Alan pressed his map flat against the red dirt ground beside Flint’s. “See. The

Merchant of Five Pearls is here, somewhere.”

Flint scratched his hat. “It looks like he was buried in the middle of the mountain. I hope you didn’t bring us to collect bones, my dear Herald. Aha!”

Neesha pressed her finger to Alan’s map. “Whoever the Merchant is, is certainly in the forbidden shops. That’s what happened to us when we defeated the Helldraken. Lord Osmi opened the mountain to grant the victors access. I hoped to find my Answer Stone there… Unfortunately, it was nothing but more questions and answers that weren’t mine.”

Alan peered over his shoulder at Neesha, noting the strain on her face.

She perked up once noticing. “Oh, you’ll love it down there though, Alan. It’s built for your kind.”

“Scum?” Gregorian folded his arms, earning a bonk from Flint’s staff.

“You, good sir, are a down-right sadsack of the flubby underbelly.” Flint scolded, rolling up his map and standing to face everyone.

“Well, Greg kind of ruined the joke. Yes, it’s a shadowy mess down there. But Alan is far from scum.” She pinched the Archer hard.

Flint waved his hands. “Neesha, ever knowledgeable of these parts, you lead the way.”

She nodded, Gregorian close at her heel. “Osmi explained there are entrances along the mountain that may only be accessed by those permitted. I wonder if that extends to you, Alan. Or to you two, Flint and Lucius, by way of group proxy.”

“Only one way to find out. To the Pink!” Flint held up his staff.

The group cringed.

Alan felt all sorts of dark feelings plaguing him. He was so close to Hyndole’s directive now. But how could he trust a living, breathing gargoyle who tried to get him killed? Hopefully the Merchant of Five Pearls will have some answers, at least.

They began their trek upward, Alan recalling the gigantic chains and puffing pink mist at the top. He wondered if his participation against the dragon was enough to earn him permanent vision of the city up there. The mist did seem lighter than the first time he approached. Only time would tell, though.

He was surprised to see more groups of people than last time. Nimble Archers scaled the chain links, while Stalkers leapt from rock to rock. No one paid each other any mind. Alan guessed because the City of Shara-das was no place for squabbles, just loot.

Hours of trekking passed, and in the back of Alan’s mind, he recalled being owed one trade from the lord himself. It tickled him to think about it. What would he give up? What would a lord of a Merchant city have available?

Once they climbed to the third layer, Flint questioned whether they could walk lateral around the mountain to a spot that seemed like an entrance on his map.

Neesha shrugged. “It’s worth a try, White Wizard. Come. Careful of the narfok birds, they fly out of nowhere sometimes.”

Lucius waved away creeping pink fog. “This is my least favorite mist.”

“Why, because it dares form a smile on your face, droll man.” Flint twirled a snowball on his finger.

Alan smiled at his friends, trailing behind them, drinking in this unorthodox crew. Home never had anything like it. Not once.

A section of the mountain path was so hair-thin that everyone had to inch across with their backs against the crooked wall. Flint tried to make an ice bridge to give them some extra walking room, but the pink fog proved extra potent here – distorting his White Saro into flubbery squares that continuously popped like water balloons. So… that option was out.

Accidently kicking rocks down the mountainside made Neesha flinch, but both Alan and Gregorian sent a protective arm over to shield her.

“H—hah.” She laughed nervously. “Makes you wonder if we’re going the right way.”

“Right around the bend, not to worry.” Flint hopped off the thin stretch of mountain and extended a hand to help the others down. “Conserve your Saro, everyone. I’m not sure what such a wretched creature would send us to.”

They continued to a blackened archway plagued with the same shadowy mist as Lucius’ cove in Strangey Town.

“Yes, this is one of them. Do you remember, Greg?” Neesha pointed.

“Hm,” he affirmed.

“Come on then. No time to waste.” Lucius was getting impatient. In fact, Alan had never seen him so excited.

“Alright, here goes.” Neesha took a step inside, and the mist began to part. She stood half-way in, as if holding the door for the others. “Okay, now you try Alan.”

Alan stepped in next, no problem. Nothing clawed at his face or shoved him away. He’d received credit for defeating the drake and saving the town. Good. At least not everyone viewed him as a coward.

Flint stepped aside. “After you, my dark friend.”

Lucius stalked up to the essence, letting its wispy tendrils caress his face. “Luness, wait for me. I’m coming home,” he whispered, only to be shoved back with a flash of white.

Flint caught Lucius’ arm before he flew off the cliff.

“No…” Lucius’ brow bent in anger. “No!”

Alan empathized from the inside. He knew how desperately his friend wanted to go, and couldn’t bear to tell him she was no longer among his people. A side-glance with Neesha spoke volumes. A prince without his princess.

She was drawn under, whatever that meant, never to be seen again.

Maybe it’s better he isn’t allowed in.

“Alan,” Lucius’ tone was begging. “Don’t.”

