Matabar

Ardan couldn’t quite recall how the break had passed. He had buried himself in the reference book on the basic types of seals with such hunger that he’d understood almost nothing. Nor could he remember how he’d packed his things, left the lecture hall, and then found himself standing before the doors of the Seventh Wing. This used to be the dormitory of the Firstborn, but now it housed the Faculty of Biology and Alchemy.

One moment, he had been filling seven notebook pages with small, cramped handwriting, and the next, he’d found himself staring out of a window, watching the slow and serene rise of the sun against the gray sky. The sky in the Metropolis looked as though someone had deliberately smudged it. It was a low, granite blanket that seemed as if it might crush the heads of passersby — that is, if some unknown force wasn’t holding it back a couple of meters above the rooftops.

Ardi tore his gaze away from the strange sight, still not used to it even after these past few days. Other students passed by him occasionally, emerging from one set of doors, rushing down the hallway, and disappearing into another. They chatted as they went, discussing lectures, professors, and Star Magic. As he listened to them, Ardan often heard terms he didn’t quite understand.

It wasn’t surprising that the other students treated him with such contempt. How would he have felt if he’d been forced to witness not just someone who had “gotten in thanks to their connections,” but someone who was also three — perhaps even five — years behind on the curriculum?

At that moment, a creaking sound coming from behind him drew his attention, and Ardi, turning quickly, hurried into the building for the Biologists and Alchemists. Mart had been right when he’d said that the two departments were planning to merge. This was actually the year they had done so.

The interior, unlike the Engineers’ halls, didn’t have the same grandeur or luxury. Not that it was dilapidated or anything of the sort that might harm the department’s reputation. It was just simpler: it had wooden floors made of sturdy but basic planks, walls painted in smooth, greenish tones, and a few portraits — though more often than not, one could see landscapes or depictions of complex formulas from a special subsection of chemistry related to the Ley.

In the hall, apart from the intricate system of pipes — which clearly weren’t for mail, plumbing, or heating — there were several wide sofas, a few large vases with bushes, flowers, and even some small trees. The air was thick with a sweet aroma that made Ardi feel slightly dizzy. He covered his face with his hand, but judging by the way none of the other students seemed bothered — except for the elf and two half-bloods — it was clear that only a non-human nose could detect the scent.

Along with his classmates and a group of first-year students from the Biology and Alchemy department, Ardan walked down a corridor that was unexpectedly lined with a thick, plush carpet. They descended a staircase into a basement that resembled something halfway between a greenhouse and a classroom.

The main difference was that there were none of the usual chairs or desks to be found here. Instead, the place held multiple wide rows of massive, rectangular flowerbeds filled with various plants. Most of them Ardan recognized from Atta’nha’s lessons, but there were still some he had never seen before. For instance, a strange flower with a bud shaped like a snake’s head. It dripped thick oil, and upon closer inspection, he could see sharp spikes jutting out from its petals like the fangs of a predator.

There was also a peculiar plant, something between grass and a root, climbing along the wooden frame like a vine, but thicker, with yellow buds blooming along its body.

The flowerbeds were arranged into nine rows, each row nearly twelve meters in length, and at the far end stood a professor’s desk, which was cluttered with papers. To the sides of it, like in Convel’s lecture hall, were two large cabinets. One was filled with books, like Convel’s had been, while the other held various instruments.

Among them, Ardi recognized only the microscope, which he had seen in textbooks. The rest were mysteries to him. Especially the device that looked like a model of their solar system, with a central star and five planets orbiting it. Except that their system only had four planets, and some of those even had moons, so this contraption clearly wasn’t an astronomical tool, but something else entirely.

The General Faculty students — now joined by about thirty more from the local department, including another pure-blooded elf and a pair of dwarven half-bloods — stood at the back of the hall, facing the desk with their backs to the flowerbeds.

By the time Ardi reached them, carefully stepping between the plants as he walked, a man entered the hall from an inconspicuous door in the far corner.

No older than forty, he wore a rumpled robe with a yellow sash — like Convel’s — that rustled in time with his unruly mass of curly, black hair streaked with gray. He was short, with an unnatural pallor, not from malnutrition, but from a lack of sunlight. His dirty glasses, perched precariously on the tip of his hooked nose, gleamed faintly under the flickering light of the Ley-lamps hanging above.

