by Terry Schott
“They could do that in any city or town. No need to venture here.”
“Regular vendors are too expensive.” Ezref frowned, and Sebastian continued. “From my conversations with Bramell, his philosophy has always been about more than profit. It’s actually brilliant.”
“A trader not interested in profit?”
“Oh, he makes profit. But first, he concerns himself with investment.” Sebastian smiled. “That’s what sets Bramell apart from his competition in my world, and there has always been a lot of competition.”
“Give me an example.”
Sebastian stopped and looked around, stroking his beard. “See that druid over there?” He pointed to a young woman dressed in a dark green dress.
“Yes.”
“Let’s say that she happened to acquire a broadsword with magical power woven into it. What would she do?”
Ezref shrugged. “Find a vendor and sell it. Then use the money to buy something that she can actually use as a druid.”
“That’s right,” Sebastian smiled. “But what happens if she sells the sword for two hundred gold, yet wants an item for herself that costs two hundred and fifty?”
“She can haggle with the vendor to reduce his price. If he will not, then she waits until she earns the extra fifty gold. It’s been my experience that most vendors would do a trade in that scenario.”
“For fifty, likely.” Sebastian grinned. “What if the item she wants is four hundred gold?”
Ezref laughed. “Then she’s halfway to her goal after selling the sword, and better go earn another two hundred.”
“Exactly. That’s not how it works if you’re dealing with Bramell, though.”
“How so?”
“He takes the sword, and gives the druid the item she wants.”
“If she is two hundred gold short?”
Sebastian nodded. “That’s right.”
“That makes no sense.”
Sebastian raised an eyebrow.
“The trader is in the negative.”
“Correct. Negative two hundred gold.”
Ezref bit his lip and said nothing. For the next half-hour they explored. Between stores, the young mage broke his silence. “You say Bramell makes bad trades, yet he is very successful.”
“Yeah.”
“How?”
“In Bramell’s mind, that trade with the druid, where he is down two hundred gold, is a good one.”
Ezref snorted. “I don’t see how he could think that.”
Three tables sat in front of a shop. Sebastian led the way and they sat. “In the short term, the trade I described is bad for him. Bramell gets a two hundred gold sword and hands out an item worth four hundred. Short-term, he loses. But Bramell plays a long game.”
“The druid will return.”
“That’s right.”
“How does he know that?”
“If you were able to buy an item for half the price it cost anywhere else, wouldn’t you come back—go out of your way to find that same trader—to shop with him again?”
“I suppose I would. What does he do the next time? Charge an additional two hundred gold for whatever item she wants, to recoup his initial loss?”
Sebastian laughed. “No way. Although, more often than not, the druid will hand him three hundred before starting any new transaction.”
Ezref stared at Sebastian. “What? Why?”
“Gratitude. And because most people are inherently honest, especially with those who are generous to them first. The Farmer King has a reputation for both generosity and loyalty. He is willing to extend both to everyone who enters his shops.” Sebastian smiled. “It is known that no one treats his friends better than the Farmer King. He offers them treasures and items at fair prices and pays generously for anything that he buys. He consistently pays better than any other vendor, and charges less.”
“And still somehow manages to make a profit?”
“An insane amount of profit.”
“I’m still not positive how.”
Sebastian raised one eyebrow. “Loyalty.”
“You already said that, but it doesn’t tell me anything.”
“I will give you another example.” Sebastian crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in his chair. “There was a young crafter who started buying from Bramell early on. As a result, he was able to afford better spell components, wands, staves, et cetera, than he could have if he’d traded with normal vendors.”
“That matches the other example.”
“They all match. As a result, the young crafter levelled faster, survived easier, and became very successful, when others of his same age and skill level tended to fail and die. The crafter always returned to buy and sell from Bramell, and they became good friends. Sometimes the crafter would give extra, but whenever money was tight, which is often for a crafter—”
“Tell me about it.”
“Bramell would refuse payment and say to pay extra later—when, or if, he could ever afford it, without causing himself hardship. Bramell told him there was no pressure. No rush.”
“And later came?”
“You bet it did. The crafter eventually became a member of the council.”
Ezref’s eyes widened and he whistled.
“Indeed. One day, Bramell looks out his window to find three large, horse-pulled wagons rolling toward him. The crafter sent them, returning many of the items that he had used early in his career and a treasure trove of other items. When Bramell asked how much the crafter wanted for the entire lot of items, the crafter’s asking price…”
“Was zero?”
Sebastian nodded. “Bramell eventually saw his profit from the relationship, and it was tens of thousands of gold pieces more than he would have received selling and buying during the course of their transactions.”
Ezref nodded. “That’s a great story.”
“It’s a true story. And not atypical. Just an average day in the life of the vendor who started with nothing and went on to become the Farmer King.”
“Phenomenal.” Ezref shook his head. “What happens if someone buys and they don’t return the loyalty?”
Sebastian shrugged. “Then they are not friends.”
“And Bramell sends soldiers to collect any outstanding debt?”
