CHAPTER 67

“I hope you know that was incredibly stupid,” Lysander says, walking ahead with me and Ged follow behind. We left the courtyard behind, and the elf is leading us through the keep’s larger galleries. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to Essa. “I got him with the diviner, and then you had to go and accept that desperate bid, I—"

“Lys,” Delos calls, coming from the opposite side of the gallery. “She wasn’t there. You sure you—”

“Yes, yes,” Lysander says irritably. “It’s become pretty clear I’m going to have to have a conversation with Keys.”

“Oh, you got the feeling that was planned too?” Gedden asks with mock naivete. “I don’t know, it all seemed so fluid…”

“Something happen?” Delos asks.

“Malco accepted a trial by combat,” Lysander says.

“Against a Godtouched?”

“Yes! Some bastard with chip on his shoulder, saying Malco stole from him. I tried to get a diviner involved…”

“That wouldn’t have worked,” I say.

I’m a little shaken at the prospect of being in a fight to the death, but it’s no longer the nausea and terror I felt when I laid eyes on Rao. If anything, I’m eager for it. The fire in my heart gladdens at the very thought of facing the Godtouched, of burying the moment of fear he brought back to the surface.

“Why?” Lysander demands, turning brusquely to face me. His hands are rigid at his side and his eyes flame cold as they meet mine.

He’s actually angry. That’s a first.

I look around before answering, making sure what few servants are present in this area can’t hear us.

“I did steal the potion from them.”

He blinks and looks over his shoulder, likely to certify himself of our privacy.

“Explain.”

“Look. Rao did force himself on my sister when we ran into them on the road, but we managed to escape. By accident, we escaped all the way to their camp, and decided to do some… retaliatory plundering.”

“Retaliatory plundering,” Gedden repeats, the hand over his face failing to conceal his smile.

“Why did he challenge you if he was right?” Delos asks.

“Because he doesn’t want to be known as the kid who goes around bothering Untouched girls?” Ged suggests.

“Plenty of those,” Delos scoffs. “For fuck’s sake, Giantsblood founded the guild.”

“Open secret,” Ged retorts. “And that white-haired asshole, whoever he is, isn’t Trugnar Giantsblood. Who is that guy, by the way?”

I shrug.

“Rao. Just someone I ran into in the hills.”

“Bloody mummer’s show,” Gedden shakes his head. “Did you see how he and Valkas were talking?”

“Valkas said his name at the end,” I add. “Even though he said they didn’t know each other.”

“Outplayed,” Lysander mutters.

He looks up when he realizes we all stopped at that, and sighs.

“All those meetings. Teryon and the law experts, Madame Keys… I got played. He was planning this ever since he realized I wasn’t worried about you bringing the potion into the dungeon. Shifting the accusation to theft so publicly… Stupid, stupid.” He gives his knuckle a final, forceful bite and faces me. “The diviner bid was also likely not to work. I don’t know where to find any real Diviners, for one; staying a step ahead is part of their job description. But accepting a duel, even if you knew the charges were correct… That was incredibly idiotic.”

“I think I can take him,” I say. “I’ve been training with Amelia, and with Gedden and Essa—”

“Did you hear Valkas at the end?” Lysander interrupts. “’To the death’. I would bet the Amulet of Teleportation that he means till your death, seeing as Godtouched can’t die.”

Oh. That can’t…

That hadn’t even occurred to me.

“He can’t do that, right?” I ask nervously. “It has to be until… his body stops working or something, right? It’s not fair…”

I look up to see the expressions on their faces. Whatever else they show, they all share a hint of pity at my idiocy.

“It’s not fair,” I say, a simple statement.

Gods. Did I just condemn Essa as well?

Lysander is the first to shake himself out of our collective pit of worry.

“Come on. I was going to show you our rooms, but it’s best if we get to work right away and we need privacy. Time for my surprise.”

And he walks down the gallery at a furious pace, passing the gilded paintings and rich furniture as if they’re nothing worth stopping for.

He leads us to an elegant staircase shooting up, but instead of taking the steps Lysander walks around it to where another sets of steps, much narrower and leading down into the darkness, hides behind the first. It reminds me of the staircase to the training room in Hollow House’s basement.

Lysander mutters something to himself and his forehead comes alight, shining down into the darkness as he takes each step without hesitation. At the bottom, we find an unilluminated narrow corridor. The elf turns right, walking past sturdy wooden doors without hesitation until he’s standing in front of one just the same as all the others. He removes a key from his pocket and the squeak of metal on metal echoes in the corridor.

“Inside.”

We all pile into a dark room filled to the brim with such an intensity of smells that they make my head spin.

“Hopefully this will give you some sort of advantage,” Lysander says.

