by Aaron Dennis
“Eh, good evening,” the plump Fafnirian said. “Supposing you want it processed?” he asked, pointing to the buck slung over the mercenary’s shoulder.
“Actually I was hoping you were interested in skinning it and buying the meat. We need money for passage to Othnatus.”
The butcher eyed the two for a moment then proposed, “I’ll buy the whole thing off you for ten coppers.”
“No,” Ylithia said and made to leave.
“Wa-uh, wait,” the butcher stammered and ruffled his balding head. “I’ll give you fifteen.”
They haggled for a while. Finally, Scar was adamant about keeping the skin and antlers to sell somewhere else. Ultimately, the butcher bought the venison, but kept five copper coins from the price, leaving the mercenary with fourteen coppers. He called it a king’s ransom no doubt implying that Scar had sufficient coin stashed away somewhere. It took about twenty more minutes, but the butcher skinned the animal and wrapped up the hide in a bloody linen.
“Take it to Jerthol, he’s a friend of mine,” The butcher said. “Tell him Ole’ Dantys sent you.”
Upon thanking the butcher, they asked for directions to Jerthol’s shop, which Dantys provided. Then Scar asked after Rolus and Reelus, but the man shrugged. Once they left, they located the tailor easily enough, a shop denoted by a sign with a needle and thread. The two popped in and announced that Ole’ Dantys had sent them.
“Good, good,” Jerthol said. “Sit down, sit down.”
The travelers sat on short benches while Jerthol took the skin to the back. The tailor’s shop was filled with racks of nice tunics, pants, hats, gloves, pretty much every article of clothing. Some were fashioned from cotton, others from wool or leather. It was a very nice, clean shop with many standing mirrors. When Jerthol popped back in from a room behind the counter, he asked about the antlers.
“I thought about selling them to a trinketer or what have you,” Scar informed him.
“My cousin, Loculos, makes knife handles from antlers. I’m sure you can work out a deal with him,” Jerthol advised.
The two then commenced haggling over what the hide was worth minus the cost of removing the antlers. They settled on ten coppers and then received instructions on finding Loculos, the weapon smith. Upon finding him, it turned out the smith had no interest in making a purchase as he claimed he had enough antlers for fifty knives at the time, but Ylithia convinced him to accept in exchange for a few arrows. He agreed for the sake of the King of Alduheim, albeit begrudgingly. By the end of the end day, Scar had twenty four coins to his name and three more nice arrows.
“Now where do you propose we find transport?” Scar asked Ylithia.
“Probably too late, now, though we could find the export warehouse and ask around there.”
Loculos interrupted, saying, “Doubtful you’ll find anyone right now. You should ask around in the morning.”
“Why?” Ylithia demanded.
“Well, I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you my father owns the Bounding Beaver Inn toward the center of town, but seriously, I don’t think you’ll find too many traders traveling by cart. The cold season is practically upon us, you know, and trade slows down for a week or so until it gets really cold and hunters start trading pelts…there are no crops right now, you see,” the tailor explained.
“So, this Bounding Beaver, there is food and drink there?” Scar asked.
“Only the best in Kathka,” Loculos laughed.
“All of you know each other around here, don’t you,” Scar joked.
“That’s the Closic way, my friend. We look out for one another.”
“I think I like the Closic way,” Scar said to Ylithia.
She smiled, replying, “Better than cutting down everyone in your path, isn’t it?”
“You should know as well as I,” he burst out laughing.
Loculos didn’t know what to make of their display, but Jerthol had sent them, and if he could finagle a few coins out of them for his father, all the better. Once Scar and Ylithia decided sleeping together in a bed had its benefits, they inquired about finding the inn.
The tailor stated it was actually across from the export warehouse at the center edge of the town. They thanked him, moseyed out of the weapons shop, and traipsed down the main road past families rushing home. The inn had a large wooden sign—a goofy beaver in mid run—with lanterns on either side over two opened doors. The sound of flutes and violins permeated into the street.
