“Maybe,” Ross said, refusing to look ashamed. “But those above us are supposed to protect us, not serve us up as fodder to their witches for their power. So who betrayed whom?”
The old man nodded. “Aye, boy—didn’t say I disagreed with you, only named it for what it is. Because if you’re telling the truth, and these monsters are sent by men with money and power, they won’t let it stand if we get in their way, even if it’s to save our own skins.”
“That’s true,” Ross replied. “But fighting back beats laying down and waiting to be eaten.”
“Do you know who’s sending the monsters now?” a voice called from the crowd.
“No,” Mir admitted. “We’re trying to figure it out. And maybe it doesn’t matter. If we kill enough of the monsters, the blood witch is weakened, and the magic fails.”
Or something worse happens, Polly thought, recalling the debates between Rigan and Aiden over the nature of the Balance and what might happen if it was not maintained. What a choice! Do nothing and get eaten and die horribly, or rid ourselves of the monsters and have magic go awry and kill us all.
Chapter Ten
“Now that there’s been a change in power, perhaps we might re-think our relationship.” Merchant Prince Kadar leaned back and watched his guest’s expression. A servant filled their wine goblets, set a full carafe on the table between them, and left the room, closing the doors behind him.
“I’m not sure what you mean my lord.” Guild Master Stanton fingered the stem of his goblet nervously.
“Come now,” Kadar chided. “Everyone knew you favored the late Merchant Prince Gorog, and that he supported you as the choice to replace Guild Master Vrioni after his unfortunate death.” Vrioni’s poisoning was no accident, nor was the evidence left to suggest my involvement. I had nothing to do with it, but most certainly Machison and Gorog did.
“I do my best to represent the interests of Ravenwood,” Stanton replied. “If the city-state does well, we all prosper.”
“A very pretty sentiment,” Kadar replied. He took a sip of his wine, wishing it were whiskey. “And yet, not altogether true. I had close ties with the challenger for your new position, Inton Throck. In fact, he was favored to become Guild Master until he, too, died most unexpectedly.” Another murder I blame Machison for, and a complication that persists beyond the grave.
“I’d heard rumors to that effect,” Stanton said. “I hope I’ve demonstrated fairness to all parties.”
“You didn’t have much opportunity to demonstrate unfairness, since the elder Gorog killed himself not long after you came into your position, and his son fears assassins so much he barely leaves his rooms.”
Stanton shrugged, wisely making no comment.
“That’s why I wanted to meet with you,” Kadar said, giving his best facsimile of a warm smile. Stanton did not appear to be fooled. “I don’t think that young Gorog is going to leave the kind of mark his sire did. And especially with the… fragility… of the new agreement with Garenoth, I wanted to offer you a chance to start things over between us. After all, the vintners and distillers are doing quite well in these uncertain times, which I’m pleased to see since those are my vineyards and grain fields they’re using to make their wares. And as you’re heading up the Coopers’ and Carpenters’ Guild, well, there’s a natural affinity to be explored.”
“The challenge of being a Guild Master lies in doing right by our members, and the three Merchant Princes, all of whom we serve to some extent,” Stanton replied.
His guest was either dense about the possibility of collusion or entirely too honest. Kadar found his dislike of the man growing.
“Of course,” Kadar replied. “But there’s nothing that says you can’t do well by them and come out ahead yourself. After all, that’s what the others do.”
“I’m still learning my role, my lord. I couldn’t say.”
Kadar chuckled. “Oh, I assure you, all of your fellow Guild Masters have figured out where their interests lie. The Smith’s Guild is betting against the Garenoth agreement succeeding. If that happens, there’ll be unrest, and that means more weapons—for the guards, and for the average person worried about trouble. More money in their pockets than they’d make sending wrought iron gates and fancy tools to Garenoth.”
When Stanton did not reply, Kadar forged on. “And the Potters and Glassmakers’ Guild has been experimenting with better ways to store wine once it’s aged. Barrels are so heavy. They’ve scheduled time to meet with me to show me their newest creations. And I have to say; I’m intrigued.”
