CHAPTER 225: FALL OF VALTAIR [21]

The carriage rolled to a stop with a lurch.

Alaric pushed the door open and stepped down into the late afternoon air. His boots hit cobblestone with a solid thud, and he paused for a moment, taking in his surroundings.

Thornhaven.

The town sprawled before him was larger than Millcrest, more prosperous than Riverside.

Stone buildings rose two and three stories high, their facades decorated with iron flourishes and painted shutters. The streets were wide, well-maintained, bustling with activity even as the sun began its descent toward the horizon.

Wagons hauled goods toward the market district. A group of children ran past, laughing, chasing a small dog that yapped excitedly.

Alaric adjusted his coat and started walking.

Lord Rothgar’s estate was on the northern edge of town.

His eyes scanned the street as he walked, cataloging details. A bookshop with its door propped. An apothecary with jars of colored liquid displayed in the window like jewels.

And there—

A crowd had gathered near the town square.

Alaric’s stride shifted direction, carrying him toward the commotion.

As he drew closer, the scene unfolded in front of him.

Two men stood at the center of the crowd, squared off like fighting cocks. One was young maybe in his mid-twenties, well-dressed in a burgundy coat. His face was flushed with anger, fists clenched at his sides.

The other was older, maybe forty, wearing the practical clothing of a craftsman. A blacksmith, judging by the soot stains on his leather apron and the corded muscle in his forearms. His expression was stone-hard, unyielding.

"I don’t care what your name is!" the younger man was shouting. "You agreed to the commission! Three weeks, you said! It’s been six!"

The blacksmith’s jaw tightened. "And I told you the materials you wanted weren’t available. Had to special order steel from Grenfeld. That takes time."

"Excuses!" The young man jabbed a finger toward the blacksmith’s chest. "I paid you half upfront! Good coin! And what do I have to show for it? Nothing!"

The crowd murmured, some sympathetic to the young man, others clearly on the blacksmith’s side.

Alaric stopped at the edge of the gathering, hands in his pockets, watching with mild interest.

"You’ll get your sword when it’s done properly," the blacksmith growled. "Not before. I don’t rush quality work for impatient boys who—"

"Boys?" The young man’s voice cracked with indignation. "I’m a retainer to Lord Rothgar! Show some respect!"

Alaric’s attention sharpened.

The blacksmith snorted. "Rothgar’s retainer or not, you’ll wait like everyone else. Now get out of my shop before I—"

"Before you what?" The young man stepped forward. "Threaten me? You think your little forge protects you? One word from Lord Rothgar and—"

"And what?" The blacksmith didn’t back down. "He’ll shut me down? Good luck. Half the nobility in this town commissions work from me. Including Rothgar himself."

The young man’s face went redder. His hand moved toward his belt, toward a dagger sheathed there.

The crowd tensed.

Ah. This is about to get messy.

Alaric moved.

Not rushing. Just... stepping forward with purpose, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade through silk.

"Gentlemen."

Both men turned, surprised by the interruption.

Alaric’s crimson eyes fixed on the young retainer first, then shifted to the blacksmith. He kept his expression neutral, polite, the picture of a concerned citizen trying to prevent bloodshed.

"Forgive the intrusion, but drawing blade in the middle of the town square seems..." He tilted his head slightly, as if considering. "Unproductive. For both of you."

The young man bristled. "This doesn’t concern you."

"Perhaps not." Alaric’s smile came easily, disarming. "But I couldn’t help overhearing. You’re Lord Rothgar’s retainer?"

The young man’s posture shifted slightly, pride overriding anger for a moment.

"I am. Kael Brennis. And this—" He gestured sharply at the blacksmith. "—this tradesman is refusing to honor his contract!"

"I’m refusing to deliver substandard work," the blacksmith corrected through gritted teeth.

Alaric nodded thoughtfully, then turned his attention fully to Kael.

"Lord Rothgar’s retainer. That’s impressive." His tone carried just enough admiration to be flattering without being obvious. "I actually have business with Lord Rothgar myself regarding some delicate matter. I was trying to determine the best way to request an audience."

Kael’s anger faltered slightly, curiosity creeping in.

"You have business with Lord Rothgar?"

"I do." Alaric pulled a hand from his pocket, gesturing vaguely. "Financial matters. Time-sensitive. But I’m not from Thornhaven, don’t have any local connections to facilitate an introduction."

Kael’s expression shifted, calculation replacing the rage. His hand moved away from the dagger.

"What kind of financial matters?"

"The profitable kind." Alaric’s smile widened slightly. "For everyone involved."

The blacksmith made a disgusted sound and turned away, muttering something about "nobles and their games" before disappearing back into his forge.

The crowd, sensing the drama was over, began to disperse.

Kael stood there, still flushed but clearly thinking. His eyes narrowed slightly, assessing Alaric with new interest.

"Lord Rothgar doesn’t usually meet with... strangers. Not without proper introduction."

"I understand completely." Alaric’s tone remained pleasant, accommodating. "Which is why I’m fortunate to have run into you. Perhaps we could discuss this somewhere more... comfortable?"

He gestured toward an inn across the square.

"My treat. A small gesture of goodwill. And perhaps you could tell me the proper protocol for requesting Lord Rothgar’s time."

Kael hesitated.

But finally, he nodded.

"One drink. Then we’ll see."

"Of course."

Alaric’s smile never wavered as he gestured for Kael to lead the way.

Kael looked at him for a moment then nodded and moved. Alaric followed him.

Once they reach the inn. They settle in the chairs, ordered two ales and something to eat.

"Now." Kael crossed his arms and raised a brow. "Tell me what important business you have with Lord Rothgar?"

Alaric smirked and put his hand inside his coat and pulled out a small knife.

"This is... what I wanted to discuss with Lord Rothgar."

Kael huffed, picking up the knife, "You wanted to meet my lord for just this piece of..." Suddenly he shut his mouth, cutting himself off.

"I-Is this—"

"Yeah, made of Vernacite."