057 – Poison

***

In the modern era, knowledge was transferred directly from master to apprentice. This was true of all sciences and manual trades, and it was true of magic as well. An experienced swordsman took on disciples and taught their secret techniques directly. Knowledge passed down in this way, as a type of inheritance, through the generations. Only infrequently did anyone record these arcane teachings in books, and when they did so, they never distributed them to a general audience. To a mage, revealing a strength was the same as gaining a weakness. Fownst the Alchemist’s small library of books, therefor, was a rare treasure I greatly desired.

“Preposterous! My alchemical tomes are not for sale,” the old man spat.

“Would then allow me to copy some chapters for study?”

“Never. I worked for decades collecting these sacred treasures, and decades more compiling the recipes for my own medicinal concoctions. They hold secrets only to be shared between master and apprentice.”

“And who is your apprentice?” I asked him.

“I have none! No one is trustworthy enough to become my student.” He coughed into his sleeve heavily. “Some enterprising young mage might use my lessons to set up a competing business here in Sandgrave. Then what would become of me? I wouldn’t be able to afford the reagents to make my own antidote.”

“But without an apprentice, all your knowledge will die with you. Your gains will be lost forever.”

“Good. I shall take my prizes to the grave. The toxins in my body prevent me from becoming a great swordsman, so instead I must settle on being the wisest and most accomplished alchemist that this colony has ever known. Instead of the God of Swords, I will be deified as the God of Elixirs. My reputation will be secured for a thousand years.”

Nothing could soften the heart of this cranky old codger. Haggling was pointless. He only cared about his own well being, not the advancement of his profession or spread of knowledge. Wizards had an entirely different perspective than that of scientists.

“Master Frowst. As a mercenary swordsman and traveler, I lack the funds to purchase your medicine. However, I could gather the raw materials you need to create your potions and pay you in barter rather than coins.”

“Ha ha. That’s very clever. I see what you’re up to! Trying to learn my recipes by studying my shopping list. But it won’t do you any good. The alchemic process is far too complex for a mere beginner to reproduce.” The alchemist grinned slyly. “I will tell you one well known fact: the thorny plants from which this city takes its name, and which grow so thickly around its walls, provide the main ingredient in many healing balms and curatives. It is because of those nettlesome herbs that I moved to this remote colony. Should you find me a supply of white-thorned scrawlings, I will reward you with a suitable discount. They are highly valuable.”

“I’ll consider your offer,” I replied.

Hwilla and I left the shop empty handed. I had no intention of running errands for the miserly old alchemist, especially since he did not name a specific rate for his discount or price for ingredients. Besides, the art of alchemy interested me more than finished product. Why buy expensive pills when I could invent my own?

“Our shopping trip has ended on a sour note,” Hwilla said. “We failed to get our emergency pills, and I failed to get a present for Yurk.”

“Well, don’t worry too much. We still have several days in the city to relax and recuperate.”

***

Working for the Void Phantoms perplexed me. My former existence had not prepared me for the ethical dilemmas of the modern world. In my time, participating in human society was involuntary and unquestioned. One had no other options. Man and citizen could not be divided. To quit the metropolis meant being entirely solitary in the wilderness. We had no nations or tribes, no ‘us’ and ‘them.’ Human society may have been foolish, misguided at times, inefficient, and annoying, but no one eve questioned that it was basically a good thing. That changed.

Now, I had to consider the ethics of working for an organization I felt to be harmful and unjust. Was it better to work for an evil group and try, from within, to change its course and ameliorate its actions? Or was it right to quit it completely and refuse to participate? How much collective guilt did members share between themselves for the misdeeds of the whole? Modern philosophers might find my problems to be completely naive, but they were entirely novel from my perspective.

My choice would be clear with better alternatives. I would quit the cult and join the nation of wise and good. But such a nation had not existed for thousands of years. The other groups of people did not seem to me substantially better than the Void Cult. They all had feckless rulers, they all used the threat of violence to control their lower ranking members, they all inflicted horrible suffering on outsiders, and they were all mired in a state of shameful ignorance.

The Kingdom of Sandgrave declared itself to be a legitimate government, and it proved it with armies, parades, flags, traditions, and a long history. But to my mind it was no different than the Void Cult. It wasn’t much different than Slezeanor’s pirates, or Belwane the Black’s highway robbers, or Mistress Iaanda’s mob of criminals. A kingdom was just a powerful gang whose victims had come to accept and then to revere.

