Hart was the first to enter the tavern at Ashtowne, his slate blue uniform traded for practical leathers. The four-horned dragon sigil was gone, instead he only wore the open winged bird design as a badge on his chest. Bastian and the other older man who had formed the palace escort were next, also now dressed in their mercenary leathers, with the same sigil on their shoulders. Dorius and Elias followed. Dorius had shed his robes and finery completely discarded to blend in with his guard, same winged bird sigil on his shoulder and a cap on his head, ear flaps covering the sides of his face. Elias, in comparison, had not changed. Val, who would have had to duck under the doorway even if she did not have horns, was last. She matched the crew, lightly armored in leathers, only her double-headed battle axe was the same. She was the only one in the group who carried a weapon openly, all others had been left with the carriage and their escort outside of town.
The tavern turned to look at her for only a moment, she was unusual for sure but Fae-touched individuals were far more common among the regular populace. Their carefully constructed appearance made their circumstances obvious - a small group of mercenaries, with one unusual but not unexpected heavy guard, and a single client - and interest from the patrons was quickly lost as they returned to their conversations and meals
Hart guided them to a corner table, taking care to draw a seat out for Elias while the rest of the crew settled around them, Dorius taking a position opposite and between Bastian and the older man. Val took position in the corner, giving her a view of the whole room. A barman approached to take orders.
“We have ham from a hog slaughtered yesterday, smoked overnight, as well as bread from the local baker and whatever vegetables the cook bought in the market this morning,” he offered, wiping his hands on his apron.
“Food and beers for the table then,” returned Hart.
“And for your client?” asked the barman.
Elias held up a hand, “I am fine with the same, although I wouldn’t mind if you have some wine instead of beer.”
The barman thought for a moment, “We may have a few young bottles in the cellar, likely from somewhere south.”
“Perfect I’ll have a bottle, bring a spare glass as well.”
The barman raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, and busied off to collect a few plates before returning behind the bar and passing the order along.
Bastian then eagerly drew a deck of cards from a pocket and held them out, a few nods, and he started shuffling them, leaving Elias and Val out of the deal.
“What else did you learn during our stay, other than the horse?” asked Dorius, picking up the cards as he was dealt them and arranging them in his hand.
Hart rubbed his chin for a moment, stubble growing as evidence of their rushed travel the past few days. “The stables were almost full and the mess had barely any room. Set the men up some tables by the muster yard instead. Whichever cousin was in residence, they must have brought most of their retinue with them.”
“Not a social visit then,” added Bastian, finishing his deal and picking up his cards. Val bent over his shoulder a moment to look at his hand and he twisted them slightly to give her a better look.
The barman returned, placing down the wine bottle and a pair of glasses, and waited a moment before Elias gave him a wave to indicate he was satisfied. The bottle had already been opened and Elias poured himself a glass, then motioned to the oldest man, “Davern?”
Davern nodded, and Elias passed him the bottle and second glass to pour his own. The barkeep returned a second time at that point, five mugs of beer in hand, and placed them in the middle. Bastian then started the game, placing down his first card and there was companionable silence as the first few cards were played.
Val snorted at one of Bastian’s moves and he slapped the table in good hearted annoyance.
“Don’t give it away,” he ribbed, and hid his hand from her.
Dorius took his turn, grinning slightly, “Val’s given up your game.”
Bastian tossed his hand face down on the table in irritation, and pushed his cards to the center surrendering the round. With a frustrated sigh, he drummed his fingers on the table and gave Val a glare. Val shrugged and returned her gaze to the tavern.
It was relatively quiet for a lunch crowd, half of the tables were empty and most of the regulars appeared to be seated at the bar, making conversation with the barman. A few of the local guards entered, making eye contact with Val as they did. She gave them a quick nod, and they turned away to find their own table.
“I passed through the scullery when I was looking for the seneschal, there was a lot of red laundry,” offered Bastian after a moment of watching the game progress without him.
Elias looked into his wine glass, and passed a glance with Davern and Hart.
“Matthias or Synthias then,” mused Dorius, placing down another card. He seemed to start to speak, then held back as he noticed the barman approaching with a platter of their food. Most was piled into one larger tray, but he also carried a separate clean plate. He placed the platter off center, so as not to disturb their cards, then the plate before Elias, adding some cutlery from within his apron.
