Chapter 5

This Chapter focuses solely on Miara. I figured you'd rather have one whole story than two half ones. Merry Christmas!

Chapter Five

By Ben Campbell

 

            They did not come that night. In hindsight, Miara supposed that wouldn’t be very subtle of them.

            “It’s actually quite helpful,” Marcus mused. “It gives me more time to practice shifting.”

“Plus, we’ll become more accustomed to staying up so late.” Anna chimed in. It seemed that with a solution to their perpetual problem in sight, she had perked up from her previous skittish self.

Miara would rather they attack sooner than later. She was getting a bit tired of not having access to her bedroom while Marcus ‘practiced’. She didn’t mention it though. She and Anna were coming to be good friends, though Marcus remained somewhat reserved.

Miara decided that ‘mandrake root’ made a better lie then ‘demon adrenaline and wolfsbane’ to explain the noise. The screaming root was well known to the wide world, due to its… distinctive properties. No one had questioned her further on it, though most were unnerved by the howls. Miara decided it actually helped business. It unnerved people, made them a little easier to barter with. It got people talking. Many people came in merely curious about the noises they had heard of. Perhaps it would give her store a bit of a bad reputation, but it wouldn’t last once Marcus left. Besides, she liked the idea of living in a ‘haunted’ house.

The second night, the three of them were somewhat lax in their vigil.

“If they weren’t going to come the first night, why should they come the second?” Miara pointed out. “Even subtlety is kind of pointless; we know it’s them. Either they’re trying to play my nerves, or they’re waiting for me to run out of patience and let go of any protection I’ve hired.” Miara pointed to the two of them.

“You don’t have to worry about us leaving.” Anna assured her.

“We don’t really have anywhere else to go.” Marcus muttered. His mood had been growing gradually darker all day.

“It’s not you I'm worried about.” Miara decided that Marcus was the wiser of the two. Anna was glad their current problems were at an end; Marcus was worried about their future problems. Where would they go? How would they feed themselves? Marcus could certainly hunt in wolf form, but would they have to live as hermits in the woods the rest of their lives? Neither wanted that. Perhaps Marcus could become a soldier? No, neither wanted that either. Besides, there was no war. It was an intimidating problem.

“Marcus.” He looked up. “Are you a natural or infected lycanthrope?” Miara asked. She had heard that the disease affected people differently if they were born with it.

“Natural. I didn’t start shifting until I was about eight, and I wasn’t aggressive. I think I would actually become a wolf cub and just go back to sleep. But I think that during full moons I would stay awake, but cause more mischief than trouble. I'm not really sure; my memories as a wolf are sketchy, like dreams, I suppose. Anyway, as my human form grew, so did my wolf form. I was ten when I figured out that they weren’t dreams, that I really was transforming into a wolf every night. I was fifteen when I was first seen in wolf form by someone other than my parents. They knew about it since it started, but they never said anything about it to anyone. I was sixteen when I first killed someone in bloodlust. It didn’t take long for the townsfolk to find out it was me. So I fled, and I’ve been trying to find a cure since. I'm twenty-three, so that makes it seven years of traveling. I met Anna three years ago.” He gestured towards her. Anna picked up the story.

“Before I met Marcus, I was a stablehand at Castle Gondael. I also worked with the kennelmaster; I’ve always been good with animals. Anyway, Lord Gondael had made a deal with the king that involved sending him a breeding pair of hunting horses. I was assigned the task of getting the horses to Sente. So the steward got me passage in a guarded caravan headed for Sente by way of Broden and Fyrna.

“We were between Fyrna and Sente when Marcus started to pass us. The convoy head called out and asked if he wanted to travel with them; we were going through known bandit territory, and the convoy had brought mercenary escorts. He said that he’d stay for the day, but that he’d probably keep walking after they stopped to make camp. He couldn’t be persuaded to stay the night. We just let him go eventually.

“Well, he had.... caught my eye, I suppose, and I was curious, and perhaps a little bored, so when he wandered off after dinner, I followed him. He went down the road a short while, then went a bit into the woods, and lay down to sleep. He was restless, and got up to move a little further down the road a couple of times. I kept following him, though I wondered to myself why.

