Summer, year 568 of the Varakarian Cycle

  The next morning brought a strong breeze and a thin overcast. The air carried a faint scent of dew as Kharg led his friends to the academy after a quick breakfast in the parlor. Fafne darted playfully above them, entertaining them with his aerial acrobatics before swooping down to land gracefully on Kharg’s shoulder.

  The academy grounds were alive with activity, apprentices and instructors moving purposefully. Fafne drew immediate attention when they passed through the main gate. Gasps of surprise and murmurs spread among the gathered students as they noticed the rare faerie dragon perched on Kharg.

  “Is that... a faerie dragon?” a voice gasped from the crowd.

  “By the gods, it is!” another exclaimed.

  Kharg couldn’t help but chuckle slightly at the growing interest. A few of his old acquaintances approached, their faces lighting up as they recognized him.

  “Kharg!” called a tall, wiry apprentice with tousled brown hair. “It’s been ages. You’ve been hiding dragons, have you?”

  Kharg chuckled and clasped the apprentice’s hand in greeting. “Fafne found me, not the other way around. He’s as much my teacher as my familiar.”

  A small group quickly gathered, students he’d sparred and studied alongside during his time at the academy. They peppered him with questions about his travels and Fafne, their awe at the rare creature clear in their wide eyes.

  “He’s beautiful,” said a soft-spoken apprentice, eyeing Fafne with fascination. “Does he do magic?”

  “More than you’d expect,” Kharg replied with a grin. “But he’s also got a sharp tongue, so don’t get on his bad side.”

  Fafne warbled softly, puffing out his chest at the attention, clearly enjoying the admiration.

  As the group chatted animatedly, Master Ferghun appeared, his commanding presence causing the apprentices to part respectfully. His sharp eyes assessed Fafne for a brief moment before turning to Kharg with a smile.

  “Welcome back, Kharg,” Ferghun said. “And I see you’ve brought interesting company.”

  Kharg bowed his head slightly. “Master Ferghun, it’s good to see you. These are my friends, Caspian and Ivar, apprentices from the academy in Varakar. They’ll be here for a fortnight, and I was hoping they might be allowed to train with your students.”

  Ferghun’s regard shifted to the newcomers, giving them a long appraising look. “Very well,” he said after a moment. “Let’s see what they’re made of.”

  The arena was filled with students who sparred under the watchful eyes of instructors, the air alive with the crackle of magical energy. Ferghun cleared the area with a sharp command, and the students gathered at the edges, curiosity evident in their faces.

  Ferghun tested Kharg’s friends one by one. Caspian went first, summoning arrows of air that streaked out with respectable speed and force. He had improved considerably under Kharg’s tutelage. When he first started, he would hardly have been able to hit a door at ten paces. And that was only if he managed to compress the air into an arrow strong enough to be noticed. But compared to the students here, his attacks lacked precision and fluidity. Ferghun deflected the strikes with minimal effort, his Essence shield not even rippling under the blows.

  Ivar stepped forward next, his determination evident in the set of his jaw. He spent an uncomfortably long time shaping the weave of a fireball. He had learned the spellform very recently, though he had not had time to practice it at all. Eventually it stabilized into a tight, churning sphere of flame that he hurled away. Ferghun’s shield absorbed the attack without so much as a flicker, and Ivar followed up with a powerful gust of wind. The gust sent sand flying but left Ferghun completely unfazed. His shield expanded into a half-sphere and absorbed the force with casual ease.

  Satisfied with their performance, Ferghun addressed the assembled apprentices. “They have courage, and that’s a good start,” he said in a lecturing voice. “But courage alone is not enough. Technique, discipline, and refinement are the virtues that turn potential into power.”

  Fafne flicked his tail, clearly unimpressed, and let out a chirp that almost sounded like a scoff before he leaped into the air and flew away to pester a nearby hawk, who was less than pleased by the company.

  Kharg smirked. “Fafne has strong opinions about battle magic, it seems.”

  For a moment the two men stood in silence, watching the hawk wheel away from its unwanted pursuer. Then Ferghun, ever unreadable, arched a brow. “And does he intend to critique my techniques?”

  At that, Fafne spun around midair as if the words had reached him despite the distance. With a swift beat of his wings, he swooped back down, alighting on Kharg’s shoulder. He preened dramatically and let out a low, thoughtful hum, his bright eyes fixed on the arena as though weighing the question.