Leaning on a wooden staff carved with white runes, he positioned himself behind the desk. Four Star regalia adorned his shoulders: three, six, five, and four-pointed respectively. It was as though, with each subsequent Star after the Green one, the professor had found less and less value in the accumulation of power.

“Good day, students,” he croaked in a harsh, unpleasant voice, then rummaged through the stack of papers and pulled out a schedule. “Ah, I see you’ve already spent time with Erik... I mean, Professor Convel. Well then, I suppose that, as usual, I can honestly say there’s no need for an introductory lecture, and certainly no need for any unnecessary theatrics or performances. If you’re here, you possess all the skills and knowledge required to dive straight into the study of high science.”

Laughter and sarcastic coughs rippled through the sixty students, the sound as grating as knives scraping against glass. But, as always, Ardi paid it no mind. ṘâŊΟ₿Êŝ

“So, you’ve already read my name on your schedules. I’ll just add that I oversee the Department of Chimerizations,” Professor Kovertsky set aside his staff and leaned on the desk. “And most of your names will never mean a thing to me, so let’s skip the introductions. My course will be divided into three parts. The first will be the study of flora and its properties. The second will be the study of fauna. And the third will be alchemy itself. Essentially, it’ll be theory and practice. Perhaps that makes it two parts? Anyway, who cares?”

Senior Magister Kovertsky spoke strangely, in an almost jittery manner, as if he were constantly forgetting something and then remembering it. And he seemed deeply uncomfortable being around people.

“Let’s start by outlining today’s task,” the professor opened a drawer and pulled out a pointer rod similar to the one Convel had used for casting spells. “We’ll begin with the simplest Ley-containing flower you can find in the Empire. But before I show it to you, tell me — what’s the difference between ordinary plants and Ley-plants?”

To his surprise, Ardan knew the answer to this question. However, the question itself seemed somewhat flawed. From Atta’nha’s scrolls and lessons, he had learned that everything living was imbued with the Ley, in one way or another. It was simply more evident in some creatures and substances than in others.

Wolves, when poisoned by the Ley, merely received a dose of power that overwhelmed their minds, wills, and souls. That was why they became monsters, forgetting the laws of the hunt.

As for plants, their poisoning occurred much more slowly than in animals. Living in the soil, their roots stretched deep, sometimes touching invisible currents. Over generations, they would absorb the Ley, which would gradually alter their essence beyond recognition.

Thus, it was impossible to give a straightforward answer to that question, because the real difference lay only in the characteristics of specific plants.

But several hands still shot up.

“You, the chubby guy with the untied shoelace on your right foot,” Kovertsky growled through clenched teeth.

The young man flushed with embarrassment at such an... awkward introduction, and stammered out his reply, “L-Ley-plants c-can, unlike o-o-”

“They can’t do anything,” interrupted the professor. “And it seems like neither can you, apparently. Not when it comes to speaking clearly, at least. All right, next. You, the girl with the braids.”

Two girls with raised hands had their hair in braids, and they exchanged confused glances.

“Oh, I don’t care which one of you answers,” Kovertsky sighed. If Ardi hadn’t spent so much time in the steppes with the Cloaks, he might have thought the professor was arrogant and rude. But thanks to that experience, he understood that the man simply didn’t enjoy interacting with people. “Fine, let the one to my left answer.”

The second girl lowered her hand, and the first spoke, “Ley-plants contain more energy in standard units of measurement than ordinary plants, and in addition-”

“And in addition, the sun rises in the east and sets in the west,” Kovertsky snorted. “All right, last chance. Whoever answers will get no less than six points on their exam, even if they hand in a blank sheet or destroy the lab equipment. But if you answer incorrectly, you won’t get more than two.”

A heavy silence fell over the greenhouse, and the raised hands quickly dropped to their sides. Even the elves’ hands...

At the end of each month at the Grand, over a period of two days, exams were held to determine the students’ scores for their personal academic records. Based on the total points they earned, it was then decided whether they would receive their scholarship (money grants to be precise) for the next month or not.

If it hadn’t been for the professor’s stipulation, Ardi would never have volunteered to answer. Not because he doubted Atta’nha’s teachings, but because... why bother?

He didn’t feel the need to prove anything to anyone. He knew exactly who he was and what he was capable of. Besides, Mart’s warnings about his peculiar nature still rang in his ears.

