Firebrand

The pair of wizards slept on the floor of Asger’s home and woke before dawn, together with their hosts. While the family began the chores of the day and Eleanor left to ensure their horses would be taken care of for the next few days, Martel sorted through his belongings. Knowing the old man was an alchemist had piqued his curiosity.

It would not be anything like his own Sindhian knowledge of the craft; Asterian alchemy was basically another form of enchantment, tying a spell into water that could be imbibed. If Martel desired, he could probably create a potion of warmth by using his skill with fire enchanting. But it would never be as good as what he could create with Sindhian alchemy.

Regardless, Martel wanted to pay the old hedge mage a visit and learn what he could. Given how they obtained their craft, as Martel had witnessed with Regnar, this kind of self-trained spellcasters had a different approach to magic than those taught at the Lyceum.

It was also an opportunity to peruse what Leander sold of elixirs; maybe something that would be of use to them for their foray into the ruined tower. If nothing else, Martel might replenish some of his herbs, hence why he currently sat sorting through those he already owned to decide what he might need.

One of the children in the house, a girl aged maybe eight or nine, regarded him with curious eyes. “I know that one!” she exclaimed, pointing at some of the dried plants Martel had spread out on the kitchen table. “That’s strangleroot!”

“It is indeed.” Martel smiled at her enthusiasm. “You know your plants, then?”

She nodded eagerly. “I collect them for Leander. He is old, and he can’t move about much. So I gather a lot for him in summertime.”

“Greta, don’t bother our guest,” her mother said in chastisement.

“It’s no trouble. Children should be encouraged to learn.” Martel thought about Sparrow, his erstwhile and unofficial apprentice. “Do you know the rest?”

She nodded again. “That’s lungwort, and that’s foxglove. I have to pick whole bundles of those for Leander, all through summer! And coltsfoot, lots of that too!” That struck Martel as odd. Some of these herbs were potent; unless Leander needed to make a host of remedies for every single villager, it seemed an unnecessary amount to have the girl collect regularly. Perhaps others came from afar; an alchemist would be a rare sight in these parts and worth a long journey. “Greta, do you often get visitors in your village?”

She frowned in thought. “There was the northerner. But I don’t remember how long ago that was.”

Martel glanced at her mother. “The northerner?”

“One of those Tyrian bards, good master. But that was in the summer,” she explained. Chapters fırst released on Nov3lFɪre.ɴet

“Curious.” Martel collected his belongings, including his staff, slinging his bags over his shoulder. “How is Leander’s craft? Have you tried any of his remedies?”

“Oh yes, they’re excellent! Doesn’t matter what touches you, he’ll have the cure. He’s brought us through many a harsh winter with not a single taken by pox or famine.”

“I see. Thank you for your hospitality, good mistress. Tell your husband the same if I don’t see him on my way out.”

The wife watched him as he left, shaking her head and muttering to herself.

Martel met Eleanor almost right outside the door, as she returned from her errand. “I paid them three silvers for each of the horses. They were so astonished, I almost felt ashamed. I am pretty sure they will treat our animals better than their own children until we return.” She adjusted the position of her bow, which she had strung that morning. “Are we ready to leave?”

“Not yet. I should like to speak with the old alchemist.”

“You trust his concoctions?”

“The villagers seem to, though my intention isn’t just to make a purchase. Even if a hedge mage, he might have some understanding of what’s going on with the ruins, being able to sense magic and all.”

“I suppose we have the time.” Together, they steered toward the home of the alchemist.

The door opened soon after they knocked; although he looked surprised, Leander wasted no time ushering them inside. “Come in, come in! No reason to let more of the warmth escape than necessary.”

“I can make you a heating stone if the need is dire,” Martel suggested as the door closed behind them, and he took a look around. From the outside, the house was like any other, the simplest of construction with four walls enclosing a single room. Inside, however, it bore the mark of being home to an alchemist rather than a farmer’s family. Drying racks stood erected along several walls with shelves, most of them filled with herbs. Mortar and pestle rested on a worktable together with a dozen jars, whether empty or full.

Martel released a pulse of magic to sense any supernatural effects, feeling the heat of the people in the room. It came faint from Leander, as if the aged man was chilled to the bone.

The alchemist in question coughed a few times, drank from a small flask from his belt, and placed it on the worktable with its brethren. “Don’t get old,” he warned them with a glint in his eyes. “Nothing but trouble. Please, take a seat. Anything a humble alchemist can do for your distinguished selves?”

Unlike the other houses with benches built into the walls, Leander’s home had actual chairs. Martel and Eleanor each took one while the hedge mage began rummaging through a cupboard. “We wanted to ask you more about the tower,” Martel explained. “Perhaps you’ve noticed things you didn’t want to say in the presence of the villagers.”

“Oh, they’re not an easily frightened sort. If they were, they’d never dare to dwell so close to the tower.” Leander dug out two cups and continued his search. “Let me give you a little something that’ll bolster your spirits and fortify your health! Where you’re going, you’ll need both.”

“That’s kind of you.” Martel watched as the alchemist poured something into each cup and handed them to his guests. He let his magic search out again; this time, the old man felt much warmer than he had moments ago. “You won’t take something yourself?”

Leander shook his head with a grin. “I’m too old. No amount of alchemy can help me in my condition.”

Martel stared at him. “Indeed not. No manner of magic can cure you of being a lich.”