Where this is going:

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“-. Orsur Kelsier, Alterac Trade Magnate (Embattled), Merchant Adventurer (Former) .-“

Light, let my spirit be keener and my heart be bolder as my strength grows less.

The priests often chided people for only praying when they needed something, but Orsur Kelsier never understood that, even as a child. Most people hated being carped at, especially by people they never met before and much less for literally nothing. He couldn’t imagine divinity appreciating having their time wasted any better. The virtues preached by the Church were all about solving your own problems, didn’t that mean you were supposed to keep your praying to a minimum? The Light itself was supposedly impersonal too, by that logic it cared for useless begging even less, didn’t it?

Look at me having a crisis of faith.

Orsur paid his respects to Great Tyr and Saint Mereldar, and left pondering how the Light seemed to lack the vicissitudes and vagaries of its agents. The Light’s agents were kind, wrathful or what have you depending on the story, but the degree to which they supposedly intervened in the world was inversely proportional to the canonicity of whatever scripture you happened to be reading.

The priests were at least real people, and their claims to power rooted in moral decency weren’t empty boasts. At least for those that actually got the Light to respond. Unfortunately, none of that made it any easier to know what to expect of the Young Saint. A very unfortunate predicament when fate seemed determined to force him to throw himself at his mercy.

The Fel Void curse all the ‘bandits’ and their ‘noble’ masters to the Twisting Hells.

You’d think that the purge would have them ‘worthies’ less prone to pillaging their own country, but apparently not. In fact, it was the opposite. Before the king’s… lapse, you could at least trust ‘bandits’ not to venture too far from their camps, never mind sack trade convoys above a certain size, especially those with commensurately armed protection. After all, their on-and-off patrons needed the country’s trade to continue functioning in order to make all the gold they needed to waste on hidden blades and power plays.

This went doubly as long as you had enough noble banners on your wagons. Or Dalaran’s. Even the most infamous ‘bandit’ lords tended to leave you alone then, bribes and tolls notwithstanding. It was why even merchants of high means like himself still preferred to attach even their biggest and best defended wagon trains to high profile caravans where possible. Sure, it was expensive, but the extra coin was actually less than having to pay all those aforementioned ‘tolls.’

Even the king’s men had been especially invested in the safe delivery of his alchemical shipment, and not just because of the usual concerns about volatile substances. He got favourable rates not just because of how large it was, but also because it fell under Crown priorities, now. It was enough to confirm all those rumors about actual war preparations that the nobles had been so badly pretending to suppress.

Orsur even managed to consult with his old acquaintance that he accidentally helped catapult to the high echelons of the assassin’s guild, back during his adventuring days when he didn’t know the Ravenholdt name from Thoradin, and even he said all the retinues and shipments in the caravan were legitimate.

Imagine his shock when he learned that the highest-profile caravan of the year got sacked by ‘bandits’ despite having not only all the aforementioned identifiers, but also that of the king. Oh, how Orsur cursed his past self for not heeding his gut instinct not to toss in every last scrap of liquid funds and collateral. And to think all he’d wanted was to pay it forward.

Here I am talking smack about my past self. Well, joke’s on me, he ruined my life!

The safest bet of his merchant career had turned into a disaster, he didn’t know who was responsible, he didn’t know how many attacked, he didn’t know who all survived, and he certainly didn’t know any specifics. Like any lives or goods that were conspicuously prioritised or ignored compared to the other noble or guild cortege that had attached itself to the same expedition. Never mind the king’s! How Master Narett didn’t hold it against him for wasting his greatest sale since before Orsur even entered the trading business, Orsur had no idea.

And all at such a terrible time! The trade expedition was supposed to finance our new enterprise, not bring me to the brink of bankruptcy!

All his attempts to stave off bankruptcy – or worse – were failing one after another. The goods and properties he’d put up for auction were seeing lacklustre response. The information bounty he posted on the notice boards attracted people that were either lying or complicit. All at a time when he didn’t have the coin to keep bodyguards because he needed every scrap to pay his agents’ legal fees instead.

Half his agents outside of Alterac City didn’t respond to their communication, despite the high expenses he’d incurred over the years to buy Dalaran transmission stones. The other half had been arrested on suspicion of fraud and their possessions confiscated, it was absurd, corrupt magistrates everywhere, damn them and their buyers! None of his other sources could get him details on what happened either.

