Valentin always found himself fascinated with how the clan one was associated changed one’s treatment. Some well-made cloth, a few silver coins, and an emblem with the proper symbol got one into many places without much hindrance.
All it took was two eagles into the hands of the attendant at the door to purchase Valentin and his escorts’ passage into Adharc Gorm Academy’s dining hall.
Prospective buyers and attending family filed into the high-ceilinged room and sat at one of the numerous long wooden tables that formed a U-shape around the perimeter of the hall. Cloth the color of midnight seas flowed over the tables and spilled over the sides. Candles in shallow glass bowls leaked faintly-scented wax into puddles. Pitchers of ale and diluted wine sat in ceramic jugs. Paintings of warriors blowing horns and impaling northern beasts with spears spiraled around the earthen vessels.
An engraved plank of lacquered wood attached to a short handle lied on the cloth next to Valentin right arm, the number nine burned into it. Those who proved the means to afford it were given permission to bid on the students showcased. Valentin’s personal wealth combined with what remained of Ferron’s donated funds more than constituted the right of participation.
Across from him sat the trio of Mannix, Kerwin, and Guain. Their leader’s unexpected presence made the normally social warriors mute.
“Were you unable to secure a right to bid?” Valentin inquired innocently.
“I lacked the funds to be given the right,” Mannix answered with a cowed voice. “They said that War Leader Ferron lacked the reputation in the region to establish appropriate credit.”
“I suppose that the Armée du Corbeaux will go home empty handed today,” Valentin remarked.
“I have no excuses,” Mannix apologized without any resistance.
Valentin poured out the diluted wine into a clay cup to address his mounting thirst. The flavor of northern wines left Valentin with much to be desired. Cold climes gave the fruit a bitter flavor that clung to his tongue. A strong flavor of soil lingered in the aftertaste.
“This area is cruel to grapes,” Valentin spat with a frown. “Now, it has decided to be cruel to me. I will have to try not to pass on the cruelty further.”
Guain visibly gulped at the remark. Valentin made no effort to bring levity to the table. He had no intention to allow for this to be a pleasant venture for the three. Something that Ferron had not imparted onto Valentin was the proper way to punish someone who displeased him. All he could do was follow his own instincts. The more that they squirmed, the more uncertain they felt, the less they would ever repeat their actions.
It was times like this where Valentin wished that all it took was a quick beating to move past these things. Just a few swings of a stick would be exceedingly easy to administer to collar his entire deg. However, his better judgments quickly swooped in to dissuade him.
“So, who am I bidding on?” Valentin inquired. He leaned across the table and lowered his voice so that their conference could remain secretive.
“It’s clear that you should bid on Raghallach, Deggan,” Kerwin replied with a tilted head, as though his leader asked him a trick question. “Is there any reason not to pick the best warrior of the bunch?”
“I’m inclined to agree, Deggan Valentin,” Mannix nodded approvingly. “The instructors agree that his talent is exemplary. Not to mention, his personality is agreeable.”
Valentin propped his chin atop his fist and tilted his head. This competition that he hosted with the intention of gathering more information turned out to be pointless. Considering their boasting and Ferron’s expenditures the past cycles, it was sensible that much of his deg was comprised of the top finishers of these tournaments.
However, he felt like such large investments lied outside of his authority. It was one matter for Ferron and his Aunt Yvonne to open their own coffers, Valentin making unilateral purchases using their names and reputation. Was his eye discerning enough to capture the true talents of this batch? Was he prepared to take responsibility if they did not offer the proper returns on the coin it cost to obtain them? Conversely, could he handle the responsibility of sitting still and allowing talents to slip through his indecisive fingers?
“I was a fan of that Tara girl,” Guain spoke up, breaking the pattern of Raghallach fans. “Her decorated history at the academy showed consistent excellence in several different fields. She has the potential to be reliable regardless of responsibility or contract. It’s a shame that noble brute snapped her arm like that. Even when it heals, there will still be mysteries around her abilities. Therefore, I now support Kallan. It’s clear she has the right temperament for a warband such as ours. She just needs polishing.”
“Guain picking the strong women, typical,” Mannix dismissively commented of his former classmate. His hand passively brushing the air as though an annoying insect buzzed by him. “I remember you proudly announcing to your prospective employers that you would only go to the employer that had the most beautiful women.”
“An irrelevant detail,” Guain spat in a mix of embarrassment and annoyance. “You may be adjusting to the warrior’s culture of travel companionship, but I am one that is fully devoted to femininity in all forms.”
Caera scoffed and smiled at Guain’s assertion. She ran her mailed finger roughly along the table’s surface.
