Brightwing Herbalchemy

Brightwing Herbalchemy and Monster Slaying

Welcome back, everyone!

I'm happy that I was finally able to get back to Arthus and Morgana. I wrote this in a flood of fevered intensity, setting aside all my other much more pressing projects for the past couple of days.

Anyway, I hope that you guys enjoy this chapter!

And please let me know what you think.

......

"You know, Arthus," Morgana said. "I don't think that I've seen even one rat."

I cracked an eye open, peering over to where my wife leaned against the bars of our cell. "Do you want there to be rats?"

She was as she'd dressed in the middle of last night, with her blue, many-pocketed apron tied over plain homespun. Her bright red laces spilled out of her boots in a loose tangle.

"Of course not," she answered. "But it's weird that we haven't seen any, right?"

"Dalford's not very big." I shifted on the hard wooden bench, trying to get more comfortable. "Prisons are usually cleaner in smaller cities."

"Why's that?"

I let out a breath and stretched my legs, resigning myself to the idea of not getting any more sleep. "There's usually less crime. It's hard to get away with anything when half the town knows you."

Morgana grinned; her eyes bright in the rising light of dawn. "Unless you buy one of our potions."

I stared at her flatly. In the cell beside us, a man groaned.

"Are you still floating, Talbot?" My wife called out.

There were only two cells in the Dalford jail. Both looked into the sheriff's sparsely decorated office. They were like many other dungeons I'd seen; with stone walls, a small window, steel bars, and two wide wooden platforms that served as both cot and bench.

And it was, as Morgana had already noted, surprisingly clean.

"Yes, damn you! I want to come down!"

"Don't worry," she told the oily man who'd bought her potion. "It should wear off soon."

"You've been saying that for the past two hours," I remarked.

"Yes, well, it has to fade away at some point, right?"

Talbot moaned.

It had been a surprising amount of work, all told, to get the screaming Talbot down from the Count's roof. He couldn't let go of the chimney without floating away, so, someone had needed to make their way up there to loop a rope around the man's waist.

He'd been promptly hauled off to prison, arriving only a few minutes after a tired-looking sheriff had escorted my wife and me into this cell.

We both looked up as the heavy, exterior door rattled. A cloaked, hooded figure slipped into the office a few moments later, hurrying over to Talbot's cell.

"My love!" The figure, a woman, cried. "How glad I am to finally gaze upon you once again, yet how my heart weeps to see you brought so low."

Morgana and I exchanged a glance, wordlessly deciding to move in for a closer look.

"Orielle?" Talbot said. "Is that you?"

The woman pulled back her hood, revealing a flow of honey-colored hair, and a face that I would bet hadn't quite seen twenty winters.

Her smile was radiant. "Indeed, it is I, your dearest and most precious Orielle. Gaze upon me, see how I long for thee, and take strength from my love for you."

"Why is she speaking like that?" Morgana murmured.

"She sounds like a bad romance novel," I agreed.

The young woman turned and shot us both a murderous glare. Through the slit in her cloak, I saw that she wore a simple if well-tailored blue dress.

"Yeah, okay," the floating Talbot said. "Orielle, you have to get me out of here!"

The young woman clutched at her chest. "For hours, have I braved the night and all its dangers. I have traveled far, guided by--"

"Orielle!" Talbot shouted. "I don't have time for your prattle! Get me out of here before your father comes!"

Her face shifted into one of perfect grief. "Alas, my heart, I cannot. We must endure this trial. We must stand resolute against a world that would tear us apart. But fear not! For neither my father's wrath nor the spells of this foul enchantress dim the fire of my passion. My love for you--"

"Foul enchantress?!" Morgana exclaimed. "Is she talking about me, Arthus?"

I leaned my forearms into the bars of our cell. "I think so, love."

Orielle whirled on us, her dark, brown eyes flashing. "Will you two shut up!"

"You just insulted me!" Morgana said.

"Because my Talbot is plastered to the ceiling! What did you even do to him?"

"You're the Count's daughter?" I ventured, breaking into the developing argument.

The young woman drew herself up. "I am the Orielle Granpont, and I am the Lady of this demesne. You would do well to respect me."

I grunted. "I'm guessing that you're why Talbot here was on the manor's roof?"

