by Devin Hanson
"Alchemy is using the laws the dragons force onto the world to our own purposes. We do so with dragon life essence, or vitae. Dragongas is the liquid form of it, and it is harvested from dragon dung. Easiest way to get it, really. Any part of a dragon's physical body is infused with vitae, and can be used to perform alchemy.
"And that, my friend, is the end of the lecture. Any further and we start getting into details of actually doing it, and that is off limits."
Andrew was still processing it all. "Dragon dung? Like, feces?"
Michael laughed. "Oh yes. And the first part of learning alchemy is learning how to distill it into dragongas. There isn't a single less pleasant job in the world, let me tell you."
"One more question, and I promise it'll be short."
"Alright, fire away. We're just about done here at any rate."
"How do you get into the guild academy?"
Michael shrugged. "Well, you go up and you ask. They'll take anyone who applies. Can never have enough alchemists. That's all I did, at any rate. Took an airship to the city, knocked on the door, and that was it. Hey, you get in, maybe I'll see you around!" Michael chucked Andrew on the shoulder and headed to the back of the shop with a wave. "I'll tell Master Burreg we've completed. You can head back."
Andrew stepped outside the shop to find that full dark had fallen. The moon Maeis was still low in the sky, and did little to help brighten things. Romeda wouldn't rise until nearly the morning. With only the starlight the roads would have been almost too dark to travel on, but this was Andronath, and the streets were lit by swampgas lamps every dozen paces. The sun had been below the horizon for hours now, but the streets of Andronath were still as busy as during the day.
Normally, Andrew would have thought twice about stepping outside. He would wear a cloak with the hood up and move slowly and carefully under the eaves. It took an effort of will to simple stride down the center of the street with his hood down. It was a rush, daring the dragons to do their worst. He laughed aloud.
People all around Andrew were staring at him, some with haughty disdain, others with knowing grins. Abashed, but unable to stop smiling, Andrew ducked his head and walked quickly away. Imagine! Just imagine what it would be like, to walk freely at night wherever you wanted. The thought was like a narcotic.
No wonder King Delran had risked his new fleet against the dragons. Just the bare hint of hope that such freedom could be won throughout his own kingdom would have been enough. If there was anyone to blame, it was the nobles. Those petty lords and minor houses playing their power games had doomed the venture before the maiden flight even began.
Andrew wasn't one to hate people, but at that moment, he hated every noble and rich house in Salia. Damn them all.
His mood was mixed as he joined the other teamsters in the loft above the aurochs. He was still excited about being in such close proximity to alchemy and enthused about his walk back to the warehouse in the dark, but his cheer was darkened by the stirring anger against the rich and powerful who had destroyed the one chance Andrew had of aiding in freeing Salia from the dragons. Not only had they brought about the destruction of the airships, they had indirectly caused the deaths of hundreds of people, Andrew's parents among them.
Sleep came slowly that night, but for the first time since he rode the airship above Ardhal, he slept through the entire night without waking.
Chapter 5
Alchemy
Andronath proved to be an excellent city to be in with spare coin in your purse. Shen gave the men and women in his employ a bonus for the rapid and uneventful journey and Andrew spent two days exploring the city.
The district the warehouse and Master Burreg's workshop were in was the titular Merchant's Quarter. It wasn't a quarter of the city, or even really an isolated area, but it had a certain predictable layout to it that was different from the other Quarters. Andronath was built on a mountain, the peak of which had been flattened down and carved into the Academy Alchemic, a monstrous structure more reminiscent of a castle than a school. The Merchant Quarter was a wedge of shops, warehouses, factories, and other buildings that Andrew didn't have a name for. It started out wide, nearly a third of the span of the city's walls, and narrowed down to a ritzy pair of streets that ran all the way up to a gate in the wall of the Academy itself.
As the district narrowed, the quality of the shops rose proportionately, with the boutiques just outside the academy gates manned with guards that turned Andrew away just based on the quality of his clothes. That suited Andrew, the number of rich people about was spoiling his good mood. After his initial exploratory foray, he turned his back on the high city and searched out a neighborhood more suited to his tastes and wallet weight.
