Mike Struan

@mikestruan.com

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Author of Dam Breakers and Alchemical Green Husband of wonderful guy Owner of cheeky corgi Working on my next novel; check out my page on https://books.mikestruan.com Open to DMs and replies! Love to chat!

Kraghtol gestured around their campsite. Even though it was meant to be a joke, he felt a dash of guilt when he thought back to the impromptu-birthday celebration Valir had organized for him in Bronzebreak. “Oh, don’t worry about that. Seeing you run around shirtless all day is more than enough of a present for me.” Blood rose to his face, and Kraghtol was once more happy that it was difficult to see him blush. He mumbled something and stoked the fire.
Welsh corgi presenting an octopus toy as if asking "do you want to play?"
“Because it’s useless! When I left Bronzebreak so many years ago, the Guild of Crafts and its puppet city council strongly encouraged my decision. They were afraid of progress. Of trying new things, of people spreading their wings and flying.” “Yes! Exactly! They still are!” Dagna said with burning enthusiasm. Kraghtol hid a grin. Perhaps sometimes it wasn’t so bad to meet your idols. “But it’s not just the dwarves. I lived in Winterstone for half a year, and even though it’s different with you humans, the core principle remains the same. We against them, forms and fees instead of daring dreams, and no ambition for grandeur at all.”
“Fine. I’ll give you what you want. Under one condition.” Dagna snorted, and Kraghtol looked at her irritated. “Of course. Here it comes.” “I won’t […] you alone. If your life gets more turbulent because of it, and his won’t, there’s only one way that can end. You just found yourself a decent man, I’m not gonna be the one to pry you two apart.”
“I didn’t know you were friends. You’re from Mistpine, then?” Valir asked, returning to his jovial persona. “She’s not,” Kraghtol said, louder than he intended to. “And something is really fishy. We ran into each other a year ago in Caemdir, south of here. And then again on winter solstice in Winterstone. Now Valir says you were on the ship to Bronzebreak, the same ship I was on, three months later. What is going on?!” Liva’s face was unfazed, but she still sounded apologetic when she answered. “It’s… complicated. But I assure you, I don’t mean harm.”
Valir’s feet carried him toward the gleaming white and gold complex that housed the various services run by the Guild of Commerce, most notably Valir’s current target: the bank of Wardenreach. It was more impressive than the temples to the Elven god from the outside, and once he stepped in, a cool, dignified atmosphere surrounded him. The air was dry and smelled faintly metallic; a temple dedicated to coins rather than a deity.
Kraghtol stood for a good two moments, his hands opening and closing indecisively, until he fought down the rising panic. He sat down next to his boyfriend and put his arm around his shoulder. If Valir was surprised, he didn’t show it. Without missing a single note, he snuggled up against Kraghtol’s side, and for a wonderful evening, everything was just well.
One night, long after the short daylight had fled, Dagna, who sat on a fallen tree, looked up. She had acquired a quill and a stack of paper in Haven and had begun to write down all she had learned from Gromvald every day in the campfire’s light. Kraghtol had his doubts that anyone but her would be able to understand the chaotic mix of journal and notebook, but then again, that likely wouldn’t be necessary. “Hey, it’s solstice day!”
“Great! Seems like you’ve got your stuff sorted out at last. It was about time, too, with all the ‘secret’ glances and whatnot,” Dagna said. Miraculously, she had appeared right next to them and had already put down the firewood without Kraghtol noticing. Instantly, his blood rushed to his head. “Now, about that tent… That is on me, really. I now realize I should have told you to actually set it up instead of just holding the poles in your hands. At least you didn’t break anything.”
Retrieving the lyre from his bag, he silently exited the coach and tiptoed past the sleeping coachman. The moonlight was bright enough to illuminate the surrounding hills in its ghostly light. They were nearly at the peak of the road, and in the far distance, Valir thought he saw the shimmer of light from Greylune. To the south, away from the road, towered the mountain range known as the Sword, and even farther south, there was the canyon they had crossed half a year ago.
This was less of a problem than one would think, though. At the back of the manor, there was a section of the fence not entirely firmly attached to the ground. With a little wiggling, the iron rod could be loosened and moved up, comfortably allowing a single person to slip through. Everyone on the grounds knew the spot, perhaps even the duke himself. It ought to get fixed at some point, but as it was, it was much more convenient than waking the servant responsible for the gate if you happened to return from town late. As expected, nobody had cared to do anything about it during Valir’s absence.
