by Lyndon Hardy
“Terms, your terms,” Saxton said as he collapsed his full weight down upon Alodar’s support.
“Very well,” Basil replied with a sudden edge to his voice. “Keep your petty secrets, but remember well when you crawl back in less than a month’s time that it was not I who was inflexible on alternatives.” He stopped and twisted his face in thought. “Twenty years of service for both you and the novice against three hundred brandels on our agreed upon date,” he said at last. “Is your formula so precious that you will risk terms such as those?”
“Twenty years is not a fair price,” Saxton said. “It should be five at the most and we would agree to that most reluctantly.”
“I care not to waste my time in bargaining. Twenty years is the only price,” Basil snapped back. “I have waited too long for this opportunity.”
“Then perhaps, Alodar, we can reconsider,” Saxton said. “It is not the first time I have abandoned a formula before completion. You have taken to the craft well and there will be more opportunity to make our fortune.”
“Accepted,” Alodar said, ignoring the alchemist’s argument. “I would rather deal with this apothecary no further, but if this is our only choice, then we will take it. If we succeed with the formula, the cost for the peat tar and the rest will be unimportant.”
“You accept?” Basil said. “Twenty years and less than a month’s time?”
For a moment there was silence and Alodar looked over his shoulder at the alchemist. “Accepted,” Saxton said weakly with a wave of his hand. “It is as the novice states. If we succeed, then it will not matter.”
“To the shed on the mountainside then,” Basil said slowly as his frown of puzzlement returned. “We will seal the agreement there and arrange the details for the delivery of the ingredients to your shop.”
Basil turned and headed upwards. Saxton shuffled by Alodar to follow. “Twenty years,” the alchemist muttered as he passed. “Would we fare even as well as Eldan in such a time?”
“We quest, do we not?” Alodar replied. “The potential of such adversity spurs us onwards to our goal.”
“Yes,” Saxton said, “but the next step could fail all sixty-three times, regardless of our motivation.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Random Factors Align
ALODAR dumped a bucket of oily water into the gutter and slumped to the planked curbing. He kneaded the tired muscles in his neck and looked up into the early evening sky. It seems bright enough now, he thought as he saw the disk of the moon balanced like a platter above the roof-line across the street. He hoped Saxton’s decision to wait three days until it was full was the right one. Even foregoing all time at Cedric’s and spending two full weeks working the formula, there was little time to spare.
Alodar stretched his arms over his head and frowned. It was well enough for Saxton to propose a few days rest to uncoil his knotted muscles in some tavern, but it had only given Alodar pause for the first time in months to consider deeply the path he had chosen.
All of this effort for only four samples. Four small vials, filled with what looked like motley collections of tiny colored beads. But when held to the eye, each globule was a many-faceted crystal, able to withstand great stresses without breaking, stresses from grinding forces or searing heat. Surely one tube would produce the ointment for which they had struggled. Four chances to soften the crystals into a thick gel; then for each that succeeded, one additional procedure to make the ointment safe for contact with bare skin. With four vials, they could expect the contents of two to transmute properly, and then one of them to be rendered harmless as well.
Two steps but with only four samples remaining. Alodar pursed his lips and shook his head. When they had six stages to go and sixty-three chances, Saxton’s caution in the mines had seemed hard to understand. But now the outcomes could be enumerated on one’s fingers and the boldness of their pledge seemed a much greater folly.
Each result was random. If the last step failed on the first attempt, then there would be one chance in two that all this work would have gone for nothing. Or if none of the four vials liquified in the way they wished, then Basil’s factory, not wealth and glory, would be the final reality.
Alodar closed his eyes and tried to recall Vendora’s beauty, to taste again his anger at Feston’s ridicule, to feel the prickly bitterness at Festil’s blind rejection. But the images of half a year ago were blurred and fuzzy, the hunger and pain at Iron Fist buried far beneath the numbness that rode on top of his thoughts.
