Rise of a Merchant Prince (5 page)

“What's that?” asked Roo.

“One who is already a member of Barret's or who has close ties to one of the members who can vouch for you. If you have the capital, then you need the introduction.”

“Can't you do that?” asked Roo, obviously eager.

“No,” said Lender with a slightly sad smile. “For all my influence and position, here I am but a guest. My office has been here for nearly twenty-five years, but only because I work on behalf of nearly thirty different brokers and syndicates, and I have never placed a copper piece of my own capital at risk through any offering.”

“What's an offering?” asked Erik.

Lender put up his hand. “There are more questions than time, young von Darkmoor.” He signaled to one of the ever-present waiters. “In my property
box you'll find a long blue velvet bag. Please bring it here.” To Erik and Roo he said, “I enjoy the break from the routine, but time doesn't permit a leisurely discourse on the business at Barret's.”

Roo said, “I plan on being a broker.”

“Do you?” said Lender, and his face lit up with delight. His expression wasn't mocking, but he seemed to find the pronouncement entertaining. “What is this venture, then, that you spoke of?”

Roo leaned back. “It's a plan I have that would take too long to speak of, I'm sorry to say.”

Lender laughed while Erik blushed at his friend's bold freshness. “Well said,” answered Lender.

“Besides,” added Roo, “I think discretion is in order.”

“Often that is the case,” agreed Lender as the waiter returned with the requested item. Lender took the velvet bag and opened it, removing a dagger. It was a deftly fashioned thing, with a sheath of ivory set with a small ruby and bound at the top and tip with gold. He handed it to Erik. “It was the other part of your legacy from your father.”

Erik took the dagger and pulled the blade from the sheath. “Impressive,” he said. “I may not be as well practiced with weapons at the forge as I am with horseshoes, but this is fine work.”

“From Rodez, I believe,” said Lender.

“Best steel in the Kingdom,” agreed Erik. The blade was embossed with the von Darkmoor family crest, finely cut into the steel, and yet it was well balanced, both decorative and deadly. The hilt was carved bone, perhaps from the antler of an elk or moose, and capped with gold to match the sheath.

Lender pushed back his chair. “Young sirs, I must
be back to my business, but please feel free to linger awhile and refresh yourselves. If you ever have need of a solicitor or a litigator, you know where to find me.” He waved vaguely at the place from which he had appeared and added, “Good-bye. It was good seeing you well.”

Erik rose, as did Roo, and they bade their host farewell, then looked at each other. As old friends do, they shared a single thought between them, and Roo said, “Home.”

They moved through the crowded common room of Barret's, a place both strange and exciting to Roo, and exited. At the door, Erik turned to one of the waiters and asked, “Where can a man buy a good horse?”

“Cheaply!” injected Roo.

The waiter didn't hesitate. “At the Merchants' Gate,” he said, pointing along Arutha's Way, “you'll find several dealers. Most are thieves, but there's a man named Morgan there who can be trusted. Tell him Jason at Barret's sent you and he'll treat you fairly.”

Roo studied the young man's face. Brown hair and light freckles marked him and Roo said, “I'll remember you if he doesn't.”

The young man frowned, ever so slightly, but said only, “He's honest, sir.”

“What about new clothing?” ask Erik.

Jason said, “The tailor at New Gate Road and Broad Street is a cousin of mine, sir. Tell him I sent you and he'll see you right for a reasonable sum.”

Roo didn't look convinced, but Erik said thanks and led his friend away. They remained silent as they wended their way through the crowded city streets. It
took them the better part of an hour to reach the tailor's and an hour to select clothing for travel that fit. Erik choose a riding cloak to cover his uniform tunic, and Roo purchased an inexpensive tunic and trousers, a cloak, and a slouch hat. Erik also found a cobbler who provided him with a pair of boots to wear while those left him by his father were mended. Roo had gotten used to going barefoot while aboard ship, but purchased a pair of boots for riding.

Soon after they were at the Merchants' Gate and spent another hour haggling for a pair of horses, but the waiter had been truthful with them and Morgan was an honest trader. Erik picked out two sturdy geldings, a bay for himself and a grey for Roo. Leading the horses away with rope halters, they found a saddler a half-block away and quickly had the horses tacked up and ready to ride.

