Ebern Market

Chapter 188

Elim could, with a great deal of certainty, remember never being excited about market day back in Selton. There had certainly been things he liked and looked forward to even as a lad, but they were what he’d get up to either way in the village.

Certainly there had been a curiosity or two that found its way to Selton over the years. They’d just never been anything he was particularly interested in. Really, once he’d been old enough to really appreciate the market, the price of things had been his biggest concern.

Ebren Town’s market was an entirely different thing. Rather than just food, used tools, and crafts there was a riot of random odds and ends cramped into little stalls. Books, ribbons in colors he’d never seen before, contraptions he wasn’t entirely sure were useful but certainly looked interesting.

The biggest difference was the smell of the place. Spice, oil, and an unidentifiable mash of scents mixing with the everpresent miasm of shit that lingered about it. Not as unpleasant as it could have been, but definitely not perfume.

There was even a very expensive stand selling what he was fairly certain were fake beast and elemental cores. Even without having seen the sand cats, the jewels they were trying to pass off seemed to have less magic than a light stone.

Thinking about it though he supposed they might have simply been weak. Possibly to begin with, or after being dormant for a prolonged period. The sand cat didn’t seem to be losing what little power it had left, but he hadn’t even had it a year yet. That could change.

Tiller was at his side but looking through Storm's eyes for the moment. They should have picked a better spot before starting but the stall didn’t attract much foot traffic and it was supposed to be a quick check.

“You have a keen eye for quality sir, the blue stone carries a water spirit and costs ten gold,” the vendor offered. No hello, just a price. Likely an honest one, but only spoken to drive off an unwanted spectator.

“Deal,” Elim said, spitting in his hand as he offered it. Tiller made a sound suspiciously like a squawk as she came around. Just in time to elbow him in the ribs as he handed over the coins.

“A very keen eye, may I ask-” the vendor started. Elim pocketed the stone to hide the fact he was dumping it into the inventory as 42 called it.

“Little late for that,” Elim said with a grin. He turned and took off walking without a further word, Tiller glaring daggers at him.

“You bought that just for spite,” Tiller accused him.

“Yep,” Elim agreed. “It’ll look pretty in your hair.”

“My hair- Elim! It's not just a jewel,” Tiller growled. She’d liked Marlow once they were introduced on the road. He was a loveable sort, but clearly elementals in general didn’t fully sit right with her.

“It might be, hardly any magic to it from what I could see. So if 42 says it's a jewel, I won’t be surprised,” Elim said, unbothered.

“Then you overpaid by a fortune for a topaz that size,” Tiller said, clearly still piqued. She was still a merchant at heart even if neither of them needed to worry after money.

“I suppose so, I’ll have to ask 42 to make you something nice since I doubt I’ll find a jeweler with better skill,” Elim conceded. That got him a swat on the arm.

“Don’t joke like that, the things she makes,” Tiller trailed off in a mutter. Elim was sure it was a familiar refrain about 42’s goods being otherworldly in quality and thus an absolute nuisance. Everything was too fine by half even for a prince.

“I know, and it was a joke. It's not proper to buy the first gift,” Elim offered. Tiller nodded at that, though she looked a little puzzled. It wasn’t the way everywhere, but in Selton it was custom that the first courting gift be one you made yourself. The more you did on your own, the better.

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Flowers and such didn’t count of course. That was just to let a lady know you were interested and find out how well she tolerated the idea.

Of the skills Elim had, few of them were of any use outside soldiering. That left what little he knew of woodcarving. For the item itself, rings, bracelets and earrings were out. Tiller was practical and they’d get in the way.

“You can't be serious,” Tiller said.

“I certainly am,” Elim countered. It was nearly walking into her that alerted him to the fact he’d didn’t have any of her attention. Following her gaze he felt like his blood had decided to go the wrong way in his veins.

Not even a block from them was a beastfolk of some kind. At a guess one that was part otter, and they were wearing a collar. Fancy looking, but still locked around the throat like the enslavement one Hetch had been made to wear.

