"Water," a weak voice came from Brienne's back. Bal couldn't ride a horse on his own, and she had to tie him to her seat.
"You've already chugged a gallon. That was all we had!" said Brienne nervously, holding tight as the horse gained more speed. She attempted a joke to ease the grim situation, "Stop whining, be a man."
"Easy for you to say - you weren't cursed with a deathwish," Bal mumbled, barely able to move his lips. It's only been a couple of hours since the curse was laid upon him, but he already looked like a shell of a man - black bags under his eyes, sickly greenish skin, and dry, chapped lips.
"There!" Brienne smiled, pointing at the horizon.
At the outskirts of a forest stood a small clay hut with a flat wooden roof. A tiny garden in the front yard was surrounded by old cauldrons, cast-iron kettles, and pans, resembling a scrapyard rather than a household.
Brienne pulled the reins, and clouds of gravel and dust rose into the air from under the horse's hooves.
"Good girl," Brienne patted the heavy-breathing creature and got down. She untied Bal and picked him up, carefully putting his feet on the ground. He was too weak to walk, so Brienne mostly dragged him, hand wrapped around the waist.
Three heavy knocks almost tore the flimsy door apart.
"Muddy, open up!" Brienne barked, lifting her free hand to knock one more time. The door opened seconds before her fist fell on it. A head with unkempt brown hair peeked out of it.
"What is it?" He said, seemingly unhappy about the unannounced guests. Brienne walked into the hut despite the door being only half open. Inside it was filled with dry leaves, wooden boxes, and empty dirty plates with rotting leftovers. The only relatively clean spot was a stove the alchemist used to boil potions. Muddy, the alchemist himself, complemented his dwelling, wearing a stained brown nightgown.
"What are you doing here in the middle of the night?" he said, demanding an explanation. But after Brienne threw a particularly angry glance at him, he swallowed and ran to Bal. "My, oh my. Looks bad."
"It's a deathwish curse," explained Brienne. "Some calajad did it. Can you fix him?"
Muddy put semi-conscious Bal into a chair and examined his yellow whites.
"I gave you a potion for that!" he exclaimed, but Bal couldn't talk anymore, fainting. "How long was he exposed to the curse?"
"I don't know. Six hours or so," said Brienne, shrugging. Muddy threw his hands into the air and grabbed his greasy beard.
"Six hours! Oh, help me, five gods. One hour is long enough to kill a man. Six hours!" he kept wailing, running around the hut and grabbing ingredients on the go. He picked a little yellow raisin-like berry from a vase on the table and placed it into Bal's mouth. "Chew!"
Bal's jaw began moving slowly and barely noticeably. After the first bite, he felt the little berry explode with a waterfall, producing a constant, endless flow of sweet nectar down his throat. Soon, Bal felt a little better.
Muddy ran up to Brienne and handed her a mortar with some leaves and fruit peels inside.
"Pound it! Don't break, or you're paying," he said, jumping to another corner. Soon a pan was boiling on the stove, and thick blue steam began to cloud the ceiling. The Alchemist picked up the pot, poured the liquid into a cup, and ran to Bal.
"Pick him up, quick!" he commanded Brienne, and she gently straightened Bal, holding him under the armpits. Muddy opened Bal's mouth and poured some of the potion in.
"Isn't it boiling hot?" asked Brienne, throwing a suspicious look at the cup.
"Don't worry, it's not," Muddy replied, pouring another portion into Bal. Brienne put unconscious comrade back into the chair.
"Now what?"
"We wait," said Muddy, staring at Bal.
"For how long?"
"Two, one."
Bal opened his eyes wide and jumped from the chair, taking a deep and loud breath. He then jumped at Muddy and grabbed him by the neck.
"Your unbreakable potion bottles turned out to be pretty breakable!"
"I swear it's not me! I bought them off-market, the price was good!" Muddy squeaked, looking at Bal in terror. Brienne stepped in, putting a hand on Bal's shoulder. Harriott cooled down a little, letting the alchemist go.
