Wraithblood: The Elixir, Episode 10
You decide to go to the Temple of Minaerys and find Khaenset.
A short walk takes you to the Nighmarian Quarter, with shops, apartments, and warehouses built in the Imperial style, with whitewashed brick walls and red tile roofs. You feel a pang of homesickness as you look around – you grew up in the Empire of Nighmar, in Malarae, until your father lost his patron. Then he fled to Istarinmul, taking you with him.
You often think life would have been better had you stayed in Malarae.
No wraithblood, for one.
You shake off the thought, and go to the Temple of Minaerys, a low building faced in white marble, lined with ornate columns. Inside high windows provide light, illuminating row after row of shelves lined with books and scrolls. Minaerys is the goddess of wisdom and writing, and her priests collect books and scrolls, history and geography and epic poems and mathematics. You care nothing for history or geography or epic poems, but you do like mathematics, and your eyes wander over the shelves…
No. Find Khaenset first. Most of the people of Istarinmul would not dare incur the wrath of the gods, but some of your creditors would think nothing of violating the sanctity of a temple to get their hands on you…
And even as the thought crosses your mind, two men step into your field of view. Both wear leather armor and bear swords at their belts, and have the look of hired thugs. Before you can react, they seize your arms, one clamping a meaty hand over your mouth, and drag you into the rows of shelves. You do not struggle, waiting for an opportunity to use the paralytic-coated blades in your bracers without causing a stir.
The thugs take you to a study room off the main library. Inside waits a tall woman of Anshani birth, with dark skin and long, glossy black hair, dressed in an ornate blue dress and glittering silver jewelry. You recognize her at once. Ishtara Anthraces, once the wife of Tizirban Anthraces, one of Istarinmul’s most successful slave traders and one of your father’s chief competitors. Tizirban died shortly after your father, but Ishtara kept the business going. You don’t owe her money…but she hated Niall Strake, and she probably hates you, as well.
“Is this her, mistress?” says one of the thugs.
“It is,” says Ishtara, her black eyes boring into you. “You’ve done well. Greetings, Nerina.” She smirks. “I love what you’ve done with your eyes. Wraithblood really gives them that brilliant green, doesn’t it?”
You stare at her, thinking for an appropriate response. Ishtara…does not look well. Her eyes are bloodshot, and a slight tremor of exhaustion goes through her hands.
“Statistically speaking,” you say, “I would venture to say that you are in trouble, and desire my help.”
For a moment utter despair goes over Ishtara’s face.
“How did you know?” she says.
“You hated my father,” you say, “and a woman of your social standing and wealth would not associate with an wraithblood addict unless you had no other choice. The equation was not a difficult one to solve.”
“Yes,” says Ishtara, opening her eyes. “No choice. The city is abuzz with rumors that Master Alchemist Callatas has brewed a dozen vials of Elixir Rejuvenata. My sources tell me that you are working with some criminal named Raggan to steal it.”
“No,” you say, unwilling to mention Nasser’s name.
“I will put this simply, Nerina,” says Ishtara. “My son Darius is six.” Her voice remains calm, but the muscles near her eyes start to twitch. “Recently black spots appeared on his hands and neck, and he is unable to stay awake for more than an hour at a time. Do you understand what that means?”
You nod. It means that Darius has the early stages of a disease called heartblight. Soon he will descend into raving, violent madness, and then fall into a coma from which he will not awake.
There is no cure.
No natural cure, anyway.
“So,” you say, “you know what I plan, and you want me to steal a vial of Elixir Rejuvenata for you.”
“I will be blunt,” says Ishtara. “I would kill every man, woman, and child in Istarinmul if it meant my son would live. I would kill them with my own hands. Attempting to steal from a Master Alchemist is folly, but I have no other choice. You will either bring me a vial of Elixir Rejuvenata, or I will kill you here and now. What do you say?”
You blink…and notice a man standing in the shadows of the doorway.
It’s as if he appeared out of nowhere. He is of average height, dressed in dark clothing, with no visible weapons. He is of Maatish birth, with dusky skin, and pale green eyes, just as Nasser described Khaenset. He stares at you, unblinking, and neither Ishtara nor the thugs have noticed him yet.
You can see why. Khaenset holds himself so absolutely still…you didn’t think a living man could do that.
“Well?” says Ishtara. “What do you say?”
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