The Alchemist's Fire

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Peter_Abelard
Gelatinous Cube
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Joined: Tue Jul 01, 2008 3:42 am

The Alchemist's Fire

Post by Peter_Abelard »

Ok, for your reading pleasure, I now present to you the story in its entirety. Thanks for your interest! - Peter



The Alchemist’s Fire

Garrus worked the pestle around the stone bowl, with each turn crushing the crystals into a fine powder. He had made this mixture many times over his score of years as a herbalist, and knew the precise measure to use for each crystal. Knew how an extra pinch of his sure fingers was the difference between a restful night’s sleep for one and swift death for another. Too many times perhaps, he mused, for the truth was there was little difference now in how he felt about preparing either.
Garrus paused a moment, squinting with the effort as he listened to the sounds from the street outside his shop door. The slightest creak in the wooden wall to the left of the door made him certain, and he shook his head slightly as he called.
“Come in, child. You’re dead now.”
He heard her sigh quietly as she stepped into the small front room of his store. She was dressed in a simple dark tunic and fairly covered in the dust and grime of the street, as she nearly always was. She turned her head slightly, one eye looking at him from under her hood, a slight smile growing at the corners of her mouth.
“How’d I die, hm?”
“It hardly matters does it? You were heard, girl. That’s what counts.”
The girl nodded slowly and let her hood drop to her shoulders, scratching her fingers through her knotted hair. Garrus moved his mortar and pestle across the counter and carefully removed his thick gloves, setting them beside him.
“Hungry?”
“Always.”
He lifted a cloth from under the counter and beckoned her over. In moments she’d clawed her way through a third of the loaf. Garrus sat quietly, studying her while she ate. In the two years he’d known her she’d grown an inch, maybe, much less than a girl of her age should have. She was starved thin most of the time, her face hollowed and dark. Neither of them could say for sure how old she was, much less what day she’d been born on. As far as he knew, no one in Athkatla knew, or cared to know. Just a street girl among so many others. Ten years, perhaps? Certainly no more than twelve. Not a woman yet. She deserved more, he thought, not for the first time. And perhaps, if all went well tonight, she just might find it.
“Gods and demons, Garrus, what’s got into you, hm? You look like you mean to knife me.” She swallowed a chunk of her bread down.
Garrus let his gaze fall to the counter, absently wiping some crumbs from its surface.
“Nothing, child. It’s yourself you should be worrying over, though. Tell me the plan again.”
She nodded, finishing her bite. “I go home, and carry on as normal. When he asks for his cup of Maztica, I use that on it.” She pointed at the mortar. “That’s the stuff, hm?” Garrus nodded. “He’ll go out, like you said, and I tie him up tight, get his key, and I’m into his safe. Simple.”
“You remember your knots, girl?”
“Stlarning hells, Garrus, you’ve only been having me tie knots for a moon, now. They’ll hold, don’t you worry over that.”
“What then?”
“I’m out the door with the scrolls in there, and I give them to your man in the Copper Coronet. And then fast to home to watch over him and make sure he’s tied ‘till after highmoon. Satisfied, hm?”
“No, girl, I’m not. I’ll not be satisfied until the scrolls are in my hand, and you’re long gone from the city, and neither should you be. Listen to me now. Be wary, and ready for what comes. Do you understand? You could be dead by morning, just as easy as you could be on your way north.”
The girl gripped the counter with both hands until her nails turned white.
“Don’t lecture me, Garrus. I understand what kind of man Feren is, far better than you, better than any, hm? I know what he’ll do to me if this falls apart. I’m telling you, I’m ready.” She moved a step back from the counter and pointed at the door. “This is my chance, Garrus, don’t you see? I’ve been waiting my whole life for this, hm? If it does fall apart, and he catches me…if I don’t leave tonight, for whatever awaits me out there, Garrus? Well, I hope he does kill me then, ‘cause I don’t want to live another day like this. I can’t.”
Garrus stood with his arms crossed, staring hard at the floor.
“Do you have gloves?”
The girl laughed in spite of herself. “What?”
“Gloves. You mustn’t handle the crystals. If you’re not careful when you add them to the cup, it’s you that’ll be lying there tied up instead of him. Or dead, rather. They’ll kill someone your size for sure.” So small, he thought. So young.
“ I don’t have any.”
Garrus walked into the backroom for a few moments, returning with a pair of black leather gloves, and a steaming cup. “Try these on.”
“They’re a bit big.”
Garrus smiled warmly and handed her the cup of Maztica, expensive to be sure, and her favourite.
“You’ll grow into them.”