A trip around the circumference of the mountain, which took him almost half a day, showed him the rest of the city was nowhere near as organized as the Merchant Quarter. Most of the city was built following the contours of the mountain bones, and only a lifelong native could find their way easily from one part to another.
There were many things of interest to be found and enjoyed, but Andrew was drawn inexorably back toward the Merchant Quarter. It was there that the day-to-day practice of alchemy was performed. He made a nuisance of himself and got thrown out of a few workshops before coming to the conclusion that if he wanted to learn alchemy, he had to join the academy. Michael wasn't exaggerating: alchemists were quite protective of their secrets.
The two days of freedom came to an end and Andrew went back to the warehouse uncertain of what he wanted to do. Staying with Shen might be the logical choice. He could get his teamster's license, save up his money, buy his own wagons and oxen, build up his own trading company. His parents had done it, and it was a good life. Safe, predictable, moderately successful. He grimaced. Andrew had been down that road, and he still remembered the sense of freedom when he had joined with the fleet.
Merchanting wasn't for him, not for the long haul, at least. He had food in his stomach, clothing, a few coins in his purse, but nothing else. Shipping out with Shen again would give him more money, something to start anew with. Perhaps even afford to go to the academy. Merchanting would give him the stability to choose his own path in life.
Andrew walked into the entrance just as Shen was backing out pulling a cart behind him. "Hello, Wagonmaster."
"It is good you are here, Condign. The others, they are late." Shen sniffed. "Or drunk. Both, perhaps. You and I, we will get the crates and load them onto the wagons."
At Shen's direction, Andrew ducked back inside the warehouse and wheeled a second cart out.
"So, Andrew, how did you find Andronath? There is real land here, though it is still far too wet."
"I've never seen anything like it! I rode in a glass box up the side of a tower, a lift, they called it. I could see for miles around."
"Alchemists." Shen frowned to himself. "In the real land, where the sun is the proper temperature, there are few such men. It has its uses. I will not deny that. And makes good money for trading. But it is not the natural way of things. Iron should stay on the ground where it belongs."
Andrew didn't agree, but he didn't say as much. He switched the topic of conversation to something a little safer. "To the north, there is endless real land. Mountains as far as any man has traveled, they say, of good stone."
Shen nodded, his darkening humor reverting back. "Aye, and I have traveled up close to them. The real land pushes through, but there are also dragons. They did not build Andronath in this place because of the stone. It is dragons that drew them and there is no place where humans live that has more of the beasts than here. For all that, there is good land about."
Andrew took the lead and led Shen to Master Burreg's workshop where they were greeted at the door by Michael. "Ah, hello, Andrew! It is good to see you again. Master Burreg is out, unfortunately, but the work is completed and the crates prepared. If you would inspect, Wagonmaster, I would be happy to seal the cargo and assist you in loading."
Shen entered the workshop with Michael, leaving Andrew to pull in the two carts. There was almost no free floor space left inside, and Andrew had to pull the carts in carefully to avoid bumping into anything. He hurried to rejoin the wagonmaster when the task was complete.
"I have to say," Shen was rumbling, "I am not happy with doing business with the Master Alchemist's assistant."
Michael smiled blandly, completely unruffled by Shen's evident bad mood. "I can only apologize again, Wagonmaster. Master Burreg is a busy man."
Shen grunted something noncommittal and ran his hands over the ironware. Andrew looked over Shen's shoulder, curious to see what he was inspecting. A flat spot on the piece had been engraved a part number and with what looked like some sort of seal, or maker's mark. It was complex, with intricate whorls and fine lines. Shen nodded and gave the cast piece a light push with one hand. The piece in its original form had weighed more than a small horse, and yet it rocked several inches before settling back.
"Looks good," Shen declared. "Papers?"