Stanton’s expression made it clear that he registered the threat. “I assure you, my lord, nothing can compare to well-made barrels for either storage or the flavor imparted to the contents—wine or spirits.” He leaned forward, leaving his goblet untouched. “What is it you want from me?”
Kadar’s smile was genuine, if not warm. “That’s more like it. I want you to keep an ear out on my behalf. Nothing difficult. But you go places I don’t, hear things that people might not say in front of a Merchant Prince, things I need to know to do business. I need an inside man among the Guild Masters, and in return, I assure you, I’ll see to your rewards.”
Stanton licked his lips nervously. “That’s it? Information?”
Kadar nodded. “That’s all. I want to see you succeed, Hess,” he said, mirroring the man’s posture to gain his trust. “That’s why I’m passing along my concern about what some of the other Guild Masters are doing. I’d hate to see them gain an unfair advantage.”
Kadar could almost see the thoughts churning in the earnest Guild Master’s mind. Ravenwood’s politics was a cesspool of alliances and betrayals, assassinations, and near-misses. Honesty created a serious liability. And having all of the Guild Masters worrying about how their counterparts are trying to undercut them means their attention is not focused on me.
“I appreciate your consideration,” Stanton said. “And I find your offer a worthy one. You can count on my support.”
Kadar reserved his triumph for later after Stanton was out of sight. He lifted his goblet in a toast. “To prosperity,” he said, as their glasses clinked.
A servant escorted Stanton out, leaving Kadar alone in the room. After a moment’s pause, a quiet snick sounded as a latch opened, and a segment of paneling swung away from the wall, revealing a listening post.
“Did you hear?” Kadar asked, refilling his goblet.
Joth Hanson stepped out of the cramped alcove. “Yes. He wasn’t quite as difficult to persuade as you feared.”
Kadar held his wine glass up, regarding the glow of the lantern through the dark red liquid. “Find a man’s self-interest, and persuasion becomes near-certainty.”
“And your meeting later today with the Guild Master of the Potters and Glassmakers’ Guild?”
Kadar smiled. “I’ll make the same argument to them—against Stanton. We are strongest when the Guilds work against each other.”
Hanson nodded. “Very well.” He cleared his throat. “I also have news from the harbor.”
Kadar raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Hanson’s lips quirked in a satisfied smile. “I’ve set up a shipment—through intermediaries—that will come into Talerth Bay. It’s a small, shallow river port the large trading ships can’t use. Most of the traffic comes from fishermen. In fact, the shipment’s coming in on a fishing boat, to get around the tariff inspectors,” Hanson reported. “Our man on the boat will offload the crates with the smuggled goods, and take them to a market where peddlers and merchants buy their wares. Within a few days of landfall, the pieces will be sold throughout the rural areas—and no one in the counting house will be the wiser.”
Kadar leaned back, savoring a sip of the fine wine in his goblet. Since he began considering the possibilities of working with smugglers and pirates, opportunities had opened up. The Guilds being undercut were not those that owed their allegiance to him; anything that weakened their position strengthened his. Most o
f the gains came at young Gorog’s expense, driving the son of the disgraced Merchant Prince further into financial distress.
“Keep an eye on things—discreetly,” he replied. “Take it slow. We don’t want to flood the market; that’s a sure way to draw Aliyev’s attention. Have you inspected the quality of the goods?”
Hanson nodded. “Yes, m’lord. They are as well-made as the regular items. There should be no way for anyone to tell that these did not pass through customs. All markings are per regulation.”
Kadar nodded. “Good. Very good. Nicely done. And our profit?’
Hanson’s smile broadened. “Handsome indeed. I have the paperwork here,” he added and withdrew a folded parchment from his pocket. At Kadar’s raised eyebrow, he shook his head. “Merely figures, m’lord. Nothing to indicate the subject, if it were lost or seen by others. Easily burned once you’ve reviewed it.”
Once again, Kadar indicated his approval. “This is going to set us ahead, create a lead the other Merchant Princes can’t close.”
“If I may say so, a shrewd move on your part, m’lord,” Hanson replied. “Fortune favors the aggressive.”