But the fact that Ardan desperately needed the scholarship forced him to raise his hand, alone in the stillness.

His classmates, remembering the awkward scene during the Engineering lecture, shot him surprised looks, soon joined by sympathetic gazes from the Biology and Alchemy students. They seemed to know something about Kovertsky that made them feel bad even for someone like Ardan.

“Ah, Mr. Egobar,” Kovertsky smirked crookedly. “Professor Convel warned me about your... unique situation. But forgive me, I won’t be compiling any special lists for you. I have no time to waste. So, if you don’t understand anything, that’s your-”

“The problem is, professor, that your question is incorrect,” Ardan cut him off, causing the room to plunge into a thick, heavy silence. Almost like the sky outside.

But, surprisingly, Kovertsky’s face relaxed, and he seemed to grow a few years younger.

“And if we were to try and answer it anyway?” He asked, to the astonishment of everyone present.

“Then the answer is that there is no difference,” Ardi shrugged. “From the perspective of Star Magic, there’s no difference between ordinary plants and Ley-plants.”

The students exchanged glances, smirks creeping across their faces, and a moment later, Kovertsky pulled a sheet of paper from his pile and scribbled a few words onto it.

“I’ve written your name down, Mr. Egobar,” he said, standing straight. “You’ll receive no less than six points on the theory exam, even if you submit a blank page or burn down the lab. Though I would advise against damaging government property — your family has already met that quota for several generations.”

That last bit had been said without malice. It was just... his way of speaking.

The students murmured among themselves, while Ardan mentally crossed off these lectures from his list of priorities. As much as he hated to admit it, the accursed exams were what concerned him the most right now. Without the grant, he’d be in dire straits.

“For those of you who didn’t understand why Mr. Egobar’s answer was correct, allow me to explain...”

For the next ten minutes, Kovertsky explained everything in such clear, accessible terms that even a complete fool would’ve understood it all. It was almost exactly what Atta’nha had once taught Ardi during their walks through the forests of the Alcade.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Now, focus on the board,” the professor clicked his pointer, activating a seal, and the diagram of a Swamp Henbane flower appeared on the board.

It was a long flower with a fuzzy, dandelion-like head, except instead of fluff, it had a mass of tiny, snow-white blossoms.

This was a Ley-flower closely related to wild rosemary. But where its ancestor had healing properties — reducing inflammation, helping wounds heal, or numbing pain — the Swamp Henbane did the opposite. Mishandling it could reopen old scars or cause wounds to bleed again.

Several poisons could be made from it, though Ardi didn’t recall their exact recipes. Only the antidotes. As a child, he had never been particularly interested in harming others using Atta’nha’s scrolls.

“Who can tell me what we’re looking at?” Asked the professor.

Again, several hands shot up.

“The elf from the General Faculty,” Kovertsky said shortly.

“It’s wild rosemary,” she replied in the same cold, indifferent tone she had used in the previous lecture. “It grows in marshy meadows, peaty bogs, and damp coniferous forests. And-”

“Let’s assume it does, let’s assume it does,” Kovertsky interrupted evenly.

He clicked his pointer, and a soft breeze swept through the greenhouse. Moments later, a small cloud formed under one of the flowerbeds a few rows away from the students. It enveloped the base of a tall, nearly meter-high plant and floated it gently over to the elf.

Ardan immediately noticed several details that would distinguish the healing wild rosemary from the poisonous Swamp Henbane. The latter had porous, rather than leathery, leaves, and instead of that characteristic, intoxicating scent, the Henbane emitted a sharp, slightly salty aroma.

Kovertsky stepped out from behind his desk and approached the elf, handing her a small needle.

“Be so kind, Miss Eveless, as to prick your finger, then smear the juice of the flower on it,” he said, pulling a small vial of murky, viscous liquid out of his robe pocket. “I’ll demonstrate the effect of a healing potion made from this flower, along with the addition of a Ley-plant we will try to identify by formula today.”

Without hesitation, the elf, Eveless, pricked her finger and was about to touch the flower when Ardan... Ardan acted faster than he could think. Faster than he could remember that he wasn’t in the mountains of the Alcade or the steppes. He was in the heart of the Empire, at an institution renowned throughout the world for its allure to young mages. And here, no one would harm a student for no reason.

But Ardi only realized all of this after his fingers had already gripped the elf’s wrist, pulling her hand away from the flower.

