Chương 381: 10.1

Leandro's joints ached, the furious and sudden onset of tempest winds, sleet and near freezing rain reaching him even insulated in the palatial accommodations. The rain hammering down onto the roofs with such a force made most speech all but impossible under the wrong roof, and then there was the mire that any road with the misfortune of being unpaved had become in Terminapolis. He did not envy those that had to travel in such terrible conditions. The heaven's wrath crackling down from brooding clouds.

The Storm blotted the sun to a grim darkness every high noon. It had been a whole two days of this weather! Rain and fury and no signs of it letting up. At least the Bulchavan Enterprise was shaping up to be a success! For his part more than the other four trade masters, but such was why they had joined together as a single venture; Where there was only one true wyrm egg secured so far between his counterparts, he had managed two, with a third on the way.

He was nearly spent in his stock of silver and valuable goods to exchange with the idiot ex-doge, and would have to call on them if the man could find a fourth for them. But again that was the point of the venture, a shared pool of wealth from all the cities and their interests. A shared pot to feed the hunger of their contacts here. And a shared reward from the final sale of all of the wyrm eggs they procured for the Pantheon in Cantor.

If the exiled Orseolos' greed could keep being prodded to turn over more of the Magarskan nobility to release the eggs to them? Well the Enterprise had the silver for perhaps another three all told! Assuming any more could be convinced to part with them given the ruckus he'd heard about a particular visiting Countess. The rumors were fast and furious, even this close to the event itself there was no clear truth to the matter.

Some said there had been an assasination attempt upon the High King by the northern barbarians and the countess wyrm had been rewarded all of the northernmost principality for protecting him. Others said that the firstborn son enslaved by Wallachian sorcery from 'the troubles' had been driven to madness and attempted to slay his own father, only to die in turn to the gaurds of the high king and now Murad the first was in seclusion mourning the death.

Others said that an unspeakable insult had been made by the northerners and now it would be war. Others claimed that the Countess had been captured and was being used as a broodmother for wyrm eggs. That one at least was certainly false since Leandro himself (and at least half the city) saw her and her massive entourage leaving just yesterday.

It was almost as ridiculous as the whispers that said that High King Murad the First broke with all honor and rules of hospitality and arranged an attack using Wallachian monsters! The gossip was growing ever the more absurd in its tellings, as was the way of things. Still the current events between the great powers of the vaults had made tensions high and the only thing they all agreed on was that some form of war was coming. That whispered worry was as thick as the sleet hammering at the roofs of Terminapolis.

A spectre looming as assuredly as the towering stack of storm clouds that had piled right over the capital before making a spearpoint aimed to the south. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work. A black spike arcing halfway across the sky. Dividing east and west blue in the day, casting a counterpart arrowhead upon the lands of Dacia that swept its gloom with the sun's passing.

"We should make plans to leave soon." His curious partner in their fifth of the venture watched the sky. Peering at the sunny fields just beyond the bounds of the city walls. While all the buildings were cast in darkness and pummeled by rain and ice.

"Is that so Radomil? How do you figure that? The ex-doge claims to have at least two more interested parties to offer eggs." There was a pause in the man, the kind that Leandro had noticed happened when his young business partner was trying to put into words what his reasoning was. At first he had thought it was the northern youth's difficulty with a new language. But now he was pretty sure that the young man was trying to come up with a believable lie.

He had good insights for the business, but his explanations for what experience had enriched them never made very much sense.

"I've... seen it before, with my mentor that is, you stick around with a job too long because it just seems like you can keep grabbing the same pay, with the same clients, over and over again, but even if the first, second or even third all work out fine you can't keep... making the same deal in the same place before you get... in trouble. It's how he died." For what would certainly not be the last time Leandro wondered just what exactly this mercenary boy and his band had done and what he had been before.

Those words were absolutely insane, entirely against any reasonable methodology of proper trade. But as was usually the case with the man's insights it wasn't the honest truth of what really drove him. It was a lie, but one clumsily covering over some kind of reality. An amateur tradesman mistake, attempting to avoid sounding false while spouting nonsense. It worked on some. But Leandro was old enough to know better than that.

Still his young business partner brought the silver, and more so as technically wrong as it had been his moments of insight like this had turned out correct far too often. Ambushes avoided, trouble forestalled, traitors and thieves in their caravan caught. He had very good instincts, and undoubtable experience. And that northern quiet which meant if he was bothering to say anything it was no minor matter. Hmmm it would be difficult to sway the other four trademasters with their present haul however.

But it's not like they had anywhere near the success he was in finding sellers for the thing they came for.

"We give Otto the chance to report back for this last candidate. Then we call the venture done and set out to Old Cantor. Does that satisfy your intuition, young Adason?" Radomil Adason looked like he bit into something sour, but nodded all the same. Ah well that was trade some times, you didn't always get to do what felt the most safe. Still he would need to go meet with the other Trademasters and start working them around to leaving. Probably wouldn't be too hard.

Just have to play up the risks brought by the political tumult in progress and the obviously dangerous sorcery that had already been unleashed upon the city. Alas he could feel the thrill of trying to squeeze the ex doge for every egg they could get. Yet, the earnest but false worries brought on? There probably was a limit to how far that could go. As much as he yearned for ever greater riches, Leandro found himself once again agreeing that this was for the best.

Most of the Trademasters would be swayed by the other reasons, but some of them were just a bit too young and eager. He'd need to come up with a sensible argument for those, something to actually make them understand the risk his venture partner was feeling. Instead of that utter nonsense Radomil actually tried to sell him.