Was it so important, he puzzled. Could he not instead steal away in the night, perhaps to the kingdoms to the south or even to Arcadia across the sea? Cedric did not seem to value greatly the opinion of those who buzzed about the royal court. Was such respect worth the risk he ran to gain it?
Alodar breathed deeply and then let the air out through his nostrils. No, there was first the question of honor. Saxton was enmeshed in this as deeply as he, and they must share the peril as well as the potential for great gain.
A sudden crash from the interior of the shop broke Alodar out of his reverie and he sprang to his feet. For a moment there was silence, and then he heard the crunch of glass grinding underfoot. He kicked the bucket out of his way and dashed into the storefront, looking for the sword and shield Cedric had lent him for practice. As he stooped and thrust his hand through the enarmes, a massive figure loomed in the workroom doorway.
“Rendrac!” Alodar shouted as the form came forward into the candlelight. “What cause have you to be in the confines of Saxton’s shop?”
“No bar did you have on the workroom rear door and Basil is most curious about your formula,” Rendrac said. “He will reward me well when I tell him something of it.”
Alodar raised his swordpoint in front of his chest. “You will learn nothing of it here tonight,” he said slowly. “Be gone and return only if we need more ingredients from your master.”
Rendrac smiled and stepped forward, fingering the hilt of the sword at his side. “And I leave when it suits my own purpose,” he growled. “Not the whim of a mere novice.”
Alodar took a deep breath and tightened the grip on his blade. His heart began to race and his eyes widened as he looked up at the giant coming towards him. He ran through his mind his sparring yard training and set his jaw in a determined line. It must come to a true test sooner or later, he thought, and defending the four vials was as worthy a cause as any.
Rendrac completed one slow step and stopped, eyeing the distance between them. “Come forward, little man,” he said. “Come forward and show your mettle.”
Alodar looked at the angle of Rendrac’s sword arm across his body and tilted his shield upward. The man would slash down rather than across, he thought, as he slowly slid his own blade toward the side.
“You learn nothing of alchemy while you stand frozen,” he spat back into Rendrac’s smile. “To search the shop you must first win the right to do so.”
“Very well,” Rendrac growled. “If you are alive or dead, I will find out what I wish. To me it does not matter.”
Then, with the swiftness of a much smaller man, he drew his sword and dashed it down towards Alodar’s unprotected head. Alodar whipped his shield upwards and received the blow with a numbing jar. A shock ran through his arm; his elbow buckled from the contact. Involuntarily he stepped backwards, banging the heel of his boot against the wall. He peeked over the top of his shield and saw Rendrac’s sword arm again raised above him. He took a deep breath and stiffened his body in anticipation for the next downward slash.
The blow rocked his shield and skittered away. Alodar staggered and huddled lower to the ground. He thrust tentatively to the side, but quickly withdrew his arm. His reach was too short. He would have to extend beyond cover even to prick Rendrac’s skin. He scowled and gritted his teeth as Rendrac’s arm flew upwards for the third time.
“When you have finished with him, prepare to take on another,” a voice rang out suddenly from the doorway to
the street. Rendrac halted in midswing and glanced in the direction of the challenger. He looked back quickly at Alodar, then thrust the countertop candle towards the door with his free hand.
The flame flickered from the motion, then held steady and cast its light across the entrance. Rendrac grunted in recognition and pointed his blade in challenge. “I am no weaklimbed and untutored pupil, old man,” he said. “You would fare no better than the novice.”
“You will not slip past my guard with words, Rendrac. I am willing to cross swords with one of your petty reputation, if you are with one such as mine. Use your sword or put it away. It is one or the other.”
Rendrac flexed his fingers on his swordgrip and paused in thought. Alodar frowned at his hesitation, and then turned and squinted across the countertop.
“Cedric!” he said. “Why are you here?”
“I have not seen you at practice for two weeks now,” Cedric replied, “and, as I have said, your activities with my cousin have piqued my curiosity. It seems that I arrive at a most fortunate time.”
