Given the miracle he performed, Orum’s exit was anticlimatic, the elf walking away from the men with slow, lumbering steps after a short farewell. He passed the returning soldier sent to play messenger, the veteran sharply stepping aside to let the foreigner pass with the same deference he paid his superiors. Samuel noted that he carried several baskets in his arms but workers to fill them didn’t trail behind him.
“Why are you alone?” the prince demanded once the soldier stood before them.
“My apologies, your highness. I couldn’t find the instructor. I relayed the message to Mr. Macklemore who said he would see that she got it and that they couldn’t spare any hands.”
Samuel fought the urge to shake his head. It wasn’t the man’s fault. He was a soldier, who was used to working with little and coming up with his own solutions. He wasn’t taught how to shout and threaten until people paid attention, to demand what he wanted with the full expectation that his desires would be prioritized.
It also wasn’t Lane’s fault. He could imagine how busy the man was with the recent business in the city. He likely hadn’t paid attention to a soldier telling him that an elf had magically grown a field of plants outside the camp, unable to imagine the significance of the statement.
“Your highness—"
“Don’t.” He didn’t need a warning or a lecture. This wasn’t the time for his ego. Samuel might not have the most sympathetic heart but even he was moved by the crisis of the city, rationally if not empathetically. “Leave the baskets and go back. Find the instructor and stick to her side until she listens to you. Don’t come back without her, Lane, or both. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” The soldier dropped his burdens and dashed off.
“As for the rest of you, grab a basket. The quicker we fill them, the faster the next batch grows and there are a thousand hungry mouths waiting for us.”
The men didn’t hesitate to follow his order. Rather, they took to it with more gusto than the prince who reluctantly rolled up his sleeves before grabbing a basket. Picking leaves pushed the bounds of what he considered appropriate. He certainly wouldn’t want anyone with an opinion that mattered to see him doing the menial labor. His hope was that the magnitude of him actively participating would help Alyssa and the rest of the camp accept Orum’s generosity.
Samuel considered himself a skeptic but being in the elf’s presence, seeing his power firsthand, he knew that the powerful caster didn’t need tricks to overwhelm them if he wanted to harm the people of Harvest. Even their elites were nothing to him. It was that insignificance that convinced the prince that nothing sinister lurked behind the favor. The last thing the camp needed was the people in charge wasting time because of useless suspicion or, worse, politics.
“You are doing a good thing, my prince,” Ewan said with a rare warmth as he stood beside Samuel, harvesting the leaves of another plant.
Samuel scoffed. “Good enough to be done with this mess, you think? Surely, no one will think the prince that solved a famine is doing charity for show?”
“I think you have done a good deed worthy of a lifetime, even if it was mostly through jest.”
“Hah! Don’t say that too loud. It sounds like just the thing the bards would love to get their hands on. The prince whose scorn spread health and good cheer.” What a terrible legacy to leave behind. He’d rather be swallowed by obscurity.
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“What in the freezing north is this?!”
The exclamation was a welcome distraction. Samuel stepped away from the plant he’d been harvesting and wiped his sweaty brow. Despite the way they looked, the leaves were rather dense and took a bit of force to remove from the thick stem. The soldiers didn’t seem to struggle but it was strenuous for the prince who preferred to exercise his taste buds rather than his muscles.
The soldier had taken his command to heart. Samuel wasn’t exactly sure of the time but he’d guess at least a bell had passed since he was sent to retrieve the camp’s overseers. That was a long time to be a nuisance, but he produced results, bringing both Alyssa and Lane with him. He could imagine the instructor stomping over, ready to verbally tear him to shreds, only to be shocked into silence by Orum’s feat.
“You’re finally here.” Samuel didn’t bother to hide his ire. Admittedly, they were busy, but they had ignored a royal’s summons. The least they could have done was send an acolyte to see to his concerns. Being dismissed was as familiar as it was frustrating. “To answer your question, this is food and a lot of it. Something the camp needs, no?”
“All of this is food?” Alyssa said in wonder, looking at the field with new eyes. “How…”
“How do you know?” Lane asked. He stepped forward and touched one of the bare stems that had already been harvested of its leaves. “I’m not from a farming family but this isn’t like any food I know. I mean, I guess it kind of looks like lettuce or…something.”
“I’m not sure what it started as, but this is its appearance after being changed by the magic of a physical master.”
“A physical master that can do something like isn’t—" Alyssa froze mid-sentence, then cursed. “The elf. Kierra’s father.”
“You know about their relation?”
“Of course I know about their relation! You think I’d let just anyone walk around when I’ve got people setting off bombs?” Alyssa scoffed. “He do this?”
“Yes.”
“Fucking ancestors. A whole field raised in a morning? The fort would kiss that man’s toes for this little trick. Well? Anyone tasted this miracle?”
“One of the soldiers,” Ewan said with an annoyed frown. “He got curious and decided to take a bite.” His tone betrayed how disappointed the knight was in his subordinate’s lack of caution. “He says that the leaf is bitter and chewy, but there are no obvious problems with it.”
“There won’t be,” Samuel said. “Orum doesn’t need to play games if he means us harm.”
“I wouldn’t be so quick to think you know another person’s mind. The world doesn’t seem to care too much for reason these days.” Alyssa eyed the plants, notably that several baskets had been filled with leaves and only a fraction of the plants had been harvested. “Which is why Lane is going to run as fast as he can back to the camp and find me someone who can verify that this isn’t poison before they start preparing dinner and send back a dozen acolytes with twice as many containers to help. Because this is far too good of an opportunity to pass up.”
“On it!” Lane dashed off with all the enthusiasm of a hound being sent to fetch a stick.
Meanwhile, his owner approached one of the plants. With a grunt of effort, she pulled off one of the leaves, and, after considering it for a moment, took a large bite out of it.
“Miss Filagree!”
“Relax,” she said, waving off the knight’s rebuke. “I’m inclined to agree with the prince. I had a conversation with Orum when he first picked Yulia up. His daughter gets her blunt personality from him. If they want to hurt someone, they’d waltz right up to them and snap their necks because who is going to stop them? Those monsters wouldn’t stoop to poisoning starving refugees.”
She frowned as she swallowed her mouthful. “Though this is disgusting. Ugh. Hopefully the cooks can do something with it. Don’t want to drown out the goodwill this is going to generate because people can’t stomach the stuff.”
“That concerned with improving your reputation?” Samuel asked.
“It’s not great but more important is improving the Hall’s reputation. The rebels are building support by telling people that we don’t give a damn, that we can’t solve their problems. This? This solves a huge fucking problem. Armies march on their stomachs. Forget the mob. We might be able to break these bastards without throwing a single spell. We’ll put the word out that the first idiot that turns on his friends gets leniency and a decent meal…”
Alyssa cackled as she rolled up her sleeves, no trace of the exhaustion suggested by the dark bags under her eyes in her smile. “Bout time something went our way.”