“Yep. Just smelled something cooking.”
“Ah, yes. Nothing like the fare they make down here, is there?” He stopped when Yadje turned around to shoot him a warning look, and the troll man cleared his throat. “Excluding my dear Yadje’s homecooked meals, of course.”
His wife rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide a small smile beneath her exasperation.
“Oh, look.” Bryl darted toward a shelf of different-sized vials, all of them filled with what looked like sand in every color imaginable. “It’s still here.”
Yadje nodded in feigned surprise when her daughter picked up the last vial of black sand and thrust it in the air above her head. Then the girl scampered around the shop, touching things here and there, peering into glass cases or open crates of who knew what.
“R’mahr.” Cheyenne pulled her gaze away from the girl and leaned toward the troll man. “You remember what I told you the other day about keeping an eye on what Bryl brings home, right?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes, yes.” He lowered his voice and dipped his head. “The black magic? Of course, I remember, Cheyenne. And we appreciate the information more than we can say.”
“You told Yadje?”
“I did. She’s always had an eye trained on what Bryl brings home with her, but I imagine now she’ll be going through every little thing twice and three times over.” The troll nodded firmly as if that settled the matter.
“Good. That stuff could still be out there. Just be careful.”
“Absolutely. Yes.”
R’mahr left her to join his daughter in fawning over some kind of bird skull.
Why do I get the feeling he’s not paying attention?
A grunt came from behind the counter, and Cheyenne turned to meet the yellow gaze of the wizened orc with the long white beard. His scowl hadn’t changed since her last visit to Peridosh. We meet again.
“I don’t taint my supplies, drow.” He said it in defense, yet it sounded like a warning.
“I didn’t say you do.” The halfling gazed around the shop and stepped closer to the potionmaster’s counter. “I’m glad to hear you know what to keep out of your shop, at least.”
“I know more about the bonds of magical components than any half-cocked O’gúleesh in this cursed realm,” the orc spat. “Even you.”
Just let him have his moment. Cheyenne slipped her phone out of her pocket and opened her photos. “Also, good to hear. That’s why I’m standing in your shop.”
The orc’s scowl contorted even more when she handed him her phone and made a swiping gesture.
“I need everything on these lists, and I’m guessing you’re the orc who can help me out.”
The potionmaster’s eyes twitched as he scanned the items on one photo after another. When he looked at Cheyenne, the intensity of his gaze made her lean away a little. “Where did you get these pages?”
“They were given to me.”
His yellow eyes widened, and he set her phone down on her side of the counter. “Do you know who penned the spells?”
“The same person who gave them to me. I got a copy of the whole book.” Hope we don’t have a problem here.
The orc cleared his throat, then his scowl returned and he reached under the counter and pulled out a basket woven tightly with dark-brown reeds, twigs, and thin leather thongs. He stepped out from behind the counter and muttered, “I don’t do this for everyone.”
“Hey, I appreciate it. But you could just point those things out to me instead, and I’ll grab them. You don’t have to—”
“I do, and you know it.” The orc’s narrow eyes darted around his shop and paused for a minute on the open entrance. “As far as I’m concerned, drow, the old laws still stand. Even in this wretched place.”
He searched along the back wall of his shop, peering at the full shelves and the displays of supplies laid out on counters below them.
Cheyenne swallowed and slipped her phone back into her pocket. People keep assuming I know what the hell they’re talking about. Her curiosity drove her to follow the old, hunched magical, trying to see what he pulled from the shelves.
The potionmaster had only pulled down one bundle of dried herbs to toss into his basket before he turned with surprising speed. “I don’t need a guard, drow. I’ll abide by the old laws, sure, but not with you breathing down my neck.”
“Okay.” Cheyenne lifted both hands in surrender and took a step back. “Just trying to watch and learn.”
“Then I’d be out of a trade, wouldn’t I?” The orc hissed at her, then turned around again and mumbled, “Never part of the agreement, anyway. I’ll draw the line on this side.”
Not sure the old crazy guy should be selling magical ingredients. The halfling looked up to see all three trolls watching her with wide eyes. She shrugged and shook her head, and R’mahr glanced at the potionmaster making his slow way through his inventory.
“Cheyenne,” Yadje called with a last glance at the elderly orc. “Have you seen an O’gúl hornet’s web?”
“Nope.”
“Come here.” The troll woman waved the halfling forward as her husband and daughter turned back toward the wall of shelving they’d been studying.
Clearing her throat, Cheyenne stepped around the crowded display of gemstones and small cups of seeds taking up the center of the shop. The trolls made room for her to join them, and R’mahr leaned in to whisper, “He’s one of the best, Cheyenne. Used to serve the Crown, you know.”
“Really?” The halfling cast a quick sidelong glance toward the muttering old orc. Then I need to be careful.
“Yes. For most of his life.”
Cheyenne lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “So, why’s he here?”
“Cast out,” R’mahr muttered. “At the turn of the new cycle. Most of the old masters and advisors were, if not all of them.”
“The new cycle is…”
“Ascendance.” The troll man’s eyes widened, and Cheyenne copied the expression, shaking her head.
Yadje scoffed and leaned toward them. “A new regime,