Alodar lowered his eyes and dropped his shield to his side. “You must think I am no great credit to your teaching, warmaster,” he said.
“A big man is not often bettered by a little one, no matter how talented the latter,” Cedric said. “And you cannot expect six months’ training to make up the difference between you. Raising your sword against this Rendrac would have cost you your life and proved nothing. But I am more of a match in size. Let him decide if he wishes to measure which of us has the greater skill as well.”
“As I have said,” Rendrac growled, “you will find me more a match than your fledgling pupils.”
“That I judge to be true, Rendrac,” Cedric replied slowly. “But then you will find me more than you have yet encountered as well. In my life I have fought a dozen of your bulk and I suspect I will learn little from another. But the choice is yours. Sheath your sword and walk out unscathed. Or come forward with it drawn and afterwards we will remove your body.”
They all stood silent for several minutes, but finally Rendrac scowled, thrust his sword back into its scabbard, and stomped around the counter. Cedric stepped into the shop and motioned to the doorway. Rendrac pulled in his cape and shot a last glance back around the room. His eyes danced to avoid Cedric’s; when he looked in Alodar’s direction, he saw the beginning of a smile. His scowl tightened and he waved his fist threateningly. “The next time, you may not have a protector,” he growled.
Alodar opened his mouth to reply, but stopped when he heard loud voices suddenly spilling in from the street.
“But do you not see, Saxton, that the risks you take are unnecessary. I have to demand twenty years because, as I understand it now, no fair return will I get for the brandels I have lavished already upon your venture. But as a partner I can do much to ensure the success of all.”
Two stout figures suddenly jostled to enter the doorway, and Alodar saw Saxton guided through by Basil’s silk-covered arm. Basil’s cheeks flushed red from the exertion of supporting the sagging weight at his side and Saxton’s were redder still from his visit to the tavern.
“Rendrac,” Basil said as his eyes adjusted to the candlelight. “What are you doing here?”
“No less than what you attempt with a jug of wine,” he snapped back.
Basil looked to Alodar, then Cedric, and finally frowned at Rendrac’s words. “We will speak of this later,” he said at last.
“Why such attention?” Saxton cried gleefully as he sagged to the floor. “There has not been such activity in my shop since twelve years ago when I thought I had stumbled on to a philtre of longevity.”
“Oh, be quiet, you fool,” Basil said, “else I add the cost of the wine to what you already owe. Come along, Rendrac. The night is wasted here, and we should be off to attend other matters.”
“Poor Basil,” Saxton chortled as he sat with his hands folded over his stomach. “It is too much to bear, is it not? Someone else on the street is to make a profit from the Fumus Mountains and you cannot let it be.”
Basil stopped in the doorway and turned to look down on the alchemist. “What about the Mountains?” he asked slowly. “What does your formula have to do with the mines?”
“You may as well know,” Saxton laughed. “There is nothing else to purchase. We will be done in three days time and then it will not matter. Yes, Basil, it is the Fumus Mountains and the jewels of the lower depths. We shall get them, Alodar and I, while sweat stains your fine garments as you watch us pass by.”
“A new tunnel,” Basil said as he bent down beside Saxton and grabbed the folds of his soiled robe. “Some sort of acid that will eat through to the bidden passageway that runs high and cool.”
“No, far better,” Saxton giggled as he tried to brush Basil’s hands aside. “A caloric shield that will make the depths accessible for exploration. I wager that you will be repaid with a topaz far larger than a robin’s egg.”
“Then the partnership,” Basil said excitedly. “It is as I have promised. Forget the debt for the ingredients. Share with me the plunder from the bowels of the volcano and I will release you from the agreement to which you are bound.”
“The wine loosens my tongue,” Saxton said, “but some sense I still retain. It is Alodar and I who have shared this formula in good faith. It is only right that we reap all of the reward from it as well.”