“I challenge your devotion, Guain,” Caera remarked with a knowing grin. “If such was the case, I feel like you should be worshipping me right now. Go ahead, call me Mother. If you are devout enough, maybe I will bless you.”
“You are no longer considered a woman, much less a beautiful one,” Guain grumbled.
“And why am I unworthy?” Caera prodded joyfully. “I still possess all the qualities and anatomy required of womanhood.”
“Deggan Valentin,” Guain said with pleading eyes. “I caution you from making a nighttime companion of Caera. Her intimacy is more akin to a baggare bout. You will be sweating and covered in bruises and your member will be wielded as though there was an invisible enemy she wished to slay with it.”
Valentin’s expression remained unmoved by the conversation while a mixture of annoyance, embarrassment, and disgust roiled just beneath his skin. The root Zalavo offered him at dawn slowly burned off. Irritation played in his mind while restraint wavered. He simmered in silence while the juvenile conversation took them away from the topic at hand.
What was so special about such acts that required others to speak at lengths upon it? It felt as though when conversations were not about fighting, they were about this irksome topic. He found himself walking the same well-tread paths within his own mind. He could not understand the positives of it, therefore, he could not understand why it drove others to act in such incomprehensible ways. Without any others that seemed to share his feelings, it was clear that he was the issue but had no ideas as to how to remedy it without exposing himself to something he wondered if he would ever feel prepared for.
Even the acknowledgement of this fruitless cycle served to enhance his directionless anger. He should just leave, the point he meant to prove was worthless. This was Mannix’s job to begin with, he should see it to the end even if it did result in a poor candidate or overspending.
“Deggan Valentin, don’t mind Guain’s words,” Caera spoke in a serious tone. “I am more than capable of being tender when the moment necessitates. Besides, if you fear a child like most of these selfish bastards, I am more than willing to make an exception and rut like men do together and dispel those fears.”
While the trio’s eyes widened at Caera’s shameless and straighforward1 proposal, a small burst of sparks left Valentin’s hand as he quickly rose his fist. He brought his hand down hard towards the table. As his warriors braced themselves for the impact and the wooden shrapnel that would splinted from it, Valentin stopped his fist just a hair’s breadth above the table. He released an angry sigh and placed his hands calmly upon the table.
“I think I’ve made my position abundantly clear,” Valentin said through gritted teeth towards Caera. However, he quickly turned his head to address the group in its entirety. “I will say this one time to all of you. We are here to recruit strong warriors to help our efforts. Anything unrelated to this purpose will not be tolerated.”
Just as a flame cannot burn without fuel, anger cannot rage without a source. The deathly silence of his warriors left Valentin to burn down to an empty husk. After all, from their perspective, he must be seen as a leader of a mercurial and bizarre temperament.
He pressed his fingers against his temples and looked downwards. It was his own failure and inability to manage himself that created this mirthless table. He could not revert his course and admit fault so quickly. Ferron advised him against acting in a way that eroded his authority. As long as they listened to what he said, he was still considered a competent leader. If he wished to apologize, it would need to be another time.
It was not as though the rest of the room was much better. Of course, there were a few joyous reunions amongst the students and visiting family. However, a stressed silence persisted amongst the prominent buyers. The two greatest prospects fairly seriously injured each other without any news of the true severity.
Hope for the resolution of the persisting uncertainty arrived in the form of the Academy Master. His proud face from the beginning of the day grew haggard from the stress of the potential obliteration of income for the cycle.
He stood in the middle of the table arrangement and cleared his throat to gain the attention of those engaged in the sporadic conversations that peppered the hall.
“Friends, I would like to welcome you to our auction,” the Master greeted with as much vigor as his fatigued countenance could muster. “While I would love to give the finale of the event the spectacle you all deserve, I think it would be better to spare us all the suspense and begin with the report from our head apothecary.”
Wary eyes focused solely on the Academy Master. Valentin was amongst the suspicious gazes cast towards the center of the room. If it was good news, how was it verifiable? If it was bad news, how would he try to obfuscate it to encourage continued bids?
“The break to Tara’s arm is clean,” the Academy Master informed, summoning a reassured smile appease the tense audience. “Given appropriate time to heal, it will be mended by Killicia and back to its full capacity by the time the snows melt. Roarke’s ribs are only badly bruised and will not suffer lasting injury.”
While the status of Tara’s injury was issued to the entire audience, the well-being of Roarke appeared directly solely at the nobles sitting at the first table. Some confident nobles at the other table bristled at grumbled at the transparency in which Roarke’s destination was placed. Puffed chests and strategically placed clan iconography served to mend their wounded pride at the oversight. In the end, all they could do was show their displeasure.
