The next morning, Alistair rose from bed with a sense of foreboding. Sleep came easy to him last night, a trend he’d been noticing since his encounter with the Lady, but no dreams welcomed him. There was nothing to warn him of the future like the other dream from yesterday. He was reminded of that vision again, of what he now knew to be the Celidon forest, where he witnessed Sir Manus be bested by a foe of smoke and shadow.
I won’t let that happen, Alistair said to himself. His body refused to answer him during the dream and he had failed to intervene. That kind of hesitation he wouldn’t allow to happen in reality. It was like his paragon spirit told him, the Aegis was meant to protect its companions. He would be their shield today.
Alistair rose from the feather bed and for a moment he legitimately hesitated in getting dressed. This lounging experience had truly been legendary. If he ever came into enough crowns to buy a place of his own, he’d have to buy a bed like this.
It was hard to tell whether it was from the bed or just from getting a full measure of sleep, but he did feel noticeably refreshed. Something he noticed after they came back to the inn last night was that he did seem to grow tired much more quickly when he assumed his relic mantle form. There was some kind of limitation there, perhaps to do with his stamina or energy. Rationing that throughout the day would be necessary so he could be ready to transform at a moment’s notice.
Once dressed in a fresh change of clothes, Alistair decided it was time to find Sir Manus and the others. He remembered that last night they had planned on going to the forests at first light. It couldn’t be far off from that time, and they retired early to ensure they would wake refreshed.
He gently knocked on Sir Manus’s door but there was no answer. Confused, he checked on the other knights and again there was only silence. A tendril of fear wormed its way into his heart and he thought to himself, did they leave me behind? Alistair’s mind became a flurry of thoughts as he rushed down the stairs. Did he oversleep? Or did they do it on purpose, fearful of him as a liability?
Alistair landed on the first floor with a thud, having skipped the last step as if it would make him faster. The place was quiet and dim and so he imagined it empty. His thoughts were so focused on catching up with the others that he didn’t bother to fully check his surroundings. Someone called to him from somewhere in the back.
“Woah, lad! Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
When he wheeled around, he saw Sir Manus sitting on a stool. Next to him, assisting in putting on his armor, was Teles the squire. The other knights were around in the otherwise empty hall, in various forms of battledress. Their squires were running to and fro, grabbing pieces of steel plate and other straps and things to help get the knights ready for battle.
He breathed a sigh of relief. They hadn’t left him, after all.
“Thinking of going off on your own again?” asked Sir Tomas, smirking as he did.
“You won’t be hogging all the glory this time.” Remon patted his freshly polished shoulder pauldron. “I’ve got a gold crown riding on first blood today.”
“And in an hour, that gold crown will be mine,” said Griogair. He sat with his gleaming steel sword, going over its edge with a whetstone. Remon shook his head but offered no further retort. They seemed in good spirits, at least.
“Is there anything I should do to help prepare?” asked Alistair. Again, he felt somewhat left out. While it was very convenient to skip the traditional process of putting on a suit of armor, it also alienated him in a strange way from his traveling companions.
“You ought to eat something,” said Griogair, glancing up from his sharpening work. He said it with a straight face, no hint of teasing.
“He’s right, lad. We’ve all had something to eat already,” Sir Manus said. Then he looked over his shoulder toward the kitchen. “Innkeeper, another plate for the late riser!”
“Yes, milord! Right away,” shouted the man in back. Given the plates strewn about the knights had been keeping him busy with orders. Alistair regretted sleeping in now, not that he had much control over it.
“We would have woken you sooner, but it seemed more prudent to let you get some extra rest. How are your bruises?” Sir Manus eyed him with some concern.
“Better, I swear,” replied Alistair.
Conveniently, his transformation last night actually gave him some insight into his healing process. He found that he could only determine his vitality as it was called when he was in the Aegis body, along with most other combat-relevant stats. The best he could tell was that his mantle form’s measure of vitality and other descriptions were separate from his human body’s condition. The bruises were merely a holdover, not an indication of the speed of his relic mantle’s status.
