The Alchemist's Touch

by Garrett Robinson

  “Academy whelps. And not ones I have seen before.”

  Ebon felt a moment’s trepidation. “Is our coin less welcome here than another’s would be?”

  The man shook his head. “Gold is gold. Only that boy with you looks a bit young.”

  “I will care for him,” said Ebon, reaching into the purse at his belt. “And gold is gold, as you say.”

  He flipped a weight into the air, and the man easily caught it. His eyebrows raised slightly, and he bit down on the gold. “So it is, master. They call me Leven, and I am at your service.”

  “Then let us have some wine, Leven; and make it something fine, from Calentin. I am Ebon, and my friend here is Kalem. I do not think we shall drink enough for that weight tonight—but I ask that you do your best to help us try. If you do, I shall bring more.”

  Leven nodded and turned to fetch a flagon from a shelf. This he gave to Ebon, as well as two goblets of pewter—finer things than the wooden cups held by the tavern’s other patrons. Ebon nodded his thanks and shoved his way back into the crowd, seeking an empty table.

  Kalem was gawking at him. “A whole gold weight? That must be fine drink indeed.”

  “Not so fine as the price I paid,” said Ebon. “But here is your first lesson of taverns, Kalem: pay the proprietor well when you can, and better than you should. If they are of a good sort, they will remember it when your purse weighs less. Now help me find a table—it is dim in here.”

  The boy swallowed and nodded. At last Ebon spotted one in the corner—a low table, with benches set to either side, both shrouded in darkness. It was perfect. Even if another student from the Academy were to come, he doubted they would spy Ebon or Kalem in shadows.

  “Here, Kalem. This will do nicely—ulp!” Ebon shot up just as he was sitting, for he had struck someone.

  “What do you want?” snapped a voice. Ebon peered closer, and saw bright eyes peering out from the darkness. He had not even seen the girl, so complete was her concealment. He leaned closer and saw that there was still another reason: she wore black robes—another student.

  “I—er, that is, I did not mean…”

  The girl only stared at him, and to his relief Ebon did not think he saw much rancor in her eyes. “Did not mean to place your fat rear upon me? I should hope not.”

  Ebon swallowed. “I—we can find another table.”

  She studied him for a moment. Her hair was wheat burnished by the sun, cut in a bob. Her light eyes were sharp, peering at him over a thin nose. Slowly those eyes turned downward, spying his flagon.

  “You can. But what do two whelps like you mean to do with all that wine?”

  Ebon looked beside him, but Kalem’s eyes were fixed on the girl. Hoping her words were an invitation, Ebon nudged Kalem to take a seat on the other bench, and then slid in to sit beside him. The girl had a wooden cup before her, and Ebon carefully filled it before doing the same for himself and Kalem. Once the drinks were poured, he raised his, and poked his new friend to do the same.

  “To the hospitality of strangers in taverns,” he said.

  The girl did not answer, nor raise her cup. Instead she threw the wine back in one long pull and then clapped the empty cup onto the table. Ebon hastened to follow, but could only drain his goblet by half. Kalem seemed to have forgotten he was supposed to drink his at all. The girl closed her eyes and ran a tongue across her lips. “Sky above, that is fine stuff.” Her eyes snapped back open, narrowing at the boys. “Fine indeed. The two of you are goldbags, then?”

  Ebon balked. Mako, his aunt’s guard, had used the word same word, but he had never heard it before that, and had not wanted to ask the man for its meaning. But Kalem blushed and ducked beside him.

  “We do use that word where I come from,” said Ebon, feeling the need to bolster the boy. “It does not sound very polite.”

  “That it is not.” The girl reached for the flagon, poured herself another cup, and drained it in another long swallow. Ebon expected her to explain further, but she spoke no word. Kalem still had not touched his goblet. Ebon nudged him, and the boy took a tentative sip. His eyes widened, and he looked to his new friend.

  “That…that tastes wonderful.”

  The girl arched an eyebrow. “And this one is a goldbag whelp.”

  Ebon found his hackles rising, but he tried to stay calm. “If you will keep calling us that, at least tell me what it means.”

