by Adam Thomas
Karfu’s eyes were the blue of a cold ocean, and the edge of each iris was rimmed with purple blending into a thin ring of red. He gave each of his captives a look of challenge in turn.
“So, did you kill one of Duna’s people and steal their sash?”
Rhys moved to pull up his sleeve, and Karfu’s people reacted. Blades were in hand in the blink of an eye. Cold steel touched Rhys’s neck. “They’re twitchy today,” Karfu said. “Don’t give them a reason.”
“I’m not,” Rhys said, and he held out his arm.
Karfu yanked up Rhys’s sleeve, exposing Duna’s mark. “So you are one of his. I’ve worked with Duna’s people many times. They always find me through the signs.”
“I’m not one of Duna’s operatives. I’m one of his bodyguards.”
“Hard to guard a body this far from Kelen.”
“I’m on special assignment.”
“Assigned to insult hidden half-orcs in their own stomping ground, were you?”
Emric shifted in his spot, making his several instruments jingle. “That was me. I apologize. I take it you only heard the second song?”
Karfu bent down and put his face an inch from Emric’s. “Something about a soulless husk, was it?”
“Might I play you a different one?”
“If you’re truly with Duna then I’m not going to say no.” Karfu looked around at his underlings. “What do you say? Some entertainment?”
Shouts of “Aye” accompanied the sheathing of swords and daggers. The companions breathed sighs of relief as the dangerous tension in the warehouse eased. Emric played the good song about Karfu, and then the old half-orc requested to hear the bad one in its entirety. To Emric’s relief, Karfu liked it even more than the laudatory one and asked to hear it three more times in a row.
When the performance was through, Karfu said, “Now, what business of yours was worth tracking me all through the Shambles of Tornby?”
Jeral stepped forward and opened his mouth to speak. For a moment he faltered under the half-orc’s curious, but stern gaze. Alurel took Jeral’s clawed hand in hers and said, “My friend needs your help.”
“Does he now? And what would a dragonborn need from old Karfu?”
Being named a dragonborn released Jeral’s tongue. “I’m not what I appear,” Jeral said. “I’m like you, but for me the magic works.”
Karfu’s red-ringed eyes went wide. “By your current body, I take it you were not part of the recent invasion force. Hard to blend in here in Sularil looking like that.”
“I escaped Ornak long before the invasion.” Jeral’s eyes drifted to Karfu’s scar. “My mother was not tasked to kill me though she no doubt wanted to. I’ve been on the run ever since, running from my past, from my true form.”
“So why’d you want to come and see me?”
“I don’t want to run anymore.”
Karfu smiled and clapped his hands together. “So you wanted to find a half-orc to see what you might look like? Sorry to disappoint. Your dwarven friend is right about me being mean and ugly.”
Karfu glared at his former captives, as if willing them to challenge his own self-assessment. Rhys took the bait. “You don’t seem that mean to me.”
The half-orc threw back his head and laughed. “I like you, Duna’s Man. The next time you see Papa Paddy, you tell him Old Karfu in Tornby approves of his enforcer.”
Karfu turned his attention back to Jeral, his tone suddenly serious. “How can I help?”
“I don’t remember what I truly look like, but I want to be myself again, whatever that is. Do you know how to do it?”
“I would say to go see Duchess Samara Esris up at the Pinnacle. She owes me a favor or two, but I don’t think she can help. During the invasion, she tried her restorative magic on someone like you and they didn’t change which means it’s not a curse or a disease.”
Karfu began pacing and muttering to himself. Emric quietly played some thinking music on his lute. At length, Karfu said, “The Phoenix Wing. It’s a potion shop north river in the Cobbles. Helmen Pint is the best potioneer in Tornby. If anyone can help you, it’s him.”
“Helmen Pint, the Phoenix Wing,” Jeral repeated. “Thank you.”
“It’s the least I can do for a fellow exile from Ornak. Now you better hurry if you want to get to the Cobbles before closing time.”
