XXXIV. The Mercenary Market
Ah, alas, if only the world worked entirely like that. It would be wonderful if you could just get things by flirting with pretty and bookish young men. But the world is cruel and hard and full of mean things - which is all the fault of the gods who rule it - and so there are other things you need to do before you can head to the old city and plunder the forgotten and forbidden temples of a traitor jansi.
For example, you have to have tea with a few of the people you met at the party, and not talk about money. You don't talk about money and they don't talk about money. But through your mutual avoidance of the topic of anything as base and venal as fiscal affairs, certain promises are made and certain arrangements laid out.
If one were to be very crude, you are a dragon-child and you are valuable. In fact, you're more valuable than you let on because you don't mention that you're a sorceress, but you make it quite clear that you can be of use to them. You don't even call upon your hypnotic sorcery for it, because you need people to trust you. It's all natural talent, and perhaps a little bit of dragon-blessed skill at framing contracts. And so by the time you've finished meeting with people from as-Sawahir, az-Zumurrud (Sadia put in a particularly good word for you), ak-Kinzira and al-Alliya, lines of credit have been arranged.
It is horrible to be in this situation. Wretched. But the sad fact is, staying in the Blue Lotus has given you the illusion of wealth but drained your actual resources until they're nearly as dry as Cahzor itself. You have to cling to your illusion, because that's all that you have left that lets you convince people you actually have money. You'd struggle to pay for a trip down to Gem with what you have to your name. And no one wants to be poor in Gem.
For better or worse, you're going to be here for a while.
Of course, you don't take that realisation as well as you could have, and the evening after the last arrangement is made, you are in a vile mood that needs a handsome birdman to lap away.
"I still don't see why you're upset," Amigere murmurs to you, his arms wrapped from behind as the two of you snuggle in what should have been a comfortable post-coital haze if you weren't
so irked. Your eyes are locked on the late afternoon sunlit ruins that extend out through the window as far as the eye can see. They shimmer in the heat. "You've talked four jansi into extending you lines of credit. I wish I could do that. You're incredible."
He's right, you are incredible, but you're still rightfully upset. You only huff.
"You can talk to me, you know," he contributes. His hands wander and you squirm as he licks the back of your neck.
"I hate living like this," you say, avoiding looking at him.
"In the lap of luxury, with two handsome men willing to do anything for you?"
You twist in his arms to glare at him. He gives you a wide-eyed and falsely innocent look. "You!" you grumble.
He licks your face. "Me," he agrees.
You hook one leg over his, playing with the feathers of his head with your fingers. You can feel his tendons shifting under his skin. "We won't be able to stay here next season," you inform him. "It's draining my funds."
"I'd guessed that," Amigere says. "Oh well. I'm used to the rough life."
"Well, I'm not." You scowl. "And if things go like they should, things won't be
rough. They'll just be hot. Hot and… and bleargh."
He sits up in bed, and you only get slightly distracted by the sight. "Maybe we'll get lucky. I
am an accomplished scavenger lord, so if there's something to find, we'll find it." He gestures over to your working table, where you have a modern map of Cahzor. "And then we'll be rich."
"Mmm." You clamber out of bed, and stalk over to the map. It is covered with pins of locations from the jadescroll and annotations from Zia's notes. You bite your lip as you stare down at the pin wrapped in a twist of red twine.
You're lying to him, of course. Though that's not the most polite way to put it. It's more that you're just… not telling him everything. There did turn out to be one of the sites from the jadescroll close to the temple of the forbidden Elemi. As far as he knows, that's why you're heading there. He doesn't need to know about plans to contract with forbidden gods.
If things go as planned, you can leave him to oversee the investigation of the site, and then get your business done at the temple and be back before he thinks to question what you're up to.
Amigere paces up behind you, resting his hands on your shoulders as he starts to massage them. "You're so tense," he says. "You should relax. Come back to bed."
"I hate having to think about money," you say through gritted teeth. It's true. Money is a bane of your existence. Something that even back in Cherak only seemed to get in the way. Oh, it's too expensive, you should go for something cheaper. No, no, you need to concentrate on making sure taxes are collected when you're right in the middle of an investigation into the nature of the soul that really shouldn't be interrupted. Rena, we can't afford to send you to be educated on the Isle.
Of course, Amigere knows nothing of your thoughts. "Mmm. I love thinking about it."
"Well, maybe you should take it to bed instead of me," you snap. You didn't mean to be quite so harsh there.
Fortunately, he doesn't take it badly. "Money is like you," he murmurs, his hands shifting down from your shoulders. He presses against you, cupping your curves. "It's most beautiful when I have my hands on it."
Damn it. You find yourself forced to lean back and kiss him for that. You're weak to men who make you laugh. It's really a character flaw, honestly.
