. The aftershocks of it rocked me momentarily, but I steadied up. He took our loot bag and we wove our way to the door of the hut, like two drunkards on the way to a whore house.

She stepped out just as we approached. Her dress was little better than rags, and there were more rents in it then solid pieces. Her voice, though, was as strong as a gale.

What is it that you want! she commanded.

We staggered to a stop. He lifted his head, and whispered, Healing mother. Please heal us.

She had but one good eye, and a scar traced across her cheek beneath the second empty socket. She was stooped, a dowager's hump curved her spine like a bent bow. Her hair still had a few strands of black, but was mostly a dirty white. Freckled fingers were twisted with arthritis, and her toes were splayed, bare in the dust before us. One of those fingers pointed at me.

You will I heal, flesh of my flesh. You are one of the chosen. But what of this beast that brings you? I have never seen his like. What manner of creature are you? What is your race?

Always meaning to be polite, I attempted to address her as my companion did.

Mother, I know my appearance must be strange to you. Please forgive my ugliness. I am what is called in the wide world - a human.

She was nonplused. Never heard of 'em. Set him down gently.

I did as she commanded. I leaned him against a rock and his head swung to and fro like a lantern on the bow of a ship.

And how will you pay?

I emptied the contents of his booty bag and mine at her feet.

She pushed aside gold, and a string of pearls with her dusty toes. Is this all?

My weapons and my horse, and whatever else I can give you, said my companion.

Beware son of Candlave, of the clan Dev. I could ask a lifetime of servitude, and we of elven blood live long and long.

I know Mother. I surrender even my freedom to your whim.

She looked at him, and then at me.

Son of Candlave, is all this treasure yours?

He looked at the mound, then looked at me. No Mother. Some belongs to the human.

Human. If you give up all your booty to heal his wound, how will you pay for your healing?

Mother, I would not have even had the sight of this day were it not for him. What can I deny him? Besides, his need is greater than my own. It certainly sounded noble enough. My father would have been proud. My mother would have kicked me for being so impractical.

You know, I can take more than just physical things, she said. He nodded. I must have raised my eyebrows in disbelief. This peculiar lack of control has often bought me sorrow, but this day, merely surprise. The old hag pulled down her dress to her waist. On her left chest was a desiccated old dug, as one might find on a sow bear of advanced years. On the right was as perfect a bosom as was ever sported by any woman anywhere. It was full, the skin tight, the areolas brown, the nipple pink. I feared I would swoon, with so much of my limited blood being diverted to unnecessary places. She cackled like an old crow. One twisted finger poked the breast as if it were some frightened animal, perched atop that spiny chest.

This belonged to a young princess. Now it's mine. Forever.

She knelt in the dirt and picked up this and that. Is the horse a gelding or a stallion?

Stallion we both said at once.

Keep it, she huffed out her breath. Nobody brings me good horses anymore. A nice gelding is just the thing. A mare that's had her foals. Nothing for it I suppose. Even an ox is better than naught. She made a pile of the finer things. Finally she said This'll do. Now for the healing.

I had tried to dig out the arrow point with my poniard, and had made a mess of it. He had passed out and started to bleed so much I had to quit. She unwound the bloody rag that had once been the bottom two inches of my tunic and threw it to one side. The redness of infection was clearly visible, and a yellow puss oozed from around the stub of wood.

I have seen street urchins snap coins out of the air, and the monkeys of Caplandau steal nuts from one another, but nothing matched the old harridan's quickness and sure handed delivery. She seemed to reach right inside his bicep and when she withdrew her hand, it held the point of the arrow.

She looked at me scornfully. When you go to take an arrow out, go all the way. Digging around with a dagger just left wood splinters any of which could have festered and cost him the arm. Now bring me some water.

I went back to the horse and found the bota. We had drained it of wine long ago, and the water that we had found was brackish. I warned her of it and she looked at me in disdain.

She poured some if it into her palm. It was brown and dirty, and some duck weed floated on the surface. She looked at me in disgust, but oddly, took the water into her mouth, then spat it back into the bota. What she then poured into her palm next was clean and pure. She swiped at the scalp wound. The blood came away, as I had expected. What I did not expect was the wound to disappear. She washed his arm, but could only do so with her left hand. Her right arm bled from the bicep, as had my friend's. She turned her face to me, and I saw blood trickling from her scalp.

