The season moved into High Spring, and a few days in, a surprise visitor showed up.

  Batty, the bat-obsessed girl from Bellharbour with whom Niala had established a quick friendship, showed up unannounced, but not unwelcome. After exchanging greetings, the young woman explained over a quick snack that she had wanted to come inspect the bats in Niala's colony after their hibernation. With their health weakened from the cold and long slumber, spring was apparently prime time for bat diseases.

  David accompanied the girls, who chatted about everything bat-related. Batty turned out to have a surprising amount of alchemical knowledge.

  Anything related to bats, really; uses for bat parts, formulas useful for bat-keeping, and bat-based alchemical tools. Among other things, she sang the praises of bat-leather gloves; thin but resistant, allowing fine manipulation while providing ample protection. They were apparently her most sought-after bat-product and in high demand from alchemists and herbalists, among others. Niala begged Batty to purchase a pair, as well as at least one of every other bat-paraphernalia she had on offer.

  Batty began arguing against being paid, but the catkin insisted.

  David suspected that the girl's downtrodden appearance played a part in his girlfriend's insistence. Batty's clothes were mosaics of patches, to the point he wondered if the original piece of clothing still existed, and nearly all of her belongings appeared either self-made from bat parts or borderline ancient, but well cared for.

  She eventually caved in and promised the next set of tools she could make, including a pair of gloves, would be earmarked for Niala. She was limited by the amount of material she could gather, since she only harvested from dead or dying bats, and refused to purchase them from others, as they would hunt healthy bats for their parts. The tools would thus take at least a season or two, but Niala was happy to wait.

  Once they reached the bat colony, Batty guided Niala along an in-depth inspection of the bats' health, listing the signs to look for: fur colour and sheen, energy levels, how they hung and huddled, the way they flew, all the way to the guano's consistency and smell.

  David had soon tuned out the impromptu seminar on bat health, but his girlfriend was diligently filling out a notebook. He suspected that, after a few seasons with Batty teaching her, Niala would probably be able to pass as a bat veterinarian. The young woman certainly could.

  A few bells later, they were done, with Niala's bats found to be in general good health. Batty did recommend adding a few feeding trays nearby to provide the bats with fruit chunks marinated in a bat nutrient preparation. She also collected the few dead bats they found and headed back home, in time for dinner.

  The bat discussions continued over the food, moving on to a slew of interesting bat facts. Linzy and Karline found the whole exchange mildly interesting, but there was only so much bat-talk normal people could stomach.

  Not Niala, though. She seemed just as interested in everything Batty had to tell her as on the first day they'd met.

  David began worrying that maybe, just maybe, Niala might want to start expanding their bat colony into something... larger.

  He hoped his future did not hold bat-ranching.

  THE LIVING VAULT

  Allimaya, Azure Guard lieutenant, watched over her squad of soldiers as they drove long pikes into the ground around the area where the fel sensor had detected one.

  Early on, they had used shovels and picks, but having a bunch of soldiers armed with shovels in a pit made for a poor initial engagement with whatever fel they'd dig up. The number of wounded had been unacceptable.

  If it hadn't been for those special healing potions that they'd purchased several crates of, they would have suffered maiming injuries, and most probably a few deaths. But, well, the troops called them miracle potions for a reason. Allimaya had to admit, it was hard not to, even if her commanding officer had made it clear they were to be referred to as “special high-grade potions”.

  She guessed they didn't want the knowledge of their existence to spread too fast, allowing them time to find a way to acquire exclusive rights, or at least preferential terms, for their unit.

  She shook her head, her waist-high braided ponytail swinging left and right as she did. Like most elves, she respected the cultural taboo about cutting a female elf's hair. The thick, heavy braid was her solution. She'd woven metal wire within and inserted a few lead weights inside the braid at the tip, giving her a hidden flail that her enemies did not expect.

  By now, the small detachment of Azure Guard stationed at the Living Vault had eradicated close to two hundred fels, and still, they kept finding them every hundred steps or so. The latest estimate for the entire area was between six and seven thousand fels. A veritable infestation that they had been clearing out by a few heads per day. They could be at it for years before they would start seeing a difference.

  Her attention snapped to one of her soldiers, who had just yelped as his spike hit something harder than soil, but softer than a rock, which usually meant a fel.

  With practiced motion, everyone let go of their spikes, formed a wide circle around where the soldier had hit something, and stood guard, weapons and shields drawn, filtering masks on.