Michael handed over a portfolio containing a loose sheaf of papers. Shen flipped through, found the one that matched the part inspected, and examined it. It was an elaborate legal document, a half page of calligraphy with Burreg's name and guild number stamped into the bottom.
Shen slowly read the calligraphy, mouth forming the words as he went. Reading over his shoulder, Andrew quickly scanned it through.
To whom it may concern,
The airship component numbered B5487, has been transmuted to airon by Master Alchemist Donovan Burreg. The component is guaranteed for no more than five years, starting with the date 22 of Summersmoot, to end in the year o.938.
Donovan Burreg
Guild number 1902
"I didn't know airon had an expiration date," Andrew said.
"You can get the permanent transmutation," Michael answered, "but it costs a lot more. Help me close this crate up while the Wagonmaster verifies the rest of the shipment?"
Andrew looked at Shen, who waved one hand in permission, brows pinched while he deciphered another word of the document.
Michael and Andrew followed the wagonmaster around the shop, closing up crates as Shen verified each piece of airon and checked the accompanying paper. They were nearing the end when Master Burreg walked into the shop. Shen closed the portfolio with a snap and stomped over to the alchemist.
"This is very irregular," the wagonmaster growled. "I'm not paying you good money to be handed off to an apprentice. This is important work!"
Burreg performed a look Andrew had gotten used to seeing over the last two days, not as direct a snub as turning up one's nose, but a partial turn to one side and a very slight tilt back. The overwhelming impression was the alchemist had just been approached by someone babbling madness and crusted with a week's worth of old feces.
"Sheb, was it? No matter. The work is done to your standards. Does it matter who holds your hand during the boxing? Don't waste my time with your grumbling. You'll pay the full price like everyone else."
Andrew looked back and forth between the alchemist and wagonmaster. If anyone in the caravan had spoken to Shen in that fashion, he'd be lucky to be left alone in the wilderness, staked to a pole for a dragon to find.
To Andrew's surprise, Shen only glowered at the alchemist before stumping back over and opening the portfolio again. A light sheen of sweat dampened the wagonmaster's forehead, and Andrew averted his eyes before Shen caught him looking.
The rest of the packing went by in silence, neither Michael or Andrew willing to break into Shen's bad mood. They loaded the crates onto the carts, Andrew and Michael lifting together. Unlike the alchemy Burreg had performed on the trip over, only the cast iron inside the crates was light this time, and the wooden crates were substantial on their own. Still, lifting six stones of weight with assistance wasn't difficult beyond the sheer size of the crates.
Shen left to seek out Burreg in the back of the shop, leaving Andrew and Michael to finish snugging the last of the crates down with rope.
Michael held his hand out and Andrew shook it. "I'll be seeing you around, Andrew," Michael said with his usual cheer, now that Shen was out of sight. "If you do wind up at the university, look me up."
"I will, thanks," Andrew smiled back. "I don't know when I'll be able to try, but anything is better than living the rest of my life as a merchant."
"Some men are not cut out for the mindless labor of the common folk," Michael agreed. "Take care." He gave a wave and returned to the back of the shop, sketching a bow to Shen as they passed each other in the doorway.
"Let us get this lot back to the warehouse," Shen instructed Andrew. "Fires take that fool of an alchemist. His prices are the only thing that has me returning to his shop. Faugh. Come on then, Condign. We have something to discuss when we get back."
Twenty minutes later, Andrew sat in the small office in the rear of the warehouse with the wagonmaster. On arriving back at the warehouse, Shen had berated the tardy caravan crew, and set them to loading the crates onto the wagons, using long bars of pig iron to weigh the wagons down under the crates. A shipment of airon would be worth more than its weight in gold to a bandit, and letting the wagons bouncing lightly over the roads would be the same as painting a sign advertising what the caravan was carrying. The pig iron would help with that, simulating a heavier load.
"How do you like Andronath, Andrew?" the wagonmaster asked him.
"I like it well enough," Andrew said, the smile on his face belying the understatement. "Alchemy has always fascinated me."