Watch carefully human. I'll bet your kind has never seen the likes of this! I'm about to raise the almost dead! She cackled in glee, and gripped her good breast fiercely until a single drop of perfect white milk issued forth onto her finger. She wiped this over my friend's lips and his eyes which had been gone from fever bright, to near death dull lit up again, but this time with passion. He sat up straight under his own power. His need for her was obvious and urgent. He picked her up and she giggled like a maiden. Well not quite. Maidens don't know why they giggle. She knew.

Human, go tend the horse. Until the sun is straight overhead. She laughed again, and he with her. He swept her into the little hut and kicked the door shut behind them.

I found a little stream near the hut or rather the horse did. I almost didn't bother to try drinking upstream from him. I took off the saddle, and the blanket, the bridle and bit. From one lumpy saddle bag I retrieved another piece of meat. I was asleep before I had even begun to chew.

I was awoken from my slumbers with a swift kick. I startled to see the old hag bent over me.

I attempted to sit up but my hunger and wound would not agree. Is the son of Candlave well?

He sleeps the sleep of the newly recovered. His wound was serious. Besides, I wore him out! She grinned like a leopard and bent to poke and prod at me.

What will you pay me for healing?

Mother, I have already given all the booty from the battle to you. Take whatever you will.

She sighed and grabbed my shoulder. You've certainly made a mess of this. A club I suppose.

I had wanted to say, Something like that, or perhaps give her a brief history of human weaponry, the prevalence of the mace, its various forms, and correct deployment. However, when she touched me, I could say nothing, and could do nothing. On a bet one time, I slipped off my clothes and went into a creek. It was spring and the water was cold. My manhood shrunk to the size of a child's thumb, but I was not about to lose the money. I sat beneath a waterfall as I said I would. The maker of the bet had not realized that I did not know the seriousness of such an act. They had had to pull me out with a rope and sit me by a fire for an hour. I still caught a cold. But the time beneath the waterfall was educational, if painful. The cold constricted muscles on my left and right side so I was held immobile. The water pounded down on me in uneven waves. The wind that had been annoying during the ride to the stream, now was a bitter and effective enemy. My life was being washed from me like so much dirt from a blanket. Her touch was like that. I must have swooned because I do not recall anything beyond that brief initial contact.

Wake up you human cretin, and have a sip of this.

The world fluttered before me as if a butterfly was trying to blind me with its wings.

Don't bat your eyes at me! Even if I was that kind, and you were that kind, the old woman wore me out. Now eat some of this damn soup.

The metal cup went between my teeth, and I breathed more than I drank. Even what I coughed out tasted delicious.

Horse soup I told him.

Yes indeed, he replied. I ate all of him except his pizzle. That's the meat stock in your bowl.

Wonderful, I replied. It's a good thing you boiled the piss out of it.

My second attempt to drink was more rewarding for my stomach, but my shirt must have felt very naked without a fresh layer.

I looked around to discover that I was now in the mouth of the mineshaft we had seen earlier. There was the horse's saddle, my weaponry and his. Well, we had our lives and weapons. That was more than most could say who rode with us that day. The light that bounced into the cave only lit the tunnel for a short distance behind us. He caught me looking down into the darkness.

Don't even look that direction, he said. I turned to look at him, but the effort was massive. Sleep was descending upon me again, a raven with vast wings.

It's where she keeps her treasure. Any fool that touches a Healer's treasure is doomed. If the Healer doesn't kill him, Elven kind will. I was on such a hunt. I've never seen my people more brutal.

He doubtless held me long enough to recite the entire story. Well, perhaps not. Elven stories can take a week or more. I probably got the watered down human version. I just wonder how many days went by before he noticed I was asleep.

When next I woke it was dark except for a small fire at the mouth of the cave.

Any more of that soup? I mumbled.

Naw, he said not even turning my direction. You've had enough baby food. I've got some real elven bread and some wine. Even carrots.

My strength was failing fast when he caught me under the arms. He understood my need and got me to the chamber pot quickly. Fortunately I was already naked or I would never have made it. Fortunately the pot was sturdy for I needed to rest my full weight on it.

Gods I stink, I said to know in particular.

