The Way of Kings - By Brandon Sanderson Page 0,187

he shared his meals with two wounded. That all ended today. The apothecary walked back behind his counter, and Kaladin stepped up to it. Syl darted into the room, her small ribbon of light turning into a woman midtwist. She flipped like an acrobat, landing on the table in a smooth motion.

“What do you need?” the apothecary asked. “More bandages? Well, I might just—”

He cut off as Kaladin slapped a medium-sized liquor bottle down on the table. It had a cracked top, but would still hold a cork. He pulled this free, revealing the milky white knobweed sap inside. He’d used the first of what they’d harvested to treat Leyten, Dabbid, and Hobber.

“What’s this?” the elderly apothecary asked, adjusting his spectacles and leaning down. “Offering me a drink? I don’t take the stuff these days. Unsettles the stomach, you know.”

“It’s not liquor. It’s knobweed sap. You said it was expensive. Well, how much will you give me for this?”

The apothecary blinked, then leaned in closer, giving the contents a whiff. “Where’d you get this?”

“I harvested it from the reeds growing outside of camp.”

The apothecary’s expression darkened. He shrugged. “Worthless, I’m afraid.”

“What?”

“The wild weeds aren’t potent enough.” The apothecary replaced the cork. A strong wind buffeted the building, blowing under the door, stirring the scents of the many powders and tonics he sold. “This is practically useless. I’ll give you two clearmarks for it, which is being generous. I’ll have to distill it, and will be lucky to get a couple of spoonfuls.”

Two marks! Kaladin thought with despair. After three days of work, three of us pushing ourselves, getting only a few hours of sleep each night? All for something worth only a couple days’ wage?

But no. The sap had worked on Leyten’s wound, making the rotspren flee and the infection retreat. Kaladin narrowed his eyes as the apothecary fished two marks out of his money pouch, setting them on the table. Like many spheres, these were flattened slightly on one side to keep them from rolling away.

“Actually,” the apothecary said, rubbing his chin. “I’ll give you three.” He took out one more mark. “Hate to see all of your effort go to waste.”

“Kaladin,” Syl said, studying the apothecary. “He’s nervous about something. I think he’s lying!”

“I know,” Kaladin said.

“What’s that?” the apothecary said. “Well, if you knew it was worthless, why did you spend so much effort on it?” He reached for the bottle.

Kaladin caught his hand. “We got two or more drops from each reed, you know.”

The apothecary frowned.

“Last time,” Kaladin said, “you told me I’d be lucky to get one drop per reed. You said that was why knobweed sap was so expensive. You said nothing about ‘wild’ plants being weaker.”

“Well, I didn’t think you’d go and try gathering them, and…” He trailed off as Kaladin locked eyes with him.

“The army doesn’t know, do they?” Kaladin asked. “They aren’t aware how valuable those plants outside are. You harvest them, you sell the sap, and you make a killing, since the military needs a lot of antiseptic.”

The old apothecary cursed, pulling his hand back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Kaladin took his jar. “And if I go to the healing tent and tell them where I got this?”

“They’d take it from you!” the man said urgently. “Don’t be a fool. You’ve a slave brand, boy. They’ll think you stole it.”

Kaladin moved to walk away.

“I’ll give a skymark,” the apothecary said. “That’s half what I’d charge the military for this much.”

Kaladin turned. “You charge them two skymarks for something that only takes a couple of days to gather?”

“It’s not just me,” the apothecary said, scowling. “Each of the apothecaries charges the same. We got together, decided on a fair price.”

“How is that a fair price?”

“We have to make a living here, in this Almighty-forsaken land! It costs us money to set up shop, to maintain ourselves, to hire guards.”

He fished in his pouch, pulling out a sphere that glowed deep blue. A sapphire sphere was worth about twenty-five times a diamond one. As Kaladin made one diamond mark a day, a skymark was worth as much as Kaladin made in half a month. Of course, a common darkeyed soldier earned five clearmarks a day, which would make this a week’s wages to them.

Once, this wouldn’t have seemed like much money to Kaladin. Now it was a fortune. Still, he hesitated. “I should expose you. Men die because of you.”

“No they don’t,” the apothecary said. “The highprinces have more than