Gregorian may as well have punctured Alan’s belly with a hundred arrows, because that’s how this moment felt. He couldn’t leave his friend to rot. But he also couldn’t bear tell him the news. It would break him.

“Bring the Five Pearls Merchant out here. Please,” Lucius grimaced.

Alan shook his head and walked out of the shadowy door. “There’s another way.” He looked back to Neesha. “C’mon. Let’s trek to the top. I’ll trade Lord Osmi to give Lucius access.”

“Alan.” Neesha widened her eyes, making sure Alan didn’t forget.

Alan only bowed in shame, then turned to Lucius. “I won’t leave you, friend. But I must ask… what if we’re returning to dust?”

“Dust? I will return to my people no matter if they’re ashes or whole. My eyes will witness their fate. And if it is dust I see? I will curse the gods for the rest of my days for bringing me here.” Lucius grabbed Alan’s arm and squeezed tight. “Thank you, friend.”

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Alan nodded solemnly. “Of course.”

Neesha was right all that time ago. He wouldn’t believe me even if I said it. It wouldn’t matter.

Gregorian huffed and led the way to the next upward trail.

xxx

As Alan reached the top of the mountain, the pink fog whirled into a galaxy of mist and burst outward like an exploding star. What lay in its wake was the familiar city of huts he fought for not long ago. He did it. He cleared the pink fog.

Some of his friends weren’t so lucky, though. Lucius waved away the mist clinging to him, while Flint walked forward with open arms and open mouth, taking in the loopy visuals.

“You guys okay?” Alan asked.

“I’m in no mood to laugh.” Lucius grinned against his will. “Be gone.”

“Ah, it’s like my first bath when I was a child. So many bubbles.” Flint giggled.

“Oh boy.” Neesha covered her mouth, stifling a chuckle.

Merchants were out of their huts, using Saro and item alike to rebuild the town from the beast’s mayhem. Alan wondered if they knew the dragon had been after him all along. He was sure word traveled fast amongst a group of gossipy store-owners, but he really hoped it wouldn’t amount to another fight. He wanted to keep the killing limited to minions. His conscience couldn’t take more blood on his hands.

“Durger, am I going to get through this?” He broke away from the group as Neesha and Greg guided the other two down the brick path. “Lying to a friend, stalling all my promises, to Yogi, to Mistborn, to you. It feels… off.”

“There, there, Sir Alan. We are here to serve you, not the other way around. You are a marvel to our universe. Wherever you land, the realm’s people should be grateful.”

Alan shut his eyes and internalized his angst. “Kind words, Durger, from a good friend.”

“Always, Sir Alan.”

“This isn’t the end. I will return.” Alan nodded to convince himself.

“O—of course.”

“Alan!” Neesha called from down the way. “Flint’s getting a little out of control.” She pointed to the Wizard running in circles, chasing a butterfly that wasn’t there. “Can you help move this along?”

“Right!” He laughed, then eyed Vidiger’s hut, recalling his conversation with the vile conman.

To gain my own store here, I’ll have to be someone worth the lord’s time. And he’s always watching.

He shut his eyes tight and willed a trade initiation with Lord Osmi of Sharas-da. It was owed to him if the dragon was defeated, after all.

After the prompt was submitted, Alan turned every which way to see where he would appear. A bout of impatience made Alan re-submit the prompt. A lot was riding on this. He had no idea what to expect out of the forbidden shops, or the Merchant of Five Pearls. Would he be imprisoned in Jaeger’s deepest cell when he was done here? Or would he be on a long-range portal, on the way home.

Woosh!

A pink galaxy of fog whirled together on the edge of the mountain, not far from where they were standing. It grew in mass, spinning, twirling, until a massive entity with a cane, long wild-patterned skirt, and a golden bird-beak wafted into existence.

The Merchants along the city stopped what they were doing to stare at their lord.

“Low Merchant of Strangey Town. You return with great threats trailing your every step.”

“Oh no, Sir Alan. He is aware the dragon came for you.” Durger shivered in his sheath.

Alan took a bold step forward. “I never intended to cause destruction.”

“Yet you return, bringing all the same.”

Alan presented his friends. “And we will defend your city again, if the threats call.”

“Noble, Merchant, yet dangerous. Let us get on with our sanctioned trade so I can rid you of my precious city. With you lingering, I fear Ojin will collapse on Sharas-da like a dying star. What do you seek?”

Alan turned to his friends. “Clear the fog for my group, access to the forbidden shops for them, and to see what items a lord like yourself is willing to part ways with.”

The mountaintop rumbled as Osmi bowed slowly to one knee – his enormity causing the very sky to tremble.

“The forbidden shops represent my proudest economy that only those who’ve earned their stay may witness. I will not give passes easily. I hope you come prepared, Low Merchant of Strangey Town.”

Alan was careful not to flinch. He was negotiating with something greater than human, after all. “What do you seek, Lord Osmi?”

