Hoard

It was far from Kaln’s best performance.

He was still slightly rattled by Izayaroa’s casual revelation about Verdi culture and why they should absolutely not have been carrying on as they had been on this trip—and particularly about the fact that she hadn’t so much as mentioned any of this to him before they entered the city. That portended either a disregard on her part for his perspective and ability to contribute, or a large gap in her own competence. Kaln was not sure which option troubled him more, and that kept him on edge through the ensuing conversation.

Fortunately, he was called upon to contribute little in this case. Once they were seated, Izayaroa laid out their expected needs, and Mr. Champion simply nodded, expression open but inscrutable. If he had any opinions at all about a rich client who apparently had only bought antiquities and artifacts up till now requesting a regular delivery of sufficient food to keep one person, made in the utmost secrecy, they went nowhere near his face. Kaln admired the professionalism, but mostly he was occupied with his thoughts, smiling and nodding when Izayaroa turned to him but finding no cause to intervene.

So in the end, she set him up with a generous supply of a mix of local and Rhiva staples, while he mostly pondered whether she was working some angle he didn’t know, or had just kicked off some new mess though an arrogant disregard of consequences.

“Fresh produce and meat is preferable,” she clarified, “as we have ample means of preservation.”

Right; she doubtless knew the magic to do that. Emeralphine definitely would, but the ability to preserve food seemed like something relevant to Izayaroa’s occupation. Hells, there were probably multiple enchanted iceboxes in Atraximos’s hoard; the old monster had seemingly liked anything magical or expensive, no matter how mundane its purpose.

“And the delivery address?” Champion asked diffidently, jotting down notes.

“To the usual, please. I will set up some additional arrangements, but the customary location will suffice. Payment will be left there, as well as any orders to modify future deliveries. And of course, any message you need convey may be included.”

Kaln tried not to visibly perk up in interest. Usual address? Surely she didn’t mean the actual lair; there was no way Atraximos would have tolerated merchants going there. So she had some kind of private drop point? How was that going to work, logistically? If dragons started regularly flying between that spot and their home, it would draw notice.

He was nostalgic for an hour ago when he could have blithely assumed Izayaroa knew what she was doing.

“Then we shall maintain a biweekly delivery until further notice,” Chamion mused, his pen scratching on his notes. “The transmission of written requests through the regular delivery will suffice for most alterations to the order, but you do understand that in the case of any major changes, some renegotiation may be necessary.”

“Of course.” Izayaroa reached over to clasp Kaln’s fingers; he gently squeezed hers in return, caressing her hand with his thumb, and put on a composed smile. Trying his best to look poised and in control for Champion’s sake.

“Please do understand that for a regular order of this nature, the security costs will close to match if not possibly exceed that of the actual goods, my lady. The delivery point is in territory to which the Silver Hound does not send personnel without armed escort. Local custom and law prevents us from keeping in-house guards, so we contract such work to a local adventuring guild with whom we have a long relationship.”

“That will not be an issue,” Izayaroa said offhandedly. “So long as they are the most discreet and skilled available, of course.”

Champion cleared his throat, setting down his pen to give her an earnest look. “In this case, considering the type and quantity of goods to be delivered and the location thereof, my recommendation would be to request the guild’s lowest tier of accredited adventurers.”

“I assure you, price is not an object,” she said firmly. “Secrecy in this case is absolutely paramount, Master Champion. It may seem absurd to send elite adventurers to deliver food, but if they are not too proud to turn up their noses at coin, I will accept their rates. Their skill in battle is not relevant to this affair, but their ability to remain silent very much is. This matter is not to become a point of curiosity for the movers and shakers of Boisverd.”

“Of course, if you wish to employ elite adventurers, that is your prerogative as the customer,” Champion said, smiling blandly. “I strongly recommend against it, however, and not merely for cost-cutting reasons; I am indeed thinking of your need for discretion, my lady and lord. In this country, as in most Vale states, an adventurer’s capacity for discretion is as much a criterion of stature as their skill in battle, such that the two are inseparable. To employ the most discreet and trustworthy guild guards does mean to employ the most powerful, and this is precisely why adventurers are almost never employed to carry out secretive business. Those of such rank and strength are closely watched; if any such begin to be sent to conduct regular deliveries of foodstuffs to a miscellaneous spot deep in the forest, that in and of itself will draw the attention of curious parties whose attention you may not wish. Low-rent adventurers carrying out such a mundane duty will be ignored.”

