After a while in the skies, Numisley had finally gotten used to the gusts of wind roughly brushing against his skin and the stomach-dropping feeling of passing through the clouds. He still held tightly to the rope wrapped around his waist, yet despite his eyes squinting against the gale, he saw a bird’s-eye view of the land of Torregorn. The verdant plains and hills were laid under him akin to a pastoral carpet that stretches for miles, with the rivers and lakes becoming part of the tapestry of the landscape. The towns and cities that Numisley did not recognize became ordered gatherings of pebbles below him.
Numisley tried to speak, but it seemed like the howl of the wind prevented him from being heard. Later they landed on a city called Bessotto, where the governor had personally welcomed them. They stayed in the governor’s castle overlooking the rest of the city atop a cliff that seemed to sway by the smallest of inches. Not one among the castle’s people minded this, and continued to do their tasks as normal.
In the banquet hall, they were served pasta drenched in butter, cream, and oil, with spices unfamiliar to Numisley’s nose. There was only Escribanorr and Anteojor on the mahogany table, with the governor walking across the table. Escribanorr took this opportunity to whisper in Numisley’s ear.
“Every time we land, and every time we accept hospitality, we are at our most vulnerable. By now, enemies and rivals know that I, and you are traveling. So–”
Escribanorr threw his head back and leaned on his wooden chair, and sighed with subtle exaggeration as if he didn't whisper with Numisley.
“I’m fatigued from my travels.”
“Not to worry, my lord, this meal shall comfort and restore your energy.” The governor reacted to Escribanorr’s remark.
The ruler of the city introduced himself as Roccor, and so the three travelers had introduced themselves in short order, with Escribanorr neglecting to mention Numisley’s true identity. The governor mainly acknowledged Escribanorr and less so with the guest’s son, but ignored Numisley altogether.
They slept in the guest rooms and left the next day. The journey to Ascolitica on a flying carpet took three days: each day was spent staying in a friendly city, regardless of whose noble family rules them. However, in two out of three cities, there were assassination attempts on Escribanorr’s person, from methods as subtle as poison to as sharp and direct as a knife or as bombastic as a sudden [Fireball] exploding on a window’s wooden shutters. Many of these almost killed or injured Numisley, but Escribanorr and his [Spell Knights] unfailingly saved him each time. The reality of being somebody, not just a [Trader], but a person who governed cities and more, dawned on Numisley with each of these attempts. If he became a Naveirei, he would be subjected to these occurrences daily, much like what he and his brother experienced back home as they escaped their home continent, or even when they were doing business in this kingdom.
Several hours later, the city of Ascolitica was in view. Numisley had seen Ascolitica’s pristine, lively streets and idyllic, solid facades, but seeing the city above was a different story for him. The fields of wheat and other crops that Numisley once passed by now became geometric blobs of greens, yellows, and bare dirt surrounding the diamond-shaped city, dotted with a few roofs. The city walls and its four great towers seemed to be reduced to thick lines of beige ink at this distance, but he saw its aged, rune-etched stones as they descended. Numisley saw the sun shining on the invisible bubble that covered the city, and he realized that they were now within its magical barrier. He found himself staring at the roofs of the city lined not only with the red shingles that he was already familiar with but with tiles with the color of rusted copper and lapis lazuli. The markets at each walled quarter were no less vibrant than Ovespuerte’s, which Numisley attributed to the four stone roads that connected the city. Numisley thought if Cultrost was here, he would love to see the sights and comment on the city’s cultural value, but Numisley speculated on the economics of the city.
They landed on one of the castle’s battlements. Numisley realized the potential of flying carpets in trade, despite the limitation on the goods that they carry: it seems trying to place boxes, chests, and barrels on flying carpets would be a difficult task, a proposition close to impossible by the precarious way the almost weightless carpets carry the weight of their riders and the bags they carry. Their speed, which was several magnitudes shorter than Palden’s pace on horseback–disregarding their delays to Ovespuerte–was ideal for delivering perishable and valuable goods, including messages even if it comes with the cost of falling off.