The lord stamped his cane, evoking rumbling around him. The ground caved in around Osmi, where pink coins the size of tree trunks rose to the surface. “Many Merchants have paid tribute over the years.” Osmi waved his hand over each coin, pulling forth great minions who stood upon the coins as if on a stage. One was a masked silver faced warrior with white-glowing eyes and two blades for hands. It rose in military fashion and crossed both arms over its chest.

Another was a blue wolf with purple-glowing eyes and a tail sizzling with electricity. It curled into itself like it just wanted to sleep. Rock elementals, and a fat slithering snake with a human female face added to the mix of Osmi’s collection.

“Few get to witness my assortment.”

“I’m honored,” Alan said sincerely, taking his own coins and flipping out Yogi and the Mistborn to show his own worth.

The Mistborn was about to start howling and cursing, so Alan directed a serene batch of Green Saro to sooth the minion into stasis. He then shifted to Yogi, offering him a wink.

“Impressive. A Borai of esteemed caliber. And – by the gods.” Osmi gasped, causing a gust of wind to whirl around the mountaintop. “Is that…?” He leaned closer to better see. “Grey Wolf’s armor.”

Alan hid a smirk. He knew the armor was worth much because of the mass-altering ability it held, but he didn’t expect Osmi to drool over it.

The lord’s hawkish eye zeroed in on Alan, judging him. “I offered the world for that armor, once upon a time. I am behooved to see it again.” He continued to inspect the beast that twitched even in its sleep. “Such a powerful bond. I thought the armor was lost forever to the minions of the Blue.”

“The minions scrapped the armor, refastened it how they saw fit, and connected it to a Mistborn sent by Ojin to stop us from reaching you.”

“Hmm. I see. And you managed to capture it.”

“Capture? No. I am no warden, Lord Osmi. I have oaths with these creatures, and will keep my promises in this life or the next.”

“Strings attached, then. Not wise for trade at high levels, Merchant.” Lord Osmi’s tone changed. He narrowed his eyes at the Mistborn. “I will grant your friends access to the forbidden shops, in exchange for Grey Wolf’s armor.”

Honestly, this thing has been an itching pain in my ass. But now that I know what it’s worth?

“With respect, I will not trade a godlike minion for a ticket,” Alan said, eyeing Osmi’s minions.

“You force me to adhere to obscure promises. The armor is not worth what it was.” Osmi rested both arms over his knee.

He wants the armor for its specialty of altering mass, obviously. Does he… want to shrink? Is he stuck as a giant lord who can’t even visit the shops he collects from?

“You want to walk among us,” Alan surmised. “With a hood so no one can see your godly status.”

Osmi jerked his head one way like a bird, boring one giant eye on him.

“And you want to prevent Jaeger of Hozzod from ending your friends’ precious realm,” Osmi hit right back.

“I don’t deny it.” Alan lifted his chin.

“Nor do I.” Osmi did the same. “Very well. I offer you Gardstrife, Patrolgod of Hozzod, in exchange for the armor.” Osmi presented the blade-armed masked soldier the size of Yogi.

Alan felt like there was a catch. Would the minion turn on him in an instant, like the Mistborn tried?

“Durger?” Alan whispered under his breath.

“It seems like a fair trade. Gods pull these types of minions from Ojin to their own realms. And if Jaeger once controlled this one, it’s safe to say it’s powerful.”

“But why doesn’t Jaeger have it anymore, is the question.” Alan locked eyes with the minion. No trances were available, similar to when Alan tried with the lord himself. It was just a white flash of null history, like it wasn’t unlocked for Alan to see.

“Well?”

“How did you achieve this minion?” Alan asked.

“That is not your concern.” Osmi’s brow furrowed, and Alan knew not to press further on that front.

“Fair. How do I know I’ll be able to coexist with it?”

“Hmph. Speak freely, Strife.”

The Patrolgod stepped off its coin. “I serve as needed.” Its eyes blinked as it spoke in a celestial voice, mask unmoved. “Imbue my vessel with Saro, and I will protect.”

Osmi arced an eyebrow, likely wondering if Alan was satisfied.

“And access to the forbidden shops,” Alan held up a finger.

Osmi shook his head. “You upend the balance of my sacred palace by such an unruly request.”

Shit. Alan held back his angst. “I mean no disrespect. But you see, we have a special meeting with a traveling vendor. Will you consider granting a temporary pass for just this one instance? Consider them passersby that you will never have to lay eyes on again.” Alan opened his arms to present Flint and Lucius. “If you accept, Grey Wolf’s armor is yours, bound oaths and all, and you will no longer be bound to a giant’s attention.”

Osmi narrowed his hawkish eye. “It is done. But be quick about it!” He dismissed his minions and flipped Gardstrife’s coin into Alan’s grasp. It reduced in size and sparkled a resplendent gold in his fingertips. He shook away his awe and rewound the Mistborn to a wolf-etched coin. He kissed it. “May you fare better with him.”

Osmi twisted his clawed wrist, creating a divot in the ground of black bricks. “Go. Your vendor awaits.”