Glade and the others left the consulate with Cirea carrying two small barrels of Dwarvish ale under her arms and a massive grin on her face. The remaining time in the consulate had been short and to the point. Bragden had quickly outlined their needs to the dwarven mercenary, Dorgren, and had arranged for a small contingent to escort the family members of the Slaghammer clan from the Crag to Aldorna.
Much to Glade’s surprise, there hadn’t been any haggling, just some clarifying questions on logistics. That was the moment he realized how professional the Thunderfists really were. Instead of providing simple escorts, the mercenary company delved into details of who would be responsible for transportation, food, shelter, and the myriad of other things that an amateur organization would even consider let alone plan for.
Both dwarves came to an agreement in short order that saw the Thunderfists take lead in just about everything except managing the day to day accountability of the clan’s people. That fell to Krazzik’s wife to manage.
In total, it cost almost as much as the King’s taxes, but Bragden was adamant the cost was more than worth it.
“Where to now?” Cirea asked with her signature grin now that she had her booze.
“The local branch of the Obsidian Bank,” Glade explained, fingering the large platinum coin in his pocket. It wasn’t really necessary to check the bank at this time, but they were all curious about what the last Master of Storms had left for them. Not that he really believed they would find anything. The coin was over 1,000 years old. Any account associated with such a marker had likely been dissolved from inactivity a long time ago.
“Wouldn’t it be a good idea to swing by the inn?” Kedryn asked, eyeing Criea’s load speculatively.
Glade sighed. The Kid was right. Carrying the small barrels was making them stand out even worse than they had before. That and he couldn’t imagine the bank would let them walk in with two barrels of booze.
It took the better part of an hour, but they dropped off the ale in Bragden’s rooms so neither Gent nor Cirea could sneak any without him knowing.
Shortly thereafter, Glade and his party were approaching the Obsidian Bank, which turned out to look exactly like it sounded.
The group climbed a set of black stairs that led into a three story building also made from black stone. In fact, the only things that weren’t black were the six intimidating orcs standing as guards along the outside of the building. Each was armed to the teeth and wore expensive looking armor, which was also black. They really had that black color scheme down.
“They really look just like the Orcs in World of Warcraft!” Kedryn whispered in awe, unable to keep his eyes off of the large, green brutes. “Is there an Orc tribe close by?”
“Not close by, thank the Overseer,” Cirea said as they passed. “There are a few tribes out in the grasslands, but they don’t get along well with others.”
“Don’t get along how?” Glade asked.
“They tend to challenge anyone and anything not an Orc to death on account of their belief that they’re the Overseer’s chosen to conquer the world. I once saw an Orc beat up a boulder because it was simply in its way.”
“Wait, did you say beat up a boulder?” Kedryn asked.
“You heard me,” Cirea said. “It beat at the boulder until the boulder broke. Not the smartest of the races, I’ll grant you that, but they treat anything they consider a challenge just like that Orc did to the boulder. Beat it into submission until it breaks. But you don’t have to worry about these,” she said, gesturing to the Orcs standing guard. “They’re slaves, just like most of the hired muscle for high end establishments. Likely caught in one of the guild’s raids.”
Only when Cirea mentioned that they were slaves did Glade notice the collars on their necks. They were far more elegant than the ones Krazzik and his people had worn.
“Are Orc guards a typical thing around here?” he asked, intrigued.
“By the Adjudicators, no!” Cirea laughed. “Having enslaved Orcs as guards is both a status symbol and a clear message that would-be thieves might as well throw down their weapons and give up. Orcs are meaner than a grass worm and twice as hard to kill. They’re also extremely hard to control, which is why most captured Orcs are taken to the arena instead of becoming slaves. The guild only has so many of those high level collars to go around.”
Cirea continued to regale them with stories of Orc fights she had seen in the arena, but Glade had stopped listening. Instead, he activated his specialty. From that distance, he couldn’t quite make out the intricacies of mana flowing immediately around and through the slave collars, but he did notice the same astral thread of magic connecting the collar to some far off point.
“Don’t think about it,” Bragden growled under his breath, pushing Glade through the large bronze doors and into the bank.
“You know me better than that,” Glade hissed quietly enough so only Bragden could hear.
“I done saw that look in your eye, lad,” Bragden said with a glare. “Not every slave should be freed.”
He didn’t dignify the comment with a response. He wasn’t going to go about freeing what amounted to be single minded killing machines in the middle of the city. He had far better judgment than that. Instead, he focused his magical sight on the inside of the bank.