Roo settled into the saddle and said, “I don't care how much I do it, I'll never get to like riding.”

Erik laughed. “You've become a better than average horseman, Roo, despite your objections. And this time you can ride without much worry about having to fight while on that creature's back.”

Roo's expression darkened.

Erik said, “What?”

“What's this ‘much' business?”

Erik laughed even louder. “There are no guarantees in this life, my friend.” So saying, he put heels to sides, and the horse moved out briskly toward the Merchants' Gate and the road eastward. “On to Ravensburg!” he shouted.

Roo could only laugh at his friend's merriment, and he followed suit, discovering that this horse was inclined to argue with every command. Taking a firm
hand, and knowing that the sooner the battle was fought the sooner it was won, Roo slammed his heels hard against the horse's sides and drove him after Erik's mount. Quickly they were outside the city wall, on their way home.

Rain pelted them, its insistent beat a physical assault. Night was rapidly approaching and the only traffic on the road was local businessmen and farmers hurrying home. A resigned wagon driver barely looked over at Roo and Erik passing as he urged his slowly plodding horses to continue through the mud. The King's Highway might be the artery that carried the lifeblood of commerce from one border to the other, but when the rains came to the Barony of Darkmoor, the blood didn't flow, it oozed.

Erik shouted, “Lights.”

Roo looked out from under the sodden brim of his once handsome slouch hat. “Wilhelmsburg?”

“I think,” said Erik. “We'll be home by tomorrow afternoon.”

“I don't suppose I could convince you to sleep in some stranger's barn, could I?” said Roo, having spent more money on this journey than he had planned.

“No,” answered Erik without humor. “I'm for a dry bed and a hot meal.”

That image overcame Roo's reluctance to spend another coin, and he followed his friend toward the lights of the town. They found a modest inn, with a sign of a plowshare swinging in the wind, and rode through the side gate to the stable. Erik shouted, and a lackey came out, bundled against the weather, to take the horses. He listened politely to Erik's instructions
and nodded, and Erik assumed he would be wise to return after supper to see the boy cared for the animals as he ordered.

They hurried into the taproom and, once inside, shook off the water from their cloaks.

“Evening, sirs,” said a young girl, pleasant-looking, with brown hair and eyes. “Will you be needing rooms for the night?”

“Yes,” said Roo, obviously displeased at the cost, but now that warmth was returning to his bones glad they were not returning to the weather outside.

“Fit to be blowing up a rare storm tonight,” said the innkeeper as he came and took their cloaks and hats. “Will you be dining?” He handed the cloaks and hats to the girl, who took them somewhere warm to hang and dry.

“Yes,” said Erik. “What wine have you?”

“Fit for a lord,” said the man with a smile.

“Any from Ravensburg?” asked Erik as he made his way to an empty table.

Save for a solitary man with a sword in the far corner and two merchants obviously taking their ease before the fireplace, the inn was deserted. The innkeeper followed them, “We do, sir. It's the next town over, then one more, and on to Ravensburg.”

“So we are in Wilhelmsburg,” said Roo.

“Yes,” answered the innkeeper. “Are you familiar with the area?”

“We're from Ravensburg,” answered Erik. “It's just been a while since we've been there and in the darkness we weren't sure which town this was.”

“Bring us some wine, please,” asked Roo, “then supper.” The meal was filling, if not memorable, and the wine better than expected; it clearly had a style
and finish familiar to both Roo and Erik. It was the common wine of Ravensburg, but compared to what they had been drinking the last year and more, this seemed a bottle fit for the King's table. Both young men fell into a quiet mood, anticipating the homecoming the next day.

For Roo it was nothing much to do with his past; his immediate family was his father, Tom Avery, a drunken teamster whose only legacy to Roo had been beatings and teaching him to drive a team of horses. Roo was much more interested in seeking out some minor wine merchants he knew and arranging what he hoped would be the start of his rise to riches.

