Eastward Dragons (2 page)

“The crux of the matter is that you will no longer serve under Commander Dolin. For that matter you will no longer be under my command. Once you report to
Tal Albahi
you will serve under the direct command of the Royal Council on some sort of secret mission that I have been deemed unworthy to know the details of. Were we to tell your former commander about the transfer, I have no doubt that he would presume that you are being transferred to cleaning your brother’s boots, but I hope you will do the me the honor of not assuming that I have the same prejudices.”

“If my brother were in the habit of arranging plush appointments for me do you think I would be out here?” Neasa replied, lowering the parchment and fixing Lord Cyvith with a skeptical eye.

“I don’t suppose you would, though wherever you might be assigned, I hope to the gods that you are not in command.”

“Oh?”

“You’re too young. Too brash. You lure in boys with your sex appeal and men with your combat expertise, you make them worship your charisma and innate talent, but you are not prepared for the difficult decisions of command.”

Neasa opened her mouth to protest, but Cyvith held up a single hand and gave the slightest shake of his head. She closed her lips into a tight line, took in a deep breath through her nose, and waited silently.

“Good. You are learning already.” Lord Cyvith rose from the seat with a swift ease that belied his age and haggard appearance and strode past Neasa to stand at the crenelation, looking down on the training ground below. Nearly four hundred soldiers drilled there, pushing themselves beneath the hot afternoon sun and the brutal tutelage of Dolin. Speaking loud enough to be heard without turning he said, “Go pack your belongings, Neasa Veatro. You leave for the capital in the morning.”

⫛

Havil A’Mar watched critically as the portly dwarf took a pinch of brightflower pollen between his bronze fingers, raised it to his nose, and inhaled sharply, leaving his sentence unfinished. The dwarf’s face twitched as the astringent dust blasted upwards to fill his sinuses, then continued speaking as if there had been no interruption whatsoever. “…At a significant profit, should they be willing to trade with us. Economic reports from the eastern lands are, obviously, quite out of date, but given the development of our gemstone mines over the last hundred years I think it unlikely that they will have opened a significant source of emeralds.”

Havil permitted the drone of his counterpart from the Precious Commodities Guild to fade into the background. It was not that he had no interest in the value of diamonds versus emeralds, or the incredible profits to be made if this venture proved successful, but there was more to a society than its productive output of gold and gems. There was, to name just one thing, the society’s collective taste for spices and liquors, especially those that held the potential for altering the mind. Here in the Commonwealth there were few restrictions on the sale of such substances, but it was said that in the traditional dwarven homelands to the north east, the stone halls from which Jarom and his kin had fled countless centuries before, the possession of some herbs and spices was punishable by death, while in the elven empires that thrived in the impenetrable jungles east of Brackwater Bay few of the citizenry bothered with substances that could alter their physical bodies, owing to the inherently malleable nature of their persons.

“I said, do you agree?” wheezed the dwarf.
 

“I must confess that I was preoccupied, Guild Barron,” Havil replied, returning lazily to the conversation.

Jarom DyZhokar snorted, an unpleasant habit of those who regularly consumed snuff of all types, and nodded his broad, balding head so that his double chins bobbed within the folds of his silk scarves. “That is understandable, Lord A’Mar. I suppose that you must contend with all manner of variables when calculating the prospect of traveling with consumable trade goods. Which are most prone to spoilage. Ratios of weight to volume to profitability. The likelihood of a particular consumable that is of value throughout the commonwealth or in the western empires being more common across the high mountains that separate us from the forgotten east.”

“I was actually considering the identity of our expedition leader,” Havil said, not wishing to engage his counterpart in an actuarial discussion. “I suppose that Lord Biho will claim that honor for himself.”

Jarom nervously spun his snuffbox on the arm of the wide upholstered chair, upon which he crouched like a colorful frog. His head bobbed back and forth as he contemplated the question, doubtless running a long string of calculations through a mind that was nearly as prodigious as his girth. Just as Havil was beginning to enjoy the silence Jarom snorted again, cleared his throat, and said, “I am doubtful, Master A’Mar. The potential risks of the journey are nearly too numerous to calculate, as I had said when considering the potential profit and loss ratios of my own cargo. Myself, I would not even think to engage in such a dangerous venture were the finances not backed by the crown.”

