Tree of Woe - Chapter 2

Tree of Woe

Chapter 2

Cal was up early the next day to pick the herbs in his garden while they were still damp. Some ingredients were harder to find than others, but he grew most of them, eliminating the need to forage in the forest. When he completed his picking, he gazed into the marketplace from his garden, people were milling around already. His small stone and log home had a somewhat flat roof, made of brown slabs of terra cotta tiles. Wedged against a side street bordering the edge of the town and market place gave it a prime location to sell potions or to trade goods.

Inside the musty smell of fermenting potions flooded the room. He placed the freshly picked herbs on the table. The small pantry of his apothecary was big enough for two people to stand inside of it. I need to make this bigger. The crammed shelves held all sorts of jars, bowls, and boxes. Cal removed a wooden carton, opened it and grabbed four large stalks of henbane with his left hand, then snatched three small jars with his right.

Several more trips to the pantry and his table was covered with bottles and other assorted ingredients. The beam scale sat on one side of the table as Cal sorted through each ingredient, using the polished stone weight cubes to get the correct amount. Each portion was scraped off the bronze pan into the mortar until filled. With his hand, he twisted the pestle, crushing them into a fine dust. Using a finger to tap the pan, Cal poured the powder into a thin-necked mixing bottle, making a sizzling sound as it hit the base syrup. Thus began the arduous task of creating a potion.

The sweat on his forearms and hands created a thin sheen on his skin. He slid the back of his forearms against the frayed mixing tunic covered his shirt and pants. The mess of many potions had created a crusty layer, giving it the feel of cracked leather. The sweat from his brow dripped, hitting the unfurled scroll on the table.

Cal bobbed his head from the pile of ingredients to the scroll, checking to make sure all was correct. Noting some ingredients were missing, he stood, flicked his ponytail back over his shoulder, and walked to the cellar to get the mushrooms and pickled toad legs.
Arriving back at the top of the stairs, he stopped; two young men were standing in his house. Their clothes were impeccably clean and shiny; one had a face somewhat bulbous on a chubby body, the other slender with straw-like hair.

“Are you Cal Premus, the new Court Alchemist?” asked the chubby man as he avoided touching anything.

“Yes, and you are?” he continued up the stairs and towards the table.

“Messengers from Prince Farrell. He would like to see you.” He took a step forward, his face taunt. “Now.”

The sweat from his hands caused Cal to drop the jar of pickled toad legs, breaking on contact with stone floor. The messenger jumped back to avoid being splashed by the contents.

“Ah…let me clean this up,” Cal said. The stench from the jar filled the room as the messengers backed further away holding their noses. Cal’s speeding heartbeat was ringing in his ears as he began to pick up the mess. The messengers stared at him while he worked, and opened the door to allow fresh air in. Cal stood up after cleaning the mess, a wary eye to the messengers.

“You need to change before we go. He won’t see you like that.”

The marketplace was an ants’ nest of activity as patrons wandered around, looking at the wares. The sea breeze wafted the smell of fresh fish around one side. Vendors’ caste a wary eye to the circling birds from above, not wanting to lose their catch. From the other side, the spice traders filled the area with many sweet and pungent smells. Down the next isle spools of cloth and pieces of pottery could be seen.

Cal climbed in the back of the open carriage, looking back at his simple house. The road was busy with travelers arriving for the festival. Large tents and temporary buildings housed the many games and events were located in the fields east of the town’s marketplace. This separated the market from the docks and harbor. In the distance, ship masts poked up like barren trees against the empty sky. Cal knew he would miss a good day’s sales.

As they left the market place, they entered the large Common District of Spynroth, filled with homes of modest size and décor. These roads between the outer and inner walls had impressive wooden walkways and inlaid cobblestones roads as you continued up the hill to the next gate. The clack of the horse hooves echoed in the narrow streets of the older Merchants’ District with its larger homes and businesses.

Almost at the top of the hill, the sprawling estates of the nobles contrasted with the other areas of the capital city. The centerpiece was the large King’s Gate which led into the Palace of the High King. The palace walls were not as tall and wide as the protective walls of other areas. It had natural protection from its hilltop location on one side, and the cliffs and large rocks of the shoreline on the other side.

Cal stepped out of the carriage. He followed the messenger into Prince Farrell’s estate. He had been inside a noble’s house, but never the Prince’s house. The extravagant outside, with carved statues and fountains, made him wonder what it looked like inside. The foyer and grand staircase curved up to the top were larger than Cal’s entire home. He was surprised at how clean everything was, from the inlaid carvings of the railings, with so many minute details, to all the pictures. He could not imagine how much time it took to keep it all polished and dusted.

The Prince exited a top room on the upper landing of the stairs. Seeing Cal, he smiled and walked down the steps to greet him. His blonde hair bore a striking contrast to the tailored dark blue waist jacket and gold trousers finished his outfit. He was shorter than Cal but with a more muscular frame.

“Good day, Cal Premus,” the Prince said.

He turned to the messenger and chamberlain, “Thank you, gentlemen. That will be all.” They bowed and exited. He pointed Cal to the large parlor to their left.

