Potions and Herbs Ch. 01

BIRDS CHIRPED AND sang their pretty songs outside the mudbrick cottage's window. Morning dew sparkled in a rainbow of colors on the leaves of herbs and plants arranged in neat rows. The beds of the small garden, enclosed by low waddle fencing, were lovingly tended. Bushes heavy with berries flanked the gate, the home's doorway and windows. There was a beehive in the corner next to stalks of fragrant lavender and roses in full bloom. Across the narrow village road, a woman dressed in a plain, woolen dress was hanging sheets to dry.

It was a peaceful setting, the sleepy village of stone and timber construction, clean and well maintained. Flowers rioted from boxes, planters, and spilled over the ground surrounding the cluster of houses. There were pens and sheds for livestock, and chickens clucked happily as they scratched the dirt. A couple of young boys herded sheep down the sandy path between the fences to the pastures surrounding the town. The scents of fresh baked bread drifted through the air from the bake house down the road, aromatic fumes wafted from a smokehouse's chimney.

Yet one had only to look in the other direction to be reminded of different times. Elayne's eyes were glued to the tall fortification wall that rose from the ground about a half mile outside of the village. Made from huge blocks of gray and tan stone, it had been erected by the elven race of Valion after they'd conquered these lands.

"Stay away from the stronghold, Laynie," her mother warned when she noticed Elayne's attention was once more focused on the fortress. "Nothing good will come of it."

Rolling her eyes, Elayne blew out a sigh, let her gaze follow the dance of a butterfly outside.

"I mean it," her mother enforced, wagging the wooden spoon she'd used to stir the soup boiling in a large kettle over the fire. "I've enough to worry about these days, with Margret's baby ready to be born any minute and old man Peter's leg not mending well. Tim's oldest has a toothache, and Christin's youngest is burning with a fever. I don't need to worry about you getting too close to the dark ones on top of it."

Elayne knew better than to argue. Her mother would not be persuaded in this. Puffing out her cheeks, she continued to grind the herbs they used for medicines and wound dressings. It was not like she didn't understand her mother's point of view. The woman had been here, shielding Elayne—who'd been no more than a newborn babe—from the carnage when the army of black-skinned elves had swept over this town.

The lands of Canador, her home, had once been a quiet country, far removed from the battlefields of greater kingdoms. But the greed of Valion had caught up to them. As was inevitable, Elayne mused, with Valion's elven king pushing the boundaries of its ever-expanding borders.

Soon after, she recalled from the stories people told, thousands of Valioni elves flooded into Canador, plundering and pillaging, taking strongholds, and slaughtering everyone who stood in their way.

Grabbing another bunch of dried leaves, Elayne placed them in the mortar, picked up the pestle. It must have been terrifying, she conceded, to live through the horrors of war. Her own father had lost his life in the ensuing battle, too proud to surrender, although there was no hope to win the fight. She, herself, had been way too young to remember any of it. Growing up, her village had always prospered, people's lives seemingly unaffected by the invaders.

Elayne scraped the powder into a container, then walked to the table, plopped down onto a stool. Began to separate the flowers, stems, and leaves of herbs to be used in various healing potions. True, the citizens of Canador had suffered tremendous losses. But, at least, one could not claim the elven king of Valion to be a cruel ruler.

He took what he'd come for: The precious jewels and metals from the mines of Canador, along with wheat and corn from its vast and fertile fields. Yet he always ensured to leave enough for the people to be well provided for. And never took slaves.

A rather smart and strategic move, Elayne admitted. The people of these lands were his work force, after all. Without them, the mines would lie unproductive, the fields barren. The black elves of Valion were a race of warriors, ill-suited to simple labor. And even if they were to change their ways, his own kingdom could not possibly produce enough laborers to work the many lands under his control.

No, he was a smart one, Elayne mused, carefully arranging the separated pieces of plants into piles. And as such, a rather generous ruler over her people. The only ones truly affected by the invaders were the previously rich and powerful. Where once Canador had been ruled by a well-off upper class, all its people were now no more than simple workers.

