The Orb of Wrath (The Merchant's Destiny Book 1) (2 page)

The truth is that the dog being trained as an attack dog was actually a stroke of luck. This had allowed him to neutralize it without the housekeeper noticing his presence. If it had barked, the servant would have become a serious risk because it would have tried to set an alarm.  This would have put Erion in a difficult juncture, between leaving or having to use more drastic methods, which was always a nuisance. He never wanted to hurt any servant. Even if his master was the most despicable person in the world, they were often innocent people.

After a while, a very long one, the steps began to sound more distant downstairs and then he listened a door shut. Probably the servant had gone to bed. Perhaps the servant had risen only to use the bathroom or perhaps suffered from insomnia. In any case, he had to have the utmost discretion, until he left the house.

He came out of hiding and continued looking through the letters. Among the letters of love, and some other minor letters, he finally found what he had come for. The seal of the griffin was unmistakable. He decided to take everything he had found in the safe and put it inside his jacket. The best thing was for them to think that they had emptied the safe without looking carefully at what it contained; so it would be more difficult for someone to understand that the intention of this theft was to take that letter. To give a more dramatic touch to the situation, he decided to leave the door of the safe wide open.

Then he turned back around to see what else he could take. Only one of the paintings seemed to have some value. He picked it up and, with a small knife, quickly removed the canvas from the frame. He rolled it and put it into his small backpack. On the desk he found an elaborate silver paperweight. It was a sculpture of a castle. The work had some merit for the level of detail that the artist had put into it. He took it, as well.

He glanced at the bookstore, but none of the books seemed particularly old or valuable. All were recent and indicated a dubious taste by its owner. He rechecked the desk drawers and found nothing valuable. Again he found the folder he had seen before and decided to check it out. The documentation described various details of an irrigation project in the valley near Xelake, north of the Mark. This project was not known by the public. From what he saw, the plans were highly developed and it was obvious that there was an intention to carry them out. The documents indicated dates that year and the following year. The maps indicated the areas that would be flooded to create a small dam and the pipelines that would be established and the lands that would be irrigated.

The information itself was quite valuable, especially if the Commander never perceived that the plans have been looked at. With this information, he could buy some of the land that would be later watered at a low price and then sell them after completion of the project by a much higher amount. He could sell the information to any of those affected by the flood in the area of the dam. They could get rid of the lands before they were to be devalued, or worse, expropriated by the Mark or the Kingdom. He could set a seed store in Xelake, with other agricultural products that allowed or would facilitate the growing of crops from the irrigation. This would make him an instant monopoly because at the time, that part of the Mark had some very arid lands for those crops and only wheat and other cereals were cultivated there. Surely there were other more intelligent choices, if he thought a bit, but this is what he could quickly improvise.

He kept flipping through the sheets. They included a detailed accounting of the project. Mr. Balta'ryon would be in charge of the monopoly on water management, in a lifelong concession for and in which he was free to set any price for the water. Since then, they seemed to be extraordinary privileges. And everything despite that the Mark and the Kingdom equally funded seventy percent of the cost of the work, and the employer only thirty percent. This was getting interesting at times. In the last of the documents he found a loose sheet in the middle of the papers. It seemed to be entries from a bank account. A number of important amounts had been deposited in the Calen bank, who was the only bank in the Mark and had just been established a few years earlier. All proceeds were in the Commander's name. In another document, the Commander appeared as head of the Commission of Water Development of the Mark.

That son of a bitch! How many people have suffered from shortage to pay the taxes that would finance that work? How many peasants would be abused in the future once the project was finished? He had to do something. He had to think of something.

He decided to act. He took the pen and inkwell that the Commander used to write regularly and opened the terms and conditions page of the concession to the employer. That document was final and was confirmed with the signing of the king of Bor. The idiot probably didn't even know what he had signed. The fact is that the document would be difficult to change. Moreover, as it was past all controls, it probably would remain intact until publication.