* * * *

As she drew closer to Feren’s house, her house, she felt like she might burst apart. All the way along her path through the Promenade, the Slums and now into the Docks she’d marvelled at how the city seemed transformed. Now that she was so close to freedom, the wonder and joy she felt seemed to flow out of her onto everything she looked at.
Passersby all seemed content, and endlessly happy. The buildings looked cleaned and freshened, as if newly built. Even now, an hour after sundown, she could still feel the warmth on her face from the last rays of the day. Perhaps best of all, as she turned east at the top of the hill for her final descent, she watched as Selune rose in youthful glory above the shops and houses of the only city she’d ever known.
She had survived abandonment, starvation, loneliness, cruelty. But at this moment, with the glow of Selune herself guiding her on, she could feel only joy, and the promise of the future. She would never forget the awful years she had lost to Feren of course, each pained day she had lived under his roof, kept alive it seemed only so that she might suffer what cruelty he planned for her on the ‘morrow. But in this moment, the sting of it was gone, and she was free.
She was almost skipping as she approached the low stone wall that surrounded the house, and unlatched the iron gate. She had always wondered at that, the solid barrier of the wall and gate, around such a small house made all of rotten wood, the smell of the decaying boards so rank in her nostrils as she approached the door.
The house was much as the man, she thought; the strong barrier you observe passing on the street, hiding away from view the rot that lay within. So many days before she had wished she had never opened that gate, but that was all past her now, and she would dwell no more on what might have been. She softly opened the door, and walked in.
He was waiting for her in the front room, his eyes on a letter he was writing at his desk.
“Close the door, and lock it.” Menace writhed all over his words. She did as he asked, keeping her hooded face bowed to watch the floor. There were papers and books on the floor all around his desk, and in the middle of the room around the card table, one of the four chairs had been knocked over.
“You were to be home by sundown, daughter.” He almost spat the last word. “I was very clear.”
“I am sorry..Selune is full tonight, hm? I only meant to watch her rise.”
He sniffed derisively, and glanced up at her, his cruel eyes making her back up a step. “You’re a fool. You’ve ever been one. It’s a wonder I’ve given you food and shelter this long, and not put you down like a rabid dog.” She folded her hands in front of her, and bent her head a little lower. His eyes narrowed and he lifted a finger to point at her.
“Where did you get those?” She lifted her eyes to follow his gaze, and lifted her gloved hands palms up as she did so.
“What, the gloves you mean?”
He let out an irritated sigh. “Where?”
“I …ah, in the Promenade. I took them off a man there. They looked like they might fit me, hm?”
“You’re a poor liar, daughter. And they don’t fit, do they? Take them off. I won’t have you wearing them in my house.” She hesitated a moment, then fit them into the pockets of her tunic.
He turned back to his desk, picking up a large book and leafing through it. “The room is a mess, daughter.” He spoke sweetly to her now, but the venom still soaked through. “Clean it up, won’t you?”
She moved quickly into the room, righting the chair. As she did she noticed a few drips of blood on the floor under it that she hadn’t seen before. She shivered slightly and went to gather the loose sheets of parchment by his desk. As she neared him Feren closed his book, holding it tightly in both hands.
“Oh, and daughter?”
“Yes?”
Feren’s face darkened, his eyes filling with rage.
“Father,” he hissed. “You will call me father, girl.”
She froze where she was, trembling as she looked at the pile she had just made.
“…Yes …father?”
He let out a long breath, his features shifting into a cruel smile. “Good. That’s better.” He gripped his book tighter still.
“This is for being late.”
She looked up just in time to see his book crash into the side of her face.
* * * *

