The Way of Kings (75 page)

“Wow,” Rysn said. “He brought a lot of servants.”

“Servants?” Vstim said.

“The fellows in brown.”

Her babsk smiled. “Those are his guards, child.”

“What? They look so dull.”

“Shin are a curious folk,” he said. “Here, warriors are the lowliest of men—kind of like slaves. Men trade and sell them between houses by way of little stones that signify ownership, and any man who picks up a weapon must join them and be treated the same. The fellow in the fancy robe?
He’s
a farmer.”

“A landowner, you mean?”

“No. As far as I can tell, he goes out every day—well, the days when he’s not overseeing a negotiation like this—and works the fields. They treat all farmers like that, lavish them with attention and respect.”

Rysn gaped. “But most villages are
filled
with farmers!”

“Indeed,” Vstim said. “Holy places, here. Foreigners aren’t allowed near fields or farming villages.”

How strange,
she thought.
Perhaps living in this place has affected their minds.

Kylrm and his guards didn’t look terribly pleased at being so heavily outnumbered, but Vstim didn’t seem bothered. Once the Shin grew close, he walked out from his wagons without a hint of trepidation. Rysn hurried after him, her skirt brushing the grass below.

Bother,
she thought. Another problem with its not retracting. If she had to buy a new hem because of this dull grass, it was going to make her very cross.

Vstim met up with the Shin, then bowed in a distinctive way, hands toward the ground. “
Tan balo ken tala
,” he said. She didn’t know what it meant.

The man in the cloak—the
farmer
—nodded respectfully, and one of the other riders dismounted and walked forward. “Winds of Fortune guide you, my friend.” He spoke Thaylen very well. “He who adds is happy for your safe arrival.”

“Thank you, Thresh-son-Esan,” Vstim said. “And my thanks to he who adds.”

“What have you brought for us from your strange lands, friend?” Thresh said. “More metal, I hope?”

Vstim waved and some of the guards brought over a heavy crate. They set it down and pried off the top, revealing its peculiar contents. Pieces of scrap metal, mostly shaped like bits of shell, though some were formed like pieces of wood. It looked to Rysn like garbage that had—for some inexplicable reason—been Soulcast into metal.

“Ah,” Thresh said, squatting down to inspect the box. “Wonderful!”

“Not a bit of it was mined,” Vstim said. “No rocks were broken or smelted to get this metal, Thresh. It was Soulcast from shells, bark, or branches. I have a document sealed by five separate Thaylen notaries attesting to it.”

“You needn’t have done such a thing as this,” Thresh said. “You have once earned our trust in this matter long ago.”

“I’d rather be proper about it,” Vstim said. “A merchant who is careless with contracts is one who finds himself with enemies instead of friends.”

Thresh stood up, clapping three times. The men in brown with the downcast eyes lowered the back of a wagon, revealing crates.

“The others who visit us,” Thresh noted, walking to the wagon. “All they seem to care about are horses. Everyone wishes to buy horses. But never you, my friend. Why is that?”

“Too hard to care for,” Vstim said, walking with Thresh. “And there’s too often a poor return on the investment, valuable as they are.”

“But not with these?” Thresh said, picking up one of the light crates. There was something alive inside.

“Not at all,” Vstim said. “Chickens fetch a good price, and they’re easy to care for, assuming you have feed.”

“We brought you plenty,” Thresh said. “I cannot believe you buy these from us. They are not worth nearly so much as you outsiders think. And you give us metal for them! Metal that bears no stain of broken rock. A miracle.”

Vstim shrugged. “Those scraps are practically worthless where I come from. They’re made by ardents practicing with Soulcasters. They can’t make food, because if you get it wrong, it’s poisonous. So they turn garbage into metal and throw it away.”

“But it can be forged!”

“Why forge the metal,” Vstim said, “when you can carve an object from wood in the precise shape you want,
then
Soulcast it?”