After reviewing the document for a while, with maximum concentration, he sought the table of terms and under the conditions for setting the price of water, added:
"With a maximum of the market price of water in the Deepcliff Central Square"
; the original text stated
"to be determined by the dealer."
Deepcliff, capital of the Kingdom, had abundant water sources of high quality close to the city and was one of the cheapest places to buy it in the country. The change in practice nullified the privileges of the businessman and this would make him feel deceived and betrayed by the Commander. Erion had a knack for forging documents and knew that only the best expert could distinguish the handwriting that was added.

Then he took a sheet of paper from the table, the same kind that the Commander had used to write down the bank account entries, and began writing a letter saying:

"Dear Principal Cashier of the Calen Bank

Hereby I beg you to undo the following entries in my bank account number 4392:

(The letter listed below all the entries of the fraudulent transfers contained in the sheet, with the amount, entry date, and volume, page and log sheet thereof).

I also request that you issue a check for the value of such amounts on behalf of the social work of the Order of Light for use in their charity work and their soup kitchens, and remit it to its headquarters located in 4 Arrow Street, Roko, Norvik County.

Signed

Ahruman, Commander of Andon
”

Erion took an envelope from the desk. He folded and put the letter inside. He closed the envelope and applied the Commander's seal he found in the top drawer. He stamped the letter and put the letter in his pocket. Then he replaced all the documents as they he had found them and placed them in the drawer.

Erion chuckled. Once the bank executed the order, the Commander would see how the money disappeared from his account. Although the bank would say it had been from his own order, the first suspicion of the Commander would certainly be that he had been a victim of foul play by the businessman. His reputation was not exactly that of a gentleman, and this favored Erion. This way, the farmers from Xelake would probably be greatly benefited, as well as the poor that the Order of Light attended throughout the Kingdom. The two brainiacs, the Commander and the businessman, would get nothing, and they would become enemies.

Well, maybe not everything would turn out so great, but he had to try. Luck is for the bold. In addition, he had nothing to lose because they could not track the mess back to him; obviously he was counting on getting away without being caught. The stakes had increased; if he was caught in that moment, he was to be surely hanged.  A way as any to make life more interesting.

He shuffled the room a little more, knocking some books off the shelf, to reinforce the impression of a hasty and messy theft, but carefully as to not to make noise. There was not much else to do in that office. He slipped into the hallway and then quickly checked the rooms in that floor; essentially two bedrooms. There was always a fine balance between how many goods you could get, and how much risk you want to take. He quickly decided he would not seek to steal anything in the other floors. With the presence of the housekeeper, it was too dangerous. He also decided to invest only five or ten minutes more checking the rooms in that floor, before leaving the house. He almost always managed to find valuables in the first minutes. He had a lot of practice.

He picked up a few more objects, including some jewelry, and put it in his backpack. Then he climbed to the roof and picked up his hook and cable. He had lost too much time. The tower guard had already taken their positions at every floor. He had to find a different way out.

He approached the south side of the roof, facing Elf Street. It was a busy street during the day, not the best way to enter or exit. However, at that hour of the night, with a little luck and if he was fast, he could escape without incident. He fixed his harpoon, and dropped the cable to the street. He carefully observed if the road was clear and then quickly slid down the facade. At the bottom, with a deft flick of the wrist he picked up the harpoon and the cable and put them away.

He walked stealthily to the corner, looking at the junction with the next road. There was no one. He slipped back into the shadows until the next site. He would be well hidden there, as this street was narrow and dark. He took his hood off and changed his jacket into a more appropriate one he carried in his backpack. Then he went on his way like a normal passerby.

Erion walked through the empty streets without stopping for a moment. He passed very few people. A while later, he was back in
The Flying Donkey
where, even at that time, there was noise downstairs, where the tavern was located. But he didn't stop. He climbed to the second floor and went into his room and locked it.

Mithir was awake and was waiting impatiently. With a quick gesture Erion said that everything had gone well. Whispering, he explained in detail everything that happened. His friend's face lit up when he got to the part of the story about the fake letter. Mithir had to stifle a laugh. In the adjacent room, people were sleeping and they didn't want to wake them, especially this particular night.

