The Name Of A Sorcerer

The Eastern Quarters

The eastern quarter of Ring was nothing like the grand avenues surrounding the palace.

Here the streets were narrow and crooked, and wooden buildings leaned dangerously over cracked stone roads. Broken carts littered the alleys, drunken men argued outside taverns, and gamblers shouted over games of dice. Pickpockets drifted through the crowds like ghosts, and even the city guards avoided lingering there after sunset.

Hidden beneath a dark hooded cloak, Prince Phillip stood in the middle of the chaos. Every passing stranger made him tense, and his eyes constantly scanned the crowd. Beside him stood his oldest and most trusted companion, Darius, who unlike the prince appeared perfectly calm.

Phillip pulled his hood lower. "How much longer?"

Darius glanced around the marketplace. "He'll come."

Phillip folded his arms impatiently. "You've been saying that for nearly half an hour."

"He'll come."

Phillip lowered his voice. "You don't understand. If anyone recognizes me here... the nobles will never let me hear the end of it. I'm the Crown Prince..."

He stopped himself. "No... the former heir." His jaw tightened. "What would people think if they saw me wandering through this filthy place?"

Darius smiled faintly. "My prince, no one is looking for royalty in a district like this. To these people..." he gestured toward the crowd, "you're just another traveler."

Phillip exhaled slowly. "I hope you're right."

At that moment a gaunt man emerged from one of the alleys. He was painfully thin, his clothes hung from him in filthy rags, and greasy strands of hair clung to his face. Every time he smiled, rows of rotten yellow teeth became visible.

Phillip instinctively stepped backward. He wanted no association with the man.

The stranger stopped directly before Darius. "You the noble lookin' for me?"

Darius nodded. "Did you find it?"

The man scratched his beard. "Took longer than expected." He reached into his coat and produced a folded scrap of stained parchment. "Old witch lives deep in the eastern woods. Banished years ago. Folks say she brews poisons no healer can detect."

He handed over the parchment. Darius unfolded it briefly — a rough map, directions, a symbol marking a lonely hut. Exactly what they had paid for.

Without another word, Darius tossed the man a heavy pouch. The stranger caught it, and the clinking of gold made his grin even wider. "Pleasure doing business."

Darius turned. "We're leaving."

He had barely taken two steps when a dirty hand seized his wrist. Darius stiffened. "What now?"

The man smiled with those terrible teeth. "I want more coin."

Darius frowned. "Our agreement is finished. I gave you what you asked for."

The stranger shrugged. "That was before." He looked Darius up and down. "You're dressed like a noble. I'm guessing you've got more valuables hidden away."

Darius slowly shook his head. "I've paid you."

The man's eyes drifted past him, toward Phillip. "Who's your friend?"

Darius immediately stepped sideways. "That's none of your concern."

The man laughed. "Oh?" He pushed past Darius.

Phillip instinctively stepped back, but before he could react the stranger grabbed his cloak. With one sharp tug the hood fell away, and golden hair spilled into the sunlight. The man's eyes widened and he stumbled backward. "My... My Prince..." He immediately dropped to one knee. "I didn't know. Forgive me."

Phillip silently pulled the hood back over his head. The man looked up nervously, then something changed. His eyes wandered toward the parchment in Darius's hand, toward the prince, then back again. Realization spread across his face and his voice became barely a whisper. "But... what would a prince be doing in a place like this... looking for poison?"

Silence. The man swallowed. "There can only be one reason..." His breathing quickened as he slowly lifted his head. A dreadful smile spread across his rotten teeth. "You mean to poison... ...your father."

Phillip moved before another word could escape. A knife flashed from inside his cloak, he seized the man's collar, and drove the blade deep into his chest. The man's body jerked violently, a wet gasp escaped his lips, and Phillip could smell the foul stench of his breath as the dying man stared helplessly into his eyes.

No mercy. No hesitation. Only cold determination.

The knife slid free, and the man collapsed lifelessly onto the filthy street as blood pooled between the cracks in the stone.

Phillip slowly turned. His eyes met Darius's, and his voice was icy. "You... ...fool."

Darius lowered his head. "My prince... I'm sorry. You were supposed to ensure no one learned why we came."

"I know."

Phillip wiped the blade clean and hid it once more. "Move."

Without another glance at the corpse, he began walking east, and Darius hurried after him. "I'm truly sorry."

Phillip didn't even look at him. "You nearly doomed everything."

"It won't happen again."

"It had better not."

The city slowly disappeared behind them. The road became narrower, then vanished, and the two men entered an ancient forest where twisted branches blocked out the afternoon sun. The deeper they walked, the colder the air became, and an unnatural fog rolled between the trees. Within minutes they could barely see more than a few steps ahead.

Darius tightened his grip on his sword. "My prince... I don't like this place."

Phillip unfolded the map again. "We're close."

The fog suddenly began to move — not with the wind, but as though an invisible hand had pulled back a curtain. Hidden within the clearing stood a crooked wooden hut that neither of them had seen a heartbeat earlier. Its roof sagged beneath black moss, bundles of dried herbs hung from every window, and strange symbols had been carved into the door.