The foyer was a wide open space with black stone walls, gleaming white marble floors, and magical bronze fixtures that radiated enough light that they could see just as well as if it were under the noonday sun. Human guards in highly polished half plate armor were stationed at strategic points throughout the hall, each eyeing the patrons carefully.
But it was what someone couldn’t normally see that drew Glade’s attention. Magical signatures, glowing runes, and sweeping flows of mana stole his attention. He had no idea what they all were, but any concerns that he might have had over the security of the place was now gone.
Of course, other concerns began to arise. Anyone who took this amount of preparation probably wouldn’t like it if someone tried to access an account that wasn’t technically theirs.
“Are those Gnomes?” Kedryn gasped, pulling Glade from his concerns.
“What?” he asked, following Kedryn’s gaze. He had heard the Dwarves curse out Gnomes more times than he cared to admit since arriving on this backwards planet. That meant he was very curious what a Gnome was actually like. What he found was a bit underwhelming.
Behind the desks and counters sat short women with soft facial features and ready smiles. Each and every one he saw was actively engaged in either helping customers, writing in ledgers, or counting piles of coins with a proficiency that would have put any accountant he had known back home to shame.
“Gnomes? Where?” Bragden said, his eyes widening in panic. When he saw the army of short women working throughout the bank he sighed in relief. “Thank the Mother, they be the women folk.”
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Glade and Kedryn looked first at each other, then at Bragden.
“You’re fine with female Gnomes?” Glade asked tentatively.
“Oh, aye,” Bragden said, glancing around appreciatively. “Everyone knows that a Gnome matriarch be worth her weight in silver.”
“Not gold, master dwarf?” came a laugh from one of the short women approaching them.
“The only one who be worth their weight in gold be me wife,” Bragden said with a toothy smile, welcoming the gnome woman with an outstretched hand.
“I’m missing something glaringly obvious, arn’t I,” Glade asked, glancing between the Gnome and Bragden in utter confusion.
“Not much experience with Gnomes?” The woman said with a soft smile.
“Not particularly, no,” he said rather lamely.
“Not to worry,” she laughed, the sound a ring of mirth that washed away his concerns as she gestured for them to follow her to her nearby desk. “The relief your friend has so eloquently expressed is because the male side of our race tends to be a bit… eccentric.”
Bragden snorted. “I done saw a Gnome artificer once try and measure the temperature and composition of a slagging magma elemental because his goal was to try and create a bloody magma golem.”
“Oh, that sounds like something my Sootfoot would do!” she laughed, her auburn curls falling to perfectly frame her gentle smile and soft eyes.
“If it wasn’t for Gnome women, the race would have died out millenia ago,” Cirea whispered into Glade’s ear. “They’re the perfect balance from their fanatical counterparts. Meticulous and competent to the male’s disregard of sanity in pursuit of whatever project they find interesting.”
“Don’t the matriarchs hold the men back?” Glade whispered, trying to draw parallels with what he knew of average male stupidity.
“Nope,” Cirea said. “At least, not that I’m aware of. For some reason they find the near suicidal drive to experiment with dangerous things attractive.”
“Is it true that Gnomes get all greased up for Downs day?” Kedryn asked, drawing Glade back into the conversation.
Bragden shuddered.
“Oh, my yes!” she said, a twinkle in her eye. “Though the Hall of House’s won’t let us celebrate that inside the city. Mores the pity. But I don’t think you’re here to discuss our racial holidays. My name is Bellain, by the way. What can the Obsidian Bank help you with today?”
“We’ve come to access the account associated with this,” Glade said, getting his mind back on track by placing the platinum coin they had found back in the Storms’ Rest vault onto her desk. They had brain stormed how best to approach accessing the account and decided the direct method would be best.
“Oh my,” Bellain gasped, bringing a hand to her mouth as he looked between Glade and the coin. “A thousand apologies, my Lord! If you had shown this to me sooner I would have… I mean… Just give me a moment. I’ll have a private room prepared for you and your party right away!”
“What just happened?” Glade asked as they watched Bellain waive down another Gnome. He didn’t like the fact that she had referred to him as some sort of noble. That was the moment that Cirea let out a low whistle.
“You are just full of surprises, you know that? Where under the moons did you get a platinum rank bankers mark?”
“An inheritance,” he said, leaving his response as vague as possible as he inwardly began cursing himself. Holo and Cirea already knew far too much about them for his liking and because his brain had taken a holiday they now knew even more.
“That must be some inheritance,” she said, giving him a grin.
“Right this way please,” Ballain said, rushing back. She led them away from the foyer and into an opulent room in the back of the hall.
