"Master of the five Magics" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hardy Lyndon)

CHAPTER SIX

Luck of the Potionmakers

ALODAR pushed the cork into the last flask and sat down on the small stool beside the workbench. He shook his head to clear the numbness and looked through fatigued eyes at the two rows of transparent liquid that barely covered the bottoms of their containers. Only sixty-three, he thought, sixty-three small flasks to represent the results of over five months of labor.

Saxton placed a fleshy palm on Alodar's shoulder and rose on his tiptoes in a back arching stretch. "Well done, my lad," he yawned. "You have been an apt pupil and we have accomplished much. Four steps completed and six more to try. If all the rest go right half of the time, then we have about three chances in four of producing the ointment. And with fewer repetitions to run at each stage, we will progress all the more swiftly."

"From such speed we can well benefit," Alodar said. "The monotony of repetition bothers me less than the time remaining before we must make good the loan from Basil."

"There is an additional matter for concern," Saxton said. "I have traded what useful stock I could for ingredients to get this far but can continue in the same manner no longer. The sixth step requires peat tar dug in darkness and Basil virtually monopolizes the entire supply. Either we deal with him or attempt instead to use a substitute."

"I would rather not give him further claim upon our futures when we have come this far on our own," Alodar said.

"Nor would I," Saxton replied. "I have escaped the snare in which he has entrapped others by bartering but modestly and then only when I had no other choice."

He stopped and ran his hand over his head, his eyes frowning in thought. "And by the laws," he said, "we may as well try. There is more danger if we substitute in a formula this potent, but if we do not, we increase our risk as well. Let us look in the almanac and see what signatures must be provided."

Saxton reached up on the shelf and pulled down one of a matched set of volumes placed in a neat line amid his jumble of assorted grimoires.

"Yes, peat tar, here it is," he said. " 'Thick, sticky black liquid with pungent odor.' Well, the thickness and stickiness are well enough understood. Almost all of the more complex formulas that have many diverse ingredients need some substance to bind them together. The other properties are a little more ambiguous, depending upon the final objective. For transfigurations, black provides the animal's coat, for invisibility, the quenching of light, and so on. Ah, this is the entry. For heat-shielding, black gives the dissipativeness of empty space. Let us see, for the pungent odor there are likewise many interpretations but they all seem to deal with repulsion. In our case, yes, here it is. For shielding ointments, the odor repels heat."

Saxton slammed the book shut and replaced it on the shelf. He closed his eyes, folded his arms across his chest and rocked back and forth on his heels.

"Sap from the maple tree," he said at last. "I have some here. And if somehow we could use the powder of distaste with it, the signature should be close enough to work."

"You have the powder as well," Alodar said. "I came across it while looking for more of the syrup of narcissus."

"But as you said, we can ill afford the labor," Saxton replied. "The powder binds but poorly with any other substance. It would float on the surface of the maple sap like oil on water. We would have to force each gram into the liquid one at a time and hold it there until it was soaked through and would stay. And for each of our flasks we need hundreds of grains. Your task with the spider eyes was a small effort by comparison."

"Does the soaking require an activation," Alodar said, "or merely the effort to bring it about?"

"There would be no alchemy in the preparation," Saxton said. "That would follow when we had the peat tar substitute ready for use."

"Then I have the solution," Alodar said excitedly. "What you describe is but a perfect application of thaumaturgy. We can hold one grain in a bead of sap and, with a simple spellbinding, the others will follow."

Saxton wrinkled his nose and frowned. "I have no need for another craft," he said, "and certainly not for another craftsman. Besides no thaumaturge would accept an invitation to my shop even if I were to extend one."

"I can do what has to be done," Alodar said. "Let us pour out the sap and I will show you."

Saxton looked at Alodar a long time, then shrugged his shoulders and pointed to one of the shelves. Alodar slid off the stool and retrieved a glazed jug with a stopper crusted with mold and hardened streams of sap running down the sides like candlewax about a bottle. He decanted a generous amount into a large shallow pan and, sucking on a glass tube, extracted a droplet to place in a vial nearby. He found the powder of distaste and grabbed a pinch between thumb and forefinger. Like a cook spicing a stew, he sprinked the dark black powder over the open dish. Then, with a pair of tongs, he extracted a final grain from the small square tin.