"Our hearts belong together," she answered, once again clutching at her chest. "We have been separated for many moons, lost without each other. This place by my side, so cold without the warmth of his love. We could not bear to be apart even a second longer; and so, made valiant by my beauty and grace, Talbot ventured out into the night's danger."

"Can you just speak normally?" My wife interrupted.

"You're in

my

love story," Orielle snapped. "I'll speak how I fucking want!"

Morgana folded her arms, the tattooed lines below her lips folding with her frown.

"So, be quiet now," the young woman continued. "Because I'm certainly not taking any advice from the villain."

I winced, while Morgana sucked in a loud gasp. "Villain!?"

"Of course," Orielle said. "What else do you call the hag that schemes to keep the heroine from her knight?"

Morgana made a choking sound, her pale skin flushed scarlet with anger.

Orielle turned away with a dismissive sniff, only to scowl as we heard Talbot begin to weep.

"Talbot, shut up!" She said. "You're going to be fine, so stop ruining this. We're going to restart."

She spun away, marching back towards the building's entrance. I stared, surely she wasn't planning to come back in through the door.

Before she got halfway, however, the door opened and two men walked in.

I recognized the sheriff, with his tired eyes and boiled leather armor. The other man was a stranger, though one whose identity I suspected.

He looked to be late into middle age, his golden hair streaked with gray. He wore his beard trimmed short, and his slight frame was dressed in a fine, dark blue doublet.

"Father," Orielle said, confirming my hunch. "I'm pleased that you're here. I demand you release Talbot this very moment."

"Orielle," the Count said. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Will you return the keys you took to good sheriff Arne?"

"Only if you release Talbot."

"I'll do that soon," he said. "But I need to speak with him first."

"Then you're not going to get the keys."

"Orielle," her father said. "I'm not doing this with you. Give the sheriff his keys."

"No!" The young woman cried. "I won't! This is all that evil witch's fault. She's the one who should be punished!"

"Evil--?" Morgana began, but I cut her off by wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her into me.

"Hush now, love," I murmured. "Later."

Her body was stiff. She resisted at first, but I wedged her head into the crook of my neck, resting my cheek on the top of her skull.

She let out a long breath, and I felt her try to relax. I squeezed her tighter against me.

I knew Morgana well enough to know that she'd be stewing on that for the rest of the day. I would talk to her later. But right now, we had to focus our attention on the visiting nobleman.

The conversation had carried on without us, father and daughter raising their voices to each other.

"He was trying to sneak into our home, Orielle!"

"Because he loves me!" Orielle shouted.

The Count snorted, and his daughter's voice went up another octave.

"He's my knight! He loves me and I love him and there's nothing you can do about it!"

"You don't! Orielle, please--"

"No!" She shouted. "Just because you and mom don't know what love is doesn't mean that I'm the same. I love him, and you can't execute him!"

"Execute?!" The Count roared, suddenly burning with anger. "I've never executed a soul, fool girl! But I will not be disrespected in my home."

"I hate you!" She shrieked, her eyes filling with tears.

"Too bad! Now give me the fucking keys!"

She ripped a ring of jangling metal from beneath her cloak, throwing it at her father's chest. She ran out of the office in a storm of tears.

"And apologize to your mother!" The Count shouted before the heavy door was slammed shut.

The silence that followed was deafening.

All stared at the spot where the young woman had disappeared, nobody doing much for several long heartbeats. Finally, the Count let out a weary sigh, bending to pick up the ring of keys from where they'd fallen.

"You have a daughter, don't you sheriff?" He asked, handing the ring over.

"Yes, lord Maslin," the man said. "Two, but they're still young."

"Enjoy that while you can."

"Yes, lord," he said.

He bowed his head and moved towards the small desk. The Count, Maslin Granpont, meanwhile, let out another long breath. He rubbed the bridge of his nose for a bit before raising his eyes to us.

"So, you're the ones that sold Talbot that potion?"

I cleared my throat. "Ahem, yes, sir. Please accept our apologies, lord. We only arrived the day before last, and believe me, had we known what the man would use it for..."

I trailed off as the Count waved my words away.

"You couldn't have known. I spoke to the keeper of the

Bargeman

last night, as well as a few others that have met you. They've confirmed your identities as... what was it you call yourselves?"

"Herbalchemists, lord," I said. I squeezed Morgana's shoulder. "Though in truth, it's my wife with all the talent. I just bumble around helping her as best I can."

