The Elder Lands

Chapter 43: Man Plans and Gods Laugh

Lucan walked back to his chamber after his tiring conversation with the princess. While he had gotten something out of the whole debacle, it didn’t mean that it had been easy, nor that a conversation with the cunning royal wasn’t stressful. The more he spoke to her, the more wary he was of her. He hadn’t spoken to the second prince yet, but if he was as wily as she was, then Lucan and his peers would suffer quite the reign.

Lucan avoided his father’s chamber and headed directly for his own. He was ambivalent about their state of affairs for now. His father seemed troubled by what he’d had to do to the prince, but he’d also seemed proud of his conduct in the Labyrinth. Now that Lucan thought about it, he had another thing to thank Cordell for. He hadn’t only put himself between Lucan and a threat twice, but he had also relayed what he’d seen of him in the Labyrinth in a good light.

After reaching his chamber and closing the door behind him, Lucan wrote a brief letter on a small piece of parchment and rolled it up. Then he left his chamber in search of a servant, which he soon found. He handed him the letter and told him to deliver it to Lilian.

He would have to meet her father in the palace. Even if courage possessed him to leave the palace in search of her merchant father, what little wisdom he had wouldn’t allow it. Hopefully, Lilian would succeed in bringing him to the palace. There was a lot to be gained from this meeting, if it came to be.

Lucan stood at his window, which gave him a slim view of the highest reaches of the infernal temple. He’d wanted to visit it, but it seemed now that there wouldn’t be enough time. The temples were historically the subject of much mystery. Their rise had commenced during the fall of the Veti Empire, which was likely due to the latter’s prior suppression of the two apocalyptic religions(or cults, according to the Empire). Lucan did agree that their existence was conducive to disorder. If written history was a viable witness, then people had a tendency to do the unthinkable when they thought the end of times was upon them. And if the infernal and abyssal temples agreed on one thing, it was that the end of times was coming, however long that would take. The infernals believed that the god of the earthen flame and hellfire would rise with his army from the bowels of the Labyrinth to consume all and render everything to ash. The abyssals believed that the god of darkness would rise with his army from the depths to envelop the world in the ‘darkest dark’ and pull it down to the depths. The priests of both beliefs beseeched their followers to pray against and curse their respective god, which would supposedly weaken them enough to keep the end of times at bay. Laughable, when a sane man thought about it.

Lucan was uncertain about them if he were to be honest. He didn’t know whether to believe anything of what they proposed or to disbelieve them altogether. Though after seeing the shaft, he couldn’t deny having felt a certain feeling of darkness and doom upon witnessing its horror. His knowledge of the religions’ pasts, though, had disabused him of any notion of true belief. He was certain that they’d had no existence before a certain point in history, but their high priests claimed otherwise, basing their spiritual succession upon the death of the old continent and the few monuments of the Elders that remained; some of which apparently showed evidence of an organized subterranean enemy, though most scholars agreed that it was a metaphorical or, perhaps even, a mythical notion on the Elders' part.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts and Lucan went to answer it. He opened the door and found the servant there with a small scrolled letter, not unlike the one he’d just given him. “Sir Lucan, Lady Lilian has entrusted me with this letter for you.”

Lucan accepted the letter. “Thank you. I’m not a knight though.” And she’s not a lady.

The young servant seemed mortified for a moment before Lucan gave him an easy smile and allowed him to leave.

Thankfully, Lilian’s response was cause for satisfaction. She was certain her father wouldn’t be against meeting him. Though she mentioned that the guards likely wouldn’t let him farther than the outer barracks of the palace and Lucan would have to meet him there.

So he prepared his attire and made certain that he looked proper enough for the occasion before departing his chamber. He thought about letting his father know first but discarded the thought. He certainly wouldn’t be opposed to another merchant out of a dozen visiting their territory, would he? It remained to be seen, however, whether said merchant would accept Lucan’s request.

This time Lucan found no difficulty in navigating his way out of the palace, and then reaching the outer barracks. There, he was guided by a guard into the squat building, where he was led to a side room, which upon entry proved to be better furnished than the rest of the building. Lucan thanked the guard and leveled his attention at the man seated across the table before him.

He seemed to be his father’s age, though his hair was halfway into becoming a sea of utter gray, something to which his father was a stranger. He had a thin mustache and beard that met each other in a circle around his mouth, well-trimmed and on the same graying path as his hair. His skin had a faint tint of bronze and was clean except for small blotches of black on his cheek, likely birthmarks. He wore colorful robes that didn’t go well with the dark green chair he was seated in, and Lucan could swear he saw the man’s discomfort at the notion.

“Young Master Lucan,” the merchant said. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Greetings, Master Saltner,” Lucan said. “Thank you for accepting my invitation.”

“You humble me, Young Master,” Saltner said. “How could a simple man such as myself ignore the requests of his betters?” Despite that, the merchant hadn’t stood up upon Lucan’s arrival, though Lucan hadn’t expected such a thing. Still, it showed how empty the man’s words were.

“Please,” Lucan said. “Let us not stand on ceremony.” Then he took his seat. It was a narrow but plush chair, its stuffing covered with forest green velvet.

“Well, then,” the merchant said. “Whom should I thank for the pleasure of meeting you?”

“‘What’ would be more appropriate, I believe,” Lucan said. “I’ve requested this meeting with you for a mercantile affair.”