However, most, including Valentin, sat unsurprised towards the display. Roarke Agren was never a realistic acquisition for most in the audience. While his name and ability was enough to secure a clan for the duration of his life, it was not worth the risk to be so greedy. Let those with the capabilities fight over the price of a future alliance with Allbost.
“I will introduce the student one by one. The bidding will start at twenty silver eagles each time. Please use the placard given to you to offer the bid and do not be intimidated by the numbers bidding can get to. We understand it is dangerous to carry a large amount of coin, even in a place safe like Allbost. As long as you have the coin to cover half of your bid, we will send a writ home with you to pay the remaining amount by this time next cycle.”
Valentin touched the wooden handle and lifted it high enough to absentmindedly spin the wooden sign around.
“How much did you three go for?” Valentin inquired, unsure of how expensive these events became. “Twenty silver is not a bad investment.”
“If you manage to secure a twenty silver bid, then you got someone worthless,” Mannix replied in a way that bordered on offense. His palm laid flatly on his chest and his eyebrows rose towards the Higher Planes.
“It typically costs an academy four to six silver a cycle to train a warrior,” Guain explained. “Twenty or less silver means that the student is nothing special. Good for a caravan guard or a city guard, sure, but they would struggle to perform the duties you expect out of your deg, Deggan Valentin.”
“And what was Ferron’s assessment of your value, Guain?” Valentin inquired. His poor mood made his question ring more interrogative and aggressive than intended.
“Forty two silver eagles,” Guain quickly replied, eager to stand firmly on his deggan’s good side for once. “And Mannix went for forty eight eagles.”
“I went for sixty-three,” Kerwin said proudly. His hand sat firmly at his sides as he pointed his nose towards the ceiling and proudly puffed out his chest. “It was the highest bid ever for my academy.”
“Between forty and sixty silver then,” Valentin mumbled to himself. “I’ll at least get one if that’s the cost.”
“Dugan of Allbost,” the Academy Master finally introduced the first warrior. “Please step to the front.”
A slight teenager stood up from one of the tables and bravely walked up to the center of the room. Nervous sweat from the innumerable eyes set upon him beaded on his forehead and cascaded down his face. He wiped the salty water from his eyes and took up a rigid posture to hide his fear.
“Ignore this one, Deggan Valentin,” Mannix advised. “His build is far too scrawny. Even wearing armor will tire him out.”
“What of his performance?” Valentin wondered.
“Dismal,” Kerwin answered brusquely.
“Twenty silver,” the Academy Master dutifully called out to a disinterested audience.
What Mannix observed was plainly obvious to all those that observed him. Without any weight, he was no more effective than a scroll of parchment. Any that wished to purchase him would need to invest in ways to force him to bulk. With so many other proven commodities present, there was little interest in a high risk, low reward investment.
“Fifteen silver,” the Academy Master announced.
The crowd continued to watch impassively while Dugan shook in fear of the downgrade of price. No matter the sympathy that some likely felt for him, there was little use for empathy when it came down to the raw numbers of it. Many smaller towns and less prominent warbands were present. If they wanted talent of their own, blind charity could not be afforded.
“Ten silver.”
No stirring from the bidders. It could go lower. They would ride it down all the way to a single silver if they could. A body with favor was worth at least a silver piece.
“Five silver.”
Nothing.
“Four silver.”
Only tense silence continued. Valentin could see the faces of the three warriors contort into pity. No doubt, they saw a similar case during their own bids. The other students were similarly hurt by the process. This boy was their comrade, their friend. They have been together for at least five cycles and worked tirelessly together. In a way, it felt unfair that all that effort could amount to so little in the end.
“Three silver,” the Academy Master announced. His expression and voice remained professional, even amongst the freefall of the price of the academy’s investment. Surely, the academy had an internal valuation. This boy would have been written off as a loss for a long time.
“I’ll take three,” a voice echoed throughout the silent room.
Salvation from the ultimate humiliation came in the form of a piece of wood with the number twenty eight burned into it. A soft-featured woman of generous proportions entered into the bidding, ceasing the plummet.
“Do we have four?” The Academy Master seamlessly continued, unaffected by the transpiring events.
A reluctant hand holding the number thirty seven went up. A bearded man with a shaved head covered with a tattoo of a soaring eagle entered into the bidding. He frowned towards bidder twenty eight. Without her early interference, the price could have gone a few coins lower.
“Five,” bidder twenty eight rose her placard again.
Thirty seven’s fight was a short one. Even one more silver coin seemed too costly. With a dismissive wave, they forfeited their bet to bidder twenty eight. No one else seemed inclined to take thirty seven’s place as a contender. Without much fanfare, Dugan made his way towards the winning bidder to pay his respects to his new employer.