And now the others in our little conspiracy are eyeing me like a rash to divest themselves of.

He’d expected it of those who thought he was trying to undermine them, to pay coin for a stronger control of their future enterprise. But even the ones he expected sense from were looking askance at him now. He could understand disdain at request for handouts, Orsur certainly disdained asking for them. But he did not expect the turnaround in attitude to be quite so farcical.

They certainly appreciated me spreading false rumors and otherwise confusing the whole city about our little golden goose. On my own coin no less, toadies aren’t cheap when all you can get is whatever dregs didn’t pass muster with the highborn.

Orsur tried to understand their suspicion, craftsmen and their guilds had a low opinion of merchants for not actually producing anything, while most merchants – and especially merchant guilds – tended to respond to that contempt with equal amounts condescension. But understanding and accepting were vastly different things.

And it seems the Young Saint is suspicious of my best intentions as well.

The lodgings he had rented for him had gone unused. The only reason the innkeep had anything useful to say was because of how tall the young man was now. The only person who knew the right things to say to claim the lodgings was a ‘big lad’ that only stopped by to inform the innkeep he wouldn’t be using them, thank you kindly and please reimburse my benefactor, before wandering off. The ‘big lad’ had been joined by a shorter but heavily armed, cloaked companion as he turned the corner, but that was all the innkeep knew.

The man had been thoroughly distracted afterwards by ‘that little spot of bother a few days past.’ A very quaint way to describe a certain duke and his ridiculously long procession of captured ‘bandits’ personally delivered to the gallows. Orsur appreciated the refund, but he would have appreciated a one-on-one with their saintly patron a lot more, even if that wasn’t why he rented the quarters originally.

At this point I might be better off not attending the meeting at all.

But he would. He still had his pride.

Finally, he arrived. The city’s newest and rawest building. Gloomy too, by virtue of them deferring on whitewash and panelling – and most walls – until they could consult with the mastermind behind all the new features. The well-to-do from nearly every trade in Alterac wouldn’t normally gather in a construction site, especially for the sort of discussion that could change the face of their country. It was why they decided to hold it there and now regardless.

Orsur thought it was foolish, the others weren’t half as discreet as he was, it was too much of a risk. But his latest woes meant the others made the final decision without his input. Because it wasn’t their fault he was too busy elsewhere, they later said.

That he was only ‘busy’ keeping his innocent people out of prison made no seeming difference. Orsur wondered if they even cared enough to find out. He hadn’t asked, because if it turned out they knew, he might have switched out one of their coins with one of his. The resulting fall from on high would have been tragic and impossible to blame on him, but he was not that sort of man no matter how often he contemplated it. The merchant’s trade was a cutthroat business, but he took pride in his self-control.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

He never killed anyone except in fair turnabout when the law failed. That was what his years as a merchant adventurer taught him.

He climbed the stairs up to the first floor where the only finished room was. Orsur greeted the others, who were all present already. They showed varying amounts of caution, suspicion, and very little sympathy. Orsur wore his face stony, but inside was absurdly relieved. Their attire was mostly what people would dismiss as them dressing down for inspection at a dusty worksite, especially with the uncreatively named foreman Mason Zidar there to ‘show them around’ in absence of the crew on their day off.

More importantly, while the room looked recently swept and dusted, and the chairs and tablecloth were new, they were also foldable and lightweight. This was the room where the construction crew ate and rested, that it still looked the part meant there hadn’t been a whole army of servants and delivery people coming in and out of the place for days.

Since everyone looked terribly eager to get back to what they were doing before he arrived, even if that something was literally nothing, Orsur dragged a chair over to the wall and sat down to review the latest paperwork from the magistrate’s office. The others were doing well in waiting for the golden goose to arrive before sitting down at the table, but tacit approval was all they seemed willing to accept from him. If that.

How am I supposed to work with these people long-term? You’re only supposed to compete with your competitors, not your business partners!

Well, prospective ones in this case. They clearly didn’t expect to work long-term with him, anymore. The hedging of bets was so painfully blatant, it made Orsur wonder how they got as high as they got in their guilds. This behaviour was what self-fulfilling prophecies were made of.