Thresh just shook his head, bemused. Rysn watched with her own share of confusion. This was the
craziest
trade exchange she’d ever seen. Normally, Vstim argued and haggled like a crushkiller. But here, he freely revealed that his wares were worthless!

In fact, as conversation proceeded, the two both took pains to explain how worthless their goods were. Eventually, they came to an agreement—though Rysn couldn’t grasp how—and shook hands on the deal. Some of Thresh’s soldiers began to unload their boxes of chickens, cloth, and exotic dried meats. Others began carting away boxes of scrap metal.

“You couldn’t trade me a soldier, could you?” Vstim asked as they waited.

“They cannot be sold to an outsider, I am afraid.”

“But there was that one you traded me…”

“It’s been nearly seven years!” Thresh said with a laugh. “And still you ask!”

“You don’t know what I got for him,” Vstim said. “And you gave him to me for practically nothing!”

“He was Truthless,” Thresh said, shrugging. “He wasn’t worth anything at all. You
forced
me to take something in trade, though to confess, I had to throw your payment into a river. I could not take money for a Truthless.”

“Well, I suppose I can’t take offense at that,” Vstim said, rubbing his chin. “But if you ever have another, let me know. Best servant I ever had. I still regret that I traded him.”

“I will remember, friend,” Thresh said. “But I do not think it likely we will have another like him.” He seemed to grow distracted. “Indeed, I should hope that we never do….”

Once the goods were exchanged, they shook hands again, then Vstim bowed to the farmer. Rysn tried to mimic what he did, and earned a smile from Thresh and several of his companions, who chattered in their whispering Shin language.

Such a long, boring ride for such a short exchange. But Vstim was right; those chickens would be worth good spheres in the East.

“What did you learn?” Vstim said to her as they walked back toward the lead wagon.

“That Shin are odd.”

“No,” Vstim said, though he wasn’t stern. He never seemed to be stern. “They are simply different, child. Odd people are those who act erratically. Thresh and his kind, they are anything but erratic. They may be a little
too
stable. The world is changing outside, but the Shin seem determined to remain the same. I’ve tried to offer them fabrials, but they find them worthless. Or unholy. Or too holy to use.”

“Those are rather different things, master.”

“Yes,” he said. “But with the Shin, it’s often hard to distinguish among them. Regardless, what did you
really
learn?”

“That they treat being humble like the Herdazians treat boasting,” she said. “You both went out of your way to show how worthless your wares were. I found it strange, but I think it might just be how they haggle.”

He smiled widely. “And already you are wiser than half the men I’ve brought here. Listen. Here is your lesson.
Never
try to cheat the Shin. Be forthright, tell them the truth, and—if anything—undervalue your goods. They will love you for it. And they’ll pay you for it too.”

She nodded. They reached the wagon, and he got out a strange little pot. “Here,” he said. “Use a knife and go cut out some of that grass. Be sure to cut down far and get plenty of the soil. The plants can’t live without it.”

“Why am I doing this?” she asked, wrinkling her nose and taking the pot.

“Because,” he said. “You’re going to learn to care for that plant. I want you to keep it with you until you stop thinking of it as odd.”

“But why?”

“Because it will make you a better merchant,” he said.

She frowned. Must he be so strange so much of the time? Perhaps that was why he was one of the only Thaylens who could get a good deal out of the Shin. He was as odd as they were.

She walked off to do as she was told. No use complaining. She did get out a rugged pair of gloves first, though, and roll up her sleeves. She was
not
going to ruin a good dress for a pot of drooling, wall-staring, imbecile grass. And that was that.

Axies the Collector groaned, lying on his back, skull pounding with a headache. He opened his eyes and looked down the length of his body. He was naked.

Blight it all,
he thought.

Well, best to check and see if he was hurt too badly. His toes pointed at the sky. The nails were a deep blue color, not uncommon for an Aimian man like himself. He tried to wiggle them and, pleasingly, they actually moved.