While the academy tried to mix in some talented students, the first quarter of the students were valued somewhere between nine and sixteen silver eagles. This ranged anywhere from those with diminutive builds to those identified as low favored to those that showed glaring weaknesses. The dismally low bid of Dugan helped dampen the disappointment of all those that failed to reach the initial bid of twenty.
Valentin, for his part, paid little attention to the initial proceedings. Very few of the initial selection participated within his vision and the lackluster reactions from his warriors did little to pique his interest. Instead, he nursed the horrendous wine that seemed to be endlessly refilled by overly attentive attendants.
“Daron Fynne, please step forwards,” the Academy Master instructed.
“Oh?” Valentin perked up from his uncounted cup of wine.
“Is there something about this unremarkable subject that earns your fascination, Deggan Valentin?” Mannix asked with a puzzled expression. “From what I’ve been told by the instructors, Daron Fynne is a lazy student who finishes around the middle of the field in every tournament and displays only satisfactory amounts of skill and favor.”
Valentin felt Caera and Cathmor exchange a look behind his back.
“He was the only student that stands completely unscathed,” Valentin explained his interest. “Amongst the students, only he and Raghallach are of fit enough body to fight. Perhaps it is cowardice, perhaps it is excellent battle sense.”
The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“If you deem him a proper addition to the deg, I won’t stand in your way, Deggan,” Mannix quickly remarked.
“When did I say that I was considering adding him to my own ranks?” Valentin wondered aloud.
Valentin disengaged from the conversation and focused his attention on Daron. Compared to the trepidation that inflicted those that appeared before him, Daron looked composed if not bored of the affair he found himself in. If he had any aspirations of fetching for a high price, he did not do a good job at showing them. His eyes were unfocused on the people that stood by the far wall. Training kept his posture from wilting.
“Twenty,” the Academy Master stated, beginning the bidding yet again.
An underwhelming response came from the crowd. No placards rose and the low numbered tables he stared at seemed to ignore his presence entirely. Instead of appearing deflated by the lukewarm reception, Valentin could swear he saw Daron smile.
“Fifteen.”
The plummet was short. Rumors aside, average results in an academy still made for a talented warrior by most standard.
“Fifteen,” placard eighteen accepted. A stocky man dressed in furs wrapped his wide sweaty fingers around the handle. A warrior stood behind the bidder and whispered their assessments into his ear.
“Sixteen,” number thirteen immediately followed. A hook nosed woman sat flanked by her two blonde haired teenaged children. The daughter of the pair stared at Daron’s comely face intently. The son with a nose that matched his mother’s sported a disinterested look.
“Seventeen,” Valentin interjected before someone else did.
No new parties jumped in after Valentin’s entrance. Those that possessed high numbers kept their hands away from a round that would likely exceed their means while mild stirring came from the elite tables at the far side of the room. A smattering of stray glances turned half-heartedly towards the subject that still made no effort to improve their appearance.
Daron’s eyes darted between his three prospective employers. Valentin saw the student assessing him. He locked eyes with Daron and maintained the contact until Daron relented with a dissatisfied expression and looked elsewhere.
“Bidder nine has seventeen,” the Academy Master acknowledged. “Is there anyone who wants eighteen?”
“Eighteen,” number thirteen confirmed, getting her bid in before her furred rival.
A pondering look crossed bidder eighteen’s face. Mental accounting rolled in his eyes and he fingered the contents of his coin purse. Each precious coin that had infinite possibilities until they were spent.
“Nineteen,” Valentin interjected, stealing the man’s opportunity to strike again.
“Twenty,” number eighteen followed, content to spend for at least one more round.
“Twenty one,” number six entered. A stern faced man surrounded by other stern faced people, their bodies long forgetting any expression but deadpan.
Daron looked sideways at the new entrant. Calloused hands and hardened eyes betrayed a warband. Now, amongst the four bidders, Daron turned to face the beaked mother, jilting the rest.
“Look at him showing his preference,” Cathmor said derisively, feeling offended on Valentin’s behalf. "It's clear that he wishes to dodge true combat. Don’t waste a single eagle on him.”
“Twenty two,” Valentin announced, ignoring the counsel of his warrior.
Nagging doubt crept into Valentin’s mind after his brazen re-entry into the betting. Had he convinced himself that he found a pearl within the mud? That there was something that Daron was hiding from the world for an unknown reason? To push so hard for a dissatisfying conclusion would rattle belief in his abilities to estimate people. He would only be creating the gaps in his own armor.
Eighteen capitulated on the fight, leaving their placard neglected. He tightened the strings of his purse and pocketed back into his jacket. Thirteen flirted with surrender as well. Her fingers hovered with uncertainty. Her daughter’s pleading eyes and Daron’s gaze kept her on the edge of participation.