“As I mused, I heard a horrible growling sound, and when I looked to where Marcus had been, I saw that he had shifted. I knew he was a werewolf because... well normal wolves weren’t that big. You’ve seen him shifted, he’s huge. Anyway, I knew what to do: I shimmied up a tree. He picked up my scent and followed it, but he lost interested fairly quickly once the wind shifted and he caught scent of the convoy. I waited in the tree until he returned, curled up, and reverted to human form, fast asleep.

“When I returned to camp, everything was in chaos. Our campfire had been scattered everywhere, a crate of goods was afire, several mercenaries were wounded, and the convoy head’s wife was dead. Marcus had torn her arm off and she had bled to death soon after.” Anna grimaced. “The mercenary commander asked where I had been; they thought I had been dragged off. I told him that I had been relieving myself when I heard the noise. I had been frozen with fear and only just returned. He nodded, more relieved that I hadn’t been hurt than wondering why it had taken me half an hour to do my business. He told me that a pack of huge wolves had attacked. They had burst from the trees, run through the fire and scattered it, and mauled the convoy head’s wife before any of them could even draw a sword. He swore it was a pack, that no one wolf could seem to be in so many different places at once.

“I don’t know why I kept my silence about Marcus. Perhaps I wanted to confront him about it. Perhaps I had already fallen for him during our brief conversation at dinner the night before. Whatever the reason, I said nothing about his transformation.

“I helped round up the horses while others extinguished the fires and buried the convoy head’s wife. The two I was delivering were unhurt, thankfully. Horses, that is. We got the camp back into some sort of order, and slept late.

“Our pace the next day was frantic. We caught up with Marcus around an hour before noon, and he had gotten a good headstart on us. We told him of the attack and urged him to stay with us for safety.”

“I replied that if a wolf pack was following them, it might be wise to stay away from and ahead of the convoy.” interrupted Marcus “But I rode in a wagon with them the rest of the day, since they were going faster than I was.”

“As it happened, he was in the same wagon as me.” continued Anna “We talked the whole day, about nothing and everything.” Anna’s eyes became dreamy. “I’d definitely fallen for him by then. I told him about myself, and he told me his cover story.  I don’t remember it, we’ve changed it since.

“That evening, we set out a ring of torches around the camp, beat back some of the bushes from the edges, and set a more rigorous watch schedule. We were determined not to be caught off guard if they came back.

“Marcus left that evening too, although he lingered to talk with me a while, almost ‘till dark. When he left, I followed him again. Once he was out of sight the camp, he practically ran down the road, but I managed to keep up. After a few minutes, he glanced back to the west turned into the woods and threw himself down and promptly slept. I scrambled up a tree, and Marcus shifted. He came up under my tree, but he turned away after staring at me a few seconds.”

Marcus cut in.

“I think I managed to preserve her memory through the transformation. The memory barrier between my forms is tough, but it can be pierced. I already felt….. something for her.” Anna continued.

“When I returned, the camp was in a much better state than the first time. No fires had started, and at first it appeared that no one had been hurt. The horses had bolted again, but that was to be expected. Once we finished tidying up, however, we noticed that one of the mercenaries was missing. We searched the camp and found a blood trail leading into the woods. After debate, we elected not to follow it. The man was clearly dead, and night was clearly this monster’s domain. After that, we settled down into discussion.

“The mercenaries had gotten a better look at their foe, and had determined that it was, in fact, just one wolf, and a monstrous big one. One man suggested that it could be a direwolf, but the idea was rejected because we were too far south for direwolves. Then the captain said that he’d seen a werewolf before, and it had been similar in size and ferocity. The point was debated, but it was quickly resolved: our attacker was a werewolf.

“Then the captain gave me a sidelong stare. ‘I noticed you were relieving yourself this time as well.’ he said to me, ‘and you’ve been awful quiet lately.’ The others started nodding slowly. After a brief moment of terror, I pointed out that if I were a werewolf, I would have been attacking every night since we set out, and probably would have been discovered long before at the castle. ‘But werewolves only transform on the full moon.’ One of them said. ‘The moon turned full yesterday.’ The others nodded in agreement.”