The forest fell deathly silent.

Then a whisper drifted through the air. "So... you finally found me."

Another whisper followed, closer this time. "Don't... ...be afraid."

Phillip stopped a few paces from the hut. The whispering had ceased, and only the creaking of old wood remained. He looked at Darius. "You'll wait here."

Darius frowned. "My prince, with all due respect, I should accompany you."

Phillip's expression hardened. "So you can accidentally reveal another secret?"

Darius lowered his eyes. "...I deserve that."

"You do." Phillip adjusted his cloak. "Stay outside. If I don't return within the hour, then come looking."

Without waiting for a response, he pushed open the weathered door. The hinges groaned.

The inside of the hut was far larger than it had appeared. Shelves lined every wall, crowded with strange bottles containing liquids of every imaginable color. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the ceiling beside bones, feathers, and charms carved from black stone, and an iron cauldron bubbled over a green fire that gave off no heat.

The old woman sat in a rocking chair near the hearth. Her skin was deeply wrinkled, long silver hair cascaded to the floor, and one pale eye stared directly at Phillip while the other was clouded white.

"So..." Her voice was barely louder than a whisper. "A prince enters the home of an old exile. Either you've lost your way... ...or you've lost your peace."

Phillip remained standing. "I didn't come for conversation."

The woman chuckled. "No. People never do." She slowly rose and circled him with surprising grace. "You hide your face, but not your heart. I smell anger... and regret."

Phillip met her gaze. "Can you provide what I seek?"

"I can provide almost anything. For the proper price."

After a long silence she tilted her head. "What sort of poison do you require?"

Phillip answered without hesitation. "The strongest you possess."

The witch gave a slow nod, as though she had expected it. She shuffled toward the cauldron and gathered dried roots, black petals, powdered crystal, and venom from a small glass vial. One by one she added them to the bubbling mixture until the liquid darkened to resemble liquid night. She dipped a tiny glass bottle into the brew and sealed it with black wax.

Holding it carefully between two fingers, she offered it to Phillip. "One drop. That is all."

Phillip accepted the bottle and slipped it inside his cloak. Without another word he placed a heavy pouch of gold upon the table.

The witch weighed it in her hand and smiled. "The price is fair."

Phillip turned toward the door. "Wait."

He stopped and glanced back. Before he could speak, the old woman moved with startling speed, seized the front of his cloak, and pulled him close. Something cold slid against his lips, and then her tongue — unnaturally long, thin, and cold — forced its way into his mouth, writhing like a living serpent.

Phillip's eyes widened in disgust. He shoved her backward with all his strength. The witch merely laughed, a dry rasping sound that echoed through the hut, and licked her lips. "There. You may leave."

Phillip said nothing. His face was pale with revulsion, and without another glance he stormed out of the hut.

Outside, Darius immediately hurried over. "My prince! What happened in there? ...Did you get it?"

Phillip continued walking. His silence was answer enough.

Darius matched his pace. "I'll take that as a yes." Still, Phillip did not answer.

The two men made their way back through the forest, and neither spoke for the entire journey. By the time they reached the eastern market, dusk had settled over the Capital. Lanterns illuminated the busy streets, music spilled from crowded taverns, and laughter echoed through the district.

Then Phillip froze. Coming toward them was a familiar group of men, most carrying tankards. One was singing loudly, another stumbled into a fruit cart, and walking in the middle of them was Prince George.

Phillip lowered his hood. Just keep walking. Don't look at him.

Unfortunately, George had remarkably sharp eyes whenever trouble was nearby. "Phillip!"

Phillip closed his eyes for the briefest moment. Of course. He forced a polite smile and turned. "Brother."

George staggered over with a grin. "I thought that was you."

Phillip looked at the men surrounding him. "Still keeping the taverns in business, I see."

George laughed loudly. "And they're grateful for it."

Phillip folded his arms. "One would think a prince would spend more time serving the kingdom than emptying its wine cellars."

George took another drink. "One would think another prince would spend less time worrying about what I do." Several of George's companions laughed.

George looked Phillip up and down. "So... what brings you to this side of the Capital?"

Phillip answered smoothly. "I could ask you the same question."

George spread out his arms. "My reasons are obvious. I'm here with friends." He narrowed his eyes. "But you... you don't usually wander these streets."

Phillip shrugged. "Perhaps I wished to remind myself how the common people truly live."

George smirked. "That's almost convincing."

Phillip's smile never faltered. "I'll consider that a compliment."

The brothers held each other's gaze for a long moment, then George stepped aside. "Very well. I won't keep you. But don't work yourself too hard. Someone in this family has to smile."

Phillip inclined his head. "And someone has to remain sober."

George burst into laughter. "Fair enough!"

Without another word, Phillip and Darius continued toward the palace.

Hidden beneath Phillip's cloak, the tiny glass vial rested safely against his chest. Its dark contents remained perfectly still.