Map of Wardenreach, with notable locations: - Mistpine - Ironwatch - Winterstone
Cover of Alchemical Dreamer with a list of tropes: - Ancient secrets - Found Family - Half-Orc with a healer's heart - Enemies to lovers - Hopepunk - Slow Burn M/M Romance - Maps inside! - Guilds and intrigues
Kraghtol’s heart thrummed against his chest. He remembered the first song he had Valir sing, the Elvish one. It wasn’t difficult to imagine the ghost of his lover leaning onto him, strumming the strings and filling the air with his clear voice, singing of sorrow and hope, alternating between voices effortlessly. Valir had never translated the lyrics, but he didn’t need to. Despite having only heard the performance two times now, Kraghtol silently mouthed the words in the foreign language as if he had spent years memorizing them. Tears ran from his closed eyes. He could almost feel Valir’s warmth against him, and it nearly made his chest burst open.
A sudden, strained noise to his right pulled him out of his euphoria. He craned his neck to scan the canvas for the source of the noise before he found it. A cut in the fabric, perhaps from Zrughor’s arrow, or perhaps from the falling stones in Thraghbrok. It had been mended, but not very well. The threads were coming apart as he watched, and the rip split open again like a grinning skull. It was just a small hole in a vast canvas. Everything in Kraghtol’s mind refused to believe it could be a serious problem. He stared at the flapping gap when finally the thread snapped.
We arrived almost too late. My parents had really brought everyone, the whole family, and they were just looting the place and had captured a very distressed Marla with the clear intent of harming her. I kept in the background when the orderkeepers quickly and brutally ended the heist that had been in the making for months now, but the look of contempt from my mother when the orderkeepers subdued her was clearly directed to me, and it made me shake in fear.
The moment he spoke it out loud, he knew it was true. Labor camps weren’t where people grew old. Even without an insane warden. To his surprise, Vrogh nodded. “I overheard the warden ordering extra work hours for you. He wants you to work in the dark, too. That’s reckless. I don’t know what you did, but he really hates you.”
Her confusion must have been clearly visible on her face, because Balen laughed. “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard. I mean, sure, the guilds say these are just bass-less rumors, but —” “Baseless. The word is baseless.” Balen shrugged. “Yeah, baseless. Whatever. The guilds say there’s gonna be no war. But everyone knows that’s not true. You don’t need so many weapons for nothing. Rumor has it the orcs are gathering to attack.”
Valir raised an eyebrow, and Kraghtol’s fleeting confidence shattered like glass. “I… I mean, not just not opposed, but, uh, I would actually really like it if —” He was cut short by the noble’s mouth on his, and suddenly, no words were necessary anymore, as the stiffness in his body melted away.
Welsh corgi lying on blue carpet
He kept trying for the next days, occasionally asking Gromvald to check his circles. The necessary amount of concentration and willpower was far greater than what he had needed for classical — human — alchemy. Valir, who spent his time alternating between the bath and watching Kraghtol’s struggles, speculated that perhaps in Wardenreach alchemy, the ingredients and instructions substituted some of the mental load. Kraghtol remembered Marla Hawke had said something similar in his first lesson, but there was more to it. Troll alchemy used the same foundation, but was entirely different otherwise.
And just like that, one and a half hours after sunrise, Dagna started her journey. Voldrik’s old compass helped her keep the direction, and during the first hours, she sorted out the logistics in her head. Walk until two hours before sundown. Half an hour’s break at noon. Foraging for food in the last light of day. Keep away from wildlife, keep water skins filled, campfire when needed.
A servant had brought him inside into a salon furnished with elegant furniture made of fine wood, silk and precious metals. It was warm in the room despite the freezing temperatures outside, courtesy of an ornate fireplace with glimmering coals. Valir, who was lounging around with his legs over the armrest of an armchair probably worth more than everything Kraghtol owned combined, was wearing a shimmering silky wide garb and seemed amused about the question. “Just… you? Nobody else? What about…” “The servants? I didn’t count them, but yes, I suppose the staff also lives here. A good half dozen of them, I think. Why do you ask?”