  Kharg chuckled. “Careful, Master Ferghun, he may challenge you next.”

  The gathered apprentices laughed, the tension of the sparring matches dissipating.

  As Ivar and Caspian were assigned to an assistant instructor, Kharg noticed some of the gathered apprentices still glancing at Fafne, their curiosity unquenched. A few hesitated, then approached cautiously.

  “Can we... pet him?” a bold apprentice asked, earning a laugh from Kharg.

  “That’s up to him,” Kharg replied. Fafne cocked his head, thinking it over, before giving a tiny nod. The apprentice reached out gently, her face lighting up when Fafne allowed her touch.

  Master Ferghun and Kharg headed back to the main hall. Turning to Kharg, Ferghun’s tone softened. “They’ve got a long way to go, but they didn’t hesitate. That’s more than I can say for some.”

  Kharg made a small gesture of agreement, his pride in his friends tempered by an acknowledgment of their inexperience. “Battle skills aren’t emphasized much in Varakar,” he said. “But they’re eager to learn.”

  Ferghun regarded Kharg with a considering smile. “And you? Will you be joining us for practice?”

  “I’d like to,” Kharg replied. “But I have some matters to attend to at home first.”

  “You’re always welcome here, Kharg. Don’t stay away too long.”

  “I had hoped to see Arlan and Lysanne here…” Kharg left it hanging.

  “They returned home quite some time ago.”

  Kharg thanked him and took his leave, content knowing his friends were in capable hands.

  * * *

  Kharg hurried back to the mansion, climbing to the third-floor study, a spacious room filled with the scent of leather-bound books and polished old wood. The balcony doors across the room, glass panes set in dark wood frames, were wide open and the curtains next to the doors fluttered softly in the wind. His father was seated at a wide mahogany desk with a bunch of sea charts spread out before him. He held a logbook in one hand, his expression focused as he traced a route across the parchment.

  “Father,” Kharg greeted, stepping into the room.

  Akgun glanced up and an almost imperceptible smile broke through his stern demeanor. “Ah, Kharg. Back from the academy already?” He gestured for Kharg to take a seat.

  Kharg sat opposite him, watching as his father tapped a finger thoughtfully on one of the charts. “We acquired these from a discontented captain,” Akgun began, his tone carrying a trace of humor. “He was unhappy with his House, a story told often enough. Another of their ships had been badly damaged in a storm, and they assigned his ship to another captain while repairs were being done. Foolish, really. Separating a captain from his ship... It’s a bond stronger than marriage for many. They know their vessel like they know their own soul.”

  Kharg smiled softly, absorbing the insight. “It does seem like a mistake. A captain who doesn’t know the quirks of his ship might overlook something critical.”

  “Precisely,” Akgun said, clearly pleased. “The smallest detail can spell the difference between triumph and tragedy at sea.”

  The conversation shifted as Akgun leaned back slightly, giving his son a knowing look. “And what of Varakar? I imagine it has been an education in more ways than one.”

  Kharg chuckled softly. “It certainly has. The academy is everything I hoped for, but the city... It’s chaotic, Father. Thrilling, but not without its challenges.”

  “And the letter of credit?” Akgun prompted, arching a brow.

  Kharg inclined his head in gratitude. “A lifeline, truly. Thank you for trusting me with it. It’s proved invaluable.”

  Akgun made a slight motion with his head but said nothing, letting the conversation flow. Kharg hesitated a moment before continuing. “I should also tell you, I signed up with the Adventurers’ Guild.”

  Akgun’s brows knit slightly and a brief note of concern flickered across his eyes, gone as fast as it had appeared. “The Guild? That’s a different path than I expected. What prompted this?”

  “The Academy requires a hefty certification fee for graduates,” Kharg explained. “The Guild offers an alternative, a way to gain the same credentials without the cost. But it comes with its own price. They take thirty percent of all earnings from discoveries.”

  Akgun’s lips quirked into a wry smile. “A shrewd bargain, from their perspective.”

  Kharg continued. “It’s not ideal, but it’s manageable. And the Guild offers other opportunities, connections, resources. It’s not without merit.”

