Mrs. Hawke tilted her head as he gave her his address and said:
“I didn’t realize the two of you were friends.”
Kraghtol almost laughed.
“What makes you think that? I certainly wouldn’t call us friends, really.”
“Because you used his first name. Don’t you know how terribly impolite that is to a noble-born?”
Kraghtol felt himself blush.
“Actually, no. I’ve never thought about that. Thank you for telling me.”
Why had Valir never said anything? Every time Kraghtol had addressed him, it must have been a small insult. The only reason he could think of was that the noble, in his arrogant mindset, didn’t expect more from a peasant like him. Even if Valir was an asshole, Kraghtol didn’t want to provoke him.
When he returned home later that night, he stopped at the top of the small staircase. Mrs. Brott was already fast asleep, and the house was silent, just like every night. But something was different, and it took the half-orc a moment to realize what it was. The door to his chamber was open. Did he forget to close it when he had left in the evening? He could not remember. A break-in, perhaps! His heartbeat quickened, and he rushed inside to check the only possession even remotely valuable: his coins.
But as far as he could make out in the darkness, all the small metal disks were where they belonged, and Kraghtol calmed. It would hardly have been the first time for him to forget something trivial like locking the door. He really had to pull himself together if he didn’t want to end up as a nervous wreck.
He slept in late, like he usually did these days. Today, however, he was woken up by a knock and Mrs. Brott’s cheery voice.
“Krasen, dear, you’ve got a visitor! Are you well?”
Kraghtol groaned and rubbed his eyes. That had to be Valir.
“Yes. I think I’ll manage. Can you send him up?” he shouted loud enough that Valir would probably have heard it himself, in case Mrs. Brott didn’t.
As he heard the old woman shuffling away, he quickly threw on some clothes and was just about done when the door opened.
The first glimpse of a red coat made it more than clear he had been mistaken. This wasn’t Valir.
“Good morning, Mr. Wulfspar. I hope you had a pleasant night.”
Roderic Hawke wasgrinningat him, teeth bared in unbridled schadenfreude. Kraghtol’s mind jumped and sped up as the world around him seemed to spin. The orderkeeper had caught him with no disguise whatsoever, his ugly half-orc face on full display. But wait! Worse! He had called him by his real name. Mrs. Hawke! He shouldn’t have trusted her! What was the orderkeeper holding?
“You seem speechless, Mr. Wulfspar. I can imagine why. You probably didn’t think your little charade would fall apart so quickly. I would like to congratulate you, though. You were a hard nut to crack.But in the end, I figure them all out, including you. Alas, I have brought you a gift.”
He presented an envelope sealed with the official seal of the Alchemists’ guild. The potion bottle in green wax.
“Believe me, Dean Quenning looked just as surprised as you do now when I visited her this morning. Go on, open it.”
After handing over the envelope, he had crossed his arms in front of his chest and continued to sneer at him.
With trembling fingers, thick and green against the impeccable white envelope, he opened the letter and read it.
“To Mr. Kraghtol Wulfspar, also known as Krasen from Caemdir,
due to severe breach of our trust, our traditions and several regulations, such as illegal use of and trade with guild-unregulated alchemical products, the honorable Alchemists’ Guild of Wardenreach, represented by me, deputy local guild master of the Winterstone branch, has been forced to decide as follows:
You are hereby, effective immediately, formally expelled from the Alchemists’ Guild, and stripped of all guild ranks, if any. This includes any ongoing education at the guild school and by its teachers, here in Winterstone or elsewhere. As you are barred from ever reaching the rank of a guild-approved alchemist, you are to immediately cease any and all activities associated with the noble art of alchemy, and never to take up such endeavors again. Violations of these directives will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
Sincerely,
Dean E. Quenning, deputy local Winterstone guild master.”
He read the letter a second and then a third time, and felt more anger rising inside of him. Before he could read the note a fourth time and shove it down the smugly grinning mouth of the orderkeeper in front of him, he put it down on his desk, deliberately pressing it down with his right hand until the wood creaked. With his left arm barely usable and his right hand occupied, the chances of Roderic walking out with an unbroken nose seemed best.
“That’s not fair! I have done nothing wrong! I paid my fee, if this is still about the healer thing!”
