44. Brewmaster

Training under Mirel showed results after only a week.

The results were not a successful potion. Alistair was still months away from that, if Mirel’s expression whenever he touched a brewing tool was a good indicador. He had learned how to ruin ingredients more carefully, how to recognize a mistake shortly before it became useless, and how to listen while Mirel explained why his hands were doing three wrong things at the same time.

The real gain came from the new opportunities around him. Clonemancer leveled.

The lessons had added another path for his clones to earn experience, but the level came from the whole arrangement he had built around himself. Nine clones now worked almost constantly, each placed where their class fit the task. Some gathered information, practiced, watched roads, maintained personas, moved between towns, searched for opportunities, or handled small jobs that one body could never manage alone.

The experience arrived in pieces, but the accumulation had finally reached the threshold.

Class: Clonemancer

Level: 8

VIT 4. STR 3. STA 3. END 3. DEX 6. PER 6. WIS 22. INT 11.

Free points available: 3

For a while, Alistair only stared at the numbers. The temptation was considerable. DEX would help Threader, PER would help Flowseer, and both would make his newest effort smoother, and potion brewing had already shown itself to be a field where small differences mattered. More precision, clearer sight, and better control around flow strands could bring him closer to success.

He wanted that, but brewing was only one project. He still had the Company of Chains to destroy, things to learn, personas to maintain, the unfinished base to complete, resources to gather, classes to test, and too many risks moving around him. Specializing would help one hand while weakening the whole structure of his plans.

So he made the familiar choice. Two points went into WIS, and one into INT.

VIT 4. STR 3. STA 3. END 3. DEX 6. PER 6. WIS 24. INT 12.

The change settled through him with a strange, widening pressure. Twelve bodies, counting his original, was an awkward number to be. It did not make him twelve times smarter. Alistair understood that well. His INT still limited how tight he could manage everything, how deeply he could think through several difficult problems at once, and how cleanly he could coordinate active bodies under pressure. Adding another body did not create another full mind.

Still, the advantage was undeniable. Each body gave him another place to carry attention. Routine work could run on instinct and class habit while his main focus moved elsewhere. Tiredness, pain, fear, and frustration could be pushed farther from the center of his awareness when necessary. If one clone was doing dull labor, another could watch a road, another could sit through a lesson, and another could ride toward a rumor without forcing every sensation into the same crowded space.

It was like carrying a heavy load with more hands. The weight still existed, but it no longer crushed one grip. When anger rose, he could spread it. When fear struck, he could keep one body calm while another reacted. When frustration from Mirel’s lessons grew too intense, he could move part of himself into a clone repairing, organizing, or simply walking until the feeling lost its edge.

The brewing lessons proved it almost immediately. Mirel had started him with the most basic stamina potion, which was both disappointing and sensible. It was no grand brew, no rare enhancement potion, and certainly nothing close to the VIT potion. It did one simple thing: it helped a body recover energy for a short period of work.

“You are not creating strength,” she said on the third afternoon, watching Threader’s hands over a small practice bowl. “You are borrowing from the body’s own reserves and delaying the payment. If someone tells you a stamina potion gives free energy, they are selling cheap stimulant sludge.”

Threader adjusted the angle of the stirring rod. Flowseer stood nearby, silent behind his mask, watching the faint strands in the liquid.

“So the exhaustion comes later,” Threader said.

“If the brew is decent,” Mirel said. “If it is bad, the exhaustion comes immediately. If it is very bad, it comes immediately and brings vomiting. Do not stop stirring. Stopping will only make it worse.”

Threader obeyed. The potion had limited use for Alistair’s main body, outside unusual circumstances. He preferred cleaner solutions. If a clone grew too tired, he could dismiss it and summon another when the situation allowed. That avoided the inconvenience of exhaustion better than any potion.

But his ability had limits. A clone already deep in the forest needed support where it stood, not another body standing in Verevain. A clone maintaining a persona sometimes had to remain visible. A clone in the middle of a task might need another half hour of useful movement before collapse eventually came. In those situations, a stamina potion could turn failure into success.

More interestingly, a clone might drink the potion, finish the work, and dissolve before the delayed exhaustion ever had to be paid in any lasting way. The possibility alone made the brew worth learning.

It also had value beyond his own use. The potion would not make him rich by itself, but even common potions offered a different kind of income from odd jobs and occasional theft.

The problem was making one. According to Mirel, beginner potion craft could be understood through three actions: extraction, infusion, and stabilization. The words sounded simple until a person tried to perform them.

Extraction meant drawing useful flow out of an ingredient without ruining it. Infusion meant convincing the chosen base to accept that flow in a form a body could use. Stabilization meant keeping the result from separating, spoiling, burning out, or turning dangerous before it reached the person drinking it.

Every potion Alistair had seen so far could be forced into those three ideas, though the details changed with each ingredient and each desired effect.

For the stamina potion, the useful flows were usually fireflow, starflow, or a careful mixture of both. Fireflow acted quickly, stirring the body into motion and making energy rise quickly. Starflow lasted longer and settled more evenly, but it was slower and less eager to move. A potion made mostly from fireflow would strike hard and fade quickly. One made mostly from starflow would be steadier but might take too long to help in urgent work.

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A balanced stamina potion used both. Actually balancing them was the part that made Threader fail repeatedly. Fireflow disliked hesitation. It responded well to heat, grinding, and sharp preparation, but if pressed too hard it flared through the ingredient and lost most of its useful force before entering the base. Starflow caused the opposite problem. It clung, and it preferred slower soaking, steady motion, and a base prepared to receive it. Force made it stubborn. Excess heat made it thin and uneven.

Mirel made him prepare both separately before even allowing him near a true infusion.

“Again,” she said after the fifth failed attempt. “And slower.”

Threader looked down at the bowl. Under Flowseer’s sight, the fireflow inside the mixture had failed to settle into threads. It had broken into bright, scattered flecks that drifted through the liquid like sparks without direction. The base rejected most of them. A few sank into it poorly, leaving harsh little knots that would probably make the drink unpleasant, if not useless.

“You heated too fast,” Mirel said.