It was difficult to grind the moist moss, and when he was done, the result looked more like brown-orange mud than the powder he had been aiming for. If this didn’t work, he still had enough sunmoss drying in front of the fire for a few more tries. Across the room, Valir was discussing tactics with Dagna, but it was easy to shut him out. Kraghtol needed to remember. The spoon had to be made of birch wood, and he had to stir the mixture three times. Was it clockwise or counterclockwise? No, first he had to heat the oil in the copper bowl.
Ironwatch was a fortress, and Valir knew from history lessons that it had served as one during the Unification Wars. Before the elves had switched sides and joined the dwarves and humans, Ironwatch had allegedly withstood a siege that lasted one full year, until the miracle of Greylune ended it. Regardless of how much of that was true, Ironwatch still was an impressive military presence. Most guilds had their headquarters here, including the citadel-like tower of the Guild of Peace and the gilded hall of the Guild of Commerce. The former was clearly visible from a distance, overlooking the walls and the surrounding land.
Then, the world exploded. A faint line of light grew from the ground to the sky before, with crashing thunder, a bright bolt slammed down along that line, right in the middle of the ruin. It had miraculously missed them, but only a split second later, another lightning crashed into the not-yet collapsed part of the dome ceiling, and another, only meters away from Valir, the shockwave sweeping the noble from his feet without effort. Sharp, spark-spewing fangs snapped at him and tore into the sleeve of his shirt, ripping it off with one brutal motion that carved a deep scratch into his arm as well.
Still, with the short bench and the bright moonlight shining in through the window, it was hard to find sleep today. Not for the first time, Valir’s gaze went to the backpack holding his belongings. The outline of the Dwarvish metal lyre was clearly visible from the outside. Tomorrow, he would return to his old life, his proper world. A world where playing the Dwarvish lyre was an odd hobby at best. Realistically, he would do so perhaps once or twice a year, in solitude or to entertain guests he didn’t know the names of. He might as well.
Valir looked helplessly from Kraghtol to Dagna, who shrugged, glaring at the slender fey. The noble tried again. “We’re also looking for the Lady of the Fey. Would you know where we can find her?” Blurz turned around again, and there was no sign of malice in his round face. “The Lady? Oh, she’s around here, somewhere in the forest. You’ll find her when you need her. Or she’ll find you.”
Aleron didn't have the time to even shout a warning as Jared landed on his back and lay there, unmoving, as the dragon approached. He heard a shout trying to distract the magnificent beast from his easy prey now, and it took Aleron a moment to realize that it had been himself who was shouting, even now. It took a lot of strength and persuasion, but he managed to turn around his horse and by doing so barely evaded the new flame breath that came a few seconds later. Moments later, the massive body of the dragon passed over him and quickly gained height to turn and try again, while Aleron was galloping towards the prone Jared. Aleron didn't really know what he was doing when he tried to get off of his horse as quickly as he could, falling to the ground more than jumping next to the unmoving body of his friend. Only another roar told him that the dragon was on approach again. This time, it had spiraled high into the air and prepared to swoop down, to close its mighty teeth over Aleron's body, the only standing human within range.
“Why would we be sad?” Blurz asked, child-like innocence accompanying the meaning of the words. “Because this is a funeral, stone’s balls, and people are supposed to be sad!” Dagna burst out, rubbing her temples. She almost swatted at the hands of a tall, slender fey who was grabbing her hair, before stopping herself at the last moment.
Kraghtol’s head was pounding as he woke up, and he had difficulties properly recollecting what had happened. The last thing he remembered was that he had been out in the forest to gather herbs, and when he had returned, a few of the villagers had been loitering by the small wooden bridge over the Frostwater. He moved his head a little too hastily to peer down at himself, which caused a pained groan to escape his lips. His body lay sprawled out on his crude bed, which he had extended with a wooden crate at the end to accommodate his tall frame. He was mostly naked and covered with bruises and gashes all over his aching body. They had been meticulously cleaned and dressed with bandages where necessary. Of course they were. Where the damage was not as bad, crusts of dried red blood darkened his natural grass green skin to an almost black tone.
“You’re not going anywhere, asshole,” Fennew said, standing up. “I’ll have your dirty green head now.” “Excuse me for a moment,” Valir said equanimously. With his back straight, he walked up to the orderkeeper and smiled, adjusting the signet ring on his right hand. Then, without warning, he struck with a flawless right hook that connected with Fennew’s nose, producing an ugly cracking sound and knocking the other man back to the ground.
