Chapter Thirty-Three

Corwin walked away with a heavy heart, he tried not to look back as he watched the two women leave, even when he didn’t care for Skana, acknowledging her rarity was undeniable. But more his thoughts were for the only mercenary he’d ever fully trusted. ‘With a different face, and a smile that didn’t look like a hungry vampire, she might have married, had children, have a castle to mind and busy herself with a quiet life. Had the Demon God not have invaded, she might have known nothing but peace… but would she be happy?’ He wondered about that.

It was hard not to, when thinking back to the time she’d pinned him down by his own neck and shielded him with her body during a particularly tight spot of trouble. ‘Opening up doors for her and spreading the story of the hero of Prioche was the least I could do…’ But despite all the vast wealth that had surely come her way, far from his expectations, she refused to simply retire.

She rarely brought up her training as a paladin archer, and it was easy to forget, most of the time. But the more he thought about his unofficial ‘niece’ the worse he felt about the lot in life she’d carved for herself. ‘Sometimes it’s like all she wants is to ‘not’ come out of a fight.’ He pondered the absurd thought and when the pair was well out of view he forced himself to focus on the immediate matter and got into the carriage provided by the inn for the use of traveling guests.

It was an ornate thing, polished to a shine and painted with the bright blue and gold of the city on the Long River. The golden wood and vibrant watery shade stood out and screamed money to whomever saw it.

The horses, a strong and healthy white steeds that stood three heads taller than himself, began to prance as soon as he sat back against the velvet lined cushioned seat and said, “Merchant district.”

“Master.” It was the voice of a young boy, though Corwin had taken no notice of him, that was hardly unusual. Footmen, grooms, coachmen, and a number of other tasks were typically performed by young boys in service to the master of a house or a business. What got his attention was that the boy’s speech was unusually fluid, almost rehearsed, as smooth as water over polished stone.

Most such boys had cracked voices, but this one did not. It was such a rare difference that the keen merchant made a mental note of it while the carriage rolled on over the cobblestone street, the gentle little bumps rocked his carriage back and forth ever so slightly and he looked out the window at the street outside.

Laylan was a bustling city, set on the crossroads between the Kingdoms of North and South Qadish, the two lands were once united entirely, now in the wake of the war against the demihumans who followed the Demon God, the unity was all but shattered. Where in North Qadish it wasn’t uncommon to see watchful faces full of want and hunger, and the leading concern of the population was ‘food’ or ‘fending off brigands that would kill you for food’, Laylan had gone untouched.

‘If anything, it got richer, how many merchants set up shop here when they fled the north one dawn ahead of the demihumans? How many nobles hoarded their wealth here in secret and fled to their families here rather than fight for their homes in the north?’ As a result, Laylan’s common citizens walked with clean clothes and proud eyes. Most of them, at least.

Here and there he saw the rare trace of the elven slave population, they were exceptional in their rarity, being little known in Qadish outside of Wenmark itself, but one always knew their masters.

Proud to the point of hubris, whether aged or young, they walked ahead of their possessions with heads held high while at their backs whatever attendant they had, looked no higher than the ankles of the person they followed unless they had to. Clad in what amounted little more than sacks more often than not, with their ears clipped down by half, the very sight disgusted Corwin to no end.

He looked away while what he assumed were travelers from Wenmark entered a shop. ‘You’d best prepare yourself for Wenmark. Imitate the slaves. Look at the ground, look down, look away, if you don’t look, if you keep your ears closed, you don’t have to hear…’

But his heart already quailed.

He pushed and pushed and pushed his loathing down into a ball in his gut and commanded himself, ‘Focus! Focus on the one thing you’re good at!’

Corwin’s breathing was labored at the least as he dragged his mind away from vile things, and back toward business.

The ride at least was not a long one, and he stepped out when the boy opened the carriage door and held his posture with perfect ease. It wasn’t until then that Corwin got a good look at him, and saw the cut ears that marked his elven heritage.

“How old are you, b- young man?” Corwin asked when his feet hit the ground.

“Seventy-eight, master.” The boy answered, he looked up, though without raising his head, he only raised his eyes. The searching look of uncertainty, as if to ask, ‘What am I dealing with here?’ was obvious to Corwin, who knew it well.