You do that, he replied. This is a common enough reaction to healing. I'm already over my bout with it. Your sweat smells like shit and your shit smells worse. You haven't the strength of a half-drown puppy, and you sleep four days in five. The good news is that your arm works again. Doesn't it.

His voice was almost accusation. As I squatted on the pot I moved the arm experimentally. Yes, it worked. As well as it ever had.

She did a thorough job on you. You don't even have that scar over your eyebrow anymore.

The scar had been from a chair leg in a bar fight. When I sobered up and realized my chance at good looks had been ruined forever I hunted the fellow down and beat him with a small leather bag full of iron dust. If I hadn't been so drunk he never could have taken me. An untrained peasant, and me with my sword at my side.

Thanks, I said. You know she wouldn't even have bothered burying me if it hadn't been for you.

True enough, he confessed. Healers have little enough patience with their own people, let alone the strays we pick up from time to time.

Gods... I groaned. I ought to wash some of this stink off. Can you help me to the creek?

Actually, he said as he slipped an arm around my shoulders, I was just thinking of throwing you in.

He led me out to of the cave, and the full light of day assaulted my eyes like arrows shot from high battlements. When he flopped me face down on a stiff woolen blanket, I realized was not on the ground. When we started to move, I smelled the horse and heard the sticks dragging over the stones and dust. He had rigged a travois, and used it to transport me. We stopped under a large tree, and he more or less rolled me into the sandy shallows. The light seemed less fierce, but the water was mountain run off. I shivered in the cold, but grabbed some of the sand from the bottom and went to work, starting with my feet.

Come on, then or you'll be all day.

There's a lot to do, or I'll just stink up the cave again, I shot back over my shoulder.

I've other things that need tending. Blast you! I heard him splash into the shallows and felt him set to washing my back.

Easy, I shouted over my shoulders. His vigorous rubbing was like being drug behind a horse.

Stop your whining, was his reply. I could not stop him, so I braced myself in the water. Suddenly he stopped.

You’re bleeding, he mumbled dumbfounded. I could feel the trickle from my shoulders running down my back.

That happens when you rub somebody's hide off. I hate to think what your horse looks like after he's curry combed. Must be naked as a new born rat.

Scrubbing your pet donkey, boy? We looked up to see the healer, walking into the shade. She was a little shaky, and I could see that one of her arms was stiff.

Cover yourself, the elf whispered.

Not much point to that, I replied. She's seen all there is to see of me, and has found nothing of interest. Why should I cover me, when all she's interested in is being covered by you?

I could hear him splash backward a step or two, as if I had shoved him in the chest with my words.

The old woman laughed as she tossed off her rags and sank down in the sand next to me.

You should watch that tongue of yours, she said. Elven anger...

Yes, I said concentrating on washing me knees, I've heard that one. 'Elven anger, life-long danger.'

Do you know the rest?

I shook my head.

In the original, there were over fifty races described. Some of those races are gone, and new races have emerged. Yours for example. What rhyme would you put to your own people?

I thought for a moment and said, Human breeds like wildfire feeds.

The harridan cackled, her one perfect breast half floating in the water. Too fast for me to find any satisfaction.

Healer, without you I would not be alive, so please forgive me, for I don't say this with disrespect. Humans carry their children for only nine months term. They can breed in the fifteenth year. Women can have ten children, sometimes more in a life of forty years. Men can breed until the day they die, sometimes as old as sixty. You know how that differs from your people.

She looked into the water. Yes. Our females will have one child per century. Only four or five in a life time. Our men go sterile after two-hundred years. A child stays in the womb for one year. Your lives as individuals are brief. We will see many of you come and go. But as a race, you are destined to long life. We are so few, and someday, you will be so many. We stand before a sea, rolling in. How are we to stem the tide?

From over my shoulder I heard, If you have heard the name of Elrath Mohinn, you know that he says that all humans must die.

Mohinn is a fool, the old healer said, splashing her hand into the water. He said the same thing over two centuries ago about the dwarves. Now the dwarves hate us for the Iron Mountain wars, and they are more numerous than ever, and we are fewer than ever. Do you know how many healers were exhausted during the Iron Mountain wars boy?

No, said the voice over my shoulder.

Twenty-one. Yes. Twenty-one healers expired for the sake of Mohinn's war, and more than that gave and gave. To no avail.

We finished bathing in silence. I wobbled into my clothes, and she pulled on hers, stiffly.

