by M. Gregg Roe
“I’ll monitor our health afterward,” Rosalind told him. “I’m also planning to speak with jewelers the next time I visit the Witch’s City.”
“Dwarves,” Fern said softly, and they all looked at her. “They mine and process metal ore,” she explained.
They all agreed that was an excellent suggestion. Birchbark even volunteered to write to a dwarf acquaintance of his who had mining experience.
Rosalind retrieved the nameless book from her satchel and placed it on her lap. “Today’s topic is preservation techniques,” she announced.
For the next hour they discussed a variety of methods, ranging from those familiar to anyone with cooking experience to the rather exotic. As always, Ferikellan found the repartee enjoyable.
How much further might he have progressed as a researcher had he not spent decades of near-isolation? But that was over now. He would happily live out the rest of his years in Tritown, preferably with Rosalind at his side.
It was a miserable day to be traipsing through the Gray Forest, but at least the exercise was keeping him warm. Covered with a light blanket of snow, the frigid ground crunched loudly every time he took a step. The sky above was a monotonous gray that made their colorless surroundings even gloomier.
These potions were distinctly different. Their taste was bitter. They activated more rapidly, and the activation felt different. The tingling sensation was less painful, almost exhilarating. But the effect was the same, turning them gray as they crossed the forest’s boundary.
Ferikellan and Rosalind were returning to their starting point for the fifth time by his count. Never straying far from the boundary, they trudged west for about a mile, then retraced their steps. At Harbik’s insistence, the two gworn accompanied them just outside. Harbik was not only more polite than Vurk, but seemed genuinely concerned about Rosalind’s wellbeing. Why couldn’t he have been assigned a gworn like that?
Vurk went over to check the hourglass where it sat beneath a snow-speckled pine tree. “Over four hours now, boss,” he announced, grinning when he turned around.
“Go ahead and say it,” Rosalind said to him, her cheeks and nose both bright pink. “I bet I’m thinking the same thing.”
As he gathered his thoughts, he noted that she looked peeved, not angry. “It was only the quality of the platinum catalyst that limited the duration before,” he stated. “We may be the first since the potion’s creator to craft the potion properly.”
She wiped her nose and snickered. “I’m not convinced that even Oljot ever did it properly. You haven’t met him. The man is a slob.”
Rosalind’s words were both a comfort and a redemption, and he looked at her gratefully.
“I’ll bet that none of the people here who made Gray Potions previously were formally trained as alchemists,” she continued. “Just like us.”
The additional kind words almost made him forget that he was slowly freezing to death. They needed to get moving again.
“Want us to get you some hot food and drink?” Vurk asked. “I know I’d like some.”
“Can you bring us a fire?” Ferikellan asked wearily.
“I have the means to kindle one,” Harbik stated. “We will build one that bridges the boundary.” He looked toward Vurk. “Gather dry twigs and branches.” Predictably, Vurk walked away grumbling and shaking his head.
“We’ll gather some, too,” Rosalind said. She headed into the woods and he followed.
When they returned a few minutes later, Harbik already had a pile of twigs burning on his side. Mindful of the boundary, they began adding what they had gathered. It wasn’t long before he could feel the heat of the blaze on his face. He marveled at the way the flames and smoke made the boundary visible to the naked eye.
“You know,” Rosalind said, crouching beside him with her gloved hands held out, “for future tests we could build a simple hut across the boundary.”
He understood instantly. My, but she was clever. “It would have a fire pit in the center,” he said, visualizing it. It would also need a hole in the roof to let out the smoke.
“And a comfortable bed to sleep in,” she added. “I…” She abruptly stood. “Mine is wearing off.” Seconds later, she was on the other side of the fire, waving at him. That was a relief. He had feared they might be in the Gray Forest for half a day or more.
When his own potion wore off a few minutes later, he walked around the fire and joined her. Without being asked, she cast a spell on him that instantly lessened the feeling of cold. She had cast it on all four of them when they departed the keep, but the magic wouldn’t function inside the Gray Forest.
They stood off to the side as the two gworn worked to extinguish the short-lived fire. Harbik might be new, but he was clearly the one in charge.
“Do these potions even need improving?” she asked, mirroring his own thoughts.
“I do not believe so,” Ferikellan replied.
Audrey had tasked him with increasing the duration of Gray Potions, and all that was necessary was to make them properly. But had he not struggled so, he might never have met Rosalind. That would have been a tragedy.
“There is still the dose to consider,” she said thoughtfully. “The duration might vary with it.”
“We should try again with gworn blood,” he added. “And with amalgam blood.”
Rosalind nodded. “We should also try using blood from both of us again, if only to see what happens.”
“Agreed, but we will build the hut first.” It would render the testing much safer. Why he could even read or sleep while waiting.
“I’ve got an idea about that,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes. “We can have the ogres build something with a floor that can be slid across. That way no one will have to go inside to build it.”
“That is profoundly cleaver,” he remarked, and she laughed with delight.
Arm in arm, they continued chatting about their plans during the return journey.