  Kalem spoke before she could answer. “It is just what it sounds like. Goldbags—wealthy.”

  Ebon blinked. The girl leaned forwards, smiling without kindness. “Wealthy, eh? I suppose some would put it that way. Some others would say greedy. Sitting in your palaces and manors, hoarding your gold. What do you lot do with all that coin, anyway?”

  He held her gaze. “Just now, we pay for you to drink a fine Calentin wine.”

  She stared, and Ebon feared she might strike him—either with her first, or with magic, he was not sure, and did not know which would be worse. But then she burst out laughing, and leaned back against the wall behind her. “Fairly said, and more well-mannered than I have been. Never let it be said that only your kind have manners. I am Theren.”

  Ebon noted carefully that she did not give a family name, but did not think it wise to ask why—surely he could guess. “I am Ebon,” he said, leaning forwards and extending a hand. “My friend is Kalem.”

  “Of the family Konnel,” Kalem piped up. Ebon winced. Already the girl seemed irritated at their status. It seemed unwise to dangle parentage before her eyes.

  Sure enough, she sneered. “Oh, sky above, a royal goldbag.” But when Kalem flushed and looked back towards his lap, she snickered. “Come now, child, I mean nothing by it. What is one of you next to another?”

  “You are a student, I can see,” said Ebon, hoping to move the conversation onwards.

  “As are you.”

  “Of what branch? And what year?”

  “Very inquisitive, aren’t you? A mentalist, sixth year.”

  Ebon glanced at Theren, and saw the boy looking at her with the same awe Ebon was certain must show in his own face. “You are nearly finished with your training, then?”

  “Mayhap.” Theren shrugged. “They have not found a spell that I could not master. As long as they keep trying, I shall keep learning, I suppose.”

  Ebon thought of his earlier words with Jia. “And then? What will you do after? Surely your patron must be eager to have you back.”

  Her lip curled, and Ebon knew he had made a mistake. “You guess at much, and with little wisdom. But then again, a goldbag would think a common girl could not be at the Academy without the patronage of some wealthy lord.”

  “I meant no offense.” Ebon tried to show her he meant it. “I am unused to the Seat, and to the Academy especially. It seems I have much to learn before I can even speak without making a fool of myself.”

  Her glower softened, and she turned away. “It seems so. And besides, you speak rightly. I have a patron, though I do not relish it. Not all of us have it so easy as you two, no doubt sent here with a mountain of your parents’ coin to squander. Though I cannot complain at how you choose to waste it.” She lifted her cup for emphasis, and then reached for the flagon again.

  Ebon shrugged. “My family was not my choice, I assure you of that. Each life comes with its own struggles, and ours are no exception.” She snorted and he ignored it, though it rankled him. “If I am not fond of where my coin comes from, and if you and I both appreciate good wine, well then, I say help me waste it.”

  She wagged a finger at him. “Now at last you speak wisdom. I suppose you are not so bad as all that—for a goldbag. But if you mean what you say about being wasteful, we shall need another two flagons at least.”

  Wordlessly, Ebon reached for his purse and produced another gold weight. She rose and took it, studying it in the lantern light before looking back up.

  “Very well, Ebon,” she said, using his name for the first time. “Can you find it in
you to forgive words harshly spoken? And you as well, Kalem?”

  “Can you find it in you to get the damned wine?” said Ebon, smiling at her. “The flagon is dry, and we do not have all night to drink.”

  Theren left them with a laugh. Ebon turned his smile on Kalem.

  “I think I like her.” Kalem did not speak a word, his eyes fixed on Theren from across the bar. Ebon shoved his shoulder. “Leave off, little goldbag. If you stare any harder, your eyes may melt. Or mayhap she will melt them for you—can a mindmage do that?”

  That shook Kalem from his reverie, and he glared at Ebon. “A mentalist, Ebon, honestly. And no, she could not—though I could, if I learned the spell to shift living flesh.”

  “You can turn stone, but not flesh?” said Ebon in surprise. “But stone is so much stronger.”

  “Yes, and simpler. That is the key. Stone is much the same through and through. But our bodies are made up of so much—water, they say, and fire, and…well, flesh. That is why you are set to work upon a wooden rod. Wood, and all plants, are somewhere in between flesh and stone. It is always simpler to turn something complex into something simple than the other way around.”