His mantle’s vitality had dropped to a significant degree after the engagement with the hobs and orcs. At the time he had less than a quarter of this bar left, and he hadn’t found the need to transform since last night so he’d been unable to measure its progress. He was relieved to discover that his vitality was almost back to full now, even though his human body still remained somewhat fragile.
“Good. All the same, we’d planned to send you out to grab some tonic,” Sir Manus said. “It wouldn’t do for your body to fail you at an inopportune moment, you know?”
“Tonic? You mean like a tincture?”
“Something like that. It might have a bit more kick than what you’re used to out in the hinterlands.” Manus smiled, curling his mustache. “Ah, the wonders of urban amenities.”
“Herbalists these days have become quite crafty in their advertisements. They like to claim they can make you see in the dark or run faster than ever before,” said Tomas.
“Bah!” Remon rolled his eyes. “Just a trick to fleece the masses out of their crowns.”
“You wouldn’t even be alive without that alchemist’s potion of rejuvenation,” Griogair replied, leveling a harsh stare at the skeptic. “Do you think that’s fake as well?”
“What are you trying to say?” Remon asked. “Do you believe everything that comes out of their mouths? The healing tonic is one thing, a ‘Potion of Cat’s Eye’ is another entirely.”
“Alright, that’s enough of that.” Sir Manus slapped his plated knee like a gavel. “We shan’t be at each other’s throats today of all days. Not before a battle as dangerous as this.”
By this point, the innkeeper had emerged from the kitchen and offered Alistair a plate of food. Next to him, a filled mug of ale. He began to devour it as the knights argued among themselves. A small part of him found it somewhat entertaining to listen just as a bystander. Alistair didn’t know nearly enough about what they were talking about to have much of an opinion. In his mind, if a potion could help you solve a problem, why not take it?
“Will it be so dangerous, earl?” Tomas asked. He had his arm out so that his forearm might be latched with steel.
“Just some up-jumped cutthroats, no doubt,” Remon said, cutting in. His squire, Flyn, was strapping on his shin guards.
“Cutthroats don’t sneak into a keep and assassinate a sitting viscount. That’s suicide,” Griogair replied. He stood to sheathe his sword, now well honed.
“Aye. It was a professional’s work.” Manus sighed. “We should expect a decent number of them. Each with some measure of skill. Our best bet is the act of surprise, the same advantage they had over the castle guards, no doubt.”
Alistair took a bite from his slice of bread. It was covered in all manner of gravy and juice from the roasted pork belly on his plate. He followed it up with a thin slice of cheese. This was as delicious as the meal he had yesterday when they arrived. More luxuries for his simple taste buds. It might be dangerous to get used to this kind of meal. He did his best to keep one ear on the conversation as it went on.
“Celidon isn’t exactly small,” Remon said, tapping his finger against the wooden table. He mulled it over for a moment. “We’ll most likely have to split up and cover more ground.”
“Perhaps we could recruit a hunter or trapper to help us look for tracks?” Griogair offered. “Someone we can trust.”
“Who can we trust, exactly? We have so little information on the culprits. They may have informants in the city.” Tomas shook his head. “Hell, they could be hiding in the city for all we know!”
“Or they might’ve already left. Job’s done. Why stick around?” Teles said, shrugging. The knights accepted the squire’s words with grim expressions. It would be unfortunate to prepare so much only to find the killers long gone.
“Regardless, we can’t let go of our one lead,” Manus said. He eased out of his seat and went for the belt that held his sword scabbard. “If we can’t find them. At least we can find evidence they had been there. We should offer Alphonse at least that much.”
The other knights nodded in agreement. Together with their squires, they marched out of the building. All save for Sir Manus, who waited by the listening Alistair’s table. He fished out his rather large pouch of crowns and offered the supplicant two gold crowns. That was a considerable amount of money in those two little coins.
