B. Salem
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B3 Chapter 20
🕑 Added 2025-11-18 23:48:49 +0000 UTCCHAPTER 20
They did little else that day, considering that the sky decided to recommence its fervent welcome after they put their belongings inside their room. After eating their supper in the common room, they retired to get a good night’s sleep.
Tomis insisted on keeping watch still, and Lucan had to overcome it with the power of command to get the man-at-arms to sleep. They settled for bolting their door properly, and Lucan wondered if Tomis had some concerns he wasn’t speaking or if he was feeling guilty for leading them into a trap in the boglands.
Thankfully, by morning, the rain had stopped, and they left a bleary-eyed innkeeper behind them after parting with a few coins to break their fast. Ryder left to gather more word from the streets, while Tomis accompanied Lucan on his quest to seek out the guilds.
They went to the market again, the sun warming their backs, even if the ground was still muddy where the roads weren’t made of cobblestone. There, Lucan bought some breads from a baker’s stall.
“Good man,” Lucan said once he’d handed the baker a copper coin. “Should one wish to pursue grand matters of trade, where would a wise man counsel them to begin?”
The baker scratched his balding head once, then said, “The Blue Emporium is your destination, master.” He pointed at one of the opulent shops that ringed the market. It was across an endless sea of stalls, but even from here, one could see it clearly. Its face was painted with royal blue, the expense of which could only be imagined. It seemed to span the three tiers of the building, if the paint’s borders were to be believed.
Lucan dipped his head to the baker and led Tomis around the stalls that barred their path. Once they were in front of the Emporium, Lucan could finally see its massive doors. They spanned the height of the ground level of the building and the width of six men shoulder-to-shoulder; it might have well been a gate.
As they stepped forward to enter, two servants on the inside slid the doors to the side instead of opening them. Lucan paused. Tomis paused. And they both stared like the two yokels they felt they were at this moment, equal in their ignorance, equal in their wonder.
The two well-dressed servants looked askance at them, eying their questionable attire without showing any contempt that could later be held against them. After the brief contest of gazes, Lucan led his man-at-arms inside, giving the servants a nod as he passed. The inside of the Blue Emporium was likewise painted, though with a lighter shade of blue that seemed inviting instead of imposing. Another, even better-dressed servant walked towards them at a fleeting pace.
“Good masters!” He bowed, suppressing a gasp of exertion, for he was not a thin man. “Welcome to The Blue Emporium, where wealth and elegance breed fine goods.”
Lucan raised a brow, giving the man a nod. “We thank you. Who may we speak to on matters of trade here?”
“Me, masters!” the servant said.. He was a slightly corpulent man of middle age, sweating from the ears as he spoke. “What do you wish to buy?”
Lucan shook his head. “I do not wish to buy anything. I wish to see to dealings of much greater significance.”
“How significant, good master?”
“More significant than you can bear,” Lucan said flatly. “Take me to your master.”
“Forgive me, master, but I cannot do such without knowing that it is a matter worth his time.”
“It is,” Lucan said. “You need only present me to him, and other matters will bring themselves to sort.”
The servant looked at him oddly, as though taking his measure, and by his countenance, he’d found him wanting.
So Lucan fixed him with a hard glare and raised a hand to silence him before he could gainsay him again. “A word further and I shall leave, and then you alone will bear the consequences.”
Growing quiet, the servant eyed him for a moment longer, then, with a resigned sigh, he dipped his head. “I hope you are not deceiving me, for it would bring me much harm.” He looked between the two of them, as though waiting for some disguised truth to emerge.
Upon seeing that they were firm in their conviction, the servant left them for one of the doors that dotted the Emporium.
The man wasn’t quick to return, and so Lucan found himself in possession of some time. So he strolled through the emporium, eying the goods on offer.
On one wall, he saw bronze weapons fixed on hinged racks. Swords, hammerheads, spearheads, and axeheads. None of them were enchanted, but he imagined that some guild could handle such matters for those who needed it.
On another wall, there were finely-crafted packs and pouches of all kinds, some frilled for the use of women of high standing, and others rugged and hardy for adventurers and men of means. There, he saw another servant gesturing at one of the pouches and chattering excitedly with two patrons.