“I see,” she mused, narrowing her eyes.

“We thank you for that clarification, Mr. Champion,” Kaln said, gently squeezing her fingers. “That is just the sort of cultural nuance that would not have occurred to us unassisted. Your recommendation makes perfect sense to me, and I believe we shall abide by it.”

He gave Izayaroa his most bland-but-pointed sidelong look, and she, with a slight smile, inclined her head graciously.

“Indeed, husband, it does not do to disregard the counsel of skilled professionals. Those arrangements will suffice, then, Master Champion.”

“Wonderful!” the merchant said, smiling broadly and gathering the three papers upon which he had been alternately writing into a neat pile, tapping their edges straight against the desktop. “Then, before we proceed to the banality of coin changing hands, dare I hope that you might indulge in your more customary reason for visiting us before departing? Madame Vourchel would be absolutely crushed if deprived of the chance to confer with her most discerning client.”

“The Hound is a general-purpose trading company, as you see, husband,” Izayaroa said aside to him with a smile, “but their particular specialty is in unique artifacts, many gathered by adventurers from the most dangerous reaches of the Vales and beyond. Treasures, in a word. I know we came here on specific business, but if you might be willing to indulge me…?”

“It’s the cutest thing,” he murmured, raising her hand to his lips and ducking his head so he could gaze warmly up at her through his lashes, “how you raise the question of me indulging you as if there were the slightest chance that I wouldn’t. By all means, Roa, let’s go browse the antiquities. I shall be very put out if I must go this whole trip without seeing your happiness at acquiring something new that pleases you.”

This was more comfortable, more familiar. Flirting he could do; this was back on Kaln’s preferred ground. The revelation that he was apparently surrounded every moment in this city by schemes and skulduggery was like an itch between his shoulder blades, like a huge spider which had vanished in the second he took his eyes off it. Scheming was not one of his aptitudes; his merest brush with it in Rhivkabat had resulted in him summarily consigned to death row on imaginary pretenses.

Now, his lovely bride beamed at him with delight, and Mr. Champion chuckled from behind his desk.

“Ah, my lord, I begin to see it is not you alone who are fortunate in marriage. By your leave, then, let us return above, and delay the lady’s hobby not a moment longer.”

Kaln took Madame Vourchel for some kind of historian or curator; she had that aspect, but also that of an upper-class saleswoman who knew how to pitch her products with authority and taste and not sound desperate. Back on an upper floor of the Silver Hound’s headquarters, he found himself touring an area that was indeed set up more like a museum than a merchant house. In fact, it reminded him pointedly of the personal style of Atraximos the Dread’s chambers. Obviously he kept that observation to himself.

While Izayaroa was introduced in detail to an eclectic variety of rare, mostly ancient, often highly magical and uniformly expensive artifacts, Kaln let himself slow, paying more attention to her than to the objects on display. This was a new side of her, to him: focused, intent, and far more analytical than warm. She was not brusque with Madame Vourchel, but asked pointed questions and showed every sign of genuine interest in every piece of armor or statuary or literature or everything else which was laid before her. He didn’t feel exactly excluded, but had started to feel a bit superfluous, and so had gradually fallen back, letting Izayaroa and Vourchel proceed down the rows of display cases. It was pleasing, in a way, just to watch her from a distance.

This chamber, though less private than the tiny office down in the sub-basement, appeared no less secure. They were not alone in here, for one; despite Champion’s assertion that merchant guilds weren’t allowed their own guards and the fact that no one else here carried a visible weapon, Kaln could not mistake the other people present for anything but security. They were as well-dressed as Champion and Vourchel, but also powerfully built, and loitering near the room’s two doors, and along its barred windows. Loitering discreetly, but unmistakably watching himself and Izayaroa.

Well, fair enough. The wealth on display in this chamber would be enough to tempt almost anyone. It was still surreal to Kaln that he had enough money to buy this whole place outright without haggling; in fact, just what he was carrying in his bag of holding would probably cover most of the artifacts on display here.

That thought gave him a flash of inspiration.

Noting that Izayaroa was distracted examining a matching sword and dagger set while Madame Vourchel explained its history, he drifted back toward the door through which they had entered. Immediately both of the discreet guards fixed their attention upon him, but Kaln ignored them. Instead he stepped up next to Mr. Champion, who despite being the alleged head of this company had remained silently nearby to watch “Lady Roa” shop, which itself told Kaln something about how much she usually spent here.

