It ended up taking Morgan, Issa, and the band of refugees from Blake’s keep four days to get to the forest outside Tarn’s Crossing. They'd burned through an entire day by the time they’d finally gotten everyone down the escarpment using ropes, makeshift platforms, and lots of patience. When they’d camped at the base of the rocky cliff that night, Morgan had drawn a map in the dirt, showing everyone roughly where they were in relation to Tarn’s Crossing and First Landing. The following day, a few small groups of survivors had left to travel on their own, but more than twenty individuals, mostly Ardeni, had wanted to stay with Morgan and Issa and go to Tarn’s Crossing with them.

They’d kept the pace easy and stretched a two-day trip into three and a half, and now a ragged cheer broke out among the men and women as they crested the slight rise in the forest road and saw the town sprawling out in the park-like vale. Issa reached over from Gopp’s back and gave Morgan’s hand a squeeze, a smile on her face. “Feels good to see smiles on their faces, doesn’t it?” he asked her.

“Yes, Morgan. I was lucky you came after me, but they suffered for a long time in that place.” Morgan nodded, holding her hand, and they rode toward the gates, garnering a lot of attention from the people moving along the road. When they came to the guards, one of them, a tall thin Ardeni woman with a huge, unstrung bow on her back, stepped forward.

“Hello, travelers, what’s this?”

“I’m Issa ap’Roald. This is Morgan Hall, and the people with us are seeking refuge here—they were held captive by a criminal a few days from here.” Issa gestured for one of the survivors, a man named Taern, to come forward. “This is Taern, he can speak for these people, and I think he should meet with the Governor and the council. They’re not going to be a burden here, they all have money, and some of them have relatives here.”

“Alright, thank you, Issa. I thought I recognized you! You know your father isn’t in town, right? I’m pretty sure he traveled upriver with the last caravan. Doing some trade, I suppose.”

“Oh? Well, that’s not lucky!” Issa sighed and looked at Morgan with a bit of a frown. “We can still stay at my home. I have a key.”

“Alright,” Morgan said, turning to Taern, “You’ll all be okay now? The Governor knows where to find us if you need anything, alright?”

“Aye, Morgan, and thank you! We all,” he turned to the small throng of refugees gathered behind him, “owe you a great debt.” Mutters of agreement broke out among the people, and Morgan felt a warm rush of embarrassment at their gratitude.

“No, you don’t. I only did what any decent person with the ability would do. Good luck, everyone, and remember: you’re all welcome to come to First Landing if you can’t find a spot for yourselves here.” Not wanting to dwell on the goodbye, Morgan spurred Munch through the gate and rode a bit ahead while Issa said her farewells. He pulled Munch to the side of the road, allowing a cart pulled by two burly roladii with very few feathers to pass by. Were those a different breed of roladii? He supposed it made sense that some roladii would be bred for riding and others for draft-work.

“Ready?” Issa had ridden up beside him while he was musing.

“Yeah, where to, first?”

“Well, I don’t see why we shouldn’t meet with the alchemist right away. He’s a family friend, and I know he’ll be willing to help, but it might take some time to complete the recipe. Or, if he’s unable, he’ll hopefully point us in the right direction.” When Morgan nodded, she rode Gopp ahead, and he followed. Tarn’s Crossing wasn’t a huge town, though it was a busy and growing trade hub for the region. That said, their ride through the crowded main street, the market square, and then through some side streets only took fifteen minutes or so. Issa hopped off Gopp and tied him in front of the little shop with a display-case window.

In the case, Morgan could see bottles and little pouches set out with large, boldly written signs proclaiming their efficacy. One large bottle with a bulbous bottom and fluted top had a sign that read, “Yorn’s Draught of Laughter - Perfect for any celebration!” He chuckled to himself and tied Munch to the post.

“What’s funny?” Issa asked.

“Oh, just that those potions and signs remind me of snake oil salesmen from my country’s history.”

“Snake oil?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s what they called ‘potions’ and medicines that were supposed to work miracles but usually didn’t do anything real.”

“Oh, well, Yorn would lose his reputation quickly if he tried to sell fake alchemical products.”

“Yeah, I know things are different here, don’t worry.” The two of them walked to the door, Morgan pulled it open for Issa, and they entered the shop. Morgan’s nose immediately informed him that many herbs and flowers were packed into the items displayed for sale around the small shop. Soaps, candles, vials, bottles of every size, little pouches, and wooden boxes were displayed with bold signs, just like in the window case. “Miracle hair growth!” one sign shouted, “Yorn’s Poison Purifier,” said another, “Celestial Life-Extension Cream!” caught Morgan’s eye, but then a voice cut into his perusal, “Welcome, welcome! Is that Roald’s girl, Issa?”

“Hi, Yorn!” Issa said, walking deeper into the shop to the little gray-haired Ardeni man leaning over his wooden counter. Morgan followed her, leaning sideways against the counter so he could see both of them as they spoke. “It’s been too long!”

“Yes, indeed, Miss Issa! Who’s this then? Is it that Morgan fellow I heard about? The one that put that rascal Swent in his place? Hah! His father sure has been quiet during council meetings lately!” Morgan didn’t mean for his smile to fall off his face or for his brows to furrow, but when he thought of Swent, the pleasant day seemed to fall away, and he felt both angry and guilty at the same time. He certainly wasn’t ready to laugh about killing the guy.

