by N M Zoltack
“As did I you,” she retorted.
“Yes, yes.”
She giggled, covered her mouth as her cheeks turned green, and then recovered herself.
“You should rest,” he urged. “Sleep in your bed.”
“I lost too much time as it is.”
"Why did you stick around for so long?"
She hung her head. “Is it terrible that I wanted to get away from my husband for a time and still help Tenoch? Of late, he’s taken to coming to my shop to berate me for making as many potions as I can, and I was starting to run low on supplies and would have to go out to find more, but we argued about that. He didn’t want me to go alone and—Don’t look at me like that.”
"It's dangerous out there," he said. "We found two groups of Vincanans, and there is an unknown number of other sects!"
“I would have been fine, and I was with you, a guard, so he can’t complain. Not this time at least.” She smiled wanly.
“Tatum…”
“Edmund, go. I will be fine. My store is not far from here.”
“But—”
“Go,” she said, her tone both demanding and cheerful.
He watched her a long moment as she scampered off. With a sigh, he headed for the castle, strolling inside as if he belonged there.
A guard recognized him and nodded. “You have a report?”
“Yes, for both of the queens.”
“Very well. Wait here.”
The guard marched off and returned ten minutes later. He motioned for Edmund to follow and led him to a small parlor room. Both queens sat at a round table, and Edmund bowed lowly, once for each, his hands clasped behind his back.
“Sir Edmund, I understand you have a report to make,” Queen Rosalynne said.
“Yes. I located two sects of the Vincanans.” Since neither queen had offered him a seat, he remained upright, as tall and still as a tree.
“Two?” Queen Sabine interrupted.
“Yes. From the first, I learned that they wish to overtake the entire world.”
“Vincana Proper,” the younger queen said with disdain. She wrinkled her nose.
“Not new news, I’m afraid,” Queen Sabine said.
“There’s more,” Edmund assured them, so very grateful he hadn’t returned earlier. “In three to four days’ time, they plan to attack the castle.”
“We knew that would be coming,” Queen Rosalynne murmured.
“Indeed.” Queen Sabine placed a hand on her bosom and sighed. “Sir Edmund, we have need of you still. Your new assignment is to form a team to help defend the castle.”
“As well a team to be sentries,” the other queen added.
"Of course." Edmund bowed to them each. He was amazed by how much power he had just been given. They trusted and believed in him. It did not matter that his parents were shoemakers. All they saw was the shield he had earned, and they were rewarding him for this knowledge.
In short, this was a dream come true, so why did his thoughts turn to Tatum? He found himself wishing he had asked her if there were a potion or herbs to make teas that she could drink to help calm her stomach.
Queen Sabine rose to her feet. “Sir Edmund, before you go, I have something to ask of you. Your brother married the alchemist, did he not? The one who has the store the Mermaid’s Tears?”
“Yes,” Edmund murmured. “Tatum Hill.”
“I would very much like to speak with her. Could that be arranged?”
“Certainly.” He bowed once more. “I will go and fetch her and then set to work on building the teams.”
The queens bid him farewell, and Edmund hurried away to accomplish his tasks. Why would one of the queens need to speak with Tatum? Perhaps because she was failing her duty to her kingdom by not making potions quickly enough. If Tatum were to be brought before the queen to be scolded and reprimanded, Edmund would speak up and explain how Tatum had assisted him. He might be stripped of his newfound power, but so be it. Tatum would not be punished on his account. If anything, he wished to protect her from any who might hurt her, and that included his ungrateful, selfish brother.
23
Queen Sabine Grantham
The knight must have hustled because the alchemist stood in the doorway within a half hour of Sabine requesting the meeting. Rosalynne had not asked Sabine why she wished to speak to Tatum, and she hoped the younger queen assumed the meeting to be about the potions for the guards and knights. Which was not entirely inaccurate. It merely was only a part of the conversation Sabine wished to have.
Rosalynne had excused herself to see to handling the messengers they had talked about earlier, and Sabine was pleased to realize she trusted the younger queen to handle that task. She had no doubt that they would not remain cordial once the war was over. Then again, if the Fates should determine them to be the losing side, neither of them would have the chance to be cordial or sorrowful or anger or bitter or anything at all. They would be dead.
“Come in,” Queen Sabine said.
“Yes, My Queen.”
The alchemist was a beautiful lady. Her blue eyes were especially striking, contrasting stunningly with her dark locks. However, her complexion was a little pale, more so than normal. Had she been overtaxing herself?
“How can I serve you?” Tatum asked.
There was a great deal of strength to the female alchemist. Sabine knew all about the dangers of females studying alchemy, the rumored curse that had not been disproven in any of the stories or histories Sabine had read. She had looked into alchemy extensively over the years, one of the few aspects of herself that her mother knew nothing about.
“I have some questions for you.”
“The next supply of potions will be ready in a few days,” Tatum said in a rush.
“Wonderful.”
The alchemist’s face colored with apparent relief, and her shoulders slumped slightly. “What else do you need to know?”
“How did you learn your craft?”