Three women were hovering over an opulent glass case with fine jewelry in the corner. But the most crowded place was at the end of the hall. He saw a dozen patrons surrounding something that stood between two armed guards who would have looked more at home flanking the doors of the Emporium.
Lucan gingerly walked forward, followed by Tomis. They stepped around the crowd to see a large glass case on a wooden plinth. Inside the glass was a golden orb, shining under the light of the chandelier hanging above.
Lucan gaped incredulously, watching a God Orb on display, and then he saw a blackwood plaque fixed on the plinth. Behold! One of our grand treasures. Praise the blessed soul whose claim on it shall be vindicated in our Solstice Auction.
He managed to take a breath at last, glancing at Tomis, who, for the first time, seemed anything but vigilant. The man-at-arms was staring at the God Orb with barely contained disbelief.
It was then that the servant found them after reemerging from wherever he’d disappeared. “Good masters. My master is ready to meet you.” He smiled, though the sweat on his forehead showed disguised concern.
“My thanks,” Lucan said, following the man as he led them towards the same door.
The servant rubbed his hands together with an indulgent smile as he took them to a stairwell that led upstairs. “The good masters are serious about this matter, yes? It would harm this one a great deal if I were to waste my master’s time.” He scrutinized them from the corner of his eye.
“Indeed, we are.”
“I have ventured a great deal by demanding my master’s time,” the man said. “It is not an easy matter, you see?”
“Of course,” Lucan answered dryly, then a thought occurred to him, and he took a silver out of his pouch, putting it in the man’s hands. The servant’s eyes widened, then he smiled giddily, and with a spring in his step, he led them up the stairs.
A hallway painted purple waited for them at the top of the stairs, and the servant led them to a light brown door at the end of it. A heavily-armored guard flanked the door, wearing a tabard of blue with a ridged line that may have stood for a mountain.
The servant lowered his head to the guard and gestured at them. “The master’s guests.”
The guard’s helmet moved in a rigid nod, and then he opened the door, stepping inside ahead of them. Lucan followed and saw the guard circling a table and standing behind a blue-robed old man seated there. Two chairs waited for them across from him. Without hesitation, Lucan took his chair. After a moment, glancing between the seat and the old man’s guard, Tomis decided to stand behind Lucan, a mirror to his opponent.
The old man raised a brow, observing them for a time, then he seemed to accept it, giving a slight nod. The servant who’d brought them stood to the side, his head lowered.
The old man observed Lucan for a moment, letting out a subtle rumble as he breathed. Lucan, in turn, observed him. He was a narrow but strong man with a thin, hollow ring of gray hair on his head, trimmed neatly and appealing in its simplicity. His robes had the same colors the guard behind him bore, and his hands were wrapped around each other in a patient gesture.
A stubborn part of Lucan chose not to surrender in this game of silence. He tempered his patience and matched the old man’s steady gaze. At the same time, he ordered his thoughts in preparation for the forthcoming spar. He still had his lawfather’s letter for one of the guilds, The Yellow Hides. Apparently, they didn’t call Varencourt their home, though they had a strong presence in the city.
Lucan had decided that he would scout the city’s guilds on his own first before committing to an ally who might not be as reliable as claimed. Hopefully, he could keep matters discreet until he was at least sitting across from one of the guild masters in this city.
“So you come to The Blue Emporium,” the old man’s voice came at last.
“So I do,” Lucan said.
Slowly, the old man continued, “And how much more of my time do you intend to waste?”
Lucan shook his head. “Your time could find no better use. Of that, I am certain.”
The old man frowned. “I am Orin Saffryl, Master of The Blue Emporium of Varencourt. And though we might not be masters of this city, there is a reason we are afforded the privilege of having such a large house in a foreign city. The Blue Guild sits on the High Council of the Union. Even our lowliest clerk is not to be trifled with. Yet here you sit, trifling with me.”
Lucan faced the grand announcements with narrowed eyes, though he took note of the man’s odd name, only now scrutinizing his features, hidden under decades of aging. There was a slight slant to his eyes, their edges rising as though to look down upon their surroundings, and his lips were unnaturally small. This was not a man from the Elder Lands, or perhaps his predecessors weren’t.
