The Wandering Inn_Volume 1

by Pirateaba

  Teriarch harrumphed irritably. But power necessitated safeguards, especially in Reinhart’s case. It would be difficult—even for him—to disable her complex protections and teleport her all the way here. And vice versa. His home was warded with more spells against intrusion than he could remember. No, transport was impossible.

  So they talked. Because it was magic, they could hear the emotions in each other’s voice, sense the subtleties of their dialogue. Sometimes, Teriarch wished this were not the case.

  “I cannot believe you let her find her way into your little cave and let her go without even asking her name!”

  Teriarch winced and adjusted his spell so Reinhart’s voice was less loud in his ears. He spoke irritably into the air, his left eye twitching.

  “Do not take that tone with me, Reinhart. I thought she was just some Courier – and an inept one at that. I healed her and gave her a mission. How was I to know it was the girl? Besides, I did ask her name at the end.”

  “And I can see it did you a world of good. Well done.”

  Some said Magnolia Reinhart, the deadly flower blooming in the north, was a [Lady] of unflappable grace and cunning. But Teriarch had known Magnolia for a long time, and she was far more direct and cutting with her remarks with him.

  “She survived. I teleported her back to the city. Besides, your information didn’t help me locate her. I tried to scry her numerous times before and after I met her, to no avail. This is on your head.”

  Magnolia’s voice cracked back through the magical spell, making Teriarch wince and wish he could cast a [Silence] spell on her until she calmed down.

  “I told you her name, and she told you her name. Ryoka Griffin. If you can’t scry her, it must be your magic that’s at fault. Perhaps she’s warded in some way.”

  “No magic could defeat my spells so utterly. No, there must be some trick to her name.”

  It was the only explanation Teriarch could think of. Scrying required the exact name of the person he wished to see, or failing that, a piece of clothing or some part of them. He wished he’d kept some of the blood she’d dripped all over his cave, but of course he’d burned it all away.

  “She must have lied to me, and to you.”

  “How, pray? She doesn’t have any skills—or levels! She’s a girl without a class, Teriarch. Do you know how extraordinary it is that she made it to your cave without any help?”

  Teriarch growled.

  “I’m well aware. And my abode is not a ‘cave’.”

  “Your little hovel, then. Your crack in the side of the mountain. Your little pit where you hoard shiny objects and hide from the world. I am telling you, that girl is important!”

  Indignant, Teriarch opened his mouth to retort, but Magnolia rolled right over him, as she’d done so many times in the past.

  “I asked you to tell me if she did anything unusual. But only now do you tell me that she threw off the spell to cast to make her deliver your ridiculous letter to Az’kerash.”

  “It’s not ridiculous at all. It’s an important message.”

  “It’s pointless. And a ring? Is it magical, or merely symbolic?”

  “Of course it’s magical.”

  Teriarch was somewhat miffed. Who would bother with nonmagical rings? He tried to regain control of the conversation.

  “My message is—not as important as why Ryoka Griffin was able to break my spell. Are you sure she has no classes?”

  “Very sure. Which is why I asked you to learn more about her.”

  Teriarch ground his teeth together angrily. But Reinhart had a point. She always had a point. It was just that he disliked how her pointing things out tended to make it seem as if he was incompetent. He opened his mouth to retort and paused. Something was tugging at the edge of his thoughts. He frowned.

  “Hold on. Something is approaching my cave—I mean, my place of residence.”

  Teriarch muttered a word, and a picture appeared in his thoughts, depicting the surrounding area of the High Passes. He focused on the image and blinked.

  His jaw dropped about three meters.

  “I don’t believe it. It’s her.”

  “Her? Ryoka?”

  “She’s in the High Passes, heading this way.”

  “What? Why?”

  “How am I supposed to know that? Silence, woman. I have to concentrate.”

  Ryoka was running straight through the pass towards his cave. Well, she knew the location, but she wasn’t under attack. Teriarch frowned. Why was that?