Elias served himself first, then the rest drew straight from the platter in the middle, absently eating as they continued their game. Dorius showed no hesitation in joining them, tearing up some of the bread with his hands and dipping it in the juices from roasted vegetables on the platter.
“I thought the Carmine Guard and Ivory Guard were one and the same these days?” asked Hart, finishing his first mug of beer and playing a surprisingly strong move to their card game.
Dorius shook his head, “They share members and resources in the Capital, but still maintain the separation of uniform and purpose. They’d never fully dissolve, even if Synthias were officially the heir, the red would just pass to the next in line.”
Val, distracted from her guard by the conversation and food, picked up a few of Bastian’s discarded cards and tried to balance them in a pyramid. “I saw the captain of the reds ordering about the whites last Winter Reception, “ she added softly, “I think there is very little the Pentarch does anymore that doesn’t have one of them involved.”
Dorius sighed, and also forfeited his hand at that moment. “Uncle, do you have any connections at Kal’Fall or near the Spine?”
Hart paused as he rearranged his cards, taking a moment to think. “It’s too far out of our territory. Even working caravan contracts your network rarely travels that far north.”
“We’ve a good relationship with the Black Wolf Mercenaries who operate in that region. They’re not the biggest but they are big enough they might be useful,” added Davern, his voice a husky drawl.
Dorius lifted the front of his cap to rearrange his silver-blond hair, then seemed to settle on a thought. “Pick a few men to go now while the journey is shorter, send them north and make contact if they can. See if they can arrange to work with the Black Wolves for a period to learn the lay of the land. If the Wolves are not in regular contact with the Spine, they are free to operate at their discretion. Elias will brief them on their objectives and help you write a letter of introduction.”
Hart nodded, “You won’t come back with us?”
“No, I have some business here then I’ll stay the night with a proper bed, I’ll take Val and Bastian. Elias, can you send a runner with the goods I packed to the Guild House when you get back?”
Elias drew out a purse at that point, and began to count some coins which he handed to Bastian for safe keeping. Bastian gave them a quick count, and hid them within a pouch he wore around his neck and tucked into his leathers.
“Get the men a hot dinner, we’ll rejoin you tomorrow morning and continue to Southold then,” continued Dorius. Hart nodded.
Dorius then rose and selected a bread roll to pocket, Val was on her feet in response without any bidding. Bastian allowed an expression of longing for the plate of food to hover on his face, and realizing he wasn’t going to slow his Prince down, selected a few slices of ham to stuff in his mouth. “I want my cards back!” he demanded to the table, then rushed to join Val and Dorius who were already part way out the door.
—
Val wandered through the town square at Dorius’ side, humming absently to herself as she followed him from shop front to shop front. Bastian led the way, making easy conversation with merchants and passers-bys, happily discussing weather or harvests or what traders and mercenaries had been through town as seemed appropriate in the moment.
The town was doing well, despite its size, and there was a good variety of merchants and craftsmen, many highly specialized. The laborers union house was almost empty as they passed it, indicating all waiting townsfolk had found employment that morning, the note board with job notices almost overflowing with leaflets, many stamped red indicating immediate need. New laborers, some grimy with the dirt of recent travel, were busy getting inducted by clerks in the shade of the union house, leaflets from the board being sorted by apprentices who handed them out to qualified workers and gave hasty instructions on where to report, how to collect pay, or even where to buy lodgings for the recent arrivals.
Dorius trailed slightly in Bastian’s shadow, a trained eye assessing the quality of the goods on display and the volume of trade being conducted. Occasionally he would interrupt as Bastian’s conversations moved in a direction that interested him to ask a follow up question, or inquire about the providence of a particular good, but mostly he listened.
Val was happy to let them do the talking, since childhood they had both always had easy relationships with strangers, whereas she had some very obvious differences between her and other people that usually meant she kept them at arm's length. She instead enjoyed the brief opportunities to warm herself in the sun as they meandered. Despite it being the height of summer, it was noticeably cooler here than their home climes and she missed it.
They were standing inside a textile merchant when the sound of an organ playing a chorale prelude began somewhere else in the town. The conversation halted for a moment as the first chords played.
“You have a Vigil house here?” asked Bastian to the merchant he had been previously chatting with. The merchant nodded, and started onto a story about the acolytes recently redecorating the Vigil chamber with his fabrics.