“You know,” interrupted Marcus, “Their logic doesn’t make much sense when you think about it.”

“They were terrified, Marcus.” She punched him. “You’re scary.” Marcus merely shrugged. Anna continued.

“I replied, that, no, werewolves shift every night. The captain asked ‘How does a stablehand know so much about werewolves?’ I didn’t have an answer to that, and any more information would lead them to Marcus. They did acknowledge that they didn’t have solid proof, so the captain ordered one of the men to keep an eye on me. Even when I was relieving myself.

“They found the missing man’s remains not far down the road. We built a small cairn off the side of the road, and moved on. Our pace wasn’t quite as frantic this day, but we still caught up with Marcus around three after noon. We didn’t even stop for him; he just started walking with us. I pulled him aside, and the man set to watch me walked off. ‘Where’s he going?’ Marcus asked. I replied ‘Probably off to tell the captain that it would make more sense if you were the werewolf attacking us, rather than me.’ In brief, we admitted feelings, revealed secrets, and made a daring escape plan. When the captain came looking for Marcus, he had vanished without a trace.

“That night, I made certain to stay in sight of my guard. I set my bedroll behind one of the wagons, one carrying food for our journey. When Marcus attacked on the opposite side of camp, my guard glanced over at me, nodded to himself, and rushed off to help. Then I rolled up my bedroll, stole one of the mercenaries’ packs, and stuffed it with as much food as I could, then ran down the road to the west, back the way we had come. After I wore out, I walked, and eventually ducked into the woods, unrolled the mat, and went to sleep.

“Marcus shook me awake in the morning. The mercenaries had managed to drive him off without anyone being killed. He had taken a few shallow cuts " injuries taken in his wolf form are transferred to his human form - but they were minor. It’s very difficult to injure his wolf form. We cut south through the woods for a few days until we hit a road, and we’ve been wandering ever since.”

Miara had been listening with a startled fascination the whole time.

“You know, I only asked if Marcus was a natural or afflicted lycanthrope. Merely an expression of scientific interest. I wasn’t going to ask about your past.” Anna looked down and blushed. “Oh, don’t blush, he started it.” They all laughed.

Miara stretched and yawned. Marcus spoke up,

“I can probably tell you all you want to know about the disease if you want.”

“I would. Let me fetch quill and paper. And a candle.” She stepped into the workroom, and retrieved the items from her desk. She kept plenty of candles around. They were very useful in alchemy.

She returned to the front room and set the items on the counter. She lifted the candle to her lips and blew softly. The wick glowed, smoldered and caught. She set it down.

“You never mentioned you were a wizard.” Anna commented.

“I'm not. But alchemists need to know a little magic. Otherwise, they’re just cooks.” She grinned. “Admittedly I know more about magic than I really need to, but I think that’s makes me such a good alchemist.” Anna raised an eyebrow. “Okay, admittedly I don’t get out much, but I know that I'm better than the average alchemist. Marson, Lord Culbert’s wizard, has commented on my skill numerous times, and I'm sure a few knights could vouch for my skill. I probably shouldn’t tell you, but I recently received a commission to brew a love potion.” When this received no reaction, she shook her head and sighed, “And no, not the kind you can buy from crazy witches in the woods. I mean a real one.” Still no reaction. “Nevermind. It’s essentially the epitome of alchemy.”

“I thought that was the Philosopher’s Stone.” frowned Anna.

“And the Elixer of Life.” added Marcus.

Miara shook her head again. “The Philosopher’s Stone isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I could make one from what I have here, but it would be expensive and it will convert about...” she held her fingers half an inch apart. “...that much gold. Ultimately, it’s just not profitable. As for the Elixer of Life...” she chuckled. “I don’t usually say ‘impossible’, but, that’s impossible. Nothing can make you immortal short of divine intervention.” She chuckled again. “Anyway” she dipped her quill in the ink she kept on the front counter. “I'm ready, Marcus.”