“You...” Eveless hissed, jerking her hand out of Ardan’s grasp and stepping back.

Silence fell over the room once again, and Ardi inwardly scolded himself. Yes, Ergar would have praised him now, saying that this was how a true hunter should behave. But Skusty would have chided him endlessly, reminding him of Mart’s warnings to keep a low profile and not draw attention.

While the other students whispered indignantly among themselves, Professor Kovertsky calmly extended the needle toward Ardan.

“I assume, Mr. Egobar, that you’d like to prick your own finger instead, so as not to disrupt my lecture or receive disciplinary action.”

Ardan looked into the professor’s dark, deep eyes, then quickly shifted his gaze to the bridge of Kovertsky’s nose. The last thing he needed was to get in even more trouble because of the Witch’s Gaze.

Realizing that Kovertsky’s plan likely involved something more serious than the mere bullying of students, Ardi took the needle and pricked his finger. But before pressing his already-closing wound to the flower, he surveyed the greenhouse, noting the plants necessary to create a simple antidote.

Only then did he press the nearly-healed cut to the flower. As soon as he touched the leaves, the blood didn’t so much gush forth as it flowed out steadily, and his finger began to redden and swell rapidly.

“And so, we observe the effect of Swamp Henbane, a Ley-plant of the Red Star category,” the professor noted in a calm voice, showing everyone Ardan’s bleeding finger. Kovertsky held it in such a way that the blood dripped onto the floor without soiling anyone. “We have about two hours before the poison spreads deep enough into the tissues to require amputation.”

“But professor,” one of the Biology and Alchemy students raised his hand. Incidentally, of all the students present, they were the only ones who’d remained calm, while the General Faculty students were exchanging anxious glances. “The poison made from Swamp Henbane causes tissue necrosis in open wounds in just forty minutes!”

“You’re not accounting for the innate healing of a Matabar,” the professor corrected him. “Admittedly, our subject here doesn’t possess regeneration as potent as a pure-blooded Matabar’s, since Mr. Egobar’s ancestors wouldn’t have been affected by this poison at all. So, student...”

“Leonov. Pavel Leonov.”

“Student Leonov,” the professor nodded, still holding Ardan’s hand aloft. “For your next seminar, I expect you to be prepared to give a report on the development of immunity to flora inhabiting certain areas among the Firstborn peoples.”

“Understood, professor,” Leonov slumped back into the rows of students.

“Now that we’ve grasped the scope of today’s lesson,” Kovertsky said just as calmly as before, as though he weren’t holding a poisoned student. “Please open your textbooks to the list of formulas. Also, take out your reference books. You may take your places around the flowerbeds. There are fold-out desks at the edges where you can place your materials. Unfortunately, I don’t have chairs, nor will I ever. All lessons related to flora will be conducted while standing. Gloves can also be found hanging by the desks, and you must — make note of this, you must — return them to their hooks at the end of each session.”

Only after saying all of this did Kovertsky finally release Ardan’s hand and return to the board, where he began to scrawl something resembling chemistry formulas, but with unfamiliar symbols mixed in with the letters.

By the time he had written what was clearly an incomplete equation, the students had finished shuffling their cloaks and clicking their heels. They took their places by the flowerbeds, and indeed, each one had a small fold-out desk attached to it. Standing sideways to the board and facing the rows of plants, the students opened their notebooks and, almost in unison, dipped their pens into their inkwells.

“Who can tell me what we need to do first in order to calculate the formula to counter the effect of the Ley?” Asked Kovertsky, immediately adding, “Answer by raising your hand, and only after I call on you.”

Several hands shot up, and the professor pointed to one of the students. A burly young man with a badly-set, previously-broken nose stood up.

“Calculate the mass of the poison substance and-”

“I don’t know your name, young man,” Kovertsky interrupted before the student could finish, “but right now, youknow that someone has been poisoned. I’m asking about the general procedure. Next. You.”

“We need to calculate the amount of Ley energy contained in- ”

“Exactly,” the professor interrupted again. “If you don’t remember the general formula for calculating Ley energy in standard units, that’s your problem. For those who do, start the calculation. You have five minutes.”

“Professor,” Ardan spoke up.

“Yes, Mr. Egobar?”

“I’m still bleeding.”