In her dream she was her younger self, sitting in her usual spot between the fruitseller and the fletcher’s carts in the Promenade, her empty tin cup at her feet. In the distance she could hear a slow rhythmic rumbling, like a large drum being methodically struck. She looked up then as she once had, to see Feren walk up and stand in front of her, and then reach down to gently caress her hair with one hand. He had such compassion in his eyes as he looked at her then, compassion that she saw so precious little of, even in the faces of those who dropped a coin in her cup.
“Coin for bread, sirrah?”
He smiled gently at her then, and shook his head. “No child, not for you. For you I have something far better. Such a lovely little girl, you are. What’s your name, my girl?”
“Kara, sirrah. I could really use a coin, sirrah, if you’ll spare one.”
“Mm, Kara…it’s dreadfully plain, isn’t it?” He knelt down, bringing his face level with hers. “I think I shall call you daughter. Yes, would you like that Kara?”
“I’m not sure I follow you, sirrah.”
He cupped her face in his hands then, with such a gentle touch she thought her eyes might fill with tears. She couldn’t recall the last time anyone had touched her like that.
“I have something so much better than a coin to give you, daughter. Have you ever had…hope, child?”
In her dream it was just as it had been all those years ago. The city with all its sounds and smells seemed to fade, and then disappear entirely. The street, laden with carts and sellers, the smell of the fruit to her right, and the stall to her left covered in a hundred different kinds of feather, all of it, gone. In its place was only the face of this kind man, and his single word, a word that seemed to fill her heart, like a cup overflowing with gold, only to grow and overflow again. She spoke so softly then that she could scarce be heard, but the sound of it loosed a wave of feeling that nearly rent her in two.
“No.”
The man dropped his caress from her face and clasped her own tiny hands within his.
“Father. Call me father, child.” Her eyes were locked on his. There was nothing else to see.
“But you’re not my father, sirrah.” Feren nodded at her slowly, a crooked smile growing on his face.
“No, but I will be.” He let her hands go, picked up her cup, and walked off without another word.
She blinked, and the colours, noise, and smells of the market flooded back in. She glanced around only once, stood, and ran in the direction he’d walked off in.
In the distance, the steady beat of the drum rumbled on.

