“It’s all very subjective and tricky. Take this explanation, for example. I know you, Torven,shouldknow the details of how alchemical contracts work. Mr. el Greylune and Kragh, on the other hand, don’t. If I weren’t deeply convinced that the expulsion was void, I would have suffered a backlash for sharing alchemical secrets with outsiders now. But it works at the deepest roots of belief. You can’t just conveniently lie to yourself to circumvent a contract.”
Valir sucked in air between his teeth, producing a quiet whistling sound.
“Stars above, your mind is sharp.”
“But wait,” Kraghtol interrupted, his mind already jumping ahead three steps. “Doesn’t that mean that I just have to talk to local guild master Virex? If what you’re saying is true, he would have no choice but to overrule the dean and take back the expulsion.”
Torven nodded.
“Yes, that is exactly what I mean. If you were to talk to Virex, you would beat them at their own game. And that is why the guilds will do everything in their power to prevent you from seeing him. There is no way you will get an appointment.”
“At least not in the official way,” Valir added with an almost amused gleam in his eyes, and Kraghtol wondered if the noble was actuallyenjoying the chance to defy the rules of society like that. “But I might have a different idea…”
Kraghtol shivered under his borrowed cloak, but it was not from the cold of the early spring night alone. Now that he stood here, in the dark alley bordering the guild master’s house, the plan didn’t sound so sane after all. If he couldn’t speak to Thalen Virex using the official channels, he would just have to visit him unofficially. Marla had known where he lived, and that he wasn’t married or had children, which meant he probably lived alone.
It all sounded logical and easy when Valir explained that his best chance would be to be quick about it. The longer he waited, the more could go wrong in the meantime. And so, Kraghtol found himself in front of the house in question just a few hours later, on the same night, trying to persuade himself to go on. It felt justillegal.
The house wasn’t even that big, definitely smaller than he had expected for a man of this rank. It was in the Commercial Quarter, right next to the production laboratories of the Alchemists’ Guild. Kraghtol had never been in this part of the guild’s grounds before, but he knew that this was where the potent mixtures, potions and varnishes the guild sold were produced and researched. There even was a small foundry that bordered the guild master’s house, and Kraghtolvaguely remembered having heard about alchemical metallurgy in one of his lessons, a technique that had only been developed rather recently.
He shook his head. Enough stalling. Steeling himself for the confrontation ahead, he walked up the silent pathway leading to the door and used the door knocker. The guild master was surely already asleep, so Kraghtol waited impatiently. When the house remained silent for several minutes, he knocked again, louder this time.
That startled a cat nearby, which ran away with a loud hiss, but, again, nobody answered the door.
Should he just walk away and try again in the morning? No, that was too risky. During the daytime, there might be other guild officials around, which he specifically wanted to avoid. It was possible that the guild master wasn’t at home, but it was the middle of the night. Where else would he be?
His gaze wandered over the plain foundry building right next to the house. It was a weird placement. Why would Virex have the foundry built right next to where he lived? The smoke from the furnace had already blackened the side of the house, and during the day, when the foundry was working, it was probably rather loud as well.
Now, however, the building was silent and cold. And easily climbable. The windows on the ground floor of the house in front of him were sturdy and probably locked. The ones on the first floor, however, looked easier to open from the outside. If he climbed the foundry and then just balanced over the small ledge to the next window…
Thiswasillegal. But it wasn’t like he wanted to steal or break anything. He just wanted to talk. If anything, this would only be a minor offense.
The outside of the industrial building was still slick from the rain earlier, and only being able to use one arm properly didn’t help either. Luckily, Kraghtol was more or less back in his original body, and the strength that came with it. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have made it up. The ledge was only one step away now, and Kraghtol was glad to leave behind the ominously creaking metal frame he had used for climbing.
The night was dark, and the soot clinging to the brickwork didn’t make it easier to see. Luckily, the half-orc wasn’t afraid of heights, and so he inched closer and closer to the blackened and blind window, until he had an opportunity to push gently against the frame.
To his surprise, the hinge moved immediately, without even making a sound. Didn’t the window have a bolt? Or had it been left unlocked? Perhaps it was just his half-shadow’s luck, and Virex had forgotten to properly lock this window tonight.
Regardless of the reason, he eased himself into the room behind and breathed out. It was dark in here, especially after he pushed the window closed again, and Kraghtol didn’t dare to move, fearing he might accidentally damage something with his clumsiness. If only he had a candle — wait.
Feeling his neck, he found the thin chain and pulled out the tiny vial filled with his first attempts at glowing paste. It was not very strong, just as bright as a dim candle flame, but the little light was enough to make out the contours of his immediate surroundings. Apparently, hewas in some kind of workshop room, which seemed to be out of use for a while now, as blankets covered most of the furniture.
Careful not to run into anything, he made his way to the door and pushed it open, entering a hallway. Under one door, he could make out a sliver of light. Was the guild master still awake? His instincts dictated him to move silently, and so he sneaked up to the door that was ever so slightly ajar. Carefully, he opened the door and found himself in a study, illuminated by a single candle on the desk. The room was a mess. Papers and books were spread all over the place, and a shiver ran down Kraghtol’s spine. Something was definitely not right.
When he heard a pained groan from the floor, he jumped and almost hit his head on the doorframe. His heart was beating in his throat, but he entered the room and closed the door behind him, revealing a figure on the ground in the blind spot of the door. The man — Kraghtol recognized the heavily tattooed face of the guild master immediately — was bleeding from multiple wounds, painting the floor red with the life that was quickly flowing out of his body.
The cuts were more than dangerous, Kraghtol realized immediately, and his eyes darted around the room, searching for anything to use as a bandage.
“Hold on! Don’t move!”
As quickly as he could, he removed his cloak and used his foot and his good hand to rip strips of clothing from it. Fey’s breath! It was damp, and dirty, and covered with soot from his climbing! If he used that, the wound would almost certainly get infected, but what choice did he have? If he didn’t stop the bleeding, the man would be dead in a matter of minutes!
“Who… who are you?”
The guild master’s voice was thin and weak, and Kraghtol cursed under his breath. He had lost too much blood already.
“Krasen. Don’t speak.”
It was crazy how impeccably his mind worked right now, even getting the name right while he concentrated on the bandages. There were two main cuts, one on the inside of his right thigh, just where the muscle met the softer tissue, and one at his lower right side, dangerously close to where he knew the liver to be. Aside from that, there were a few smaller cuts that seemed to come from a fight, but these two would cost the guild master his life if he didn’t act immediately. The one on the belly was probably the more dangerous one, but the other was more urgent. Whoever had injured the man had hit a major blood vessel, and blood was gushing out of the wound. Gritting his teeth and ignoring the pain that shot up his own injured shoulder, he used all the strength he could muster to bind the cloth tightly in a desperate effort to stop the bleeding.