Karfu signaled his gang to move out, and in a trice the companions were left alone in the empty warehouse.
eight
The Phoenix Wing
As they set out over the bridge back to the posher side of Torniel-by-the-Sea, Alurel looked up at Jeral and said, “Do you really want to change back?”
“Yes, I do,” Jeral said. “I didn’t know how much until I said it out loud.”
“As someone who may or may not change into animals from time to time, I can tell you that I’m still me even when I look different.”
“I know, I know. But it’s different for me. I look like someone whose life I ended. I want to be the person I was before I ever took a life. Can you understand that?”
Alurel thought back to ripping the throat out of Igor Castlerock, Duna’s turncoat treasurer who was feeding information to the usurpers in Kelen. She had done it in her panther form, and it had felt right and just in the moment. Would it have been any different if she had executed him looking like herself?
The party arrived in the Cobbles, so named for its cobblestone streets lined with shops of all sorts, and found the Phoenix Wing straightaway. A portly halfling man was just reaching for his sign to switch it to the ‘closed’ side when he spotted the dragonborn outside. A welcoming ding from a bell sounded as he opened the door.
“Come in, come in, please.” He had a high-pitched, lilting voice, marking him as a halfling from the Twenty Tatters, a chain of islands off the southeastern coast of Sularil. The buttons on his striped waistcoat strained against his middle. The chain of his pocket watch made an arch across the same. Three monocles – one clear, one red and one ice-blue – hung from a second chain at his lapel.
“Helmen Pint?” Jeral asked.
“Yes, yes. That’s what my mother named me.” He rounded the counter and clambered onto a stool. “What can I do for you?”
“Well, you see,” Jeral began, but then he fell silent. “Where to begin?” he muttered to himself.
Rhys clapped him on the shoulder. “Jeral here isn’t actually a dragonborn and we want to change him back to his true form. We were told you could help.”
“Ah, ah, indeed,” Pint answered. “Have you tried restorative magic?”
Shonasir joined Rhys and Jeral at the counter while Emric and Alurel browsed the shelves. “We have it on good authority that whatever is affecting him is too powerful for such spells.”
“I see, I see. And how about a moonbeam? That spell is known to reveal transformations.”
Alurel’s pointed ears twitched at the suggestion. She turned to the counter. “I know that one. We’ve never tried it.”
“Couldn’t hurt,” Jeral said.
“Oh, it will,” Alurel said. “A little.”
Pint coughed and pointed to the door. “Perhaps outside, if you please.”
The others watched as Jeral and Alurel went into the street. A flash of silver-gold light filled the windows for a brief moment, followed by a gurgling scream from Jeral. They returned a moment later with Jeral’s scales smoking.
“A little?” he repeated, incredulous and frowning.
“I didn’t know,” Alurel said. “I’ve never used the spell on myself.”
“Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
Alurel smiled wolfishly. “All I have is bad sides, Jeral.”
Pint stepped down from his stool and began pacing behind the counter. “Hmm, hmm. Moonbeam doesn’t work. Restoration magic doesn’t work. We could
try, but no...that’s even less effective. What about? That might do, but it will be a year before...hmm, hmm.” The potioneer snapped his fingers and pulled a thick, well-used tome from a low shelf. “I hesitate to suggest this, but it might be the only viable option.”
“Suggest what?” Jeral prompted.
“An old potion of restoration, purported to be much stronger than the spells of the same.” Pint leafed through the book. “Here it is. Yes, yes, as I remembered.”
“Why do you hesitate to suggest it?” Shonasir asked.
“Ah, ah, some of the ingredients are...how shall I put it...difficult to obtain.”
Pint turned the heavy book around so they could read the list.
3 sprigs of blackroot
9 drops of basilisk venom
1 moonfoil leaf
¼ tsp. quicksilver
2 cups of water of the Verinon Par
Vampire mist
“Basilisk venom?” Shonasir read. “Vampire mist?”
Pint bobbed his head up and down. “As I said, ah, ah, difficult to obtain.”
“Difficult? Try deadly.”
