WITCH WIZARD WARLOCK by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Three Cousins Publishing
Published: 2023-08-21T00:00:00+00:00

ALCHEMY

BY ANN SOLINSKY

The unlocked wooden door creaked as I pushed it open and entered the hovel. I closed the door quickly and the package shifted in my arms. Master Fermon didn’t like sunlight illuminating his concoctions. He sat bent over the table in the middle of the room, engrossed. He didn’t acknowledge my entry, nor my presence as I walked toward him.

“Master.” No answer. “Master!”

My master usually ignored me when focused upon mixing a recipe, but the intensity of my plea for his attention gave him pause. He turned ever so slightly from the scattered ingredients on his table to shoot me a sideways glance.

“Yes, Teraken? What is so urgent that it makes you disturb my experiment?” Fermon growled at me.

My voice remained steady.

“My apologies, Master Fermon. But I have the Stone.”

His attention turned fully to me and he jumped from his chair, almost knocking over the table. His eyes shone, ablaze with desire.

“The Stone? The Philosopher’s Stone? You, a nothing, a peon, not even a low-order wizard, you have the Stone?”

“I do, Master.”

His rarely used smile was crooked. I’d never seen it before. He held out his wrinkled, age-spotted hand, palm up, gnarled fingers waving at me. “Give it to me!”

###

Whispered chatter heard on previous visits to a village tavern told of an unnamed thief who tried to steal a Philosopher’s Stone from a likewise unnamed wizard. The mumblings contained a few hints of who had found the secret mixture of chemicals to create such wonder, such power. My master was intent on obtaining the Stone, wishing greedily for its gift of transmuting base metal into gold. As he aged, he also fervently wished to discover the secret of immortality. To that end, as the sun began its descent this evening, I placed myself strategically close to the drunken man I deduced as the object of the whispers, without appearing to be eavesdropping. Not sure if I had been provided with the ramblings of a drunk or a genuine tip, I determined to find the truth.

The sot left the tavern with a young lad, tall and slender; his appearance indicated he was no more than fifteen years of age, just entering manhood. I followed, my shadow disappearing in concert with the sun, as I slithered against the wall several yards behind the duo. My master taught me sparingly, not wanting me to learn enough to challenge his mastery or steal his customers. I knew only a few rudimentary spells, like the one I cast that night. Had the day’s full light shone on us, the pair would not have seen me. The only concern I had about detection was sound. I hadn’t learned a noise-canceling spell as yet.

My master was a minor wizard, well above my own station in life, but not as revered as Merlin centuries before. His clients were also minor in station, craftsmen who couldn’t afford a more skilled wizard, women and their husbands who served the nobility; and servants. His spells cured warts, enhanced the

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