“Ah, my favorite kind of affair,” Master Saltner said, chuckling. His features suddenly looked friendly even if a little sly. “You have something for this humble one to buy? Or perhaps you have unique tastes that require the assistance of a traveled man such as myself?”

Lucan gave him an apologetic look. “Neither this nor that, unfortunately. Lilian mentioned two caravans of yours that range East and West?”

“Yes, indeed, my family oversees such ventures,” Master Saltner said noncommittally.

Lucan smiled, diving into the meat of the matter. “I believe it would do us both much good if one of those caravans were to visit my father’s territory at least once a year.”

The merchant’s countenance sharpened and he straightened up. “I see. According to what I’ve heard, however, your territory is far to the south, where beasts prowl and Wildermen grind their axes.”

“Our territory is far from the border,” Lucan lied. Though it was true that the Wildermen threat was a distant one to their lands. “And the beasts are kept in check. I’ve taken part in the last pacification myself. They barely even saw the light of day.”

Master Saltner nodded, even as he looked dubious. “I see. I see. And since someone of your stature has come to invite me to their territory, a lot must be waiting for me there, yes?”

“Of course,” Lucan said. “The harvests of our territory and all those neighboring it gather at our settlement. There’s also the Ardens’ wine.” The merchant’s brows rose in recognition of the Ardens’ name, which encouraged Lucan to continue. “Pelts and leathers of varying quality can also be found in our market.”

“I see, I see,” the merchant said, his countenance still friendly, but utterly flat to Lucan’s senses. The man seemed unimpressed, which worried him.

Lucan perked up, recalling something important. “There’s also a salt lake.”

Master Saltner raised a brow, which further enhanced how false his friendly veneer was. Lucan could feel the man’s intense scrutiny from the sharp eyes that were fixed on him. Still, there was a question in that subtle movement and Lucan intended to answer it. “We’re working on extracting salt from a salt-rich lake that we were fortunate enough to discover in our territory. It’s only a matter of months until we are producing amounts adequate to garner the attention of your competitors.”

The merchant nodded, releasing a prodigious breath and then leaning back in his chair. “Perhaps worthy of a visit, but not one which could risk delaying a whole caravan’s journey. I must be honest with you, Master Lucan. The farthest South our caravans go is Arpague. I imagine it’s quite some distance to reach your lands from there…?”

Lucan pressed his lips and nodded. “Ten days. A fortnight at most. We’ve built a road that will straighten the creases in your journey and allow your caravan to continue on its way East to the Union after passing by our fief.”

The merchant’s countenance turned thoughtful. “Hmmm. My daughter implied that you are a competent young man. She seems to hold much admiration for you.” He gave him a look. “An old man such as myself must wonder if that is mutual.”

Lucan’s tongue nearly preceded him before he stopped himself, taking in the significance of those words. Was Lilian’s father suggesting something? A courtship? It took him a moment, but Lucan remembered that it wasn’t unheard of for knights to marry into wealthy commoner families. Though Lucan’s circumstances were different. His family was branched from a noble house, and his father was landed. The expectation was that Lucan would be knighted someday too, and his father’s lands would pass on to him. He could see the appeal, even for a very wealthy merchant such as Master Saltner. If anything, the man must be now thinking what his father had been thinking for years, how good it would be if they were to be named lords of a house of their own someday, but it came with a small addition, the merchant’s daughter as the lady of that house.

Lucan was uncertain. But a decisive part of him pushed him forward. No harm could come from accepting the merchant’s subtle suggestion. Lucan would come to know Lilian and her father better, and then he could decide from there. Meanwhile, he’d gain something he immediately needed. “I have found nothing to dislike about the young lady,” he said, remembering her fine features. Indeed, she was pleasing to look at, her eyes deep viridian and her smile soft and inviting. Her dress had hidden her figure, but there was no denying that dizzying force that pulled on him when she breathed against his face, like when she’d been bandaging his wounds.

He could consider courting her, yes. It wasn’t like he was ascertaining any final commitment, and Master Saltner certainly understood that too. Lucan would have to speak to his father about the matter. It was a knot to be worked through, that was for certain. A wealthy merchant as his lawfather could be a boon, or it could be against his father’s plans for him. It remained to be seen.

There was another problem, however. “Unfortunately, the distance does not allow me to visit the capital frequently, Master Saltner,” Lucan said. “It would be difficult for me to see Lilian except on occasion.”

Master Saltner let his teeth show through his smile. “That is nothing to worry about, Young Master. My daughter has been hounding me for an opportunity to see the world for a time now. I suppose it is time to let her join me on one of my journeys. Perhaps one that involves passing by a certain Southern fief?”

“Ah, certainly, that would serve our convenience,” Lucan said, struggling to hide his surprise. “I hope you–”

A loud rap on the door interrupted him.

“Who is it?” Master Saltner’s booming voice questioned.

Instead of answering, the servant opened the door, panting. “Master Lucan, Sir Golan Zesh has called for you. You are to head to his chambers posthaste.”

The King must have given his command, and Father is likely preparing to leave.

Lucan stood up and nodded firmly to the seated merchant. “Master Saltner. I believe we have reached an agreement?”

“Yes,” the merchant said, standing up, “of course. And please, call me Maris. We will be seeing you after the next grain harvest, Lucan.”

Lucan raised a brow at the sudden sacrifice of titles, but he didn’t want to dally. He gave the older man another firm nod then spun on his heel and walked out of the room.