“And what of the personal risk? You do not have the reputation of a dwarf who travels far from his accounting house, yet if my sources tell the truth you have expended no small measure of influence and gold to see yourself named to this expedition.”

“You need not be coy with me, Master A’Mar. I am old, fat, and more known for my acuity with numbers than my wit at the dinner table.”

Havil inclined his head, agreeing with his counterpart’s statement. “Why are you going on this expedition? Surely there are others in your clan who would be better suited to the strenuous expedition.”
 

Jarom pursed lips and blew out a long stream of breath. His eyes drifted to the ornately woven patterns on the curtains, which were drawn back to reveal the rooftops of the city. Some trick of the brightflower pollen’s influence upon his brain, perhaps the same intensity that brought all of the numbers into focus in his mind when he took the snuff, caused the intertwining patterns of white and yellow threads to dance and shimmer in the late morning light, like light playing off the crystal spire of the distant temple. He chuckled and looked back to Havil A’Mar, who was watching him with narrowed eyes above his fastidiously trimmed beard and hollow cheeks.
 

“I am old and not in the best of health. The thought has come to me that perhaps the time has come in my life when I ought pay homage to my ancestry and travel the wild roads myself.”

Havil nodded, saying nothing. He had not expected such sentimentality from the famously literal Guild Barron.
 

Just then the tall, beechwood doors to the inner office split open to emit Ranta, personal servant to Lord Biho Erdenech, master of the Commonwealth Guild Council. The wild curls of her red hair burst from beneath the shawl of her elegantly plain yellow dress, framing her pale features in a halo of fire.

“Lord Erdenech will see you now, guild masters.”

Havil rose slowly and nodded to the servant woman as Jarom extracted his squat body from the low chair that was provided for the comfort of the dwarves on the council. “You are as radiant as ever, Di-Ranta.”

“Spare me your flattery, A’Mar,” she replied, turning her back on him and striding into the sunlit office of her master.

Jarom’s soft laughter rumbled from deep within his chest as he lumbered up to stand beside Havil. “You will never win her heart, Havil. Just as well to save your efforts for the women of the court.”

“Or I could pay for the services of the Companion Guild, as you do,” Havil shot back.
 

“When you are as old, fat, and short as I am you may find yourself less derisive of their services,” Jarom replied, passing Havil and entering the office first. His sagging face split into a wide smile and he said, “Lord Erdenech! Thank you for inviting us to your offices on this most profitable morning.”

The office of Lord Biho Erdenech was located on the third level of the Guild Council building in the central market of Tal Albahi, only a ten minute walk from the western wall of the royal castle. The eastern wall of the office was dominated by three large windows of clear glass, imported at great expense from the glassworks of the Brightflower Desert, which opened onto a wide balcony from which the heights of the royal palace could be seen. The proximity of the two centers of power was a fitting reminder of the “trader” aspect of the Trader Commonwealth’s name. Directly opposite the doors, centered on the northern wall of the chamber, Lord Erdenech lounged in a padded, high-backed chair behind his wide mahogany desk. Across from him sat Oppen Ralva, vice-counselor of the Translators Guild, a man known to both of the trade lords for his meticulous work in translating business documents.

“Welcome!” Biho boomed, spreading his arms wide above his head and becoming with both for the men to come closer. He was a large man, in every sense of the word. Even seated, he towered over everyone else in the room and his broad shoulders carried enough gravity that his wide paunch nearly disappeared in comparison. “Please, Master Havil, pull up a chair and join us. Xi-Ranta, please bring a chair for Master Jorem. I fear I have neglected to make appropriate preparations for our esteemed colleague.”

Jarom bowed his head in acknowledgement of the apparent courtesy and smoothly swallowed the implied insult.