Valioni elves filled positions of justice and order, merchants and traders, landowners and titled elite. No citizen of Canador was allowed to amass more than a certain amount of wealth, marriages which combined too many assets had to be approved.

It certainly didn't affect her much, Elayne thought, looking around the small cottage she'd lived in her whole life. It was a single room, far different from the opulence she'd seen in her role as healer. Two simple cots served as beds for her and her mother along one wall, separated by a large wardrobe and dresser. A fireplace took up half of another wall. Shelves holding books describing healing herbs and recipes for potions stood to either side of it. A counter spanned what remained of the space next to a stove and oven, with cabinets and storage below. Two large windows framed the entry door, the cushioned chairs in front of them the only luxuries they owned.

The table she was sitting at stood in the middle of the room. And was used for preparing various medicines and wound dressings as well as for eating. Tall three-legged stools surrounded it, and made a rather basic seat.

But she loved their simple home, the wood beam and mudbrick design with exposed rafters under a thatched roof. The scents of herbs and spices perfumed the air, plants hung in window frames, from rafters, and sat on every available surface to dry. Colorful lidded jars, containers, and vials held finished powders, potions, and ingredients.

Not much had changed in this small house since her grandmother had first settled into it to make her life. The women of her family were healers, each generation learning from the one before. The arrival of the black Valioni elves hadn't altered their roles or standing in their community at all. For that, she was grateful.

Rising, Elayne chose the appropriate containers to store the ingredients in. Marked down if they needed more or had enough in a meticulously kept journal.

"I'll pick some more yarrow for the infusion for Christin's youngest," she addressed her mother, who was mixing the fever potion in a small kettle over the fire.

When her mother only nodded, Elayne stepped outside. Mild breezes ruffled her hair. The day was warm and sunny. A dog lounged lazily in a patch of shade in front of the step of the house next door. Butterflies and bees flitted over fragrant blooming herbs. She waved a hand in greeting when an elderly neighbor couple strolled by. Then walked around the side of the house to where they grew the plant.

We live to help others, not to grow rich of people's plights, her mother's words drifted to her mind as she crouched down. And as healers, they also lived a simple live. But Elayne didn't mind. She loved her work, gathering herbs, mushrooms, berries, and flowers that would help them create their medicines. Loved helping others, and having the freedom of roaming the woods day and night, coming and going as she pleased.

Using a small sickle, she cut the yarrow, placed it in her basket. Most of all, she loved the experiences that such freedom had allowed her to gain, she admitted with a chuckle. Born with an open and curious mind, she'd seen and explored more than most women twice her age.

Choosing another plant from the bed, Elayne added it to her selection. Curiosity had led her to some interesting encounters in the past. The first had been a few months after her eighteenth birthday, when she stumbled upon farmer Melvin's son and a milkmaid down by the creek. Thoroughly intrigued, Elayne had hidden in the bushes, and watched as they enjoyed each other.

Her observations had taught her much about her body's natural desires. And had awakened an urgent need to explore the possibilities. She'd done so as soon as she had the chance, and found her experiences utterly pleasing. Now, at the age of twenty-four, her appetite for sex had become nearly insatiable. Having tried just about every possible act the human men around the village could perform, she found herself still craving and yearning for more.

Snickering, she picked another plant, then one more. Deciding these should do just fine to complete the fever remedy, she straightened. Her eyes fell on the elven stronghold, and a pleasurable shudder cursed through her body. Her desire to experience something different had caused her fascination with the Valioni elves.

On more than one occasion, she'd been lucky enough to catch a glimpse of them by the shallow river—moaning, sleekly muscled bodies tense with arousal as they stroked their exotically shaped cocks. And more than once she had fantasized about how it would feel to be used for their pleasure.

Tucking her basket under her arm, she walked back to the door. Pressed a hand to her fluttering stomach. Her mother would be leaving as soon as the fever potion was finished. She was due for her rounds to the outlying farmsteads, and would be gone overnight. Elayne couldn't ask for a better chance to pay a visit to the stronghold.

Pushing through the door, she handed the yarrow to her mother, then cleaned the table. She set out plates and silverware, so they could have some lunch.