Mithir was dumb. Maybe this was not entirely accurate. The boy did not seem to have any physical problem that prevented him to utter words, but for some reason, he didn't speak. Erion couldn't remember ever hearing him utter a word. However, he could issue grunts, groans, murmurs and laughter, for example. Mithir was also the closest thing to family he never had. He had met him as a child in the orphanage. His friend had entered the orphan when he was very small; perhaps about two years old, when Erion was six. Immediately he decided to take account of protecting the smallest of the other older boys. As he had experienced, the orphanage was very hard with the weakest and youngest. The older boys immediately began to abuse you. Erion had promised to try to avoid the hardships that he had suffered. The child was relatively fragile and would not have lasted long in that place without his help.

Mithir was also other things. For example, he was the best magician he had ever met. Although he hadn't met many. But it was obvious he had a natural talent for magic.

They distributed the loot in their usual way. A quarter each. The rest would be dedicated to their investment project. Erion would make the payment in the next town they'd visit.

He then remembered the small box. He asked Mithir to revise it.  The magician performed some quick hand movements, and then he stopped. He then performed another series of gestures and uttered a murmur that sounded like a growl. Mithir explained by signs that the box didn't seem to have traps or magical protections but that, however, the content itself seemed magical.

Mithir and Erion had learned sign language long ago and was the fundamental mechanism they used to communicate. Very few people knew this language in the kingdom of Bor. They had had to pay a very large amount to very important wise man that lived in Killian, Kiyats County south of the kingdom, for him to teach them and train them. But it had been worth it. Over time, he had gotten used to it and Erion felt that this communication was almost "normal"; in some aspects even better, since they could communicate in silence. And they could do it without anyone around her understanding. It was like speaking a foreign eccentric language.

Erion took out his picks for the last time that day, and opened the small chest with more difficulty than he expected. Inside it was a charm enshrined in a pendant. The amulet was shaped like a dove. Mithir looked at him and smiled.

CHAPTER 2: THE ROYAL BOX

With a stroke of the spur, the warhorse began his ride around the track of the tournament. Abakai leaned forward to get the maximum range with his spear and prepare for impact. His opponent came from the front at a blistering pace, while the large audience held their breath.

The knight he was competing against was Elynath, champion from the Mark of Calen. A warrior of great experience, equally feared and respected by all his contenders, and had also been a champion of the tournament of the kingdom of Bor twice. They said his white horse, Mephineus, was the fastest of the ones competing; a thoroughbred of the Aurum Emirates. The spear struck the armor of the opposing knight with a huge roar.

Vargarr watched, carefree, from the Royal Box. As a Major from the Bor Army, he had the privilege of attending this box as guest of honor at any occasion. He always tried to attend when the most famous knights participated in the competition. He enjoyed thinking that, with a little luck, one of the gentlemen would die during the joust. This would make the show more vibrant and interesting. It was so tedious and boring when the warriors turned out unharmed! Someone tapped him on the shoulder.

“Who do you think will win?” Lakajev asked, as he sat on Vargarr's left.

“Elynath has more experience, and still has a formidable arm. He's a famous knight and most people see him as a favorite,” the Major answered.

“How about you?”

“I bet on Abakai. I've seen him training with the military during the last month,” Vargarr laughed under his breath.

“Um! Maybe I should have gone with him too.”

The contestants galloped back to their starting positions, where their squires waited to facilitate a new spear. In a match like that, they had five each. In the first attack Abakai had taken a direct hit in the chest, and had lost his spear with the strike, without hurting his opponent. The knights collected their second spear.

“Are you sure that Abakai is a safe option? I see him limping a little after that blow.”

“Ha ha ha! No way! The impact wasn't that bad. I think that he's actually faking an injury. I would say that he's going to try to tire the Calen champion before going on the offensive. Pay close attention during the fourth spear.”

Count Lakajev was not particularly fond of tournaments and jousts. But he always wanted them to be regularly celebrated in his county. It was the best entertainment for the common people; and a distracted populace was easier to manipulate. It was easier for them to accept a tax increase or a change in regulation to extend the powers of the Count. "Bread and circuses",” he had been told by his tutor when he studied before joining the County's militia.