The idea came to Ferikellan in the bath on a cold and gray morning, as the floral scent of one of his parents’ candles filled the air. He reflected on the various magics that could affect or interact with the Gray Forest—his abandoned spell, Gray Potions, the EarthStaff. But most of all he considered the power that allowed Audrey to seamlessly blend in and yet still wield her other powers. There was a synergy there, a commonality. He felt that instinctively.
By the time the water was so cold that he was shivering, he had the answer. He would create a new spell, one that duplicated the effects of the potions but which would also allow for spells to be cast while inside. The path was clear now. He chortled to himself as he briskly toweled off.
“If the spell doesn’t work, you will die,” Rosalind said, following his explanation of his plans during breakfast.
“Only if it fails while I am deep in the forest,” he retorted. But she had a point. “I will wait until Audrey is available before testing it,” he conceded.
“To recover your corpse before it is eaten or carried off?” she shot back. “Ferikellan, you are overexcited. You need to calm down and think this through.” She pointed a finger. “Go speak with Birchbark.”
“Very well.” Her switch to formal speech was a sign of her seriousness. It was best to just acquiesce.
She rose to her feet. “I’m heading to Kaleena. They sent word early this morning that there was some kind of construction mishap that injured several people.”
He had thought she seemed to be in a hurry.
“I’ll get some blood samples while I’m there,” she called out as she departed.
Ferikellan resumed eating.
Their initial tests showed that the dose affected the duration, but more work was needed to quantify the effect. A potion they had made for an ogre had worked perfectly, albeit briefly. But gworn blood still refused to mix. On the other hand, the hut was working well, rendering the testing process almost pleasant.
Luck was with Ferikellan as he set out under clear skies. Part
way to his destination, he spotted Birchbark coming out of Agvak’s house. He related his concept as they strolled to the man’s home. Over the next two hours, Birchbark went from skeptical to cautiously optimistic. Ferikellan felt invigorated as he strode back to the keep, shortly before noon.
After delivering his lunch, Vurk said, “Is this the spell Audrey said to never use again or she’d kill you?”
Ferikellan frowned disapproval at his uncouth assistant. “It incorporates elements of that spell, but it is something new. It will not harm the Gray Forest.” At least he hoped it wouldn’t.
Vurk shrugged. “If she kills you, I’ll probably just stick around and work for Rosalind.” Then he returned to the kitchen.
“Disloyal wretch,” Ferikellan muttered darkly before digging into the bowl of beef stew.
After his meal, he decided it would be wise to contact Audrey before continuing. Having previously observed Rosalind using the copper cube, it didn’t take him long to heat it up just enough to melt the blue wax. He had just begun making notes about his plans when she suddenly appeared, dressed as if she were about to go out.
“What do you need?” she asked as she removed her dark green cloak. “I just noticed the signal.”
She probably checked her cube when departing or returning home. He began by relating the results of their potion testing.
“That’s interesting,” she commented, now leaning against the wall nearby. “When you figure out the dose and who can use it, write me up a report and I’ll pass it on. Excellent work.”
The unexpected praise pleased him. “Thank you, Guardian,” he said, returning her smile. Rosalind never used Audrey’s title, but it felt right to him.
Now for the hard part. He summarized his plans for the spell, keeping the explanation simple. Despite that, he could easily read her confusion.
“This will replace the potions?” she asked hesitantly.
Resolving to be patient, he said, “No. The spell will only work for the caster. I also estimate it to be seventh-order.”
“So only powerful spell-casters can use it,” she said, nodding.
“Yes, and they will need to be well-versed in earth magic.” Birchbark should be able to master it, but probably not Rosalind at present.
“And you’ll be able to use magic inside the Gray Forest?” was her next question.
“That is uncertain,” he explained. “My hope is that it will permit Birchbark to employ healing magic while inside.”
“That would be wonderful,” she exclaimed. “By the way, we’ve located two other elf villages. I’m planning to combine all three of them, but that will have to wait until it gets warmer. They’re all widely separated.”
He was momentarily distracted, picturing Audrey leading a mass of primitively dressed elves through the forest. Would the three disparate groups get along? Did they even speak the same language? It might not be as straightforward as she hoped.
“Could someone use flying magic inside?” Audrey asked suddenly.
“In theory,” he answered. “But both those spells and the one I envision drain magical energy constantly. I doubt that anyone could fly far.” He wasn’t even sure he would be able to walk very far.
“I should probably be there when you test it,” she said, still frowning.
“I would like that,” he told her, remembering Rosalind’s warning. “I will not be ready for at least half a month.”
She shrugged. “Okay. Anything else?”
“No.”
After Audrey departed in her usual abrupt fashion, Ferikellan set to work. When Rosalind returned mid-afternoon, she reviewed what he had written and made several pertinent suggestions. If the spell worked, it would be a vindication, proof that his years of hard labor had not been in vain.
Magic spells were odd things. A verbal component—sometimes merely a single word—was almost always required. The sounds uttered functioned as a mnemonic, a trigger to recall the proper state of mind. Focus, concentration, and visualization were the true keys. The spell-caster must know exactly what they wished to accomplish or the spell would either fail or misfire. Failure just wasted magical energy, but a misfire could be dangerous to both the caster and anyone nearby. And that was why Ferikellan spent nearly a minute standing quietly in meditation before speaking the words, “Gray Cloak,” and unleashing his will. He could tell that the spell had gone off properly, but he felt nothing other than a sense of anticipation.