He looked at the anthanor flame burning nearby and spoke the words he had not used for the long months he had labored at his new craft. Then, with a sudden motion, he plunged the tongs into the vial and turned to watch the surface of the pan. The powder disappeared from view, sinking into the darkness of the sap and leaving sluggish ripples in its wake.

Saxton crept closer, his squinting frown replaced by eyes wide with curiosity. He looked at the uncluttered surface of the liquid in the pan and then to the tongs in the vial. "The quarter part of an hour should be enough," he said quietly as he studied the mixture.

Some time later, Alodar released the connection and pulled the empty forceps from the small vial. The grains of powder remained where they were, floating in suspension. "We are ready with the substitute peat tar," ha said with a smile.

Saxton grunted at Alodar's success and motioned him aside. He picked up the first of the stoppered flasks and carried it across the room to a ring above a small smoking flame. The soot immediately began to blacken the bottom of the glassware and send wisps of carbon up the sides. Saxton removed the cork and added to the clear solution some of the impregnated sap, using a large bulbed pipette. Then as he watched the liquid simmer, he began to copy a parchment scrap onto clean paper.

"By the signatures, why must the good formulas all be such a bother?" he wondered. "Ten steps in this one, each with no more than an even chance of proceeding correctly. Ten steps, by the laws. One thousand setups for the first, so we get about five hundred successes. Five hundred successes so we can have step two go right in about two hundred and fifty. Here we are at the fifth and must try it no less than the full sixty-three times just so we have two chances of having the final activation succeed. Were the stakes not so high, I would be tempted to make one lot and be done with it. Would that these formulas could be multiplied as are those of a cook without a corresponding decrease in their potency."

Before Alodar could reply, Saxton had completed all but the final symbol and raised his pen-hand high. All was ready, and Alodar tensed as the quill descended to the paper.

The room suddenly exploded in light, and Alodar's eyes pulsed with pain. He blinked once and then twice more. All was strangely dark except for a dull glow in the direction of the flask, which remained even when his lids were closed. Saxton lurched against him, and both fell to the floor in a crash of splintering boxes and the tinkle of broken glass.

"Hellfire," Saxton coughed. "We have to get out."

Alodar opened his mouth to reply but quickly shut it again, gagging on a thick, stinging vapor which burned the linings of his throat. He raised one hand to cover his nose and felt a trickle of fresh blood on his palm. He stood upright, crunching glass, and flailed blindly with his free hand until he found Saxton's arm. The doorway should be behind them. As he pulled the alchemist to his feet, he began to grope towards the exit.

More glass clattered as they staggered together, stumbling against the gear scattered about the floor. Alodar banged his shins against a heavy iron bar across their path and fell to his knees. He rose and limped forward, free hand in front reaching for a familiar object. He took three more steps and then stopped, feeling the blank wall that separated the workroom from the front of the shop. He reached back, placed Saxton's hand on his shoulder, and began inching to the doorway on the right. His lips started to quiver behind his guarding hand and be fought to hold back the growing demand for air.

Each cautious blind step seemed to be his last, but he pushed on for another until be felt the jamb of the door. He could hold breath no longer and bolted into the front room, ricocheting into the walkway beside the counter. Saxton scurried behind, and together they crashed forward, ripping the latch from its guide, and out into the street,

Alodar stumbled for the last time and sprawled on the sidewalk planking. He took a tentative breath; although it was tainted with the smell from the workroom, it filled his lungs with air. He rolled over and looked at the sky. The dull glow was still there, but fainter now, and the dim outline of the moon began to form beside it. He turned to his side and deduced that the mass beside him must be Saxton, painting rapidly, but alive as well.

"Cut short your stay at Cedric's tomorrow," the alchemist rasped. "We will journey to the apothecary and barter for what we need. So Basil has all the supply of peat tar. It is well worth whatever price."

Alodar ducked behind his shield and the padded club whizzed over his head. Unarmed grappling, staves, broadsword and shield, and now the mace, he thought. The months of monotonous execution of the first steps of the formula had given him time to observe Cedric well. Well enough that Alodar was beginning to be a true match for Dartilon and the others like him.

His opponent staggered as he halted the rush of his missed blow, and Alodar seized the opportunity to strike. He thrust his shield diagonally across his body, blocking Dartilon's arm at the top of its backswing. Reaching out with his own mace, he swung it in a wide arc, catching the young lord squarely on the back of his unprotected head. Dartilon sagged to the ground, momentarily dazed by the blow.