"Aye, and there not be another city in the world with more alchemy in it." Shen tapped his chin, a characteristic thinking habit for him.
"I have a problem. The other teamsters have complained to me. They say you have nightmares every night about dragons. It worries them. Say it be bad luck."
Andrew's smile slipped away. "Yes," he swallowed, "I do have nightmares. But they have been getting better recently." As he said it, and contemplated taking the caravan out of the city, he wasn't certain that was the truth. Whatever it was in Andronath that calmed him at night and let him sleep without the night terrors, it was sure to fade once the protected walls were out of sight.
"Andrew, I can tell there is something weighing upon you. Ever since you first approached me in Ardhal, I knew it to be so." He sighed. "I am about to make another long journey back to Ardhal, but this time my cargo could draw thieves and bandits. I must hire guards to keep it safe. I like you, Andrew, but your secrets worry me. Will you tell me what it is that sent you running from Ardhal? It is not just the loss of your parents, this I know."
Andrew looked at his hands, folded in his lap. He hadn't thought ahead to what it meant to be returning to Ardhal. He was not welcome there. For all he knew, there could be wanted posters with his face on them hanging on the city gates. That seemed unlikely, he was just a lowly cannon loader and assumed dead. But there were many who could recognize his face if they saw him, nobles among them, who could make his life very difficult.
Could he tell Shen all this? Would the wagonmaster want him with the caravan if he knew? Somehow he doubted it. Shen might not be beholden to Ardhal in any loyal sense, but he did get the majority of his business from the airship manufacturing docks. It could reflect badly upon him if he was found to be harboring Andrew.
Andrew cleared his throat. "Sorry, wagonmaster. I… I would like to tell you everything, but I can't."
Shen nodded, his expression unsurprised but disappointed. "You understand, then, that I cannot hire you for the return trip."
Andrew nodded.
The wagonmaster stood up and paced the small room. "You have served me well, Andrew. You did not oversell your ability with the wagons. You have been reliable and hardworking while in the city. Were circumstances different, I would gladly keep you on. You know this."
Andrew nodded again, his throat too tight for words.
"There is great opportunity in Andronath.
You are a capable young man, and you should not have difficulty finding work. Still, I would not feel right leaving you here." He reached into a pouch at his waist and drew forth a bag of coins which he weighed in one hand for a moment before tossing it to Andrew. "Payment for the trip," he explained, "And what I would have paid you for the return leg. Enough to buy you passage back to Ardhal should you decide to return. Or to stay here for a while, if you are careful with it, to find your own feet."
"Wagonmaster-"
"Call me Shen, Andrew."
"Shen, sir, I wish I could tell you everything. And I wish you could trust that I would mean no harm to you or your caravan. But I understand that you must care for your own. Thank you," Andrew lifted the bag of coins briefly, "for this. You didn't have to."
"No, lad." Shen sighed and held out a hand. "No. But it is the right thing to do."
Andrew stood up and shook his hand. "Thank you for taking me on in Ardhal."
"Good luck, Condign. May your feet find the real land soon."
"And yours, Wagonmaster."
Andrew walked out of the office into the warmth of the warehouse. His eyes blurred with tears and he brushed them clear. Without bidding goodbye to any of the other people he had journeyed to Andronath with, Andrew walked outside, completely alone in the world.
Andrew woke up slowly. The straw pallet was crisp beneath him, the linen clean and fresh-smelling. He stretched, luxuriating in the feeling of waking up well rested and not in the throes of a nightmare. It was the morning after Shen had dismissed him from service and Andrew lay on the pallet, planning out his next move.
What he really wanted to do was join the Academy Alchemic. Michael had made it seem easy. He had money now, nearly forty nobles and a scattering of commons. It was no fortune by anyone's standards, but he could live for nearly a month on it alone, longer if he found an inn willing to let him sleep in the barn loft. That should give him enough time to find out if he could join the academy or come up with a new plan if he couldn't.