When it became apparent that Audrey wouldn’t be available on the one day Birchbark forecast to have decent weather, they opted to go ahead anyway. The safeguards were somewhat embarrassing, but he wasn’t about to object. Over his wool cloak, he wore a leather harness attached to two lengths of thin but sturdy rope. (Marva held one and Vurk the other.) Rosalind and Birchbark were each equipped with Gray Potions. Standing near a small campfire, Harbik was ready to use the Isothermal Cube to send an urgent signal to Audrey should all else fail. Ferikellan was confident the spell would work, but it was good to know that people he trusted were ready to come to his rescue should something unforeseen occur.
The resistance when he reached the boundary both surprised and concerned him. There was nothing like that with the potions. But most of his outstretched right hand had turned gray, and there was no feeling of discomfort. Emboldened, he pressed forward until he was entirely inside and completely without color. Already, he could feel the slow but steady drain on his reserve of magical energy. (That he could even sense it was another sign of success.) After striding forward a few yards without incident, he turned around to face the others and then bowed.
“Congratulations!” Rosalind called out, her smile radiant. “Now try to cast another spell.”
“I know, I know,” he muttered to himself. There was a possibility that casting another spell would end the one he had already cast, but he could easily reach the boundary before he succumbed to hostile Gray Forest creatures. Still, he glanced around to make certain that nothing dangerous was in sight. Then he again spent more time than usual preparing before holding out his right hand, palm upward, and saying, “Illumination!” The ball of light appeared instantly. He had willed it to be blue, but it was colorless. It blinked out promptly when he ended the spell.
He waved at the others, but he couldn’t bring himself to smile. That simple first-order spell had consumed more magical energy than normal, maybe three or four times as much. That ruled out casting powerful spells while inside, at least for him.
The final step was to walk back outside. If the spell failed to deactivate, he would probably just drop dead. (He had even taken the precaution of leaving behind instructions as to the disposition of his assets should his death prove permanent.) He walked forward slowly as Vurk and Marva reeled in the ropes. There was again resistance at the boundary, but he pushed through and sagged in relief as his normal appearance smoothly returned. Exiting had also ended the Gray Cloak spell—not unexpected, but disappointing nonetheless. He had hoped it would persist, allowing multiple entries into the Gray Forest before needing to be recast.
He barely heard their words of praise as Vurk removed the harness. The spell may have functioned properly, but it lacked refinement. Before he attempted to teach others to cast it, he needed to master the spell fully, maybe even to improve upon it. There would be many more tests to come, albeit with fewer precautions.
Walking back to Tritown with everyone, Ferikellan barely felt the cold. The success of the spell was a vindication, a sign that all those years studying the Gray Forest had not been in vain.
[ 36 ]
Castle Conundrum
The hill giant was definitely dead, but at least it had been a quick death. From the look of it, one of the Collector’s detachable fingers had struck the huge biped in the center of his forehead. That had left only a small hole, but the rear of the giant’s head had blown apart, scattering shards of skull and bloody pieces of brain over a wide area. Lying on his left side, the giant’s expression had fro
zen in a look of surprise. There was a sheathed knife on his belt that was the size of a shortsword, but he apparently hadn’t had time to draw it. On his back was a bulging leather backpack the size of her bed.
Audrey had been about to head off to teach a class when the crystalloids alerted her. After asking Almera to send a note to the school on her behalf, she had teleported to where the crystalloids lived and then to near the castle when they showed her what had happened.
Spring was still a month away, and the barren trees and gloom somehow made the scene even more gruesome. There was frost on the ground, but no snow.
“Report,” she ordered the Collector, standing motionless nearby.
“Intruder detected,” answered the eerie voice. “Warning given. Warning ignored. Intruder terminated.”
She stared at the construct’s bloody left index finger. “Correct,” she said. “I will deal with the body. Resume duties.” To her surprise, it made a sort of stiff bow to her before turning and walking off. When had it learned to do that?
Staring at the huge body, she suddenly realized that the giant probably hadn’t been alone. Maybe he was just a scout. They were a good twenty miles from the hills to the southwest, with their large population of hill giants, but a giant could cover that distance rapidly, especially through a grassy plain. After ascending several yards, she headed toward the river. Following it south, she soon spotted a group of hill giants on the opposite side, but it wasn’t what she had expected.
There were three giants in a tight group—an adult female and two prepubescent males. Her stomach churned as she realized that the dead male had been the female’s husband (and presumably father of the two boys). And now, thanks to orders she had given, he was dead. She hadn’t thought to don her Andora disguise before leaving her cottage, and now she was glad. In a situation like this it would have been disrespectful.
She tried to compose herself as she slowly flew toward the giants. One boy spotted her, and the female drew a curved knife and positioned herself in front of her children with an expression of resignation. Holding out her hands to show that they were empty, Audrey landed well in front of the giantess and said, “Are you the family of the one that crossed the river?”