"Enough," he said weakly. "I am tired from the festivities at my father's manor last night. Enough for today. When I am fully awake and fresh, we shall see who can better handle the club."

Alodar said nothing as Dartilon rose and retired to the dressing quarters. His left arm ached from holding the heavy shield through three successive combats, but he did not mind the discomfort,

"Well enough, Alodar," Cedric's voice rasped behind him. "Rest a bit in the shade of the courtyard wall. You will find progress faster if you do not try to master it all in a single day."

"I think I can make it worthwhile for another match," Alodar said as he turned and saw Cedric heading for the shadow. "And I do not rest easy so long as there is more to learn."

Cedric sat down on a small bench pushed against the vine-covered wall. "And when you have learned all that I have to teach you, what then do you expect?"

"As I have said, warmaster," Alodar replied, "the respect which is my due."

Cedric pulled his lips into a tight line and slowly shook his head. "Come," he said, "there is no one else to instruct for the next hour. But there is more that I can teach you than the crash of the mace."

Alodar dropped the shield and joined Cedric on the bench. He looked the older man in the face and raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"I was lowly born," Cedric said, "and sought the glory of the sagas with my sword. Long hours and numbing pain I endured perfecting my craft. Fatigue and aching soreness were my only companions. I have seen few in my lifetime whose dedication matched that of my youth."

Cedric stopped and his lips curved into a slight smile as he looked at Alodar setting beside him. "But no matter for dedication and training," he said at last. "The border wars of Vendora's father provided many opportunities for me to show my mettle, and by luck, skill, and reckless abandon I made my name known throughout Procolon and the neighboring kingdoms. From warrior, sergeant, captain, to commander I increased my glory fighting thirty years for the king, and when I thought I had enough to compel the respect from any man, be he lord or no, I came finally to the royal courts of Ambrosia."

Cedric threw back his head and closed his eyes. "I remember it well," he said. "A courteous audience, a gold medallion, a flush of balls and parties, and then, when the novelty of my presence faded, the postern gate. Retired with honor so the proclamation said, but not so much that I could pound a lord on the back or join him in a cup of wine. The craftsmen of the street might sing my praises, but so long as I was not a part of the faction with the ear of the king, then it did not matter.

"I became a bodyguard of a minor noble and observed from his retinue the workings of the court. I saw the whispered conversations, the hints of special knowledge, the alliances, the coercions, the allegiances that shifted with each interpretation of the actions of the king. It took me some while to understand the rules of the games at court, and once I learned I did not care to play. Better they pay me soft gold for their son's instruction than I pay them for an occasional bow or polite greeting.

"You speak of respect, and I tell you it is not for deeds but for influence. Have the favor of the ruler or the conviction of others that you do, and respect will follow. And no feat of arms, regardless how closely it resembles a tale from the sagas, will have the value of a simple bribe to an appointment herald of some high placed noble."

"It is not only by arms that I plan my assault," Alodar said. "I intend to use the result of Saxton's alchemy as well."

Cedric pushed Alodar's words aside with a wave of his arm. "How can that serve any better?" he said. "Practice at arms at least returns with increased skill the investment of time you give to it. Random dabbling on the Street might yield nothing at all."

"Of the five arts, alchemy is indeed unique in its uncertainty," Alodar admitted. "Using exactly the same ingredients in the same formulas does not necessarily produce identical results. The next to final step for nerve elixir, for example, produces ball lightning instead four times out often."

"Unpredictable outcomes that make useless such experimentation," Cedric rasped.

"No, they are indeed related," Alodar replied. "With nerve elixir, we stabilize our erratic impulses to fly and jerk uncontrollably in just the same way the crackling forces of the ball lightning are aligned and held in check. And although the chance outcome inhibits methodical investigation, the fundamental doctrine of alchemy does give some indication on how to proceed."

"And what is that?" Cedric asked.

"The doctrine of signatures," Alodar said, warming to the task of displaying his new-found knowledge. "Or as it is simply stated: 'the attributes without mirror the powers within.' Beeswax is an obvious choice for use in a formula that transmutes lead to gold. Its ability to polish helps to create the metallic sheen of the final product. Vulture feathers play a role in the production of rugs of levitation and so on."

"If it is so clear then," Cedric persisted, "why all of this talk of trade secrets, new formulas, and profit margins?"