His back is turned to the room as he relocks the door. I can’t help my curiosity, can’t wait for him to be done. Pulling out my dagger, I Create Fire along the blade. Immediately, the light expands, captured by a thousand reflective surfaces, shining back on us at odd angles and with twinkling intensity. It takes me a moment to realize what I’m looking at: vials, flasks, curved glass tubes.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“Is this…?”

“Oh yes. Finished yesterday. It’s your very own laboratory.”

I gawp at the number of instruments and containers, amazed at the fact that I can name each one and its function. After the initial disorientation passes, I realize it’s not that big a space, but every inch has been put to good use. It’s organized and neat, with sconces for lamps, instruments for measurement and weighing, and, bounty of bounties, at the end of the room I find a set of shelves packed with fresh ingredients, herbs and roots, which account for the heavy and dizzying scent permeating the small space. Above the central workspace, a grate in the ceiling hides a medium-sized airhole.

“For ventilation,” Lysander says. “I don’t know how effective it is, but poisonings, when they happen, are usually confined to their own laboratories, so at least you won’t be killing anyone else if you screw up.” His eyes turn to me. “Don’t screw up.”

“This is… incredible. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says with a wave of his hand. “The guild controls potion production in the city, so we have a lot of equipment lying around. It was a matter of pulling the right strings. How does it feel? Do you think you can handle yourself here?”

“I… What do you want me to do?”

“Right now? To get yourself acquainted and to find a way of using Alchemist to your advantage,” he shrugs. “At least until we find something better you could be doing. While you’re at it, we can think of the item we want to fit you with. The Phase Ring should be good, but I think I can also find a magic dagger or a shortsword, if you prefer. We need to get organized.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Ged, you have everything you need?”

“The Waving Veil is my one and only,” he answers, patting the front of his blue coat. “I assume I’ll be providing support and getting in the way or their Mage.”

“Good. Then I’ll talk to Lucia, see what she has in mind. If I know the woman well, it won’t be anything but a dark and empty void, but Essa should have ideas.” He shifts a critical eye around the room. “This is a stupid. It’s stupid, isn’t it? Nevermind this. You’d be better off practicing with Delos.”

I look at the tall elf, his face a mask of unfriendly quietude.

“It’s not stupid,” I say. “Valkas didn’t say anything about potions, did he? I can bring a lot of them, be prepared to whatever they throw at me.

Lysander frowns.

“The issue is potions are not time efficient. They don’t last. Say you drink one and it gives you the edge you need to beat Rao once. He’ll just saunter back, taking his sweet time. When he arrives, the potion will have worn off.”

“Here’s a tip:” Delos says, thoughtful. “When you’re fighting someone you’re matched with, rely on every advantage you can bring to the table. Most Godtouched don’t give a rat’s ass about their Expertise. God knows I don’t. And Valkas did say ‘every weapon.’ Bring every potion you can get your hands on, I say. Stock up.”

“I can buy every potion that he needs,” Lysander counters, doubtful.

“But I don’t know what potions I might need. I want to spend some time here, figure out what Alchemist can and can’t do.” I appeal to Delos, who seems to be on my side in this. “We can train tomorrow, right?”

The big elf nods. Lysander sighs.

“Very well. You have today. I’m going back to Hollow House, bring back a few useful items, and one of you can—”

He’s interrupted by a knock at the door. Delos reacts with speed, placing his back to the wall and gripping the key in the hole. He looks back at Lysander, who stands in front of me and nods. The door flies, Delos reaches for the intruder…

“Stop!”

I yell before I’m sure of what I’m yelling for. The lone figure outside the door is half-hidden by Delos’ bulk, who reached down to grip her by the neck.

“Malco.” says a strangled little voice. I recognize it immediately.

“Hilde!”

“Please,” she coughs. “I’m alone.”

“Hey! Let her go!” I move past Lysander, gripping Delos’ arm and trying to pull it from the dwarf’s scrunched up little face. I might as well be trying to dislodge a tree.

“It’s fine, Delos,” Lysander says. “They’re friends.”

Hilde falls on the ground, spitting and massaging her throat. I kneel at her side, wrapping an arm around her bulky shoulders.

“I thought I heard your voice,” she croaks feebly. “Good to see you.”

“Good to see—”

Just then I notice Hilde’s strange attire. She’s clad in rich, deep blue robes, and sapphire jewelry is in evidence everywhere jewelry could possibly fit.

“You’re a Mage!”

“Better. Beyond the Ebony Door, I met the—”

Her tongue falters, like she’s searching for a word she can’t quite remember. I look up to find the three Godtouched observing us. The geas has activated.

*

“—the Archivist. I’m a Caligor,” she finally manages.