Val felt her attention fray as the first notes faded, her breath stolen from her mouth to follow the resonating hum instead. More music followed, and unbidden, Val lost track of the conversation and her mind strayed from its lazy guard to focus on the low chords rumbling through the town.
It slowly stirred something inside of her, like memories or echoes of something that was always just out of her reach. The chords rose and fell and were joined by a plaintive melody that felt organic to her, like the patterns of tree branches as they grew, or water carving through rock. Notes twisted in her mind's eye as the complexity of the song built, darker, quicker, deeper, catching her breath. It was fire! In her blood, in her lungs! Not flashing, jumping, bright fires, or steady, laboring blacksmith fires, but the fire that was dark and cold mourning lanterns and incense at prayer, lamenting something forgotten. The base notes became the low murmur of glow around coals, deep and comforting, while the melody above gently danced, sparked and dissolved into black night. Her whole mind unwillingly subsumed to the music, and only fire mattered.
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Dorius touched her arm gently to bring her back, slight concern in the corner of his eyes. Val frowned, but the jolt of touch was enough for her to wrestle back control and shut out the music, some part of her gasping in loss and leaving her feeling slightly empty. She turned, suddenly feeling claustrophobic in the merchant’s shop where she had to constantly hunch to prevent her horns from scratching the merchant’s ceiling, and looked towards the door.
“Where is the Guild house?” ask Dorius, interrupting Bastian and the merchant's conversation. The merchant’s eyes flickered to the bird sigil on all three shoulders, and he frowned slightly.
“You looking for work, we are not familiar with you…”
“Phoenix Company,” offered Bastian.
“We are not familiar with the Phoenix Company here. I doubt there would be…”
“We represent an interested party from the south,” explained Dorius, “We’ve been given a letter of introduction for the Guild Steward.”
The merchant seemed to consider this for a moment, then gestured further up the street in the direction they had been meandering. “Big building at the end, the paper runners like to use the street out front for organizing their deliveries.”
Dorius nodded his thanks and exited the building for the street, Val in tow and glad for open sky. Bastian lingered a moment, to finish his conversation with the merchant.
Val rubbed her sore neck, following a couple of hooded men with her eyes as they waited for Bastian. Dorius looked up at her, his arms folded.
“We good?” he asked.
She inclined her head, “ I wasn’t expecting it, is all.” she replied. The organ still played, but it didn’t creep into her mind like it had when it had started.
Dorius didn’t seem particularly reassured.
“I’m not a child anymore,” she continued trying to placate him, “I don’t let it get away from me like I used to.”
“You don’t control it either,” added Dorius.
Val shrugged. “I’m not really sure where you expect I would have time to learn. Your father nor the Company weren’t exactly in a position to find out much about it when we were kids, and since then it’s not like I get any break from you.” There was a tiny note of bitterness at the last comment.
“I’m sorry,” muttered Dorius quietly.
Val was silent.
“I need you,” he continued, his voice low, “Elias constantly chides me for putting you and Bastian, especially you, in so much danger. But I couldn’t…” he trailed off, unsure of where he seemed to be taking his apology.
Val sniffed, then gently responded, “Look at me,” she said, gesturing to her horns, “ If not with you I’d be chopping up bandits somewhere. Fae like me don’t really get much choice in the work we are put towards. I’m just thankful it was the Phoenix Company that picked me up and not something worse. Besides…” she looked him in the eye, “How often do I have to tell you I trust you?”
Dorius grinned weakly, and patted her arm as it was about the only part of her within comfortable reach. Bastian emerged behind them, looking between them.
“I miss a moment?” he asked, passing Dorius several brochures he’d acquired from the merchant, his eyes carefully watching Dorius’ hand lift from Val’s forearm to take them from him.
“I’ve seen what I want to see,” said Dorius, browsing the first page of the brochure for a moment. “Let’s head to the Guild house now.”
“You doing okay?” asked Bastian to Val as they began walking up the street again, Dorius leading now.
Val gave Bastian a friendly nudge to his ribs but misjudged her force, the slim man unexpectedly staggering away and gracefully recovering. Bastian laughed easily, his chin was covered with stubble unkempt on the road, growing in bright red compared to his dark chestnut head hair. He playfully reached up to grab one of her chin horns and pulled hard downwards, tilting her head and throwing her off balance for a moment. She growled, a hint of red on her cheeks in embarrassment. The exchange seemed to satisfy Bastian’s question though, and he asked no more questions as they wandered towards the Guild House.