  Their talk shifted to trade, with Akgun asking pointed questions about Kharg’s observations in Varakar. He seemed genuinely interested in his son’s insights, occasionally nodding thoughtfully or jotting a note in the margins of the sea charts.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “You mentioned the obsession with the thin, white-glazed earthenware among the nobles there,” Akgun said. “I’ve heard similar reports, but it’s good to have confirmation from someone with a direct perspective. Farad writes that the nobles have even taken to calling it porcelain, and the thinner the plates, the better, or so his notes claim.”

  Their conversation shifted between business and personal experiences. It was clear to Kharg that his father was testing how much he had absorbed during his time away. Kharg felt a sense of pride as he held his own, offering observations and suggestions that appeared to genuinely interest his father.

  Akgun eventually fell silent and gave Kharg a long look, his expression softening. “You’ve done well, Kharg. You’ve grown in ways I’m proud to see.”

  Kharg smiled, feeling a warmth in his chest at the praise. “Thank you, Father.”

  Akgun rose and gestured toward the open doors leading to the patio. “Come, let’s continue this over lunch. It’s too fine a day to stay indoors.”

  As they lingered over their lunch on the sun-dappled patio, the conversation turned practical. The meal had been a delightful array of fresh seafood, roasted meats, and vibrant greens, all complemented by a light, crisp white wine from Saamaer in the south. The gentle breeze carried the sweet aroma of lavender and roses from the nearby garden, adding to the tranquil ambiance.

  Kharg leaned back in his chair, glancing at his father. “I’ve been thinking,” he began, swirling his wine thoughtfully. “While I’m here, I’d like to do some alchemy. We’ll need potions for the journey north, and I imagine the House could benefit from a fresh stock as well.” Hrafun’s training had given him a good basis, or so he mused, and his time at the Academy had helped as well. It was time to see what he could actually manage on his own. A couple of basic potions, nothing too fancy, should be within reach.

  Akgun’s eyes lit up with interest. “An excellent idea, Kharg. Potions are always in demand, and if you have the skill, it would be a welcome boon. What do you have in mind?”

  Kharg thought this for a moment. “For the House, I’d say potions that grant night vision would be invaluable for the crews at sea. It’s a practical advantage, especially in unfamiliar waters or during storms.”

  Akgun cocked his head, his expression thoughtful. “That would indeed be a treasure for our captains. What else?”

  “I can also prepare healing potions,” Kharg offered, “but I should clarify. They would only work for relatively minor injuries. A deep wound or a broken bone is beyond my capability, but I could craft potions that accelerate natural healing over time.”

  Akgun leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “That would still be a great help. Sailors are a rough-and-tumble lot, and even minor wounds can fester without proper care. A potion to speed healing would be invaluable.”

  Encouraged, Kharg continued. “I’ll also make a batch of impregnating liquid for the sails and ropes. It’s something I can prepare in larger quantities, and it should extend their durability against salt and wear.”

  “That’s a fine thought,” Akgun said with approval. “I’ll send someone into the city to fetch whatever ingredients you need. Just give me a list.”

  The discussion turned to what Kharg might prepare for his own group and he pondered aloud. “For us, night vision potions are a given. Beyond that... perhaps potions of courage? The tundra can be unforgiving, and we might face challenges that test our resolve.”

  His father gave a small tilt of his head and smiled at him with quiet pride. “You’re thinking ahead, Kharg. That’s what makes a leader. Plan for the unexpected, and you’ll rarely be caught unprepared.”

  Kharg flashed a smile at his father for the compliment. They discussed the specifics of the potions for a while longer, Akgun occasionally suggesting additional uses or considerations for the House’s trade routes. By the time the meal concluded, Kharg had made a mental list of what he would make and what he needed. The prospect of crafting something tangible, something useful, excited him.

  Akgun leaned back in his chair and stroked his beard thoughtfully as the servants began clearing the table. “You’ll need a proper workspace for this. There’s no point trying to craft these potions in the midst of distractions.”

  “I thought about that. Perhaps the basement? It’s out of the way, and has enough space for a small alchemical setup.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Akgun agreed. “Let’s inspect it. We can have it prepared properly.”

  Father and son descended into the cool basement of the mansion, the stone walls exuding a muted earthy scent. The room Kharg had in mind wasn’t large, roughly four by five yards, but it was dry and well-ventilated, with enough space for his needs. As they walked the perimeter, Kharg began picturing how to arrange the essentials.

  “It will do,” Kharg said finally, his tone decisive. “Though my equipment is rather basic.”

