Free Hidden Power by Tracy Lane

find it.”
    The man wrinkled his nose and waved his weak hands but somehow, Lutheran managed to pour most of the bowl’s contents down his throat just the same. He gasped and turned away the last spoonful. “Enough,” he said weakly. “I concede.”
    Lutheran nodded and set the bowl aside. There was a tub of water and a fresh cloth and he wet the cloth before dabbing it across the man’s forehead. 
    “Where are you from?” Lutheran asked, admiring the cut of the man’s open tunic and the gold thread that marked its sleeves and collar. “You certainly aren’t a woodsman.”
    The man smirked, though his breathing was softening, his eyes heavy lidded. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said, then told no more for Lutheran to disbelieve. The broth worked well enough and soon the man was sleeping soundly, giving his torn and battered body time to heal.
    Lutheran left him in peace, doddering around the quiet cabin as darkness fell and candles were lit, darkness illuminated by the flickering flames. Soon enough he slept himself and, in the morning, rose to find his patient still under the effect of the powerful herb broth.
    Lutheran smiled and prepared a meager breakfast of root vegetables and harvest fruits and grains. Once Lutheran had roused him from his quiet slumber, the wounded man ate so heartily that Lutheran had to watch his fingers. 
    “I’m glad to see you up and rested,” said Lutheran as the man polished off a second loganberry scone smothered with allspice butter. “May I ask your name?”
    “I am Kronos,” the man said proudly, waving his arms around at the humble breakfast. “And I appreciate your generosity. I will be out of your hair soon, I can assure you.”
    Lutheran looked at the man skeptically. “Let me see your dressings,” he said, gently scraping away the dried mud and roots. While the bleeding had stopped and the healing had begun, the wounds were still open and would take some time. “Let’s not put the cart before the steed just yet, Kronos.”
    Kronos waved a hand away and buttoned his tunic. “A little more rest is all I need, and then you’ll be rid of me.”
    Lutheran nodded his head. “As you wish, but feel free to stay here until you’re back on your feet. I have some chores to do, then perhaps we can have lunch later?”
    Kronos was surveying the tears in his maroon robe and barely acknowledged him with a half-mumbled, “Perhaps.”
    Lutheran grabbed his sack off the peg by the door, slung it over his shoulder along with his rifle, and headed out for the day.

14

    Kronos finished his meager breakfast and stood on weak legs. He paced the mortal’s meager cabin, frustrated that his powers were still too weak to perform his own healing spell and finish what the pesky mortal had already started. 
    He cursed Iragos as well. To think he’d been surprised by the light mage’s transformation spell! Kronos seethed with shame even as he plotted his revenge. He slipped into his robe, weak but unable to wait another moment longer to put off his search for the Orb of Ythra. 
    To think that Iragos might have been on its trail the whole night while Kronos slept in this mortal’s cabin made his blood boil boldly, increasing the mage’s healing properties.
    Kronos reached for his staff, leaning casually by the front door in all its twisted, black crystal glory. At the moment, he was as grateful for its support as he was for its magical properties. 
    He stormed through the cabin door, only to find the mortal bent to his tasks in a nearby herb garden. There was a basket at the man’s feet, quickly filling with leaves and sprigs and twigs and fragrant flowers of all varieties.
    Kronos wrinkled his nose at the sight. Mortals and their distasteful hobbies. God only knows what the man had poured down Kronos’ throat the night before!
    A snuffle to his right made Kronos whirl, pointing the twisted crystal staff and ready to fight Iragos in the form of some other