-15 YEARS LATER-

"You sold me a phony potion, Azark!" The accusation drew me from my drink, which I had been waiting to get all day. My hands tightened around the wooden mug, its surface smoothed by the hundreds of tavern patrons who had drank from it before me. I lowered the mug to the table, the amber liquid's piney scent fading.

I studied the man. The rest of the tavern, already shooting discreet glances in our direction, now had license to gape openly at the confrontation that had ignited. There were so many customers over the last several months, it was hard to keep everyone straight. I usually learned all of their names the first few days after entering the town and mentally dumped them on the way out to make room for the next batch. After all, I can't appeal to each potential customer's weak spot without knowing a few pages of their life story.

Behind me, card games were being played, and based on the angry mumbling I kept hearing, someone with a bad temper was losing. Further off, the high-pitched chitter of women's voices cut through the general murmuring din, catching my attention. With them was a gurgling babe, its erratic coos and giggles a stark contrast to its mother's worried words. The mother and her friend were discussing a series of red welts on the baby's hand. The mother sounded frantic, and I had to fight a smile as her friend began to talk about me. But the mother cut her off, insisting she hadn't even a fraction of a coin to spend on magical remedies.

They were unable to see me. The smoke of the cooking fires from the kitchen behind the counter rolled out along the ceiling and settled down, leaving a meat-scented fog around everything. Even if conditions had been ideal, they probably would have been fixated on the Moon Giant hunkered next to me instead. But this man had seen me. He saw me and he wanted to expose me in front of the entire tavern of potential customers.

I glanced down at the man's leg. It hung limply from his hip next to the cane planted on the floor for support. He had bought a potion to heal his crippled leg. Not today, though. I knew everyone from today. What was his story again...?

"Oh, it may seem that way, and for that I am quite apologetic my friend." I stalled. "As I said during the sale, it would take three doses a day over one month before you'd start to feel effects..." I began with my prescriptive speech about why he wasn't getting the results he desired, unable to summon his particular backstory to my mind. He cut me off.

"I bought it a month ago!" he said. He took out a glass bottle from beneath his moldy old jacket, caked dirt from traveling flaking off as he bent the fabric. I recognized the bottle. I'd bought a set of them from a sorcerer's Assistant. She'd been throwing out her Master's bottles in Kittsburg. She had uttered something stupid about them being 'out of fashion'. I knew my non-discerning clientele would never know the difference, so I'd bought the whole lot off of her for a dozen eggs. I'd got the eggs from trading a vial of supposed acne-banishing potion that morning to a particularly dimwitted farmhand.

The bottles were fat bottomed with ornate swirling patterns around the tapering necks. The corks for them were micro-sized, meaning it came out more as a piddle than a pour, even when one tried to dump out the potion in one gulp. I had sold the last potion I packaged in that bottle... over a month ago. I was now onto using the bubbled potion bottle design for most of my wares. So this man was telling the truth. Hex it.

"Oh! I see. Why, that isn't the model I sold this week, but are you quite sure it's been a month? I know when I am so excited about something, such as the promise of health, I lose track of days. So eager to get to the good parts of life, and who isn't guilty of that, my friend?" I asked with good humor. He did not return my smile as he waved the potion bottle in the air. My questioning his common sense hadn't deterred him at all.

A low, throaty rumble came from over my shoulder and a few feet up in the air. Mallow, my bodyguard, had cleared her throat to grab the attention of the man. Although she was hunched down, he still had to tilt his head back to glare at her. A sneer crossed his lips. His one good leg was quaking, but he'd come too far to be scared off, even by a Moon Giant. Since Mallow lurked in the background at most of my sales, he must have mentally prepared himself for her.

"A con man and his monster, what a well-suited pair."

"Now, now, no need for that." I said, placing my arm in front of Mallow who prepared to leap on the man. Her muscles coiled beneath her starlight white skin. Of course my arm wouldn't be able to do much, considering she was twice my height. "It wouldn't do any good to go upsetting her would it?" My voice was friendly but the threat was clear.

