Wild Card segment 8

I am not, as a rule, a violent man, but when I was younger I had certain problematic tendencies that could have made me so. My patience has been worn extremely thin, and while I sympathize with their caution I feel immense frustration; I don't feel like I'm being given much opportunity to even prove my sincerity or use. Then again, given certain dark implications made by several of those present tonight, I might be suffering severe culture shock. There's a certain brutal pragmatism which all of these people take for granted that my twenty-first century sensibilities find horrific. From their point of view, maybe just letting me live is risk enough to let me prove myself.

"Lady Sephrenia, can I access or acquire - tonight - rosemary, lavender, feverfew, willow tree bark, sorrel, basil, apple blossom, chamomile, sandalwood, honey, and/or peppermint? They're not, strictly speaking, absolutely vital, but they'll significantly improve the quality of my work - and a number of glass vials with stoppers or other sealable liquid containers would greatly improve the shelf life of what I'm making."

She tilts her head at me, intrigued, while her daughter walks along beside her. "What objects do you intend to create?"

Damn Sparhawk and his open ended order to answer all of Sephrenia's questions! "The first project I'll be working on for most of the remaining night is a few elixirs to treat injuries, disease, and curses. That's the fastest thing I can make, and their efficacy will be enhanced by more than half with the right admixture of ingredients. I don't imagine you'd have any of the exotic animals with exceptional traits I'd need to make anything more powerful, and unless tonight is a planetary conjunction there's not a lot I can draw from conceptually to enhance them further.

"From there I'll need to get raw metal - bronze, iron, the material isn't important - and craft myself tools to defend myself. I'm going to need weeks of practice to improve various spells in my repertoire to the point where they'll be useful for what I want them to be- such as further empowering elixirs or increasing the effectiveness of other people's weapons and armor. Once I've done that to a sufficient degree I'll be able to craft talismans that won't require me to be present, simply used. Such as a teapot that can brew general purpose elixirs a few times per day. Or a glove that can create a short lived but tough shield to protect oneself or others. Honestly, I'm winging things right now and I'll have to play by ear because I really have no idea what you will all actually NEED or what you're going to be facing. For instance, that Damork thing that Sparhawk-"

"Peace, Anthon. I don't need that much detail." She mispronounces my name, and I can't tell if it's intentional or she just doesn't care enough to get it exactly. Probably the former, maybe to reassure me that she doesn't want to coerce me into doing things if my geas to obey Sparhawk ever bites me. "These elixirs. How much must be drunk to have an effect?"

"A teacup's worth should be enough to deal with a mortal injury," I reply. "Assuming I can get some of those ingredients I mentioned."

"As it happens, I have some stocks of lavender and chamomile, and the refectory likely has some honey." Sephrenia pauses, as her daughter is already holding several small satchets of chamomile flowers and spearmint.

She offers them to me, and I give her the kindest smile I can muster. "Thank you, Flute." She returns a bright, innocent smile and dances away with the sort of carefree abandon only children can manage.

Sephrenia seems slightly annoyed by this, and sighs. "Is there anything else you require?"

"Just a supply of fresh, clean water," I answer, "and I can get that myself."

So saying, I whisper an the incantation to Shape Water, drawing moisture into a slowly growing sphere from the fog of the courtyard until I have approximately a cup of water hovering in front of me. I pull a sprig of spearmint and a chamomile flower from each sachet, and begin to chant and gesture, stirring the herbs into the orb of water and watching the magic dissolve them slowly, gradually tinting it. Sephrenia stares at the water with wide eyes, fascinated by the process, not that I have much other choice until such time as I make a container in which to make Witch's Brew.

I think I can see the direction my subconscious mind had been going as I work. The ability to draw moisture from the air or ground, to craft a powerful Witch's Brew in small batches. The ability to Alter Objects, turn them from raw materials into finished goods almost as easily as thinking of it. In a pinch, to not even need a crafting container at all with a bit of concentration and effort. WIthin a minute's time, the Brew is finished, an elixir in strength further enhanced by herbs known for their soothing and healing properties. I look around, thinking of what to do now, until I catch sight of Kurik entering the courtyard carrying several large packs. He almost trips as he catches sight of me holding a ball of liquid in mid air without container.

I keep most of my attention on the water, kneeling down and looking for some rocks - specifically, quartz. I'm disappointed, unfortunately, as the courtyard is well maintained, which should have been obvious given they have a stables barely thirty feet from me. I shake my head irritably. "Kurik, could I ask a favor?"

The man shakes himself, then asks, "What do you need?"

"A sealable container for liquids."

"I can likely scrounge up some water skins," he says after a moment. "Will that do?"

I nod. "Just don't mix them up with your actual water - you'll feel pretty embarrassed when someone's taken a sword across the face and someone used the elixir the day before to brew tea."

He snorts. "You have a clever tongue," he observes drily. "Maybe it's for the best you aren't travelling with us. There are enough clever tongues in this group without further encouragement or attempts to one up each other."

I look over in the direction of Sephrenia, to find her picking up her daughter and cradling her. The girl is drowsing, her earlier burst of cheerful energy seemingly exhausted already. Which shouldn't be a surprise given the hour. I'm starting to feel it myself- and somehow I just know that whoever I'm stuck with isn't liable to tolerate me sleeping from dawn until afternoon as I usually do.