  Lady Magnolia’s voice shrilled in Teriarch’s mind, making him wince irritably.

  “Make sure she gets here alive! You must—”

  “Yes, yes. But she doesn’t seem to need my assistance.”

  There was something to it. Teriarch could see monsters nearby, but they were moving away from Ryoka. Why?

  Teriarch frowned, drew in a deep breath, and coughed. He felt a terrible stinging pain in his nose and nearly gagged as a faint odor assailed his nostrils. He looked around.

  “What is that smell?”

  “What smell?”

  —-

  Half a day earlier…

  I can’t do this. Dealing with pushy shopkeepers is one thing, but I can’t handle people. I just…never know what to say.

  Garia and I took a break from Octavia once I’d pried my potion from her grip. I needed a break, and I also needed to tell her about the Horns of Hammerad.

  I’d nearly forgotten she didn’t know. And the worst part was, she started asking me how their journey into the ruins had gone. She was so cheerful, and I wiped the smile right off her face.

  I—didn’t know how to say it. I’ve never had to break bad news to anyone. And it was horrible.

  She started crying. Garia just sort of folded in on herself and started crying. In the street, I mean. In front of everyone.

  What are you supposed to do when someone’s lost someone? What would Erin have done? I just sort of patted Garia on the shoulder and waited for her to stop. But she couldn’t. I stood there, trying to calm her down and—

  It took me a long time before she stopped crying. Her face after all that was…not a pretty sight. I gave her a handkerchief—a bandage I kept for injuries, really—and she told me she could find her way back to her inn.

  That was it. I watch Garia as she stumbles down the street, eyes red and puffy. Damn it. What was I supposed to do? What was I…

  People. It shouldn’t be like this. I shouldn’t have to deal with them. This is what comes of having people who think they know you. If I were alone I wouldn’t have this issue. And the Horns of Hammerad. They—

  They shouldn’t have died. Not like that.

  Sometimes I just feel so tired. But then I keep going, keep running forwards because that’s all I know how to do. I cling to what I know. Ceria is alive, and I owe it to the others to make sure she’s okay.

  Money. Eighty gold pieces. Money for power, security, freedom. I never had to worry about that back home. I wasn’t rich—

  Actually, I was. Having a father who counts as a big hitter in both politics and business means that I earned about as much as someone working just above the poverty line as an allowance. And that’s even without counting the things I got as presents.

  Not a good thought. But it’s better than thinking of how miserable Garia is right now. Well. At least all of this has one good effect. I’m royally pissed when I walk back into Octavia’s shop, the accurately named Stitchworks.

  She brightens up the instant I walk back in. The entire time Garia was upset, I could sense her watching us from the door. I think she was afraid I was going to leave with my potion before she could get another chance to study it.

  “Oh, good. You’re back. What was that outside? Bad news for Garia? That’s a real shame; you let me know if there’s anything I can do to help, okay? The girl’s a good customer and I have a bit of a soft spot for her to tell you to truth.”

  I just glare at her. Octavia doesn’t
miss a beat. She’s ushering me inside in an instant, closing the door and locking it behind her. That doesn’t exactly worry me—if she wants secrecy that’s fine. But if she wants to try to rob me, I’m more than happy to introduce her to my shoe*.

  *Yeah, shoe. I got a new pair and ditched the Gnoll boots I was wearing. They’re still tight, but I healed the blisters and at least these ones fit more or less. Damn snow. I hate running in shoes.

  “Anyways, I’m sure she’ll feel better after a cry and a bit of a rest. Hot food—a bath—you and I, we’ve still got business to attend to.”

  Octavia doesn’t quite point at the potion on my belt, but her eyes gleam with avarice. At least she’s honestly greedy. But it still annoys me.

  The stitch-girl spreads her hands on her counter and takes a deep breath. Here comes the pitch.

  “Now, I know I insulted you earlier with my offer. Well, I’m prepared to offer you quite a deal. Fifty potions, complete as soon as I brew them. I’ll trade that for…half of your potion, and I’ll even throw in—”

  “Shut. Up.”

