B2 – Chapter 13: Restocking, new books, and flinging fire!

The group was led over to a medium-sized building with two floors. The first floor had a sign hanging out near the road’s edge which read “The Alchemist”, and the top floor appeared to be some type of residence. Tristan assumed it was, in all likelihood, where the owners lived. A small patch of land was fenced-in between the building and the next; and raised planter boxes were growing all manner of medicinal herbs he was familiar with.

Dismounting and whispering to both horses to stay put, Tristan was led inside by the young boy escort, who was greeted warmly by the shop keep; a middle-aged woman with predominantly Human heritage, but there was some splash of another heritage far down her line of ancestors. “Ah, young Master Birrow. You must be escorting the Elf I heard saved our town the day prior.”

The young boy grinned and nodded, “Yup! This is Tristan, he’s a white-haired Elf. Father said that we should listen to whatever he needs and get it for him.”

The shop keeper nodded, “Well, Master Tristan. How can I help you?”

Tristan looked around the shop, “I really just want to restock my herb supplies for potions, poultices, and the like. If you have any books on alchemy or elixirs, I’d be happy to take those – but only if you’re willing to part with them.”

The woman drummed her fingers on the countertop, “I cannot give you my manual as I use it with my two apprentices. But supplies are in ready supply.” She chuckled at her own little play on words. “Just let me know what you need.”

Tristan began listing off items, and the woman went around the shop grabbing bundles of the various herbs he had requested. After five minutes, there was a small basket full of ingredients. Tristan made sure to ask for small amounts of each, since he knew he could make bushes or trees to produce more of the ingredients in the Fey Realm.

Looking around, he spied one more item. A giant jar of oil. Perfect, he thought, I can use that to suspend the liquid since we don’t have any means of producing oil as it stands in the Fey Realm. “Can you part with that jar?” he asked as he pointed at it.

The woman looked up and then shrugged, “Sure. Grapeseed oil. Decent stuff, but it’s got a bitter flavor when used in potions; so, it’s my last resort. Not neutral like canola oil.” She grabbed the jar and added it to the pile.

Tristan gestured, “Felicity, voisitko säilyttää tämän?” (Felicity, would you please store this?).

The shopkeep looked at him quizzically, and Felicity reached down, tapping the basket with a paw-claw and sucking it into the storage dimension. The shop keep’s jaw went slack, and Tristan smiled. “Thank you for the help.”

He turned and left, finding the Archon outside, smoking his pipe. He nodded at Tristan, “Got what you needed?”

Tristan nodded, “Yeah.” Looking down to the lad guiding them, this Birrow, he softly spoke. “Please take us to the essence-weaver’s abode for our last destination.”

The boy smiled and waved for the duo to follow him. Re-mounting, the two men followed their guide a few streets over and then dismounted before entering a squat, single-story building that looked to be one of the older ones judging by the weathered stones along the exterior.

Obadai chose to come inside, extinguishing his pipe, and the two were met in the entryway by the old essence-weaver Farrow. Tristan glanced between the older man and the young boy who escorted them, noting the similarity in their faces. Ah, he thought. The similar naming scheme also gave it away. This boy is related to the essence-weaver, somehow.

Sorcerer Farrow smiled and bowed slightly, “Welcome to my humble abode. Now, let us see what we have available. You sought spell books, yes?”

“Correct,” Tristan stated.

Obadai cleared his throat, “Anything spare you have to give.”

“Well, sadly I am the only essence-weaver in Priam’s Overwatch. The younger ones headed off for that essence-weaver school on Yustat. The allure of knowledge was great.” He chuckled as he walked over to a bookshelf and began pulling books out, setting them on a small table. “What they fail to realize is that you can learn just as much from a good book as you can from an in-person instructor.”

“In my experience,” Obadai stated, “teaching new essence-weavers from spell books is only good at the higher Orders. Starting out, they should not rely on primers, despite the prevalence of their production and sale.”

Tristan frowned, “I learned from primers, mostly.”

Obadai glanced at him, “I think you had good primers. Bought them from Archon Matteo Farsight, yes? He probably got you good primers.”