  “I fear I do not understand.” Ebon felt as though his head was spinning.

  Kalem leaned forwards with interest. “There are hierarchies, you see. Stone is one of the simplest, then wood, then flesh, to speak broadly. To turn wood to stone is simplest. Flesh to stone is harder, but still easy for any second-year transmuter. Flesh to wood is harder still. Then stone to wood, stone to flesh, and wood to flesh. And then there is shifting. That is when you do not simply turn matter—you melt it, or turn it to mist, or make it vanish entirely. Do you see?”

  Ebon did not see. In fact, Kalem had said stone and wood and flesh so many times now that, together with the wine, he was having difficulty remembering which word meant what. But just then, three black-robed figures strode through the tavern door, and Ebon’s heart quailed with recognition. Quickly he turned his head to the side, trying to hide his face from Lilith.

  “Shift yourself over,” he said quietly. “Sink into the shadows.”

  Kalem blinked at him. “What? Why? What is it?”

  “Those three who just entered, they are—”

  “Is that my jester?”

  Ebon groaned and looked up. Lilith wore a smile as she approached his table, standing at the end of the bench so he could not rise without pushing her out of the way. Her cronies stood behind her, still silent, arms folded as they looked down at him.

  “Leave us be, Lilith,” said Ebon. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “I came seeking another, but now I think it would amuse me to drink with you instead. And may I remark how adorable it is to see you beyond the Academy walls with one of your classmates. He must be a first-year.”

  “I am not,” said Kalem at once. “You have seen me before. I am in the—”

  “Quiet, child,” snapped Lilith, before turning her gaze back on Ebon. “I learned something of you today, jester. Do you want to know what it was?”

  Ebon felt the blood drain from his face. He knew, or thought he could guess, that she had learned his family name. Kalem still did not know. Ebon had to distract her. “You know that if you fight me, neither of us will be welcome within the Academy again.”

  Lilith laughed at him, and turned to her friends. “Oren, Nella, did you hear that? My jester is worried for me. How kind of him to think of my education. But why would I fight you, little jester? You did not let me tell you what I had learned about you—Ebon, of the family Drayden.”

  Ebon glared at her. From the corner of his eye, he could see Kalem’s wide eyes.

  She smiled at Ebon’s expression. “Yes, it was quite a shock. But I suppose it makes sense. A worthless student from a worthless family. Why did they send you away, jester? Had they run out of water for you to lick from the ground?”

  Without knowing what he was doing, Ebon shot to his feet. Nella shoved him back down onto his bench. He tried to rise again, but found himself unable to move. He struggled, muscles straining against some unseen barrier. With wide eyes he looked down at himself, but saw nothing. Then he looked up to see Oren’s eyes glowing white. It is magic, he thought.

  Lilith leaned down, one hand resting on the table so her face was just inches from his. “What is wrong, water licker? Did no one ever teach you to deal with a real wizard?”

  Ebon held her eyes, letting his hatred show. But then he saw movement over her shoulder: Theren, returned to the table and holding two new flagons of wine. She stopped short, just behind Oren and Nella, measuring the situation. Her eyes narrowed and glowed white.

  With a cry, Lilith’s foot shot up into the air behind her. Her head bounced off the table on the way down as she was flipped in the air. The glow died in Oren’s eyes as he turned in shock. Something unseen struck him in the chest, and he fell back against the wall. Nella spun in midair and fell beside him. Ebon saw her grunting and straining against some hidden force.

  Lilith’s bonds must have released, for she crashed to the wooden floor. At once she shot to her feet, hands twisting and eyes glowing. Then she saw Theren and stopped. For a moment, all was still.

  Then Leven the tavern-master was there, pushing himself into the space between Theren and Lilith, his barrel chest blocking each of them from the other’s view as he thrust his arms in either direction. “All right, you lot have had your fun. No spell-casting is allowed in my barroom, as you know full well.” He thrust a finger just under Theren’s nose.

  She smirked. “What spell-casting? The moment they saw me, they grew frightened and fell to the floor.”