  Sure enough, a rumbling was soon felt from the ground, and a leathery, clawed hand burst through the surface. The rest of the fel followed out, only to find long spears thrusting at it, propelled by imbued arms. It managed to avoid a few, but three connected, driving deep within its flesh.

  Allimaya triggered her neck imbuement, one given to officers to amplify their voices. “Holders! On the spears! Shielders! Advance and occupy its attention! Strikers! Form up behind the shields and get close to start hacking it away!”

  She bellowed out her orders quickly, though she hadn't needed to. Her unit had several weeks of “sweeping” under their belt by now, and they had begun to move almost before she'd uttered her first word.

  The holders ganged up on the three spears, driving them in and down, pinning the fel in place. Before it could begin clawing at the shafts to try and free itself, the shielders charged in from behind thick, spiked metal shields, forcing the creature to defend itself from this attack. Right behind the shields came the strikers, wielding heavy two-handed weapons, such as axes and great maces, stepped out to land devastating strikes, retreating behind the shield whenever the fel turned its attention toward them.

  Even with the coordinated and overwhelming attack, the guards still sometimes suffered wounds due to the random nature of each fel's unique ability. They were often similar, but never exactly the same. Tentacles, acid spits, razor-sharp filaments, and bone spikes were all possibilities.

  This particular specimen seemed to have several small spouts strewn across its body, and it soon revealed what they were used for, as billowing gouts of yellowish smoke belched out of the creature's body.

  The guards in melee combat triggered their Iron Body imbuements, in case it was acid, and the filtering mask would help fight off other effects, but this still meant they had to act quickly and take it down before the gas revealed itself to be a hallucinogenic. Their entire detachment had only fought two of those so far, but each time had been instances where they'd suffered casualties.

  Thankfully, this one seemed to be a potent sleeping gas, and nothing more. She felt a pang of concern as her soldiers closest to the fel began slowing down, their movement turning a bit sluggish, but by then the creature was already profusely bleeding and had two of its limbs limp. A few well-placed head strikes drove it to the ground, and a shielder stepped up, lifted their heavy shield before slamming it down over the thing's neck, using the bottom end as a guillotine.

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  A few more strikes were planted on its body, but it was well and truly dead.

  She ordered her soldiers to step back and allowed them time to fight off the soporific effects.

  As her troop began inspecting each other for any wounds, scratches or equipment damage, a soldier approached her with a large lump of crystal in their hand.

  “LT,” He called out.

  “What is it, Delmar?”

  “I found this in the hole the fel made as it climbed out.” He said, holding up the crystal. “I think there's more underground. I saw a glint.”

  Allimaya frowned and took the offered mineral, bringing it up to her eyes. It was sky-blue and nearly opaque. Dirty from having been covered in dirt, it nonetheless held a glossy sheen. It looked somewhat familiar, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

  She glanced at Delmar. “Any idea on what this might be?”

  The soldier scratched his temple. “From the shape and the gloss, it almost looks like a mana crystal, but those are always transparent or semi-transparent, and closer to a white-blue than this.”

  Allimaya nodded, returning her eyes to the crystal. “Indeed, a mana crystal's transparency depends on its mana purity. The higher the purity, the less transparent... they are...”

  Could it be...?

  She looked at Delmar. “Do you have a mana tool powered by pellets?”

  He blinked. “I, huh, I have a mana burner.”

  She nodded. “Fish it out, give it over.” She said as she knelt and, using her dagger and a rock, knapped a piece of crystal about the size of a mana pellet.

  She took the offered mana burner, dumped its pellets out and put in the piece of crystal. She set the burner on the ground and turned the dial on.

  A flame roared to life over the burner, bigger and more violent than the dial indicated. She quickly turned it off, handing the piece of magitech back to Delmar, who fumbled with it as he was snapped out of his daze. He looked up to his commanding officer. “LT, does that mean that...?”

  She got back up to her feet and nodded. “Mana crystal. Highest purity I've ever seen. Highest purity anyone might have seen in recorded history.”

  She turned toward her troops. “Kingley, Mastoff! Come here!” She called after her best runners.

  As they got close, she flung the piece of mana crystal at them, one of the two catching it. “Get this back to base camp, tell them it's a mana crystal. Get it in the magitechies' hands so they can evaluate its purity. Give them our coordinates, tell them we're going to dig and see if there's more.”

  The two runners stared at the crystal, then at her.

  She glared in annoyance. “You have your orders, go!”

  Nodding, the two of them powered up their leg imbuements and took off at a sprint.