"We're running very low on moonflowers, I've noticed. I think I'll head into the woods tonight to gather some more." Elayne knew exactly where to find them, so her trip shouldn't take long. But it didn't hurt to have an excuse for her absence, should her mother's plans change.

Fists propped on her hips, her mother regarded her carefully. "You'd best stick to the woods, if you know what's good for you. And stay well away from the wall. There's no telling what would happen if you got too close to that stronghold. The dark ones have a habit of moving all about those parts."

"Don't worry, I'll be fine." Elayne gave her mother's arm a rub, then ladled out the soup. She didn't dare mention that she'd ventured near the wall plenty of times. And nothing had ever happened. There was no use concerning her mother or rekindling old arguments. Slicing up some bread, she placed it on a plate, set it on the table. Then joined her mother for the meal.

*********

BY EVENING, ELAYNE had packed a hamper full of healing potions, powders, and salves. Pulling some of her specialty sesame rolls out of the oven, she set them on the counter to cool. She'd add them to the basket before she headed out. Her preparations were finished. Now she could only hope the Valioni elves would accept her gifts.

After slipping into the forest right at dark, she gathered some moonflowers quickly, stowed them in a safe place. She'd return to retrieve them later, after her visit to the fortress. It was early in the evening yet, and a particularly large batch of moonflowers she'd discovered had left her free for the rest of the night.

She planned on using the time to the fullest.

With everything set, Elayne made her way to the elven stronghold. Nerves fluttered in her belly as she approached the massive gate in the fortification wall. The elves rarely visited the village, kept interaction with humans to a minimum. So far, they hadn't shown any hostility. But it might not be the wisest choice to wander into their midst.

Heart pounding against her ribs, she debated turning around and leaving. She knew nothing of the elves and their customs, what they considered proper or insulting. Then a guard appeared, eyeing her curiously through the iron bars of the gate.

"Can I help you?" His voice was light and rich, with the musical undertones so typical of the elven races.

Swallowing the lump forming in her throat, Elayne kept her gaze cast downward respectfully. "I'm a healer from the village. Here to offer my services." She held out the hamper she'd packed.

"Why would you help us?" Skeptical, he reached a hand through the bars, lifted the lid on the basket, studied its contents. "I think you're as likely to poison us as heal us."

His blue eyes shimmered like jewels in the moonlight—a stark contrast to his charcoal black skin. He was tall for an elf, at least six-foot-five, with the lithe, graceful, yet muscular built so typical of his race. His features were stunningly beautiful, although still masculine—almost identical to a human's, except for the color of his skin and the long, pointy ears. They extended outward to the top of his head, with jagged edges along the outer rim.

Another shudder cursed through Elayne as she took in his form. This time, one of pure female appreciation. A tingle of arousal started in her loins, standing so close to one of his kind for the first time. For years, she'd fantasized about these men. She realized they were even more exciting in person. Still, she wouldn't likely reach her goal with this curtain of metal separating her from them. So she tried once more.

"I've no interest in harming you. I do not share the same opinion as others. And I'm not about to bring the wrath of the elves upon my village."

Cocking his head, he slid back the bolt, stepped outside. She held her breath as his jewel-toned gaze bore into hers, not an inch away from her face. Apparently convinced she was harmless, he moved back, held open the small door in the gate, and motioned for her to step inside. A shiver ran down her spine as she heard the bolt slide back into place behind her. There was no turning back now.

"Follow me."

There was no doubt it was an order, and Elayne instantly obliged. She caught a glimpse of black elven warriors training in a large sandy area between the outer wall and living quarter buildings. Their muscles rippled, their bodies were coated in a fine layer of sweat.

Then they stepped into a hallway inside the fortification wall, and she lost sight of them. The few torches did little to disburse the shadows, leaving much of the long corridor in near darkness. Arrow slits along the wall let in no more than slivers of silvery moonlight. On her right, they passed a series of closed wooden doors, leading to armories and guard rooms, no doubt, she mused.

The tunnel-like space wound on forever, and worry crept back to Elayne's mind. No one would ever know she'd chosen to come here, should the elves decide to dispose of her. It wasn't only her own life at stake. Should the villagers find her body, they'd instantly blame the elves. There was no telling what they might do.

