The Marechal Chronicles: Volume V, The Tower of the Alchemist by Aimélie Aames Page A

be divided further.  The heart, the center, the essence that cannot be refined beyond what it is already.  The truth of refined existence that has bared all to your scrutiny.
    “Do you understand?”
    Bellamere shook his head and replied, “No, Maitre.  I'm afraid I don't.”
    “Not to worry, my boy.  One day you will.  All of you will.
    “Now be off with you.  I've work at hand and more than enough books to keep me from the likes of young men such as you and my son.”
    “Yes, sir, of course.”
    Bellamere turned to leave, then thought better of it.
    “Oh, but there is just one other thing,” he said, turning back to face the alchemist, “Is there anything you can tell me about the Black Boar of Summer?”
    “Ha! The Black Boar,” the old man chuckled, “Have the folk in the village dusted off that old saw again?  Let me guess, young lovers fraught with spring fever are running off and people try to explain it all away with stories of monsters in the night … ?”
    The old man took Bellamere's surprised face for his answer.
    “Just a moment.”
    He went across the room and lifted the corners of several old tomes, looking for something, before changing his mind to rifle among those at another table.
    Finally, and it seemed rather by chance, he found what he was looking for.  It was a small book, bound in black leather, that he slapped down before Bellamere.
    “There! That will tell you all there is to know about the Boar if you so desire.  And as for your little Laminak, my advice would be to discover his essential truth. 
    “Why has he seized upon you of all people, my boy?  Find that out and we might discover what he is all about or, even more importantly, what he will be about.”
    With that, the old man turned his back upon him and Bellamere knew that he had been dismissed. 
    But as he took the stairs that would lead him down and out again, he clasped the book to his chest. 
    At least there would be something to read, and that was a treasure indeed.
     

 
    Chapter Three
     
     
    Etienne moved quickly.
    Whatever else she was, the woman could not run without leaving telltale tufts of grass that laid over when all the rest stood up straight in the afternoon sun.
    Nor could she avoid breaking a twig here or there as she pushed past thick bushes before entering the forest that surrounded the tower on all sides.
    She was fast, but she was no ghost or anything else that old folk pretend to know as magical foolishness, otherwise known as wastes of time.
    Etienne could see she was fleet of foot, but he was faster and stronger than she.
    Sooner or later, he would overtake her and then the reasons for her spying on him would be laid bare.
    He rounded a large oak, its sides well covered in moss but for a small, scuffed smudge at hand's height.
    And then he drew up short and did not take a single step more.
    Before him lay a narrow brook that ran slow and quiet under the canopy of leaves overhead.
    And in its waters, a woman stood with her skirts hiked high upon her thighs.  She reached down to cup fresh water in one hand and then splashed it down one long, creamy pale leg.
    Her back was to him, and it was if she did not have the least care in the world as she washed her legs while humming a sweet melody in a voice that could have been none other than the one Etienne had heard laughing just a short time ago.
    Her hair was long and of such a dark chestnut brown that it verged upon black, and he knew without ever having seen her that her eyes would be a bright azure blue like that of the bleuet flower, the one that young men in love wear to see if it would fade and know that their love would not be returned to them.
    She stopped moving, and the light melody she hummed fell silent.
    It seemed even the brook slowed as all grew hushed in expectation and Etienne realized he had forgotten to breathe.
    She turned her head to look back at him over her shoulder, and her blue gaze held him frozen while rich red lips