  “What do you have?” Akgun asked, gesturing for more details.

  “A tripod for heating, a few cups, and some bone rods for stirring,” Kharg replied. “It’s nothing compared to the laboratory at the Academy in Varakar. They had a fantastic setup with advanced equipment, likely costing a small fortune in glassware alone.”

  Akgun raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound like much to work with. Will you need anything else?”

  Kharg began ticking off the list in his head. “A proper mortar and pestle, a set of bowls, glass if possible, and a thick candle for heating… and I’ll need an alembic as well. It’s one of the key pieces of equipment for extracting and condensing the essence of ingredients.”

  Akgun’s expression shifted to one of curiosity. “What is an alembic?”

  “It’s a distillation tool. The base heats the ingredients and turns their essence into vapor which travels through a cooling pipe where it condenses back into liquid form. That liquid is the concentrated essence, which I use as active components in potions.”

  “Sounds intricate,” Akgun said, intrigued. “How do we get one? I doubt we have a coppersmith familiar with such specialized tools.”

  “I can make a drawing,” Kharg suggested. “It’s not overly complicated, and I think any skilled coppersmith should be able to craft it. The design will need to include a base for heating, a chamber for the ingredients, and a pipe for the condensation. If we provide clear instructions, it shouldn’t be too difficult.”

  “Do that,” Akgun agreed. “I’ll have one of the servants take the drawing to the coppersmith first thing tomorrow. We’ll pay for the best work to make sure it’s done right.”

  “Thank you, Father,” Kharg replied, touched by his father’s support.

  With Akgun’s assistance and a few directives to the servants, the room was soon prepared. A large sturdy table was placed in the center of the room and shelves were mounted along the walls. A cabinet in one corner was repurposed to store his more delicate or hazardous ingredients.

  “It’s a good start,” Akgun remarked, clapping a hand on Kharg’s shoulder. “You’ve got almost everything you need to begin.”

  Kharg dipped his chin in acknowledgment, a quiet determination settling over him. “It’ll serve its purpose for now. Once the alembic is ready, I can truly get started.”

  Akgun offered a brief smile. “Let me know if you require anything else, or speak to Ehram. That man has a talent for acquiring nearly anything one might need. He should return tomorrow. Until then, I’ll leave you to your work.”

  “Thank you, I’ll speak with him,” Kharg replied thoughtfully. Ehram served as his father’s trusted manservant and steward, and Kharg had wondered about his absence. This project was exactly the sort of endeavor that suited Ehram’s particular skills.

  As his father departed, Kharg lingered in the room, surveying the newly arranged workspace. Glass rods lay carefully aligned upon the table, accompanied by various pieces of simple glassware, including flasks and bowls borrowed from the kitchen.

  Next to the table, a large iron cauldron hung suspended from a sturdy chain attached to a thick roof beam with a wide bronze brazier on the floor beneath it. The cauldron’s position allowed for controlled heating, with the chain enabling it to be raised or lowered as needed. Its broad, rounded surface promised versatility, equally suitable for boiling herbs or blending larger batches of low alchemy concoctions.

  A set of scales with weights and two stone mortars with pestles stood on a nearby smaller table. The mortars had been borrowed from the kitchen and caused a bit of grumbling from the chef, or so he heard. He hoped that would not have repercussions on his dining while he stayed here, though perhaps he would need to make it up to the man somehow.

  The smaller mortar was ideal for grinding delicate crystals or dried herbs, while the larger one was better suited for bulkier materials like charcoal or chalk. A row of thick glass bottles, containing fresh springwater, lined the top shelf on the far wall. Their surfaces were misted from the cool air of the basement, standing ready for use.

  A shallow wooden bowl brimmed with powdered chalk, and next to it leaned a burlap sack filled with lumps of coal. On another shelf, the essential but mundane ingredients were neatly arranged, including bottles of red wine, clumps of coarse sea salt, powdered salt, braided strings of garlic bulbs, and small jars of honey. A bundle of dried sage and rosemary hung from a hook, their earthy scents mingling with lavender from the floors above. A large clay bowl held a block of beeswax, both an ingredient and a sealing agent. Sticks of incense, ready to burn for focus and as ingredients, rested on the shelf beside them.