Glade’s specialty was still active as he took in the room. He barely skimmed over the open room of leather chairs, plush carpets, and table filled with fresh snacks and drinks. Instead he concentrated on the flows of mana. There were several unknown runes scattered throughout the area that seemed to channel various aspects of light and shadow mana throughout the room. The corners were especially attention grabbing.
Before he could analyze the room any further, he was interrupted by their appointed babysitter for the day.
“Now this is what I’m talking about,” Cirea said happily, striding toward the food laden table.
Letting the magic go, he focused his attention on the bailiff. She was obviously pushing at boundaries so she could gather more information about them, which something he wouldn’t tolerate any further.
“Cirea, seeing as you are our guard for the day, why don’t you wait out in the hall for us?” Glade said, knowing this would likely frustrate her but not really caring. While he appreciated all she had done thus far, and respected her as a fighter, that did not give her carte blanche access to their secrets.
“Excuse me?” she said, turning from the table to give him a look of stunned disbelief.
“You heard me,” he said, staring her down. “If you have a problem with this arrangement you know who you can take it up with.”
“Of course we can set up a station for your personal guard outside the door,” Bellain said smoothly, already moving to steer Cirea out of the room. “I’ll have some refreshment brought to her as well.”
Glade saw Cirea grind her teeth in frustration, but she didn’t say anything, allowing herself to be led from the room.
“Was that necessary?” Kedryn whispered to him.
“Aye, it was lad,” Bragden said aloud. “She be the hired help in this here situation. Best to treat her that way.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Kedryn said, sitting down in one of the overstuffed leather chairs.
Before too long, another Gnome woman along with Bellain entered the room. She had steel gray curls to Bellain’s red, but had the same gentle smile.
“Good afternoon, my Lords,” the Gnome said, placing a small wooden chest that looked ancient on the table. “My name is Opal. I am the Platinum account manager within this branch of the Obsidian Bank. May I see the Marker you have in your possession?”
“Good afternoon Opal,” Glade said with his best disarming smile before placing the marker on the table in front of them.
The older Gnome looked carefully at the platinum coin where it lay, her eyes wide with interest.
“Do you know how old this is?” She asked in a soft voice, not yet daring to touch it.
“At least 1,100 years,” Glade said. “Maybe more.”
“Oh, it is much older than that,” Opal said, looking up to Glade. “May I pick it up? I will have to examine it for authenticity before we can access the magical signature.”
Glade glanced at Kedryn and Bragden, who both shrugged. They didn’t know what they had, but they had come too far now to turn back now. Besides, he wasn’t that concerned with the easy going women in the room should things turn sideways. They could likely talk their way out of any trouble.
“Of course,” he said with a smile.
Before Opal picked up the marker, she opened the box and pulled out a pair of white linen gloves. Only after she put them on did she pick it up.
“It is in near perfect condition,” she breathed in awe, gently running her fingers over the surface. “In all my years, I have never seen its like. Where did you find it?”
“It is an inheritance of sorts,” Glade said, using the same line he had with CIrea.
“Of sorts?” Opal asked, her eyes radiating genuine interest along with her smile. Something about that look made him uncomfortable. “Would you care to elaborate?”
“Not particularly, no,” Glade said, doing his best to maintain his smile. He was painfully aware that Boon was the sweet talker of his team, not him. Hell, even the Kid could have probably done better with his higher charisma.
Still, it wasn’t like there were any guards in the room with them. A clear indication that they weren’t in any danger. At least, not that he could tell.
As the thoughts of potential problems and his responses began running through his mind, Opal continued to study the marker.
“The magical signature is still intact,” she said, smoothly moving past his denying her for additional information. “But these old markers come with an authentication enchantment. Give me a moment to make sure everything is in order.”
“An authentication enchantment?” Glade asked, looking at Bragden with a raised eyebrow.
“It's a simple enough enchantment,” Opal explained before Bragden could answer. As she did, she pulled out a wand of pure obsidian with golden runes swirling down from the tip to its base. “These older style markers were tied to an identifier tied to the account owner’s aura signature. For example,” she said, waving the wand over the platinum coin, “they could have linked the marker to one’s surname, a title, or, if they were truly paranoid, their blood. It is a theft prevention measure.”
When she said that, the three men looked at each other, each wondering if they had made a mistake in not providing a better explanation of the origins of the banker’s marker. Their fears were confirmed when two large orcs materialized out of the shadows in the back of the room, each glaring down at them.
“Now,” Opal said with her pleasant smile firmly affixed to her soft face, the obsidian wand pointing at them. “Let's see if any of you have the right to this marker.”