Dare he hope they all belonged to that atrociously lucky sort that had only precipitated the good kind of self-fulfilling prophecy up to this point? If nothing else, that was definitely the sort of blind luck he would like to see rubbing off on him right now.

“He’s coming,” said Gavin Slipknot. As a Master Fisherman, Orsur had no idea what the man thought he could contribute to their nascent enterprise. But as the first person to ever enter a business partnership with their young patron – for a new fishing line spun form oil, somehow, that had catapulted him to the forefront of his trade – he had arguably the greatest right to be there. “Quick, everyone get ready.”

To Orsur’s astonishment, almost everyone stopped what they were doing and began straightening their clothes and hair. Oh, what a change this was from the suspicion and condescension that everyone once treated the Young Saint with! Had it only been a year? Not that he himself had been much better, despite being the only one of this lot who did have a background that should have made him more open-minded.

But how could any of them have known that the Light had sent down a once-in-a-century genius, back then? Most people still didn’t, even the whole ‘make people think the Young Saint is three different people’ ruse required very little effort on their part, at the end of the day.

Madam Seamstress Tayer was still disbelieving of her assistant’s reassurances that yes, your grey hairs really are all out of sight, madam, when the knock came.

Master Builder Zidar adjusted his blue collar and tugged on his cuffs one last time – you came just as dressed down as the rest of us, man, get a grip – and opened the door. “Master Hywel! Come…” The man gawked at their patron’s height – when did he get so big? – before mastering himself. “Come in, come in, we’ve been expecting you!”

Making him think he’s running late is not the best start.

“Master Zidar, hello. I hope I’m not running too late.”

Case in point.

Also, Wayland Hywel’s voice had grown deeper too.

“Not at all, not at all, we just happened to arrive early.” Obvious lies are even worse. “Had to make sure the place was tidy and all, you know how it all goes I’m sure.”

Wayland Hywel had to stoop to get through the door, they already had the first item on the ‘things to fix as soon as possible’ list. “Well, this is quite the gathering. Greetings all.” Orsur stiffened when the young man’s gaze passed over him, it felt… extensive, somehow, had the Light been so self-evident in his eyes before? But they still looked the same, blue with not a hint of gold, although his hair- “Hello to all the new faces, and to the old I’m glad to see you’re all doing… actually only mostly well, Master Keyton, you’ve been injured recently.”

The Master Blacksmith went from gaping at the lad’s size to gaping at his insight. “Erm… Aye, I suppose so, Young Master, but it’s all handled, I’ve always got me some potions nearby.”

“Well, whatever you took wasn’t quite enough. Small cuts, big bruises, a recently broken femur that hasn’t fused right, something heavy fell on you along with a bunch of smaller but sharper things, an accident unloading a crate of weapons or some such I assume?” Wayland Hywel waved down with a finger on the way to the table and the Light came down on Smid Keyton like a column of gold. “There, it’s fixed. Please stay behind after the meeting, though, so I can finally do something about that black lung you’re developing from all the metal flakes and smoke you breathe every day. If anyone else has someone with degenerative diseases, please stay as well so we can discuss it. I’ve developed my skills some.”

Clearly, Orsur thought breathlessly as the overflow from the spell washed over the rest of them, making him feel like he’d just gotten out of bed after the best night’s rest of his life. Does that mean he can actually cure such things, instead of merely ease their burden like the priests?

Visibly shaken now, Zidar showed the Young Master to one end of the table, lingered strangely in place for a moment and… didn’t take the other end as Orsur was sure had been the plan.

Well I’ll be. Orsur rapidly reassessed the situation as he waited with everyone else for the Young Master to sit, before following suit. Orsur knew they’d taken pains to make sure they wouldn’t be sitting higher than their holy patron, pointless though it now turned out to be. The lad was bigger than them by a head. At least.

But this…

Zidar was a master builder, foreman, technical owner of the building – at least until the work was finished – and ultimate instigator of their little scheme. He was also the only guild master among them, on top of being a master of his chosen craft. Orsur had been certain he would claim the head of the table. Either there was more than one decision made absent of my input, or he only changed his tune right now.

“Right then,” Zidar cleared his throat, and Orsur had to actively remind himself that this suddenly deferential man was the same one that could make army sergeants feel inadequate with how he ran his work sites. I’m missing something. “Introductions first. You know master Slipknot already of course, Young Master Hywel.”

“Glad to see you well, young sir.”

