Tyr couldn't decide. “I've no idea what to ask for. Like you, I'm certainly no merchant. Valkan's assistance was immeasurable, is that not enough?” They had no coin for which he could add to his coffers, and their runic language and how to use it were secrets Valkan had considered beyond near any other. “Let's say we cover the material cost, with a 20% margin tacked on for labor. I think that's fair.”
So far, things had not gone very well. These Anu didn't seem to mind, but they wouldn't freely give any of their artifacts, which had been his first request. Imagining himself in a suit of Anu forged armor with a matching sword, which would make him practically invincible.
“Valkan, my son, was banished. Not Anu, in a sense. Any contribution he made before returning has nothing to do with us. In summary, he is what you might call a 'free man' and his achievements cannot be claimed by the collective. We'll end his banishment as agreed, but at the same time we will not take advantage of his deeds.”
A fair way of doing things. Well balanced justice. Anu did not take from the cookie jar of those they've spurned, allowing that much at least. Tyr nodded, understanding why Valkan's hand had rested on his shoulder and a look of deep gratitude had entered his eyes from the first moment he'd seen the spellbreakers. It must have been tremendously significant to him, to be given the opportunity to return home.
Tyr remembered the game. Had lived for it. He was selfish, and at times even greedy. To take what was offered did not make him a bad person. He'd push his luck, and refuse to offer the gauntlets if his wishes were not met, whether it benefited the professor or not. It didn't make him a bad person. That which money could not buy would be offered in favors, but asking directly was to 'lose' in the exchange. Uncle Don's lessons still hung in his brain. Let them come to you, but these Anu were... Obstinate, in a very indirect way.
He who spoke first during a negotiation lost. Always. Tyr nodded calmly and crossed his arms. He wouldn't lose today. These Anu were wise and powerful. Each and every one of them bled honesty in a way no trader concerned with profit ever could.
“I want...” Gold and silver were easily obtainable through human channels. “You understand how important these are to your people, yes? You've offered. I didn't set the terms, you did. You understand?”
“Of course.” B'al nodded wisely. “Equivalent exchange. No more, and no less. You've a glint of avarice in your eye, little brother. Do not seek to draw us into a battle of negotiation. Our way is not to trade or barter, but to deal fairly. You name what things could be of use to you and we'll offer what we can until the scale is even. We give, nor take rebuttal under normal circumstances.”
“Ah...” B'al was right. Tyr knew near immediately that this wasn't your average bargaining chip. There would be no bargaining, or trying to get more the way a human might. They promised honesty, and he knew that they'd follow through. “Well... Rare metals. Not gold or silver. Mithril, orichalcum, cronite. Adamant if you have it. I've become fond of forging. I need these things, but I don't need money.”
He'd meet their request as best he could. Answering honestly.
The tribal elder nodded, lost in thought. “We've three kilograms of mithril in my clan. Not likely to find much in the others. Mithril is not a common material in this region. If metals are all you're after, I doubt we could come to a fair exchange.”
“What else can you offer?” Tyr asked. “I'll be honest, I try to stay focused on one thing at a time, and I've no prior knowledge of Anu and their exports. Valkan does not speak of you overmuch, and I've never asked.”
“That is fair. Our ways are strange to many of your kind – you are no exception.” B'al turned to Valkan. “Is it fair if I utilize my child as a proxy for assessing fair exchange for the rights over this artifact?”
Tyr shrugged. Valkan had spent much time among man and been changed by them. Unlike his elders, he understood trade and constantly engaged in it. He wasn't exactly a swindler, but he knew the value of things, labor or goods.
“Thank you.” Valkan abruptly slammed his fist against his chest. “I, Valkan Amistad Amzinas Fidinda Harfi Eesaam Leannán Daonna, stand in representation of Tyr Faeron.”
“Recognized.” Every elder said at once, even the one with the hammer.
“My... Disciple and I.” Valkan searched for the right word, finding them appropriate. This was their way. Any negotiation of such scale concerning all clans would happen similarly. No bargaining, only an exchange. An offer would be made based on the wishes of the creator, and they could either accept it outright or offer things of equivalent value. There was no currency in their culture, all Anu trade was done in goods even on the rare opportunity they bartered with man. Near all such exchanges were measured by time. That which the Anu produced over a period of cycles versus the ingenuity of the design. That was a problem, given how unique the artifact was, and the elders were not engaging in the way they normally would. It was awkward, to say the least. “Firstly, my disciple and only my disciple swears to keep faith with Anu. He will not share this design with any other, but retains the right to construct his own and improve upon the design with no promise to provide said improvements to Anu without subsequent exchanges.”