Jeral ran his claw over the list. “This is too much. I can’t ask you all to risk your lives for me in this way.”
“In what way?” Alurel asked. “To help a friend become who he really is? Sounds like just the thing we should risk our lives to do.”
Jeral smiled a watery smile. “And I thought you were all bad sides.”
Alurel tilted her head and her eyes lit up. “Some of my bad sides are good.”
Rhys rubbed his hands together. “Fighting basilisks and vampires. Sure sounds more interesting than guarding Duna’s compound. But don’t tell him I said that.”
Shonasir said, “I can help with the water from the Verinon Par, at least. Not sure about the rest.”
They turned to Emric, who had been oddly quiet since entering the potion shop. Now he approached the counter. “Mr. Pint, would this potion be able to restore someone who is paralyzed back to full health?”
“Ah, ah, is the paralysis magical or mundane?”
Emric shook his head. “There’s nothing magical about it.”
“Then no, I’m afraid. There is a ridiculously complicated spell I’ve read about that can do what you ask, but it is far, far beyond my ken.”
“I see,” Emric said, and he let out a sigh, saying under his breath, “If I can’t help my brother yet.” He looked up at the dragonborn. “I will help you, Jeral.”
Jeral shuddered and tried to keep his snout from quivering. “I can categorically say that I have never done anything to deserve such aid.”
Alurel hugged him with one arm around the middle. “We’re your friends,” she said. “You don’t need to deserve us.”
As one they turned back to Helmen Pint, who said, “I have blackroot and quicksilver in my stores. I find water from the Verinon Par is as close to the purity found in the Elemental Plane of Water, which, of course, of course, would be the best to use. But the Verinon Par is close enough. The moonfoil –”
“I can find that,” Alurel said. “When’s the next full moon? I’ve lost track.”
“In a week’s time, a week’s time. I’d try the Aril Forest, near the base of the mountains.” Pint slid his finger along the potion’s ingredients. “That leaves the two tricky ones.”
Shonasir rapped their knuckles on the counter. “You have a gift for understatement, Mr. Pint.”
“My stock of basilisk venom has been depleted for quite some time. It’s terribly, terribly precious and hard to come by. And nine drops is more than I’ve ever used in any spell.”
“Where can we find it?” Rhys asked.
“I know of two places. The Raven’s Run Canyon and the jungle of northern Starfall.”
Before anyone else could respond, Emric said, “I vote Starfall.”
“But the canyon’s closer,” Rhys said. “And it’s on this island.”
“I don’t care,” Emric said, now visibly shaking. “If you want my help, it will be on Starfall.”
“I might be able to get us there,” Shonasir said. “My sibling Selenel fishes the waters between Daen and Starfall. We could hitch a ride with them, perhaps.”
“That leaves just one ingredient more,” Jeral said.
Pint closed the book and returned it to the shelf. “I shall be honest with you. Yes, yes, I shall. I have never made a potion containing vampire mist. I understand its properties in theory, but never have I had the opportunity to obtain some. It is beyond rare, if it exists at all.”
“But vampires exist, yes?”
“Perhaps, perhaps. There are old stories, tales of derring-do. If you can bring me vampire mist, I will make the potion for you. But, ah, ah, that is a big ‘if.’”
“We’ll do it,” Shonasir said, and they were surprised at the conviction in their own voice, especially since they had only committed to providing the spell’s water. Apparently, something inside them had chosen the dangerous path without the rest of them knowing.
“Very well, very well.” Pint clapped his hands together. “Then I will await your triumph eagerly.”
“Thank you, Mr. Pint,” Emric said as the party departed.
“You are most welcome. Oh, oh, one more thing. If you sail to Starfall, you might find yourself stopping off on one of the Tatters. If a bottle or two of a recent vintage wouldn’t be too much trouble.”
“Count on it,” Jeral said, and the bell dinged once more as they exited the Phoenix Wing.
“Time to head south again,” Rhys said
“Can we take a runegate this time?” Emric asked.