The smell of excessive alcohol oozed from his pores, giving him the bravery to glare into Mallow's unnatural orange eyes with unchecked aggression. I attempted to draw their attention from one another to myself with a laugh.

"Now, instead of a fight, let me offer you a solution."

The stinking man's gaze regarded me.

"Your happiness is always, always my primary concern. The people I sell potions to are not my customers, they're my friends. After all, how can I have such a profound effect on their lives without it being something more than mere business? I didn't sell you a loaf of bread, I didn't even sell you a potion, not really—

"That's what I'm complaining about," the man muttered, but like a rampaging bull, my words continued on top of his, trampling them.

"-I sold you something much more valuable. I sold you the promise of a healthy leg, a promise of walking, no, running and skipping with your grandchildren."

The wrinkled corner of his mouth twitched, and his eyes got moist. I knew an old man like this had grandchildren or would soon. Either way, he wanted to play with them. I continued, emboldened by the smooth swap I'd done of his anger for his anguish.

"It is heart breaking to me to hear that you think the potion has failed you, even if it may or may not have been a month like you claimed... " I got one last questioning of the legitimacy of his claim in for the tavern patrons that were listening. "Your anguish is very real!"

The man's face hardened again, but he was silent. That caught me off guard. In fact, the entire tavern had gotten quieter. That's how I liked it usually, my honeyed voice sweet but also trapping, sticking together the listener's lips so that they would hear much better without their own words and thoughts to get in the way. And yet, right now, the last thing I wanted was for everyone who I had sold potions to today overhearing this dissatisfied customer. Recovering myself, I pushed on. If I doubted myself, so would they.

"You are claiming that you are unaffected by its staggeringly potent and mystical properties?"

"Clearly it has failed!" he bellowed, swinging his body so his dysfunctional leg slapped my gold embellished boots. Dirt dimmed the yellow glint of the buckles as it flaked off his clothes. "See that? I didn't feel anything! It can't do anything: walk, run, bend, or feel. It's just as useless as before. Now my leg isn't the only thing that's broke, my coin purse is too!"

A few of the spectators laughed. It was too early to tell if they were laughing at my misfortune or the man's lack of decorum. It really didn't matter.

"My friend—

"I'm still a cripple, aren't I?" He began crying.

I wanted Mallow to smack him straight through the window for making a scene like this. I envisioned it for a moment, but that would be as good as a confession. Instead, I reached out with a gentle hand and rested it on his shoulder. He shrugged away from it, glowering.

"I always try to guarantee the success of my magical potions; after all, I get them from the incredibly talented Fushon of Merode..."

"I think you brew them yourself out of weeds and stall hay." The man simmered bitterly. "Maybe add soap to make them bubble, but beyond that you don't do nothing, do you?" The heat of his anger had dried his tears. I resisted the urge to tug at my collar. Becoming nervous now would do nothing to calm this jilted customer's nerves. I threw back my head. Big gestures. Open gestures.

"Hahaha. If only it were true that potions as great as mine could be made out of such mundane materials! Why, I wouldn't have to charge half so much..." I leaned in conspiratorially to speak with him. My voice didn't get any quieter though. "Between you and me, I am already charging a quarter, nay, a tenth of the true going price for such an elixir."

"You should charge nothing; it did nothing!" the man said, his temper boiling over.

"Or so you say." I said, straightening again. My pose took on the defenselessness of a victim. I didn't need to be tense and ready to fight like this man. I heard Mallow's slow, cavernous breaths next to me. "It is so rare for one of my potions to fail, but if you sincerely think it has, no matter who's at fault..." I rubbed the patch of blonde hair on my chin in thought. "...then, well, your happiness matters so much more than my profit. I happen to have one, a single solitary bottle, of limb restorative potion left in my carriage. If you'll come with me—

The old man barked bitterly, the cadence of rusted chains sliding across one another.

"What would be better about two bottles of useless sludge as opposed to one?"