So Marcus told her what he knew about lycanthropy. The disease occasionally manifested in young children who had never been exposed to it. These ‘natural’ lycanthropes were significantly more powerful than the survivors of werewolf attacks, who might become afflicted lycanthropes. As far as he knew, afflicted werewolves only shifted every full moon, and if they did not kill and devour a sentient being that night, they would die. Natural lycanthropes like Marcus however, shifted every night as soon as they fell asleep, but not have to feed to survive. They did have bloodlust though, and would seek out and kill people if they could. If they killed someone, they would return to where they had shifted, fall asleep, and revert to their natural form. Natural lycanthropes also had considerably more control over themselves. Afflicted werewolves would attack anyone and anything they saw, but naturals could restrain themselves from attacking close friends. Evidence: Anna was still alive after three years.

“You know,” commented Miara “That might explain why the ‘unreliable’ cure was ‘unreliable’. Perhaps it only works on natural ones.”

Marcus shrugged. “Perhaps. It worked for me; that’s all I really care about.”

Miara stood and stretched. “Well, I guess it’s about midnight now. Good night. Don’t break anything.” She blew out the candle, gathered her things, put them away and went to bed.

Staring up at the ceiling, she wondered how she got to be so trusting. Perhaps Aran had something to do with it. He had shown her in many of his stories that most people are generally trustworthy, if you’ve done something to earn it. Most. Generally. Always one to be correct, Aran. Never once heard him say ‘always’ or ‘never’. She chuckled. And certainly not ‘impossible’.           

 

The next morning, Anna approached her with an idea.

“Marcus thinks that he should start practicing without my help. I agree with him, and since I don’t want to sit around being useless, why don’t I help you with your work?”

Miara thought for a moment and answered,

“I don’t really need help, I’ve been fine on my own for years. It wouldn’t be unwelcome, though.” She shrugged. “Sure. Why not? How much do you actually help him?”

“Well, not much anymore. Getting him to shift mostly involves getting him angry. It’s just a mind game, really.”

“Okay. How good of a cook are you?”

Anna shrugged.

“I'm not bad. I don’t get much practice, since most of what I do involves putting meat on a stick over a fire.”

“Well, as I said, alchemy is essentially glorified cooking. And magic. Magic is essential for it to really be alchemy. But anyone can learn magic.”

“You’d teach me magic?”

“I’ll try. You can’t learn to actually do anything until you learn how to ‘tap the energy’. Again, anyone can do it, but whether I can teach you depends on whether I can get you to find that energy in a reasonably short time. Most people who are actually talented find it on their own in childhood, which can have..... interesting results. Anyway, I’ll teach you how to make a few simple medicines you two might find useful. And a contraceptive.” Anna blushed.

And so Miara began to teach Anna the basics of alchemy. “There’s a lot of specialized equipment involved. But since we’re thinking practically here, I’ll stick with what you can do with an iron pot and a heat source.” Anna proved a quick learner, and an eager helper. Perhaps a little too eager. When Anna asked how she could help with a particularly delicate process, Miara chuckled, set her mortar and pestle down, and turned toward her.

“You remind of myself when I was young. I was always getting in the way trying to help with something. Reminds of a particular incident when I was...... seven, maybe?

“I was the youngest daughter of one of Lord Culbert’s vassals. Or maybe a vassal of a vassal. He was a very minor noble. I had three brothers and two sisters older than me, so nobody ever paid much attention to me. Father was very loving, but ultimately had no time for me. I spent most of my time wandering our tiny keep, looking for someone to bother.

“Once, when I was pestering one of our cooks, he told me that, yes, he did have something I could help with. He told me to run and fetch a broom, a stool, and one of my father’s porcelain mugs. I dashed off, excited to finally have something to do. I attracted a few stares, but as always was mostly ignored. When I had everything, the cook dragged the stool to a corner, picked up the broom and mug, pinned the mug to the ceiling with the broom handle, and motioned for me to climb up on the stool and take the broom. I did so, and he told me ‘Just hold that there for me’ and walked away.”

Anna was making a valiant effort to suppress her mirth. Miara smiled and continued.

“My eldest brother rescued me perhaps an hour later. He was highly amused and congratulated the cook for his efforts to increase productivity. I was...... less amused, shall we say.” She turned back to the table and resumed working. “Now, be useful and fill a bucket from the well for me, will you?”