“Yes, Yorn, this is Morgan, and he’s a sweet guy who doesn’t like to dwell on killing young men, no matter how idiotic they were,” Issa replied, reaching out a hand to squeeze Morgan’s shoulder gently. Her touch brought Morgan back to himself, and he cleared his throat, looking down for a moment, then he smiled at Yorn.

“Nice to meet you, sir.” He reached out his hand to shake Yorn’s, and the old man smiled, though his unkempt white beard entirely hid his mouth.

“Well, let’s talk business then! I’m sure you aren’t here just to visit an old friend of your dad’s, are ya?” He winked at Issa.

“We are here for business, but we came to you because you’re a friend! There are other alchemists in town, you know!” Issa smiled, leaning forward toward Yorn earnestly, and Morgan admired her ability to charm.

“Oh, of course, of course! Thank you for thinking of me! Hey, while we’re doing business, I have some sweetbread the missus sent with me. Can I share with you?” He turned and rummaged through a large leather briefcase on the counter behind him, turning back with a wax-paper-wrapped package.

“Oh, I can already smell it!” Issa said, leaning even further forward and making a show of smelling the package. Yorn laughed and gently unwrapped the loaf of moist bread. Morgan wasn’t hungry, but the bread looked good, and Issa was playing along, so he figured it might be important not to rush their transaction. He gamely ate a slice of the bread, which was still warm in the center, and made exclamations about how delicious and rich it was.

“Now, tell me, what services can this master Alchemist provide?” Yorn asked, and Issa looked to Morgan, raising an eyebrow as if to ask, “Shall I explain, or do you want to?” Morgan swallowed the rich bite of bread filled with chunks of candied fruit he’d been chewing.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat, “I have an advanced alchemical recipe and most of the reagents for it, but no one in First Landing yet has the skill or equipment to make it. Issa thinks you might be able to help.”

“Oh? How intriguing. Where did you get the recipe, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“From a dungeon. It comes from the personal recipe book of a self-styled master alchemist. We got it as a reward from the System.”

“Oh, hmm, very interesting, indeed. Well, could I look at the recipe?”

“Well,” Morgan glanced at Issa, ensuring she didn’t have any objections to him going through with their agreed-upon negotiating tactic. She nodded encouragingly, and he continued, “I think the recipe is probably quite valuable, and you might learn a lot by simply reading it. Could we agree upon a fee assuming you can perform the mixture?”

“Oh, I see, I see.” Yorn nodded knowingly, tapping his chin as though he were mulling over a problem. “Well, if you provide the ingredients and allow me to copy the recipe, I would simply charge you my daily labor fee.” Morgan was about to respond, but Issa jumped in.

“What if we let you copy another two recipes from the book we got? You can choose them.”

“Oh, well, I’d need to at least glance through the book to see if any of them are useful to me, but if they are, then I can waive my fee for, oh, for three of them.” Morgan looked at Issa, and she nodded, so he pulled the recipe book from his ring and laid it on the counter.

“Alright, let me show you the recipe we need, first.” He flipped the book to the page with the racial enhancement recipe and turned the book so Yorn could read it. His bright blue eyes scanned back and forth, and Morgan noticed that he slowly inhaled the whole while, not breathing out. Something about the recipe excited him.

“And you have the ingredients?” Morgan thought about the bag with hundreds of ingredients he’d taken from Blake’s tower. In addition to what he’d already gathered from the Yovashi lair and his atrium, those should cover what he needed.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Even the ‘petals of the Threen Sun Rose’?”

“Yes, we got them as an award from the same dungeon.”

“Well, the only difficulty I can see is that this recipe requires an arcfire distillation process.”

“Arcfire?” Issa asked.

“Yes, it’s a powerful meta-element, and a distiller like that is quite expensive. My old friend, Ulria, has one, though, and I think she’d let me borrow it. I’m sure I can bribe her off with one of the recipes I copy from your book here.”

“So you’re interested in the recipes, then?” Morgan couldn’t stop the slow smile spreading on his face.

“Oh yes; I won’t play coy—this recipe is remarkable, and I have a feeling I’ll find at least three more good ones in here. Shall we make it official with a toast?” Yorn reached under his counter and pulled out a tall, slender green bottle with a cork stopper. Then he brought up a fistful of little shot glasses. He poured three servings of bubbly, amber liquid into the glasses and pushed one, each, in front of Morgan and Issa. They raised their glasses, clinked them together, and drained their contents. Morgan and Issa sputtered and coughed, the harsh brew instantly going to their heads, and Yorn guffawed with laughter. “Good, good, now let’s see those ingredients!”

Morgan took more than half an hour to pull out all the correct ingredients from his bags. Several times he had to show different bundles of similar-looking components to Yorn in order to have him select the correct one. When they were done, the afternoon had grown late, and Issa wanted to go to her home to settle in and have dinner. On their way out the door, Yorn called, “I’ll need a day or three to get this done. I’ll come ‘round your father’s house when I’m finished, alright?”

“That will be perfect. Thank you, Yorn!” Issa replied, and then they were outside, mounting their roladii and wending their way toward Issa’s home.