“I can see that, Mr. Egobar,” the professor replied, his voice devoid of any emotion. “And you wouldn’t be, had you let Miss Eveless learn her lesson about what happens to a Star Mage who doesn’t know their theory.”

The elf gave no reaction to this, continuing to scribble in her notebook.

“By the way,” the professor suddenly added, “I should remind you all that anyone who suffers from the effects of poison or any other harmful influence from flora or fauna during our lessons may attempt to cure themselves. If they succeed before we finish calculating the counter-formula and I don’t have to…” Kovertsky pulled out a vial of liquid, “…heal the student myself, I will notify your Healing Arts professor, and they will assign you extra points at the exam.”

The students visibly perked up at this news, and Ardan became even more convinced that Kovertsky wasn’t just a tyrant. He needed volunteers to demonstrate certain effects. But who would willingly poison themselves, or suffer even worse things? However, extra points on the Healing Arts exam, one of the most challenging subjects for non-specialized students, might just be enough to motivate anyone into acquiring some temporary masochism...

Not to mention, Star Biology and Alchemy were closely tied to Healing. Mart had once mused that in the future, the two departments might merge with a third as well...

“May I begin curing myself?” Ardan asked, the increasingly intense burning sensation in his finger becoming more unbearable by the second.

“By all means, Mr. Egobar,” the professor waved his hand. “Now, who has already calculated the Ley volume? Excellent... You, please...”

“Nine!”

“Correct. Now that we know the initial volume, we’ll plug it into the formula and... Damn it, I hate math... Hmm... Oh, right. We’ll need a counteracting force of, correct me if I’m wrong here, two rays of the Red Star.”

Ardan, who was on his way to gather one of the ingredients, nearly tripped. The formula had expanded so much that it barely fit on the board anymore. And the number “nine” meant nothing to him.

Just another gap he’d have to fill in later. But for now, he approached the wild rosemary that Eveless had mistaken for a Ley-plant. He extended his hand toward the flower and Listened. He Listened to the whispers of the blossoms swaying in the gentle breeze that swept through the greenhouse. Listened to how the roots, hidden deep in the loose, moist soil, silently, imperceptibly grew. But in reality, they were tunneling like busy moles, constantly digging deeper and deeper.

In that moment, Ardi caught a fragment of the plant’s name and whispered it, asking the flower to give him what he needed to help himself. Six petals fell softly into his hand. Ardi thanked the plant and severed the connection.

Most poisonous Ley-plants could be cured with antidotes made from their ancestors. Of course, this didn’t apply to complex poisons brewed from them. In those cases, besides the ancestor of the toxin, other plants were required as well.

Ardan, slipping the petals into his pocket, scanned the greenhouse and approached the bed of primroses, their yellow blossoms drooping almost to the ground. He sniffed at them, selecting one that had a cinnamon scent. He had once gathered a whole bunch of these, but Anna hadn’t appreciated it. While she loved cinnamon, the human nose couldn’t detect the aroma in primroses.

Taking just one blossom, Ardi moved to the nettles, which were stubbornly jutting out in the farthest corner. He grabbed the thickest stem and carefully snapped it above the root, placing it on the edge of the flowerbed to squeeze out the juice. But then he realized...

“Professor?”

“...in this case, we’ll need to reduce the amount of protein structure entering the bloodstream. What is it, Mr. Egobar?”

“Where’s the equipment?”

“Ah... yes...” Kovertsky suddenly remembered himself, setting the chalk down and picking up his pointer. Another seal activated, and part of the eastern wall shimmered with a yellowish light, revealing a door. “The lab is in there. And students, keep in mind that if anyone attempts to figure out which seal I used to conceal it so they can break in, I’ll of course inform Dean Tumvell, head of the Protective Magic department, and he’ll surely praise you. But don’t bother coming to my lectures after that.”

Ardan, carrying the nettle stalk and ignoring the curious glances cast his way, opened the door and stepped inside.

He found himself in a spacious, bright room flooded with the light of Ley-lamps. It was large enough to accommodate more than thirty tables, each equipped with various instruments Ardi had seen in the professor’s cabinet.

He approached the nearest one. Clearly designed for two students, it boasted a convenient inkwell embedded in the tabletop. There were also holders for various vials, jars, and other vessels. In the center stood a tripod, and nearby was an oil burner with an adjustable flame. Next to it was a fire striker.