“And your mother, is she well? And what of your father?” Corwin asked.

“My mother, I don’t know, My Lord. We were separated after the Divine Kingdom took our village, that was twenty years ago… she could be well… or dead… or worse. My father, he died from overwork on the great latifundias of the Divine Kingdom.” The boy’s eyes blinked several times, “forgive me if that answer does not please you.”

Corwin almost reached out to touch the top of the boy’s head, but he drew his hand back, thinking the better of it when the boy stiffened as if he was about to be struck.

The merchant’s hand came down to rest against his side, “I’m sorry about your father, and as for your mother, I hope she’s well. I’m sorry for bringing up something painful.” Corwin said and bowed his head, the boy’s eyes widened at the unlooked for apologetic gesture, his mouth tightened up as if to keep back words he wasn’t sure he should say.

“I won’t be long, wait here… what is your name?” Corwin asked it as gently as he could, leaning forward just a little so he didn’t loom over the child that was old enough to be his grandfather, had he been human.

“Ahmarantha, My Lord.” The boy answered succinctly, a trace of pride in his slightly louder intonation.

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“Wait for me here, Ahmarantha. I won’t be long.” Corwin answered and walked away from the carriage and toward a line of stalls bearing his first name colored in the almost golden shade of his last name.

The stalls were simple modular designs available for rent from any guild hall, and by now his boys knew very well how to put them together, how to sort products and where in line. Put the cheap necessities first followed by ever more expensive and needless needs at the far end. Set up the stalls near to a guard shack for added security. And as he approached and listened…

“Well if you can’t afford it, you could try master Bolrob’s stall…”

“Of course, not everybody can afford this kind of perfume…”

“Yes. Well, if you didn’t care about quality, you wouldn’t have come to the stalls of Corwin Amber…”

The mix of subtle digs and praise rang from their youthful throats and coaxed the prideful and the vain alike. Common purchases from minor peasants were quick and brought little chatter beyond delving for rumors while trading coin, no haggling was done, and the business for cheap materials was brisk.

Corwin didn’t approach from where they would see him, no easy task given his size, but he moved with the sea of people that moved around the teardrop shaped marketplace of stalls and shops which catered to the upper class and their servants, and wound his way around until he was at the backs of his boys and had only to watch them work.

Their hands were quick, making short, efficient gestures that sorted coins by value for quickly making change by touch alone, their eyes never leaving their customers or prospective customers.

Business was brisk to put it mildly, and from his comfortable position at the back he was already working out what to acquire for the most important leg of his journey. As to what he would go back with? ‘Gold someone to carry my venture into the decades ahead. The Amber trading house will last far, far beyond my time.’ It was a comforting thought to have, and watching his apprentices work, even knowing half of them were ready to quit, it was heartening.

He left his place only a little, and his apprentices even less, shuttering their stalls only to relieve themselves, they worked tirelessly, bodies almost quivering with anticipation as each coin clinked into their hands and disappeared into pouches secured to their belts.

The smell of rich and fragrant perfumes wafted through the air, carried on a gentle breeze from ladies of money and taste whose wide, impractical dresses could only be worn by those who had to move very little farther than from a carriage to a stall or a carriage to a door. Their brightly painted lips and dangling jewelry would have invited theft, save for the fact that most were accompanied by a bodyguard in chainmail armor or boiled leather at the least.

Not a single set of peasant’s clothing was to be found, nor would it be, not here.

‘Gold for the merchant, silver for the maid?’ The first line of a rhyme came to mind as the golden sun traversed the last leg of its journey across the sky, slowly disappearing behind high walls as the hours began to fade away from the day and shadows crept in. And out of sheer delight at seeing the bulging leather pouches, he rewrote the rhyme in his mind. ‘Gold for the merchant man, silver to make change, copper buys me peasant backs, while steel guards my trade, but always the road beckons, on my quest to get paid.’

He finished the brief composition just as the gaggle of young men sighed with relief as their day officially came to an end with the first touch of shadow to the signs atop their stalls.

“Now, men,” Corwin said emphatically and stood up, causing them to half jump out of their skins at what was to them, his sudden appearance, “close up quickly and join me in the guild hall. I know some of you intend to quit, and anyone who wants to leave now, I’ll draw pay for and bid farewell.”

