The Ghost's Crusade

XXI. Akkali (cont.)

Akkali had expected as much, though from the tone in the man's voice it sounded more like the Ovan had ordered his soldiers to strip the apothecary of his useful herbs rather than purchase them. "Have you heard anything of that?"

"The Inquisition here says they were all waylaid by foul things created by some damn espiri witch," muttered the man as he shuffled off to begin heaping things into the small knit bags he had pulled from the wicker basket behind the counter. "So many dead, for nothing. And a lot of their bodies haven't been found."

The news brought the corpse thief of Gendelheim right back to the forefront of her mind. They had never caught the man, and hauling away bodies from a battlefield was far less suspicious than disinterring them from subterranean crypts and fancy vaults. More than enough time had passed for him to make his way to Baedorn, if that was truly where he went after he vanished into the Shalewarrens beneath the filthy city-state. "What do you mean, haven't been found?"

"They counted up the dead soldiers," he replied, nimbly tying up the small bags and stuffing them into a larger one of the same material. He limped back across the store and pulled out a drawer that let a burst of cinnamon scent fill the shop. "There's almost forty men missing from the tally, though nobody knows who since no one has added any names to the count. Sick business, that'll be. Sick, sad business. And for what? A dry mine? A contestation of manhood?" The apothecary chuffed in disgust and dropped a few sticks of the bark into the bag. "Should have just chopped them both off and laid them out on the table with a ruler. Worthless gits are better off not spawning scions if you ask me."

Hobbling back to his counter the man gave a heavy, tired sigh. "All I can scrape together for you is the two poultices and the cinnamon, miss. My apologies." He flicked at his ruff for a moment, then added, "Though if you're going north there's a little glen about a day's ride out and to the west of the main road. That's one of the spots where I have my boys fetch me coneflowers. Might be a few left, though it is getting rather close to winter. Bandages, though... I'm sure the whole city's tearing up their mother's underskirts to use for them by now."

"Thank you for what you have," said Akkali with a nod. "I'll see if we can make a small detour."

"Ah, well, good luck to you," sighed the apothecary. He passed her the satchel and she passed him more than enough coin to cover the cost of the ingredients. The man's tired blue eyes widened as he counted it out. "This is far too much, miss."

"Go north," she warned the man. "Morvayne will take this city by the spring."

The apothecary smiled at her and passed back to her the extra coins she had given him, patting the back of her hand as she took it from him. "Ah, young lady, this is my home. I buried my first child here when he died of fever. Just a year ago I placed my wife next to him. I've not many more years left before my daughter lays me to rest beside her. As miserable as it may be now, I'll not be leaving it unless someone moves my bones from my grave." He shuffled off to sit on his stool behind the counter once more. "You just take care, miss. There's few enough of your kind in this world."

She frowned at the man curiously, the tone of his voice not even remotely disparaging as she had expected. "And what exactly is my 'kind'?"

"I spent my youth ferrying people like you across the Maelmar. Escaped slaves, forbidden lovers, rebellious bastards. It was all wonderfully exciting for a time. But then the Imperial Watch caught me up, sunk my lovely Sonera and branded me a pirate." He chuckled, then reached behind his head and untied the ridiculous ruff about his neck to unveil a purplish broken-circle brand of apostasy scarring the side of his throat. "Which is why I can tell you that Warshaven accent you're trying to use is atrocious, miss. You don't sound enough like the sea."