Seeing his silence, the old man continued, his words throaty and slow once again. “I know there is more to you than meets my eyes, yet you sit there, demanding time and consideration from a man such as I, showing nothing in return, no mark of who you may be.”
Lucan nodded, but before he could afford the man the courtesy he so wished, he glanced at the servant and the guard standing in the chamber with them.
Orin flicked a finger, and the servant bowed, leaving the room in a hurry. Then he turned back to Lucan, tilting his head in the direction of the guard who stood behind him. “My warden is a discreet man. Nothing you say here shall leave this chamber.”
Lucan cocked his head, unwavering.
“Rare is any dealing in which I take part and of which he is ignorant, this I can swear,” old Orin said with an exasperated sigh.
Lucan thought for a moment, then nodded, untying his sheathed sword from his belt and placing it on the table. He’d hidden his sword in a ragged sheath that showed no sign of what it sheltered. Smoothly, he slid part of the blade out of it, unveiling the sharp glare of enchanted goldsteel.
Orin was taken aback, slowly leaning back into his chair, and even his warden’s helmet edged down, allowing him to eye the sword.
“I see…I see.” Orin ran his hand over the neat stubble adorning his chin and hummed for a moment. “You are a noble.” He hummed for a bit longer, eying Tomis, who stood behind Lucan. He muttered something under his breath, then said. “The Bitians haven’t mastered goldsteel forging, but I imagine a noble would not find it difficult to procure one should there be enough will.” He rubbed his chin harder, the lines on his face squeezing. “Why would a Bitian pursue such a deception, though?”
Lucan pressed his lips, and before he could interrupt the old man, the latter continued.
“No, only those coming from two of our neighboring realms would disguise themselves so, and even with your torn leathers, you do not look like a warlord. You are Barwalian. Seen twenty-five winters at most. If you are no heir, then I only know of three lords so young. I have met one, and you are no master of disguise, so you are not him. You also do not have a crown of golden hair.” He narrowed his eyes further, scrutinizing Lucan’s hair. “Unless it is part of your deception.” The old man shook his head. “That is your hair, however dirty it is.” He let out a breath at last. “Knowing such tells me that you are Lord Zesh.”
Lucan’s countenance must have ascertained Orin’s presumptions, because the old man smiled with self-satisfaction. Lucan could only clear his throat, trying to regain his bearings, before the old man continued.
“Color this old man surprised,” Orin said. “Why would a fresh lord such as yourself grace the Union with his presence?”
Lucan sat back, attempting to bring his thoughts to order. It seemed word of the alliance had not yet reached these parts. Lucan didn’t know if that was good or bad, but he would keep what secrets he could for now, considering that most of them were seeping out of his fingers at the moment. “We are here for a rather grand venture.”
“And what would this venture be?” Orin’s eyes were wider in anticipation. “Or do you think me, like my clerk, of too low a standing to know of your grand plans?”
Lucan shook his head. “I wish to converse with the guilds of Varencourt…about a trade route.”
Orin frowned. “A trade route?”
“One between here and there,” Lucan said, his inflection filled with as much meaning as he could muster.
“But…” Orin’s frown deepened. “The land routes…they.” He rocked back in his chair. “There?” Wide eyes once more. “Ah.” Then he snapped his head in his warden’s direction, and some command passed from his eyes.
The warden moved, his sabatons rattling the floorboards. He marched to the door and opened it, stopping to stare at Tomis, who still stood unmoving behind Lucan.
After a beat, Lucan nodded to his man-at-arms, who calmly stepped outside, followed by the warden and the slam of the door behind him.
And then, rubbing his stubble, Orin spoke. “I do wish that you won’t be telling me something incredulous after all this.”
Comments
Bassel
Thanks. I think the element mainly pursued in those kinds of scenes is faceslapping of some sort. And while such scenes have their place, they're better set in an appropriate context. And the 'excellence' of a character can be shown, if necessary, in more nuanced ways most of the time.
Mitch Sumner
Well done on this chapter. I Love seeing intelligence and professionalism from even low servants. Read too many stories where a store's sales associate is arrogant for no reason.
Dominick Zimmerman
TYFTC