“Likewise.”

“Please be also known to Master Chef Ademar Burch, the one responsible for the food spread you see before you. On his left is, of course, Master Blacksmith Smid Keyton. Next to him is Madame Tayer, senior supervisor of the Fowl Feather tailor guild, next is-“

“-The young lady standing behind her?”

“Right, of course, my apologies, her assistant, the young miss…?”

“Ava, my darling keeper of all things stationery,” the matronly woman graciously filled in. “I’d be thoroughly lost without her.”

The girl pretended indifference. Surprisingly well too. “You exaggerate, missus.”

“Quite,” Zidar cleared his throat. “On her left is Melissa Blackthorn, head of the Blackthorn merchant house. Her specialty is in trade abroad.”

The long-haired woman, the only person besides himself who didn’t fret over her pristine own appearance while preparing to welcome their guest of honor, inclined her head. “A pleasure. Behind me is my nephew, Albert. He will be my contact at those times when I am not in the city.” Not ‘when I am unavailable’ but specifically ‘when I’m not in the city’, a statement of commitment if ever there was one. “Alas, I expect it to be the case quite often. I am considering a partial shift away from foreign trade to the more domestic arena.”

Ah, the vulture is already pecking at my corpse, and I’m not even dead yet!

“There on your right you have Mark Tarren, representative of the miller’s guild over in Tarren Mill.”

The young man nodded, face stony. “My father wanted to come himself, but he bid me ask your forbearance while he finalizes his part of the legalities of your new partnership.” At just over twenty, Mark was the youngest person there, after the Young Master himself. “He is happy to convey that the waterwheel-powered hammer has proven a monumental success with the local smithies. He has named you equal partner in the endeavour. He conveys he is most eager to explore any other ideas you might have, and has an additional proposition for you, one which he assures you will have no bearing on your existing arrangements whether you accept or refuse-“

“And which can, of course, wait until we see to today’s agenda,” Madam Tayer interrupted, not entirely idly. “At the very least it can wait until we’ve finished introductions.”

Getting ahead of yourself there, boy. Also, am I the only one who remembers Hywel is the only one who doesn’t know what we’re here for?

“Quite right,” Master Zidar hastened to move past the impropriety. “Next is Jace Brakelond, a senior in the Horologe Clockmaker’s guild.”

“An honor.” The man had several ‘bandaids’ on his face – another of Hywel’s creations, and currently the major source of Tayer’s income, at that – a testament to how thoroughly and often he shaved despite being one of those unfortunate men whose blood ran perilously close to the surface of his skin. “I also count a fairly able jewelsmith among my friends. I am actually representing him today as well, as he is working on an unexpected high-profile commission.”

Good thing he didn’t drop it, or we really wouldn’t be able to call what we’re doing ‘discretion’ even in our dreams.

“You know Master Orsur of course, the owner of the Merchant Adventurer merchant house. He’s our current authority on domestic trade.”

I’d thank you for not tossing my woe out or leaving me for last, if I didn’t know the real reason. “Embattled, currently, but I’m willing to defer on my personal drama until it becomes relevant.”

“Something I’m sure we all appreciate,” spoke Master Burch before Melissa could. The man’s diplomacy skill left much to be desired compared to his cooking, but Orsur appreciated the thought all the same. Even if he would have preferred to find out now if he should expect more than passive aggressiveness from Blackthorn.

“And finally, next to me is my son, Beran. You’ll be delighted to know that he’s now the world’s first creator of a working oil distillery!”

“Fractal distillery.” Seeing as Zidar himself was nearing his fifties, his son was actually thirty himself. The man stood and nodded at Master Wayland. “Your design worked just as you described. Samples have already been delivered to our local alchemist of mutual acquaintance for testing. I foresee much business in the future, regardless of how today goes.”

Finally, everyone was seated. Quiet. Watching. Waiting. The empty seat at the head of the table loomed strangely in the lull.

“I’m glad to meet everyone,” Wayland Hywel finally said when the bizarreness of the situation had been sufficiently indulged. “Now could someone please tell me why we’re all here?”

Yes, could someone please do that?

“Quite.” Mason Zidar finally did what a host should have done via their original invitation. “Master Wayland. As the ultimate source of all our best and newest breakthroughs, we would like to hear your thoughts on establishing a new guild.”