"It is true that if cost and time were not factors, an alchemist could devise a formula to produce almost any product desired, a powder of immobilization, an amulet of unbounded luck, or an ointment of true invisibility. Indeed the alchemist's logo is a triangle impossibly balanced on a single point to show how the laws which govern thaumaturgy are easily transcended. To work his craft, he would consult his almanacs of the properties and brew together the right combination of powers to achieve the effect. But, alas, nature works in perverse ways. The more potent the product, the longer the progress must be, and the smaller is the chance of a successful outcome. The experimentation of alchemy is that of finding the shortcut, the formula with fewer steps, cheaper ingredients and a higher chance of producing the result. A grimoire with formulas of high yield is a treasure indeed."

"Then perhaps I do waste my time toiling with sword and shield," Cedric said. "I would be better off on Honeysuckle Street tearing apart their shops and acquiring these formulas for my own use."

"I think that a grimoire by itself would do you no great good, warmaster," Alodar replied. "Knowledge of three things is needed to activate a formula successfully, and the grimoire will contain only two: the ingredients, and how to prepare and mix them. It will even describe the complex string of symbols for each step of the formula to be copied fresh for the reaction actually to take place. But what is missing are the additional symbols which must be drawn to activate the ingredients to release their power into the brew. And the symbols of activation are closely guarded by the master alchemist. Though I work closely with Saxton on a product of mutual benefit, he reveals to me only a few of the signs which form the heritage of his craft."

"It would seem that the persuasion of pain might reveal what is missing," Cedric said. "And then one could in a trice have what has taken years to find."

"For one formula, perhaps," Alodar said, "but the varying repertory of even a modestly successful alchemist runs to thousands of formulas and activations."

"Yes, but as I have noticed," Cedric said, "nothing these brewers produce seems to last for long."

"It is true," Alodar admitted, "that the virtue of the powders and elixirs does fade quickly; and the more potent the effect, the sooner it is gone. Only true magic can be permanent; magical armor is proof against all blows forever. But the toil of magicians is not easily come by."

"Vendora could make good use of more than one such shirt of mail," Cedric said. "Bandor still runs wild in the west and several of the neighboring barons have joined him in his rebellion. It is no longer a simple matter of one recalcitrant lord."

"I have not heard," Alodar said. "Between my efforts here and in Saxton's shop, I have had time for little else. But how could Bandor attract any to his cause? It was even rumored that his madness was no less than demon driven."

"According to Kelric, the court sorcerer, it is no rumor at all. In his trance of all seeing, he finds no mind of man stoking the fires of revolt. Some of the nobility still refuse to believe it of one of their own. But what in truth pushes Bandor and how he persuades others is of little matter. The west acts in concert against the queen and she must respond. Even now the armies speed homeward from their idle swordwaving in the south so that they can bite real flesh in true defense of her crown."

"Then the sooner I am proficient, the sooner I can aid," Alodar said.

"And the alchemy?" Cedric asked. "Do you labor at night as hard as you do here by day?"

"As hard," Alodar said, "although the effort by itself will not be sufficient. We must travel this noon to Basil's mines in the Fumus Mountains to barter for more ingredients for our craft."

"Well, your enthusiasm does arouse curiosity, Alodar," Cedric said. "Perhaps enough that I will visit my cousin one of these days to see first hand what all this fuss is about."

Alodar started to smile but Cedric cut him short. "Look, young Solidar arrives early for his instruction. You wish not to waste your time with rest; then swing your mace in challenge. I will wait here and then instruct him when he is sufficiently limber."

"By the amulets, Rendrac, not so fast," Saxton said. "You know every turn in the passageways and the torchlight is sufficient. But this heat addles my brain and I must concentrate to keep from tripping over the rubble directly underfoot. I cannot be looking ahead twenty feet to follow which side tunnel you duck into."

"You said you had urgent business with Basil," Rendrac growled back, his deep voice echoing off the tunnel walls. "He will not be out of the mine before nightfall and so I lead you to him. But know that I am hired not merely to run errands for whomever might ask. Be thankful that my own work takes me close by and accept the pace with which I choose to reach him."

Alodar squinted at their guide and saw only a hulking silhouette against the flickering torchlight. The form hunched over to avoid a descending ceiling, burying his head between boulder-like shoulders that brushed the narrowing walls on either side.

He followed Saxton through the constriction and then around a sharp corner into a dazzle of light. He blinked his eyes and looked out a large jagged hole in the smooth stone wall that admitted a flood of afternoon sun.

