“You’ll need to drink if you want to heal,” said a familiar voice.
Erich did a double take. He hadn’t recognized Fritz beneath the veil, nor would he have expected an elf inside the temple. Fritz must have a death wish to come here.Even more shocking, Fritz tended to the old man with gentle hands, and when he placed them on his back, they glowed. Erich half rose from his seat, afraid the elf would kill the man in broad daylight with the same power which broke the iron bars.
“Now, breathe in for me,” Fritz said.
The old maninhaled sharply, then sputtered. Fritz’s hands grew brighter before the light sunk into his back and the shadow of death hanging over the old man dissipated. Even the best healers couldn’t perform such miracles, but Fritz brought him back from the brink. How could corrupt magic do this?
“How does that feel?” Fritz asked.
The old man inhaled, and visible relief spread over his wrinkled face.
“No more pain! Oh, thank you, priest, thank you. The goddess has blessed you with Her light.” He grasped Fritz’s hands, shaking them up and down as Fritz smiled.
Then he escorted him out the door.When he was gone, Fritz turned his attention to Erich, but when the elf reached to pull back Erich’s sleeve, he reeled back, scowling at Fritz.
“I heard you were shot during the hunt. May I inspect your wound?” Fritz said with a curl of his lips.
Erich glared. Surely the elf knew his wounds healed on their own. Was he trying to get them both killed, perhaps?
“You’re staring,” Fritz said
“I’m wondering what you’re doing here,” Erich replied.
“Healing the sick and injured.”
“This isn’t a game. This is life or death.”
“Isn’t it always?”
The guard groaned, and the priest tending him soothed him with nonsense words. Erich clenched a fist.
“I trusted you, but you’re taking a dangerous risk,” Erich hissed under his breath.
“I came here to help you. You’re welcome, by the way.” Fritz grasped his arm and rolled back his sleeve.
He felt Fritz poke around the wound before he cleaned away dried blood with a damp cloth. Though his methods were questionable, it was a relief to see Fritz here.
“Making any progress?” Fritz asked.
“Hardly.”
Fritz set aside the bloody clothes and bound up the healed wound in bandages. “Anything you want to tell me?”
He thought of the stag and its cryptic words, but he couldn’t see how that was any of Fritz’s business.
“No.”
“Well, if that changes, come find me. All done.” He stepped back.
“Thanks,” Erich said, shaking his head as he pulled his shirt back into place. “But where do I find you? You never told me—”
But when he looked up, Fritz was gone and on the bed next to him was a torn piece of parchment with the words: Moonlight Tavern.
13
Liane glared at the white plastered ceiling, as the acrid scent of incense burned her nostrils. The wet cloth on her brow dripped rivulets of water that ran down her cheek. Her fever broke hours ago, but the Vice Premier insisted she stay overnight for observation. It’d been years since her last delirious fever, and she feared Liane was relapsing. Rationally, she knew the talking deer wasn’t real, but that didn’t explain the very real arrow she hid under her pillow or the corrupted man who’d shot it. Whoever he was, he’d come for her. She’d seen the look in his eyes moments before Mathias shot him.
If only he wasn’t dead, she might have asked him why. Had Heinrich been trying to assassinate her? Then why bother luring her into the ruins? It would be simpler to make it look like a hunting accident. And those ruins were real, even if the deer wasn’t. But how had she stumbled upon it, then? Trying to make sense of it all made her head throb.