“Twenty three,” she announced without much energy.
How high was Valentin truly willing to go for this mystery? The appetite of his warriors waned several silver ago, perhaps they knew best. Yet, he was convinced to trust his own instincts. That he had to believe in himself even if it went poorly lest he blames others when their recommendations lead him astray.
“Twenty five,” Valentin raised, much to the chagrin of his warriors.
Six brushed his placard to side, his attempt to intimidate through status ultimately failing. He turned his back to the bidding and continued conferring amongst his stone faced fellows.
Thirteen looked conflicted. She reached the threshold of her budget with no confidence that Valentin would relent in the event that she raised the bid again. Even the pleading eyes of her daughter would do little to stem the economic tide. In the end, she too, relinquished her rights to Daron.
“Twenty six?”
It was a formality at this point, there was no appetite to go any higher than this. The product was not enticing enough to those with deeper pockets.
“In that case, Daron Fynne goes to bidder number nine,” the Academy Master announced. Daron, please go greet your new employer.”
With a dissatisfied bow, Daron walked away from the center of the room and towards the Valentin. He deftly sidestepped the annoyed faces of Valentin’s entourage and offered a rehearsed bow to his new leader.
“Daron Fynne,” he introduced.
“Valentin Guerros,” Valentin returned the greeting. “Please sit down and join us for a drink.”
Daron silently sat between Mannix and Guain. He reached out for the wine and poured himself a cup of the horrendous drink. With several sharp swallows, he finished his wine after a single tilt of his cup.
“You know, for a group that paid twenty five silver for my contract, none of you seem all that enthused to have me,” Daron remarked with loose charm, somehow softening the bluntness of the words. “If it was going to be like this, then you should have left me to the madam over there.”
Daron underwent a transformation upon his arrival at the table. His posture, no longer forced into rigidity, now possessed confident flexibility. His expression, while still aloof, lost its unwelcome edge. Valentin tilted his head at the loss of the undesirable façade he displayed. Behavior to lower one’s value ran counter-intuitive to his understanding of the event and the pride showed by those who fetched for a high price.
“You’ll have to forgive my dour nature,” Valentin apologized to the surprise of his warriors. “My warriors and I were having a debate about you.”
“And what nature of debate was it?” Daron asked casually. A slight raise of his eyebrow was the only thing to betray his true interest in the topic.
“I watched your fights and found myself impressed that you received not a single strike on your body,” Valentin complimented. “However, the rest believe that you are unmotivated and craven. Which of us is closer to the truth?”
“I’m sorry to inform you that your nose for value is dull,” Daron informed with a shrug and an expression of faux sympathy.
Valentin could see the expressions of his warriors were hostile to the flippant student. Daron appeared to find amusement in goading his new comrades. Cathmor, who never approved of Daron, and Mannix, who took great pride in his accomplishments at the academy, were the most frustrated by Daron’s disrespect. Mannix gritted his teeth to keep his vibrating arm from rearranging Daron’s jaw.
While Guain looked annoyed to be sitting in close proximity to a man and Caera watched in amusement, Kerwin sported a look of contemplation. His eyes moved towards Valentin’s, silently asking that his deggan not to oppose him.
“I finally understand the intentions behind your purchase, Deggan Valentin,” Kerwin remarked with a grin.
“At least someone does,” Valentin replied with a nod.
Mannix and Cathmor both ignored Daron and now focused on Kerwin. For those competitive spirits, there was nothing more important than one of them getting a leg up on the others. Kerwin deserved none Valentin’s grace, however, the deggan was willing to give his warrior an opportunity to salvage his position somewhat.
“You, understanding a plan?” Mannix asked in angry disbelief, his frustrations from Daron instantly transferring to a new target.
“I don’t know when you deluded yourself that you were the cleverest of us, but I prefer your carelessness,” Kerwin needled. “Deggan Valentin wishes to use the coward as fodder.”
“Fodder?” Cathmor asked while Daron slightly bristled at the conclusion.
“Yes, if his talent is surviving fights, then he would make a suitable advance force,” Kerwin explained. “He’s likely to survive an ambush and return to notify us. If he doesn’t, well, it wasn’t so great a loss than if it were one of us. No?”
Satisfying nodding spread throughout the group of warriors. Twenty five silvers was not an insignificant sum, however, if it was to be used to keep them alive, putting up with Daron would be more than palatable.
“Apologies, Deggan Valentin,” Cathmor said with a remorseful bow, his resistance now felt as rebellion. “I failed to see the truth in what you said.”
