A Rival Most Vial by R.K. Ashwick EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: R.K. Ashwick
- Language: English
- Genre: Sword & Sorcery Fantasy
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 3 MB
- Price: Free
PREHEAT THE CAULDRON
Ambrose
BEFORE THE DOOR OPENED, everything in Ambrose Beake’s life was
perfect.
His potion shop stood empty and quiet, a reflection of the sleepy street
outside. His footsteps echoed alone, delightfully alone, on the polished
wood floor as he dusted the bottles. Glowing healing vials, smoky
invisibility potions, fizzing strength serums… He swept carefully between
each one, ensuring that not a speck of dust marred the glass or obscured the
alphabetized labels. If adventurers sought out his shop for the best potions
in the Scar—and they did—his wares had to look the part.
Once the shelves sparkled, Ambrose wandered to the door and tidied the
sleeve of his navy robes. He supposed he could open early today. Flip the
sign on the door, cater to the adventurers not sleeping off a hangover or a
tavern brawl…
He reached for the sign. Perhaps he could close early, too, and settle
into a nice evening of quiet brewing and—
“Morning, Ames!” A lanky elven figure burst through the door,
knocking Ambrose backward. “You have your bet ready?”
Ambrose caught himself on the counter, inches away from a fragile
display of vials. “Banneker! What are you doing here?”
Ambrose’s tone had all the welcoming charm of a cactus, but Banneker
shrugged it off as he loped over to the shop’s bay window. His crimson hair
and tilted grin gleamed in the morning light.
“Come on, we told you about the bet,” he said. “For the shop across the
street.” As he tapped a pale finger on the windowpane, a smudge of grease
from his artificer’s work left behind a print. Ambrose’s eye twitched.
“No, I’m afraid you didn’t tell me.” He stood straight, adjusted his
robes, and gestured to the door. “Now, if you could come back later, I
haven’t quite opened yet—”
“Today’s the day!” The door slammed open again, revealing an elderly
human woman in a sooty leather apron. Ambrose reeled back and, this time,
knocked the vials across the counter.
“Oh!” The woman clapped a gloved hand over her mouth. “Sorry, dear.”
“Quite all right, Sherry,” Ambrose muttered as he scrambled for the
skittering glass. “But if you’re here for this bet, I’d rather it not be held in
my shop.”
“I’ve got my bet!” Banneker crowed. Sherry beamed and joined the
artificer.
“You finally decided?” She swept a gray curl off her forehead,
suntanned after years of working in her open-air forge.
“Consulted my star chart and everything,” Banneker said proudly. “It’s
a bakery.”
Sherry snorted and tugged off her blacksmith gloves, letting trails of
soot drift onto the immaculate window display. Ambrose sighed loudly, but
she took no notice. “It’s not a bakery,” she said. “There’s no room in the
shop for an oven.” She turned to Ambrose. “What do you think it is?”
Banneker scoffed. “Ames doesn’t have a bet.”
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