Hundreds of years ago, violent swordsmen seized control of the scattered outposts on the Sandgrave Peninsula. They declared themselves rulers and extorted the local farmers and workmen in a protection racket against roving monsters. In time, as the land was cleared of threats, these swordsmen coveted their neighbor’s territories and sought to expand their control. They raided and ransacked each other’s holdings. The victors of those little wars passed down the conquered territory to their children. Over the generations, these families merged into a class of hereditary rulers. The current aristocracy were the proud descendants of miscreants, pirates, and marauders, who veiled their past with concepts like nobility and honor.

I had no more respect for a king than I did for a dark lord. Less. At least dark lords admitted to being evil.

I chose to stay with the Void Cult for the time being. Other groups labeled them as evil for things that didn’t matter to me, such as dealing with monsters or using forbidden magics. Their actions weighed heavily on my conscious, but I lacked the ability to enlighten their minds or the power to force them to change. At least for the moment.

“Strythe. What are you doing? You’ve made a mess of the place,” Hwilla said.

I had spread out all my new books across the table in the safe houses central room, mainly the atlases and history books.

“I’m reading.”

“All of them at once?”

“You have to start somewhere. And sometimes that somewhere is everywhere at once. It seems that no one remembers the concept of an encyclopedia, which makes disentangling the threads of human knowledge very difficult. Cross referencing is a must.”

“Well, put away your mess. We have a job to do for our employer.” Hwilla waved a letter at me. It must have been some coded message from Luniquial.

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

“Us? Shouldn’t the senior disciples do it?”

“There’s no need to disturb them from their rest. This is a simple task anyone could do.”

“Good luck then. I’ll see when you return.”

She kicked the leg of my chair. “Come on, junior. Get your walking stick.”

It concerned me how rapidly Hwilla was adapting to her role as the senior one of us. Pretty soon she’d have me running errands for her. For the first time, I wished a few of the Faceless minions would enkindle so as to give some lesser ranked disciples to distract her.

We left the cottage and crossed the city to the main gate. Passing through would mean we would have to pay the entry fee to get back inside, but there was no other way to reach the strip of docks clinging to the outer walls.

“What exactly is our job out here?” I asked.

“We have to meet a new arrival to the city, a swordsman coming from western islands, and then escort him to our employer’s tower.” Hwilla scrunched up her face as from a bad smell.

“You know this person?”

“I’ve seen him many times, but before enkindling, it was not my place to speak with the swordsmen. Even now, it unnerves me to meet with Iiylazh the Viridesent Blade.”

The ship had not yet anchored in port. Sailing vessels did not keep to exact schedules, but Luniquial’s flock of messenger birds allowed him to keep track of their movements. It would arrive before sunset. As we waited, I left Hwilla to watch for the ship while I spoke with some of the visiting sailors about sea travel. Booking passage on a ship did not cost much money. Common people were treated more or less like human cargo, sleeping in the hold with no privacy, while nobles and swordsmen could expect better treatment for the same price. Ship’s masters sometimes gave trustworthy swordsmen free passage, knowing their presence on board would discourage piracy and mutinies. Getting a ride out of Sandgrave would be very easy for me when I chose to escape.

The problem was I didn’t have a destination.

Studying the atlas had showed me that their were four main regions to travel to: the eastern islands, the western islands, the colonies, and the dark nations. The eastern islands were low lying coral islands in a shallow sea. Theocracies ruled in the east, served by sects of Paladins, the arch enemies of the Void Cult. That meant I could avoid pursuit from the cult, but would be in the home territory of exorcists and witch hunters. The western islands were volcanic archipelagos running along tectonic fault lines. The separate nations competed for control of the sea lanes and often raided each other’s territory. Seaborne empires rose and fell with great regularity. Traveling west could lead me to a war even more fierce than the one brewing here. The colonies along the outer coast would not be much different from Sandgrave, and the dark nations on the continent’s inner seas were, according to the sailors anyway, horrifying places.

In all likelihood I would have to go on a world tour before settling in a safe place. My main choice was between sailing east or west, toward the light or the darkness.

“Hwilla. You look nervous.” I returned to my fellow disciple after exploring the docks. She sat atop one of the stout wooden piles watching the flags of the incoming ships.

“Me? No way. I’m just anxious to check up on our seniors, that’s all.” She pointed out to a schooner with a red flag. It drifted across the water to the wooden docks. “That’s our ship.”

The crew of the vessel lowered a gangway to pier, allowing the passengers and sailors to disembark. It was not hard to pick out a swordsmen from the crowd. Iilyazh wore ratty green robes, soiled at the fringes and inexpertly patched. He had long dreadlocks of hair decorated with beads of green copper, jade, serpentine, and animal fangs. Each of his fingernails was painted a different color. His weapon matched my own, a dress sword with a thin blade, except his had a solid steel cup over the hilt.