The merchant greeted him with a bland smile, which Kaln returned, then positioned himself as close as decorum allowed and spoke in a soft murmur.

“I wonder if I might impose upon your expertise, sir.”

“But of course, my lord,” Champion replied in the same low tone. “Do consider me at your disposal.”

“You have done business with my lady wife in the past, and must thus be familiar with her previous purchases. I would like you to lend me some of this perspective, if you would.”

“Ah.” The merchant inhaled softly, then put on a diffidently rueful expression and inclined his head apologetically. “In that regard, my lord, I greatly regret that I am constrained. A customer’s business with the Silver Hound Company is private, and each customer’s privacy is utterly sacrosanct. This is our general policy toward all transactions, but in cases such as Lady Roa’s where she has specifically indicated that she values such privacy, I’m afraid I am bound to defend it at all costs. I apologize most humbly for disappointing you, my lord. Rest assured it is not at all my intention to impugn the intimacy the two of you must share, but… The house’s relationship with your wife requires…”

He trailed off as Kaln, unable to contain himself through any more of that speech, broke out into a chuckle. Across the room, Izayaroa looked up from the display she was being shown; when he waved at her, she smiled warmly before returning her attention to Madame Vourchel’s current explanation.

“Forgive me, that’s my fault,” Kaln said, still quietly and still grinning. “I came at that from the wrong direction entirely. Please, allow me to try again.”

“But of course, my lord.”

“I am asking you,” he clarified, “as someone who is familiar with her tastes and shopping history, to help me pick out a few gifts for my wife.”

“Ah.” The explanation doubtless helped, but Kaln was sure the real difference was that there was now business to be done and money to be had. Champion shifted to face him more directly, bowing. “But of course, my lord—it is the house’s pleasure and my own to assist with such a noble and romantic endeavor. I have not our dear Madame Vourchel’s expertise, but I fancy I possess a basic familiarity with our stock. If you would like to retire to a private chamber, perhaps, and peruse a printed catalog…?”

“I appreciate the thought, but I’d be amazed if she wasn’t already aware what’s happening over here.” Izayaroa didn’t glance up, nor give any indication she could hear their soft conversation from all the way across the room, but he’d be more surprised if a dragon didn’t have that ability. “Trust me, one does not attempt to play mind games with a woman like that unless the need is dire indeed. She can still be surprised by my specific choices when we get home.”

“You show wisdom beyond your years, Lord Ar-Kaln,” Champion said with a diplomatic smile. “That being the case, if I could direct your attention over here…”

What followed continued not to be Kaln’s best work, in terms of public presentation, but at the end of it he felt rather satisfied with himself anyway.

With quiet guidance from Master Champion, he swiftly selected a jeweled oil lamp of ancient Rhiva design which had once contained a djinn and still possessed the enchantments to capture another, were its owner so inclined, as well as a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles holding a powerful enchantment which did nothing that anyone had been able to determine. It had been created by the Jongleur as a gift for one of his favorite bards, which according to Champion meant it was most likely an obscure joke which no one alive had the background to get. Kaln knew even less of the Jongleur than of Machann or the Shepherd, but even what very little he had read of old Valeri religion suggested that was plausible.

And then he kept shopping, because he knew very well there would be seven flavors of hell to pay if he returned to the lair with presents for only one of his wives.

For Emeralaphine he bought a set of personal journals of the court mage of the last Valeri dynasty, which contained among other things a firsthand account of the arrival of Atraximos and the Empire’s fall—and then, to add a lighter mood, a crystal jar laden with preservation enchantments which was full of a golden wine in which swirled candied pixie wings, a favored beverage in an elven nation which had perished before even the ancient wedding cake she had tried to feed him.

For Tiavathyris, Kaln acquired a very rare printing of poems written by Zu the Unconquerable, one of the greatest warrior kings who had ever lived upon her home continent. It was rare because the poetry was notoriously terrible and Zu’s descendants had gathered up and destroyed every copy they could for the sake of his legacy. He also bought a spear, a remarkably plain shaft of wood with a chipped obsidian head, layered with enchantments which did nothing but protect it from physical damage. Its value was in its long history, as it had traveled across the world, in and out of multiple heroic sagas, and been used to slay among other foes no less than three dragons. He meant nothing in particular by this, save that he thought she would appreciate the historical associations, and he was curious to see what message she would interpret in this gift. At this point Kaln was so desperate to get a better handle on Tiavathyris’s enigmatic personality that he was willing to risk annoying her in the process.