Alistair got a good look at the glittering pieces. If they were given to him by anyone else, he would have been tempted to think them fake. The most money he ever held to his name was a couple of half copper crowns, barely a penny. They were also taken right back by the warden to pay for his clothes and armor, back when he was first made a man-at-arms of his lord. He never imagined he might ever find a gold crown outside of paintings.
“Take these, lad.” Manus handed them over to Alistair. “Don’t go wasting any, now. Straight to the herbalist. Get a healing tonic for yourself, and perhaps a potion of rejuvenation if you’re feeling up for it. As I said, they have a bit more kick to them.”
“Isn’t this too much?” Alistair asked, his eyes glued to the coins.
“Is it?” Manus rubbed his chin, then shrugged. “I’ve honestly never been myself. I usually have Teles do it, but the squires will be with us today and we need to get a few things ready. He never came back with nary a bit left so I can only assume so.”
Alistair shrugged and pocketed the coins. He didn’t want to be the one to call out Teles for being a bit of a swindler, but even as a rural bumpkin, he knew better than that. Well, it certainly didn’t make his purse any lighter losing a couple of coins. Maybe he would go ahead and keep his leftover change.
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“I’ll go do that right away then,” Alistair said. He stood from his seat and together they walked out into the streets. They were much quieter than yesterday. It was still too early for the hustle and bustle.
“We’ll ride to the west gate and wait for you there, Alistair.” Manus indicated the general direction with an armored finger. His chainmail rustled as he moved. “With the squires tagging along by wagon, we will follow the Mansgrave river up to the boundaries of the wood. Don’t take too long.”
“I won’t be long,” he replied. Manus nodded in turn. The knights and their squires then proceeded toward the stables where their steeds were.
It was then that Alistair realized his first problem. He didn’t know where this so-called herbalist was. Not where his home was, nor his shop. Alistair did know the general area of where the market was, so he figured to start there. There was a part of him that wanted to ask for help from Teles or Sir Manus, but he thought better of it. Perhaps it was some idea of pride gripping him, but he didn’t want to admit to failure before he even tried.
The walk was a relatively short one. It was made especially easy because of the lack of people out and about. He saw the occasional mutt stalking the sides of the road and a fair share of rats waiting to be eaten by them. Cats too, of all colors and sizes. It was a nice change of pace to the relative sterility of the Wyrdwood castle.
One thing he noted about this side of the city at least was that it did not smell pleasant. Not at all. It smelled of waste, of all different kinds. The businesses of the district threw away their by-products just the same as the families did their own, and it all ended up somewhere where you could see it.
Technically, the people were forbidden to throw waste into the river or to otherwise pollute nature. It would go against the Lady’s Commandments. Most of it was eventually burned, but the officials in charge of some of the districts certainly took their time in arranging it.
Most of them lived in the nicer-smelling parts of the city.
In the market district, Alistair was relieved to find that the use of signage was alive and well. Even though he could read now, he knew most of those who lived and worked there couldn’t. He still thought pictures were easier and quicker, so he was glad to see them.
There were many of these signs with varying degrees of detail and skill. He recognized a few: anvil for the blacksmith, thread needle for the tailor, and a cleaver for the butcher. There was a bookstore, a hairdresser, and even a jeweler. It was at one little corner of the market did he find what he needed: a bottle oozing with some concoction.
A few guards gave him a funny look as they patrolled the grounds, but apart from that, he was alone there. Therein lay the second problem: most of these shops were not opened yet. There was a solid chance the herbalist man would still be asleep, or at best preparing his shop for the day to come.
Still, his request was from that of a respected noble and knight. Sir Manus certainly wouldn’t take no for answer given the circumstances. Alistair would have to go out of his comfort area a bit and tempt confrontation for the sake of the quest.
Alistair tried to peek in through the tinted windows of the shop but saw nothing that indicated activity inside. There were plenty of potions, vials, and other glass receptacles containing questionable liquids. The door was surely locked so he did the only thing he could, he knocked.