* * * *

She awoke, and as she did the sounds and light of the room around her slowly became real. Her head pulsed with agony, and the side of her face was hot and swollen from Feren’s strike. As her vision cleared she realized where she was. Her small cage with its iron bars and lock lay in the corner of Feren’s cellar laboratory, with nothing but a bit of straw on the bottom for matting. Her legs and back felt bruised and sore, and she knew then that he must have dragged her down the cellar stairs before locking her in the cage.
She shook her head to clear it and peered around the dimly lit room. There was a desk in the far corner completely buried in books and parchment, with a faintly glowing blue sphere hovering magically above it. Against the back wall lay a large table with a candelabra in the centre. The table’s surface was fairly covered with glass tubing, vials and jars of every imaginable shape and size. Several of them had liquids of various colours within, some of them bubbling, though they sat on the cool table. Plates, some with powders in little piles, some with the stems of plants she didn’t recognize, lay interspersed among the jars. The floor was packed earth, swept smooth, and three heavy chairs sat in the centre of the room in a triangle, their backs facing. Feren was nowhere to be seen.
She sat up quickly, pain shooting through her body from everywhere. Her hands searched at her side, finding the little lump under her tunic of Garrus’ vial. Thank gods it’s not broke, she thought. She reached deep into her left boot, pulling out a pin she had concealed within. Breathing as evenly as she could she worked at the lock with it. As the minutes dragged, she worked more furiously at it, her face contorting with the effort. At last she bent too hard, and the pin flicked out of the lock and landed on the dirt just out of reach.
“Hells!” She kicked at the bars with both feet, raging at her own foolishness, but it was no use. She brought her knees up, and let her head rest on them, her hands pulling her hair tight at her temples. She felt tears coming then, but she used all her will to fight them back.
“No, no, I’ll not.” She chanted in soft tones. “I’ll not let him see tears, again. Not ever.” She took a long breath in to steady herself.
“Gods and demons, girl, what do you do now, hm?”
The door to the cellar opened and she caught a glimpse of Feren descending. Quickly she moved to the back of the cage, huddling in the corner, her arms wrapped tight around her legs. She stayed completely still as he walked across the floor, whistling a sailor’s tune she recognized, with a bundle of scrolls in his arms. He pushed at the stone of the cellar wall past the table with his foot, and a section of the wall pivoted around, to reveal a black iron safe. He used his free hand to lift a key on a chain from around his neck, and fit it into the lock of the safe. In a few moments the scrolls were inside, and the safe was gone back into the wall as if nothing had ever happened.
Feren walked over to stand in front of her cage, whistling happily all the while.
“Ah, you’re awake. That’s good, then. Feeling better, daughter?” She narrowed her eyes at him, but said nothing.
He knelt down where he stood. “What’s this? A pin? Strange, I don’t remember losing a pin. Do you?” He winked at her, cleaned off the pin with his sleeve, and placed it between his lips.
She watched as he walked over to his table, checked a few of his jars, and put a pinch of brown powder into a bubbling one, tapping it as he did.
“I’ve got good news, daughter. The people I work for are very pleased it turns out, with a little something I’ve been brewing for them. Very pleased indeed.” He grinned at her. After tonight’s ah…fireworks, well…we just might have enough coin to move into a finer home. Perhaps buy you a bigger cage, even. Would you like that, daughter?” He grinned wickedly at her.
She swallowed her bile down, and knelt forward in her cage, grasping the bars and pressing her face up to them.
“Father…I’m sorry for angering you…for being ungrateful, hm? Please, father…may I come out now?”
Feren chuckled. “What’s this? No dark flashing looks, child? No screaming? No cowering in the back of your cage and refusing to eat for a tenday? What are you up to, daughter?” He walked over to stand in front of her cage, hands on his hips, looking down at her with a smirk on his face.
“Nothing, father. Just that I’d be out, hm?” She swallowed and blinked, and made her swollen eyes as wide as she could. I thought, perhaps, we could celebrate your good fortune.”
Feren’s eyebrows raised. “Our good fortune, you mean, daughter. Ours.”
“Yes, father. Ours.” She forced a smile and pushed her hair out of her face.
A cruel smile grew across Feren’s face. “I know what you’re doing, you know, daughter. What you’re trying to do, anyway.”
She tilted her head. “Doing, father? I’m doing nothing, truth.”
He laughed derisively now. “Dear child, if you could but see yourself, now. You are trying aren’t you?” He sighed and shook his head. “You of all people pretending to have a woman’s charms. Sitting in your little cage, covered in filth, with your face all crumpled in.” He sniffed. And we both know the state of your woman’s charm don’t we?”
She winced as if struck and retreated to the back of the cage.
Feren let out a long sigh. “Oh, now, no sulking, daughter. I’m in too good a mood to have you ruin it with sulking. Here then.”
He knelt then and lifted a key from his pocket, twisting it in the lock. He opened the door slightly and stood to the side.
“Let’s celebrate our blessed little family properly then, shall we? Come on now, come out. There’s a good girl.”
She crawled out of the cage, keeping her eyes on him warily until she was out. She stood up quickly beside it, her back against the wall.
“You’re a bastard, Feren.”
He smiled at this. “I know, child, I know. But I’ll make it up to you, yes? Go get us some dinner ready now. And some of the Maztica, I think. If we’re to be as wealthy as nobles, then we should drink as they do, surely.”
He gestured to the stair, and turned his back to her, walking over to inspect his table.
She fantasized then, just for a moment, of driving a dagger deep into his back, of watching his blood drain slowly into the dirt of the cellar floor. It was comfort enough to get her moving again, and as she climbed the stair she thought to herself, his time is coming, his time is near.
* * * *