  Lilith pushed forwards, but with a hand on her chest Leven stopped her. “That is enough. Leave here, now, and mayhap I shall withhold the letter I mean to send your masters.”

  The Yerrin girl glared at him, and then at Theren, but Theren’s smirk only widened. With a huff, Lilith whirled and strode from the tavern, with a final hateful glare given to Ebon. Nella helped Oren to his feet, and they scuttled out the door behind her. The tavern had grown quiet as the fight erupted, but now the other patrons returned to their drinks and conversation. Leven watched Lilith and the others leave, before turning his considerable girth on Theren, hands bunched to fists on his hips.

  “You swore to me you would not begin another wizard’s duel here.”

  Theren still held a flagon in either hand, but she swept one foot behind the other to dip in a low bow. “And it gives me great pleasure to have kept my vow. I did not begin a duel. In fact, to my mind, I ended one.”

  Leven shook his head. “I mean it, girl. I will not have you breaking more tables—not to mention my finest bottles.”

  Theren straightened and wagged the flagons before his eyes. “Even if I have a new friend, who is willing to pay handsomely for such fine bottles?”

  The alemaster shook his head, and from behind Ebon thought he saw the man’s shoulders shake in a chuckle. Still, his voice remained stern. “Just remember: become more trouble than you are worth, and no longer will you be welcome.”

  Theren stepped past him, planting a kiss on his cheek as she passed. “You have the heart of a king, Leven.” But Ebon noted her lack of an answer.

  Leven left them, and Theren resumed her seat across the table. She pushed one flagon towards Ebon and took a long pull directly from the other. “Well. It seems I misjudged you. If Lilith bears such hate, you must not be so bad—at least, not for goldbags.”

  Ebon shrugged. But beside him, Kalem was looking at his lap. At Theren’s words he made to stand. “I should be returning to the Academy,” he mumbled. “Already it is very late.”

  “Kalem, sit down,” Ebon urged him. “Please. I am sorry, for I dealt with you dishonestly, though I did not lie.”

  Theren arched a thin eyebrow. “Oh? Dissent among the ranks?”

  Ebon sighed and fixed her with a look. “I shall tell you as well, I suppose, since I would rather not anger y
ou later, with your command of magic. I did not tell you the name of my family before. But I am Ebon, of the family Drayden, and I hail from the capital of Idris.”

  Theren became still, except for her fingers, drumming on her flagon’s neck: tap-tap. Tap-tap.

  “I am sorry,” said Ebon, lowering his gaze. “Only…only that name has plagued me all my life, and it seems that everyone I meet hates me because I carry it. I thought that here…where we all wear the same robes, mayhap I could leave it behind. Yet I cannot. Lilith will not let me—and now, it seems, neither will either of you. I should not have come here tonight.” He made to stand.

  “Oh, sit down,” said Theren, eyes rolling. “Honestly, you wealthy ones are so prone to dramatics.”

  Ebon hesitated, but did not take his seat. Looking back, he saw Kalem still staring at his lap. After a long moment of silence, the boy finally looked up. “I thought you were royalty, like me.”

  “I am not,” said Ebon.

  “I have heard dark things about your family.”

  “I cannot say they are true—nor can I say they are false. I am more of a servant to my family than true kin. I have not had a friend in many a long year. Forgive me, for I thought I saw one in you, and I lied to make it so.”

  Kalem stared out the window, to the street where some were now coming around to light the street lamps. Finally, his hands twisted in his lap. “I suppose I can understand that,” he said quietly.

  Theren took Ebon’s goblet and handed it to him. “Drayden or not, I care little if you do it with gold or alchemy—only keep the wine coming, and you will have my friendship.”

  Ebon smirked, and saw Kalem give a smile. He took his seat, and they raised their glasses, drinking deep together.

  fourteen

  When he went for his midday meal on the morrow, Ebon again found himself an empty table. But in little time, and to his slight surprise, Theren sat wordlessly on the bench beside him. After a moment, Kalem sat to his other side. The boy pressed his hand hard over his brown eyes—his coppery hair was greasy, as though he had yet to bathe.