When Numisley’s cane and feet touched the stone of one of the castle’s battlements, he asked Escribanorr a question.
“These carpets…For such speedy magical vehicles with a lot of potential for travel and trade, I don’t see them in any sky within this land.”
“If only such potential can be used for our benefit.” Escribanorr’s voice trailed off. ”These carpets are heirlooms of our family, gifted to our great-great-grandfather in a diplomatic exchange with one of the Beastkin Malikahs–if I remember correctly. Look at this particular one.”
Escribanorr pointed to the one they rode on. He had failed to see the artistry of the carpet they rode on for three days because of their hectic travels. It was more like a tapestry of faded but colorful patterns that formed wavy sigils and lines that were composed of a sun-like mandala. A sewed script that is impossible for everyone present to decipher the lines weaved at the edges of the carpet. Despite that, everyone who laid eyes upon it could feel the dormant aging power behind the knitted words.
“Now look at the others. See how they differ in make. See how they vary by thread. Each carpet is unique, and among the [Lords] and [Ladies] of Torregorn, only we have these.”
Then they walked down the stairs of the battlements, with Numisley being assisted by one of Escribanorr’s men in climbing down the steep stairs.
“The answer to your question is simple, yet not that simple. Even in their aged state, even with some of their magical threads frayed, their quality remains. I had heard that the span of two moons is needed to weave and enchant one flying carpet–even with the Feats of a [Carpetmaker]. Each carpet is blessed and named–even their lesser works. The craft-name of the carpet we rode on, for example, is Azgianrjf-eml-lfka, ‘The Son of the Sun’ according to our Master of the Relics.” Escribanorr explained.
“So, they are expensive to produce in great numbers,” Numisley answered.
“Yes. And no.” Escribanorr clarified. “They are not traded, but auctioned or gifted. The knowledge of their weaving and enchantments is locked behind the few Carpetmaker Clans who could make them. To experience riding one, one must pay a hefty sum to the Carpetrider Guild affiliated with them. To own one, one must have their goodwill first. It is only in the lands of Fallen Qinh and Aemu where flying carpets can be seen in noticeable numbers, for they possess greater influence there than here.”
“And they have less influence here,”
“Exactly. Because of many reasons. Other Role clans, and other guilds. It is a good question you asked, for this conversation is now your first lesson.”
“A lesson about what exactly?”
“A lesson about policy-making, should you help in our House’s affairs. About the balance of power of any society. I’m sure that you already have an idea what I’m talking about.”
“Clans? Guilds?” Numisley guessed, drawing from his own background in Libertalia.
“Yes.” Escribanorr confirmed. “Specifically, the balance of power between rulers, commoners, [Merchants] and them. The people of your home continent had overthrown your [Kings] and replaced them [Merchants] and guildsmen that local rulers are subservient to. In any nation there is this balance of ambitions and profits between these castes that keeps society as it is.”
Numisley knew that Escribanorr was right. Rulers of noble birth are concepts distant to him, and what he knew is that [Merchants], [Mercenaries] and the many Guilds all have the power back home, with the [Mayors] of each city and town doing their bidding.
Escribanorr continued his impromptu lesson.
“When a policy will be implemented on our lands, one must first gauge how it will affect not only our branch families and local governors, but the influential [Merchants], guilds, clans, and the resources to put them to heel if ever they react violently, lest they hire [Mercenaries] and rouse the populace into rebellion. Say you want to establish a trading network across Naveirei lands with the use of these flying carpets, and you have enough capital to implement it. Who will ride those carpets?”
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“The [Carpet Riders]?” Numisley guessed.
“But in this kingdom, as you observed, there are no people capable of it.”
“Then I'll train people willing to do it.”
Escribanorr thought that this answer was very peculiar. His nephew said it with such confidence that he wondered where it came from. Numisley maintained his unbothered facade, but he felt like he had punctured a sack full of his secrets, which now spilled out for Escribanorr to see.
“Say you have the means and knowledge to train them. How much do you think it will cost?”