“My craft? From my father’s grimoire.”
“Is he an alchemist, too?”
“He was,” Tatum said softly.
“I am sorry for bringing up a painful memory.”
“I was only four at the time.”
“So, you taught yourself most everything.”
“Yes, My Queen.”
“No formal training.”
“Not at all.”
Interesting.
“If anyone were to dabble in making a potion, would they become an alchemist?” Sabine asked.
“Following a recipe would create a fruit tart, yes, but a master chef’s tart tastes vastly different than an apprentice’s.”
True, very true. Did that mean Sabine did not have to worry too much about the dabbling she had been attempting?
“How does one go from apprentice to master as far as alchemy is concerned?”
Tatum swallowed hard. “It is a matter of creating a new potion that does exactly what you mean it to do. It is inherently knowing which ingredients can be combined from which cannot.”
“You only have your father’s grimoire? All of this time?”
“Yes.”
“You never sought to locate another to study and learn?”
“No.”
Sabine tilted her head to the side. Tatum was nothing like her. If Sabine had made up her mind to become a full-fledged alchemist, she would have studied every grimoire she could get her hands on.
“Why not?” the queen asked.
Tatum said nothing.
Sabine eyed her with pursed lips.
“I do not want to risk incurring the curse,” the alchemist whispered.
“The curse, you believe in it?”
“I do. I see no reason not to.”
Sabine nodded several times. "There is a man here at the castle who I think might show some promise in the art of alchemy. Would you be willing to—"
"Teach him?" Tatum's face turned pale again.
“I would have thought
you too busy to train another.”
“Oh, yes,” Tatum said, her relief evident.
“I was merely going to ask if you would leave your grimoire here at the castle for him to study when he is not busy with his other duties. Do you know all of the potion recipes in it? Or do you require it still?”
“I—No. I do not need it, but…”
“Of course, you’ll have it returned to you as quickly as possible,” Sabine said reassuringly. “I’m certain you do not wish to be parted from it, and I hate to ask, but I thought it might help to relieve some of the burden on you.”
Tatum nodded and covered her mouth a long moment. When she finally lowered her hand, she looked faintly ill. “Yes. Of course. I would appreciate it back, but he… he can have it as long as he needs it.”
“How generous of you,” Sabine purred. “You wouldn’t happen to know of any other potions that might help us against the Vincanans?”
“You mean…”
“More to attack rather than protect,” Sabine said bluntly. “I do not mean to alarm you, but more ships are to be heading for our shores, and we need protection, yes, and we are trying to funnel more fighters here in Atlan, but unless and until they arrive… Well, we need as much help as we can, or else I fear all will be lost. The Vincanans… do they even allow alchemists, I wonder?”
Tatum shook her head. “Yes, female alchemists are said to be ambitious to the point of being ready to kill, but my father has no such potion in his grimoire.”
“I see,” Sabine murmured. “A pity. I do realize how asking for such a potion must come across, but… I am merely so worried about Tenoch and all of the people here and…”
“No. Of course.”
“Do you know of any other alchemists?” Sabine asked.
“No, I’m afraid I don’t. If… If there is nothing else…”
“Yes, of course. Please, bring the grimoire right away, and you said the next batch of potions will be ready in…”
“A few days.”
“Could it be two?” Sabine asked, her urgency real. “There is to be an attack on the castle in—”
“Three to four days,” the alchemist murmured. “Yes, of course. Two days.” Tatum briefly closed her eyes and mouthed something that looked to Sabine to be, “Who needs sleep?”
“Wonderful.” Sabine waved away the alchemist, considered how she might’ve known the timeline for the attack, and then dismissed the matter. If that knight could not be trusted to keep his mouth shut, he would have to be demoted. Then again, telling the alchemist who was actively helping them during the battles was necessary, so perhaps he should be lauded for his progressive action.
For now, Sabine had to see if she could figure out which ingredients did what in potions. If there wasn’t a potion readily available that could do what she wished, well then, she would just have to handle the matter herself and create one.
Even if it would mean she might perhaps enact the curse that has plagued female alchemists for centuries.
24
Garsea
The rest of the trek to Olac was uneventful, something Garsea found himself thanking the Fates for. What was becoming of him? Why was he so easily and readily turning to them of late?
Perhaps it was because this mortal shell was wearing thin. Death was calling for him, but Garsea clung yet to both Life and to Peace. Even Chaos was not entirely worthy of contempt. Without Chaos, there could be no inspiration, no brilliance. Life wasn’t the only Fate that mattered, not in the least. For that matter, at times, Death provided a mercy.
Yes, Death could be necessary at times, and in the end, Death always won.
Garsea was slow moving as he made his way toward the monastery. As eager as he was to return home, his ankle plagued him with each step.
Abruptly, he banged into someone short, a child, and he tumbled to the ground. The child gaped at him with wide eyes, a shiny red ango fruit in her hands. She glanced nervously over her shoulder, toward the market, and he understood at once that she had caused the collision in her haste to conceal the fact that she had stolen the food.
“Go on,” he said kindly.
Her eyes widened even more. “Are you okay?”