“No. It is much worse than that. He never trades with them again.”
“Ahh, yes.” Ezref nodded. “That does make sense.”
“I know it’s a difficult concept to get your head around.” Sebastian indicated the street filled with richly outfitted players passing them. “But it’s like you said. The place is filled with more high-quality armour, weapons, spells, and everything you can imagine, all because of Bramell’s reputation.”
“Why don’t you like him?”
“I respect him.” Sebastian frowned. “I think I might even like him, especially in this situation I find myself. In past meetings, other realities, he was…disruptive to my work. In my previous role that caused me no end of problems.”
“Will it do the same here?”
“Not at all.” Sebastian smiled. “I know I tried to prevent him from coming to this land, but having Bramell here could turn out to be a very good thing for us in the long run.”
Chapter 26
“I’m not calling him.” Xander crossed his arms and turned to gaze out the window.
Mercy laughed. “Don’t be a baby.”
“He can steal my soul.”
“No, it can’t. Your soul belongs to the Dark Lady.”
“It’s not funny.”
“Normally, I would agree with you, but you’re acting like a frightened child, and there’s no need.”
Xander turned and gaped at her. “The thing almost took control of me.”
“Dominated. But it wasn’t even close to doing so. You regained control plenty of time before that could happen.”
“You said I had ten seconds.”
“Exactly. And you regained the upper hand two or
three seconds later.” She shrugged. “Like I said, plenty of time.”
Xander sighed and shook his head. “There will be a battle like this each time I summon him?”
“Yes…”
“There’s more.” He plopped down in the nearest chair. “The way you said yes means there’s more.”
“The benefits of having a shard imp to serve you far outweigh the dangers.”
“And by danger, you mean being transformed into one. A shard imp.”
“You are young, with a very strong will. It will be decades until the risk of being dominated by Xyclotl is remotely possible.”
“You mean, aside from the first time?”
She closed her eyes and shook her head.
Xander laughed. “Six more seconds and that would have been the end of me. That’s too close for my liking, thank you very much.”
“Then smarten up.” Her tone hardened. “Remember this lesson. Your responsibilities carry serious consequences should you falter. Never summon your imp when you are tired or weak. They can heal us—”
“They can?”
“Yes, but if you summon one while you are gravely injured it will prey on your weakness and almost definitely have you.”
“Always be strong when I summon my imp.” He nodded. “Got it.”
“And send them away before you are too tired, for the same reason. They are clever. Deceitful. Especially in the beginning of the relationship. Mine knows very well the price of playing tricks, but yours will need to learn.” She raised one eyebrow. “And judging from what I saw, you have your work cut out for you.”
Xander stared at the floor until the sharp sound of Mercy clapping her hands together pulled his attention back. “Never in the history of Death Strykers has a young, strong, clever initiate been dominated by their shard imp.” She grinned. “Don’t worry, it will happen when you are old, weak, or tired.”
He laughed. “I do want to learn how to use these.” He raised his arms and flexed his fingers, watching as the patterns of the grasps changed and flowed over his skin in response to his movements.
“Then call your shard imp.”
***
Xander opened his mouth. “Xyclotl, I—”
“There’s no need to speak words,” Mercy said.
He opened his eyes and frowned.
“Most times you will need to perform the summon in silence. Call him with your thoughts. No outward effort is required.”
He nodded and closed his eyes once more.
“No need to close your eyes, either.”
Xander laughed and opened them. “That makes sense. Sorry.”
Mercy shrugged. “Proceed.”
It took him a few minutes to acquire the proper mindset, but eventually he did and sent out a silent call. As before, a loud popping sound broke the silence and a small outward explosion of a substance that looked like black baby powder puffed in front of him. Xyclotl appeared from within, flapping in the air. He raised one eyebrow and Xander held his palm forward.
The shard imp grinned and landed on the young Death Stryker’s palm. Xyclotl bit the skin and turned his head to look at Xander as the drop of blood welled up.
“Behave yourself this time, or I won’t let you have the entire first drop.”
The shard imp’s brows furrowed but he gave a single, terse nod. “Fine.”
“Go ahead,” Xander said.
When the drop was gone, Xander made an upwards tossing motion with his hand. “Enough.” He focused his will into the command and smiled as the shard imp took to the air without resisting. He glanced at Mercy, and she nodded.
Xyclotl looked around the room and then rested his gaze on Mercy. “Where’s your girl?”
Mercy shrugged. “Wherever she goes when I don’t need her.”
“She knows how to have a good time, that’s for sure. Tell her I asked about her.”
“That’s not likely to happen.”
The shard imp pretended to pout.
“Xander needs guidance.”
“With what?”
“These.” Xander raised his arms.
“The grasps?” The shard imp scowled. “There must be one of your kind who can give him the basics.”
“There isn’t.” Mercy shook her head.
“Yes there is. What was the name again…” he tapped a finger against his chin. “Inzern! She has one. Tell that girl to get off her lazy butt and give you a few pointers.”
“Inzern is dead.”