As she worked in the kitchen, she checked out the window for where Selune was in the sky. Time left yet, she thought, but not much for wasting. She prepared the meal as fast as she could, piling his plate with bread and butter, sliced roast and potatoes. Only when the food was set did she prepare the cup. She pulled her gloves on and thanked the gods that Feren hadn’t thought to take them from her. Then she carefully lifted the top from Garrus’ vial and added the crystals to the cup. She found a small dish to set the steaming cup on, and placed it on a platter with the food.
Walking down the cellar stairs with the platter shot pain up through her legs and back, but she was determined not to show any discomfort to Feren. She walked to where he was at the table and set the platter down in the one free space beside him.
“Oh, well done, daughter…this looks just the thing I’m after. I’ll be sure to save you a little, don’t you worry.” He smiled and took a bite of potato.
“It’s a bit dry, but it’ll pass. A toast then, shall we?” He lifted the dish with the cup of Maztica on it and held it out to her. “To our happiness at finding one another. May it endure forever.” He gave a grandiose bow of his head and pushed the cup a little closer to her. She bent back to avoid touching it.
“Oh no, father, I couldn’t…sure but that drink is too bitter for me, hm?”
“Nonsense, daughter, it’s a toast. Even lizardfolk know better than to refuse a toast. Now drink.” His face flushed, his anger rising at her refusal.
She sucked her teeth, staring at it, and then carefully grasped the plate holding the cup.
“Stop.” Feren was staring at her, his eyes narrowed to furious slits. “Didn’t I tell you never to wear those gloves in my house? He reached for the cup, grasping it in both hands, letting the dish smash on the floor. “Take them off right now, so I can throw them in the fire, you insolent girl! You’ve ruined a good …toast….” Feren wavered on his feet, confusion flooding over his features. He dropped the cup, reaching with both hands for her neck to strangle her. She jumped back, a hair’s width out of his grasping hands, the crystals she’d painted onto the cup glistening and sticky on his quickly blackening fingertips. He fell with a thud to the ground, his breath pushed out of his lungs with a slow wheeze. The last thing he saw and heard before the blackness took him was his adopted daughter squealing with delight and racing up the stairs.