"A gas bubble popped through here," Rendrac grunted as Alodar moved to the opening to look outside. "We connected through to the passageway we just traversed because it was convenient."

Shielding his eyes with his hand, Alodar looked down the gentle slope of the mountain, barren of plant life and strewn with dark basaltic rocks, streamlined from their molten passage through the air and pockmarked from the gases which bubbled from them as they cooled. Standing on tiptoe, he looked to the left and saw in the distance the snakelike walls which wound their coils around the city of Ambrosia. He exhaled the heavy sulfurous vapors of the interior and for the first time noticed the detail of the tunnels in which he and Saxton had stumbled for the better part of an hour.

Like the boulders outside, the walls were smooth and firm, melted and scoured by the hot vapors that forced their way upward through not quite solid rock. He stepped back and looked down the passageway from which they bad come and saw it heave and fall and then twist from sight, like a gigantic wormhole that wandered randomly through loose-packed earth. He ran his hand along the glassy wall and felt an occasional indentation that caught his fingertip or snagged his palm.

"Matrix for the gemstones," Rendrac said. "Some of the first ones found. But all such have been taken out ages ago." Rendrac waved his arm about the chamber and then ran his hand down stubble-pocked cheeks. His hair was cropped short and unkempt, sprouting from his head like coarse grass, woven by the wind. Cruel, dark eyes capped square jaws that merged into the sinews of a stumpy neck fully as wide as the head it supported. A thin, sweat-soaked tunic covered a barrel-like chest above thighs as big around as a smaller man's waist.

Banging his sword against the stone wall as he turned, he motioned them forward and started down the passageway on the otherside of the opening. Saxton took a deep breath, coughed, and then pushed Alodar ahead, placing a hand on his shoulder as he scrambled by. The tunnel dipped down a steep slope and the air immediately turned oven hot. Alodar dug in his heels to control his descent and felt his throat prickle from the irritants that he scooped in with each shallow breath.

Downward they descended at a cruel pace, and Saxton's hand on Alodar's shoulder became an aching wetness that gave fresh irritation with each step. His tunic clung, and his eyes stung from the salt deposited by the steady trickle from his sweating brow. He felt a weakness soak into his body, and his arms flopped limply at his sides, far wearier than they had been after a full day in Cedric's courtyard.

"Enough, we will see him another day," Saxton croaked at last, but Rendrac did not reply. He continued on for another thirty feet and pointed to a dim opening to his left. Alodar and Saxton stumbled forward and looked inside.

"Rendrac," a voice called out of the side passageway. "It took you long enough to arrive! No one will try any further. They claim that imps are popping through the torch flames in much greater numbers, and that the petty tricks destroy what little concentration they have for their tasks. And not only the simple imps but sprites as big as a fist, and through common flame at that. I explained that some sulfur must have been burnt accidentally, but they would not listen. I think that your logic may well succeed where mine does not."

"I was delayed by the two who came with me, Basil," Rendrac said as he ducked into the passage. "I will take care of the others in but a moment. A few broken limbs and a jarred brain or two, and they will know what they must do."

"But remember what you are about," Basil warned. "They are of no use if they cannot still swing the chisel and carry the pouch. The last two you persuaded were able to crawl down the mountainside free men because I could no longer profit from their effort."

"I will be careful," Rendrac growled as he moved past Basil. "So long as they do what I say, then their pain will be but little."

Basil turned and frowned for a moment as Rendrac disappeared into the gloom, but then shrugged his shoulders and continued forward.

"Why, Saxton," he said as he approached and saw the alchemist standing in the torchlight. "What ever could compel you to seek me here? I thought you far too lazy for such exertion. Are you so anxious to repay the brandels that you cannot wait yet another day?"

"You judge me correctly," Saxton gasped. "It is not for your repayment that I would endure such as this. But the brandels I do not have and the days remaining before they are due are precious few; I must use them efficiently."

"An extension, then." Basil suddenly broke into a toothy smile. "Ah, Saxton, you have made my afternoon. Each time in the past you have somehow come through and settled your contract. Each time I have looked forward to the day I would have your labor all the more. An extension, yes, I can arrange it. Say another month against two years of service rather than one."

"It is not for an extension," Saxton continued weakly as he ran his hand over his head. "By the laws, Basil, cannot we proceed upwards and talk as we go? If we do not, then you will soon have to carry me instead."