How do you heal? I asked. How does it work?

"Have you not told him boy? Let me tell you the story of a wicked king, who thought he could control the healers. His named was Erlandath.

Erlandth's Hundred

Erlandath gathered to him nine and ninety noble elves and the mightiest healer of the land, a man named Kuhn Amenta. Erlandath had a quarrel with a rival clan, and there was a blood feud. Erlandath swore that he would kill every member of the rival clan, and in his wickedness, there was a spark of wisdom.

He said to Kuhn Amenta, 'If this is a long war, many of the Chosen people (for that is what we call ourselves) will die. Many more will require healing. Many healers will be exhausted. What I ask of you Kuhn Amenta, is that you stand behind my foremost warrior and heal him the instant he knows hurt. When he is tired, he will be replaced by another. Our enemies will become terrified, and run, and we will slaughter them as they depart from the field. Fewer will die, and only you among the healers will grow weak. It will be a terrible sacrifice, but the life of a healer is a life of sacrifice.' Which is true of course.

Kuhn Amenta, as all healers, was not the member of any clan, any more than a Needler. All he could see was the suffering of long wars, and he agreed. The first day was terrible, with Erlandath's warriors retiring at the end of the day tired, but unharmed. The rival clan, under their leader Umare' suffered terribly. But they would not run. They understood the trick that would destroy them, and their own healers would not aid in warfare. They knew they were lost, but would not retreat nor surrender. One of the healers that was in Umare's camp crossed the dead zone between the two armies and talked to Kuhn Amenta.

She said, 'Kuhn Amenta, you are a fool. Erlandath does not love life, he only wishes to end it. Why do you serve him? Have you not sworn to serve life? When he is done with the battle field he will carry his slaughter into the villages of the Umare' clan. His warriors will need no healing just to slaughter women and children.'

Kuhn Amenta was young, but not that young. He saw she was right, and told Erlandath that he would fight alone the next day. Erlandath merely laughed and told Kuhn Amenta that either he would heal them tomorrow, or be the first to die.

Well, the sun came up and Kuhn Amenta was brought before Erlandath. He said to the clan leader Very well. Your war sickens me, and to heal one man at a time drags the war on and on. I will take your best nine and ninety warriors and make them so no blade shall cut them, and no arrow scratch them. Stand with them and I will make you hundred immortal. Form a ring and hold the hands of those beside you. I will fill you with energy to start the fight and you shall know no harm. But when this day is done, I will go my way, and you will never ask me to heal for your clan again. Agreed?

Oh my yes, Erlandath agreed. It was obvious he intended to kill the healer if the healer was not exhausted by the process. What good are promises made to a dead man?

The warriors formed a ring, the men and the women of the war band joining hands, waiting for the healing, then the slaughter. Kuhn Amenta stepped into the ring and grasped Erlandath's hand, and the hand of a woman.'

My friend whispered a name. D'Ara.

"That's right. It was D'Ara. And he took a deep breath and let it out. And he said a mighty prayer. From the center of the earth, and the center of his being Kuhn Amenta called forth his healing. Everyone in the ring felt younger, stronger, and healed. But he could not heal their vileness of spirit. They violated the vow of the wounded and the sanctity of the healer, a forbidden and dark thing. He took another breath, and the feeling of life ebbed from the warriors back into Kuhn Amenta. It started as a trickle, and then became a flood. The life roared from them into him, and the earth itself rushed to fill the vacuum of their souls. Where once stood ninety-nine warriors and one foul leader stood one hundred pillars of granite. The stone rushed up from the earth and filled their empty shells.

So it was that Kuhn Amenta did what all healers know how to do. Instead of taking on the injuries of the wounded until he died of it, he took on their lives until he lived from it."

I wondered to see my stalwart companion in tears.

I saw them, he whispered between gasps. The Ring of Fools. My father made his children memorize the names of all one hundred of them. He made us stand in the footsteps of Kuhn Amenta and recite the entire story. Not as you have heard it. The epic version. Three days to recite. When one had done the next began. While my brothers and sister recited, I walked around the circle, both inside and out. I have seen some clever stone work, but this was not stonework. The ones who stood nearest Kuhn Amenta knew their death was upon them, and could not run.

When we had all recited the story, my father took us to a Gathering, and introduced us to Kuhn Amenta.