“Nice music,” Scar said to his partner as he stood by the entrance and motioned for her to go inside.
“I could do better,” she chuckled.
“I’d love to hear it sometime.”
So they went in, crossed the foyer, and into a large, dining area. A spit over the hearth fire released the mouthwatering scent of rabbits roasting. They sat on stools at the bar across from the hearth. An older, Fafnirian female with a chestnut ponytail approached them. She had a big grin, the kind that made it look like she had too many teeth. Scar also started taking notice that Ylithia’s skin tone was paler than her kinsmen.
“What can I do for you two?” the barkeep asked, thus breaking his judgments.
“How much for the night?” Ylithia asked. “Oh, and Loculos sent us.”
“That cheeky boy,” the boisterous woman commented. “Sendin’ the visitin’ King to us…it’ll be eight coins for the night. Food an’ drink are extra. Heavy blankets are extra. The mornin’ wake is extra. Stayin’ past sunrise is extra.”
“What isn’t extra?” Scar jested.
“My cheery attitude,” the barkeep exclaimed and laughed uproariously.
Scar couldn’t contain himself and laughed, too.
“I think we’ll just take the room,” Ylithia offered.
The woman bowed her head respectfully. After payment was received, she howled to someone called Joclor. An adolescent boy came from a room behind the bar. After he received the woman’s instructions, he came around the bar and led Scar and Ylithia through a hallway with paintings of the Closic countryside and finally to their room. It was illuminated by candles.
“Purchase any extras?” Joclor asked.
“No, we’re fine,” Scar said. “Thank you.”
The boy held out his hand and Scar shook it.
“You’re supposed to tip him,” Ylithia reprimanded.
Scar looked at her then back at Joclor then back at Ylithia. “How much?”
She grumbled while smiling and gave the boy a coin before sending him on his way. Scar mused over the proceedings, but had tipping her in mind, which he did twice in the warm bed of hay and pelts. Afterwards, he commented on her state.
“Well, you were extra snippety today.”
“I know,” she said, cradled in his arms. “It’s just that I haven’t been in Closicus in ten years. Now here I am and in the garbs of Mekosh. I can feel their judgmental eyes upon me.”
“They were as much on me, and I have to say, I don’t think anyone was judging either of us. I really like it here.”
She smiled to herself and clutched his arm, saying, “I’m glad that you do, and maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m just being hard on myself. No matter, we’ll find transport tomorrow and then ride out to Othnatus. If you like it here, you’ll like it even more there.”
“I can’t wait.”
He blew out the candles and kept her near his body. Before too long her breathing slowed to a rhythmic pulse. She was asleep. Scar thought about life in Othnatus with the wonderful woman he had met all thanks to the Goddess of Love and silently thanked Silwen even though killing the Dragons was the farthest thing from his mind. He fell asleep shortly after.
He woke early the next morning. It was still dark. Again the word Sarkany played over his mind, but he shrugged it off. He shook Ylithia gently, and when she rose, he gave her a kiss on the forehead.
“Time to go before they charge extra,” he said.
“Right.”
They stretched and got dressed
without delay. When they stepped out to the dining area, they found it deserted. The fire had quelled and only embers remained. They ate some of the food Foxus had left them before heading out into the chilly morning. Chatter from the warehouse across the way was audible. Workers were joking as they shuffled merchandise around. The travelers jogged over. There were no traders, but a jovial, young man greeted them profusely.
“What can Kathka do for the King of Alduheim?” the man asked.
“Actually, we were hoping to arrange transport to Othnatus,” Scar replied.
“Oh, sure, a nice town that is,” the worker said. “Why don’t the two of you sit down? My schedule says Onger the trader is due in today.”
“Splendid news,” Scar chirped and looked at his comrade. She smiled back. “I thought there might be a problem, some of the townsfolk insinuated there was little travel at this time.”