Havil bent slightly at the waist and nodded to Lord Erdenech and Counselor Ralva in turn. He was surprised to find the translator already in the room, and apparently well into his discussion with Lord Erdenech. It implied that the man, who would normally have taken a supporting position in any expedition, would instead be serving as his equal or better.

“Master A’Mar, I was pleased to learn that you would be representing the Victuals Guild on our expedition,” Oppen said, rising from his seat and proffering his palm in greeting. “I have long admired the dignity of your dealings with the wine merchants of
North Thalm
.”

“They wanted only to be treated as purveyors of a product, rather than drunken lushes, Master Ralva. Any trader worth his salt would have done as well as I,” Havil replied, pressing his palm atop that of his colleague in acknowledgement of the greeting.

As Havil stepped back and settled into the chair beside Oppen, Biho laughed and said, “Do not be modest, Havil. Your predecessor in negotiations with the Thalman lords was so woefully incompetent that we very nearly ran out of wine here in the capital by the time you succeeded in renegotiating the trade agreement.”

“As I said, any trader worth his salt.”

Biho laughed and bent forward to lean his forearms atop his wide desk, which was for once clear of the mountains of pulp paper and parchment that generally crowded it.

“And please do not take my greeting of Master A’Mar before you as a slight, Master DyZhokar. Indeed, your legend for fiscal acumen is so great among the guild masters that I was shocked to hear that you would be journeying with us, rather than sending an under master,” Oppen said, turning away from the others and extending his palm to Jarom.
 

“None taken, Vice-Counselor Biho. As I was explaining to our colleague before the doors were opened to us, I am growing old and the longing for travel has once more stirred within me. In all honesty, I do not…” Jarom stopped speaking and nodded a thanks to Ranta as she pushed a customized chair up behind him. He climbed the three narrow steps built into the front of the chair and settled back atop the cushion, which creaked with his weight, but held firm. He adjusted his robes and scarves, then continued, “As I was saying, I would not be surprised if I do not return from this expedition.”

“Why might that be?” Oppen asked, his voice maintaining the diplomatic level for which all Guild translators were renowned.

“He is old and clearly anticipates dying on the expedition,” Biho interjected.

Havil drew a slow breath. He knew of the Guild Lord’s impetuousness, as well as his distaste for dwarves, which Biho believed himself to disguise far better than he actually did, but it was simply bad form to interrupt a man of Jarom DyZhokar’s rank and experience.

Though the sleight was once more directed at him, Jarom merely continued speaking as if he had not heard Biho’s interruption. “I fully expect to make my way safely to the Dragon Kingdoms. As safely as the rest of the expedition, at least. Once we have arrived there I ought to be able to conduct whatever trade is necessary and determine what valuables the Dragon Lords have to offer the Commonwealth. In stating that I might not return, I meant only that I am indeed an old man possessed of a longing for his ancestral homeland, so there is some possibility that I might seek to purchase a retirement in the dwarven lands to the northeast of the Rainbow Falls upon the return leg of our expedition.”

“Not an unreasonable proposition,” Havil said, before Biho could interrupt again.
 

“Indeed,” Oppen said, settling back in his chair.
 

“Yes, yes, and I am certain that Havil will make his way westward when he grows weary of peddling spices and wine. Let us get back to the point of today’s momentous gathering,” Biho said, sitting up and drumming his ponderous fingers on the top of his desk. The light of seven different gemstones glittered from his rings and cast dancing patterns of different colors on the far wall of the chamber.
 

Havil grimaced. Of course, Biho did not limit his prejudices to dwarves, or even to the city’s large elven population.

“Now, as I am sure you two have deduced, our esteemed colleague Oppen will be leading this expedition to the forgotten east. He might not have as much experience in leading trade expeditions as either of you gentlemen, or even the other companions who will accompany you on this journey, but he certainly has more diplomacy in his eyebrows than either of you do in your whole body.”

“How many will be in the trade delegation, Biho?” Jarom asked. Havil could not be certain if the old dwarf had intentionally dropped the Guild Lord’s honorific or if he was merely speaking plainly, now that they had entered the meat of the conversation.