Death Wind (Elven Alliance #3) - Tara Grayce Page 0,37

most efficient to work in teams where the elven healers use their magic while the human surgeons take care of whatever manual surgical procedures need to be done. It might also be best if the human surgeons took care of minor cuts and injuries while the elven healers conserve their magic for the most dire wounds. That will save the most lives.”

When the battles came, there would be a lot of wounded. The healers and surgeons would need to become an efficient team otherwise it would cost lives.

She stayed in the healers’ tent a while longer, working with Nylian and Maxwell for some of the particulars on what each group would handle and the size of the teams and stuff like that. She took notes so that she could arrange messages to the other two encampments so that this policy could be implemented there too.

After finishing with the healers and surgeons, Essie made her way to the far corner of the healers’ tent. There, Illyna and several other elves mixed salves, which the healing elves would infuse with their magic. It would allow minor wounds to be treated in the field without expending magic at the time, saving the magic for more critical wounds.

Essie stopped next to Illyna. “How is it coming?”

Her jaw set, Illyna used a pestle strapped to her forearm to grind herbs and ingredients in a mortar. “We will have plenty of salve by the time the armies move out. I just wish I could go with the army to help rescue Farrendel.”

“Every little bit helps, and this is no small thing. Thanks to you, the elven healers will be able to conserve their magic. That will save lives.” Essie smiled and waved at the tent. “Thanks for all your hard work. Truly. It means a lot.”

“It is the least we could do.” Illyna reached out with her hand and squeezed Essie’s shoulder. “Farrendel has been a good friend to all of us. He stuck by us when few others would. We will do whatever it takes to get him back.”

“I know.” Essie squeezed Illyna’s shoulder, then stepped back.

After talking to a few more of the elves in the tent, Essie left and made her way toward the mess tent since it was nearly lunch time.

“Essie!” Edmund jogged up to her. “Jalissa and Leyleira are waiting by the command tent for me to bring back food. Want to help carry all the trays?”

“Sure.” Essie fell into step with him. “Do you think it will be chicken or—”

The iron wall slammed across the heart bond, cold and hard. Essie hunched, pressing a hand to her chest.

Edmund gripped her elbow, steadying her. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. It’s Farrendel.” Essie straightened, forcing herself to take a deep breath. “They’re torturing him again.”

Edmund’s expression held no trace of his usual smile. His fingers clenched over the hilt of the elven dagger belted to his waist. The same dagger Farrendel had given him. “How is he holding up? Can you tell?”

“He’s...” Essie wasn’t sure how to explain the impressions she felt. Or how much she should tell Edmund. “He’s going hard. Cold. I guess it’s to be expected, but he feels more like Laesornysh than my Farrendel.”

Edmund didn’t try to reply. What was there to say to something like this?

The iron wall crackled, then crumbled, tearing a wave of agony through Essie’s chest. Stars burst across Essie’s vision as darkness crowded in. She curled over her stomach, fighting to breathe. Her lungs burned, and it felt like her heart might tear itself apart at the rate it was beating.

“Essie!” Edmund’s voice was distant, barely audible past the ringing in her ears.

Her lungs were tearing. She struggled to draw in another breath.

Farrendel...

THE DOOR TO Melantha’s cell slammed open. With her hands pressed tightly over her ears, she had not heard the tramping of boots down the passageway nor the locking bar lifting.

Prince Rharreth marched inside, grabbed her arm, and hauled her to her feet. “I hope you meant what you said about healing.”

Melantha had to trot to keep up as he dragged her along with him from her cell. What was going on? Only seconds before, the dungeon had been filled with Farrendel’s cries of pain.

Prince Rharreth turned in the direction of Farrendel’s cell, his stride long and hurried. Melantha had to just about run to keep up with him, nearly tripping several times as she had never quite gained her balance. His grip on her arm was firm, tight enough that