Dismissing her fears, she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders when the guard stopped in front of a metal door. It was too late to change her mind now. So she might as well go through with her plan.

Another shiver, part fear, part excitement, ran through her when the guard unlocked the door. As she stepped inside, she realized they were in a prison. The front portion of the room they'd entered was spacious. Obviously meant for the guards, it was brightly lit by various torches, and offered several large tables. Hand-woven tapestries decorated the gray and tan stone wall, along with banners and flags she assumed to represent the different companies of the elven king's armies. A row of cells started about thirty feet into the room, with a narrow walkway in front.

"Lord Athíahn." The guard bowed respectfully as he addressed a group of warriors seated around one of the tables. "This woman here claims she's a healer. Come to offer her services."

A large, battle scarred elf fixed his stunning purple eyes on her, gave a curt nod. The guard slipped back out the door, locking it behind him.

"A healer, you say?" One of the black elves standing near a barred window sneered at her. "I've an itch you might be able to cure." He grabbed his cock through his tight leather breeches, earned a chuckle from the elves around him.

Lord Athíahn, obviously the leader, silenced them with a look. "So, you claim to be a healer," his deep, rich voice rolled over her. Rising, he slowly walked to where she stood, the smooth, elegant movements of his sleek, muscular body reminding her of a large cat.

"What brings you to our fortress? Your kind usually avoids the likes of us."

A bead of sweat ran down Elayne's back as he slowly circled her. "I've no issue with you. Your king has been kind to us. I'm here to offer my services in hopes that you will remember the people of my village kindly should the need ever arise." She offered him the basket to support her words.

Scoffing, he took it. "No invading king is ever kind to the people he conquers. You'd feel differently, had you lived through the war."

A bit vexed that he stood on her mother's side in this, Elayne compressed her lips. "You could have done much worse. And twenty-five years have since passed. My village has prospered under your king's rule. Do you suggest we hold on to old grudges and grievances, and live in hatred of each other instead?"

Flinching, she chided herself for speaking so candidly. What if she'd offended him? He clearly commanded respect from the warriors around him. And made a rather imposing figure. Taller and broader than the other elves, his body was riddled with scars. Rings adorned his long, strong fingers, golden hoops pierced his nipples and the high outer rims of both ears. He was clearly capable of enduring pain, and his demeanor promised that he'd suffer no disobedience.

To her relief, his incredible purple eyes sparkled with amusement as they met hers.

"You're a lively one, aren't you?"

Tossing back the lid of the basket, he studied the jars of powders and salves. He picked one out, opened it, sniffed. Unconcerned, Elayne let him inspect the medicines. She'd packed carefully, well aware that a nation of warriors was likely highly knowledgeable in healing herbs. If nothing else, in this she didn't need to worry.

Satisfied with what he'd found, Lord Athíahn returned to the table, set the basket down. "Go see to the prisoner," he ordered the elves seated there. Then motioned elegantly toward the instantly vacant chairs. "Have a seat." When Elayne did, he took the chair across from her. "I thank you for your gracious gifts. Rest assured that it is appreciated, and that I will remember your kindness should the need ever arise. These rolls, in particular, will very much be savored."

A smile curved his lips in a face too handsome to resist, despite the scars that lined it. And Elayne's belly did a little flip.

"However, . . ." Trailing off, he broke off a piece of roll, placed it in his mouth, chewed. "I'm afraid we will not have much need for your services. Our warriors are expected to be tough. And, as such, are not allowed to apply any healing arts. Our bodies either heal on their own or they don't. It's a way to separate the strong from the weak."

"You do not make use of elven healers?" Elayne couldn't hide her surprise. "What if one of your best leaders is severely injured in battle?"

"Then he is no longer strong enough to lead." Lord Athíahn dismissed it with a wave of a hand. "We do not make use of women of any kind either, for that matter. Not like healers have to be female."

Brows winged up, Elayne ogled. That might put a damper on her plans, she mused. Unable to help herself, she had to ask the question burning on her tongue. "How do you, well, see to your needs? Your natural urges?"