Citadels of the Lost (13 page)

“So you're merchants but NOT merchants when it comes to me, eh?”

“We're travelers. We just want to ask you . . .”

“No!” the goblin innkeeper said emphatically, its brown ears waggling as it shook its head. “We are taking on no boarders! I appreciate your patronage, but there ain't naught to eat nor buy left in all of Scheliss City.”

Soen stifled a laugh, turning his head away momentarily. “Scheliss City” was what the locals had started calling their collection of huts, leantos, and shacks. It was difficult for Soen—who had spent far too much of his life in the broad, cobblestone streets and magnificent towers of Rhonas itself—to put the image of this random collection of hovels in the same category of city. Not even the glorified mounds behind the village—the Whispering Hills—were as impressive as their names might sound. The rounded tops seemed to rise reluctantly from the plain, lacking sufficient enthusiasm to push to any truly inspiring height.

Granted, he mused, they were standing in the finest structure the town had to boast of—the “Gobble Inn”—but the name itself all too perfectly demonstrated the refinement and taste of the establishment itself. It was both pretentious and tawdry at the same time: too much statuary and all of it bad reproductions of more elegant and famous pieces. The massive fireplace that took up an entire side of the common room opposite the desk was elaborately carved from stone into the enormous shape of a goblin's head, its gaping mouth forming both the inner hearth and the hood. The stonework, Soen noted, was impressive, carved from a single piece and probably by dwarven craftsmen by the careful and delicate detail work it demonstrated. It was unquestionably an exorbitantly expensive feature especially considering its remote location from Imperial trade. Yet the overall effect of the gaping maw containing the fire was, despite its expensive craftsmanship, in hideously bad taste and completely uninviting. Soen had not yet decided if that was, in fact, the intention of the goblin innkeeper—who seemed not just indifferent to the clientele standing before his desk but remarkably hostile.

Soen smiled to himself, baring his pointed elven teeth. He moved forward.

“Innkeeper . . . I beg your pardon, but I have forgotten your name,” Soen said, stepping up to the ledger desk.

“Gobekandrus,” the goblin answered indignantly. “And what business does a ‘long-head' have traveling with a ‘bendy' anyway?”

Soen ignored the multiple insults implied in the remark. “Master Gobekandrus, you have found us out.”

“But . . .” Vendis began.

Soen turned to the chimerian. “It's no use, Vendis, I told you that this goblin looked far too obtuse and puerile for our scheme to get past him.”

“Scheme?” Gobekandrus asked.

Vendis turned to face the elf. “You're right; he is the very embodiment of puerile.”

Soen nodded, “Not to mention obtuse. And we could have made such a fabulous profit!”

“Profit?” the goblin squeaked. The elf and the chimerian were ignoring him in their conversation, but he was hanging on their every word. “What profit?”

“When will the shipments arrive?” Soen asked.

“Oh . . .” Vendis pondered. “Perhaps . . . tomorrow?”

“That soon?” Soen asked with astonishment.

“Well, that may be a very optimistic expectation . . .”

“WHAT SCHEME?” Gobekandrus leaped up onto the ledger desk, reached out and grabbed both the elf's cloak and the chimerian's collar with each of his bony, red hands.

Soen turned his black, featureless eyes on the goblin. “Why, we
are
merchants and we
have
brought goods. We need information to make the scheme work; however we should have realized that you are far too verbose and intractable for us to have fooled you. However, perhaps you would be interested in a business proposition . . . a sharing of our abilities for our mutual profit.”

“I've already got money,” the goblin said, letting loose his grip and drawing back slightly.

“As one can plainly see,” Soen continued, his black eyes shining in the dim light of the common room. “It's goods you need . . . and those are what
we
have.”

“What's your plan,” the goblin asked quietly, his red eyes fixed on the elf.

“We are interested in moving these items quickly,” Soen continued. “Most of the crates were mistakenly addressed to another destination, and we would just as soon sell the items quickly before anyone makes any kind of trouble over a few mistakes on a cargo manifest.”

Vendis glanced sideways at Soen, but, being a chimerian, there was no appreciable change in his face.

“I'm not concerned with where things were supposed to go,” the goblin said through a sneer, “just with where they end up.”

“Then I think we are in agreement,” Soen smiled, his lips pulling back over his sharp teeth. “I heard the pilgrims passing through were a good market.”

“Good?” Gobekandrus smirked. “Them pilgrims came through here like one of them plagues. Locusts couldn't have done a better job cleaning out the town. They came up the south road happy as you please—manticores singing their songs and what not—and before you knew it, they were streaming through here like a flood and buying up everything that looked remotely like it could be eaten or drunk. Sure, they paid and paid—good Imperial coin as well as some of those Dje'kaarin trade notes and even a few Kingsrune Slate from the Goblin Peaks. Price 'em high as you please and they just kept paying. In the end, none of them town merchants would take coin or notes . . . it all came down to gems, metals, and the like. Took it all we did.”

“Then what happened,” Vendis asked.

The goblin started to laugh. “Well, then they left!”

“Left?”

“Aye! Every last one of them and took every morsel with them!” Gobekandrus roared with mirth. “The town's full of money . . . bustin' at the seams with it . . . and you can't buy a loaf of salt bread or a bottle of mulled wine for less than a king's ransom! Hahaha!”

Holding his belly, Gobekandrus rolled onto his back. Soen and Vendis just stared as the hilarity overtook the goblin. “I could just about buy this city with a crate of apples! Hoohoo! Elected king for a barrel of wheat! Heehee!”

