Firebrand

With the need for investment greater than ever, Eleanor had arranged for a meeting with the guild of metal traders. Along with Martel, she walked one morning towards the western quarter that provided a home to most of Morcaster’s affluent merchants.

“But why do you need me?” Martel asked, using his presence as an imposing wizard to make others steer out of his path. “You’re the one who knows the numbers and everything, and you’re better at negotiating.”

“Yours is the more famous name, I guess. I suspect they agreed to this meeting partly out of curiosity to see the mage behind the staff,” Eleanor speculated. “You do not have to do anything other than stand and look pretty.”

“I suppose that’s within my abilities,” Martel conceded. “How much do you think we can get from these fellows?”

“Not enough, but maybe half of what we require.”

“What we require being the absolute lowest amount we can get away with, quite literally, letting the expedition set sail.”

“I did say require rather than what we could wish for in our wildest fantasy.” A workman pulling a donkey did not look ahead and stumbled into Eleanor, who pushed him aside with her shoulder without breaking her stride. “We will lack a sum kept in reserves for ill times, and horses are completely out of the question. We may have to sacrifice some of the lesser needed tools as well.”

“I’m sure you’ve made all the calculations.”

“I have.”

Pushing through the traffic of goods being transported especially to and from the harbour, but also to the rest of Morcaster, the pair passed several warehouses to reach the guild house of the metal traders. As they entered, a clerk quickly greeted them. “You must be the wizards.” Martel stretched his fingers clutching his staff. “What gave it away?”

Confused, the clerk blinked and looked at Eleanor. “I shall inform the masters of your arrival. One moment, I beg of you.” He hurried away.

“Let us hope the merchants enjoy your jests more than their clerks do.”

Martel turned his head to give Eleanor a look. “I always leave the talking to you, don’t I?”

“You are a clever man at times, I will give you that.”

“So gracious.”

The members of the guild sat alongside a table, all on the same side. Like an actor performing on stage, Eleanor was standing in the middle of the room, which was otherwise clear of furniture. Martel stood a step behind her, and as the others exchanged pleasantries, he let his eyes glance around.

The chamber was decorated with wall paintings showing men of wealth at a feast. Some of those portrayed looked like the merchants present in the flesh, though it might just be because they dressed in similar fashion. All of them had several layers of fabric despite the warmth in the room. Most of them had rings on their fingers; using his sense of magic, Martel could tell how much gold and silver each wore.

The latter sensation was new; he had never noticed that before, but he had no doubt as to what the slight tingling feeling meant. Gold felt cold, as usual, or rather, indifferent to him, whereas silver seemed playful and curious about his magic. Distracted by his thoughts, Martel tried to resume his attention on the conversation.

“And what manner of yield can we expect?”

“I do not have exact figures, but the mines are known to be rich,” Eleanor replied.

“In iron.”

“And when you say known, you mean known from ancient times. Considering no prospector has been in those parts for centuries.”

“Presumably, your city will have need of much of the iron. You need to make tools, ploughs, swords.”

Martel let his magic sweep out again, this time focusing on the men themselves rather than what they wore. A strange jumble of impressions, but none of them outright hostile as such. Their questions were not necessarily of an antagonistic fashion, but rather merchants doing their due diligence, not to mention sowing the seeds to make a better bargain.

As for Eleanor, she did her best to retaliate. “Whomever gets the claim to our iron mines will obviously be first in line for any other metals discovered.” Martel stepped forward slightly to look more intimidating by her side. “Raw materials are only the beginning. Once our city is complete, we shall produce other goods. And until we do, we shall have need to buy them. All of these opportunities shall go to those with established trade routes. We remember our friends.”

Judging by expressions and the emotions that Martel could sense, some of the merchants had written them off, but others seemed less averse to risk. At the same time, their questions revealed that Martel had underestimated the complexity of how this would all work out, and he was glad to have Eleanor in charge of it all.

“What of the labour force? Do you intend to import prisoners from Aster, and if so, who will bear that expense?”

“That is not our intention. We shall offer work to free men willing to mine,” Eleanor replied.