The beastfolk trailed after a well dressed man, a chest of some kind on its shoulders. Elim’s hand ached as he gripped the hilt of his dagger. Swords weren’t good in crowds, but he’d have liked to run the bastard through on the spot.

“We could ambush them easily enough,” Tiller said.

“Wouldn’t help, skeleton has to undo a collar like that. Kills the living who try,” Elim explained. Tiller knew a little of what had gone on with the hero’s party, but not everything. Once he’d explained they’d been mind controlled she’d felt too awful to hear more at the time.

“Can you trade Marlow for a skeleton?” Tiller asked.

“I’m checking with 42,” Elim said as he sent a question to his mistress in a text. The reply was almost instant. “Damn, she says no.”

“Can I sign a contract here?” Tiller asked.

“Tiller,” Elim said, shocked out of his rage for a moment. He’d expected her to make one at some point, but not for such a reason.

“What?” Tiller asked.

Elim found he didn’t object despite himself. So he kissed her instead. He’d made up his mind to accept her choice even if he didn’t like it. At the moment though, with such a reason, he couldn’t help a grin.

“Keep track of them while I make the deal,” Tiller said, biting his lip lightly.

Elim did as he was bidden and followed the pair. An easy enough task with the otter man trudging along with the heavy box. The man in front of him didn’t look back, assured all was well as they continued on to wherever they were going.

His quarry had reached an inn and gone inside to take rooms. He’d followed them in long enough to get an ale in the common room before heading back out.

Tiller read faster than Elim did, but he didn’t expect her for a while yet. Unlike himself, she’d actually read the full contract and there would almost certainly be a lot to it. Rather than ruminate he found a quiet spot to wait. One that would let him watch the inn but would allow Storm to find him once Tiller was ready.

“Master, may I help?” Marlow asked from within Elims shadow.

“Not if things go well, sorry,” Elim replied.

Marlow whined but hushed when Elim held out a hand. He rose out of the shadow just enough to get a good round of scritches before retreating, mollified.

Elim regretted not having the hound join him after a while. The wait lasted a couple hours given how the sun's position changed. Thankfully though, Storm eventually circled above before taking off, a clear sign Tiller was on her way.

Tiller wasn’t alone when she arrived, she had a violet eyed woman in tow. The woman was a sort of bronze color with pitch black hair braided neatly in rows and left wild down the back. Not a common appearance, but not exotic enough for anyone to look twice.

That she was dressed in leather armor with pants and a great coat fitting a mercenary would be more curious to most. Openly female fighters weren’t unheard of, but they tended to be on the larger side while she was petite and only came up to Elim’s shoulder in height.

“At least it's not Chris,” Elim said, which earned him a snort from both women.

“Agreed, I’m Heather Elain Phalanges, at your service,” Heather said, sketching a mocking little curtsy.

“Elim Grey,” Elim replied, giving a courtesy of his own. Heather chuckled at that.

“They in their?” she asked, gesturing to the inn.

“Second floor, corner room on the right by the street,” Elim confirmed. He wouldn’t have been able to keep track if the human man had been on his own. It was easy to figure out which room the only beastfolk was in.

He didn’t ask what Heathers class was. He didn’t know all of the bones meaning, but Phalanges meant she was a rogue, which was what they needed. The violet eyes being another dead give away if you knew what to look for.

“I supposed we wait for dark,” Tiller said with a sigh. Between the three of them it wouldn’t be hard to keep the inn properly watched. Just boring.

“Nah, I’m feeling like a bit of daylight robbery,” Heather said.

Elim got a face full of coat before he could do more than start to protest. By the time he’d thrown it down Heather was already halfway across the street. There wasn’t any way to get her back that wouldn’t cause a scene and he didn’t want that.

“Still better than Chris?” Tiller asked wryly.

“You're only asking because you ain't met him,” Elim responded with a sigh. Chris probably would have added some injury to the insult.