Tyr didn't mind. He could make as many of these things as he wanted, still 'owning' the rights to the product while promising not to sell them to anyone else. He could give them freely, also, but he could not show anyone how it was made. All acceptable terms.
“Accepted.” The elders spoke again, unanimous.
“Second, we request a fair amount of rare minerals. Be they those mentioned, including moonstone, scarletite, and mana crystals. Our preference is blue steel. Rare gems or artifacts may be offered in value but only as a secondary term of exchange.”
“Granted.” Again, it was unanimous. “Two ingots of mithril worth two kilograms. Five kilograms of mana crystal, of which the color shall be assessed by us, and the luster by both parties prior to agreement. Eighty kilograms of blue steel. Six kilograms of assorted sapphire, malachite, ruby, emerald, and diamond. In lieu of artifacts, we also offer conditional access to the future iterations of these artifacts by subsequent fair exchange.”
Valkan accepted with a curt nod.
“Finally, as my disciple...” Valkan cleared his throat, looking back at Tyr. He was conflicted, they'd already offered so much but the professor was pushing for more. Currently, the street value of what he'd been offered was around ten thousand sovereigns. And that was not including the blue steel, something Tyr had never heard of. “As my disciple, and a child of the sky, he has shown himself to be true to his word and capable. I request that he be given the opportunity to access the grand archive.”
Now, there was a pause. T'kal and B'al seemed to at least consider the idea, and Giltras agreed immediately. The latter had never cared much for academics. They had great value, but so did this artifact. The others, however, were not so ready to offer such a precious thing. The collective knowledge of all Anu was something that couldn't be accessed by most of their race, and had never been granted to a foreigner. Dangerous knowledge in the hands of a more violent species. After a brief period of muted discussion, it was decided.
“In respect to the little brother...” T'kal, the chosen representative of the refusal, sighed. “We cannot do this thing. We will, in good faith, allow you to make another request.”
Tyr had no idea what the grand archive was, so he had no concept of its value. It sounded like a library, but he had dozens of books on his 'to do' list and didn't want to add more. A benefit to his character that he nodded for Valkan to continue, in the perspective of Anu. Typically upon refusal, humans would become irate and fall into their habit for barter. Or posture about and turn their backs, waiting for the inevitable 'no, wait!' that would never come.
“My client requests to learn the Anu runes.”
Another pause. They discussed among one another in words that Tyr could not hear. Contrary to the first such pause, they were brief. “Accepted, with an amendment that he undergo a sacred vow to not share our ways with any other.”
“The unbreakable vow.” B'al corrected.
“Unbreakable vow?” Tyr asked. It sounded ominous.
“A magic vow that should you ever willfully share these secrets with others, that your life will be forfeit. This is a serious request, you should consider it carefully. Leaning Anu runes isn't so much as reading from the language, it is... Much more complicated. People can read our runes all they'd like, but without this ritual it would be impossible to use them.”
Tyr shrugged. If in good faith he was asked to keep a secret, he didn't think he'd ever willfully reveal it. There was one concern, however. It might actually be more of a gift than a curse. Tyr could not, as far as he knew, die. His body repaired itself, on a cellular level, it only took on improvements and refused any and all degenerative influences. Even if he sat in place eating everything in sight he doubted he could even gain unnecessary weight, but this... What if this was the only opportunity for him to die if he wanted or needed to? “If I take this vow, and then betray it – what will happen? Will I... Explode or something?”
Confused by the ifs and hows of the question, B'al furrowed his heavy brow. His eyes were the color of gold coins, with a slight radiance to them. Deeply complex and full of wisdom “The core of your mana that lies within all life would rupture and split. It's hard to say for sure, nobody in my time has ever broken the vow. And Anu do not commonly take them, so we've little need to study it. You are welcome among us, but you are not of us. Does this make sense?”
