Wraithblood: The Elixir, Episode 22b
You grab the jars and vials and began mixing together the ingredients for Alchemists’ Hellfire.
Another sheet of blue lightning arcs over your head, digging into the wall.
“Last chance, Nasser!” shouts Tarquin. “Come out with the Elixir or you’re going to regret it!”
You mix the ingredients together in a stone cup, and the resultant fluid begins to glow – a sullen, cherry-colored glow, like a dying coal.
Hellfire.
Behind Tarquin, Khaenset gets to his feet, and lunges at the eunuch.
Tarquin squeals in alarm and looses another lightning blast, throwing Khaenset over another stone counter and onto the floor. You surge to your feet and fling the stone cup of glowing Hellfire. It splashes across the eunuch’s orange robe, soaking into it, and dripping onto the floor.
“What is this?” says Tarquin, scowling.
“Get down,” you tell Nasser and Azaces, ducking behind the stone counter. “Right now.”
They know you well enough by now to follow your suggestion.
You begin to calculate how much explosive force is contained in that amount of Hellfire, and then you hear the crackle of Tarquin’s lightning rod.
This is followed by a bright white light, a deafening roar, and heat.
A great deal of heat.
You crouch against the stone counter as flames roar overhead, the floor shaking, chunks of glowing stone raining from the ceiling. Azaces is screaming at the top of his lungs, alternating between a prayer for the Living Flame to save him, and a variety of assertions about your parentage, sanity, and sexual habits.
Then the flames wink out, and you risk a glance over the counter.
The laboratory is in ruins, the intricate glasswork melted, the walls charred and blackened. A large portion of the ceiling is gone, along with a good chunk of the floor. All that remains of Tarquin is a melted puddle of copper dripping into the pit.
Khaenset drags himself to his feet and limps towards you, the burns from the lightning blasts already half-healed.
“What…what did you do?” says Azaces, looking at the destruction.
“Hellfire,” you say, taking care not to touch the counter. It’s really rather hot.
“Hellife?” says Azaces. “You know how to make Alchemists’ Hellfire?”
“Apparently,” says Nasser. “I suggest we leave at once. The sound of the explosion will draw every Immortal in the mansion.”
“Possibly every Immortal in the city,” you say, performing a mental calculation. “The explosion would have been audible for at least seven miles in every direction.”
“Then let us make haste,” says Nasser, and you leave.
###
The next morning you return to the back room of Megabyzus’ coffee house to divide the spoils.
“I don’t see why we have to pay Riordan’s share,” grumbles Azaces.
“Those are my rules,” says Nasser. “Any man of my crew falls, his wife and children receive a double share.”
Azaces takes his payment – a purse of gems and gold and a vial of Elixir – and leaves.
“And yours, madame,” says Nasser, handing you a purse of the same size. Inside are enough gold and gems to pay off your debts, and leave a fair amount left over, as well. “And this, of course.”
He hands you a vial of the silvery Elixir Rejuvenata.
You stare at it for a moment. You don’t want it. You want a vial of wraithblood, instead. You want one so badly that you can barely think through the craving.
“Nasser,” you say, “can the Elixir cure wraithblood addiction?”
For a moment there is something like pity in his dark eyes. “The Elixir can heal any natural malady or injury. But wraithblood is a sorcerous concoction. No, the Elixir cannot help with that.”
Another thought comes to mind.
You could sell the vial – sell it for a lot. Enough gold that you could live in comfort for the rest of your life, and buy all the wraithblood you need without going into debt.
Of course, if you start using wraithblood again, the rest of your life probably isn’t going to be that long.
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