“Not if we want to find these moonfoil leaves,” Alurel said. “The flowers only bloom in the light of the full moon, and their leaves are impossible to distinguish from normal vines otherwise.”
Shonasir said, “If my geography is right, then with the horses, we can get to the forest in four or five days. That leaves one or two here in Torniel-by-the-Sea. I’d love to visit the library before we leave.”
“It’s settled then,” Emric said. “Library tomorrow. Then head out. What we need tonight is a good meal and a warm bed.”
“How about this place?” Rhys pointed to a likely inn. “The Mouse and Cobbler. And there’s a broadside here.”
“What’s it say?”
“Heroic Dragonborn Defeats General, Disappears. It’s a report from Bridgewater.” Rhys bent closer to the article.
The Kelenite army is in disarray following the defeat of Baron-General Markus Thorpe in single combat. Witnesses claim a solitary green dragonborn stood in the path of the army as they marched towards Daen and challenged the general to a duel. Naming himself Nadarhorn Kasdann, rightful high horn of Dragonclime, the challenger appeared to have the noble status necessary to face Thorpe. After a bloody display of martial prowess from both combatants, Kasdann slew Thorpe. Then the general’s sword exploded, and in the ensuing chaos, the dragonborn was gone. Bridgewater’s Lord Mayor Anton Chase has put out a bounty on the dragonborn, saying that he must have cheated in the duel in order to defeat someone of Thorpe’s renown. In any event, the invasion of Daen has halted for the time being.
Rhys straightened up. “Is that the dragonborn you were mistaken for when you got thrown in jail, Jeral?”
“The very same. And a good thing too,” he said, putting his clawed hands on Alurel’s and Emric’s heads and mussing their hair.
They entered the Mouse and Cobbler to find a clean and cozy common area full of jovial patrons, so unlike the glum establishments in the Shambles. A girl of no more than ten years weaved expertly through the tables delivering food and drinks, while a middle-aged dwarf tended the bar. The party dined and bedded down for the night, secure in their knowledge that they had a path, if a dangerous one.
The next morning they headed to the mammot
h building at the north end of the green in the Fountain district of Tornby. The Eldasin Library was as long as the tallest buildings in Thousand Spires were high. Thick columns supported a wide porch that led to oaken double doors that were twice the height of Rhys. Smaller doors were cut into them, and one of these stood open with an attendant beside it. A welcoming smile greeted the party, though Rhys and Shonasir were invited to stow their blades and bow in a weapons locker before entering.
A wide, semi-circular information desk stood between the entryway and the stacks. Half a dozen librarians sat there and the nearest unoccupied one looked up and said, “Welcome to the Eldasin Library. My name is Underlibrarian Lorna Pell. How may I help you today?”
Emric stood on his tiptoes to see over the desk. “Can you direct us to books about vampires?”
“A dangerous subject indeed,” Pell said. “I can’t send you to the books because patrons are not allowed in the stacks. But if you wait here, I will see what I can find. One moment please.” She walked over to another librarian and spoke in hushed tones. Upon her return she said, “Before retrieving your books, I have to confirm that you are not seeking information about vampires in order to become vampires.”
“Quite the opposite,” Emric assured her.
“Very well, if you would please wait in reading room seven.”
The party wandered in the direction to which Pell pointed, stopping along the way to take in the various books and periodicals that were on display on the public-facing side of the library. Presently, the underlibrarian returned with a trio of books in her arms. “These seemed the most pertinent to your search. Please let me know if I can be of further service.”
Shonasir took the books and thanked Lorna Pell for her efficiency and entered the small reading room.
“What have we got?” Emric asked.
Shonasir spread the books on the table and bent over them. As they did, the blue karest emerged from their shirt and swung like a pendulum, catching the light of the table’s glowstone. They tucked the elven heirloom back in and said, “This one is a tract from the Cathedral of Light detailing how to protect one’s self against vampires.”
They slid it across the table to Alurel and picked up the next book. “This one is a history of vampires. Wait, it’s hundreds of years old. I doubt this will help us too much.”