“It's an old thing.” T'kal added, straightening his back slightly with a wince on his lips. This child of the sky was far too excited asking such a baleful question, and that made him nervous. “Not Anu. There is a reason why they call it an unbreakable vow. It finds a way, but you will most assuredly die.”
“Understood.” Tyr nodded. “I'll do it.” At the very least, he had found a way. Useful, but if his life were a novel he'd hoped it to be nothing more than a plot device that remained unused and forgotten. Probably would be. Things happened that way.
–
Two weeks later.
“Why isn't he answering?” They'd been deposited... Somewhere. In thick woods beset by a layer of fine mist. Moss grew here and there, with the light of dawn streaking through the trees. Gone longer than he'd expected. Two weeks or so, what with the complexity of learning the Anu runes.
They'd given him far more than he'd expected. Gifts independent from their awkward deal. A dimensional ring and two others full of various materials. Knowledge of their runes, and a promise. For no more could they offer in good faith while considering the needs of their people, but they had asserted the fact that equivalent exchange must be given. In the future, should he ask, there would be more. He'd countered with the unlikely chance that they'd be willing to barter in the future, and that had already been an unspoken part of the deal. Tyr didn't have ships, but he had full access to the docks positioned on T'kal's coastal territory. So, hypothetically, he could bring them things and as long as they had the final word in what was exchanged, it was an option.
“Seems he's fallen asleep again.” Valkan shrugged. “It's not a problem, my people were able to transport us to your homeland. All we have to do is walk.”
“That'll take weeks! I'm going to fail my classes!”
“Our academy isn't like one of those public schools you keep in your lands. We prioritize the practical. You'll be given the chance to make up for what you've missed, if you'd like. Otherwise, you'll be excused from the typical duties of a student. What with who you are, and the fact that most of it is a waste of time to you in any case. The headmaster knows this, but Abaddon's decision is the one that matters.”
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
“Ah...” Tyr was forced to learn everything himself. Even Abaddon couldn't use shaper magic, and he was said to be the most knowledgeable professor at the academy. There were no spells, only a projection of will to weave the dual energies of existence together. Something that even those of knowledge would find impossible to teach. “Wait...”
He smelled something. Something so familiar as to rattle his brain with deja vu.
“Riverwood?” Sour bread and the cloying scent of sawdust courtesy of the sap filled trunk of black yew. The Anu had no access to Abaddon's anchors, but they had their own, set centuries ago when they'd fled Varia. Coincidentally, depositing the two only a few hours from Tyr's old haunt.
At first he felt a pleasant nostalgia. This village had been a brief flash in the greater span of his life, but he would always remember it. All he could think about was visiting the inn and seeing what Micah and Rorik were up to. Perhaps try his hand at putting old man Varinn in the dirt like he'd done to Tyr so many times before.
That was, until a barbed arrow streaked out of the forest and slammed into Valkan's neck.
“Valkan!!!” Tyr cried out, finding that the hulking Anu had done little to avoid the arrow, letting it remain buried in his flesh. Hands raised, he lowered himself to his knees placidly. “...What are you doing?”
“Surrendering.” Valkan growled. “These are not my lands. I am a trespasser here. Good shot, little human.” He called off into the forest, seeing something that Tyr did not. Anu senses transcended his own, even beyond his ability to sense mana and world energy alike. Not twenty meters away, they were surrounded by a dozen figures of varying strength. Contrary to his expectations, all these men and women were quite able.
Baring his sword and refusing to kneel, Tyr wondered what kind of bandits had taken root so near Riverwood. They had only fired at Valkan, though, not him..
A figure stepped from the undergrowth swathed in a moss green cloak, a facemask covering the lower half of the mans face. Bow drawn and raised, he hissed at Tyr. “Get out of here, kid. We'll take care of the monster. You shouldn't be so close, that orc'll tear your limbs free if you get within reach.”
“I am not orc.” Valkan sighed. “I am Anu.”
“What the hell's the difference?” The man asked. “Your kind ain't welcome here.”
Tyr hated the concept of pulling rank. Life had given him his perspective, but his time on the road had given him a great deal more of it. A prince, but a useless one, who had taken very little in the way of steps to improve his nation or help its people. “Do you know who I am?”