“Wait, you cannot be serious,” Daron spoke up with an incredulous voice, his smooth expression finally shaken by the conversation. “You’d spend that money just to throw me away? How inexhaustible are your resources?”
Daron’s motivations became transparent to Valentin. Valentin refilled his cup with more bitter wine. With slow, deliberate sips, he nursed his drink. He let Daron stew on his own thoughts and suffer in uncertainty. While no longer than a minute, the time would undoubtedly be agonizingly longer for the smug student.
“I will throw you away if you continue to be uncooperative,” Valentin replied, confirming Kerwin’s assertions of his grander design. “Did you think that by discouraging me about your value, I’d just take the loss and let you go?”
Daron gave the vulnerable expression that Valentin needed if he wished to get any further with the student. Even if he was clever, nobody is infallible, especially so when they find themselves on the back foot in a confrontation. Daron knew that his position was not the dominant one. Valentin was curious if Daron’s survival instincts in combat extended into surviving conversations.
“What is it that I need to do to avoid that fate?” Daron carefully asked.
“You finally say something befitting of your position,” Valentin complimented. “Is it not obvious that I want a loyal warrior for the duration of your contract period? I am more than willing to give you a position suiting your talents if you share what those talents are and why you were so desperate to hide them.”
“I will keep it short to not offend you further,” Daron said calmly, quickly to adapt to his new environment. “The condition set by my beloved’s father is that I must be someone suitable of protecting his daughter.”
“So you wished to be considered average to obtain a less dangerous position?” Valentin asked.
Daron nodded, quickly swallowing another healthy pour of wine.
“Do you have no pride as a Stormblood?” Cathmor inquired sternly. “Does your blood not stir with desire for bloodshed and victory?”
“I have something better than that,” Daron replied with tranquil conviction. The memory of her silhouette filled his glistening eyes. “I am infected with the kind of love that keep you awake at night. I am consumed with thoughts of her. Her smile warms me like wine and her touch sets me ablaze. Why would I ever wish to rush headlong into bloodshed to become a pile of ash in a valley while her bed remains cold?”
“I’ve misjudged you,” Guain said with a fraternal pat on the shoulder.
Mannix’s face soured at the prospects of having an additional Guain to put up with. Kerwin rolled his eyes at the sappy display.
Valentin’s expression failed to be softened by Daron’s proclamations of love. The symptoms that Daron listed seemed indicators of obsession more than love. However, the knowing eyes from the rest at the table caused Valentin to reevaluate. Unless, of course, the feeling of love was truly the feelings of obsession. If such were the case, he already knew well what it is was like to be object of someone’s love.
“I don’t mean to sound shallow, Deggan Valentin,” Daron began with a nervous face as though he admittance would only sully his pure affections. “My betrothed comes from a highly wealthy family in the region. If you keep me away from the worst of the danger, then I will be sure to open the coffers in gratitude.”
“You should have been open from the beginning,” Valentin remarked, relieved that he had not chosen erroneously. “Deals can’t be done unless both parties understand what the other desires. Our contract will stipulate that I will not put you in knowingly dangerous places in return for one hundred silver. If either of us are wounded or die, you have reason to believe I purposefully endangered you, or you desert, the contract is void and the aggrieved party has the right to pursue retribution against the offender. Is that suitable?”
Daron’s face hardened in contemplation as he juggled the stipulations presented to him. He shrewdly reviewed the terms until he nodded directed at no one in particular. Valentin let Daron consider the offer. In truth, there was not much choice Daron had in the matter, but Valentin was more than willing to allow the student to save some face.
“I find you terms fair,” Daron replied with an outstretched hand.
Valentin grasped the hand and gave it a strong shake. The other warriors at the table offered personal greetings to Daron now that they were officially comrades. None seemed happier than Guain to greet a kindred spirit into the fold. He poured Daron another cup and they drained their cups together.
“If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like you to press you into service immediately,” Valentin said. “I’d like you to tell me who else I should bid on.”
“At this point, everyone available is competent,” Daron replied without much insight. “I suppose it depends on what people you need and how much you can afford. Was there anyone you had your eyes on specifically?”
“I’m not interested in buying only competent,” Valentin explained, glancing around at the approving looks of his warriors. “I only want the best.”
“With respect, I don’t think the depth of your pockets can compete with what will be offered for Roarke. The bids will appear more like dowries. With Tara’s injury, everyone who loses Roarke’s bid will go for Raghallach right afterwards. His price will rise significantly beyond his worth,” Daron informed. His eyes widened for a moment. “Not to say that Raghallach is not talented or worthy of his tournament victory.”
Valentin nodded in acknowledgment of Daron’s words. Commitment to the battlefield aside, at least he seemed to be able to use his head.