His poor showing came at the end, when Champion quoted him a price and Kaln reached into his bag and began counting coins. Without so much as blinking, much less haggling—even though he was well aware the merchant had made an opening offer he’d expected to be bargained down significantly, and though the sum in question was absolutely dizzying. He could have bought Haktria’s family villa right out from under her clan for the amount of money he casually handed over for this collection of trinkets, and it was just barely a diminishment of the amount of coin he had on hand, and not even a dent in what was back in the hoard. Kaln did this while looking Champion in the eye and showing no reaction even though his instant acquiescence brought the first expression of open surprise he’d yet seen to the man’s face.

Without doubt, this left the merchant thinking he was some easily-fleeced rube, but…so be it. Kaln was under no illusions that he could have put up much of a fight at the bargaining table anyway. Much more importantly, he was in a hurry to get this done and get out of there. Both out of that trading guild, once Izayaroa was done with her own shopping, and out of this city entirely. He very much feared they’d overstayed their welcome already.

And so, less than an hour later, he was strolling hand-in-hand with his wife along the sidewalk of Boisverd’s mercantile district. She was even more visibly pleased with herself than previously, having undoubtedly made out like a bandit from her own trades—he suspected that was part of why she’d wanted to walk for a while instead of immediately seeking another carriage. Kaln had significantly less coin in his bag, compensated by the presence of a handful of unfathomably precious treasures, and the bemused reflection of just how strange his life had gotten.

“By your will, great one.”

The neighborhood was expensive and dignified, less noisy than the market or entertainment streets they had visited, but it was still a public street in a large city and voices were all around them. That one, though, came from behind—very close. It wasn’t just that which made Kaln immediately understand who was being addressed. Perhaps he was a little paranoid ever since the revelation in the merchant guild… But then perhaps not, as Izayaroa obviously sensed the same.

In unison, they turned to face the person who had approached them, Izayaroa silently activating another attention-deflecting spell to ward them against any further incursion into whatever this was.

The speaker was a strikingly pretty young woman—at least to Kaln’s eyes, though he still had little idea what they liked in this culture. By Rhiva perceptions at least, her narrow face with its deep-set eyes and soft outlines were a dead match for contemporary beauty standards, even though her pale complexion and straight brown hair would have been quite unconventional, to say nothing of her blue eyes. Though he didn’t recognize her attire, he could tell at a glance it was religious garb. There were of course faiths with very unique practices out there, but most priesthoods had a similar aspect to their uniforms. She wore a robe of plain brown with wide sleeves, and a kind of white stole draped about her shoulders and over her head. In her left hand the woman carried a shepherd’s crook made of highly polished dark wood with a band of lacquered green just below the curved part, around which was fastened a small golden chain.

“The Shepherd greets you, and begs your mercy for Her flock,” the priestess said, her voice…not quite trembling. In fact, Kaln realized, it was all over her, that blend of careful composure and rigid tension he had personally experienced so often during his own last days in Rhivkabat, and on some of his adventures sense. Abject terror, held barely in check by discipline. “If it pleases you, She offers you this lamb in sacrifice. If it will earn your favor, please spend my life as you see fit.”

Kaln blinked twice, then turned to look at Izayaroa, surprised to find open consternation upon her features before she smoothed them. He chanced a glance around. There seemed to be no other priests or guards or anything present to observe this, and Izayaroa’s magic was clearly keeping all other onlookers at bay. Or so it seemed, at least; given what he’d recently learned about the Verdi as a culture, it was probably unwise to discount the possibility of hidden watchers.

But that was another issue; they had more immediate concerns.

“What a brave soul you are,” Izayaroa said after that startled pause. “Such diligence is above all praise. Though I have no sway with her, I dearly hope and urge the Shepherd to honor your piety in whatever way is best under her doctrine, both in this life and the next.”

She stepped forward, reaching out with both hands to clasp the priestess’s face in a gentle grip. The young woman went rigid in clear panic, squeezing her eyes shut, her lips moving in a silently recited prayer. But Izayaroa only gently pulled her head forward, just enough to lay a light kiss upon her forehead.

“I am perplexed,” the dragon said softly, releasing her, “and I confess, somewhat affronted, that anyone could possibly think I would be interested in such an offering. Nor have I any plan to harm any soul in these lands. Fear not, brave young soul—any offense I decide to take shall not be at you. I honor your devotion. Go with my blessing, and live well.”