That was what Ardi was interested in currently. The rest of the unfamiliar equipment... not so much, at least for now.

Spotting a few sinks in the far corner, Ardan grabbed a conical flask of the right size and filled it with water. He returned to the table.

With a flick of the striker, a small flame came to life on the oil-soaked wick. Ardi held his uninjured hand over the flame, adjusting the knob at the base of the burner to control the oil flow. The more oil, the stronger the flame. Ardan set the flame to cover two finger joints, then grabbed the simplest mortar and pestle.

He crushed the primrose blossom and strained its juice into the boiling water. He worked slowly, carefully, ensuring no blood from his finger contaminated the mixture.

Next, he squeezed the nettle, draining it into the waste pipe that disappeared into the floor. Grabbing a strangely-shaped knife from the table, Ardan sliced the stalk into pieces, ensuring the number of sections was exactly half the number of leaves on the stem. These, too, went into the water, and were left to simmer for a few minutes as he listened to the ongoing lecture.

“...now we add the mass of the counteracting substance to the original toxin. You can do it by trial and error if you were dropped on your head as a child, but real mages have a formula for equalizing substances...”

All of this sounded like a foreign language to Ardan, unlike the potion he was brewing. The first thing Atta’nha had taught him was how to cure any poison that might come from the many denizens of the Alcade — whether they were plants, insects, snakes, toads, berries, or anything else.

So, when the nettle stalks began to break down into fibers in the boiling water, Ardan tossed in the wild rosemary leaves. A few minutes later, he strained the mixture through a sieve into a small flask.

The potion needed to be cooled before use. In the Alcade, mountain snow worked perfectly for this, but here...

Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, Ardan took the flask in his hands and breathed on it, summoning a shard of the name of ice. A cold mist escaped his lips, and the glass was momentarily covered in the delicate, frost-like pattern of ice crystals.

The potion was ready.

Ardi was about to drink it, the burning in his finger now unbearable, as if someone had been slowly cooking it in oil. But he remembered the professor’s words.

“Now, with the formula almost complete, we just need... Mr. Egobar, were you unable to figure out how to use the instruments?” Kovertsky’s voice cut through the room.

“I’m finished,” Ardi said, holding up the flask as he closed the door behind him.

“Hmm,” Kovertsky gave a quick glance at the board behind him. “You finished just minutes before the practical work on the formula was set to begin. But, still, you made it. However, don’t rush to drink it! We don’t want any accidents. Let me inspect it first.”

Ignoring the whispers of the other students, Ardan walked up to the desk, leaving a narrow trail of blood droplets behind him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Elena in the center of the room, watching him with a mix of concern and curiosity.

“Let’s see, let’s see,” the professor said, taking the flask from Ardan and placing it into a holder. He raised his staff and struck the floor with it. One of the seals on his staff lit up, and a translucent, yellow rose materialized before the professor. It descended, stem-first, into the flask. For a moment, the rose’s petals swirled and shimmered, then, slowly, the flower bloomed. A second later, it vanished.

“Magnificent! A practically flawless execution!” Kovertsky’s previously bored and dull expression lit up with excitement. “Nothing unnecessary, just the essentials! Well done, student. Drink it. Don’t be afraid. It’s excellent work.”

Ardan took the flask from the tripod and drank the potion. It slid down his throat, thick and sharp, like honey with tiny barbs in it. But before he had time to react, the bitterness faded, leaving a faint aftertaste of cinnamon, and the burning in his finger began to cool.

The bleeding stopped.

“Now, Ard, show me your calculations!” Kovertsky was practically vibrating with anticipation. “It’s not every day I encounter a student so well-versed in the basic principles of alchemy!”

For some reason, Ardan could hear Skusty’s mocking laughter echoing in his head, which soon turned into the squirrel’s familiar, sneering cackle.

“I don’t have any calculations, professor,” Ardan replied quietly.

“You did them in your head? Admirable, though risky. If there had been a mistake, it would have been hard to trace. But tell me, which formula did you use? Was it the one we’ve been working on, or did you rely on a specific antidote for the Swamp Henbane? Come on, Ard, take pride in your work! This is a success!”

“Professor,” Ardan hesitated.

“Yes, Ard?”

“I don’t know any formulas.”

“What?”

And why, Ardan thought, was Skusty’s laughter growing into outright hysteria?

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