No answer. He tried again, with a bit more force. Still nothing. So he did it a few more times, this time with the iron door knocker. He’d been avoiding it if he could to perhaps avoid waking the entire neighborhood, but there was no helping it.
Finally, he heard some movement inside. It was definitely slow and labored, and he swore he heard something get knocked over. The voice was muffled but it said some things that sounded unpleasant to the ears. The shuffling eventually reached the door and an iron slot was pulled open at about Alistair’s eye level.
“What is it?!” The man was clearly incensed. He was certainly on the older side, with deep wrinkles and graying hair. He had a rough voice you might expect to find from a crotchety grandfather.
“I’ve come to purchase some of your wares,” Alistair replied with an even tone. He thought better and added, “It’s an urgent matter, ‘tis why I came at this hour.”
The herbalist looked him up and down. He didn’t seem impressed.
“Listen here, boy. Your mother’s daily tonic for her sore feet can wait. I’m going back to sleep.”
“It’s a request from a well-respected knight, sir,” Alistair replied, growing a bit annoyed.
“Oh, and who might that be?”
“Earl Manus Druim, from up near Isenfell.” He thought it better to use the proper noble title. It sounded more official and intimidating. The herbalist did pause to consider his words, at least.
“Hm, I’ve heard of the man.” He hesitated, then shook his head. “And so has everyone and their mother. You’re just pulling my leg. What would the earl from up north be doing down here?”
Alistair actually snorted. The man was persistent in his desire to avoid opening the door. Well, there was one more idea he had.
“Well how about this?” He reached into his pocket and fished out a gold piece. Just one look at that and the old man’s eyes turned into saucers.
“Where the hell did a kid like you find that?!” The herbalist was raving now. They were turning the market into quite a scene with their argument. “It must be stolen, or a fake. Must be!”
Alistair had enough of this. He yanked on the chain around his neck and removed his relic token from where it was tucked beneath his clothing. The crimson shield ornament shined as it always did with a special fey glimmer. The man narrowed his eyes to get a closer look.
“Where did you find a thing like that?” he asked, his voice suddenly quiet.
“If you recognize it, then you should know the answer. Open the door,” Alistair said, still irritated. “I won’t be called a liar, a thief, or a cheat while wearing this.”
The herbalist looked more than a bit uncomfortable before he slowly slid the iron slot closed. There were a series of clicks as the door was unlocked from the inside. It was soon opened and Alistair was allowed into the establishment. So much effort to shy away genuine business. It baffled him.
It was the herbalist’s turn to be sheepish as he led Alistair over to the counter where they could conduct business.
“Apologies, dear paladin. ‘My lord’, I mean. Would you prefer me use a different title?”
“I care more about getting what I came for than what you call me at this point,” Alistair replied, his focus more on the products than the sniveling man.
“Of course, my lord. What have you come to purchase?” The man’s eyes focused intently on the gold crown still in Alistair’s hand.
“Some tonic for soreness. And I’d like to see your potion stock.”
“But of course. One moment.”
The man strolled over to a large display case with many trays of potions of all kinds. He stroked his long, scraggly beard for a moment as he poured over the vast collection. From his belt, he procured a keyring and unlocked one particular cabinet and pulled out a drawer of glass flasks. Alistair noticed they all had a pinkish-red liquid stored inside.
“Now, you mentioned you were with the earl. May I ask if you were interested in purchasing only the diluted stock so as to make the mixture palatable to the noble, or did you yourself want to have a supply with more potency?”
Alistair understood maybe half of that sentence.
“Explain what you mean,” he replied, doing his utmost best not to betray his ignorance on the subject.
“Well, as I’m sure you’re aware, with actual potions like these a normal person’s constitution can only handle the watered-down version.” The herbalist pointed to the bottles up front, the ones that were by far the largest. “These potions of rejuvenation are of the weaker variety when compared to the more potent ones someone with your measure could handle.”