  Gratifyingly, Octavia does. She blinks at me as I rub at my forehead. I try to get my thoughts straight. Why the hell am I back here? Oh yeah.

  I point at Octavia, trying to keep my eyes off the stitches on her shoulders in case that’s rude or something.

  “No offers. No deals. I don’t know how expensive this potion is, but I’m not selling it.”

  Octavia’s mouth shoots open and I speak louder.

  “But I’ll give you some. A sample. If you stop talking and give me what I want.”

  I have her attention. And Octavia seems to be smarter than your average…stitch-person, because she doesn’t try to sweeten the deal or talk.

  “Here’s what I want to know. First—information about alchemy and your kind if none of that’s a deadly secret. Second, I want a consultation on how to get through the High Passes alive.”

  For a second Octavia blinks at me, surprised. And then her eyes gleam and she smiles.

  “Well, I know a good deal for me when I hear it. And you’ll give me part of your potion?”

  I hold up one finger.

  “One tablespoon’s worth.”

  Octavia frowns.

  “That’s not a lot. For as much information as you want, I should get at least half a cup.”

  The potion isn’t that big. I glare at her.

  “For what? Talking? I’ll let you have a 1/64th of a quart. How’s that?”

  She hesitates and I can see her working out the numbers in her head.

  “Heh. I’d prefer a bit more than that. How about three ounces? That’s quite fair.”

  I raise an eyebrow.

  “No. Five teaspoons.”

  “Six.”

  “Five.”

  “S—”

  “Five.”

  “I’ll take that.”

  Octavia grins and gives in. She sticks out a hand and I take it. I can’t help but smile a tiny bit as I take her hand. She’s got a strong grip, and when we let go she smiles even wider.

  “Even a small bit is worth quite a lot, you know. Far more than a few minutes or even hours of me talking.”

  “I’d guessed as much.”

  I probably could have bargained her down to one teaspoon or even a few drops, but that would be too much work. One of the few lessons my dad taught me that I took to heart was always know how much you can get away with in a deal and how far you can push the other side.

  “So, you’ve got questions. I’ve got answers.”

  Octavia steps out from behind her counter and motions to a chair, but I shake my head and lean on the counter. There’s enough paraphernalia and objects around her shop that I’d be more afraid of knocking something dangerous over if I sat.

  “I’m interested in alchemy and how it works.”

  “And me, let’s not forget that. Is this the first time you’ve ever met one of the String People, Ryoka Griffin?”

  “It is.”

  “Well, let’s start with that. I can tell you I’m just like you, more or less. I feel sensations and it’s not like I have any special tricks. I can’t throw my arm at you and strangle you like a Dullahan and I die if someone cuts me apart. Well—I might survive that so long as my head doesn’t get too badly damaged, but I burn easily. Sort of a trade-off, don’t you think?”

  Octavia speaks easily as she finds a stool and sets it behind the counter so she can sit and talk. She speaks fast and clearly, which is actually something I prefer when I have to converse.

  “Anything else? I can change my body, it’s true. But it’s not like I can just turn myself into someone else like that.”

  She snaps her fingers for emphasis. I nod, and try to focus. Gather information. Ask the unspoken questions, the good ones.

  “But you can change yourself? That fabric that makes up your body—could you change how strong you are, or what you look like?”

  “I could do that. If I wanted to. I told you, I added some muscle for this job, and I guess I could add a bit more. But the fabric doesn’t expand forever, and besides, that messes with my body if I disrupt the balance. It’s all quite complex, you know. Just like alchemy. Which, by the way, isn’t easy to pick up if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “I wasn’t. I wanted to know how it works in theory. And can you change the pigment of your skin and the arm itself? Could you use another arm for instance, or are you limited to your original…fabric?”