The man smiled, a small, amused expression. "Bumble? A strange word to describe a Teutonian seen practicing spear forms with an amazing level of mastery."

I coughed. "Even so, lord. It's Morgana's work that keeps us fed."

Maslin inclined his head at my wife. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mistress Morgana. Those markings on your flesh...May I presume you to hail from the Shattered Isles?"

Morgana nodded.

"And is that where you learned to brew potions of such particular potency?"

Morgana nodded again but didn't yet seem inclined to answer.

I spoke instead. "My wife is uncommonly talented, lord. The draught she made for Talbot here was particularly powerful, but she's assured me that its effects will soon fade."

The man grunted, considering us with bright, intelligent eyes.

"A Teutonian warrior and a powerful potion brewer. You two have already been quite the shock to my little town. Do you cause this much trouble wherever you roam?"

I stiffened slightly and hoped that my face didn't show too much of my discomfort. "We are just out to make what living we can, lord."

Count Maslin suddenly smiled. "Indeed, and don't worry, you'll be released as soon as we're done speaking. I don't hold you responsible for last night's unfortunate trespass. I've heard many speak highly of the effectiveness of your potions, and I think that you'll be good for Dalford."

The man nodded to the sheriff, who moved to unlock our cell.

"We're a bit out of the way from the other major cities, and so what rarer goods that do pass through here typically come with an inflated cost. People are already grateful for your arrival."

He winked.

"Except for, perhaps, our alchemist, Richau."

"Your daughter," Morgana finally said, speaking up from where she was still pressed against my side. "She really loves him?"

The man grimaced. "Orielle falls in love at least a dozen times a year. So far, I have yet to meet one of these men who's more than naked greed painted over with a handsome face. She's my only child, you see, and the man she marries will inherit my county."

He turned to glare into the neighboring cell.

"Unfortunately, my daughter finds Talbot Jolicoeur to be more handsome than most."

Morgana made a small sound in her throat. She pushed herself off of me, and we moved out of the now-open cell.

My wife smiled at the Count. "She seems like a remarkable young woman."

"She is as her mother and I have made her, I'm afraid," the man said. "Now please, I won't take any more of your time, Mistress Morgana, and Master..."

"Arthus, lord," I answered. "And thank you."

"Think nothing of it, Master Arthus. Oh! My guard confiscated your shield and spear last night, think. I'll have them returned to you today."

I bowed my head, and beside me, Morgana fell into a graceful curtsy.

"Do you not hesitate to come us for anything you need, my lord Count."

"I believe your draughts are a little too potent for me, Mistress. Are all herbalchemists so talented?"

"I am unique in that, my lord."

The man laughed, and Morgana and I made our escape. When I looked back, Talbot was floating only two or so feet from the ground.

The Count seemed like a good man. If this had been my homeland, the slimy little prick's head would already be on a spike.

Along with both of ours.

Morgana and I walked back through Dalford, her arm linked to mine.

The streets were quiet. It was early, and people had evidently decided to sleep in after last night's excitement. The sun was still low against the eastern horizon, leaving the center of town draped in thick shadows.

That darkness was cold, a shroud that seemed to devour the sound of our footsteps. Despite all that had happened, neither of us felt the need to break the silence.

That, had I not already known, would have alerted me to the heaviness of my wife's thoughts.

I pulled us to a stop when we entered a small square. It was tightly cobbled; the nearby houses were made of painted wood and shaped stone.

Morgana shot me a questioning glance, but my attention was on our surroundings.

"I think that we can get to the bridge if we go that way," I said, nodding my head towards a side street.

"Why do we want to go to the bridge?" Morgana asked.

"To see it," I said. "It's supposed to have been made by the High Elves, right? It should be interesting."

My wife let out a breath. "A gull can't shit without it splattering against something from their old Empire. I'm tired, Arthus."

"Come on," I said, tugging her along. "They never got too deep into Teutonia. I want to see it."

"I want to go home."

"We'll be fast."

"Aren't you worried about the wagon?"

"Shags is there."

She grumbled a few more words, but let me lead her through the town. The direction I'd picked did indeed lead us to the Dal, though we ended a bit downriver from the bridge's graceful span.

We headed towards it, walking along a shore that was as dark as the rest of the town. Morgana kept her gaze low, at least, until the moment I spoke.