He turned to watch Vargarr, who missed nothing of the fight, with a sadistic glint in his eyes. He found Vargarr to be rather unpleasant, but he was one of the best allies that he could count on for his goals. In addition, Vargarr was also very ambitious and this was always useful.

“Since you've come here, I understand that you have news”, Vargarr asked.

“You understand well,” the Count said.

“Has Devgon returned?”

“Yesterday afternoon I visited him at the close of the session of the Chamber.”

“Wait, pay attention now,” Vargarr warned.

After two more thrusts without major damage from any of the opponents, the Knights collected their fourth spear. Without having put his horse in position, Abakai started surprisingly, making a sharp turn with the reins. His horse turned electrically and galloped in a trained move. This last sprint seemed much more violent than the ones that preceded it.

Calmly, Elynath placed his horse in position and also galloped. He spurred his horse to try to reach speed quickly. But it was too late. At three”quarters of the track, Abakai's spear accurately struck the old champion and threw him off his horse. The tremendous impact broke the spear into many pieces.

“Yiha!” Vargarr hissed. “Now you will see why he has been chosen the fourth spear for his surprise attack.”

Abakai quickly rode the way back to the position of his squire and picked up the fifth and final spear. Attacking a rimless knight with a spear was not considered a particularly honorable maneuver; but it was perfectly legal. Again he galloped, this time aiming at the head of his opponent. It was a deadly attack.

“Didn't they ban that maneuver?” Lakajev asked.

“Some idiot introduced the amendment last year. But I saw to it that Central Tournament Committee didn't accept it,” Vargarr said with delight.

Elynath waited sitting on the floor without making any effort to get up. Standing wasn't so simple from that position wearing full armor of nearly four arrobes of weight. The old champion knew this could be his end. Abakai‘s spear was approaching at high speed, directly pointing at him. In the stands of the tournament, an anguished whisper was heard.

Surprisingly, with a quick swipe of his arm, Elynath managed to divert the point of the spear to the side and down. The movement surprised Abakai, who couldn't stop the path of the gallop. Then the inevitable happened. The spear stuck in the ground. Abakai lost his balance. His horse stumbled and fell, dismounting Abakai abruptly.

Elynath knew that where the horse ended up at that moment was pure luck. The animal could kill him with the impact of his weight moving at high speed. But that was not what happened. One of the hind legs hit him without great consequence, as the horse fell to the side.

Abakai had been thrown to the side and looked slightly stunned. Elynath knew he had to seize the opportunity. He rose laboriously and quickly approached his flag.

“Greatsword!” he bellowed urgently.

His squire took the weapon and quickly gave it to his knight, who quickly turned to return to combat. The knights were armed with a short sword in their belt, even as they rode. But this sword was too light to cause damage easily on full armor. The greatsword was heavy and unwieldy, but devastating when used with skill and determination. Abakai approached his fallen shield, picked it up and leaned against him to get on his feet. Before he had time to draw his short sword, the Calen Champion shook him with a powerful blow that he managed to contain with the shield with difficulty.

“Surely you didn't expect this,” Lakajev said.

“He was not going to be as easy to defeat the Calen. But this was not over. What did Devgon tell you?” he asked the Major.

Abakai quickly drew his short sword while preparing the shield against a new onslaught of the champion's sword.

“He told me it cost almost twice what we had expected, but he managed to get it,” the Count answered.

“They're good news, but ... almost twice as much! How it is possible?” the Major roared.

“He says he could not access the seller on time and it ended in a secret auction. You know how these things are. It seems that everything was disbanded a little and he had to pay much more than expected to acquire it.”

Elynath breathed tiredly as he lifted the heavy sword for another blow. Then, Abakai started with a brilliant gallop with his shield forward and charged the Calen by surprise while he held the sword up. The champion fell back and lost the two”handed grip on the greatsword. Before he could react, Abakai was upon him with the edge of his short sword at his throat. The fight was over.

The stands, surprised with the victory of the young local, roared cheers and gibberish. Part of the audience began shouting shyly the new hero's name: Abakai! Abakai! Soon, the opposite stand began to roar to a far greater outcry: Bor! Bor! Bor!