  “Hah! A scholar, are you? I’ve never met a Runner like that. Only mages are that interested, but they generally know how alchemy works. What we do is take magical effects and imbue them into potions, or other objects mainly. We use reactions—like how flint and steel create sparks—just on a bigger scale to make potions that perform a certain way.”

  Ocvatia points to her arms. The skin of her bare shoulder looks completely normal, and it’s hard to remember the cotton fabric that had been there before.

  “My arm’s just cloth. It’s not special, although I suppose there’s something here that’s not just stitching and cotton, huh? Back home, people argue about it all the time. Generally, you could say it’s the majority of me that makes Octavia. Take too much of that away and I die, but given time I could completely change out all of my body and still be me.”

  She grins.

  “In war, soldiers often switch so many parts that sometimes a guy will come back looking quite attractive! It’s hard for a wife to find out her husband is even better endowed than she is.”

  I have to laugh at that. Octavia chuckles too, and keeps going.

  “I have dark skin because that’s what the folks around me sewed me with. I guess I could change it, but I don’t mind looking different even if other people do. Why? Does it bother you?”

  “I’ve seen people with darker skin than yours.”

  “Really? Where?”

  Oops. Crap. Steer the conversation away. I shake my head.

  “Doesn’t matter. I’ve been around. But your alchemy—how can you just say it’s a reaction? I’ve seen healing potions work and that’s no mere reaction. There’s magic in the potions.”

  “Well of course.”

  Octavia looks nonplussed. I suppose that’s just natural around here.

  “But do you have to be a mage to make a healing potion? How does it work exactly?”

  “I’m no mage. No, all you need are magical ingredients. You render them down by boiling and mixing and then you combine the right ones and…poof!”

  She makes an exaggerated motion and laughs.

  “Well, it’s not quite that simple. But you get the idea.”

  “It still doesn’t make sense. How does magic work like that? It’s not a substance, or anything physical. How can you convert it into liquid form? Or—change the nature of it? Unless there are healing herbs of something you just boil into a liquid.”

  Octavia laces her fingers together and cracks them.

  “Wow. You’ve thoug
ht about this, haven’t you? Well, to answer your question, it’s about magic in things. Everyone and everything has magic in them. Usually it’s not much—just traces in rocks and grass. But something like a mana stone has quite a lot of magic, and often the magic has qualities.”

  “Qualities? Like certain effects?”

  “Something like that. Nothing too impressive; you can’t start casting fireballs from a flame salamander’s skin, although it will give you a horrible rash and a burn. But it has its own qualities. You can turn it into a salve or cream to resist fire, but if you want to use it any other way you need to change the magic into something else.”

  Octavia spins away from the counter and makes her way to the large racks of potions. She carefully takes one out of a holster and shows it to me. This bottle is full of a clear, faintly grey liquid.

  “This is one of the secrets behind alchemy. Magic exists in the object it inhabits, but it can be extracted and contained in things. Like liquid. This is a base liquid—something we can use to store the magic. If I take an ingredient—like the salamander skin and dissolve it in this substance, it can hold the magic and let me add more things to the mixture.”

  “So that’s the secret.”

  I gaze at the grey liquid and imagine it. Sort of like chemistry but with a million reactions. Take a base, add ingredients and pray like hell you get it right.

  “Pretty much. Of course, alchemy isn’t as simple as just adding the right things together. Sometimes there’s the order that matters, and stuff like heat and time affect magic as well. You can’t use moon dew in a mixture unless the moon’s actually waxing and it’s night, and Goblin ears need to be boiled while you’re mixing or they congeal.”

  Goblin ears? I try to let that one go, but it’s hard. Octavia keeps talking, showing me other potions.

  “It’s unpredictable, and of course, dangerous. But that’s [Alchemy] in a nutshell. It’s not just potions like a lot of people think. Mind you, a lot is potions. They’re just the easiest way to mix a lot of ingredients. But I can make a tripvine bag as well, although cramming all the seeds inside before they sprout is a trick in itself. Does that answer your question.”