  He was surprised at how fast everything had come together with the makeshift laboratory. Now he only had to secure an alembic, and then gather a few more ingredients. With a content sigh, he surveyed the room. A couple of chandeliers cast the room in a flickering yellow light that was enough for now, though he planned to use his magic to light up the room once he got to work. The subtle aroma of the room was a mix of stone, wood, and herbal undertones that set the tone for the meticulous work ahead.

  He thought about the formulas and the order in which he should prepare the potions. It would be fairly easy to obtain all he would need for the low alchemy formula to make impregnating liquid, though it might take some time to secure some of the ingredients for the high alchemy brews he planned.

  “You know what, Fafne? This will be my first laboratory of my own.” Kharg chuckled contentedly but got no reply from Fafne, who had found a good resting spot on one of the empty shelves. “I really look forward to this, crafting something.” With a final long look at the room, he sent a mental tug to Fafne and retired to his quarters to plan the next steps.

  A writing desk had been prepared for him and there were plenty of sheets of vellum and everything else he needed. Fafne had found a place on the windowsill from which he kept a watch on Kharg through sleepy half-lidded eyes. Seating himself at his work desk, Kharg carefully smoothed out a fresh sheet of vellum, dipping his goose quill into the inkwell.

  Kharg spent part of the evening drafting a detailed diagram of the alembic, carefully labeling each section with notes to ensure the coppersmith would understand its purpose. He added specifications for the cooling pipe and the dimensions of the collection chamber, wanting to ensure the design was efficient yet straightforward. Once that was done, his mind ran over the recipes and the compounds they would need for both their journey north and the family’s trade routes. He pulled out fresh sheets of vellum and began to write, his script precise and orderly.

  At the top of the list, he noted whale fat and beeswax, both essential components for the creation of the Impregnating Liquid, a low-alchemy compound valued for its ability to make materials more resistant to water, decay, and wear. Combined with arsenic, these would form the basis of this practical potion, a valuable boon for the ships of the Silverwolf fleet.

  His thoughts shifted to protection potions, which would be indispensable for both the House’s trade and their expedition. Sea turtle shells, rich in natural resilience, were key to virtually all protection potions according to the Academy, including the Potion of Courage, which fortified the drinker against fear and mental manipulation. He paired this with chamomile leaves, their calming properties harmonizing perfectly with the courage-inducing essence.

  Continuing down the list, Kharg added the necessary components for high-alchemy healing potions: bloodroot, known for its regenerative properties, and fly agarics, a potent yet tricky ingredient used to accelerate recovery. These potions, while not capable of major healing, could mend minor injuries or aid in faster recovery from wounds.

  Pausing, he tapped the quill against his chin, recalling the need for certain rare and more challenging ingredients. Carbuncle gems, moonstones, and bloodstones, vital for their arcane amplifying properties, would enhance the potency of several advanced alchemical preparations. While these might not be readily available locally, he was confident the markets could provide at a price. He also noted lizard blood, an important reagent for several mixtures, which could perhaps be sourced by hiring local urchins to scour the nearby countryside.

  Owl eyes, however, posed a greater challenge. Their connection to heightened senses and clarity of vision made them invaluable for night-vision potions, but they were a bit difficult to obtain. Kharg made a note to inquire with the alchemist in Old Town, whose stock often included such rare components. Finally, he reminded himself of the spider webs covered with morning dew, a delicate ingredient he planned to harvest himself from the estate gardens. It was an alchemist's ritual he had found grounding, something initially done under Hrafun’s watchful eye and then had become routine.

  Satisfied with the list, Kharg folded the vellum carefully and summoned a servant. The young man arrived promptly, bowing as he entered. Handing over the list, Kharg explained, “Prioritize what you can acquire locally, and coordinate efforts to obtain the rarer items. Let me know if anything proves impossible.”

  The servant scanned the list, his face betraying a flicker of surprise at some of the requests. By the time he read “lizard blood” and “owl eyes,” his brows rose, and he gave an audible gulp. “I’ll see it done, my lord,” he replied with a respectful nod, taking his leave. Kharg stopped him before he reached the door and handed over the drawing.

  “And this, please take it to the best coppersmith in the city.”

  When the door closed, Kharg went over to the window and enjoyed the view of the reddish hue from the sun that had dipped below the crest of the slope where Sitch Nar sprawled. The weight of the work ahead filled him with a focused determination and a sense of exhilaration.

  * * *