For some inexplicable reason, despite being the capital of the Kingdom, Deepcliff wasn't used to producing famous champions. Most of the warriors of the capital, who had achieved success and fame, came from neighboring counties and marks. Lakajev watched Vargarr look at the square with satisfaction.

“Looks like you now have your local hero,” the Count said.

“Exactly, this will attract more people to the tournament, which will create more vocations in the brave young people to join the Army. The Province of Central Bor is the most populated, but proportionally, it's the one that has the fewest soldiers,” the Major reasoned.

“Being at the center of the country, you do not have a border to defend. That's what the Marks are for. And in any case, the province of Bor continues to have a militia of more than fifteen thousand soldiers; in addition to the power of having the Army Headquarters of the Kingdom here.”

“I see you know the numbers well, for not being a man of special dedication to weapons. Let’s go to a more private place while the next fight doesn't start,” the Major requested, while pointing the way to the Count.

They walked into a room located behind the box, inside the Royal Castle. After crossing the room, they looked out to a balcony overlooking the main square inside the enclosure. A thick layer of clouds left just a glimpse of the midday sun in the sky of the capital. It was a warm day in late autumn. The temperature had dropped considerably since the summer, although the harsh winter had not begun yet. In the distance, the roar of the stands of the tournament could be heard, still chanting and cheering.

“How do we know that the orb is authentic?” the Major asked.

“Devgon took Urlabus with him; you know, the magician he confides in. Urlabus recognized and identified the object before the auction began. All bidders had option,” the Count explained.

“Yes, of course. If there is no doubt of its authenticity, you can get a much higher price. How have they transported it? They say that if it's not handled correctly, you can go crazy in a second, or it can even kill you.”

“Urlabus was prepared with a special container. I guess with an inhibitor spell or something like that.”

“What has Devgon said about the gold?” Vargarr asked.

“That he will talk to his contacts in the Chamber and the Industrial Association to request additional funds for our mission,” Lakajev said.

“As long as you don't ask me,” Vargarr clarified. “Devgon was responsible for the gold and the orb, you of the Marquis, and I of the maneuvers and King. That was the deal,” clarified Vargarr.

A figure approached the doorway from inside the room. For some reason, Lakajev had not heard his footsteps. He could observe that it was a reasonably well dressed dark elf. But not enough to be one of the guests of honor. He had some disturbing red eyes; one of the most distinctive and common signs of the dark elves. The Count noticed that the figure avoided entering the balcony and had stopped just at the point where the shade that the cornice of the building provided ended. He had heard stories of how the dark elves avoided direct sunlight whenever they could. They were accustomed to places with low light, like caves or the underground. Nothing prevented them from staying under the sun, but the shadows or darkness were their preference. The elf waited before speaking.

“What is it, Phoroz?” Vargarr asked.

“The next battle is about to begin, sir,” the elf said.

“I'll go in a little while. I have some business attend to,” the Major said.

The elf got lost inside the room, with the same secrecy with which it had appeared. Lakajev could not help feeling a chill down his spine.

“I did not know you had that servant. It is something unconventional,” the Count asked.

“Ha ha ha! You're jealous! Indeed, Phoroz is extremely helpful and very good at certain types of tasks,” Vargarr commented mysteriously.

“Where did you get him? And where did you keep him?”

“I found him a couple of years ago in the woods of Hardin, in the marks. He was bound and badly wounded. He was to be dinner for a group of ogres.”

“Ogres!”

“Yes. We were going to see the Marquis of Mositus, and decided to cut through the forest. Although it is not a recommended road, you save some time. When we had boarded, I heard the sound of a campfire and went with two of my men by a flank. At that time there was only one ogre on guard. It seemed that the others had gone hunting. We eliminated the ogre, catching it off guard. And thank goodness. He was incredibly strong! Despite being surprised, with a blow of his ax, he cut one of my men in half before we could finish him off.”

“And then I guess you'd get out of there as quickly as possible.”

“Not really. Before releasing the elf, I made him an offer he could not refuse. He had to swear to serve me until the end of my days or I'd leave him there to be chopped up and end up in the stomachs of those ogres.”