“Tell me, is Tara’s talents high enough for me to ignore her injury?” Valentin asked.
Daron looked across the room to the empty spots by Raghallach. True sympathy crossed his face in consideration of his classmate.
“It’s hard to say,” Daron admitted. “She is the most talented rider and performed well at tactical theory. She will be useful regardless of how her body heals. However, I have not seen the wound myself. It’s impossible to say whether it’s truly as treatable as Academy Master Holmfirth implies. What price you should offer, I cannot say.”
“And what of Kallan?” Valentin questioned. “She, by all rights, ended in third place.”
Daron raised an offended eyebrow at Valentin’s question. He shook his head and tutted to himself as though he were about to lecture a toddler. Valentin wondered if the bitterness of his earlier defeat colored his reaction.
“Deggan, Kallan is a competent girl that becomes a fool when it is time to fight,” Daron tersely spoke. “She charges directly at her opponent and attacks relentlessly until one of them falls.”
“It seems to work fine for her,” Mannix replied.
“Oh sure, send her to fight against an army and you’ll find a massive pile of bodies,” Daron readily agreed, much to Mannix’s surprise. “However, at the top of that pile, you’d find Kallan’s lifeless corpse. If you say you admire my ability to survive, then know that Kallan does not possess even the smallest trace of self-preservation.”
Valentin could not argue with Daron’s statements. Her reckless fighting coated her body in wounds and made her ineffective in drawn out campaigns.
“What of her favor?” Caera inquired. “Whether or not she’s effective depends on how quickly she can dispatch an enemy and how many of them she can kill.”
“It’s high,” Daron conceded. “Amongst the highest here if you ignore Roarke.”
“Then I don’t see what the issue is,” Caera continued. “Deggan Valentin, she will not be fighting alone. She will quickly figure out how difficult real combat is and it will quench her fires. I will teach her myself.”
“Please do so,” Valentin replied, ending the debate there.
Students continued to be called up and purchased. Those of better physique, favor, and results entered the center of the room. As the value and skill of the students rose, the more attention each received. Slowly, the affluent tables began to muscle out those that could not afford it in bids that quickly accelerated in price to values that made Valentin wince. Now, only bidders one through eight walked away with any measure of victory. As there were no more steals to be had amongst this group, many saw little point in remaining and began to file out. Those that did secure a contract made sure to visit the academy’s scribes to have it signed before departing.
“Bidder four wins with a bid of fifty-two silver,” the Academy Master announced as another student found a new employer.
“It seems that one is of more value than the two of you,” Caera teased Mannix and Guain, remembering the values of their bids. “It seems you two misinformed us on how much a competent warrior goes for.”
“Ridiculous,” Mannix nipped, not wishing to raise his voice and make a scene. “That one barely made it to the quarter-finals. It’s clear that those esteemed bidders are having a competition of wealth over there. You know a handful of silver wouldn’t mean too much to them. It’s all posturing and nothing more.”
“I am of like mind,” Daron agreed. “I have attended previous auctions and my peers are going for much more than far more talented predecessors. At this rate, Raghallach might go for a hundred silver.”
Valentin touched his coin purse. He had no interest in joining his fellow nobles in their competition nor did he have the funds to do so. Such prices far exceeded his tolerance and only the recognized elite were next.
“Tara Killináth,” the Academy Master introduced.
Tara still hadn’t arrived, the spot next to the Academy Master stayed empty while curious murmuring spread over the room. The largest mystery of the bidding continued to remain unsolved. Suspicious glances and whispered conversations sprouted out amongst the noble tables.
“We will begin at twenty silver,” the Academy announced, ignoring the antagonist energy of the room.
The confidence and audacity of the procession of the auction created confused silence. No placards raised and no prices were announced. Only untrusting glares assailed the Academy Master from all sides.
“Fifteen-“
“Where is she?” A regal voice echoed from behind placard three, interrupting the bidding. “Is she not well enough to even stand for a few moments?”
“Apologies, madam, but Tara is still being treated by our apothecaries,” the Academy Master replied in a voice that feigned remorse. “However, she will be more than able to meet with the winning bidder.”
More dissatisfied grumbling came from the esteemed guests. Something smelled sour to their delicate noses. Unflattering conclusions were reached by all in the room. Mannix and Guain exchanged knowing glances. Even though academies endeavored to make their learning environments as safe as possible, grave injuries could still occur.
“She must be crippled then,” Cathmor remarked, vocalizing the thoughts of the room.
“Academy Master, we would like to postpone bidding on Tara Killináth until our own apothecaries have the opportunity to inspect her injury,” the stern bidder number six requested.
