“I can, however, give you something else, my greenest friend. That should be enough to pay my debt to you.”
With another cackling laugh, he produced a small glass vial filled with a midnight-blue liquid with even darker swirls in it.
“An alchemical tincture, a dream in a bottle, if you will.”
Merrick audibly sucked in air. Alchemical products were much, much more expensive than the five copper pieces in question. And it was highly illegal to sell or trade them if you were not either a member of the Alchemists’ Guild or a trader approved by them. It was clear that their nameless patient was neither.
Kraghtol was skeptical.
“And what does this ‘tincture’ do, exactly?”
“Ah, yes, yes, yes,” chuckled the stranger. “A good question, an excellent question, even. It will solve your problem, will it not? If you drink this potion, it will change you for a while. You will go from what you are right now, big, and strong, and green, and unique, to something much more mundane, a human, boring like any other one. You can use it for whatever you wish — but I guess it might open doorspreviously shut and locked for you, yes? Perhaps even the doors to the Alchemists’ Guild?”
The last sentence was entirely unnecessary. Kraghtol’s eyes were glued to the vial, and he felt dizzy for a moment. If what the crazy old man claimed was true, this might be what he had waited for his entire life: a way to just benormal.
Merrick didn’t look happy about what he just heard, but Kraghtol preempted him.
“We’ll take it.”
Chapter 2
To Chase One’s Dreams
“We could get into trouble accepting this as payment.”
As so often, Merrick’s voice was gentle, yet sorrowful, but it was not because of the illegal exchange, as Kraghtol knew. The Alchemists’ Guild had no presence in Mistpine, and nobody knew aside from them and the crazy old man who had left their house minutes ago by now. And even if Brynna, the elderly orderkeeper of Mistpine, who was the local law authority in a red coat in the village, were somehow to find out about the trade, it would likely provoke nothing but a raised eyebrow. Brynna understood well that this was a small fringe village with different realities than the big cities.
Merrick and his foster son sat at the wooden table where the small vial still displayed its hypnotic, swirling pattern.
“Do you think it will work?”
The half-orc’s mind remained occupied with the endless possibilities unfolding in front of him.
“If it’s real alchemy… perhaps, yes.” Merrick sighed. “But even if it does, what do you want to do with it? It’s only for a time; your patient said so himself.”
Then, after a brief pause, he added,
“Alchemy, hm? I remember the fascination it held for you as a boy. Do you want to apply at their school?”
Slowly, the spontaneous emotions that had made him accept the potion ebbed and gave way to more practical thoughts.
“I… don’t know. No, I don’t think so, at least not now. It’s not long until harvest season, and then it’s winter already, and we’ll have our hands full with the seasonal cold. Perhaps I’ll think about it next year, or…”
Kraghtol stopped as he felt his foster father’s hand on his upper arm.
“That’s not what I asked, Kragh. Do youwantto go there?”
That was a surprisingly good question.
“I want to be a healer, like you,” he answered truthfully. “But… being an alchemist, with all the… mystery and secrets, able to create anything you can imagine… who wouldn’t want that? I would be lying if I told you this hasn’t always been a dream of mine.”
Surprisingly, Merrick smiled. His hand was still on Kraghtol’s green, muscular arm, which he patted now.
“Then I think you should try it. Your patient was right. There is a school in Winterstone, and even though I know nothing about alchemy, I trust he is right in believing in your talent.”
“So, you think I should go? Drink that potion and go to Winterstone to become an alchemist? But what about you and the village?”
“I think you should go. Because if you don’t go chasing your dreams every once in a while, you might forget that you had them in the first place. You will postpone pursuing them further and further away, next summer, the winter after that, in five years, until, finally, you bury them for good. And don’t worry about me, Kragh. I’m notthatold yet, and it’ll do me good to gather my Woundwort myself for a change.”