"Ah, so it is not only my potion you question, the potion you may have administered inappropriately and not to schedule, but me as well." I bought time by letting my head fall, thinking while I observed the tops of my boots. "You have lost all faith in me due to this misunderstanding."

I could see where this was going. Time to wrap it up.

"I wish you would reconsider... but... the relationship of trust between us is damaged beyond repair." I reached into the coin purse on my belt and dug out a handful of coins. I counted out the number for the potion. I had to force my fingers to cooperate. I would rather have my hand smashed with a hammer then doling back this icicle's coin.

It was a hefty chunk of coin, but I'd sold several dozen potions between this man's hometown and our current locale. It was better this man receive a refund now and retreat than to spread dissatisfaction like a disease among the many more customers I had sold to today. One refund was easier to issue than ten, after all.

"Here you are, a complete refund. Just return to me the bottle and we'll consider the transaction sealed. Water under the bridge." I didn't let an ounce of my inner anger show. I was gracious while handing the man his coin. "Even if you were wrong about the date or administered the potion incorrectly, your happiness is all I'm concerned about."

"Yes..." The man peered at me from beneath his greedy hooded eyelids. "That is... if... if I was the only one whose potion was a dud..."

"Excuse me?" I signaled to Mallow to prepare for an escape by tapping on my sash four times, before crossing my arms.

She cleared a way to the door. She didn't have to say anything. There was a cacophony of screeching chair legs as people moved their chairs to be away from the aisle through which she walked.

"You heard me!" The man said, his voice rising. Whether it was from anger or trying to be heard over the noise Mallow was making (she had violently shoved an entire table aside as it made the path too narrow for her to crawl past) I couldn't be sure. He gazed around at the other patrons of the bar with a manic glow in his eyes...the eyes I was hoping to avoid.

Many of the patrons had their terrified eyes locked on Mallow. Although she wasn't threatening anyone explicitly, the Moon Giant was a symbol of danger just by existing. Another third of the tavern had their heads down, as if not making eye contact with the situation would spare them from whatever wrath they thought my bodyguard capable of. It was something I usually saw people only do around sorcerers. A tricky third were still listening to his story. The brave ones? The desperate ones?

"Please, take the coin. No need to be unpleasant." We still had the room left for me at the inn for another two days. I needed more time to resupply. The townspeople here couldn't find out I was a fraud quite yet.... I had recognized one of the faces from my noon show today. She haunted me from the shadows, only the edges of her rough and pockmarked face being highlighted by the dim candle flickering on her table. She sat far in the corner, and had not needed to scramble when Mallow began to trek toward the door.

"No one in my town was helped by your lousy potions!" The man's voice had risen to a shout.

"Unbelievable! A lie!" I declared, more for the crowd's benefit than the old man's. I couldn't let such an outrageously bad-for-profits claim go uncontested. "You are only seeking a refund for each potion sold in the town to line your own pockets!"

The man snarled. I hoped the audience took it as a guilty reaction.

"You ripped off my townsfolk and friends!"

"If that is so, why are only you here, in your tattered garments stinking of drink?" I asked, pushing the offensive on him. It had become obvious that Nice Sales Guy wasn't going to work. Time to get aggressive.

I was better dressed than him. That was essential for the element of reputability I needed for conflicts like this. "Surely, if I were some sort of charlatan, there would be mobs following my carriage wherever I went? All the company I have is a well-stocked variety of goods and potions to cure each and every ailment a person may have," I replied, adding in the pitch at the end by instinct more than choice.

"No one can find you! You move too quickly!" Tears swelled in his eyes. "Even I only found you by coincidence. I was riding with some farmers when I saw your carriage..." He shook his head. "Why do you do it? I'm an old man. I've never done anything wicked to deserve to be stolen from like that."

An odd and foreign feeling tightened in my chest. It had been growing more and more common as of late, but it was inconvenient to crop up now. I found it harder to breath. The man's pathetic display of sorrow made the air around me thin.

