"The herbalists are the single greatest example of the ubiquity of magic in the Cities. Most locals would object to that statement. They claim that herbs are a part of life, they're produced by nature not by any sorcery, and those who prepare and sell them are skilled professionals not wizards. All this is true, but herbs are still magical. The objects classed as "herbs" actually came in a variety of forms; berries, leaves, nuts, grasses, bark from certain trees and the secretion of certain insects as wells as the classic green, fragrant plants. A few can be cultivated but most only grow wild and many are maddeningly selective about which climates they can tolerate. Such precision also exists for the usage of herbs. Each has a specific way in which it has to be prepared, a process which was only discovered after long years of research and usually runs contrary to all reason. The herb then has one very specialised but dramatic effect on the person consuming it. A few are poisons, or cause people to have visions of fairies and dancing skeletons and the like. Most, though, are used for healing. It seems that for every disease or injury which the Gods have inflicted on humanity, they have also created a herb to cure it; and if a person has the intelligence, resources and fortitude to track down the correct cures they can, in theory, live forever. (This has yet to be applied in practice). Precisely how herbs work, and why they flourish in a land where other types of magic are so restricted, have been the topics of a hundred different theories. As Myran Smithson observed, this was a sure sign that nobody had the remotest idea.
"Regardless, herb-lore forms the basis of medicine in Teraf and herbalists can be found right across the continent. Nearly every village has their own, the archetype being a charming old crone who has added to her roles of doctor and apothecary those of wise woman and power-broker. As befits a mature civilisation, though, the Triple Cities want their herbalists to be better, fancier and more plentiful than anywhere else. They have got their wish because there are hundreds of thousand of people in the Cities who frequently find fabulous new ways to become injured or ill. Christoté has no state medical system to speak of, so apart from a few affiliated to the Church of Ella, all herbalists are private businesses. Despite the Councils controlling the profession and applying the maxim of "Two things should always be capped - bald men in the sun and herb prices", the potential for profits is still huge.
"The Cities herbalists encompass a wide range of sizes, styles and, it must be said, basic proficiencies. Smithson's was typical of the lower end of the market. It was welcoming and reliable but not always able to produce any herb under the sun with the clink of a coin, none too cheap and not necessarily enjoying a Council license to trade. Below his ilk stand mildewed sidestreet shops who specialise in abortions, and strolling traders carrying boxes of decaying herbs and breaking into a run at the sight of a Guardsman. Above stretches a very long scale with some extremely affluent people balancing on its tip. An iron hard custom of the herbalist profession is that no practitioner may own more than one premise and they themselves must work there as often as possible. This at least checks any real empire-building. It is, however, partly mitigated by the wealthiest herbalists owning truly vast shops and keeping much of their stock in separate and equally gigantic warehouses. Members of this elite include Geldlan Healing Herbs and Waeston's, who sprawl across several addresses in Cuelon Road and Balar Street respectively. They receive hundreds of customers a day and treat them all with clinical impersonality. Neighbourhood herbalists like Smithson's also diagnose symptoms and proscribe the exact herb to cure them, but the largest emporia rarely have time for this. You place your order and a day later (at the most) you collect it, with a few terse instructions about application. Kenner respected the briskness of such places but felt that Calli was wearing her supervisory eyes when visiting. He could certainly understand why. The herbalist in charge was fully licensed, of course, but many of the sales were handled by young assistants with the minimum of training. Town Councils could prosecute if herbs were fatally misdiagnosed, but they were at their best when reducing some ramshackle, unlicensed vendor to a spot of grease. They rarely had the stomach for a fight with a business whose contributions made up five per cent of their total purchase tax revenue."
(from A Shining Light)