This new swordsman reminded me of Fownst the Alchemist in that he looked slightly ill. His eyes were sunken and red as though he hadn’t slept in days. Beyond his unhealthy appearance, he reeked of incense and perfume.

“And you are?” he said with a drawl. I would have guessed him to be half drunk if it weren’t the fire in his soul.

“I’m your junior here to meet you on behalf of our commander,” Hwilla said. “He can’t meet with you immediately, so we are to escort you to his home to wait.” We weren’t allowed to mention the Void Cult in public spaces and had to stick to our cover of being roaming mercenaries.

He eyed me suspiciously. “And what about you, traveler?” he asked, no doubt referencing my walking staff and heavy cloak, odd apparel for a swordsmen.

“I am your junior’s junior, here for the same purpose.”

“Lead the way,” the swordsman said.

This man was on officer in the dark lord’s court, one of the many who had scattered across the continent after the Paladins destroyed the cult’s former home. Things had changed since then. Many of his old comrades had died, and new faces replaced them. He didn’t recognize us, and so didn’t entirely trust us to be who we claimed.

We escorted Iiylazh through the city gate, and Hwilla paid the toll for him to enter. Then we took him to the bird tower, a place where we could speak more freely.

“So, you’re the new recruits, are you?” He threw his arm around Hwilla and leaned in close to her face. As a rule, swordsmen didn’t touch each other casually, since close contact allowed using projection techniques. They didn’t even stand within sword’s reach most of the time. So he was intentionally being rude.

“Yes. We’re Putrizio’s newest disciples,” Hwilla said with visible discomfort.

“That old washout. What a stiff. If you want to learn anything useful, little one, you should train under me. I can teach you a thing or two.”

“I’m still learning the very basics. I wouldn’t want to burden you with my inexperience.”

“Too bad. Too bad. I haven’t had an apprentice as cute as you in quite some time. No one has volunteered since my last one died. I think I’ve developed a bad reputation among the rest of the cult. They’re no fun at all.” Iiylazh slid off Hwilla and motioned towards me. “And what about you, sourpuss?”

Before I could answer, Hwilla said, “He’s– he’s already Malicent’s apprentice.”

“Is that so?” he drawled. It wasn’t so. I didn’t know why Hwilla would say such a thing. “The witch has her eye on you? Maybe both eyes. Too bad. You have a steady flame, young one. That’s an important quality for my specialty.”

“If you will forgive my ignorance, what is your specialty?” I asked.

“Toxins! I am the Phantom’s premier poisoner and assassin. My job is to track down Lord Hrolzek’s enemies and eliminate them. Sometimes I kill silently, leaving no trace. Other times I kill with venoms that burn a person alive from the inside out, tortures worse than a thousand hells.” He gave a wicked smile and leaned in close to my face, too close.

“Sounds reasonable,” I said.

He blinked. “What?”

“Very reasonable. Projection techniques already injure or impair an opponent’s inner fire. It makes sense to use alchemy to supplement or heighten those effects.”

“Ha ha! How interesting. Most people find the use of poisons to be abhorrent and dishonorable.”

“I don’t see why. Killing a person is a crime, but the method to do so is irrelevant. Murder is murder. Dead is dead.”

“Oh my. It’s so refreshing to hear young people uncorrupted by the stupid opinions of their elders.” Iiylazh wrapped his arm around my shoulder. I could feel his strange fire sizzling against me. “A poisoned blade is, in truth, the truest form of swordsmanship. Why hack up an opponent to bloody chunks when a simple pinprick will suffice? When a mere scratch can win a battle? It gives one great freedom in battle and a subtlety of form.”

The assassin whipped out his sword and held the blade outward. Green and purple blotches discolored the steel, stains from previous applications of deadly poisons.

“I take it you’re a specialist in projection?” I ventured.

“That’s only half a poisoner’s art. Yes extending fire into another person helps spread the poison, but one must also master augmentation. To handle poison, one must develop a body immune to those substances.”

“I see.” That made his brand of swordcraft less appealing to me, as I had set myself on pursuing projection exclusively. Still, there was likely something to learn from this man. “And how much alchemy must one study to take up poisoning?”

“Why, poisoning and alchemy are one and the same!”

“In that case, I’m curious to learn more. I’m glad to meet you, Master Iiylazh. My name is Strythe, a new disciple of the Void Phantoms.”