I didn't know what else to do. I had tried giving him back the money, and he hadn't taken it. I had tried giving him another fake, and he hadn't gone for that either. What did he want from me? To destroy my entire way of life?

He was a fool, trying to take out the consequences of his foolishness on someone who was clever enough to best him.

"I-" I began.

That was the moment he made a mistake. Sure, his behavior had been reprehensible up until that moment, but forgivable. But then, he moved and swung at me with his gnarled old cane.

I lifted my arm and caught the cane halfway below the elbow. It was a solid thud, and the hot bubble of pain burst instantly, spreading out from where it connected to my wrist. I yowled, falling sideways against the bar to brace myself for another strike. Even as the pain from the strike crescendoed, my heart stung with pity. He prepared to strike me again. The hit never came. All was stopped by the sound of feet pounding against the shaking wooden floor.

In a tangle of white skin and shimmering yellow hair, Mallow's open palm connected with his torso. He went flying back, his age-distorted warble like a cue for the rest of the tavern to start fleeing. I winced as he crashed violently into the chairs. I had no doubt the awkward angle of landing did more damage to his frail, old body than Mallow's slap.

The front door to the tavern was open, only half closing as the flow of people quickly exiting the tavern bumped it open again and again.

Mallow crouched protectively over me. She had moved so fast, her hair was just now catching up. The strands blocked my view, as if I were inside some vast, vine overgrown cave.

"Mallow, that's enough," I said. I could hear the unsatisfied customer crying. No one went to help him, his body trapped in piles of wood.

"He hit you." Mallow remarked. The words were less a sound and more a sensation. The growling of her chest rumbled in my ears, her limbs were like four tent posts around me.

"Only my arm, Mallow. You more than got him back." I patted her inside elbow. Slowly, like a dog realizing a threat was only a neighbor paying a visit, she moved off of me. She glanced toward the door.

"They didn't all need to run. I wasn't going to hurt them." Her voice was higher now, closer to feminine.

I rolled up my billowing white sleeve to see what sort of bruise the icicle had left me. The bartender peaked his head from behind the counter. He was shaking so bad the rag in his hand was dancing.

"Out of my tavern!" the bartender managed to sputter. I stopped examining the blossoming purple bump on my arm to confront him. I tried to settle my temper before I opened my mouth. It wasn't his fault that this customer had ruined my evening. Of course, it wasn't my fault that the same customer had forced Mallow to ruin one of the tavern's dining sets either.

"We were only defending ourselves, surely that's obvious?" I asked. The bartender shook his head. "You're not asking us to leave?" The bartender glanced at Mallow, and then nervously down at the counter again.

"Uh..."

Punctuating the conversation, the crippled old man gave an low, pained moan.

"It, uh, you bring trouble in your wake, Mister...um..." the bartender said instead of answering my actual question.

"Azark," I said. "Azark the Sorcerer's Assistant and Potion Merchant." A cook in a grease stained apron came out from the kitchen and navigated her way over to the smashed up table. Her anger was evident. However, one peek at Mallow kept the woman quiet as she dug through the splinter-filled debris to get the old man untangled from the chairs. He was cursing under his breath between groans of pain.

"Yes, well," The bar tender swallowed. "Mr. Azark, I don't like trouble in my tavern. If you could find somewhere else to spend your coin..."

Ouch. Being rejected hurt, but having my coin rejected hurt even more. I gestured for Mallow to follow me out of the tavern. I walked past table after table of abandoned and half-eaten meals. It looked like something much worse than what actually happened had occurred. We weren't so scary as to clear out a room like this, were we?

I didn't hear Mallow following me. She was likely thinking of giving the bartender punishment for making us leave the warm, dry tavern. We didn't want to go out into the miserable rainy afternoon like all of his other patrons had done. After my hand landed on the tarnished brass door handle, Mallow lumbered up behind me. Together, we stepped from a world of warm, flickering fires into a muddy realm of sprinkling rain and a featureless gray sky.

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