Legends of Chaos Anthology: The Witches Tower

Part 9: The Alchemists

As they rested along the side of the road, Orin awoke to Meara waving a bowl of stew under his nose. "good morning, sleepyhead," she said with a smile.

"Good morning indeed, when breakfast is brought to you," Orin said with a stretch as he sat up, taking the bowl. Orin was surprised to see that Meara had taken the time to braid her hair. He was even more surprised to see that her clothing was not in a disheveled state but relatively well-managed and groomed. There weren't even loose twigs or leaves.

Oren was slightly confused until he saw her sitting next to Jack and start talking with him. But as they spoke, she came up short, standing as her ears twitched. Meara held up her hand as she scented the air, closing her eyes, and listened. After a moment, looking mildly annoyed, she huffed, "Sounds like a fair few with wagons," pulling up her hood to hide her more obvious wolf features, she glanced to Orin, "there oxen and horses won't like me. Should I disappear for a while?"

Orin thought about his options before nodding, "Post up in the trees. But don't move unless I give you the signal. Lucky, Jack, go with her."

"What, why?" Jack asked.

"In case there is trouble," Orin said.

As the others got into position, Orin settled back down along the side of the road next to the still-unconscious Cyrus just as the caravan appeared. But their concern was moot, as the three wagons that were being driven by a small band and escort were etch marked with the heraldry of the King's army and accompanied by the alchemist guild's colors.

"And that would be the King's magic dowsers," Orin said with a huff, the tension in his arms relaxing as he set aside his crossbow. Sir Orin stiffly stood, waving to the caravan as they approached. One of the forward escorts, a foreboding Frenchman in half plate that he did not readily recognize ordered him to identify himself. "Greetings. I am Sir Orin Wolfbane," he said as he noted the black and Red Cross emblazoned on the Knights shoulder. Great a Templar. Orin thought, just what I need; a pompous, self-righteous prick prancing around.

"Wolfbane!" The Frenchman suddenly smiled, mustache flicking with the motion of his lips, "I did not know that it was you who was going to be meeting us out here. With the Lionheart's scouts, yes?" he took and shook firmly Orin's hand, "Captain Andre de Grand of the Knights Templar."

"On escort duty?" Orin asked, "seems a bit below your position. Surprised you are in such a good mood, considering the fact."

"Ha! God's work takes many forms. If he calls for me to escort a caravan of alchemists, then I will be more than happy to answer the call," he smiled again, his broad teeth seeming to gleam like his polished armor, "Nonetheless, it is a pleasure to meet you, monsieur Wolfbane. I've heard a great deal of you and your exploits. Many a bard in Paris has sung of your daring escapades."

Orin grimmest at the news. Bards. They always overdramatized things, "What are they saying about me now?"

"All sorts of grand adventures! My personal favorite is the tail of how you singlehandedly wiped out a hundred of those bloodthirsty werewolves! Spectacular I say."

"it's to a hundred now? The number gets higher every time I hear it." Orin sighed in annoyance.

"Oh? So then how many was it then?" he asked.

"One."

"One?"

"The first time. Luck. The first werewolf I killed was a half-starved feral one; it got stuck in a hunter's trap chasing me. It just so happened to get caught next to a tree that had been nearly felled. So, I finished the job and dropped the tree on it."