One of the younger men from the Company was waiting for them outside the Guild House, a talon steed curving its head sideways to watch the paper runners with one large black eye, as they organized deliveries sprawled on the street in front of them. He saluted them as they approached, and handed Dorius a carefully wrapped package. Dorius dismissed him, and continued into the Guild House. An attendant was seated at a large desk behind a comfortable waiting area, busily sorting bills and contracts into folders stacked behind his desk.
“I have a letter of introduction from the Southold Guild Steward,” said Dorius clearly, drawing a wax sealed envelope from the package, and placing it for the attendant to see. The attendant picked up a pair of eye lenses and inspected the red seal, then satisfied at its legitimacy pushed it back over the desk to Dorius. He clicked his fingers, waving over one of the apprentices.
“Go see if the Steward is free,” he instructed and looking back at his guests, “you may take a seat.”
Dorius and Bastian sat as bid, Val hovered standing. The attendant continued to busy himself with the huge pile of contracts he was sorting. After a short wait the apprentice returned and beckoned them upstairs.
The Steward was a large man, seated at an elegant desk half covered with paperwork and ledgers. He wore brightly colored fabrics with some basic embroidery on the collar and cuffs, but his sleeves were stained with ink. On several fingers he wore chunky silver rings, black ink staining the inlays on a few as well. He did not stand when they entered but gestured for them to take seats opposite his desk.
Dorius took off his cap as he sat, passing it and the wrapped package to Bastian who sat next to him, keeping two envelopes in his lap. He ran his fingers through his silver-blonde hair, trying to fluff it up where it had flattened. Val hovered by the door, and with the Stewards permission shut it.
“I've never heard of the Phoenix Company this far north?” began the Steward without ceremony, picking up a pen and signing the document he had been working on before dropping it to the floor in another pile.
“We don't operate here, I'm not on Company business,” explained Dorius, meaningfully presenting the envelopes in his hand. He placed both down before the Steward on the desk, and then carefully splayed them revealing the wax seals. One was stamped with red wax, the seal a beehive and coins - it had been the letter used to gain them entry. The other was distinctly more opulent, made of paper an elegant creamy hue and the wax a glossy gold, the seal was an intricate four-horned dragon on slate blue ribbon.
The Steward paused, slowly placed his pen down and pushed the papers he was working on to the side. He took both envelopes, but the dragon headed one was the one he flipped to inspect first.
“What's your relationship to the Company?” He asked, flipping some papers on his desk till he uncovered his pen knife.
“My uncle negotiates our contracts,” replied Dorius. The Steward looked at him carefully for a moment, then opened the letter with the dragon seal. He read it quickly, then opened the second and did the same. He rang a small bell on his desk as he read, and Val stepped aside to let an apprentice back in.
“Refreshments for our guests!” He quickly ordered, and haphazardly shoved most of the papers to one side of his desk as he finished reading.
“My apologies, let us start again. I am Bart the Guild Steward in Ashtowne. I represent all Merchant Guild activities as well as the Laborers and Crafts Union. We are not a large town, but proximity to the private Palace keeps us busy” he said suddenly warm, standing and extending both hands. Dorius stood and grasped his offered hand eagerly, exchanging a firm shake and a winning smile.
“I am Dorn, I represent the interests of the Southold Merchant’s Guild for this interaction. I have been authorized to offer you several contracts to consider, as well as samples of goods,” replied Dorius. Bastian laid the package on the desk to punctuate the introduction, it clunked with the promising weight of something inside.
“A moment, we will have tea while we discuss,” said the Steward, offering his hands to Bastian for a shake as well and giving Val a nod. “Do you normally negotiate for your client?” queried Bart as he reseated himself.
Dorius shook his head, “I am not here to negotiate, only open the door for the Guild with some initial offers. You may have heard the Prince at Southold has a close relationship with the Phoenix Company, but it also extends to the Guild. My presence represents his wishes for positive negotiations along with his letter of intent.”
The Steward nodded knowingly, and gestured for the returning apprentice to place the fine china teacups at his desk before Dorius and Bastian. Dorius took a cup and allowed himself a moment to smell the herbal tea, before taking a small sip to test the temperature. “Bastian, could you?” He asked, sitting back in his seat a bit to enjoy the tea.
Bastian stood and unwrapped the parcel, from it he carefully laid out several rings inset with polished black stone, some cuffs of various sizes in a milky green stone and a necklace with a large jeweled pendant made of the same green material.