“Thank you, your grace. To what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?”

“I hear you have some information that might concern the queen?” A sly grin crossed the Prince’s face. He ran his finger along the edge of a painting, checking for dust as they entered the room.

Cal froze in terror, unable to respond to the Prince, and just stared at him. His heart jumped as a thousand pinpricks ran across his skin. He took a deep breath and calmly replied, “Where did you hear that?”

“Let us say, my sources can be trusted, shall we, and get down to the matter at hand. An opportunist, if you will. I have eyes and ears everywhere.” His tone became firmer. “Do you think my father became King because he was the greatest fighter or the richest merchant?” He walked over to the window and observed the garden. “No, my father became King because he made it his business to know what is going on around him. Do not think me naive enough not to have learned that.” He turned around, his face firm.

Cal took a few steps to calm down and walked behind a chair, placing his hands on top to try and stop them from shaking. He flatly replied, “My question is, why would someone tell you this since its untrue?”

The Prince’s cheeks loosened on his face, eyes motioning for Cal to look out the window. Cal slowly approached, stood beside him, and gazed out towards the garden. Sitting at the table was Lord Atmore drinking a goblet of wine. He sat on the edge of the chair, impatiently tapping his foot.

“You see, I know about a great many things.” He turned and stared intently at Cal as their eyes met. “Like how you gave Lord Atmore potions so he could have sex with my step-mother.”

Cal staggered back, tripping over a table and falling on the floor. How did he find out?

He jumped up as the Prince continued to stare at him with contempt. Cal brushed himself off while straightening his jacket. Clearing his throat, “I don’t know what you were told…but I can assure you…it is incorrect.” Cal fingers fidgeted with his buttons on his jacket.

The Prince smiled, as Cal seemed visibly shaken. “It all came together last night when I saw the Queen and Lord Atmore. What I assumed was an affair between them turned into something more, once you and his lordship had a heated conversation last night.” His eyes hardened and his mouth spat “Seems people want to take advantage of my poor stepmother to hurt my father.” The Prince broke the stare and breathed in deeply before exhaling. He grinned. “Like I stated earlier, I am an opportunist. I have an opportunity for you, our new Court Alchemist, which requires your skills. If you do this task for me, I would forget these…transgressions. I suggest you take this arrangement?"

The Prince took a few steps toward the table, picked up a goblet, and poured some wine. He offered a goblet to Cal who couldn’t control his shaking hand.

“What if I didn’t, your grace?” Cal said as a lump stuck in his throat. “Maybe you should seek other counsel for your problem. Sherman, the master alchemist, might be someone to ask.”

Smiling, the prince approached a bookcase and checked it for dust. “Sherman is an excellent alchemist, but much too old. He took you in and gave you a purpose in life, becoming your teacher, almost a father to you.” Cal felt he had read his mind. “But he is currently unavailable.” His mouth drooped into a frown. “Such a pity, maybe if you helped me with my problem his would be solved too. The roads have become a treacherous place now days.”

Cal fixed his jacket and flicked his ponytail back over his shoulder. His cheeks reddened with rage. “Fine. I will help you, but if something were to happen to Sherman…”

The prince stepped forward pointing at Cal, “Who are you to talk to me like that. You are in no position to set terms. If you were not needed, you would be dead all ready.” His outburst scared Cal. Dead already?

“My apologies, your grace,” Cal said with a bow. “What would you have me do?”

“I need a potion that will make an elf look human, and I need it before the Royal Ball.” The prince said sardonically.

“That’s impossible. Human potions don’t work on elves, you know that.” Cal replied.

“I have a guide to lead you on the journey to find an elf alchemist.” He opened his jacket, and pulled out a green and gold flat piece of metal with a large tree stamped on one side. He handed it to Cal. “This is an invitation to see the Forest Elf Queen Cassatora in Morthera. She should be able to help you. Go to the silversmith in the merchant district and hand him this parchment. Your guide waits for you there.” The Prince walked to the door leading to the garden. “Remember, don’t fail or you forfeit your life, and possibly others.” He smiled, and exited out the door to the garden.

The chamberlain came into the room. “Your coach will be ready soon, sir. Wait here.”

Cal nodded and continued to glare out the window, wishing he could hear them. He hated coercion, just another tool of the politician. Pouring another goblet of wine, he placed the item inside his jacket, and continued to watch in morbid fascination.

# # # #

Lord Atmore heard the door, and placed his goblet on the table. He stood to face the prince as he walked down the steps with a smile on his face. Atmore took in a deep breath, ready to face his harbinger of death.

“Richard, enjoying my garden? It is a wonderful place to sit, and contemplate your future, don’t you think?”

Lord Atmore raised his brow. It starts. Picking up his goblet, he walked towards one of the fountains. The Prince poured some wine, and followed him. What does this pompous ass know of me?

“I must question why you asked me here today. I have a jousting tournament to go to, but now, I am delayed.” Atmore said as he ran his hand under the cool water of the fountain.