* * * *
Feren awoke slowly, his head hanging down so far his chin touched his chest. Lifting it took some effort, and he kept his eyes closed at first, and let his head sway from side to side, trying to clear the thick haze his senses were in. He tried to lift a hand to rub his forehead and found that he couldn’t. He opened his eyes then, and the brightness of the candelabra burning on his alchemy table directly in front of him made him squint with pain. He looked down, and realized why he couldn’t move his hand. He sat in his chair, and there was rope tying him to it everywhere. It looped twice around his chest, lashed both forearms to the arms of the chair, and when he tried to resist, he realized his legs must be tied too. The ropes were tight enough that he had very little feeling in his hands at all. He fought hard to remember how he had come to be like this, and after a time, the haze began to clear. It had been many years since he used her name, and when he did now, it was more a growl than a word.
“Kara.”
“Not daughter?”
His head whipped around at the sound. She sat atop her cage now, one knee up, one leg dangling. In her hand she held a small dagger, and beside her on the cage an hourglass slowly dripped its grains of sand.
There were no words at first, only fury. Every muscle in his body bulged as he strained and kicked at the ropes, desperate to be free of his bonds and rip her head from her shoulders. He went on for some minutes like that, struggling, his eyes wild while she sat still and watched him, her face expressionless. He could feel he’d loosened the rope at his right foot a little, but no amount of fury was going to free him without help. He sat still a while then, breathing hard and glaring at her with all his considerable hatred.
She sighed then, and turned her eyes to the hourglass.
“I’d half hoped you’d stay out until it was time, Feren.”
“Time for what!?” he bellowed.
She gently pressed her fingers into the swollen flesh on the side of her face, testing its soreness. “’Till it was time for me to leave.”
“You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to die, and by my hand, you stupid girl. You’re going to die!”
“That’s not how this ends, Feren. E’en you must see that now.”
Again he struggled with all he had, screaming and grunting with the effort. Kara waited again until he exhausted himself. When he gained his breath again he tried to spit at her, but found his throat was too dry and raw for even that. He simply sat, staring at her, seething.
“I’ll be gone soon, Feren, and before morning the guard will be here to arrest you. You’ll soon be in a cage yourself, I fear. Or face another kind of rope more likely.” She pointed at her throat as she spoke.
“You’re such a fool, girl. I’ve done nothing. You think the guard would arrest me for how I’ve treated you? A street rat? Are you as naïve as that?”
“No, I’m not. And no, they don’t. But treason, now…sure that they’ll hang a man for that.” She let her gaze drift pass him to the wall on the other side of the table.
Feren straightened his back, and his eyes widened. He turned his head to follow her glance, but there was only bare wall to see. He dug his chin into his chest, feeling for the necklace that held his key, but he knew already it was gone. He turned back to face her, his voice barely a whisper now.
“What have you done?”
“Your scrolls are gone, Feren. Whatever was on them will be enough to you arrest you on, sure.
He swallowed hard. When he spoke there was something in his voice Kara had never heard in it before. Fear, she thought. He’s afraid.
“Listen to me daughter, this is very important, now. Who did you give them to? One of my competitors in the Promenade, perhaps? Who, girl…who have you been speaking to?”
Kara lowered her head, and silently watched the grains drip to the bottom of the glass. Feren persisted, studying her for any sign.
“Tarran? Fenris? Garrus?” A muscle in her cheek twitched ever so slightly.
“No, girl, tell me it’s not Garrus.” He shook his head, and let his eyes search the room for anything that could help him, but there was nothing.
“Daughter, listen to me now, for the sake of your own life if not mine. You’re involved in things you don’t even understand. Do you even know who Garrus is? He’s been lying to you girl. He’s a Harper, yes? A Harper! Are you even listening to me? Do you even know what that means? For me? For you? Daughter, dammit, look at me!
She did look at him just then, and what lay in her eyes was as clear to him as his own soul. Hatred, pure and chilling.
“I don’t need to know what any of that means, Feren. I know you, and that’s enough. You’re evil entire, father. And you’ve infected me with it. It’s a poison, hm? Everything I look at now, everyone I meet, it’s all blurred with the venom you’ve filled me with.” She hopped down to face him now, the dagger in front of her pointed out. “No, the guard will come tonight, and arrest you for what you’ve done, and you’ll be hanged, sure. And I’ll be glad for it, hm? I’d dance on your broken bones if I could. I hate you! I hate what you’ve turned me into, you stlarning bastard!” She threw her dagger then to land in the dirt between his feet, the tip dug an inch into the packed earth.
“Daughter, listen to me. The people I work for, you need to…”
“Shut up. No more lies, hm? Just show me the kindness of silence for once in your miserable life.”
He did stay silent then, and looked past her to watch the last grains of sand fall to the bottom of the hourglass. She saw his stare, and turned too. With her back to him she let out a long breath.
“It’s time Feren. I have to go.” She turned to walk past him up the stairs.
“Kara, wait.”
“Feren..”
“Before you go, let me give you a gift. You deserve that much, surely.”
“There’s nothing you have I want, Feren.” She turned again and climbed the first stair.
“No? Not even the knowledge of who your parents are? Your real parents, Kara?”