Nicked your fingers did he?

He looked at the old woman and nodded. After Kuhn Amenta healed us, we each gave him a gold coin.

Then your father taught you well.

He taught us to honor the healers among us. He taught us not to shun the Needlers.

Ah, the Needlers, said the old harridan as she wagged a withered claw. The drones of the hive.

I have a brother that is a Needler, he replied quietly.

What’s a Needler, I asked.

Some things are not for outsiders to know, she murmured mysteriously, and wandered off to do those things that healers did.

Are you going to tell me? I asked him when she was out of earshot. He shook his head.

A week passed, and we did what we could. A sword is not as good as an ax when trying to shape wood, but we were able to rethatch the roof, and I dug her a new latrine. She thought the stone squat plates were an excellent idea and gave my ear a tug to show her approval.

Clever little beastie aren’t you.

Always trying something new mother, I replied.

Your kind walk off cliffs?

I smiled and nodded. Sometimes. But those that try new things and live teach others what works and what does not. The body loses fingers, but does not starve.

She shook her head, either in disgust or wonder, I could never tell.

The son of Candlave was given the use of a bow and some arrows from the old hag’s hoard. It was a beautiful recurve, made of horn, but inlaid with silver. He wandered off, silent as a ghost’s shadow. The evening found him coming home with a stag over his shoulders. The old woman had us scraping and stretching the hide until midnight.

Don’t nick it, she said for what seemed the hundredth time. He looked up and me and smiled. I thought of the scar above my eye, abolished by this old woman’s touch.

No mother, we both said almost in unison.

Bah! she replied with scorn. If you were out of my womb, I’d throw one of you off a cliff and piss on the other.

I knew who would have been bound for the cliff.

I had asked him what was right and proper at such a parting. He told me again and again, and we practiced it in the woods to get it right. It wasn’t just the words to be said. It was the tone, and the timing. I’d played lute duets that were less complex.

It came time to leave and the horse was saddled. We stood naked and she came to us. She gave us our clothes back. Our weapons. What need had she of them? Her own gift was weapon enough. That which was trash from our spoils she gave back. There was even one good piece for each of us. The rest she kept.

You have not paid me what you owe, she chanted.

We have given what we can. We will not forget the gifts from the healer. Call on us at any time. Ask what you will and it shall be yours.

Go with my blessings. Always remember gratitude to every healer. Pay them the debt you owe me, and feel free to return. Hold back, and the hand of every healer shall be turned from you.

We shall treat every healer with an open hand.

Without another word she went back up the slope to her little mud dauber wasps nest. We drew on our clothes. It was important to keep silent until we were out of earshot. Since I had no idea what might be possible for those pointed ears, we had agreed beforehand, that he would speak the first word. He rode first, while I walked. He knew the area. He said we would be several days this way before we came to a village where we might buy a horse.

Do not try to go back, regardless of what the litany says, he told me at last.

I don’t intend to. Without you, she would have sucked the life out of me and rolled the husk into the creek.

He only sat the horse as we plodded along.

It’s a shame about that bow. It looked like a good one. I was hoping she would give it to you.

It was enchanted, he replied. She would never part with it willingly.

You jest. How enchanted?

I could feel it the first time I picked it up. The arrows were fine enough, but I took the worst one and put it the string. It wasn’t straight at all. It was missing one of the fletches. From a normal bow it would have probably flow sideways. I pierced the deer’s heart from here, to that tree, he said pointing.

You mean the bush by the flat rock?

No, no he said impatiently. The tree with the broken limb. See it?

I stopped and looked at him. He had never lied to me but that was a prodigious shot. I could have paced off a hundred strides to that tree.

It wasn’t me. It was the bow.

Yes... well. It didn’t taint the venison.

He shook his head and started down the trail again. You have no experience of magic?

Oh yes, I replied. "A little. I was fighting south of the Dregan border. The other side had a weather wizard. The bastard made it rain for three days. We were wading in muck, our chariots foundering. They attacked us with archers. Of course, the sun came out for the day of the battle. Couldn’t get their precious bowstrings wet. He cast some lightning about. That wasn’t much fun.

We couldn’t run, and if we fought they feathered us. I was just a mercenary. I threw down my weapons and gave up."

What happened then?