With reasonable wages, Martel added in his mind, though he knew this was the wrong company to say such things. The rıghtful source is Nov3lFɪre.ɴet

A few of the merchants chuckled in disbelief. “That will increase expenses greatly. Given all the other risks, is this even profitable anymore? Using prison labour is the only feasible way this will ever work!”

“No man, or woman for that matter, will wear chains in our city,” Martel spoke coldly. He knew he should have kept quiet, but some things had to be said. He would not build a city of slaves, no matter the reasoning.

“And what will you do with criminals?” someone said, laughing.

Martel caught the man’s gaze and stared until the laughter disappeared. “They’ll have to find somewhere else to live.”

“As my companion says, labour will be paid. Given that we will have magical aid, such as earthmages to find the richest veins, profit is not in doubt,” Eleanor argued, and the conversation took another turn, allowing Martel to retreat back into silence.

“What is your assessment?” Eleanor asked, walking back to The Firebrand.

“One of them gave me the impression that he was willing to risk it. He seemed more open than the others,” Martel reported, having used his magical sense more than once.

“I had hoped we could get four or five to all throw a few coins in the pot,” she admitted. “Even the most risk-willing merchant will not invest as much as we need from them. At best, we might get half of what I figured was a reasonable sum.”

“Itself only half of what we truly need, so at best, a quarter of the coin we must raise.”

“Indeed.”

Martel blew out his breath. “Should we just rob the Imperial Treasury?”

“Tempting. Let me ask the guild of fabric traders first. If we buy more sheep or seeds for flax, we can offer wool and linen,” she mused. “It will require more pastures for grazing, and we will not have much land left to farm edible crops, especially not if we add more flax… but perhaps the extra money can be spent towards provisions or buying food next year.”

Martel said nothing, knowing he would just interrupt her mental calculations. She was talking to herself, first and foremost, her mind running through various considerations; if she needed his opinion, she would ask.

Entering The Firebrand, Martel saw a welcome surprise. “Oh, there’s Henry. I better talk to him.”

“I need to write some things down, but maybe I will join you later.” Eleanor hurried towards their chamber in the backrooms, giving Henry a wave from a distance before she disappeared.

“Busy days?” the stonemage asked, approaching Martel.

“Especially for her. She is the main force organising this expedition.” The battlemage turned towards the bar and gestured for two cups of ale. “So, what brings you by?”

“I’ve asked around and spread the word as best I could. I’ve only found one earthmage willing to join you, though,” Henry admitted.

“One is better than none. Frankly, that was my fear. Who is it?”

“You’re looking at him.”

Martel gave him a surprised look. “But you’re doing so well here! Your statues sell as fast as you can make them!”

“Aye, I’ve a good life. People see my work and they come to my workshop. But one day, I’ll be gone, and they won’t bother remembering my name anymore,” Henry said wistfully. “I assume if I’m the stonemage who built a city, someone will remember my name.”

As two cups were placed on the table between them, Martel grabbed his and raised it in the air. “You can carve your name over the gate for all I care. Cheers!” They toasted and drank. “Any chance you can convince others to join? As I just discovered, we not only need earthmages for the city and fields, but also for prospecting in the mountains.”

Henry raised an eyebrow. “A metalmage? Those are rare, though I suppose a decent earthmage can do in a pinch. Unfortunately, everyone I asked sings the same song.” He shrugged. “They don’t know you as I do. It sounds a fool’s errand to them. They have comfortable lives in Morcaster. And while your prowess is not in doubt by any of them, they do find battlemages – and perhaps you, the Firebrand in particular – a bit volatile. You know us earthmages. Patience and slow decisions are the marks of our trade.”

“If one is all I can get, I’ll take the best stonemage in town.” Martel raised his cup again.

“You flatter, but I’ll allow it.”

More days passed negotiating with merchants, recruiting volunteers, and spreading the word. The Firebrand had become the headquarters of their prospective expedition; a constant stream of people came and went at all hours. For that reason, Martel was not surprised when someone placed a note in his hand, considering the numerous activities going on. However, he had not expected the contents of the message nor its sender.

We must talk.

Shrine of Saint Laurentius.

Tomorrow, last bell.

The Friar