Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
“Healers want to believe she is good that evil doesn’t touch her and she will use her tremendous power for good, while evil believes her powers will help them rule. Which path she travels, no one knows.”
“So, what you are saying is that you know as little about her as anyone else does.” Dar ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated. “How is it that a healer can hide herself and daughter all these years from such powerful magic?”
“Only one way… she never used it.”
Dar’s brow creased.
“She lived among Scotara as one of you,” Lord Oaken said.
“But when her daughter’s magic awakened, surely you felt it?”
“Not even the smallest pulse,” Lord Oaken confirmed. “And I do not want to think of what that means.”
“It sounds as if it frightens you,” Dar said.
“Aye, for it means that a young one had the power to hide her magic and if she can do that at such a young age, she can easily walk among those in Scotara and those in Driochmor undetected.”
“At the moment, I only care that she shows herself here and heals my wife.”
“Would you want evil healing Elara?”
“I don’t want her to die.”
“Would you want her to live owing evil something in return?” Lord Oaken asked.
“I will owe this healer born of evil, not Elara, and I will owe her anything to keep death away from Elara.”
Anger sparked in Lord Oaken’s eyes. “Never say that. The price evil demands is far greater than you would ever wish to pay. And on that, my granddaughter would agree with me.”
Dar’s anger burst. “Are you telling me to let her die?”
“Helma is the most skillful healer in Driochmor. If her hands and words cannot heal someone, then it is because fate has taken hold. Fate holds my granddaughter in her hands now and neither you nor I can do anything about it, except ask her for mercy so that she may live.”
“What good is the power of magic,” Dar lashed out, for the first time in his life sensing failure. An unacceptable outcome. Hunters never failed. “When you cannot find a way to save the ones you love.”
“Like most, you misunderstand the power of magic. It is derived from nature and nature has its own rules.” His brow puckered. “I am curious, Dar. How does a Hunter know about the extraordinary healer when the tale, what some believe a mere myth, has lain dormant these many years? What interest does it hold for you?”
Dar shook his head. “Don’t play me for a fool, old man. Your power of sight must be far greater than your granddaughter’s. You know the king has the Hunters searching for this healer and that war looms large with Drogath. You also must know of the foreigner who looks to enter Driochmor. Is he here to seek Driochmor’s help in exchange for ending your banishment? Do you plan to side with Drogath in this war?”
“Will the king force us to?” Lord Oaken asked.
Realization struck Dar and the matter of the king was no longer important to him. “You were already aware that I knew about the healer, and you must have known we were coming here—” He scowled. “You sent Amelia to me.”
“To help you find your way.”
Dar snapped angrily at him. “Then you already know her fate.”
“Nay, something stops me from seeing it,” Lord Oaken said with a touch of annoyance.
Dar’s head snapped up as if he heard something, but it was a sudden memory recalled that grabbed hold of him.
“What is it?” Lord Oaken asked anxiously.
“According to a healer Elara spoke to, she predicted that Elara and I would have a happy life together. That would mean Elara is meant to live. So, what am I not doing that I should be doing?” He shook his head. “Instinct had me bringing her here. I thought for sure she would be saved if I brought her here. What am I missing?”
Dar went to sit on bed beside Elara, taking her limp, cool hand in his and placing it against his chest to warm it.
“I won’t fail you. I won’t,” he murmured.
“I will leave you. We will speak tomorrow.”
Dar barely heard what Lord Oaken said, though he did hear the click of the door’s latch.
Lord Oaken returned as the night deepened, Helma at his side. She moved straight to the bed without a word, lifting the lantern just enough to study Elara’s face, her breathing, the color beneath her skin. She touched Elara’s wrist, then her brow, murmuring softly under her breath.
Dar watched every movement, rigid with restraint, his hands clenched at his sides.
“She still clings to life,” Helma said quietly. “No fever. No further bleeding.”
It was not reassurance—but it was not surrender either.
Lord Oaken turned then and inclined his head toward the door. “Come. We should speak.”
Dar hesitated, his gaze fixed on Elara.