“Exactly . . . exactly our point,” Vendis said, trying to bring the goblin back to the subject. “If you can tell us where these pilgrims went, then we'll know where to take our goods for sale to . . .”

“Ain't no point in that, boys,” the goblin said, wiping his eyes as he stood back up on the ledger desk. “We already wrung them pilgrims out sure. You just bring the goods here to my inn—right here, mind you—and within a few days we'll have more business than even the pilgrims brought us.”

Soen lifted his head back slightly. The points of his ears itched. “What do you mean?”

“The Blade of the Northern Will!” Gobekandrus said as though stating the obvious. “The Legions of the Rhonas Empire are coming this way—two or three days at the most!” The goblin leaned in, his voice conspiratorial through his smile. “You bring your wagons here to me, and we'll be the only game in Scheliss City! The Legions will pay far more than those religious fanatics—and in solid Imperial coin! I can guarantee that by the time
I'm
finished with your crates, there'll be no trouble with any manifest. We'll split the take in half?”

“Half!” Vendis exclaimed.

“I'm taking all the risk!” Gobekandrus snapped, his eyes narrowing. “All you have to do is count your coin!”

“One tenth,” Soen stated.

The goblin snarled. “I'd rather sell them my inn.”

“If you think they'll buy it, but knowing the Legions, they would just as soon burn it to the ground,” Soen answered. “Without our goods, you have nothing to sell.”

“One in three,” the goblin said.

“One in five,” Soen responded, “and I see that I can still walk right out your door.”

“One in four!” Gobekandrus said as his eyes narrowed.

Soen turned to Vendis. “You know, I seem to recall a tavern up past that wreck of a smithy . . . that seemed to be a nice place . . .”

“Fine!” The goblin pushed out his bony hand. “One in five it is.”

Soen smiled. “I'm sure you will not live to regret this, Master Gobekandrus. Are you certain the pilgrims are well on their way? War is always good for business but not if you're caught up in the middle of it.”

“Nah, they went up the north road happy as you please four days ago. At their rate, they're probably crossing the Shrouded Plain as it is. Good a place to die as any, I suppose,” Gobekandrus shrugged. “So what do you say? Have we a bargain?”

“You can trust me when I say that the moment our goods arrive,” Soen said through his best sharp-toothed smile, “we will bring them straight to you.”

“Thein Tja-kai,” Vendis asked after they had stepped out into the dusty path that passed for the main road through Scheliss. “What was that about?”

Soen turned, answering to his adopted name without hesitation.
Hesitation always kills you,
he thought. “Friend Vendis, our new acquaintance and partner Gobekandrus has no intention of splitting anything with us. I suspect he would murder us in our sleep once the goods were delivered . . . fortunately for us, he will wait until we
do
deliver the goods and, since there
are
no goods to deliver, we should be reasonably safe before we leave this ridiculous excuse for a town.”

“But why all the . . .”

“You want to find the Prophet, don't you?” Soen said as they walked briskly side by side. “
I
want to find the Prophet, too. All I did was to offer him one kind of profit in exchange for information on where to find the other kind.”

“The Shrouded Plain?”

“A migration that size shouldn't be terribly difficult to track.”

“So that's where we find him?”

“Perhaps . . . if we're quick enough. Now, it seems, that the Empire wants to find this Prophet as well, and I suspect that since they have sent the Legions to do the job, they do not have any expectation of treating him or his followers kindly. If we're going to ask this Prophet any questions, we're going to have to find him before the weight of Imperial Might does so.”

“But the Shrouded Plain?” Vendis asked. “It's a terrible place. Why would anyone want to cross that?”

“I've got a better question for you,” Soen replied as he hefted his pack to his back and shouldered his mundane-looking staff. “Why should the Empire send an entire Legion to deal with a migration of religious pilgrims?”

S
CHELISS FIELD WAS NOT the last town on the north road but it certainly was the biggest. The settlements Soen and Vendis encountered as they followed the emigration trail along the western slopes of the Whispering Hills got progressively smaller—each barely more than a collection of a few houses huddled in proximity against the wild expanse around them. As they passed by these smaller, outlying farms, Soen occasionally saw their goblin residents standing by their doors and watching them with suspicion. They were never threatening nor did they come any closer to inquire about the passing strangers.

At least the trail was an easy one to follow. The wide swath that the emigrants cut both down the old road and to either side of it where possible would have been difficult to miss blindfolded. The smell of oxen droppings ground into the earth was pronounced—a sure sign of manticores on the move.

For once, Soen was glad to be on so obvious a course despite the inherent dangers it presented. It meant that he could concentrate on his companion Vendis. The chimerian remained irritatingly cheerful even at his most serious. He was also, unfortunately, a most affable companion on the road. For Soen, who was used to maintaining long silences as he strode the face of the world alone, the constant need to keep up a conversation that Vendis demonstrated was exhausting and demanding. As an Iblisi, few would have dared to approach him in dialogue and those who did—even in his own Order—would have preferred to keep their exchange short. But he wasn't an Iblisi to Vendis or, gods willing, anyone else for the unforeseeable future: he was Thein Tja-Kai, the wandering merchant of the Paktan in search of some Prophet of the North. He was supposed to be interested in the torrent of unending words coming from Vendis as they walked.

So, on those occasions when Vendis stopped and asked why the elf merchant was so quiet, Soen had learned to respond with something on the order of “Oh, I've just been thinking.” To this, Vendis invariable and earnestly replied, “Thinking about what?” at which point Soen would have to elucidate on whatever subject Vendis had been chatting about. This, of course, would set Vendis off on another line of thought that, Soen fervently hoped, would occupy his companion for a long stretch of the road.