"Well, then," you tell him, snaking an arm around his neck. "Darling, relax me."
The next Marsday, you make yourself known at the hiring fair for soldiers, cutthroats, men of violence, and all those special people who make their living with bloodshed as part of their way of life.
It is held just north of the bridge, in and around the ruins of what must have once been a mighty fortress. Bright orange flowers born of chaos crawl up the walls, but the world is turning them into stone. The scars of the battle which destroyed this place can be seen on the sand-worn ruins; glassy streaks biting into stone and a crack in the earth which tore down one of the walls. You whistle as you glance down into the half-flooded chasm, seeing pale things moving in the wyld-polluted water. Some child of Pasiap really cut loose to do this. Given its location, maybe they were part of the same group who broke that gatehouse that you saw, circling Cahzor to attack from the north.
But for all the majesty of the location, you imagined better. Oh, whenever princes and lords want men to die for them, mercenaries will come to shed blood for jade, but this place is bitter and tired. The open square within the ruined walls has been turned into a number of warehouses, whose placards are faded under the already-warm sun. People here sit in gaggles in what shade they can find. A few of them have banners raised, but not all of them have that level of organisation. Many are just violent men and women who have shown up here, looking for work.
"Well, this is it," Amigere says. He's wrapped up against the sun, covering his head with one of the styles of full-face veils that you've seen some of the people wearing. It does hide the fact that he has a bird-like head to first glance, but anyone who pays more attention can see the difference in shape. He gestures over at the ruins of the main keep, which show signs of more recent work. Spindly semaphore towers rise up from the remnants of the fortification, creaking in the breeze.
"Why are there so few people here?" you ask entirely reasonably.
He scoffs at that. "This isn't Gem. There's real mercenary markets there. There might be better soldiers down in Zorgranzar, but here, at the hottest time of the year?"
"Watch your tongue," you chide him. He's just being a little bit too loud, and you certainly don't want the locals to hear.
He locks arms with you. "I'm known here," he says. "Don't worry your pretty face so much."
"Amigere…"
"Trust me. Like I told you already, I've been drinking with the man who runs this place. Just play the role of my backer who trusts me to handle these things. That's all you need to do." He pauses. "Oh, and don't stare."
"Don't stare at what?"
"Well, uh…"
Akif Kazzaf is the man behind the mercenary market. From what you've heard from Amigere, twenty years ago he was some big shot mercenary down in Gem, but his number came out and he wound up coming back to the city he'd left as a young man. Amigere insinuates it's because there were too many people in Gem who wanted him dead.
Some might say it's shallow, but you can see their point on aesthetic grounds alone. Akif might be the ugliest man you have ever met. It isn't even the wounds that claimed one of his legs and left glossy scar tissue on the right side of his neck. But his greying hair is cord-like straggles, decorating an egg-like head, and his thin lips are twisted and split by an old cut. Deep pox scars cover his cheeks, his ears are cauliflowers, and his nose looks like it belongs on a Calibration puppet of some Anathema witch. It is like some cruel artist of a god took all the ugliest features from their set of parts and put them all on one man.
You sit next to Amigere and drink a herbal spirit that is so peppery it's all you can do to swallow it. It burns as it goes down and you find your eyes watering. There are cracked jugs of water hanging from the ceiling, and they slowly drip down onto the bare stone floor in this bare room. It takes the edge off the heat, if only just.
"A thousand, thousand apologies. Really, if only you had been willing to sign last week, then my men could have already 'phored the relevant parties." Akif says. His voice is nasal from his many-times-broken nose, and as oily as cod. "Sammach's crew were looking for work. But as it is, well, ak-Kas and ad-Dib have been hiring." He makes an expansive gesture with his hook. "And the later it gets in the year, the higher the water-cost gets. It is no fault of mine, you know; no, not at all. It is just the way things are. My friends, I would advise you to sign as fast as possible If you hold out much longer, no one is gonna want to head down into the city. Not for money and certainly not for love."
Amigere shakes his head. "Akif, my friend, I know you're trying to get me to make a quick decision, but my employer needs more to go on than that. She told me, isn't that right, milady," he glances at you, "that if we can't find who we need here, we might have to take a landboat to Zorgranzar. The mercenary markets there might have more choice, and the madmen down there work even in the hottest parts of the year."
"Did she?" He takes another sip of his vile drink. "Ach. Well, if you trust those savages to do anything. I would not, not with someone as beautiful when you are responsible for her. Pretty thing like her, they'd probably try to sell her off in Zorgranzar's slave markets. There are buyers for a woman as fine as her."
Your lips curl in disdain. "They'd be making a mistake."