Basil waved Saxton's words aside. "It is only your first time and you are not used to it," he said. "It is the lower levels which really test one's mettle. If you descend deep enough, the tunnels run together; no one can say that they belong to me, the queen, or some other, Yet we do not squabble over what is found there. It is just reward for anyone who has the fortitude to brave the heat and return with a prize. Of course, if they depart and return by way of the passageways which are clearly mine, then I receive my fair share.

"But of your visit, tell me more. Despite the nonsense about the imps, I feel quite generous today since my other endeavors go well. Look at my waist and what do you see? Yes, it is no less than a magic dagger, the same that is strutted about the royal court. The nobles are not the only ones with sufficient wealth to own such blades. I have no less than eleven more; an even dozen purchased from Lectonil, the master magician of the Cycloid Guild. An even dozen free and clear. He was anxious to sell and gave better terms the more I would take. The profit I will make from resale of the rest will more than pay for the one I wear here. So tell me of your desires and with a light heart I will listen."

"We need more ingredients," Alodar said, "and wish to barter for time and terms."

"Most aggressive for a novice," Basil said. "Especially for one who is bound by the agreement as well. But is this correct, Saxton?" He rubbed his hands together and broadened his smile. "Do you need more, when I am yet to receive payment for the first?"

"It is as Alodar says," Saxton replied. "We work his formula and need additional ingredients. Dead-man's candle, midnight dew, peat tar and the rest. I have a list of it here."

Basil took the offered piece of parchment and then looked for the first time in Alodar's direction. "You saw me in my factory in Ambrosia some time ago," he said. He glanced at the list and then furrowed his brow in thought.

"I find this hard to believe of you, Saxton," he said at last, "You have eluded me the longest because you have been so careful with your agreements, I cannot see one of your training swept up in the hopeless dreams which blow in from the Street."

"Look at the list," Saxton persisted. "What I choose to blend is no concern of the apothecary. State your terms and let us be done."

Basil's frown deepened and he rubbed his chin. "You have not yet worked off your existing debt," he said. "Yet, for the first time, you are willing to borrow even more and for a formula not of your own making. Tell me what you are about, Saxton, and then once I understand, perhaps the arrangement will be easier."

"Your terms," Saxton said, and Alodar felt the alchemist sag his other hand on his shoulder as well.

"But these are not inexpensive ingredients," Basil said. "Why for the shrieking mandrake alone, to root them out I must use trained dogs with wax plugging their ears. And the peat tar is dug underneath light-tight sheds. The sparkle of a single star would destroy it all."

"Terms, your terms," Saxton said as he collapsed his full weight down upon Alodar's support.

"Very well," Basil replied with a sudden edge to his voice. "Keep your petty secrets, but remember well when you crawl back in less than a month's time that it was not I who was inflexible on alternatives." He stopped and twisted his face in thought. "Twenty years of service for both you and the novice against three hundred brandels on our agreed upon date," he said at last. "Is your formula so precious that you will risk terms such as those?"

"Twenty years is not a fair price," Saxton said. "It should be five at the most and we would agree to that most reluctantly."

"I care not to waste my time in bargaining. Twenty years is the only price," Basil snapped back. "I have waited too long for this opportunity."

"Then perhaps, Alodar, we can reconsider," Saxton said. "It is not the first time I have abandoned a formula before completion. You have taken to the craft well and there will be more opportunity to make our fortune."

"Accepted," Alodar said, ignoring the alchemist's argument. "I would rather deal with this apothecary no further, but if this is our only choice, then we will take it. If we succeed with the formula, the cost for the peat tar and the rest will be unimportant."

"You accept?" Basil said. "Twenty years and less than a month's time?"

For a moment there was silence and Alodar looked over his shoulder at the alchemist. "Accepted," Saxton said weakly with a wave of his hand. "It is as the novice states. If we succeed, then it will not matter."

"To the shed on the mountainside then," Basil said slowly as his frown of puzzlement returned. "We will seal the agreement there and arrange the details for the delivery of the ingredients to your shop."

Basil turned and headed upwards. Saxton shuffled by Alodar to follow. "Twenty years," the alchemist muttered as he passed. "Would we fare even as well as Eldan in such a time?"

"We quest, do we not?" Alodar replied. "The potential of such adversity spurs us onwards to our goal."

"Yes," Saxton said, "but the next step could fail all sixty-three times, regardless of our motivation."