Alistair looked closely at the bottles. There were at least three sizes of glass containers. As they got smaller, the liquid inside became more bright and rich in color. The Sight actually made words appear to give him some information.
Potion of Rejuvenation
Common | Diluted
A potion that may be used to ease pain, treat simple wounds, and slightly increase the healing speed of a person.
That was what the bigger ones were described as. He looked at the smaller ones in the back now. The shopkeeper kept silent, mesmerized and terrified by the young man’s glowing eyes.
Potion of Rejuvenation
Uncommon | Strong
A stronger version of the diluted sample. It acts much more quickly and with greater effectiveness.
Can only be stomached by those who have sipped from the grail.
All the small ones read like that. They were certainly fewer in number as well. No doubt this herbalist rarely received customers of that kind of caliber. Unfortunately, not even Alistair could ingest those yet. But, he certainly didn’t want to admit that to the man.
“A-Are they satisfactory, my lord?”
“Yes, I’ll take five of the, erm, diluted kind,” Alistair said. “And something to carry them in. A bandolier or something.”
“Oh yes, I have just the thing.” The herbalist waved his finger about and ran into the back. He returned with a worn leather bandolier with a collection of slots to fit the thicker part of the glass. “Is that all? Did you still want that tonic?”
“No, I think these will suffice.” The tonic’s effects would be superfluous in comparison to even the diluted rejuvenation potion.
“Very well,” the man said, almost disappointed. He was eager to earn that gold crown. “Each potion adds up to 10 pence each, and I’ll let the bandolier go for five. So it’ll be 55 pence for the whole lot.”
That was absolute robbery for the leather bandolier, but Alistair was already running late as is. He handed over the gold crown and let the man count out the change. Before that, he did marvel at the shiny metal for a bit. Well, Alistair couldn’t blame him there when he did the same thing not too long ago.
He received four silver crowns and five coppers back. Alistair did well to count it back too, just in case. Money was certainly something he didn’t want to ever get too lax about giving away. Not when he barely had a cent to his name until today. And it wasn’t even his money!
Alistair stowed the potions away in the bandolier and then threw it on over his chest. There were surely other potions that could be of use, but this would have to do. Every moment they waited the longer the killers had to prepare, or escape.
“I’ll be taking my leave now,” Alistair said, already eyeing the door.
“Goodbye, my lord!” The shopkeep waved to him as he left. Perhaps a little too enthusiastically. “Be sure to tell all your paladin friends about my shop, would you?”
Back on the street and the sun was growing higher in the sky. Daybreak was here. He broke into a sprint and made his way directly toward the west gate. No time for detours or distractions.
It didn’t take too long for him to reach the gate, thankfully. The market square was very close to that side of the settlement. Once there, Alistair saw that the squires had prepared their wagon and the knights were sitting atop their steeds. They were waiting on him. He fought down the sudden feeling of shame he had for slowing them down.
These potions were worth the wait, he told himself. They had to come in handy.
Next to the gatehouse was a tent of generous size. It stood out immediately given its odd location right inside the walls. It was then he remembered that Rozena, the daughter-errant that offered them the quest, said she was camped near the west gate. He never imagined she would actually be living in a tent, though. Was it by preference or out of necessity?
Do the Daughters of the Lady get paid, he wondered?
“Mount up, Alistair!” Manus shouted to him. “We have a ways to go yet.”
He did as he was told and jumped onto the back of the wagon. They set off right away, out onto the dirt road that hugged the Mansgrave river. It was apparently named that way because the mountains that the river came from were home to many deadly creatures. At least, that’s what the knights claimed.
As they made their way out of the city limits, Alistair noticed Rozena emerge from her tent. She watched them go and offered them a short wave. Only Alistair could see her as he sat in the back, and so he returned her wave with a satisfied grin. He hoped that they would return to her victorious and he could mark another quest complete.
His elation would slowly fade the closer they got to the Celidon forest. The closer they got to his dreaded visions of death.