Merchants and Mages (Highmage's Plight Book 2)

by D. H. Aire

  jewelry.”

  The jeweler looked at him in astonishment, “There is something else I might show you then, a good value that has a bit more spirit in, uh, its manufacture.”

  George came closer, drawing an excited breath, “These rings are exquisite.”

  “You must understand, that value is important to some and craftsmanship… the pedigree of the craftsmanship, often more important.

  Many pay a great deal for that pedigree.”

  Se’and gaped, “It’s wonderful.”

  “And apparently of Faeryn craftsmanship.”

  The jeweler whispered, “Please, such is a terrible thing to be said too loud.”

  “How much?”

  “Oh, a mere twenty––five Imperials. A good value.”

  George smiled, “Good value, indeed. How much of this ‘quality’ do you possess?”

  The jeweler frowned, “Sir?”

  “I want as much as I can get, as quickly as I can.” George replied.

  Se’and looked at him.

  “You like that ring, my dear?” She stared at it, her eyes widening slightly, then gave only the vaguest nod.

  George smiled, “It’s yours then... How much for the lot?” he asked drawing out the coin.

  The jeweler gaped; licking his lips stated a price.

  The jeweler watched them go. He had named a price that had earned him a tremendous profit and knew he could get the man to buy more. He closed the shop, made certain all the wards were invoked and hastened down the back alley to see the Faeryn craftsman in the Lower City.

  Se’and was still staring at the ring that he had put on her finger as he gestured to his senior servant, “Uh, Farrel, would you be so kind as to hold on to these for me?” He slipped a ring into her hand as well as she took the box from him.

  Fri’il nearly choked, “Mi… Master Jeo, I will guard it with my life.”

  “Your life is more precious,” he whispered, then more loudly said, “I never thought to see such wares as what that fellow keeps hidden. Selling these in the Crescent Lands will make us rich!”

  A man stared at them as they walked past, quickly whispering to his servant. George could practically hear his words echoing in the fellow’s head. :Great, we’re being followed,: Staff reported.

  George grinned, “Oh, so much the better.”

  :What game are you playing at?: Staff asked, curiously.

  Raven frowned as another man began shadowing them. She wondered why her foster––father was clapping his hands and looking about him at every nearby shop excitedly.

  Creating a Market

  Chapter 27

  “What are those?” Se’and asked with interest.

  “Cloak clasps, dear lady,” the shopkeeper answered. “They have a quick release – what some jokingly refer to as a ‘dueler’s clasp.’”

  He placed one in her hands.

  She clicked it open. “How much you offer?”

  He smiled and named a price.

  She offered a price twice that, but for three.

  He blinked, smiling, “As you wish, dear lady.”

  Se’and handed them to her black-haired servant, “Don’t lose these.”

  Raven stared at her. Gifts for her? Se’and nodded ever so slightly. Smiling, Raven slipped them in what she had always considered her useless pockets. She was already scheming about replacing all the clasps on her true livery – which would then be easier to doff.

  They walked from one end of the market to the other. The hawkers had been hearing that foreign merchant, Jeo d’Aere, was on a buying spree and they wanted to see some of the profit. Yet, each time he purchased, it was not items any of those who watched him so carefully would have thought valuable or precious.

  He had an eye for craftsmanship; that was plain enough. He paid well, haggling only when he wished multiple items – often a demand any given shopkeeper could not meet. The merchant would leave in disgust while the shopkeeper would shout, “Just come back tomorrow! I’ll have it for you then!”

  It soon became apparent that he intended to profit from items that were usually ignored by decent folk. Much of what he bought was Faeryn crafted. Its quality and modest cost prized among the poor of the Lower City.

  One servant reported what he had seen and complained to his merchant

  master that the foreigner must be a fool. He was slapped. “Fool! He knows he has a market! One that will pay dear for everything he buys!”

  “But – its Faeryn make!”

  “What do barbarians care?” The merchant shouted, “My factors must go to the Lower City and buy up everything they can! Quickly before our competitors think of it! And you, there, find me the caravan schedule! I will beat this foreigner, and everyone else, to the outland markets!”

  Dustin stared as that afternoon the Faeryn Hall was practically besieged. “I want to place an order, my good sir!”

  “You want to make a demand of Archmage Talik?”

  “No demand! An order – I wish to buy Faeryn made goods!”

  Dustin gaped, “The Hall doesn’t sell goods here!”

  One of the elderly and slightly malnourished master mages who rarely left the Hall anymore saw the crowd of factors and came forward, “Excuse the Journeyman, gentlemen. He has not had dealings with our crafts folk. I suggest that you speak directly to the Guilds, or better still, to the shops that sell our items, normally.”

  They demanded names. A dozen factors raced away, while their servants ran back to the Upper City. The elderly elfblood chuckled, “Oh, my, I do believe the Guilds that have ignored us so long are somehow in for a trial... Now, Journeyman,” the mage said more stiffly, “as the Archmage’s protégé it is your responsibility to find out where all this interest is suddenly coming from!”

  “Uh, yes, Master,” Dustin hurried out, then suddenly stopped in the courtyard, wondering just how he was to find out. He looked at

  those heading back to the Upper City and decided to try there first.