“A novice of a few months,” Basil said. “How important could such a loyalty be? I have worked the Street for years and in truth am a member of your craft as much as one whose robe bears the inverted triangle. What cause can you have to deny me so?”
Saxton slowly shook his head. Then with surprising strength, he wrenched Basil’s hands free from his robe. “I remember too well the stare of Eldan and the others,” he said, suddenly sober. “Too many fine craftsmen have I seen you sweep into your factories and too many poor useless hulks have I seen you push into the alley on the other side. No Basil, I will not share with you the fruits of my labor.”
Basil stared for a moment into Saxton’s unflinching eyes and then slowly rose. He smoothed his tunic and adjusted the magic dagger at his side.
“Very well,” he said at last. “If you choose to play by the letter of our contract, then so will I. You have assured your repayment by gold or by the future labor of your back and brain. But that assurance is good only so long as you possess sound faculties upon the date they are due. If I judge that you endeavor beyond the usual risks of the craft and jeopardize the value I may receive, then I can rightfully ask for a guarantee of sounder value. And adventure into the Fumus Mountains does qualify certainly as an undertaking of high peril. Your labor is no longer sufficient bond, Saxton. What can you offer in its place?”
“Why nothing else, as you well know,” Saxton said, rising uncertainly to his feet. “And I have never heard of such a condition binding an alchemist so.”
“The clause is there,” Basil snapped. “Before, I have not had cause to use it. But if you have no assurance for your loan, then by right I can call it due immediately.”
He stopped and twisted his face into a forced smile. “You are wrong when you think you have five days more, alchemist,” he said. “It is in fact less than one. Have three hundred brandels in my hand by the next dawn or prepare to be measured instead for the restraints of the factory. I think I will put you next to Eldan’s stall, so that each day you can watch and know full well what you will become.”
“Your investment is well protected, Basil.” Cedric broke his silence and reached into his cape. “Here is a pouch with ten brandels. In two days time I will arrange to have the rest. Take it as token and follow your hireling out into the street. I shall be the guarantee that the obligation is met.”
Basil turned and looked up into Cedric’s stern face. His smile vanished. For a moment he was silent as he studied the unblinking eyes and felt the gold in his hand. “You have a reputation as a warrior, Cedric,” he said at last, “not as a merc
hant. I can not be sure that your promise is any better than the rest.” With a flourish, he tossed back the pouch. “I need not accept this,” he said. “Dawn is within my rights, and even the queen herself would have to agree to it.”
Cedric took a step forward, but Saxton moved between him and the apothecary. The alchemist glanced out of the shop into the moonlit sky. “Your offer is well appreciated, cousin,” he said. “But Basil’s twisting of words does no more than to force us to hasten our work. The moon is not quite full, but enough so that probably it will little matter. Be gone, Basil. If it is by the first rays of the sun that we must stuff your purse, then so it will be. Return to your factory and await there your disappointment.”
“Yes I will go,” Basil snarled, “but to the first rays of dawn, and then no longer. Mark you, Saxton, even six hundred brandels a minute late would not be enough. You pay in the dark or cough on honeysuckle for a full score of years to follow.”
The apothecary turned abruptly and stomped out of the shop with Rendrac close on his heel. Saxton steadied himself against the door frame as he watched them disappear down the street. Finally he ran his hand over his head and looked back into the interior.
“And good night to you, Cedric,” he said. “Alodar and I will not need your help further and we have much we must do.”
Cedric grunted and stepped to the doorway. As he left, he turned and looked back into the store. “Next time, hold your shieldhand yet higher,” he said, “and prepare to thrust under rather than around the side.”
Alodar started to reply, but Saxton waved his arm towards the workroom. “Find me the pills which will clear my head,” he said. “The next eight hours will decide it all.”
Alodar looked up at the moon well into the sky, and then down to the square opening at his feet. Saxton’s bald head popped through, and he extended his hand to help the alchemist up the last few rungs. Saxton stopped his climb and waved away the aid.