Xyclotl tilted his head. “Is that so? She went young, then?”
“No.”
“Your lifetimes are so short. I barely have time to learn your names before you’re kicking over dead.” He sniffed. “Fine. I’ll give you a few pointers, kid.”
“Master,” Xander said.
“Huh?” Xyclotl frowned. Then he bent over and began to laugh.
Xander frowned and glanced at Mercy. She shook her head.
Xyclotl laughed a bit longer before stopping. “I get it. She told you to be more in control. You’re a good boy and follow instructions. But let’s get this straight right now. I won’t be calling you master.”
“Okay.”
He flew close and hovered a few inches from Xander’s eyes. “Keep this in mind, too. Treat me how you’d like to be treated. Remember that someday in the future, it is possible that our roles will be reversed. Treat me well now, I’ll be good with you later.”
Xander considered the warning and nodded.
“Remember when I told you they are clever?” Mercy asked.
“Yes,” Xander said.
“This is a perfect example.”
“Hey,” Xyclotl scowled.
“If he ever gains control over you, he will not treat you well.”
The shard imp shook its head. “That’s unfair.” Mercy glared and the creature chuckled. “Accurate, but unfair.” He landed on Xander’s shoulder and patted his cheek. “I’d still advise treating me decently. I’ll work harder if I’m happy, pal.”
“I agree.”
“You do?”
Xander nodded.
“Great. Then ask me anything about the grasps and I will answer.”
“What can they do?”
“Lots of things. More, as you grow in power. As a beginner, they serve best as weapons and/or armour. That’ll change as they level up, much the way you gain skills and abilities as you do.” Xyclotl grinned. “The good thing about the grasps is they don’t need a Scout to access new abilities. When they are ready, you will know.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because they are ancient. They come from a time when Scouts did not exist.”
“Ahh.”
“Let’s get a weapon for you. Is it safe to assume you want swords?” Xander nodded, and the shard imp yawned. “Of course you do. That’s what the majority of you Death Strykers want. Severely limiting, if you ask me.”
“Why do you say that?” Mercy asked.
Xyclotl turned to look at Mercy. “You really asking me that, sugar?”
She nodded.
“Well, look at that. Someone willing to step outside the norm. What a treat.”
“It would be foolish to restrict options in this case. No one has had two grasps in…”
Xyclotl nodded politely. When she did not finish the sentence, he laughed. “You fishing for answers from me?”
Mercy smiled.
“I’m not really a history buff. Gets in the way of other more useful pursuits, like drinking, passing out, and spending time with the ladies.” He leaned close to Xander and raised a hand to block his mouth from Mercy. “In that order,” he murmured. Then he turned back to Mercy and smiled. “If I had to guess? I’d say no mortal follower of Darkness has ever possessed two grasps.”
“Are you serious?” Xander asked.
“Dude, one grasp conveys incredible power. Two—” Xyclotl shook his head.
“Did you just call me dude?”
“What? Of course not. Is t
hat even a word, or only a strange sound you made?” Xander frowned and the imp winked at him. “To get back to the lady’s question—”
“Don’t call me that,” Mercy said.
“There are no limits to the weapon you can create.”
“No limits?” Xander’s eyebrows rose.
“Okay, a couple limits.” Xyclotl laughed. “You can create any weapon, but not projectiles too. A grasp-created item will not split a portion of its mass away from itself. Bow and arrows, crossbows, et cetera—those are not on the table. I mean, you could make a bow but not the arrow, or an arrow but not the bow.”
“Interesting,” Mercy said.
“One other thing. The larger the weapon, the greater amount of midnight you use.”
“Midnight?”
“That’s what the black stuff swirling around on your skin is called.”
“Oh.”
“Create a dagger and you barely use any midnight. Create a giant-sized, two-handed battle axe or pole arm, and you use considerably more. Got it?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then visualize a weapon and pull it out of your skin.” Xyclotl mimicked the motion that he wanted Xander to try.
“That’s it?”
“You’re welcome to say words or perform fancy motions,” he shrugged. “But yeah, that’s it.”
In his mind, Xander pictured a blade that resembled the swords he had been using up until now, but fancier looking. Then he wrapped the top of his left hand over his right and made a gripping motion. The swirling patterns of midnight pooled together over his hand, and he felt a warm heaviness beneath the skin. His hand closed and he felt something solid in his grip. Slowly, he began to pull, his eyes widening as a blade emerged. There was a ringing sound as the tip came free and he held the sword aloft.
Black as the midnight it was named for, the sword had edges that crackled and hissed with silvery sparks that trickled and dripped along the edge. The hilt was beautiful: blue-black, mixed with silvery blue, and very ornate. The blade was slightly curved in an exact match of Xander’s other swords. He held it in front of him, eyes wide. “This is a damned fine blade.”
“Damned.” The shard imp laughed. “Great word. Both clever and, in this case, accurate.”
Mercy stepped closer, a smile on her lips as her eyes travelled down the blade’s length. “May I?”