For Erik it was coming home to his mother and the shattered dream of his youth: a blacksmith's forge and a family. He had served old Tyndal the smith for years before Tyndal's death, then a year and more with Nathan, who had been the closest thing to a father he had known. But life took its own course, and nothing seemed to be as he had hoped it would, when he was a child in Ravensburg.

“What are you thinking?” asked Roo. “You've been quiet a long time.”

“You haven't exactly been bending my ear,” replied Erik, a smile on his face. “Just about home and what it was like before.”

He didn't have to say before what. Roo knew: before a struggle with Erik's half brother Stefan ended up with Roo's dagger driven into Stefan's chest as Erik held him. After that they had fled Ravensburg and had not seen friend or family since.

Roo said, “I wonder if anyone told them we live?”

Erik laughed. “If they didn't, our arrival tomorrow will be something of a surprise.”

The door opened and the howl of the wind caused the two young men to turn. Four soldiers in the garb of the barony entered, cursing the night's foul weather.

“Innkeeper!” shouted the corporal as he removed his sopping great cloak. “Hot food and mulled wine!” He glanced around the room, then his gaze returned to Roo and Erik. His eyes widened.

“Von Darkmoor!” he blurted. The other three soldiers fanned out, not quite sure why their corporal had called out their Baron's name, but clearly alerted to trouble by his tone.

Erik and Roo stood, and the two merchants moved away from their chairs before the fireplace, hugging the wall. The only other person in the room, the swordsman, looked on with interest, but didn't move.

The corporal had his sword out, and as Roo made to draw his own, Erik motioned for him to return it to its scabbard. “We're not looking for trouble, Corporal.”

The corporal said, “We heard you'd been hung. I don't know how you and your scrawny friend escaped, but we'll soon put that right. Seize them.”

Roo said, “Wait a minute—”

The men moved quickly, but Erik and Roo were both quicker, and the first two soldiers who laid hands upon them found themselves on the floor, their heads ringing from swift blows. The two merchants spied a pathway past the trouble and beat a hasty exit from the room, running outside into the rain without their hats or coats. The man at the table laughed. “Well done!” he shouted.

The corporal leveled his sword and thrust, but
Erik slipped aside and had him by the wrist before he could react. One of the strongest men Roo had ever seen, Erik also had been trained in bare-handed combat, and his iron grip wrung the corporal's sword from his fingers as he gasped in pain.

Roo simply thrust with his hand, palm out, fingers extended, and delivered a sharp blow with the heel of his hand upward to the chin of the other standing soldier, who went down in a stunned heap.

“Wait a minute!” commanded Erik in the voice he had developed as Robert de Loungville's corporal on their return from Novindus. The other two soldiers, who were slowly standing, hesitated, and Erik shouted his command: “Hold, damn you!”

He released the corporal's wrist while kicking aside his sword so he couldn't reach for it easily, then showed that his hands were empty of weapons. “I have a paper.” He reached slowly inside his tunic, removed the document given him the day before by an officer in the office of the Knight-Marshal of Krondor, and handed it to the corporal.

The man took it and glanced it over. “Got the seal of Krondor at the bottom,” he grudgingly admitted, while still sitting on the floor. Then his eyes lowered as he said, “Can't read.”

The swordsman stood and with a relaxed air moved to Erik's side. “If I may help, Corporal,” he said, extending his hand.

The corporal handed back the document and the man read aloud: “Know you by my hand and seal that Erik Von Darkmoor is sworn to my service and . . .” His eyes glanced to the bottom of the document. “It's a lot of mumbo jumbo, Corporal. The short of it is you just tried to arrest one of Prince Nicholas's
personal guards. A corporal, like yourself, it says.”

“A fact?” asked the corporal, his eyes widened.

“Yes, not only is the document signed by the Duke of Krondor's own Knight-Marshal, the Prince himself signed it.”

“True?” was the corporal's next remark as he slowly rose to his feet.

“True,” answered the stranger. “And from the way he took your sword from you, I think there's a reason he's in the Prince's personal service.”

The corporal rubbed his wrist. “Well, perhaps.” His eyes narrowed. “But we heard nothing about this, and last time Erik's name was mentioned it was when we heard he was to be hung for killing the young Baron.”