“I will be all right, or I won’t be.”
She frowned, her light eyebrows forming a “V.”
He grunted as he placed a hand on his knee to stabilize himself as he struggled to stand.
The child watched wordlessly. Then, she held out the ango to him.
“Are you not hungry, child?” he asked.
“I can get more,” she said with a shrug.
Garsea managed to get upright. The child just stood there with the ango held out, and he accepted it. With a wide smile, she grinned at him and then rushed back toward the market. She was liable to get caught sooner or later, but that she had made up for knocking him down proved the world had not hardened her entirely just yet. Still, it bothered him greatly that one so young had no choice but to turn to thievery in order to survive.
We need the dragons.
That thought propelled Garsea forward a little faster, but soon enough, he was back to shuffling along again.
A man sat on the lawn of a small hut, whittling some wood. “Monk,” he called out.
Garsea halted and eyed the stranger. Yes, he would walk about Olac at times, but he hadn’t often lately, and he did not know the names of every man, woman, and child in the city.
"Take it." The man stood and tossed him the wood.
Garsea glanced at the long stick. He was thick and solid, and yes, it could serve to aid his walking.
“Thank you, but I have—”
“It’s for you, monk.”
“Did you make it for me specifically?”
The man hesitated and scratched the top of his head. His nose was sunburned, suggesting he spent most of his hours out of doors. “I think I might have,” he said. He nodded to Garsea and disappeared into the hut.
Interesting. Very interesting. The inhabitants of Olac typically ignored Garsea entirely. Did he appear so old that they pitied him? Or was there another reason, a higher one, for their aid?
Whatever the reason, Garsea was most appreciative, and he finally entered the monastery.
“Ximeno! Velasco!” Garsea called. “I have returned. I know you must have been worried about me, but my venture was not without success.”
He heard no answer, no reply, no footsteps, nothing at all. The air even felt a little stale.
“Ximeno! Velasco!”
Garsea shut the door behind him and made a slow walkthrough of the entire monastery, which took up a great deal of time. The monastery was not a small building by any means, mostly made up of libraries, but the other two Keepers were not holed up in one reading.
In fact, they did not seem to be anywhere at all.
The eldest Keeper shut his eyes. He could picture them both clearly—Ximeno with his black hair braided and beaded, an eager look in his eyes, and then Velasco, who only ever scowled or sneered, by far the angriest and most bitter of the trio. Whereas Ximeno maintained enthusiasm for their cause, Velasco's faith had been shaken as of late. He wanted the dragons to return, as they all did, but he did not seem to believe that the dragons would solve all of their problems, and for that, he, at times, hated being here, hated their legacy, and most likely wished for another life.
What Velasco needed to accept was that the dragons would not come to solve their problems. No. The dragons would rule, would protect the righteous and condemn the unworthy, but every little private matter was not their concern.
After a second and then a third trek throughout the entire monastery, Garsea realized he needed to accept a hard truth himself.
The other two Keepers were not here. They were missing, and considering Garsea was the only one to ever leave the monastery, this frightened Garsea even more than the manticore had.
25
Sir Edmund Hill
The elder queen wishing to speak with Ta
tum made Edmund’s stomach churn. He hoped the alchemist wouldn’t be in trouble for being behind on making potions and all because she had helped him on his quest instead of fulfilling her duties. She truly was the most selfless person he had ever met, and he worried about her. Now that she had returned to Atlan, he had no doubt she would tax her already fatigued body to the limit to make as many potions as she could, and now, there was a deadline. The battle for Atlan Castle would be in three or four days.
Once he located Tatum, who, as he suspected, was walking toward Mermaid’s Tears rather than her place with Edmund, he conveyed Queen Sabine’s request.
“I will walk—” he started.
“There is no need.” She gave him a small smile.
“But—”
“There are more knights and guards within Atlan than ever before. Do you think the streets unsafe?”
“N-No.”
"Well, then? Your brethren will watch over me along the way. I'm sure you have a new assignment already."
“I do,” he admitted.
“Then it’s settled. You do your duty, and I will do mine.”
She patted his arm and hurried away.
Edmund, again, watched her walk away before shaking his head and heading to the barracks.
As soon as he arrived, Edmund snatched the white and gold-tipped horn from the wall. After inhaling as deeply as he possibly could, he exhaled directly into the horn. A massive blast sounded, a rallying cry for all knights and guards within hearing range to rush to the location of the horn as swiftly as possible.
Edmund waited five minutes even though a decent amount arrived in the first two minutes.
“Thank you all for coming so promptly,” Edmund started.
“You blew the horn?” Teoma Barno shook his head. His thin goatee and mustache were growing thicker and fuller than ever before.
A few of the guards snickered, but Edmund paid them no mind. He had been teased and tormented throughout his years of training to earn his shield, but nothing they said then or could say now would deter him.
“Let him speak,” Simba Pretorius said. One of the knights who held his tongue more times than not, Simba was a fierce man not to be trifled with. His dark skin highlighted how white his teeth were, and his face and the top of his head were hairless.