 

Things were quiet that night. Miara retired at midnight to an almost eerie silence. Get on with it already she thought as she went to sleep.

 

Thunk thunk CRASH!

Miara snapped awake. I didn’t mean it that much!

She sprang out of bed and threw a cloak on over her nightgown. She heard shouts from the front room. She fumbled on her nightstand for her dagger, cursed, and muttered a word under her breath. A small light appeared on her finger tip. She found the dagger and extinguished the light. She strode through door, and heard a terrible howl as she drew the dagger and reached the front room. She conjured another finger light and surveyed the momentarily frozen scene.

Marcus, in wolf form, was arrayed against three thugs, two armed with dirks and one massive man armed with a battle-axe. Anna was cowering behind the counter. The remains of her front door were strewn across the floor. They chopped down my door..... those A******S! Marcus lunged forward, but stopped before reaching anyone. The robbers backpedaled, the axe-man out the door, one to the side, and one crashed clumsily into the wall. Marcus pounced on him, claws raking across his face and teeth sinking into his side. He screamed and dropped his weapon. The other man regained his senses and ran towards Marcus while he was distracted, dagger raised high. Miara flung her light in his face, and he cried out in pain, dropping his dagger to claw at his face. Marcus rounded on him and bulled into his chest. A flurry of claws, and the thug was hardly recognizable anymore. His nose, ear, and one of his eyes were gone, and his face was a bloody mess. Marcus hopped off of him, and faced the axe-man, who had found the courage to re-enter the fray. He swung his axe at Marcus’s head and Anna yelped, but Marcus was too fast. He hopped back, and pounced, grasping the axe handle in his teeth and wrenched it from the thug’s hands. The man turned and ran.

In a pique of petty rage, Miara shoved Anna aside, grabbed one of the glass flasks hidden under the counter and hurled it at his retreating back. It fell short, hitting the middle of the road outside and going up in an impressive mushroom of fire. She felt the heat despite the distance. Marcus scooted backwards and whimpered. When the flames had dissipated, he howled and sprinted out the doorway in a flash of darkness, in hot pursuit. What the hell is he doing?!

 

            Inside his head, Marcus wrestled with a wolf, and the wolf was winning. Marcus screamed No! We must stay here! We’ve fought them off, they won’t be back! The wolf did not answer in words. It answered in rage and hunger. Marcus had stopped it from killing the other two; it wanted blood. The wolf moved their legs and spat wood splinters from their mouth. When the world erupted in fire, they recoiled and whimpered. Then Marcus reminded him that it was Miara’s fire, and it wouldn’t last. Sure enough, the fire vanished, and the wolf howled and set them in pursuit. Marcus winced at the hot cobblestones on their paws, but the wolf ignored it. It had prey to kill.

 

            The thug ran for his life. He wasn’t used to running. He was a big man, with an axe. People ran away from him. But that wasn’t people. WHAT THE HELL IS THAT THING?! They’d expected some sort of guard, that’s why he’d brought his axe, that and the door, but whatever that was had massacred his companions in seconds. He should have escaped while he could. He risked a glance back.

            It was chasing him, and gaining rapidly. He whirled and drew his dagger. I’ll at least go down fighting.

           

            The wolf did not expect the prey to turn on him. He didn’t think on it for long, though. He howled again and ran behind the big man. The prey kept up with him, sidestepping his pounce, and scratching his side with his knife. It was inconsequential; his fur had stopped most of it. Marcus tried to swat the dagger out of his hand, but he missed. Then the wolf heard the sound: the heavy clomp of boots on the ground, and the long rasp of metal that bespoke a sword being drawn. Marcus put the name to the sound.

            Guards.

 

            The thug was fighting for his life. How can something so big be so fast? He narrowly avoided being disarmed, scored a hit, and was preparing to strike again when suddenly the wolf was gone, and instead there was a man on his hands and knees. Naked. What the hell? Then he heard the guards. He was holding a bloody dagger, and this man was bleeding. S**T! He turned and ran.