“...No. Don't care, either. Orcs not a pet, or whatever this one decides to call himself. Big bastard though, never seen one this big. Bounty on this one is going to buy me a new horse--”
He knew who these men were. Rangers of the greenwatch. Monster hunters not so closely sworn to the crown as the wardens were. Freelancers, some were even mercenaries. Akin to a constable, but they killed first and interrogated later, all to keep the black forest safe. Not so impressive though, Tyr caught him by the collar and buried him face first into the mud. The prince was not Jartor, but he'd long surpassed the strength and stamina of a normal man.
If only a little, he was at least as strong as his body would indicate and half again.
“I am Tyr Faeron, son of the lion, and you'll put down your weapons or I'll personally tie the noose around each and every one of your necks.” Loud enough for them all to hear it. Confident enough for them to consider obeying. Only one archer faltered, letting his fingers stray from the string in shock. Some cruel twist of fate ensuring that it struck him directly in his left eye.
“Was that really necessary!” Tyr cried. “The eye! Why is it always the fucking eye!?” He tugged the barb free from the jellied remains, taking half of what remained with it. He kicked the ranger he'd downed in the teeth as he did so. Anything to take the edge off.
“...The one eyed prince...”
Again, life had given him perspective. Or at the very least, his moral compass existed in behaving in the manner he believed Alex would wish for him. Tyr was changing. Trying to. He didn't kill the man, nor did he entertain Rorik's roars of outrage after witnessing the signs of a regenerated wound on Tyr's face. He was too busy focused on his surroundings.
“Rorik?”
“My prince, allow me to apologize. When last we met, I fear that I was disrespectful. Fearful of what I had seen, not understanding the great power of a primus. I am but a man, and I humbly request that you--”
Tyr ignored him. How could he not? He was aghast at what he saw. The Riverwood he remembered was gone entirely.
Perhaps that is why the rangers are here...
“What happened to this place? Who would do such a thing...” Gone were the few quaint streets of the quiet village passing under eves. The crisp scent of the river, mixed with the fresh woody smell of newly planed lumber. Tyr was devastated by this revelation. Like a child forced to confront their fond memories of a place. It was terrible.
“My prince...” Rorik was blushing after noticing that Tyr hadn't so much as glance at him. Valkan remained, arms crossed, arrow still buried in his neck. Unconcerned and unimpressed. The boy seemed to know of this place, and a trip through proper channels was the least he could do to apologize for a sudden violation of their borders. “You did, of course. And we've never been more grateful. We've built a schoolhouse and named it in your honor!”
Rorik puffed his chest out, pride and joy painting his face. Tyr looked where he was pointing, seeing a squat stone building with a caricature of his face carved into the plaque. Irritatingly, this relief of himself had an arrow sticking out of its eye.
“I did this...?” Tyr stammered. “I fail to see how I am responsible for this.”
“Of course.” Rorik replied, standing at his side. The blush on his face was childlike, making Tyr uncomfortable, seeing it on such a masculine man. “What with you forgiving us from imperial taxes, we're richer than ever!”
“Ah...” Tyr remembered that he'd done something like that. Riverwood was no longer a village, but a town, and a flurry of activity at that. Fifty or so adult villagers had become hundreds, and the entire curve in the river where it had originally rested was paved in expensive looking stones. Tall walls, a guard tower, no more longhouse. A proper town hall had been set at the center of it, facing a church on the other end of the square. In terms of size, it was four or five times larger than it had been, expanding rapidly even after so little time away. Familiar faces looked up at him in glee, waving and laughing.
The children were here, running forward to hang of his arms and clutch at the hem of his pants. Brave boys and shy girls alike. “Carry me! Big brother!” They laughed, giggling and climbing up until he was laden with tiny bodies, pulling at his hair and deftly avoiding the grasping hands of their ghastly faced mothers. After observing that Tyr was feeling little in the way of offense at it, they let it be. Tutting and mumbling apologies.
He'd always been kind to the children. It hadn't been so long for him to have changed so, and he hadn't, holding two of him in his arms as the others rested about his shoulders. For a people who lived around so many trees, they were good climbers. Once Tyr's every inch was 'occupied', the others did the same to Valkan, unafraid of his inhuman bulk. He was equally gentle, smiling calmly and allowing them to clamber about him.