The red-clad woman nodded again, and they continued their descent in silence. It stank of mildew, sweat, and feces, and an occasional rustle or groan revealed unseen prisoners. Valir wanted nothing more than to turn around, flee up the stairs again until he was outside, and breathe. He wished he still had his perfumed handkerchief, but he had lost that somewhere in the Wild Lands. Finally, the silent orderkeeper stopped and gestured forward. The cell she pointed at was at the end of a side corridor. The passage was made of dark stone, covered with large, spotty stains of unknown origin. As far as he could tell, the surrounding cells were empty; this one wasn’t.
Valir exuded authority like he had seen his own father do it countless times. Oh, how he hated this. It was a dangerous game, invoking his family name like that, but hopefully, the demand was not so outrageous that it would even reach higher levels of the hierarchy. Some low-level clerks would be swayed by the big name and not even report it, for fear of getting into trouble by erring in the first place. The orderkeeper nodded again.
“Valir! We need help!” Kraghtol shouted, and extended his hand once more, bracing for the inevitable. The noble did his best to mitigate the force of the water rushing against him, but needed to steady himself against the half-orc, adding even more load to the living bridge pillar that was Kraghtol. He heard himself roar against the water as he held on, every muscle in his body screaming in pain. A short, agonizing eternity later, Valir had passed him and reached safer ground. Two heartbeats later, Dagna half-leaped into the noble’s grip, almost getting swept away at the last second.
He was so immersed in watching the thin barrier to the outside world buckle under the rush of water that he didn’t even notice the touch on his right arm. The tent was cramped, and it wasn’t unusual for either Valir on his right or Dagna on his left to bump into him by accident, but this was a longer and more insistent sensation than just a fleeting touch. When he looked to the right, he saw Valir’s face turned toward him in the tent’s twilight. “I’m cold. And you are radiating heat like a fireplace. That hardly seems fair.”
They took another sip of their tea. A rooster crowed, and the clucking of chickens drifted in from outside. “Other races live in the present, and others still have their minds rooted in the future. Trolls and fey don’t like each other very much because they don’t understand each other. Fey always dream, make plans, anticipate and predict. They don’t care what happened yesterday, and they often can’t remember, anyway. And the Lady of the Fey as their leader is no exception.”
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Valir is a human noble (okay, perhaps a tiny bit of elf blood), third born and always looks like he thinks he's better than you. Coincidentally, he's not a fan of nobility and would rather like to sign raunchy songs in full taverns as a bard.
Kragh is the sympathetic village thug striving to be a healer, no, wait, an alchemist. Also, he's a big buff half-orc filled to the brim with insecurities, emotional disregulation and Audhd!
When he looked up again, he stared into the piercing amber eyes of an adult animal that had sneaked up on him while he had been busy with the stones. His heart skipped a beat. The wolf bared its teeth, and he didn’t so much hear the low growl as feel it in his bones. Sparks danced in front of the deadly muzzle, and a pulse of blue fire went down the animal’s side, mimicking the cub’s behavior from before.
The room with the statue was basically a tomb, but it didn’t invoke the horror he had expected. Whoever died here had passed long ago, many hundreds of years ago. If Dagna was right, the only difference between this room and the city above was that here, the evidence was still visible and not lost to rain and sun. If Dagna was right. He had listened to her peculiar way of talking long enough now to know that with all her brilliance, she didn’t have the patience to think twice or bother collecting more evidence. That didn’t mean she wasn’t right often enough, and if she wasn’t, she happily corrected her perspective.
“You don’t have to worry. I heard dwarves can’t get pregnant by humans.” To underline his words, he wiggled his eyebrows. He couldn’t possibly be serious. “Unless you’re not into men? I’ve got a hot female friend I could ask, and perhaps I could wa—” He didn’t get to finish the sentence. Almost without her doing, Dagna’s knee jerked up, hitting her target only awkwardly because of the size difference. When Balen doubled over in pain, clutching his groin, she grabbed him by the curtain of hair dangling in front of his forehead and pulled until his face was at her level.
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“Bryn and I… we talked about it. We’re not going back to Wardenreach. This Haven place sounds fine enough for us.” “You’re still under contract.” Lior said with an icy voice. “You know the punishment for desertion?” Brann glared at him and straightened his back. “Try us. Right now, the four of us are the only guild presence out here. You can shove that contract —” “Hey! Am I speaking Elvish? We don’t have time for that!” Dagna said, sharper now.