  George looked at the brace of knives. “Are they not beautiful? The intricate hilts styled with dragons by a master’s hand.”

  He glanced at Se’and, who thoughtfully shrugged, having grown remarkably more interested in her lord’s game with each passing shop. “I would like to see those there.”

  The shopkeeper coughed, “Uh, these, my good sir. They are durable and serviceable. The hilts are plain, yet have a suppleness that some seem to enjoy. Their type are often used by some Imperial officers, which is why I stock them.”

  “How much?” George asked.

  He actually winced telling him, knowing the price was remarkably low. Se’and laughed, “Do you have two score?”

  “Uh, that many braces?” he squeaked. “No, milady – at most I’ve four in stock.”

  “We will have to go directly to the Guild then,” she muttered to her companion.

  “In the meantime, I’ll take that one as a sample.”

  “I – I can have at least twenty braces by tomorrow!”

  George sighed, “Perhaps we could return then.”

  The shopkeeper sent his senior assistance scurrying out the back door, “Get me twenty braces at least! And don’t let them cheat you!”

  Dustin stared as the man raced past him, then came to the Merchants Avenue. He gaped as he saw the crowd following the burdened porters. He edged closer until he saw who they all followed. “I should have guessed. But why me?” he muttered.

  However, he could not help himself. He joined the crowd and the row of porters carrying all the packages the foreigner had amassed.

  Se’and glanced over her shoulder and muttered, “This is getting out of hand.”

  “So it is,” George mused. “Perhaps, then it is time to go to the next step.”

  “What else could you possibly be interested in buying?”

  “When we started out I told you I wanted to buy your brother a gift.”

  She stared at him as he walked toward the one shop on the street she
could not possibly imagine him interested in. The cabinet maker gawked as so many people came toward him. He hastily retreated into his shop, heard the laughter and realized that he was being ridiculous. “Fine Sir, what may I do for you?”

  George looked around. Cabinets of all sizes and shapes were displayed on the left, then he saw the row of wooden trunks. “I’m interested in a sturdy chest.”

  The man blinked, “A chest, fine Sir? Ah, then may I recommend this

  excellent design here – personally warded against fire and water damage!”

  “Academy––trained work?” George asked curiously.

  “Why, but of course! This represents one of their finest accomplish…”

  “Won’t do at all... I am looking for something simpler… ah, that one there.”

  The cabinet maker gasped, “That one, fine Sir? But my grandsire made that for storage.”

  George thumped it, shaking the lock, “Solid workmanship. Your grandsire must have been a Master! I take it there are no wardings on this one?”

  “None. I just use it for my polishes and rags.”

  “Excellent... How much do you want for it?”

  Gifts

  Chapter 28

  Fri’il and Raven grimaced as they dragged the old trunk, which had been rather hastily emptied, out into the street. “That’s far enough,” George offered. “Now, let’s choose what we would like to send.” He walked over to the porters and began looking through the bundled goods he had bought.

  “Je’or… Jeo what are you doing?” Se’and rasped, glancing about them at their defacto audience.

  “What? Do you think I would forget my promise to send gifts to his Lordship?” Those around them stood stiffly taking in his every word.

  “But…” she half exclaimed, “he’s so far away.”

  “Think of the profit once he’s seen the sampling of gifts!” George exclaimed, turning back to his task. “Ah, Farrel, what do you think of this?”

  Fri’il glanced at the bolt of sheer silk, thinking he cannot be intending to ship this to Catha, could he? Trying not to chuckle, she realized that is precisely what he intended. That silk would be most appreciated. “Most assuredly, Master.”

  He grinned at her, bought it and set it inside the chest before casting about for the next item. Se’and frowned, “Do not forget this.”

  Glancing up, he looked at glazed plates. They were terribly fragile, completely unsuitable for any lengthy journey. George nodded, “Most definitely. Set it inside. Quickly, please.”

  Raven actually laughed as the crowd stared wide–eyed, wondering at the merchant’s madness. A finer show they had never seen as objects of remarkable fragility were added one after another only occasionally separated by a jerkin or blanket. Then he opened the box of rings and showed the crowd, “No finer example of the quality Imperial

  craftsmanship.”

  The crowd stared at the jewels as he added a second box following the first. When the chest was almost full, George took one of the braces of knives with the plain but supple hilts and set it atop.

  “Hmm, there now everything is almost ready.” He looked about him and asked the crowd, “I need a mage. Where might I find one?”

  A voice piped up, “The Guild Hall is down that way!”

  George frowned, “Academy–trained? No, that won’t do at all. I need an innovative spell to see this safely to its destination. They’ll just ward against fire and water damage or some such simple spell... No, I need…” George saw Dustin standing there. “You’re a mage aren’t you?”

  Dustin coughed, “Me? Ah, yes sir, a journeyman.”

  “Are you Faeryn–trained?”

  There was a hiss somewhere in the crowd. Dustin stood straighter, “Yes, good sir, I have that honor.”

  George grinned, “I need a service, then. This chest must cross nearly half the world. I need a warding against more than damage to it, but to the contents as well. Can you do that?”