“I do not know the exact numbers, but I’d imagine it will be a lot.”
“Exactly. The cheapest option would be to invite [Carpet Riders] of a Carpetrider Guild from the Lemurian states of Rhundi, Ikharas or Ayzor, and a representative of one of the Carpetmaker Clans who could make such carpets. Let's say that both parties accept the partnership, even if it is most unlikely in reality because of many factors. What, or who do you think will take notice?”
“The Merchant Guilds.”
“Not only them. In fact, [Merchants] would like to be part of such a network because of their speed, despite the lack of carrying capacity. Courier Guilds even more so, if you give them a fair share of profits. The Guild of Drivers would be the most threatened, even if they couldn't carry as much as their wagons because of that speed. Their displeasure would mean economic chaos all over Torregorn because they would simply refuse to transport goods for several days, not to mention their knowledge of ideal routes and monster lairs. In this hypothetical scenario, the [King] would be prompted to issue an edict to dissolve this network. This scenario does not discount the many other factions and the other things that may happen, but I hope you get my point.”
“Yes. I think. That laws should be made with care.”
“And innovation attracts ire.”
They were now within the castle at the center of Ascolitica. Numisley found himself in one of the guest rooms of the castle. He was told to rest, for Escribanorr said that he would be summoned for tutorship the next day. The day passed by without issue and notability, with Numisley eating with his two blood relatives and him borrowing a book about the history of the Naveirei, which he finds the narrator to be incredibly sycophantic because of the way he extols the Naveirei yet finds none of the faults he was looking for. Soon night fell and the candles were snuffed out by a [Servant].
“Cultrost–.”
For a moment Numisley forgot that his brother was not with him. Even with a room with all of the amenities it felt like there was still something essential missing within the room. He was told that if there is anything he needed, the sound of the bell on the nightstand would summon [Servant] to attend to him.
At the moment he does need anything but the presence of his brother. He started to wonder who would assist him in walking or running when needed, or get his walking stick whenever he misplaced it before sleeping. Most of all, he had no one to confide to. He was slightly unnerved that he would have a [Servant] to do it, and for him, it feels different than having an employee of his company assisting him. Then he started thinking about Cultrost in Ovespuerte, and what might happen in his absence.
Yet, this is merely an ordeal that he has to face before attaining their rightful inheritance.
It was late in the morning when he abruptly woke up from his slumber. The stupor from being risen was instantly dissipated with the [Servant]’s Feat, and with unnatural speed, he was now dressed for breakfast. Aside from Numisley’s uncle and cousin is a new foreign face with a gleaming blue-green gem on his forehead and eyes that resembled pearls of ink.
“You are late.” Escribanorr sternly rebuked Numisley. “Be aware that I won’t have my [Servants] wake you up until you can hire your own [Servants].”
For a moment, Numisley wanted to bite back with scathing words, but he immediately knew that it was useless at best and unproductive at worst.
“Sorry.” Numisley apologized.
“You mean, ‘I apologize, my lord.’” The other guest corrected.
Numisley sat, and found himself staring at the rack of lamb on sauced rice being served on the table.
“Pardon him. This is my court scholar, Marranar Karrmiern,–”
“I would prefer if you use my non-Torregornian name in the presence of no one significant, my lord.” The guest spoke.
“Apologies, friend. I–”
“I’ll introduce myself for you my lord.” The foreigner took over the introductions. ”I’m Malanyari Kaiyren Jin-ijen, hailing from the Kingdom of Sokhuoshan of Phalim’s One Hundred Thousand and One Realms. I’m a court scholar of Escribanorr Naveirei. My lord asks me to be your tutor in proper manners and language, as well as the principles of the Six Energies and the history of your House and this kingdom. But, there has been a change of schedule, so your tutorship shall be tomorrow.” Malanyari’s dense introduction gave Numisley an unspoken history between him and Escribanorr.
“Why?” Numisley asked the most pertinent question despite the other questions Numisley wanted to be answered, such as what kind of people he hailed from, and the odd markings on his paper-like skin.