That seemed to entirely overcome the poor girl. She let out a strangled noise somewhere between a gasp and a sob, swaying on her feet for a second, and then crumpled to her knees right there on the sidewalk, clutching her crook for support.

Kaln reflexively stepped forward, reaching out to her, but Izayaroa caught his arm, and then his eyes. She shook her head, then jerked it pointedly up the street away from the trembling priestess.

He took her meaning, of course, but… It didn’t feel right to just leave the woman like this. On the other hand…there were a lot of excellent reasons for them to absent themselves from this entire situation. Immediately.

“What was that about?” he asked quietly as soon as they were a few paces distant, her magic still shielding them from any eavesdroppers.”

“I…do not know,” Izayaroa said, frowning deeply at the distance. “Never have I had an interaction like that in this city. Anywhere in this country—in any of the countries of the Vales, for that matter.”

“Well, she clearly knew who you are.”

“I should certainly hope not! It’s clear she knew what I am—and if she was sent personally by Anessima the Shepherd, that could explain it. I have masked my presence as best I can, but a god might well notice it anyway, particularly an overprotective one like that. But if anyone who knows who I am imagined I would be interested in a human sacrifice… I could very nearly take umbrage.”

“I will simply have to hope for your indulgence if this is a silly question, but is human sacrifice an…established practice?”

“No,” she said firmly, then immediately took his hand and squeezed gently in a silent apology before continuing in a more moderate tone. “Not here—not anywhere in the Evervales. There have been, and I suppose in some places might still be, dragons who have held sway over populations of mortals and have demanded such, but…not here.”

“Again, I apologize for the effrontery of asking, but in this case I feel I must. You are sure?”

“As sure as I reasonably can be, husband,” she said, squeezing his fingers again and seeming to take no offense. “You will likely find this a macabre sort of reassurance, but… Upright bipeds are simply not good eating, Kaln. The ratio of bone and offal to meat just isn’t worth the effort of digesting, much less hunting them, and sapients have ways of fighting back that make the effort disproportionately costly. Very few large predators will go after people, except in unusual circumstances. Dragons who devour mortals do so because they find some sick satisfaction in reducing a thinking, feeling creature with a soul to nutrition. Even Atraximos never did that; he had no use for mortals whatsoever. Likewise the rest of us. I believe the idea would be as appalling to Tiavathyris as to myself. Emeralaphine is, to my knowledge, the only one of the family who has eaten anyone, and she’s only done that to personally punish individuals who grievously offended her, not as some kind of power play. For a second there I nearly wondered just what the hells those kids have been up to, but… Upon even a moment’s reflection, no, I don’t believe that either. Pheneraxa doesn’t even like going outside; her mother has to harangue her every time it’s her turn to hunt. Vadaralshi has negative interest in lording over anyone—in fact, her desire to befriend mortals was a constant point of contention with her father, until he either finally beat it out of her or she learned to be subtle about it. And Vanimax… I will not say my son is without character flaws, but I at least understand what they are and would be astonished to find he has been demanding sacrifices. No, Kaln, I have no idea what this was about.”

Emeralaphine had done what? He pushed that forcibly aside to be dealt with later, and possibly never; it seemed like one of those subjects that couldn’t possibly result in anything useful if he brought it up, and they had more urgent business.

“Then that leaves us with the present to deal with. I don’t know what is going on or why the Shepherd has suddenly decided to monitor our footsteps, but considering our business here, I think it’s time we abort this visit. I’m sorry, love; I was looking forward to seeing that honeymoon suite and the Renaissance’s cuisine, but we are leaving.”

“It shall be as you say, husband.” She turned a warm smile to him, inclining her head in acquiescence. “I quite agree. It is a shame, I so wanted to entertain you for another day or two, but the prying eyes of a goddess are more trouble than we can afford to court right now.”

“Do we even have any belongings at the Renaissance to collect? I’ve just been putting everything in my bag of holding. We can go right for the gates…”

Izayaroa shook her head, squeezing his hand. “We should return there to settle up and check out. I value my standing with that establishment too much to skip out on a bill. More importantly, husband, I think it the strategic thing to do in this situation. I assure you we are not in physical danger from any power which exists here, but bolting in panic may stir whoever is watching us to a rash action. We should proceed with all decorum to settle our affairs at the hotel, and then depart the city directly but without haste.”

“Very well. Let’s hope nothing else…interesting pops up on the way.”

“Let us hope.”