  Swallowing hard, he noticed the look in George’s eye, which belied the challenge of his tone. “I, uh, can… yes.”

  “Can you ward it against theft?”

  “No,” he replied honestly, “it would take a most terrible curse to do that.”

  George took a step back, “A curse... Could it prevent any but the rightful recipient opening it?”

  “If the curse were strong enough,” Dustin replied almost whimsically.

  “Then you, a Faeryn mage, could set such wards with such a curse?”

  Dustin’s eyes widened. “Me?” It came out sounding so weak.

  Raven casually stomped his foot, “Ow… ’ve course, I can, good

  merchant.”

  Gesturing, George asked, “Name your price and do it, then.”

  He stared, name his price? The disguised human mage had been generous since first they had met in Lyai and continued to even after his true nature had become known to him. “Twenty gold Imperials, good sir.”

  The crowd gasped. A moment passed, then the merchant was heard to reply, “Fair enough.” He slammed the lid shut. “Be about the task, then.”

  All gazed at Dustin, who took a deep breath. He reassured himself that he could do this. He was Archmage Talik’s very own journeyman. He had been taught all the proper wards and he could lay a curse – and although he had never done such a thing, he had learned the structure he needed to establish to effective something particularly nasty.

  He raised his hands and began waving them over the chest, laying the wards. The most important ward he called forth was “stasis.” It was a Faeryn’s most powerful bane ward. A spell particular to each mage who learned it and one not easily unknotted should magery itself be wielded to damage the chest. It took minutes to lock the wards in at all the angles. Only the metal lock, itself, did he leave to be keyed to conclude the wardings’ effectiveness. Sweat quickly beaded his brow as he finished the wards, trying to remember what he needed to do next. He should set the curse, he told himself. But suddenly remembered Talik’s teaching that one condition must be set first.

  “I must key this to the person you intend it for.”

  George frowned, “Will a name suffice?”

  “The more specific the better. Should you choose a title and another bears it, that person could unlock the wards.”

  “His is a title unlikely to be shared,” the people heard the merchant reply cryptically.

  “The more personal the better.”

  George turned to Se’and and whispered to her, “Have him take hold of your hand and name your brother.”

  Se’and nodded and placed her hand in Dustin’s, then whispered, “He and I are of one blood, not half siblings, but complete. The only two our dam bore to our sire. His name…” her voice grew incredibly soft, “…Vyss Secondson of the House of Ryff.”

  Family bonds were strong, Dustin knew from Faeryn teachings. He held her hand tight as he turned to glare at the lock, his spell firmly in mind. He keyed it, thinking fiercely that only Vyss Secondson was the rightful owner of this chest and its content. The lock would know him by the mystic bonds that bound full blood sister to brother. He released her hand and began the cursing formula, then went to the next step.

  It was said that Faeryn mages need not speak or chant their magery, hence the heresy that Archmage Faeryn had brought to the Empire, which ultimately split mages loyalties evermore. Suddenly, the Journeyman was speaking. The crowd cowered back as he voiced each curse to be wrought on even the unwitting who would try to open this chest, only he who it was intended for would it recognize.

  When at last Dustin grew silent, he was exhausted and drained. George counted out his promised pay, asking the porters to take the chest to the Caravaner’s Depot. None dared approach.

  Dustin wearily smiled, “It is all right. The chest will seek to reach the one it is keyed to. It will not bring harm to any who seek to speed it on its rightful way.” People in the crowd gazed at him respectfully, something Faeryn mage’s throughout the
Empire rarely glimpsed in public. He stood taller still as George offered the porters each a bonus atop the generous wages he was already paying.

  Hesitantly, four of their seven porters placed the chests on their carrying poles, then heaved.

  “That was foolish,” Se’and muttered as Fri’il and Raven followed the

  porters bearing the chest to the Depot, while the others carried the remainder of George’s purchases back toward their accommodations.

  “Really? So you want me to take back that ring I gave you?”

  “No! I like the ring just fine... It’s the circus you made of all of this.”

  He chuckled. “It was fun, wasn’t it?”

  “As long as it doesn’t get us killed.”

  “Hmm,” he muttered, “there is that.”

  Faeryn Marked

  Chapter 29

  “Out of our way!” one of the five Guildmasters shouted as they burst past assistants and servants.

  The silver-haired old elf stared as the craftmasters, who depended on his Guild’s mageries to promote their wares, cried for his attention. His personal apprentice hissed at them and raised his hands in preparation for casting a spell that would bar them. Eyes wide, he yelled in dismay, “Please you must hear us out or we will all be ruined!”

  “What?” he rasped, forestalling his apprentice with a gesture.

  “Our goods are practically worthless!” one lamented. “We pay your mages fair wages! You cannot allow us to be ruined!”

  His fellows nodded as the old elf shook his head uncertainly, “What are you blathering about?”

  “Everyone wants Faeryn marked goods!” growled the Master of the Carpentry Guild.

  The mage gaped, “What?” Then he glared angrily, “Explain yourselves before you rue the day you dared enter these walls!”

  They looked instantly sheepish and fearful, “Your pardon, Archmage,” each muttered.