“Tyr! Sorry about the kids!” Micah appeared, not showing a lick of the deference that Rorik did, and earning a stern gaze from the other man in the process. He plucked his youngest brother from his position behind Tyr's head with a storm of giggles as his fingers found the boys belly, tickling Isaac into submission. “They won't stop talking about you these days. Figured they'd forget after a while, but now they insist that you're cooler than us Riverwood folks. All of them have big dreams about being knights, visiting the capital, fighting bandits. Even worse than before, nobody wants to be a jacker like ole Micah anymore. Your fault, I reckon.”
“It's nice to see you again.” Tyr smiled, wishing he could shake the mans hands. Unfortunately, both were being tugged out by young girls from the village, humming happily. “A lot has changed.”
Micah sighed. “Seriously. Ever since the sawmill has seen such an incredible rise in profits, our workload has been off the charts. Any time one of those up-jumped tax collectors show up, we give 'em the business. Almost wish we hadn't. Things are so loud these days. No offense.”
“None taken.” Tyr shrugged. Less than a year had passed and it was already a world apart from the humble village it had been. Putting into real perspective how much gold was taken from them by the tributes they'd given to the empire. Keeping the people poor and filling the pockets of the likes of Baron Regis. Tyr had never thought it a mistake to kill the man, not once, but maybe it was worth that brief period of chaos if it wrought such spectacular change. They're even planted a sign in front of the schoolhouse:
[Welcome to Tyrwood!]
As ridiculous as that was... He was a vain individual. Not prone to seeking out attention, he couldn't help but feel prideful over such a thing.
Why would my father... He'd always fancied Jartor a fair and even handed man, but this was a lot to process. Granted, Riverwood had access to rich natural resources necessary for such growth, but this was absurd. His image of their glorious empire began to crumble and crack like never before.
What use were nobility when villages like this could prosper to such an extent when not under the boot of the tax man. Tyr was selfish and greedy in his own way, but this was beyond him, like they'd been taking 70% of everything Riverwood produced. He'd only planned to put a few more coins in their hand, he hadn't expected such a Renaissance. They even had a resident mage, serving under mayor Rorik, and a permanent healer. All the citizens here looked to be in much better health. Cleaner, plumper, happier... Only Micah grumbled, everyone else was ecstatic.
The hustle and bustle, a symphony of progress. New industry abounded, and those who had been mere commoners lived like well-to-do merchants. Introduced to a whole new lifestyle. Where the money flowed, so did services, goods they'd never had access to. Larronsford, the capital of the barony, was about to be eclipsed. Perhaps this would become the new capital.
Guards stalked the low battlements of the wall, and there were a pair of finely outfitted paladins standing sentinel before the church doors. Never had Riverwood been safer, but great wealth brought a calamity of its own. One Tyr could not afford to help with at this time – the rangers were enough to deal with it, hence their posting in the region. Somewhere else, people might suffer from the rapid influx of wealth. Well... He wasn't one to care about that sort of thing in any case. The rangers and wardens both should've stabilized this region long ago.
“How long will you stay?” Rorik asked in anticipation. He'd already planned a grand feast in his head, benedictions from the priest, and a parade. He was never a greedy man, forgoing his salary entirely as he always had. His pension was enough – but from his perspective the prince had truly blessed them. As for the prince, he could feel it. Something felt only once before.
Present in their gazes and the way they spoke. Reverence. Respect. Love. Genuine love and adoration. He found that – surprisingly – he didn't hate it, but he wanted to leave, this had all been a mistake. A lucky coincidence of fate, he didn't deserve this. He could feel it inside of him, worming about and making him burn all over. Something beyond embarrassment, he felt similar to how he had felt after his duel with Kael at the academy.
“I can't.” Tyr replied, shaking his head, departing after learning that Varinn had similarly disappeared from the village. Or rather, 'Thomas the foreman', retiring somewhere to parts unknown and leaving practically at the same time Tyr had. “Be well.” That was all he had to say to the two men and the villagers staring at him.
Once so humble and small, now living the lives of the bourgeois and enjoying all the convenience that accompanied it. Courtesy of their overflowing coffers and unparalleled safety assured by the crown. For some reason, Tyr couldn't shake the feeling that he was complicit in something terribly wrong. It made him feel sick.