“That’s correct,” the worker said. “But Onger is a well known businessman. He has many wagons roaming around through all of Tiamhaal. He often stops in here to collect payments for his franchise, The Onger Tradesmen.
“Kathka’s his hometown, and this is where he started it all over twenty years ago. You’re really quite lucky to meet him.”
“I’m sure he’s a wonderful man,” Ylithia interrupted. “You’re certain he’s even headed towards Othnatus?”
She was a bit leery of the young worker, who appeared to be half in love with Onger, the trader.
“Can’t say for certain,” the man replied, and Ylithia gave Scar a knowing look, but the worker continued. “I should think he’ll be going to Genova from here, and then who knows? Worst case, you can hop off there and make your way east.”
“Good enough for me,” Scar said.
“That’s him now,” the man cheered and pointed to a cart heading towards the warehouse.
Two horses pulling an immense cart were trotting over the cobbled road. The wooden wheels created a rapid staccato sound. The man at the reins wore a gray riding cloak with the cowl pulled over his head. When he drew near the large building, he pulled his cowl back revealing an aged, bronze face, a scraggly, gray beard, and bouncing, gray curls over his head. He smiled at Scar and Ylithia before giving his attention to the worker, who practically fawned over the trader.
“Good morning, Onger!” the worker cheered as he pet the horses and pulled a carrot form his pocket.
“Morning, Dobbynus,” Onger replied. “You have your father’s payment?”
“Of course, Sir,” Dobbynus replied.
He finished feeding one horse, pulled another carrot out for the other, and a rolled up document, which he handed to Onger. The trader read over the document. By the time he finished with a big smile, he had his hand out for payment. Dobbynus undid a coin purses from his belt and handed it to Onger.
The trader painstakingly counted each coin to be sure it was a full payment, and then he smiled again. Dobbynus finished feeding the other horse and commented on their beauty and grace.
“When will you be taking over?” Onger asked the worker.
“Dad says he wants one more big haul to tithe him over before sending me out alone.”
“Your father’s one of my best in Closicus. Don’t you smear the family name, boy,” he admonished with a smile.
“Never, Sir, now, the King of Alduheim and his friend were hoping for a ride.”
“Oh,” Onger asked as he gave the two travelers his attention. “A king and a paladin are in need of my services?”
“We would very much appreciate a ride to Othnatus if you are heading that way,” Ylithia stated. “Also, I am no longer a paladin, just a humble Fafnirian.”
“I see…you have coin?” Onger asked.
“How much do you require?” Scar asked.
“That depends,” the trader trailed off with a smile.
At that time, Dobbynus resumed his work, which included a great deal of riffling through documents and double checking containers.
“On what does our price depend?” Ylithia inquired.
Onger took a long inhalation and fiddled with his beard before replying, “I am travelling to Murcas then Genova. From there it’ll be a crow’s flight to Oralia, but that is as far east as I am travelling. I have to ride south into other towns before making my stops in Sudai. There is no time for a ride directly to Othnatus.”
“Oralia is just a day’s walk from Othnatus. That is sufficient,” Ylithia interrupted. “But the price…?”
“Price,” Onger echoed. “What is the King of Alduheim doing here, and what is your business in Othnatus?”
Scar chuckled, and Ylithia cut in to answer for him. “The king has shown me the errors of worshiping Mekosh. As payment in kind I promised to accompany him to Othnatus, thus acting as a liaison in Closicus. He has no concept of our customs. Whatever his business is, I’m afraid it is his own.”
“Well spoken, lass,” Onger nodded. “What is your name?”
“I am called Ylithia.”
“I knew an Ylithia once…or was it Ulathia…it was a long time ago,” Onger said while staring off.
She and Scar exchanged a look of intrigue. Finally, Scar had to comment on the oddity of such a prominent businessman having no guards.
“I am Onger, master tradesmen, my liege,” he said with a Cheshire cat’s smile. “No one can best my silver tongue. I do not need protection.”
“Not even from bandits’ traps?” Scar asked in disbelief.