I was a slave, working in some farmer’s field planting wheat for six months. I always had bread to eat though.

Did you ever fight in a war on the winning side? he laughed.

Once or twice, but I try not to make a habit out of it. And you?

I’m not too good at picking winners either. I’ve been wounded before, but this was the worst. I was about to ride the Dark Trail.

I would have been half a stride behind you. I must say, I prefer keeping your company on this side of life.

You’re just saying that so I’ll let you ride the horse.

Why thank you for your generous offer kind sir.

Of course, after only a week on our feet, we weren’t strong enough to set a good pace. We set snares and traps at night, and once we caught a rabbit, but never anything else. I asked him why there was so little game, and he explained that the healer could call the animals to her.

And then she kills them and eats them. Yeh!

Healers aren’t like you and me. She could live a hundred years and never take food in her mouth the whole time. She can take nourishment through her touch. You weren’t far wrong when you talked of her leaving you a husk. Healers live a hard life.

I watched him out of the corner of my eye. It was a small fire, and I knew his limited vision could not detect that I studied him. Was he unknowable? I had ridden with many a fellow soldier. Inside of twenty miles, I knew the names of their children, their wives, sweethearts, their first dogs, how they were going to retire to some roadside inn, and get fat and make their fortune. I would hear no such tales from this one.

We came to the little village in the mid-morning. The things that get done in such a place were well under way. I could hear a smith’s anvil ringing. My friend said that he would look for horses. I went to the inn, where there was sure to be gossip, fresh food, and maybe a beer, if we could afford it. Or win it.

The people were not of a race I knew. They were dark and low to the ground and looked on me with great suspicion. I smiled and nodded, but fingers were raised before me to ward off the evil eye. I think I was seven or eight the first time someone did that to me. I never have gotten used to it.

By the time I reached the inn, I wasn’t in much of a mood. The innkeeper shooed his daughter away from my table and came himself. I had some coins in my hand ready.

Pay first, he grumbled.

Food for two, I said. How much?

He turned over my hand and I opened my fingers. He took nearly everything. I caught him by the wrist as he started to turn away.

I hope you charged me fairly, I said quietly. He moved to go, but my grip didn’t let him. I held him until I could see a bead of sweat form on his brow. He wasn’t about to part with any of that money, so I let him go.

I was joined by the elf shortly thereafter. Did you find a horse?

Yes, and a mob thrown in, he replied. He took his sword belt from his waist and pulled an empty chair close. He pulled the steel free and laid the naked blade across the arms of the chair. Seeing his caution, I did the same.

While you’ve been making enemies, I’ve been making friends, I told him.

So I see, he said scanning the room. That explains the laughter and the free flowing wine. The few people in the place all turned their backs to us.

When the soup comes, we’re supposed to switch bowls. It’s a local tradition.

So you angered the innkeeper and he spat in your portion.

Exactly.

What did you do to him?

The innkeeper came to our table and sloshed the soup in front of us. The bread he bought was stale, and we got no drink at all.

We don’t like your kind either, he sulked at the Elf.

The Son of Candlave looked at me and then the innkeeper.

How many people in this village do you suppose? he asked me.

At the moment, less than twenty, I replied.

I could kill ten if you could kill ten.

I looked at him over the rim of my bowl. Let me finish my soup first.

Actually, we finished the meal, if you can call it that, and picked up the horse, if you could call it that, and left town. We probably could have wiped out the town, and there are probably people who have done just that. Sometimes that’s the way of it, with these two-a-penny villages. You don’t like them. They don’t like you.

It was a three day ride to the coast. We sold our horses and caught a ride in a fishing smack to the only real city in the region. We put our weapons in our bed roles, and wore our hoods up. We had been on the losing side after all, and these were the folks that won.

It was spitting a nasty little rain at us. It wasn’t all that cold, but the rain had been constant, and our woolen cloaks were soaked through. It was the wind. The wind blew in the rain, and had bottled up the sailing vessels in the harbor all day. Tempers were short, and we weren’t in the best of moods either.

Let’s get some food and find a room for the night, I suggested.

Don’t get drunk, was all he said. Once again, I realized that this was good advice. The place was filled with smoke from a kind of seaweed that was commonly mixed with something else and then smoked in a pipe. I thought it was horse dung. My companion insisted it was more like the entrails of a dead rat.

