The Arkanist

The Lord of Spices

Eller drank another glass of fine summer wine. It was his fifth to be exact and the flavor had not changed since his first draught. The blood red liquid still had the strong fruity flavor as it did ten minutes ago. That much was strange for the famed Myrrn wine, grown from the city along the Long Sea, Myro. Their grapes and vineyards seemed never to run out of season and they grew the greatest of wines in all the South. Its divine quality was that it would change flavors every glass. It was the kind of grapes they used, some say infused with magic, that would disrupt the flavor. Eller drained the ornate glass of red, his lips ripe like the grapes themselves, gleaming in the torchlight, thinking only that he was too drunk to sense the difference in taste.

            The Hall of Shhae roared with commotion and celebration, the chill stone floor buzzing as if a thousand bees swarmed underfoot. Long wooden tables cloaked in white palls ran down the massive hall, laden with food. Silver platters of fish, meat, and vegetables consumed the surface, along with giant glasses of wine from the groves of near and far. Shivering braziers puffed out heat in great breathes like dragons, glimmering ruby embers floating off in the air trailed by tails of curling black smoke. Eller sat alone, at the back of the farthest table to the left, the hard stonewall his only company.

         His nose in another goblet of Myrrn wine, he watched with malevolent pale green eyes his father at the head of the center table. The center table was where the nobles and great lords from all across Hhad, Erediath and even Qethos sat, gorging themselves on the garish dishes that rested before their greedy faces. Swallowing the liquid without even tasting the flavor, Eller wiped the deep red sheen off his lips, smearing it across his pale flesh that rank of alcohol. He always smelled of intense alcohol. It clung to him like a baby does to its mother.

         He pushed away the goblet until it tipped over and rolled on its side, spinning and spinning with a hallow ring and finally stopped, a drip of wine staining the frayed white pall. Eller sat back, leaning on the stone behind him, his ribbed spine rubbing against the rock through his clean velvet doublet, shimmering with blue light laced with bands of silver and a dull grey lace along the chest. At the breast a small iron serpent pin pierced the fabric, the same sigil embroidered onto his rough navy cloak that tumbled like water to the floor in a ruffled heap.

         Sucking at his wine-stained lips, he heard a voice from across the table, “Could it be…oh dear, yes…yes it is. What has happened to you Eller? What has happened? It has been very long indeed…”

         Eller looked up sleepily, his eyes droopy. – I’m a drunk. I’m a selfish little drunk who cares only about himself. – I’m the King’s son but he doesn’t give a shit about me. I’m a prince without a little pathetic crown. “I’ve acquired… habits.” Eller simply stated. Now I hope he leaves me to my wine. How I do like it, even if I can’t taste it. In fact, I rather like it better that way.

         Instead, the speaker sat down, garbed in satin robes of purple with gilded lace screaming at the seams from his pudgy waist. He was a portly man, hanging with flesh and a plump pink face with pointy ears and muddy eyes. His robes seemed as though they were oversized and ruffled in great folds like hills of satin. He was a bald with smooth pale skin and muddled cheeks and many chins.

         Oh great… Eller cursed as he felt the table creak with the man’s weight. “Why is it that you care of me so?” He asked, vexed.

         “Do you not remember me?” Asked the man, his chins dancing. “Does the name Oppilus Mattip mean anything to you? Have you heard it before?”

         Yes it does. “I have never heard such a queer name in all my life.” Said Eller. “Never in these parts.”

         “I’m no fool.” Said Oppilus. “I’m your uncle, Lord of Spices from the city of Myro. You will do well to remember me, Eller. I know things you might want to hear.”