It should have taken weeks to recover from the whipping Tarn gave him, but Elon’s elf medicine had reduced it to days.
The captain nodded. His expression was more pursed than usual.
“You disapprove?” Von asked as he gathered his scattered knives from the ground. “I told you, I don’t trust Benton. He would no sooner curse me than heal me. The tonic will do fine.”
“Benton removed the sorceress’s spell,” Elon reminded him.
Von touched his head. He didn’t feel any different, but that didn’t mean the old mage hadn’t done something to him. “I would have preferred you to have done it.”
“Impossible.”
Von frowned at the curt answer. Sometimes it took a bit of prompting to get Elon to speak. They made their way up the hill back to camp, similar to the field Elon’s had ravaged with blood and bodies of the Azure Guard.
“I’ve seen you cleave through a cavalry of Rangers, yet breaking a comatose spell is impossible?”
“Mage magic and elf magic are not to be mixed, Commander,” Elon said. “A spell on an object I could break. Not a spell on the mind. That which is most delicate should be unraveled by the same type of magic from which it was created, lest the mind shatter.”
“Ah,” Von said uneasily. “In that case, I pardon you. How does Len fare?”
“Her health has recovered.”
“Good.”
It was a miracle Len had survived her confrontation with the Guardians of the Maiden. If not for her enchanted armor, Rawn’s arrow would’ve pierced her heart. Tarn kept the enchanted arrowhead that nearly killed her on his desk. Von wasn’t sure if it was to serve as a reminder of how quickly he almost lost one of his favored slaves, or if he was interested in the spell it held.
Pausing at the top of the hill, Von glanced at the edge of the forest where Len practiced archery. She drew her bow and winced, her arm trembling. The arrow flew and pierced a target about seventy yards away. She had missed the center by inches. Not at the caliber where her abilities normally were, but far more advanced than Von would have guessed for her condition.
“Len should be resting.”
“She’s eager,” Elon said.
Von frowned at that. “If the mages healed her, why is she in pain?”
“Essence Healing only tends to the wound. Her body will be tender until natural recovery.”
Tightness set her jaw, and another arrow flew. Len had been a determined girl since she was a child. At seventeen summers old, she was damn tenacious. She had come far from a life of slavery in Versai. The wind blew her long black hair away from her face, revealing the X scar on the dusky skin of her cheek. Len reached in the quiver at her feet and loaded more arrows, releasing them swiftly one after the other. Each struck the target with deadly precision.
Was she motivated by her need to please Tarn, or the need for revenge against Rawn Norrlen? If Elon cared that a Green Elf had nearly killed a spy under his command, he didn’t show it. The scar on the back of his right hand had erased all signs of the Red Highland tattoo he once bore. How much loyalty could one have for a kingdom that exiled them?
“When are you heading out to track the Maiden?” Von asked him as they continued.
“Tonight.”
“Who will you take with you?”
“No one this time.”
Probably for the best. Elon was an excellent tracker, and he moved quicker alone. They needed to find Dyna’s location first, before deciding on the next move.
“Very well. Report to me before you go.”
They parted ways as they reached the camp. Rows of tents neatly circled the clearing where Tarn’s great tent reigned. Raiders saluted respectfully as Von passed.
The sky rippled with an iridescent sheen, a sign that Benton’s cloaking spell remained in place. Von worked his jaw, a simmer of anger hovering over him. The old bastard nearly got them caught by the Azure Guard. Breaking Benton’s arm wasn’t enough punishment for the fifty men they had lost because of it. He should have broken a few more bones. It would have been fine, as the mage’s boys would have healed him quickly.
Benton’s tent was set on the eastern point of the camp. Dalton and Clayton stood outside, the wind ruffling their long umber robes. Clayton’s dark eyes hardened, a swirl of yellow flashing in them. Dalton looked away first, but his older brother held Von’s stare. At sixteen and eighteen years old, they weren’t boys anymore.
“Olssen,” Von called to the tall, burly man brushing the horses.