Sorcerer Farrow shook his head, “Archons. My word, you have socialized with some powerful essence-weavers. There is maybe one Archon in every ten-thousand people.”

That shocked Tristan, and he glanced at Obadai who nodded curtly confirming the information. And I’ve met two, Tristan thought.

Farrow kept talking, “But Elves are one of the exceptions. They tend to be very powerful essence-weavers, if less capable combatants.” He paused in his book search to glance at Tristan, “And yet you charged a demon lord outright. Curious.”

“I’m only a mage,” Tristan replied. “My grandfather taught me to master the basics before moving on. I have the essence capacity for Second Order and was going to start learning some spells of that classification.”

Obadai rolled his eyes, “Typical. Hurvun would be like that. I disagree with him, Tristan, as a single, high-Order spell can end most fights before they begin.”

Farrow chuckled, “I agree with this Hurvun. The basics should be well-mastered before moving on.” He finished removing items from the bookshelf and rattled off the contents, “I’ve got a spell book for flora, water elementalism, rejuvenation, hexes, earth elementalism, communication, protection, and fortune – but good luck using that spell type. It is very finnicky.” He patted the pile of books. “All but the fortune and hexes spell types go up to Sixth Order. Those two only go up to Second Order – a parting gift from a traveling merchant I helped years ago.”

Tristan looked at the pile of books and felt a sense of excitement rush through him. “Thank you,” he said as he met the Sorcerer’s gaze. “This is…more than I expected!” he tapped Felicity who had been laying flat on his head, “Hey, store this stuff.”

“Sorry?” the Sorcerer asked.

Felicity sighed and reached her hand down, moving all the books to her storage space. “I’m booored, Tristan. I want to go cause some mischief!”

The Sorcerer just looked at Tristan quizzically, then shook his head. “Well…thank you for saving our town. Any advice for closing rifts like that in the future?”

Obadai slid a bit of parchment over to the man, “This spell should work on any sized Incursion point. I wrote it for Fifth Order, which I trust you are capable of.” He glanced at Tristan, “Shall we continue our travel?”

Tristan nodded and bowed to the older man, “Thank you for these books.” He turned and left glancing at the young boy who had shown them to their destinations. “And thank you, child. Please, return to the headsman and convey our thanks; but we must depart.”

The boy frowned, “Aww, we were going to have a feast to celebrate the heroes!”

Tristan looked at Obadai who shrugged, “We could stay in town for a feast. But it is another chance for those people to find you.” He was referring to the assassins, of course, and Tristan picked up on that instantly.

“No, we aren’t risking innocents getting hurt on our behalf.” He looked down to the boy, “Sorry, lad. We will have to pass on the feast.” Re-mounting Onyx, Obadai mounted Midnight behind him, and the two set off to leave town from the southern road.

Tristan poked Felicity gently, “Go ahead and cause some mischief – but catch up! And don’t get seen!”

She grinned and jumped from his head, “I’m going to cause so much chaos!”

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

The Archon looked at Tristan with a single eyebrow raised quizzically as he lit up his pipe once more. “I assume you sent your fairy dragon companion – Felicity, yes?”

“Correct,” Tristan replied.

“To cause mischief.” Obadai chuckled and shook his head, “Did you also send her into King Arinclex’s vault to pee on paintings?”

“No, just to steal some treasure. The peeing on paintings was her idea.”

The Archon looked at Tristan aghast, “You instructed your companion to steal from the crown? Granted, I don’t work for him anymore – but still, that was brash.”

Tristan shrugged, “It was only a bit of treasure. And it’s not like the king would miss it. Plus, it made you think a fairy dragon was on the loose; meaning I could chase it down-”

Obadai cracked a smile, “Ah…a solid plan. Giving yourself the means to be gone for long spans of time chasing this fairy dragon you have already established as being difficult to track and kill.” He took a puff of his pipe as the two left the town proper and began to traverse the lowlands at a slow, gradual descent. “I understand. Once more, showing wisdom beyond your years.”

Tristan turned in the saddle, “Time to hold up your end of the bargain.”

“Oh?”