“Well, that’s something,” he said, dropping his head back to the ground. It made a squishing sound as it touched something soft, likely a bit of rotting garbage.

Yes, that was what it was. He could smell it now, pungent and rank. He focused on his nose, sculpting his body so that he could no longer smell.
Ah,
he thought.
Much better.

Now if he could only banish the pounding in his head. Really, did the sun
have
to be so garish overhead? He closed his eyes.

“You’re still in my alley,” a gruff voice said from behind him. That voice had awakened him in the first place.

“I shall vacate it presently,” Axies promised.

“You owe me rent. One night’s sleep.”

“In an alleyway?”

“Finest alleyway in Kasitor.”

“Ah. Is that where I am, then? Excellent.”

A few heartbeats of mental focus finally banished the headache. He opened his eyes, and this time found the sunlight quite pleasant. Brick walls rose toward the sky on either side of him, overgrown with a crusty red lichen. Small heaps of rotting tubers were scattered around him.

No. Not scattered. They looked to be arranged carefully. Odd, that. They were likely the source of the scents he’d noticed earlier. Best to leave his sense of smell inhibited.

He sat up, stretching, checking his muscles. All seemed to be in working order, though he had quite a few bruises. He’d deal with those in a bit. “Now,” he said, turning, “you wouldn’t happen to have a spare pair of pants, would you?”

The own er of the voice turned out to be a scraggly-bearded man sitting on a box at the end of the alleyway. Axies didn’t recognize him, nor did he recognize the location. That wasn’t surprising, considering that he’d been beaten, robbed, and left for dead. Again.

The things I do in the name of scholarship,
he thought with a sigh.

His memory was returning. Kasitor was a large Iriali city, second in size only to Rall Elorim. He’d come here by design. He’d also gotten himself drunk by design. Perhaps he should have picked his drinking companions more carefully.

“I’m going to guess that you don’t have a spare pair of pants,” Axies said, standing and inspecting the tattoos on his arm. “And if you did, I’d suggest that you wear them yourself. Is that a lavis sack you have on?”

“You owe me rent,” the man grumbled. “And payment for destroying the temple of the northern god.”

“Odd,” Axies said, looking over his shoulder toward the alleyway’s opening. There was a busy street beyond. The good people of Kasitor would likely not take well to his nudity. “I don’t
recall
destroying any temples. Normally I’m quite cognizant of that sort of thing.”

“You took out half of Hapron Street,” the beggar said. “Number of homes as well. I’ll let that slide.”

“Mighty kind of you.”

“They’ve been wicked lately.”

Axies frowned, looking back at the beggar. He followed the man’s gaze, looking down at the ground. The heaps of rotting vegetables had been placed in a very particular arrangement. Like a city.

“Ah,” Axies said, moving his foot, which had been planted on a small square of vegetable.

“That was a bakery,” the beggar said.

“Terribly sorry.”

“The family was away.”

“That’s a relief.”

“They were worshipping at the temple.”

“The one I…”

“Smashed with your head? Yes.”

“I’m certain you’ll be kind to their souls.”

The beggar narrowed his eyes at him. “I’m still trying to decide how you fit into things. Are you a Voidbringer or a Herald?”

“Voidbringer, I’m afraid,” Axies said. “I mean, I
did
destroy a temple.”

The beggar’s eyes grew more suspicious.

“Only the sacred cloth can banish me,” Axies continued. “And since you don’t…I say, what is that you’re holding?”

The beggar looked down at his hand, which was touching one of the ratty blankets draped over one of his equally ratty boxes. He perched atop them, like…well, like a god looking down over his people.

Poor fool,
Axies thought. It was really time to be moving on. Wouldn’t want to bring any bad luck down upon the addled fellow.

The beggar held up the blanket. Axies shied back, raising his hands. That made the beggar smile a grin that could have used a few more teeth. He hopped off his box, holding the blanket up wardingly. Axies shied away.