I hear the sound of liquid glugging softly, and look back at Kurik, who is in the process of pouring a corked bottle's contents into a water skin, although the liquid he's pouring looks suspiciously dark. "Wine?" I ask. He nods. "Do people here make strong liquors? Alcoholic spirits?"

He shrugs. "I've heard that occasionally Thallassians will freeze wines in the snow to make the pour off stronger," he answers, shaking out the last few drops carefully.

In other words, if I want a good drink I'm stuck with wine or beer and I don't like either one. No mixed drinks, no scotch, neat or on the rocks. Then again, no sense in being upset over not having rum for a rum and coke when there's no coke either. Ah, well, I shouldn't be drinking alcohol anyway. Too much to do, and I need a clear head.

I find myself wondering what my wife is doing right now. Probably talking to police. How's she going to explain the living room? It's probably a disaster from all that magic wind. Cats are probably hiding, and here I am stuck a world away with no reasonable way back, and judging by the geasa on me, at least a year before I actually get a chance to go back home.

My morose thoughts are interrupted by a meaty hand holding a cloudy, irregular glass bottle with a cork stopper stuffed in the top. "This good for you?" Kurik demands, although not unkindly.

"Yeah. Yeah, that'd work just fine," I reply. I pull the stopper from the bottle with my teeth and give it a tentative sniff; the readily recognizable scent of fermented grapes fills my nostrils. "What kind of wine is this?" I ask.

"Arcian red," he answers. "Tends to be well received by those who like wine."

I nod. "Then thank you for rehoming it so I could use the bottle. Hopefully nobody gets hurt, much less badly - but if they do, you'll have something to tend to the injuries with."

Kurik grunts. "This stuff you're brewing. Would it heal the Queen?"

"No," I answer regretfully, "Not from poisoning. At least, not with anything I have to hand alongside a lot of practice on my part."

"Shame." As I direct a stream of the floating liquid sphere into the bottle, Kurik looks back to the double doors to the interior of the castle structure as they open. Sparhawk, Tynian, Ulath, and Bevier are trudging out in a silent cluster along with several dozen other knights, all of whom are in the final stages of buckling down armor straps or securing cloaks. Behind them, squires and novices are carrying bundles and packs similar to those that Kurik is already hefting back onto his shoulders again. "How long before they're ready to ride?" I ask.

"At least a few more minutes," he answers. "They still need to mount up, and nobody's even saddled the horses yet."

"Then I'll have time enough to make two more doses," I reply, eyeing the bottle which looks to be just under a third full. "If you want more, I'll need another bottle."

"Little enough time for that. Must you thin out the fog like this? Makes it harder for us to hide our numbers," Kurik comments.

"The water in the air is the purest," I reply. "Direct me to a well and I can fog things up again if you need it."

"Are you blind?" he asks, jerking a thumb over his shoulder to a shape in the darkness across the courtyard, shadowed by the keep and not close enough to any torch to light it adequately.

"At night? Close enough, especially since my eyesight isn't that good at a distance to start with," I retort. "Besides, I've never been inside a castle before, much less this one. Forgive me for not knowing my way around after being escorted inside at the edge of an axe."

"Forgiven, but only this once," Kurik says so drily I'm not a hundred percent sure he's joking.

It takes a couple minutes to fill the bottle, and the knights walking their horses out of the stables openly gawk at me as I brew the concoction in mid air. By the time I'm finished it's filled half way up the neck and the cork stops an inch from the liquid when upright, and the courtyard is awash in knights mounted and waiting to sally forth. I walk over to the stables, where the last touches are being put on the few horses being readied that aren't already out in the courtyard.

"Keep it padded," I advise Kurik as he tends to the horse that's going to be carrying Sephrenia and her daughter. "Especially since you only have the one bottle."

"I'll take that," Sephrenia says, having followed me in. She raises her daughter up onto the horse's back, who isn't wearing a saddle, just a riding blanket, then takes the bottle from me, sniffing judgmentally at it for a moment.

Kurik looks completely unapologetic. "It was that, or a water skin, and as the man said, too easily mistaken for water on the ride. Wouldn't want to be lacking for it because it was accidentally poured to brew tea."

"Of course," Sephrenia replied, obviously not believing him. "Time constraints."

"Indeed."

Within a few more minutes, I'm standing on the sidelines, as the knights are ordering themselves. Well, any sense of decorum on my part is a joke at this point. "Sir Sparhawk?"

Sparhawk cuts off his conversation with Vanion, and looks in my direction. "What?" he demands impatiently.

"While I am here, in this castle-"

"Chapterhouse."

"Pardon?"

"It's a chapterhouse, not an actual castle."

I'm forced to bite my tongue at the pedantry of his correction, but not wanting to irritate him any farther, I just push myself past it. "What are my orders while you're gone?"

"Follow Vanion's orders as if they're mine until I return for you, practice your magics in peace," he says, "protect and heal my brothers."

"Very well," I reply. Honestly, the answer is a lot better than I'd realistically hoped for after the borderline belligerence he's favored me with tonight. "Sir Sparhawk, you should know that if you give me an order from afar, I'll know it. If you need my aid-"

"Last possible resort," Sparhawk cuts me off. "I want your healing magics ready for my Queen if this hunt for the object doesn't bear fruit. The lives of eight more of my brothers, and our instructor in the arts of Styricum hang in the balance, and I prefer a second chance if things go ill."

"Well, good luck, then." I turn and look at Vanion expectantly. "Looks like I'm your responsibility now."

Vanion eyes me tiredly, and nods. "So it would seem."