Chapter 30: A Bountiful Harvest

The hag lay on the muck-choked floor, laughing herself nearly breathless—yet she could not break free from the spell. Only when the druids at last bound her with living vines did Ambrose finally stop channeling it.

Though she had only been controlled by the spell for a little while, it had wounded her badly. She coughed up blood and could not form coherent speech. Her body was a ruin.

The druids of the Goldenvine circle stood back, wary of the lich's power. They dared not step too close. Instead, they hauled Naomi aside and pressed her for an account of what had happened.

Naomi told them everything: how she'd met Ambrose in the tavern, how they'd struck a bargain, and how they'd come into the sewers to rescue their kin.

At first, the druids could hardly believe what she said. No true worshiper of Sylvanas would willingly consort with an undead creature. By Sylvanas' doctrine, they were to purify all undead they saw to restore natural balance to the world.

But Ambrose was exceedingly powerful. If they were to attack him, they would surely perish.

They conceded reluctantly that, since Ambrose had saved them, they would set doctrine aside this time.

That was how they convinced themselves, at least.

Van Jones, having accepted the uneasy truth that he had been saved by a lich, immediately began to scold Naomi.

Stealing the idol of Sylvanas was not merely foolhardy. "Sacrilege!" he thundered.

Even if every one of them died here, it would be a lesser shame than risking the circle's holy relic.

Naomi protested that the seniormost druid elder had allowed Naomi to take the relic himself.

Van Jones gaped. "How could that be? Has he gone crazy?!"

Naomi shook her head. "The elder must have had a vision! Didn't we come to these sewers on his orders to begin with?

Van Jones started to ask questions, then fell silent as a fellow druid glanced toward Ambrose.

It was not the time for such conversations.

Ambrose, however, was no longer interested in their squabbles. He had already stripped a few pieces of enchanted kit from their rescued comrades—an amulet, a leather cuirass braced with nature magic, an enchanted shortbow—goods that together would net roughly ten thousand gold.

He was done with the druids as clients.

Instead he turned to the ranger who'd been rescued—Hares, nicknamed Husky—and said casually, "Look, I saved your life. You'd consider me your benefactor, wouldn't you?"

Husky nodded eagerly, embarrassed by his earlier intent to swindle Ambrose. He'd considered trying to blackmail or rob the lich, but upon seeing the lich's power, his greed had evaporated like morning mist.

"Thank you, Master Lich," he gabbled. "We're very grateful."

"I don't want gratitude," Ambrose replied.

He made a small pinching motion with two fingers, an unmistakable sign.

Husky grimaced worriedly. "We're poor, Master Lich."

"How much can you give me?" Ambrose demanded.

Husky reached into a tattered pouch. The contents were pitiful: two gold coins and a handful of copper.

"Only two?" Ambrose complained.

Husky sucked in a deep breath. "Master Lich, we simply don't have any money! Otherwise, we wouldn't have..."

Ambrose waved a skeletal hand. "All right. You look like you have good bone structure, at least. Skulls like that might be put to use."

Husky's knees went weak. "No, no, wait! We have more gold at home. If you send us home, we'll fetch it for you."

Ambrose considered the proposal. "Very well. I've taken ten thousand gold from these druids in exchange for saving six of them. For you two, I'll charge two thousand each as a token of appreciation. Isn't that reasonable?"

Husky did the arithmetic and blinked. "But, Master Lich, if it's six druids for ten thousand, that's less than two thousand per druid!"

"Rounding," Ambrose interrupted dryly.

The lich's eye-sockets glowed with a cold, amused light, as if he were about to turn Husky into a skeleton. Husky gulped and immediately nodded. "Of course, of course!"

"Good. Now, sign this promissory note."

Ambrose produced a sheaf of parchment and wrote up names, sums, and interest rates, each item calculated to the letter of Alkhemia's usurious statutes.

No one could find fault with this document.

Husky signed it under duress, then looked back at his brother, still unconscious and reeking of rot. "Master Lich, he's still out. I'll sign on his behalf."

Ambrose shook his head. "There's no need for all this trouble."

A spell struck Bear. The bandit, still dreaming of his goddess, awoke all of a sudden.

Blearily, he murmured, "Goddess? Goddess, where are you?"

But as the illusion faded and reality reasserted itself, the bandit saw the bound hag and retched.

Seeing Bear's exceedingly pained expression, Ambrose smiled. "I offer memory erasure services, three hundred gold per targeted memory. I can excise whatever you wish with surgical precision and no side effects whatsoever. Interested?"

The bandit took the offer without hesitation. Even if it had cost him three thousand gold, he would have scraped the money together. Otherwise, it might cause permanent trauma to his body and certain functions thereof.

Ambrose pocketed the signed papers with a satisfied flourish. He had no fear that these two brothers would fail to pay; if necessary, he had many... persuasive means to collect.

Next, he unfurled another sheet and handed it to Naomi. "Mark the slimes' lairs," he instructed. Now that her circle had been saved, Naomi would hardly keep traveling with the lich. She traced out the pools and damp caverns where she had seen enchanted slimes. Then, with a furtive glance and a curt nod, she left with her people.

With the equipment stowed and the contracts folded away, Ambrose turned back to the prostrate hag.

Here lay the real prize of the night: not the trinkets or the meager coin, but the creature underfoot.

He stepped forward, voice lowering to a businesslike tone. "Now that we have time," he said, "tell me again about that prophecy of godhood. Start from the beginning."