“My father had discovered that the Ichorvators would be visiting here around four days from now, without informing him,” Anteojor informed.
“Based on my sources, news of you had spread. Somehow, they knew that I’m supporting your claim. I intend to let you learn under Malanyari for at least one or two weeks before making contact with the Ichorvators, but that has changed. We need to cut off your leg at this hour and spend the rest of the day recovering. Tomorrow, you shall learn.” Escribanorr said.
“Wait. This is too sudden. Besides, how can I learn with the pain of getting my leg cut off?”
“How did you get out of Libertalia with that then? How did you become a trader with that?” Escribanorr pointed at not only his atrophied left leg but the dismembered toes on it from that senile and insane Elf that kidnapped him back then. “I thought you would do whatever it takes to be one of us. If those Ichorvators see your curse, then, that’s that. But, I should tell you right now that you could quit. Even if you’re not a noble, you are a [Merchant] with the ear of the current patriarch of House Commerro, despite his tenuous position.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Numisley was confused, along with a dozen emotions that he struggled to understand as of this moment.
“I’m telling you right now that you are in a good position already. I’m telling you that there is no going back once you encounter the Ichorvators, because you will be imprisoned once they suspect that you are faking being a bastard scion. You could leave, and I would gladly charter a carriage for you because, in a way, I consider you to be my sister’s son.”
“My father wants you to reconsider. To put it simply without my father overcomplicating it, he cares for you. He wants you to have a choice.” Anteojor clarified, cutting through the fat of his father’s statement.
“I want to know that this is what you want and not the dying wish of your father. Unlike us, you are free to disregard the wishes of your forebears.” Escribanorr stated with such finality that Numisley heeded his words delicately.
Numisley had thought about everything that had happened so far, and what became of them after their father’s death. It is a miracle that they had gone so far, and with the money they had saved and the goodwill they acquired from Racieros, they could live comfortably. Yet, he knows that the danger will come to them regardless. Whatever they had earned was far from enough to protect them from those who wanted the treasures they had.
“This is my wish.” Numisley declared. “I shall endure what comes my way. I shall cast off whatever burdens I carry for the sake of my goal.”
“Then surf on the waves of strife,” Escribanorr answered with their House’s motto.
Numisley was carried to a room few in the castle know. Anteojor did not join them, fearing the sight that he would have to see if he did. Numisley stared at the bloodstains on the dusty stone walls that made him queasy with the implications of the room’s existence. He was placed on a wooden chair as if he were an animal to be butchered.
“This is what we have to do.” Escribanorr leveled his tone to be as calm as possible. “You shall drink an anesthetic potion–it lessens the pain. I made sure to acquire the most potent one in our laboratories. Just in case, we will need to bind your arms and legs and place something in your mouth to bite if the pain transcends the threshold of the potion’s effects. I had asked our [Executioner] to use his best Feats to make the cut as clean and painless as possible. After that, we’ll pour a high-grade healing potion to halt the bleeding and bandage it. Then, we’ll carry you to your room for you to rest and recover. You will not die on my watch.”
“Got it…” Numisley responded with a quiver in his voice. He drank the potion given to him, and let Escribanorr’s [Servants] tie and gag him. His entire body became numb many trepid moments later, with his eyelids becoming heavier.
The [Executioner] soon arrived, and the sight struck fear in Numisley, such that he felt bile in his throat. It was taller than anyone else here, and he feared what was behind that grey and ashen veil, which hid a bull-like head within. His eyes attempted to push away the executioner’s sword to no avail.
“Desist your Aura, Ludorvico. This is not an execution, nor torture.”
The figure meekly bowed, and Numisley became less fearful. Still, an instinct remains within him that tells him to get away from this individual as far as possible.
“Nephew.” Escribanorr touched Numisley’s forehead to reassure him and turned to the [Executioner] before the potion’s effects faded. “Do it.”
The [Executioner] performed a swift motion.
Followed by a sharp fleeting pain.