"You're not like her."

"What?"

"I know what you're thinking about," I said. "And you're not like her."

Her grip tightened on my arm. "You've never met her, Arthus. You don't know."

"I know what you've told me. And I know that that's not you."

"I'll be like her one day."

I shook my head. "You won't."

Morgana's pale eyes flashed, and she ripped her arm from mine. "You don't know, Arthus. You don't know anything about this, so stop pretending that you do."

"I know enough," I said, not looking away.

"No, you don't! You don't have any magic! You don't know what it's like to have this power and be able to do so much."

She hugged herself tight, trapped in the suffocating shadows.

"You don't know, Arthus. I'm going to be just like her. One day, I'll use my magic like a hammer and that'll be it. I'll become the dark witch that everyone's afraid of."

"You're not! Morgana, I--"

"Stop!" She cried. "You don't fucking know! Just stop, okay? Just stop."

She screwed her eyes shut, and my heart ached to see her.

I wish that I had the words to soothe her. I wanted to show her; to make her see all the warmth and goodness and joy that she so effortlessly brought into this world. If I could just shatter that warped mirror she'd fixed her gaze into, then I know that she'd be all right.

I just needed the right words, and she'd never doubt herself again.

But I was a thicker clod than most.

"Okay, my love," I said. "Alright. Let's just finish our walk."

Tears spilled from the corners of her eyes. "I want to go home."

"We'll go soon. Let's just go see the river."

"I don't care about the fucking river!" Her eyelids had snapped open, releasing another stream of wetness. "I'm going home, Arthus!"

I jerked my head up and down. "I just...come with me, Morgana. Please."

I didn't wait for her answer, crossing the last space between us and the edge of the bridge. Moving into the open air above the river, it wasn't long before I stepped clear of the town's shadow and into the light of dawn. I didn't stop until I'd taken a dozen more paces, praying to the Martyr and every one of his Saints that she would be there when I turned around.

She was, and I sagged against the stone railing to watch her walk out into the sunrise.

"Okay," she said, blinking the light from her tear-reddened eyes. "Now what?"

I nodded east, over the glittering stretch of water and into the dawn. "Just look."

She squinted into the daylight; her hands planted atop of the bridge's edge. She was stiff as a tree; determined, I thought, to outlast whatever pointless exercise I was putting her through.

I closed my eyes, letting the heat of day wash over me. I inhaled deeply, taking in the thousand watery scents of the river. And when my breath left my body, the sound of its low burble filled my ears.

I eventually felt Morgana shift beside me. I cracked open an eye to find that her breath had deepened to match my own. She'd closed her eyes as well, relaxing the lines of her face.

I smiled to myself, watching a warm breeze pull at her ebony strands of hair.

"I can feel you looking at me," she said.

"I'm just enjoying the sunrise."

She snorted but didn't open her eyes. The tracks of her tears slowly dried, and we stayed like that for several more minutes, Morgana's body loosening by slow degrees.

Finally, she let out a long, long breath. She turned and slotted her body against mine. I wrapped her in my arms, breathing in the warm scent of her hair.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, her words tickling the crook of my neck.

"You don't need to be sorry," I said.

"I do," she answered. "You were just trying to help, and I screamed at you."

I made a non-committal sound with my throat, kissing the top of her head. "There's nothing to forgive."

She shifted against me, her fingers pulling at my tunic. "I'm still right about what I said, though."

I grunted.

"I am!"

"Of course, my love."

"Your argument was terrible."

"You never let me give you one," I reminded her.

"Fine. Give me one now, then."

I chuckled, hugging her more tightly. "You're not going to be like her, because you're choosing not to be."

I felt her frown against my chest. "That's stupid."

I shrugged.

"Seriously, Arthus, that doesn't make any sense. What does that even mean?"

"It means exactly that," I answered. "You're choosing to not be like her."

"And?"

"And, what?"

"And what else!?" She exclaimed. "That can't be it?"

"It's a simple truth," I said.

"It's not any sort of truth!" She squirmed within the circle of my arms. "It's dumb! It's nothing, and it's stupid and I'm still right!"

"Of course, my love."

I held her until she settled back against me with a laugh. She pressed her lips against the crook of my neck, and I let my hands slide down to her waist.

She took a half step back and glared up at me. "This was your plan since the beginning, wasn't it?"