            “Stop! You are under arrest!” he heard. Then a bowstring twanged, and an arrow took him in the shoulder. He grunted and kept running until another took him in the back. He collapsed on the ground and passed out.

 

            Miara was inspected the two wounded robbers. One had only superficial damage; his side was lacerated, but only bleeding, and he’d have a lovely scar on his face, but he would recover. The other’s wounds were anything BUT superficial. He would be half-blind, half-deaf, and lacking a nose. None of these would kill him, but his scars would be worse.

            The guards dropped the last thug unceremoniously at her feet. Marcus followed behind, in human form, clutching one of the guard’s cloaks around himself.

            “Check him out, see if he’s okay.” commanded the guard still in possession of his cloak, pointing to the unconscious thug. Miara nodded, drew her dagger, and began cutting away the clothing around the arrows. One was buried deep in his left shoulder, and the other was just right of his spine, halfway down his massive back. Both areas were bloodsoaked. She pointed to the shoulder wound.

            “You almost killed him instantly there. The other as well. As it is, he’ll be dead soon if we don’t stop the bleeding.”

            The cloakless guard snorted. “Let him die. I know what his sentence will be. Save us some time.”

            Miara glanced upwards.

            “This is a bit more complicated that it appears. How much has Marcus over there told you?”

            “Nothing, yet.”

            “Well, I don’t want to explain this too many times, but trust me; he will likely not receive a death sentence. From this, at least. I don’t know what else he’s done. He’s from the Black Boars.”

            The cloaked guard frowned. “Fine. Save your story for the trial. But any man serving the Black Boars is automatically sentenced to hang.”

            Miara glanced over to Anna. She and Marcus were embracing, but she was looking over at dying man, and Miara could see a battle in her eyes. The battle resolved itself quickly, and Anna buried her face in Marcus’s shoulder again. The guard continued,

            “If you want to save him, we won’t stop you. But the crown will not reimburse you for any supplies you use.”

            This started a battle in Miara’s own eyes. The salve she would need to use for wounds this severe was expensive. And the guard himself had declared that he would die anyway. But she couldn’t just let a man die at her feet when she could save his life........... and the man ought to at least stand trial.

            That almost made her give a bitter laugh. Fat lot of good a trial would do him. Lord Culbert was infamous for his fondness of the word ‘guilty’. Even if he stood against a more generous lord, the evidence and witnesses were all against him. The man was doomed anyway.

            She wondered what Aran would do in her situation.

            She bowed her head. Stop denying yourself, girl. You want him. You think about him constantly. What would the Aran she wanted have done?

            She did not know.

            The dying man stirred briefly, coughed once, and exhaled. He did not draw another breath. Miara checked his wounds. The blood had stopped flowing. The man had resolved her battle for her. He was dead.

            Miara pulled the arrows out, rolled him over, with some difficulty, and closed his eyes. She stood, gore dripping from her hands.

            “If he is to die anyway, I ought not waste my time.” At least take credit for your apparent decision.

            The cloaked guard nodded. “Sensible. We’ll help you clean up.”

            Miara shook her head. “Let me bandage this one. He’s bleeding pretty bad out his side. Marcus, go into my bedroom and check the wardrobe. Maybe something in there will fit you.” He nodded and pushed Anna away. Miara muttered a word and the blood on her hand turned to smoke and vanished. She bandaged the man’s side and stood. Marcus returned wearing a simple shirt and pants. Isn’t that the outfit I wore when....... They barely contained him, but they served. He handed the guard his cloak back.

            “We’ll stay here to guard the door until morning.” The guard told Miara while he refastened his cloak. “You people get some rest. You’ve had a long night.”

            Anna spoke up.

            “Marcus and I are staying at an inn in town. There’s only the one bed here.”

            The guard chewed his lip.

            “I’m not letting you two out of our sight. Willis!” he barked. The other guard straightened up. “Escort these two back to barracks. Get them a place to sleep. Not in the cells. But make sure they’re watched.”

            “Yes sir.” He motioned for them to follow. Anna stepped gingerly over the body. Marcus followed.

            Miara looked at the remaining guard while moving behind the counter. She noticed that Anna had been sick.

            “Goodnight, sir. Thank you for all your help. Might I ask your name?”