When Speranzi and Skana reached the city exit and saw the smoke of their encampment rising toward the sky with morning meal preparations, they paused. Or rather, Speranzi paused, and put out her hand to grab Skana by the shoulder. Skana turned to face her Lady, and could not help but feel her breath snatched away.

It was easy to see why she was regarded the way she was, the way her pupils seemed to pulse like the leather of a wardrum being struck, the unblinking stare that came out so naturally that she had no doubt that Speranzi didn’t even know she was doing it… and yet for all that, to Skana, there was more to see.

The high cheekbones and fine features looked surprisingly delicate, an illusion, she knew, given that she’d broken her fingers punching them, and her nose would have been beautiful on another face. Her lips were thin and jawline sharp in the way an ideal maiden’s were, and the golden hair that hung short and loose was like a crown in its own way.

But Speranzi had not stopped her so she could be stared at.

“Listen, I will say thank you again for what you did back there. But I absolutely forbid you to talk about it. Do you understand me, Skana?” Speranzi asked, and Skana briefly opened her mouth, then snapped it shut.

‘Pride. Even someone trained as a Paladin will have pride. To be seen like that, had to gall her.’ She closed her eyes and took a weighty breath, then put her hand up over top of the one Speranzi laid on her shoulder. “Nobody would think less of you. You spoke up for the peasants, people one step removed from animals and slaves. You have nothing… nothing to be ashamed of, My- Speranzi.”

Speranzi squeezed her shoulder a little tighter, the tension in her fingers palpable all the way to the bones beneath Skana’s flesh. “Not a word.”

She relaxed her grip instantly when Skana winced, but held her straight stare up into wide green eyes. “Not a word.” Skana promised. “I won’t say a thing. But… won’t you seek revenge or-?”

Speranzi’s head shook immediately and her grip fell away. “The laws of that place are wrong, but it is still a city. I will appeal to the higher authority in Wenmark when we arrive. Don’t mistake my execution of that rogue in the village for the usual. I can’t just kill every wrongdoer and murderer I see. He died because there is no law in villages but popularity. No justice except for the well loved. A city answers to higher authority, if I alert the senior priests of the city to what they’re doing in Laylan, I’m sure they’ll punish the corruption there, once someone brings it to their attention whose word can be believed.”

‘A paladin and a noble… I guess it would be enough but…?’ Skana had to force herself to keep from shaking her head in denial. “My- Speranzi, do you really believe they’ll listen?”

“Of course.” Speranzi answered and furrowed her brow, “You don’t?”

“What do I know? I’m a peasant. But-” She looked away from the warrior woman, her eyes shut with gentle slowness and she savored the feel of the kiss of the breeze while she tried to think of what to say, “do you know one reason why I wanted so badly to follow you? You out of all the heroes of Prioche and the war against the Demon God and his demihuman slaves?”

“No.” Speranzi answered, her brow still furrowed, she all but demanded an answer.

Skana could only exhale the painful negative. She put her hands on Speranzi’s shoulders, it never failed to surprise her that the woman was not as large as her reputation, to look down at her this way felt almost… wrong.

“Speranzi, if you knew why this was going to fail, what you hope to do, I mean… you’d also know why I’m willing to give my life to you over any other noble I’ve ever seen. Why all of them,” she gestured toward the camp where soldiers ate and drank and trained their bodies in contests of sport, enjoying what downtime they had, “will follow you to the death.”

Skana finished the words with quiet regret at the last, “Just remember what I tell you, Speranzi, and come to me when you know the answer. I think you’ll need me, or… if not me, someone, then.”

Speranzi could only look at her with head cocked in confusion.

“I’ll go see Micah and start my lessons, and don’t worry, I won’t say a word about what happened in there, for whatever that is worth.” Skana vowed, stepped back, gave Speranzi a half bow, and then took off at a dead sprint toward the camp so that they would not return together.

Speranzi watched the woman run, her long legs ate up ground like a flood ripped its way downhill, then she began walking back to camp on her own, continuing to contemplate Skana’s words well into the night until sleep finally took her and she couldn’t think of it anymore.