The innkeeper’s dog barked at us. He was old and fat, and had no hair on his tail, probably from foiled attempts at someone trying to catch him. The innkeeper’s infant son I suspected.

Glad to meet you too, I muttered at the dog.

The Son of Candlave raised his hand and muttered something at the animal. It quieted and went to sit by the fire. I wondered if I had just witnessed magic.

Neat trick, I commented.

You pick these things up, was all he would reply.

As was our wont, we took a table in the back, something with a wall we could rest against. The customers were a mixed bag, mostly sailors, stevedores, and some local merchants.

A fat middle aged woman in a dirty apron came to our table bringing mugs of beer. She was surprised when I pushed mine away and asked for tea.

I’m on a strict diet, I commented.

That’s ok dear, she simpered. We serve drunks here all the time. Reformed ones I mean. Well, actually the unreformed ones as well.

We ordered meat and bread with a bowl of spiced vegetables for us to share. I liked the vegetables best of all, so he gave up his portion in exchange for most of my bread.

We’ve got some trouble, he said bending over his fork.

The two lads who want to show off to the serving girl?

The same. Eat up and we’re out of here. At least we hadn’t paid for the rooms yet.

I shoveled the last of the vegetables into my mouth followed by some tepid tea. The meat I just slipped into my pocket. Of course, we looked like vagabonds. Ragged clothes, bundled possessions, sneaking about as if we weren’t decent folk, which of course was true. We weren’t.

He had his bundle under one arm, but I could see that his sword hilt was positioned so that he could draw it out of his bedroll and his sheath in one motion. I wish I had thought of that. We were bound into the wet and cold again, but we just wanted to find a place out of the rain. And we nearly made it.

They caught us at the door. One of them threw some brandy in my friend’s eyes. I could tell it caused him a great deal of pain. I drew him back behind me.

If you could throw one of those my way sir, I offered and opened up my mouth. That got some laughs, but the other one tried to stick an entire bottle of the stuff, down my throat. Bottle and all.

He was big, and the movement was clumsy. I sidestepped him and did a neat little front kick to his shin. With my lead hand I guided his wrist so that the bottle broke on somebody’s table. I reached with my back hand and grabbed his head. Then it was just a matter of holding the wrist still, and bringing the head forward. He stumbled backwards and let the bottle slip from his hand. The laughter stopped when they saw the amputated ear among the glass shards.

Four men in uniforms stood away from the bar.

Can you see yet? I asked over my shoulder.

Not well enough to fight, he replied.

Let’s back our way to the door. No steel please.

The other bumpkin was standing open mouthed at what had transpired. Suddenly he got a look of rage on his face and drew a knife. It was a pitiful little thing. It might have been useful for peeling potatoes, or trimming one’s toenails. It wasn’t a knife fighter’s knife. The blade was no longer than my smallest finger.

Put that away, commanded one of the uniforms.

I put my hands up as if in surrender. I felt a hand on my shoulder and let myself be led toward the door.

You two beggars will pay for this, bellowed the hooligan. And then he thrust at me with his little knife. If this had been battle, even unarmed, I could have killed him. Instead, I stepped back and swept my lead arm up in an arc. I intercepted his wrist on the upswing and spun him sideways. The Elf stepped forward and did an odd thing from the viewpoint of onlookers. He stabbed the boy with a bedroll. I, of course, knew that he hit the youth somewhere near the floating ribs with the counterweighted hilt of his sword. The wind went out of the bumpkin like a punctured bellows. He dropped his knife and his knees buckled. I never did see if he hit the floor. We were both too busy running.

Of course, I led us out into the night because of my eyes. Two of the guards pursued us, but we outdistanced and outmaneuvered them. It is so handy to be able to cheat. He could hear them, and I could see them, and they never had a chance. The next inn we came to, we sauntered up to the bar, plopped down some money and scampered up the steps to a room. We didn’t even have to share a bed. I took off my boots and removed the dusty piece of meat from my pocket and finished my supper in the dark.

Outfitted

Over breakfast we decided this town was not for us. My companion had an idea.

Let’s go to a sword smith. There are a couple in town. We can get outfitted there.

Outfitted to go where? I asked.

He smiled and pulled on the lobe of his ear. It was only some time later I learned that this was a gesture that elder Elves did to younger ones. It meant,