It had taken another day for the two of them to draw the plans for the device Dagna was currently assembling. She was humming as she stitched the canvas together. Kraghtol could understand Valir’s point perfectly. Voldrik had made a mistake and had admitted that his sight wasn’t as good as it had once been. That had reminded Dagna to give him back the monocle Kraghtol had found in the workshop in Bronzebreak. Even with the lens, Kraghtol had had trust issues after that and had preferred to spend the afternoon gathering smokable herbs near the tower.
A Welsh corgi on the ground, tired.
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“I’m afraid that in order to answer that, we have to make a small trip. Come along! How’s the tide, lass?” This time, the question was directed at Mokhra, who answered immediately. Voldrik’s way of addressing people was mildly befuddling. “Still low enough if we don’t stay for more than an hour.” Kraghtol looked between the two in confusion as the older dwarf put on a jacket. “Tide?”
The homeland of the trolls differed from everything Kraghtol had seen in the Wild Lands yet. Where the landscape of the western region might have been something he’d encounter within the borders of Wardenreach — minus the orcs, of course — here, everything was different. It was warmer, for one, and even though it was still winter, they came across bubbling springs that smelled faintly of rotten eggs with an earthy note. Gromvald suggested taking a bath, and the hot water was surprisingly soothing and relaxing. The only hard thing was convincing Valir to leave again after a few hours. The noble would not stop yapping about the hot springs for days after that.
Valir whistled through his teeth when Throkh turned to the oven. “Your uncle sure is something else. Gets thrown out of two cities in Wardenreach, barely survives crashing his wondrous flying machine, becomes a legend, starts a cult and founds a city. And he doesn’t even know about the city and the cult.” “It’s not a cult,” Dagna said, still with defiance. “Just a… group of people daring to think. And it works, doesn’t it?”
Daily word count graph for Alchemical Exiles
Cloudberry (Dagna)
“He didn’t… give us the idea directly. But he inspired us. Haven is just the consequence of his ideals.” Throkh resumed his knife work, slower this time. “Listen, if you meet him again, you shouldn’t tell him about this. Not about the city, and not about the Tolur Thrukha.” “The Children of the Winged,” Kraghtol translated.
Finding the large circular hall they had entered yesterday again was easy, but Kraghtol didn’t go there yet. Instead, another set of stairs caught his eye, leading further up. He guessed it might have been part of an elegant gallery once, overlooking the main hall, but nothing of that remained. The stairs ended in a small, irregular platform of broken stone, and Kraghtol didn’t dare set a foot upon it. Still, from this point, he had a good look over the ruined city.
The moment they entered the forest, everything was tinted in a mystic blue-green color. The sunlight filtered through the dense leaf-roof, and dancing shadows made it seem as if the entire forest was alive whenever the wind ruffled through the treetops. A few steps in, another sensation pushed itself to the foreground: it was warm. The oak trees not only looked as if it were midsummer, but the air felt and smelled like it, too. Kraghtol unlaced his collar, and sweat poured from his pores. Dagna looked up, scratching her head. “Interesting. I think it might be so warm because of the dark leaves.”
A chill crept over Kraghtol that was not from the icy morning air alone. “And when you spoke to her, she told you something?” Freylar stared out of the window at the rising sun, probably thinking about a similar morning centuries ago. “She did,” they said finally. “That’s why they call me Eon-Seer. She shared with me a terrible burden. There have been times in my life I wished she hadn’t, but as a troll, I can’t just forget what she said. It will stay with me forever. She told me of my death.”
A Welsh corgi Pembroke
Finally, after weeks of travel through the northern reaches, accompanied by wind and eternal sunshine, they climbed a rocky hill. It was late, and Dagna was just explaining the rules of a complicated Dwarven ball game when she halted. Looking ahead, blinking against the golden light of the low sun, Kraghtol understood why immediately. In front of them, stretching endlessly towards the horizon, was a glittering body of water, larger than any lake Kraghtol had ever seen. Waves idly lapped against the rocky coast, and the low sun projected a street of light, straight as a guild line, onto the ocean. The air tasted salty, and powerful gusts of wind pushed them forward impatiently.
Kraghtol, the half-orc protagonist from Alchemical Dreamer