  Allimaya then turned to the rest of her troops and directed half of them on shovels, the other half on guard duties, and got a dig started.

  By the time the runners returned a bell and a half later, Allimaya's troops had excavated ten metres of a vein of nearly opaque mana crystal. It seemed to stretch into the ground at an angle, thick as a man's torso, widening even further as they dug deeper.

  Just the uncovered crystal was already worth several thousand princes by Allimaya's rough estimation of a seventy to eighty percent purity.

  When the runners informed her that the piece of crystal she'd sent back had come out to around ninety percent purity, she added two zeros to that number.

  If it's a fully exploitable vein, this fel-infested hole is soon going to be the most sought-after piece of land in all of Amberfall.

  Luke looked at the crates and casks piled up in a corner of his warehouse, scratching his head, the old catkin woman logo staring at him a dozen times over.

  He looked down at the letter his adoptive brother had sent along with this shipment of “old woman”, and read it a second time.

  David said that he could expect a shipment such as this one twice a week, and that it represented about fifty thousand “doses”, five thousand of those in tea packets, the other in bulks of various states of refinement, from nothing but dried and weighted, to cut to length, partitioned and ready for infusing.

  He had given a few suggested prices and added a few very specific instructions: anyone who sold the old woman drink had to acquire the taste- whatever that meant- and anyone wanting to acquire the taste had to take two sips at first, no matter what.

  He guessed that meant his brother wanted him to taste the brew? He had smelled the packets, and his nose had wrinkled. He didn't imagine putting the finished product in his mouth would have any better results.

  But... Niala's potions were his best seller. In fact, the amount of profit he was making off of those energizers and hangover cures was downright criminal. He'd begun donating ten percent to the local orphanage and soup kitchens, and was slowly gaining a reputation as a philanthropist. While he wasn't one to scoff at profit and good reputation, he still felt somewhat bad at gaining these off the back of his brother's now-girlfriend.

  But his brother had said that this... old woman, was Niala's greatest invention. If it were true, then he was a little bit afraid to think of the amount of money he was going to make.

  This first shipment had been “loaned” to him, to be repaid as he sold them, for two, three or four bits per dose, depending on whether it was raw herbs, processed bulk herbs or packed herbs, and was told he should sell them for two to three bits profit. That meant he was looking at a minimum of a hundred thousand bits profit in front of him, or a hundred princes, twice a week, every week.

  The amount of money he could make in a year made his head turn.

  He shook his head, clearing his mind, and took a few packets with him back home.

  There, he boiled water and followed the infusion instructions. He made a serving for himself and Martha, his wife, and took his first sip.

  He nearly spat out the vile, bitter liquid, forcing himself to swallow it and looked at his mug in disgust. Martha's reaction mirrored his own, and she glared at him, probably cursing her husband for making her drink this bitter muck.

  He was about to throw the rest of the mug away when he was reminded of David's words. Two. Sips. Underlined, in bold, and circled.

  He stared at his mug for a long time. Eventually, his trust in his adoptive brother won out, and he submitted himself to a second assault on his sense of taste. He brought the mug to his lips and took in the barest amount of liquid that still counted as a sip, squeezing his eyes shut as he did, waiting for the prickly bitterness to despoil his tongue once more.

  But it never came.

  Oh, the bitterness was there. But instead of feeling like he'd sipped angry spines, now it felt like... an old, frustrated woman's glare, underneath which was a desperate desire to know what true love was.

  He opened his eyes wide, staring at the cup before looking at his wife and urging her to take a second sip. After a bit of assurance and encouragement, she did, and she gave him the same flabbergasted look he'd had.

  “Dear, what is this drink?” She asked.

  “It's... an old woman...” He answered.

  She blinked. “That name is...”

  “Very fitting.” He finished her phrase. She nodded and took another, larger sip.

  He did the same.

  Soon, the cups were empty, and they were sitting at the kitchen table, staring at their empty cups.

  Martha looked up. “Do you have more?”

  He nodded slowly. “A lot more. David is going to send fifty thousand doses twice a week.”

  Her eyes turned serious, intense. “You are going to sell this, correct?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  She raised her head high. “I will help you.”

  “Help me? How?”

  “My tea sessions with the other women. Give me packets, and the instructions. I will start the distribution.”

  Luke blinked, and then smiled as he was reminded why he had married the woman. She didn't have the temperament to be a merchant, too kind, like Niala, but she had a tradesman's intuition, and it had never failed her before. If she was this enthused about the prospect of selling the brew...

  Then this might really be Niala's greatest creation.