The nobles sitting near bidder six nodded in agreement with the proposal. Not willing to spend their fortunes on at the high risk of a cripple, the remaining bidders of lower standing showed little interest in participating.
Valentin rubbed his chin. Things proceeding in this manner would not suit him at all. If he allowed other healers to offer their opinion, then he would not have a chance to win Tara at a reasonable price. Undoubtedly, the bidders were sending aides back to their estates to procure more coin in the event of continued inflating bidding. Even if Tara was dreadfully injured, did it really matter?
“I’ll take fifteen,” Valentin announced, raising his placard.
Surprised and confused faces focused on Valentin. Even the Academy Master seemed taken aback by the bid.
“Fifteen silver to bidder nine,” the Academy Master confirmed.
“What are you doing?” Bidder six asked Valentin with an authoritative voice. “We agreed to postpone.”
“There must be a misunderstanding. I made no such agreement,” Valentin replied flatly, looking away from the glaring man.
Muttering trickled throughout the bidders and spectators alike. Valentin knew the contents of their furtive glances and animated speech. They wished to know what special information that he possessed. Had anyone approached him during the event? Did Daron tell him something critical that he overheard? Did he have ties to the Academy Master? Or, was he just simply a fool?
His own warriors looked at him incredulously. He knew what he was doing was like buying grape crops before inspecting them oneself.
“Sixteen,” an intrepid young bidder twenty six entered the ring.
“Twenty,” Valentin countered, stomping out the brief opposition from bidder twenty six, who tossed his placard aside.
“Thirty,” bidder number six entered, his focus devoted solely on Valentin to gauge his reaction.
It wasn’t an unexpected turn to Valentin. However, spur of the moment decision that it was, he had not yet fully planned out how to deal with each and every twist and turn in his little ploy. He cleared away the opportunist riffraff only to compete with someone with presumably deep pockets.
If he continued to bid, then certainly, the idea that he had secret information would take hold in everyone’s mind. The nobles would take the value far beyond what he could manage.
Perhaps it was the wine. Maybe the compounded exhaustion was catching up to him. Amidst the noise and the thoughts and the planning, Valentin realized that it really didn’t matter if he managed to win the bid or not. In fact, it may be amusing if it managed to trick a few nobles into going against their better instincts and spending exorbitant sums on a crippled girl. No, it would be amusing.
He felt the metal mask brush against his arm and recalled some words from his grandfather. While he was not locked in life or death combat, he was still in conflict with another. The room was their battlefield and their money acted as their favor. It could not be a half-hearted attempt. He had to emulate the expression perfectly if he wanted the desired effect. While he did not know what would happen when he acted, he just wanted to know.
Valentin set his placard gently back on to his table. He turned to look at bidder number six. Anticipation made him giddy. It had been so long since he had done anything mischievous. The corners of his mouth rolled up his cheeks, revealing teeth that many of his warriors had never seen before.
He grinned wildly at bidder number six and the nobles near him. Unbridled and unreserved his teeth shone joyously at the wealthy tables.
Confusion crept over bidder six’s face, the specter of fear not far behind. The unexpected response sent paranoid thoughts into his head. Using his own experiences, bidder six filled in the blanks that Valentin left open.
“You tricked me!” Bidder six roared. “It’s clear that you and the Academy Master are-“
“Thirty one,” Valentin interrupted, putting his placard back up.
Paralysis set in over all the capable bidders remaining. They gained nothing from this interaction. He could still have inside information. He could still be trying to dishonestly cause bidding of a defective product. They had no way of knowing in a short enough time to make the correct decision. Fear of being humiliated in the event of a grand grift gripped the calculating minds of the nobles. The risk was too great.
“Tara Killináth goes to bidder number nine for thirty one silver,” the Academy Master declared once it became clear that nobody else would speak.
Frustration and confusion bubbled in the aftermath of the maneuver. Nobody was confident in what had just occurred, but the grin that remained on Valentin’s face told the room that he won.
Valentin’s grin receded back into the expressionless visage that he typically sported. He stood from his seat, there was no further point in remaining, and he doubted that he’d be allowed to win any of the remaining bids.
“Once we get the contract signed, I’d like the rest of you to return to the barracks,” Valentin informed his mystified warriors. “Caera, we will go together to visit Tara.”
“I thought I was to guard you as well, Deggan Valentin,” Cathmor protested, the first to return to normal.
“If you are to accompany me, then who will be in charge while I’m gone?” Valentin asked in response.
While Cathmor beamed over his temporary authority, Mannix, Kerwin, and Guain deflated. For a moment, they had forgotten that Valentin was displeased with them.
Valentin smiled. Allowing Cathmor to take charge of them is the grandest punishment possible.