We’re alone in the laboratory, after Lysander, Delos, and Gedden went off to attend to their respective duties. By the light of a single lamp, I’m perusing the ingredients and containers as Hilde speaks, cataloguing ingredients, finding a book with recipes, realizing that I know most of them already.

I wait for the explanation.

“It’s related to fog and darkness. The Archivist told me I was bound to gloomy places, and fog and the dark would serve me well.”

“She told you what to pick?” I ask, noting the name of the entity behind the Ebony Door.

“Advised is the correct word.”

“What does it do?”

“So far, a fat load of nothing,” Hilde sighs, then her eyes snap back up. “I don’t mean I’m defenseless. I learned a bunch of magic. Stone, dark, and combat traditions. In case we have to face down a drake again.” Her smile dwindles. “But the caligomancy itself is yet to make an appearance. The book of fog…” she hesitates, gesturing to her eyes. I realize she’s talking about the misty pages “It says Caligors should spend time in contemplation under the earth. I have a cell here, just a few doors down.”

“You must miss the sun.”

She smiles.

“You forget I’m a proud dwarf and daughter of proud dwarves. ‘Under the earth’ is my natural state. Nevermind me. I’m doing fine. And… I’m sorry about your hand.”

I can’t help but smile with her. I forgot how much I missed Hilde and her careful words and gestures. I lift the stump in the air, still bandaged up to cover the quick-forming scar.

“It’s not so bad. It would have had to be amputated. Arbiter just did it with a good deal less of fuss.”

“We were all worried sick,” Hilde says.” At least me and Essa were, Wyl is a bit more… Well. But we didn’t know what had happened to you. No one did. First you were just gone, then rumors surfaced that you’d been seen during the Champion’s bout.” She pauses, frowning. “I haven’t forgiven you, you know.”

For a moment, I’m confused about what she means, and then light dawns. Pushing her through the Ebony Door, forcing her to leave me behind.

“Sorry,” I say, scratching my temple. “I… thing I’ve grown since then, if it helps.”

“Oh?” she crosses her arms. “Did much happen after you were last seen?”

“Yes,” I confirm. “That’s when Lysander magicked me away. I’ve been at his house since then, closer to Olvion than here.”

“Is he treating you well?” she asks seriously.

Her worry renews my grin and I nod.

“He can’t be treating you that well, seeing as how he dresses you in leaves,” she comments, poking my mantle with a strong finger.

“This is a gift, actually. From a fr—well, from someone I met. It’s a troll war mantle. Honestly, I don’t know what it’s for, but it’s at least warm. And you didn’t mention Rue. Have you seen him?”

She gives her head a shake that jingles the sapphires in her beard.

“Not since the Challenge.”

It’s then that I notice the dance behind her eyes, catch the hidden meaning in her questions.

“Does your patron treat you well?” I ask, serious.

Her smile fades. Hilde looks down.

“Well, it’s been… She’s very generous. Gave me all this,” she gestures broadly, meaning the dark blue mantle, the sapphires in her beard and set in rings on her fingers. I notice she’s wearing earrings as well, though I don’t remember her ears being pierced in the dungeon.

“Hilde…”

She sighs.

“She wasn’t happy with the Challenger she got. She’s rivals with the patron of the woman who made it all the way to the final dungeon this year. When she died against a Stormrider from the King’s Guard, my patroness found her chance. So she’s pushing me. She says that if I don’t find my magic she’ll shave my beard off before the Challenge.” Hilde blinks.

I peer closely at what little can be seen of her face. Is it my imagination, or is that splotch the hint of a bruise the beard covers almost entirely? Realizing that I have no words, I sit down next to her on the floor and reach for her hand.

“That’s awful. She can’t do that.”

“I’m trying my best. Hopefully it’s enough. Plus,” she adds bravely. “When we go into the Challenge again, well, that’s when it matters. We’ll be adventuring again. This here, this is just waiting.”

I feel a pang of guilt at her words.

“Hilde, I’m not sure… I don’t know if I’ll be in the Challenge next time. Lysander doesn’t seem to care much. He said I was free to leave if I wanted.”

My voice fades until it’s barely above a whisper. Looking at Hilde’s smile, hidden under her beloved beard. I realize how lucky I am, finally, and how distant my thoughts were from what Hilde and Essa might have been going through.

“That’s a good thing, Mal,” she says. “I’m glad for you.”

Her honesty all but breaks my heart. I purse my lips, feel the anger build.

“No,” I shake my head, fanning the fire. “This is… she can’t do that. You can’t let her.”

“I’m afraid it’s a little harder than that. She’s my patroness.”

I stand again, fuming, stepping from one end of the room to the other. It feels too tight, the war mantle too warm. Claustrophobic.

“Who is she? What’s her name?”

Hilde gives me a mournful, dispirited look.

“Meriana.”