“Pshaw! I can talk my way out of anything,” he replied with a subtle nod and cocked eyebrow.
Scar smiled, but Ylithia remained skeptical. He was definitely an eccentric, old man, and he still hadn’t provided his price.
“So…the cost of a ride?” she demanded.
“Yes, I will do the king a favor, and when Alduheim rises to its purported glory, old Onger, master tradesman, will come to have his favor repaid,” the strange trader said with a fierce gaze aimed at Scar, who remained peaceful.
“If that’s all you want,” Scar said with a shrug.
Onger closed his eyes and let his head bob up and down a bit as though silently applauding himself. “Climb on back and make yourselves comfortable,” Onger offered. “We ride out in a moment.”
The master tradesman finished checking over his documents. He noted the payment received from Dobbynus then shouted at the horses. He turned the cart around in a wide arc, and they rolled out of Kathka, past the entry guards, and back onto the cobbled street. The morning light cast oblique shadows off the arches, which swooped over the travelers for a long time.
Riding along was always a more relaxing venture than hiking and aroused better conversation. Onger turned out to be quite the talkative fellow himself, which was of little surprise, he being Fafnirian and all.
“You know, I started out here in Kathka,” he yelled over his shoulder. “Made it big in Genova when I took an advance from the bank and bought two more carts. That’s when I knew charging others a fee to trade in my name would be far more profitable than trying to take on the whole world on my own.”
“You trade in every country?” Scar asked.
“Aye,” Onger replied. “Those that can’t be reached by cart can be reached by boat. To date, I have eleven carts and three boats, eighty four employees, and millions of coins.”
“I’m honored that you’re personally transporting us then,” Scar flattered.
“It truly is very kind of you,” Ylithia admitted.
“Pay it no mind,” he said and remained quiet for a moment. Then he started up again. “Four countries use only The Onger Tradesmen for their international needs.” As though he anticipated their question he added, “Closicus, Eltanrof, Satrone, and Wuulefroth. Mind you, they use their own men for trading and moving supplies within their own borders, but they hire my men to trade outside their countries.”
“And none of them use guards?” Ylithia asked with subtle disbelief.
“Of course they do, my dear,” the trader chirpe
d. “They are not Onger.”
After talks of international trade, which was painfully dull, Onger asked after their real purpose in Othnatus. His contention was that under the most obvious of circumstances—the king of a dead country with no men and a bare faced paladin—it was a sensible guess that they were escaping from something, and that seeking shelter in Closicus, a neutral country, and a tiny town like Othnatus, to boot, whomever was looking for them likely had very good reasons.
“An astute observation,” Ylithia commented. “I suppose there’s no harm telling you we’re really here to push for a more established relationship between Longinus and Gilgamesh.”
Scar gave her a sideways glance. Her insinuation was absolutely untrue. She smiled at him, and he shrugged in reply, opting to let her provide whatever kinds of answers Onger liked to hear.
“Ah, yes,” the trader nodded to himself. “That does make sense, but why not stay in Genova then. Why Othnatus?”
“He has spies in Othnatus, and we need them to see us in the midst of our clever ruse first. After they report back to him, he’ll set up first contact,” she fabricated.
“Of course, of course,” Onger agreed.
“Say, Onger,” Scar started.
“Yes?”
“Have you heard the names Rolus or Reelus? They are the sons of a man called Foxus, and I told him I’d keep my eyes open for his sons.”
Onger grew quiet. Ylithia and Scar traded a look of curiosity. Finally, the master tradesman spoke.
“The brothers were some of my younger traders. They went in on a cart together and traded under the protection of The Onger Tradesmen for two months before they were compromised in the heavy snows of Wuulefroth. They vanished in a snowstorm and were never seen again…I didn’t know old Foxus was still alive.”
“He lives on a farm outside of Kathka,” Scar said.
“And he doesn’t know his sons are dead?”
“No.”
“Too bad,” Onger sighed.