Kadar felt a flush of satisfaction. “We’re going to come out of this stronger, regardless of whether or not Aliyev manages to salvage the Garenoth agreement. Some of the other city-states are hungry to advance, ready to show what they can do. I admire that. Yes, we gained ground over the previous agreement and Machison’s favoritism of Gorog,” he added, contempt clear in his tone, “but there’s still so much money being left on the table.”
“New ways, for leadership of a younger, more vital generation,” Hanson said. “The League has grown hide-bound.”
“Keep an eye on the smugglers—and the go-betweens who sell to the merchants. We can’t afford any slip-ups,” Kadar said, setting his empty goblet aside.
“Yes, m’lord,” Hanson assured him. “Do you wish me to listen in on your next appointment?”
Kadar nodded. “Yes. There’s a candlemark until the next Guild Master arrives. Time for you to stop in on my witch and let him know I’ll be by for a chat after my appointment.”
“As you wish, m’lord,” Hanson said with a bow and left the room.
The meeting with the Master of the Potters and Glassblowers’ Guild went much as Kadar expected. So many old resentments and jealousies festered among the Guilds that it didn’t take much to nudge the players into action. Just the hint of an opportunity for revenge, or the chance to secure an advantage, and they took the bait so willingly, each anxious to outdo the others.
The elder Gorog had prospered by making the Lord Mayor his creature. Aliyev was unlikely to allow a repeat of that, whenever he got around to naming a replacement for Machison. And while Aliyev had approved terms to the agreement with Garenoth that bettered Kadar’s and Tamas’s percentages at the expense of Gorog, the Crown Prince clung to the ideal of impartiality—as much as anyone could in the sewer of League politics.
Ambition was expensive. Spies and assassins cost money, as did provisioning his blood witch, Wraithwind. Maintaining his palace and staff in the manner expected for a Merchant Prince was not cheap, and Kadar favored fine things. And when I’ve achieved my goals, and taken Aliyev’s position for myself, I will spare no expense.
Kadar dined alone, glad for the quiet after a day of conversations. A hedge witch had assured that his food and wine was not poisoned, on pain of death if wrong, but Kadar ran a spelled charm over his meal to be certain. Advancing one’s fortunes in Ravenwood had the drawback of making oneself a more appealing target for other, equally ambitious players.
Thus far, the day had gone well. His conversation with both Guild Masters satisfied his interests and assured mutual suspicion. Stanton and his counterpart had both agreed to spy for Kadar, with very little arm twisting required. Kadar preferred when he could achieve his ends with minimal fuss, unlike Machison who had enjoyed the game far too much. Still, when getting results required taking a hard stance, Kadar did not shy away. Such as with Wraithwind.
With a sigh, Kadar finished his wine and pushed his empty plate aside. He disliked interacting with his blood witch and did so as little as possible. Still, it would not be good to give Wraithwind any illusions of lacking supervision, nor to have him think Kadar stayed away out of fear. No, Kadar found the entire matter of blood magic to be distasteful. I value a good butcher, but I don’t go out of my way to visit the abattoir.
He debated waiting longer to allow his food to settle, and cursed himself for putting off the appointment until after he had eaten. Then again, there was no good time to seek out his witch. No matter when he entered the witch’s workshop, one meal or another was bound to attempt to come back up, given the smell alone.
Unlike Machison, Kadar had never served in the army. Any killing came at the hands of others, whose services were well compensated. He was a businessman, and while it could be argued that in the League that was hardly a less sanguinary profession, it had the advantage of being less hands-on. Meeting with Wraithwind reminded him of that reality. Aesthetics, not moral squeamishness, lay behind his reluctance. Blood and bodies were what he paid others to handle.
Resigned, he pinched a few leaves of mint from the bowl on his table and crushed them between his fingers, bringing them with him to hide the smell of Wraithwind’s rooms. He would make certain to have tea and anise afterward, to settle his stomach.