“I believe you will want to hear what I have to say.” He walked towards Richard, stopping close to him. “Jousting is such a primitive sport. Anyway I have more pressing needs than that” He displayed no emotion as he stared at Richard. “Are you enjoying the Queen’s company?”

Richard’s eyes widened, and he looked down at his goblet. What did Cal tell him? The Prince continued to stare at him. Richard lifted his eyes, returning his stare. “I think your judgment is in error, my Prince.”

“My judgment? My judgment is fine, Lord Atmore, I believe yours has lapsed and you have no idea how fragile your current situation is. A whisper to the right person, like my father, perhaps and…” He raised his palms face up, shrugging. A grimaced look covered his face.

Richard erupted with rage. “You have no proof that I made any errors in judgment!  You insinuate, waiting for someone to admit guilt!  I will not be that person!” He walked back to the table, placed the goblet down, and turned to the Prince. “I have jousting to attend to.” His face was red with anger.

Prince Farrell watched the display with amusement. “I’m sure I could find someone else better suited for the role of a whisperer.” He looked towards the window where Cal stood watching. Richard turned, noticing Cal standing there. Their eyes locked. The bastard is trying to save his own ass, I’ll kill him.

“I am an opportunist,” said the Prince. “I can give you an opportunity to correct your errors of judgment. Would you be interested in that kind of arrangement?”

Atmore turned, and walked back towards the fountain. “What do you offer?”

“I want you to become the chief of Devona, and I am prepared to help you gain it.” Farrell took a slow sip of wine, and smiled.
Richard dropped his goblet. “You what?” Is he mad?

“I have information that will allow you to undermine Chief Lahav. You can present this to the Devona tribal elders and become chief. Lahav could not contest it.” He slowly started to circle Richard. “However, if you do not, I can produce enough evidence to convince the High King of your guilt. Will you agree?” The Prince drank another mouthful of wine, his eyes locked on Richard.

“I will,” said Richard turning his rage from the prince to Cal standing at the window.

“Good.” The prince looked over at Cal. “You can take care of any loose ends once our business arrangement is concluded.”

# # # #

The chamberlain entered from the hall and stopped.  “Your coach is here, sir.” He pointed out the front door. Cal climbed into the coach feeling nervous, his hands still shaking. His prospects for today were not promising.

The tinkle of the bell announced his entrance to the silversmith shop. The old man behind the counter looked up, with his magnifying glass still attached to his head. He looked like a Cyclops as he smiled with missing teeth.

“Good day, sir. How may I be of service?” the shopkeeper asked. He pulled off his hat revealing a shining baldhead.

“I’m on an errand for the Prince and supposed to meet someone here. Do I have the right shop?” Cal handed him the parchment.

His smile dropped from his face as he opened the parchment. Waving his hands indignantly to follow, and walked behind the half-closed curtain. In the shadows of the corner sat a person with a dark green robe. The stranger had the hood drawn, and looked at Cal when he entered the room.

“Are you my guide to help me on my journey?” Cal asked.

“Yes, let us leave. We have much ground to cover.” She lowered her hood and turned to get a look at him in the dim light. Clips made from polished wood held back her golden brown hair disappeared under her robe. Her thin pointed ears displayed a silver ornate jewelry wrap, a sign of nobility among elves.

Cal stepped back. “You’re an elf? I thought they aren’t allowed in the city.”

She stood defiantly, staring at him with piercing green eyes. Her skin was fair but not pale. Her face held a radiant hue made her red lips stand out.

“Yes, I am an elf.” She walked towards the curtain. “You’re wrong. Elves are always in the city. You just fail to notice.”

“I haven’t seen any around the marketplace or the palace.” Cal replied.

”You won’t unless you look. You obviously don’t.”

An odd silence filled the room as they both stood there. Cal froze in place gazing at her. She is beautiful.

“Shall we go or are you going to continue to stare at me?” She smirked.

“I’m Cal.” He stumbled. That sounded stupid.

“Floranetta Hothgathien, but my friends call me Flora. You can call me Floranetta.” She smiled and brushed past him, pulling her hood back up.

They exited the back of the silversmith. Two large brown horses waited in the alleyway. In one fluid movement, Flora mounted a horse. She looked back at Cal, who was standing by the door. He looked cautiously at his horse that stared blankly back at him.

“You do ride, don’t you?” Flora said.

“Sure.” Cal said looking at the saddle. He grabbed the horn of the saddle and tried to put his foot in the stirrup but missed. The horse started to circle him with antsy movements. Cal led the horse to a crate, stood on it, and mounted the horse. He smiled back at Flora who just stared impatiently at him.

“You want to take the crate too?” She replied flatly.

Cal frowned, “I need to gather a few things from my home before we meet the queen.”

Flora spurred her horse to go rounding the corner. She kept her head down and face hidden as they travelled through the city.
Seeing an elf at the festival would not be a wise move and only slow them down.

The Grand Marketplace swelled with people at the festival. It was the largest crowd Cal had ever witnessed. After gathering a shoulder satchel and staff sling from his home, they continued without a word towards the hills bordering the elven forest.