Oz clutched a slightly squirming bag of blue dungeon beetles and walked up to Lou, the nomad trader. The man’s name wasn’t actually ‘Lou’, but Oz couldn’t quite make the right sounds to match the nomad accent. He had apologized several times for his failure, but Lou asked him “to apologize with wealth instead of words.” Oz had traded a bundle of dungeon harvests to Lou once every five days or so for a nearly a month. Oz received bits of metal in return. The nomad had called the metal, “coins” and explained that the traders valued coins highly. Lou was happy enough to take some of the coins back in exchange for trinkets such as pretty shells from the coast. The shells had proven very popular with Oz’s little cousins, which made him popular, which was nice. Oz had a growing pile of coins that he hoped to someday trade for a particular spear that Lou had shown him.
Lou turned to Oz and bowed. Oz nodded at him and began to speak, but Lou interrupted. “Ah my great customer, Oz. Today I must say farewell and refuse trade. My journey leads me away to new lands and my space on these wagons is already spoken for.”
Oz was startled and dismayed. “Oh teeth! You- I mean, I am sorry to hear you are leaving. Are you all leaving?” Oz glanced around uncertainly.
Lou grinned. “You are surprised that I am leaving, yet you call us ‘nomad traders’. What is a ‘nomad’ but someone who is always on their way to somewhere else? To your question, no, we are not all leaving. That would be a major thing and probably go very poorly. A few of us feel the need to move on and so we will take a few wagons with us when we go. Others will no doubt feel the need to bring their own wagons and fill our places.” The sound of scuffing feet distracted Oz, but he tried to be polite and not show it.
“Thank you for that explanation, Lou. Is there a chance that you traded that spear I like to one of these other traders?” Oz didn’t expect this to be the case, but the disappointment about missing out on the spear was hitting him hard.
“I did not trade it to another nomad, no, but I did trade it to another customer.” Lou bowed again to Oz. “Farewell customer Oz.” He turned and walked away.
“Wait! Who-“ Oz half shouted in a panic.
“He traded the spear to me.” A high, sing-song voice spoke from behind Oz. The scuffing footsteps had stopped. Oz spun around to see an older man in loose robes wielding the spear as a walking stick. The man’s robes were made of multiple colors and had patches of dungeon butterfly wing sewn onto the hem. The man had white hair, lightly tan skin, and sharp grey eyes. The man gave Oz a small nod. “Greetings, Oz. I wish to discuss the contents of that bag. Walk with me if you wish to have this spear.” The old man turned and strode down the path, scuffing his feet slightly with each step.
Oz felt entirely off balance and half considered throwing the bag of beetles at the old man in anger and desperation. Instead, he ran to catch up with the old man. “Wait! Who are you?” He asked, nearly panicking.
“We met around a month back. You rudely butted into a private conversation in the middle of the night.” The man said. Oz’s memories connected the man’s voice and scuffing footsteps to the mostly-silent person from the night at the roundhouses. “Oh, when you were-“ Oz was cut off by the man striking the spear shaft against Oz’s shin. “Ow! Goblin teeth and bones, what was that for?” Oz stumbled and nearly fell to the ground. His faced flushed with anger and confusion. The old man kept walking.
“You will stop trading directly with the nomads. You will bring your harvests to my associate and we will conduct the trades. You will be rewarded according to your contributions. Agree to this and I will give you the spear. Refuse and I will destroy the spear.” The old man spoke evenly. Oz attempted to interrupt a couple times but the old man’s voice just rolled over his objections. When the man stopped speaking, Oz managed to voice his biggest question.
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
“Why should I blighting do that? Another spear will show up and I can trade for it with as many burning harvests as I want.” Oz spoke with anger and defiance, but he wasn’t thinking his arguments through clearly. Also, he didn’t walk away because he wanted the spear.
The old man smirked. “Lou is gone, who will you trade with?” Oz noticed with irritation that the old man had pronounced Lou’s name correctly.
“I’ll just trade with one of the other nomads.” Oz said. He didn’t see anything wrong with that assumption, but the old man’s growing smirk made Oz want to punch his face in.
“You were lucky that Lou was so powerful and respected by this group. Not every nomad is willing to trade with anyone for anything from anywhere.” The old man turned off the path and Oz followed. “Every person joining or leaving a nomad trading caravan has the potential to change the attitudes of the entire caravan. You might come back in a few days and be threatened as a brigand, secretly reported to the hill lord, or gifted with an official trading contract.” The old man rolled his eyes and made a scoffing sound. “Their foolish ways make them difficult to predict.” Oz made to object to this arrogance, but the old man spoke over him again. “I and my company know how to approach and identify willing traders. You do not. It is as simple as that.” The old man stopped walking in a small clearing between three trees.
Oz felt mostly frustrated at the old man, but the reasonable part of his mind pointed out that Oz really was ignorant of the traders; he hadn’t even put effort into remembering the different kinds of ‘coin’. Oz glared at the old man for a few breaths while Oz’s reasonable side talked him into agreeing. Oz’s greedy side urged him to ask for more. “And what else?” Oz asked. The old man turned to look at Oz with a raised eyebrow. Oz clarified. “After I have the spear, I don’t want to keep harvesting from the dungeon just to build a hill of coin, and I don’t think you came out here just to save me from the nomads. What else do you want?”
The old man smiled and nodded, but his eyes held a challenge for Oz. “Perhaps, on occasion, I could send someone from my company with you into the dungeon to harvest beyond the first floor.”
Oz put a skeptical expression on his face. “I’ve only been on three of the floors, and only two of those had ground to rotting walk on. There are more creatures in the dungeon that could be harvested, yes, but a person can only carry so much bread and beer at a time. The hill lord would notice a group large enough to harvest multiple floors.”
“We suspect there are greater treasures on the deeper floors of the dungeon.” The old man said. “The badge on the doorway suggests as much. A small group could delve deep and retrieve just the treasures.”
Oz thought about that explanation for half a minute. Hilda’s group had died looking for the badge treasure. Only two floors had been properly mapped, so no one even knew how deep the dungeon went. Oz was not convinced this idea had much chance of success, but it was a clear opportunity to progress his investigation. Was there a reason he could use as an excuse to accept but not be pressured into throwing his life away? He looked at the spear, still in the old man’s hand. Experience for levels and skills was valuable and would be more abundant in the dungeon.
“I will agree so long as it is understood I won’t throw my peaking life away. I’ll turn back if I think we can’t handle a floor.” Oz said firmly.
“I have no objection to prudence.” The old man held out the spear. “I paid Lou to add something extra to this spear. Just a small enchantment to make the blade cut through most physical material. It should be quite useful in slaying dungeon monsters.”
Oz blinked in surprise and took the spear. “Burn my bones, thank you!” He had wanted the spear because it was well made and beautiful—he had no expectations of having a magical weapon.
The old man nodded and began to walk away. “Bring your next batch of harvests to the roundhouses where we met and my associate will arrange a group to delve the dungeon.”