Kadar’s palace lacked a dungeon, an architectural oversight he had never bothered to remedy. Hanson dealt with problems and prisoners elsewhere, which suited Kadar just fine. That meant Wraithwind could not be relegated to a lair underground, and instead set up his workshop in an old carriage house within the walls of Kadar’s compound.
No one but Kadar and Hanson were permitted to visit the blood witch, nor did anyone else have the key or combination to the complicated locks. Wraithwind no doubt had the power to magic those locks open, but his best interests were served by obedience.
“What have you learned?” Kadar asked, striding into the workshop. He held up the handful of crushed mint to his nose and took a deep inhale to mask the smell.
The blood witch who styled himself as “Wraithwind” looked up, his expression a mix of annoyance and momentary confusion. Slender and bespectacled, with a mane of graying hair, he looked every bit the cut-rate mage that he was.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said. “I think I’ve got the answer to that weather charm you wanted, the one to set storms on a particular ship? Nasty bit of work, no guarantee it won’t break the ship apart, but I’ve got what I need to do it if you want it done.”
Kadar nodded. “Keep it handy; I’ll let you know when I have a suitable target. How about the monsters?”
Wraithwind chuckled. “I’ve sent them where you bid me to. I’ll warn you that the Rift feels unstable; we may want to sate the Cull a bit before drawing on it—”
“I care nothing about how your magic works, only that it does work,” Kadar snapped. “We can’t let up on the pressure now. If you’re worried about bringing more of them through from wherever they come from, move the ones you’ve got around from place to place.”
Wraithwind sighed as if he longed to try to explain that it didn’t quite work that way, but he would know from experience that Kadar hated explanations.
“Or do I need to withdraw privileges from your partner,” Kadar said, and the blood witch’s head snapped up. For a second, before he schooled his expression, Kadar saw raw fear in the man’s eyes.
“No, please. Leave her alone. I’ll do whatever you want. Just leave Micella alone.”
“Her continued comfort is entirely up to you,” Kadar replied. “When you please me, she has extra wine, new books, clothes to replace what’s worn through. Fail to deliver as you’ve promised, and her existence can become quite bleak—and your visits extremely rare.” He took another sniff of the crushed mint, and while it helped to cover the smell of old blood, it could not completely hide the nauseating odor.
>
Wraithwind blanched. “That won’t be necessary,” he replied sullenly.
Kadar brightened. “Good. So glad that we understand each other. Now—I need deflection charms, something that will divert attention from boxes of cargo. Doesn’t have to make them invisible, just unimportant, easily forgotten.”
Wraithwind nodded, regaining his composure. “Not usually too difficult, although obviously the larger the item is, the harder it becomes—even with magic—to convince people not to notice it.”
“I’m not a fool,” Kadar snapped, and the blood witch winced at his tone. “I’m not asking you to hide the whole sailing ship, merely the boxes of cargo. I need twenty such charms by three days hence, and there should be no way anyone can trace them back to you—or me.”
The blood witch looked as if he wanted to argue, then he glanced down with a resigned sigh and nodded. “Yes, m’lord. That can be accomplished—but I’ll need more blood to do it, especially if I’m to keep drawing monsters from the Rift.”
“I’ll send Hanson—tell him what you need. Be specific, if there’s a type that works best—male, female, young, old. He can’t be expected to know, and I don’t want to hear you complain later that you don’t have the proper materials.”
Kadar glanced around the witch’s workshop with disdain. He disliked the dirty magic in the same way he found it difficult to abide anything untidy, and its particulars bored him. Wraithwind’s workplace was a mess, littered with vials and flasks; rafters hung with dried plants, weathered bones, and desiccated carcasses. The witch himself smelled as bad as his blood-soaked shop, and Kadar made a note to himself to have Hanson drag the man out to the stable and dump a few buckets of water over his head to keep down the odor.
“Whatever it takes; spare me the details. Just make sure it gets done and done right. Or you’ll regret it.” Kadar paused. “Anything else?”
“I’m picking up echoes of other blood magic, powerful workings, but it’s faint—possibly outside of Ravenwood. I can’t tell what’s being done, only that there’s a strong witch working the magic, and another witch—closer to us, countering.”
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