"Everything hurts," Bal said, stretching his neck. "And feels like I've been drinking nectar for hours."
He spat out a tiny berry and gave it a good thorough look.
"Fannigan Berry, the best there is," bragged Muddy, still afraid to come closer to Bal.
"Alright. I'm alright. That is on you," He said to Muddy. "However, it's good we stopped by. We need to refill some supplies."
Muddy cleared his throat and raised a finger.
"Listen, Bal, there's a small problem," he said, laughing nervously. "You've been exposed to the curse for too long. I've just slowed the process down, but I can't end it. Nobody can, really. I'm afraid you'll need to visit the Temple."
"I don't feel religious, Muddy," said Bal, scratching his cheek, thinking what to do with the inevitability of death.
"Not the five gods, the Stone. The Obsidian Temple. Healers there can remove the curse. Otherwise, you are as good as meat."
"That's three days' ride through the Greenland Forrest," Brienne shook her head.
"It's your only option. And I'm afraid you will need a hefty load of brew to sustain the curse," Muddy looked at Bal. Harriott let out a heavy breath, knowing perfectly well what the alchemist was talking about.
"And how much will it cost me?" he asked.
"Nothing. You are lucky, my friend. I will only ask for a tiny little favor," said Muddy, cheerfully running to the stove to put the kettle on. Brienne and Bal shared a look; Brienne shook her head in disapproval, and Bal pushed his lips together. There was nothing he could do. Threatening the alchemist was too risky, and there was no way he could find an unaligned wielder taking off-books payments on such short notice.
"What is it?" Bal gave up.
"Nothing much. You see, there's one druid, alchemist, and I've lost him quite a sum. Bad luck, you know," Muddy explained, giggling.
"Listen, Muddy, I'm not going to kill people because of your gambling debts!" Bal threw.
"Oh, no, no! Nothing like that," Muddy poured some teas and offered a cup to Bal. "No need to kill anyone. It's a job."
Muddy took a long pause, waiting for a response, but Bal only looked at him raising an eyebrow slightly.
"You know, a job," Muddy repeated, but no answer followed. Bal rolled his eyes.
"Muddy, get to the point."
"Sure. So, tomorrow at dawn a certain caravan will be traveling to Greystone Forrest. It will be using one of the side roads, to draw less attention. The druid gave me all the information. There's going to be a large crate with a golden lock; you need to take it. You can leave the rest, take only the crate. Deliver it to this address," Muddy gave Bal a piece of cloth with ink letters. "And you don't owe me anything. One thing, don't look into the crate, don't open it. Alright?"
"We are no thieves," Brienne huffed and stood up, almost scratching the ceiling with her hair.
"She's right, we aren't," Bal agreed. "How much will the potion cost?"
Muddy sucked on his teeth, waving his palm and counting something under his nose. "Twenty gelds."
Bal's eyebrows went up as he almost chugged on the tea.
"Are you joking?" He said, wiping his face.
"No, sadly I'm not. To cook the potion I'll need Raventree leaves. And I'm out. You'll have to buy the leaves at the market. That's five gelds a leaf, and you'll need at least three," calculated Muddy. Bal squinted, struggling to find an argument. He came to Brienne leaned over and whispered, "How much do we have?"
"Ten, maybe eleven geldens, ninety silverines, but that's all," she whispered back. Bal nodded.
"Fine, fine," Bal said loudly and paused before making a decision. "I'll do the job," he said, slowly walking towards Muddy. When he was close enough to the smiling alchemist, Bal looked him in the eyes. "But if it's some kind of a setup, I'll cut off your thumbs."
"I swear. Why would I want to set up a future king, huh?" Muddy mumbled, throwing a fearful glance at his right thumb and hiding it in his fist. Bal frowned.
"Why do people keep saying that?"
"You know," Muddy giggled nervously and pointed at his head. "It's not every day you see the Freye black curls."
Bal picked up a tray, using it as a mirror. A tired stubbled face looked back at him. He touched a thick curly hair flock.
"Should've chopped them down. Alright, Muddy, you better go to the market and start brewing that potion."