She paused her ascent, and turned to look at him where he sat, his back to her. “You can’t know that.”
“I can, and I do. The information is here in my pocket, Kara. It would do your heart some good to know of them, would it not?”
She walked across the floor to stand just behind him. “You’re lying. No one knows my parents.”
“I’m not, child. In fact, nearly everyone in this city does. Come, all I ask is that you stand in front of me, and let me look at you one last time. Call it a dying man’s wish.”
Kara hesitated, but she had to know if it was true. She walked in front of him. “Which pocket?”
He dropped his chin to his right side. “There, come closer and take it.”
She stepped closer, reaching under the rope around his chest. Sure enough, she could feel a paper folded in there. “Feren, if this is what you say it is...”
“It is, child. A final gift, daughter.” As he spoke he gripped his feet tight around the hilt of her dagger, and with the leg ropes loosened just enough, drove it into her left calf.
Kara squealed in pain, clutching at her leg, and crashed backward into his alchemy table. Her fall knocked many of the jars over and scattered the powders into the air to float in a cloud around the candelabra. Kara righted herself as best she could and hobbled up the stairs, blood trailing behind her as she fled.
When she was out of his view of the table, Feren understood at once what was going to happen. He shouted with all his might up the stairs after her.
They’re going to find you Kara!! You cannot hide forever! They will find you, and gut you for what you’ve done to me, do you hear! You are going to die!
Back on the street, Kara stumbled up the Docks road as best she could. Bruised and beaten, covered in her own blood, she could barely see where she was going and trusted the memory in her feet to carry her towards the temple of Selune. She was perhaps a hundred steps from the house when the night sky lit with flame as the house exploded, spraying flaming pieces of rotten wood far down the road.
* * * *
The hooded man walked down the corridor of the guildhall as fast as he could, finding it hard to ignore the opulence on the stone walls he passed by, fine pieces of metalwork, weapons of every kind, most encrusted with gems or coated in gold, and rare and valuable paintings and tapestries hung all the way down the passage. When he reached the door at the end he knocked briskly three times, and was bade enter by the voice on the other side. He entered, and the treasure lining the office he now stood in made the corridor he’d come from look like a mead hall in the Docks.
“Rylan, yes?”
“Yes sir.”
“Speak.”
“The alchemist’s house is gone sir, burned to the ground in the fire. There’s little left to recognize, but the char in the cellar had the look of a man to it. I’m fairly sure it was him, my lord.”
“What of his work?”
“Gone too, sir…burned for sure in the fire.”
“And his safe?”
Rylan nodded. “It survived, of a sort, and we cracked it, but it was empty sir.”
“Of course it was.”
“Sir? How could you know it would be, my lord?”
The man behind the desk sighed slightly. “You’ll learn there’s no room for doubt in the Shadow Thieves, Rylan…least if you want to stay in my employ. Two of our buildings were attacked just after highmoon last night. Both of them holding men and equipment we needed for the assassination. I’ve no doubt it was Harper work, and I know just as sure where they found out about our plans. Our charred foolish friend, the alchemist, Rylan, and his bloody empty safe. What of the girl?”
“Girl, my lord?”
“Feren kept a slave girl in his house, for gods knows what, Rylan. If her body’s not in the wreckage, then she may know something. I want you to find her.”
“Yes sir.”
“It’s been a bloody mess of a night, and an expensive one at that, Rylan. You find me answers, and soon.”
Rylan swallowed hard, bowed low, and scurried from the room, closing the door behind him.
When he was finally outside in the chill of the air, he pulled his cloak close about his shoulders, and stared a moment at Selune’s tears, which seemed to be twinkling a little brighter than normal. He spoke into the night air as he looked up at them.
“If you are out there girl, then you best stay well out of sight. Better that you be dead, than to face those what are coming to find you.”
He crossed the road, and vanished into the dark.
Last edited by Peter_Abelard on Sat Jan 28, 2012 6:48 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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CloudDancing
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Re: The Alchemist's Fire Part 1

Post by CloudDancing »

This is very fine writing, thank you!
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Re: The Alchemist's Fire Part 1

Post by loulabelle »

Intriguing beginning and a lovely read, thank you for sharing. (I also approve of the name Garrus ;-) )
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Re: The Alchemist's Fire Part 1

Post by kid »

sweet.
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Re: The Alchemist's Fire

Post by johnlewismcleod »

Brilliant...thanks, Peter :D
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Re: The Alchemist's Fire

Post by MaskedIllusion »

Very nice, can't wait for the next entry. Intriguing story.
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Re: The Alchemist's Fire

Post by gonz.0 »

Outstanding.

It is a very good read. (said as I am way past my bedtime reading it)

Its the kind of good story that inspires others to try to write as well. Thank you for sharing it.

:)
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Re: The Alchemist's Fire

Post by Riotnrrd »

:chin:
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Re: The Alchemist's Fire

Post by Peter_Abelard »

*Bump* Time to crack knuckles and get typing again.
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