            He smiled. “Thomas. And you’re welcome, though it’s no less than my duty.”

            “Well, here’s to a job well done.” She fished a sparrow out of a drawer and tossed it to him. He caught it deftly and his smile broadened a bit as she moved the rest of the money out of the drawer and into her pocket, along with the remaining vials of fire. She strode into the workroom and locked the door behind her. She dropped the money and vials on a table, shrugged off her cloak as she entered her bedroom, and collapsed onto the bed.

            She did not sleep that night.

 

            She stirred to the sound of wagon wheels and rattling chains late the next morning. They were taking the dead man away, they were taking him away…….. perhaps now she could sleep.

            No, I can’t just lie in bed. I have things to attend to. Alchemists did not have the luxury of taking days off.

            She rolled out of bed. Fine. I’m smart, aren’t I? I’ll MAKE a vacation day. She trudged to her storage room, rummaged in a cupboard, and emerged grasping a bottle of the inhibitor she’d used in the vials of fire. A few minutes and an empty bottle later, and everything in her lab had slowed to a standstill. She tossed the bottle in a corner and dropped onto her bed, letting sleep finally take her.

 

            She awoke three hours later, feeling more exhausted than when she fell asleep. She heard a rhythmic pounding coming from the front. She rose, dressed, and shuffled through her workroom.

            Two men in livery were putting up a new door. She stared mutely for a moment before one noticed her.

            “His lordship sends his condolences.”

            Well that’s nice. She wanted to say something, but she merely grunted and shuffled past. She straightened up a bit. She shouldn’t show the world her misery. Just…act normal.

            Normally, she stayed indoors all day. She hardly knew how to act normal now. Especially now.

            Her feet took her on an aimless trek through the castle town. She paid no attention to her surroundings, just… walk. Aran said that there was a sort of peace in walking. It soothed the mind, let it rest. It was why he never bothered with horses, that and that he never needed to go anywhere quickly. She saw the wisdom in those words now. Dreams let the mind wander and brought forth what you did not wish to see. But letting simply focus on putting you left foot in front your right, then the right in front of the left, that brought peace. She needed peace right now.

            A small part of me insisted that she needed human company. She told it that it could wait another hour.

            She didn’t even consider getting a drink. As an alchemist, she had an acute understanding of what alcohol could do to you. Besides, she thought liquor tasted foul.

            An hour passed. She should have felt hungry, but she didn’t. She should have felt thirsty, but she didn’t. She should have felt something... but she didn’t. Perhaps it was better not to feel. She definitely needed to talk to someone. But who? She didn’t have many friends, and certainly none who would understand. How many people did she know who had seen a man die in front them? How many of those could have saved that man?

            One.

            But he wasn’t here.

            She sighed heavily. Perhaps Marson was home. Doubtful, but she could try. He wouldn’t understand, but he had a way with words.

            A brief walk brought her to his door. Chalaldagh appeared in her mind’s eye.

            “What is the password?” he rumbled.

            “Hello Chalaldagh. Is Marson home?”

            “No” the impish face almost looked concerned, if that was possible. “Something is wrong. I will check on him.”

            A moment later, the door opened, and the wizard stepped through.

            “Come in.” he commanded. She did. “Sit.” She did. He conjured a mug of something hot, and handed it to her. “Drink.” And she did. It was tea. Not particularly good tea, but she drank anyway. He sat down opposite her.

            “Talk.” she muttered. “Just talk. I don’t care about what. Just talk.”

            He sat up. “Nothing’s happened with the ‘hellhound fur’. I chucked it down the chamberpot.” Perhaps that should have irritated her, but words were soothing.

            “Tell me what’s been happening elsewhere.”

            “Gondael’s finally given in and is marshaling troops to drive off the orcs.”

            “Mmhm.”

            “The Archipelago is at peace again. I don’t know the details.”

            “What about out east?” where Aran went.

            “Well, you won’t believe the news from Fyrna…..”

Author's Note

The little teacup-on-the-ceiling thing isn't original. I got it from The Encyclopedia of Immaturity. I want to try that someday; too bad I don't have a little brother.