He selected one of the rings and opened his hand beckoning the Steward.
“The black stone is called Hematite, it can be cut and polished into any shape but looks best as a seal or broach. Here it has been set in silver,” Bastian explained as he took the Stewards hand. He carefully examined the Steward’s current rings, estimating the size of his fingers, “May I?” he asked, all smooth and charming elegance.
The Steward nodded, looking greedily at the rings, and Bastian removed one and placed his selected ring on the Steward’s hand, letting him draw it back to examine the stone.
“The Free States past the southern desert say they trade for it with a Barbarian clan further south again. It is durable and can be repolished anew, making it an excellent choice for a buyer who cannot afford gems and gold,” he explained. “The cuffs they call Jadeite. We bought these to show the variation in the colors but it can be easily carved into delicate shapes and make excellent little baubles, paperweights, and other trinkets.”
“They are not quite as nice as the gems coveted by nobles and royals,” added Dorius, “ but our client is aware of growing markets among the well-to-do folk. Peace in the time of the Pentarchy has been good, family businesses have grown and craftsmen and merchants have coins to spend. This is the market we seek. Why not provide them with new options that let them show off their elevated status without intruding on the upper ranks?”
The Steward examined the ring closely, brushing its polished surface with his thumb. “It is true, we import furs and fabrics now more for the common man than Palace use. Even the lowest laborer has some coin to spare to buy his beau a gift, or indulge in a nice hat for nights on the town.”
“It is in the Prince’s best interest to encourage this within his own holdings,” continued Dorius, “Distant are the memories where the royal lineages held their power through the exclusive control of Fae magic. Gone too are the days where warlords protect their lands, and in doing so prove their worth to the everyman. The Prince would seek a new alliance with the people, bringing wealth and opportunity through his means.”
The Steward raised an eyebrow, the words were almost seditious if they had been spoken by any mouth other than one claiming to represent a member of the Pentarchy, albeit distant, and accompanied with his seal on a letter. But it seemed, they were not without merit, and the Steward turned them about in his mind for a moment, examining the ring.
“We take great pride in our Pentarch and the prestige it brings our town,” he finally offered in response, “But… I agree there is a market here for what you propose.”
“Of course, the dignity of nobility is without question. Hence, we offer the prospect of lesser stones fitting the rank and station of prospective buyers,” acquiesced Dorius, “ In turn, my understanding is the Southold Guild seeks connections to your trade north for more reliable supplies of timber and metals, as well as crafts of that like. We offer access to these goods secured from Free State trade, as well as salt, wine and wax which are abundant goods in Southold.”
Dorius drew out several string bound contracts from within his shirt, “My client only asks that you consider these contracts as a starting point for negotiation and reach out with a trusted man when you are ready. We could do an equal exchange of goods, or establish networks for buy and sell per your Guild’s preferences.”
“And your company would benefit from increased work?” asked Bart.
Dorius merely smiled, “It would be an added benefit, but not my purpose.”
Bart leaned back in his chair, considering the conversation. Then in a low voice added, “I am aware the Prince at Southold is somewhat of a black sheep among the royal family, while we know of his name none of us ever see him in residence at the palace. We would not wish to attract ire from our most important buyers by affiliation.”
Dorius set down the teacup, “As I said, consideration only,” he responded blandly, “Our Company's relations with our Prince is public knowledge, but his interest in his Guild is only that of a benevolent patron. The Palace need not know where from or how goods come, only that you have sourced new wares for their interest, and we ask no subterfuge on your part if they do ask. The Prince himself is not a party of any contract we have represented to you. I trust your instinct to best guide your Guild’s interests.”
Dorius stood, as if to conclude his business, taking his cap from Bastian. The Steward rose with him, beginning to remove the ring from his finger.
“No, it is a gift,” explained Bastian, also pushing the cuffs and necklace along the table to indicate they were included.
The Steward eyed the necklace and cuffs for a moment, and turned the ring about his finger. Then decided to leave it in place, and moved to lead his guests out the door. Bastian handled most of the formalities of their farewells as they left more documents with contact details at the front attendant’s desk, Bart keeping a watchful eye on what was exchanged.
On the street Dorius stretched arms overhead catlike, a satisfied grin on his face, and replaced his cap tucking his hair underneath it. “Let’s find somewhere for the night then,” he declared, content with his business concluded.