CHAPTER 66: MEETING THE MERCHANT AGAIN

Near the site, a formation of Dreadclaws trained relentlessly, their fur damp with sweat. Clad in padded gambesons and toughened leather breastplates strapped tightly over their chiseled frames, they sparred and drilled with the vigor of wolves. Each shout and clash echoed discipline, preparing them for wars to come.

Kaelor turned his gaze forward.

In the distance, near the gentle slope that led to the outer gate, five wagons stood arranged in a line. Guarding them was a unit of Bloodstone Archers, silent and composed.

They wore black breastplates and vambraces, their hoods casting shadows over their stoic faces. Thick furs padded their shoulders, the only comfort against the early morning chill. Unlike the others, they had no gambesons. Phlip and his aids had devoted all their efforts to outfitting the frontline Guardsmen.

Yet the archers were not lacking. Each held a longbow taller than a child, their quivers heavy with bone-tipped arrows. Curved daggers, also fashioned from bone, hung from their belts. Steel was gone. Every ingot had been used. But that would soon change.

Kaelor’s mission today was more than trade, it was expansion. The wagons were heavy with wealth: one hundred sacks of finely milled Starlight Rice, just a portion of the two hundred and fifty harvested. Ten sacks of Eonwheat, as precious than gold. Ten gallons of fragrant honey. And a pouch of three hundred and fifty gold coins.

All for one purpose.

It was time to acquire more slaves.

And iron.

He walked straight to the convoy, his strides wide. As he passed the ranks of Bloodstone Archers, he offered them a curt nod, acknowledgment, respect, and silent command all in one. Their eyes followed him, alert and reverent.

At the forefront of the convoy stood the massive Titan, Cebereus, haunched low like a slumbering hill, yet every ripple of its muscular form spoke of restrained power. The beast’s crimson eyes met Kaelor’s, intelligent and patient, waiting for its rider.

Beside the Titan stood two figures, Vi, with her back turned, and Soren. The moment Soren caught sight of Kaelor, he bent into a bow so deep it bordered on reverence, nearly forming a perfect ninety-degree angle. Kaelor’s brow arched ever so slightly at the gesture.

Vi blinked, caught off guard. She turned, her eyes widening slightly as they fell on Kaelor.

First, she gave a short hum.

"You look extraordinarily handsome this morning. Was that what made you come late?" she asked, tilting her head. The playful curve of her lips held a teasing innocence, but it was that very honesty that made the moment unexpectedly arresting.

Kaelor responded only with a thin press of his lips before climbing atop the Titan with practiced ease, his silence deliberate.

"Tsk." He heard her click her tongue and fought back a smirk. Silence, he had learned, was the sharpest sting when it came to Vi.

"Where is Mildred?" Vi asked, mounting her own steed and casting a curious glance at the riderless horse beside her.

"I’m here."

The voice floated down from above just as a shadow rolled across the grass. Vi instinctively looked up. High above, with vast wings that blocked out the morning sun was Mildred.

She descended in a graceful arc, her large bat-like wings catching the wind before folding in with precision. She landed lightly upon her horse, the impact barely disturbing its stance, and tossed a long coat over her back with casual flair.

Vi’s lips curved into a smile. "Shall we?"

Mildred returned the smile with a low chuckle. "We shall."

Vi extended her hand, fingers splayed in front of her as she began murmuring soft arcane syllables. Mildred joined in, their voices harmonizing in a strange, lyrical chant.

The Focus Crystals, one at Mildred’s neck and the other at Vi’s waist, pulsed with a piercing light, growing in intensity with each uttered word. Midway, Mildred’s voice tapered off, leaving Vi to continue the chant alone.

Before them, the air shimmered. Threads of blue and white energy coiled into a vortex, spiraling outward until a portal formed, swirling, vibrant and alive.

"Let’s go," Kaelor said, his voice holding anticipation. Without hesitation, the convoy moved forward, wagons creaking, hooves pounding, the Titan’s footsteps deep and frightening to whoever would gaze at it. One by one, they vanished into the glowing aperture.

As the last wagon, flanked by Bloodstone Archers, disappeared into the light, the portal pulsed once, then collapsed in on itself.

....

A sprawling host of white tents lay sprawled across the windswept plains, their crisp fabric catching the morning sun like pale sails. They stood at a respectable distance from Graystone Town, but close enough to remind all who saw them of the disruption they had caused. With the Golden Scales Merchant Guild having relocated their trade post here, waves of eager buyers from nearby towns and villages now bypassed Graystone entirely, bleeding Baron Garrick Fenlan’s coffers dry of the taxes he once freely skimmed.

To make matters worse, the Merchant Guild had not paid a single copper in fees for bypassing his town. Technically, they were still within his territory, but storming into the Golden Scales encampment and demanding coin would be nothing short of suicidal.

The Golden Scales were no common traders. They were a mercantile titan, their influence spanning kingdoms and independent dukedoms across the continent of Glory. To provoke them would be to pick a fight with one of the realm’s most formidable powers.

Currently, Baron Garrick sat within a grand tent, the thick canvas walls muting the sounds of the busy market outside. His enormous bulk filled the ornate, high-backed chair like an overstuffed pillow.

Across from him, at a polished oaken desk, sat Grant, the guild’s representative, his fingers neatly interlaced, and a knowing smile playing across his sharp features.

From outside came the constant hum of bartering voices and the rhythmic clatter of wagons and boots. The scent of spiced bread and fresh parchment wafted faintly through the open flap. Garrick grunted. "Mr. Grant, I assure you, that man is not coming. He is an exiled member of the Dravion family. Do you truly wish to stake your trade on someone who the Duke loathes?"

Grant merely chuckled, an easy, confident sound. "This is my jurisdiction, Lord Garrick. I have targets to meet and profits to make, and Lord Kaelor helps me achieve both, quite handsomely. Whatever feud exists between you and him is of no concern to the Guild. Here, we recognize only contracts, not grudges. Within our camps, we entertain no enemies." His smile curled slightly, deliberately, while Garrick’s meaty fists clenched atop the desk.

The baron leaned back in frustration, sweat beading beneath his double chin. "It’s been a week already, and still no sign of him. Can’t you see he’s not—"

"Lord Kaelor is here!" A deep voice cut through the tent’s fabric. Garrick’s personal bodyguards, a towering man encased in blackened plate armour, peeled back the flap and glanced outside.

He turned sharply, face unreadable beneath his helm. "He’s approaching now. Riding something... strange."

The words struck Baron Garrick Fenlan like a thunderclap.