His scars crease up in a smile. "Ten thousand apologies, oh beautiful lady, oh dragon-child of the world, but as one who would be your friend, do not fall for the trickeries of that place. No no no, that is not something that you should do.
"And what do you mean by that?"
"There are things down in the Old City that can chain even someone like you. I pray to gentle Lilia that you do not go to Zorgranzar, and suffer for your pride." He leans in. "I really would hate to see something happen to you. No, you you should stay clear of that place and get the men you need here."
Amigere raises his palms. "Akif, please. Don't insult me or my employer by acting this way. We want men - and we have money for you."
The ugly man settles down, resting his hook on the table as he sips his vile herbal drink. "You are still planning to go down into the valley?"
"Yes."
"I have looked through the ledgers since you spoke to me - there are a few hirelings here, but most of them will be ones who I will message to meet you. That is good for you, yes? Costs less in supplies." He rubs his hook with his other hand. "Just this week, we have some deserters from az-Zummurud looking for work. And of course, Rabia Wolf-Heart still has her raiders out for tender. But with Sammach's crew hired by ad-Dib, well, there are always people looking for work, but their most upstanding virtue is that they are cheap."
"Do you think anyone will be coming to the end of their contracts in the next week or so?" Amigere asks.
"None that I know of, and with ak-Kas and ad-Dib hiring, I would not be confident that the pickings will improve. Now, there are others here - a pair of deyha sisters, if you can believe it, among others! - but if you want a force that can keep you safe in the ruins, then good sir, my lady, you should hire… and hire quickly. I will have representatives for them brought here if you want to speak about terms, but it will take a while."
Amigere looks at you. You nod. "Yes, do that," he says.
"Mmm. To good business, then!" But before you can drink, someone pounds at the door, with such violence you swear dust falls from the ceiling.
"I'm meeting with someone!" Akif hollers.
"Boss, the Khamsin is here!"
Akif hisses between his teeth. "Lady, please, if you do not mind, countless apologies… but I really must meet with this man. He can be… violent." He spreads his hand and his hook. "I will have my servants provide drinks for you, and perhaps a small repast. But please, I must ask you to step outside. I will… will give the orders to have the people brought here for you, too!"
You rise, and step outside - only to find that there are soldiers here, lingering with intent. They look much better quality than the ones you'd seen lazing around the streets up here; their weapons are polished and they even have a degree of uniformity to their, well, uniforms.
"Who are these?" you ask Akif. "Are they for hire?"
"No, apologies, apologies lady, but they will not be. These are Khamsin's men and..."
And then you see him. Tall, taller than any of the other men here, and nearly as broad as he is tall. His skin is the colour of the sandy mountains that rim the valley, and his white hair is a shaggy ruff that bleeds to red towards the tips; he wears silver jewellery rich with rubies and opals. His coat is a hot pink that grabs the eye by its throat and starts choking and he wears it open, to show a body that growls its strength to the world. His fists are sheathed in jade cestuses, well used and pitted with age. The air around him reeks of ozone; you can feel the heat rolling off him. He pretends to be human, but you know what he is.
That is a wind-bear. A powerful elemental spirit of the air who chooses to walk as a man for his own reasons.
"Well, Akif, my boy," he booms. "You found me someone worth hiring this time?" He looks at you. "You, dragon-child. What do you bring to my company?"
You blink. "I beg your pardon?"
There is a moment of mutual incomprehension. Then, "Lord Khamsin, no, no, this is Meira as-Sayu, a traveller and here to also hire from me."
"So she is not the dragon-child I wanted?"
"Lord Khamsin, they are scarce pickings and…"
"Pswah!" He turns his back to Akif, squaring you up. "Still, this might not be entirely a waste of time. Bow and serve me, wood dragon. Kill my foes, and I will reward you."
You want to throttle him. Your hackles are up and oh, there might be advantages to a powerful patron but such
flagrant disrespect is quite another thing. He talks to you like you are a dog he could leash. "Good sir," you say, teeth clenched behind your smile, "I am not looking to be bought."
"Then you stand against me?"
"I didn't say…"
He raises his hand, and snaps his fingers. "Who stands against me?"
"Only a fool!" the armoured men behind him bellow in unison.
"Who dares challenge me?"
"Only a fool!"
"That is my rule!" He slams his fists together. "I am called Khamsin in the language of the humans here. All who have stood against me have fallen. All who have denied me my desires have been destroyed."
Well, he practices
that. "But I am not standing against you and I am not challenging you," you say, with the viper's false sweetness.
"You are going into the city." It's a flat statement from him.
"And if I am?"
"You will work for me, or you will stay out of my way. Because if you seek to deny me the treasures I seek, you will be challenging me." He grins at you, like the bear he is. "Though looking at you, you are soft and plump. Like many of your kind, you waste your nature on human pleasures. Maybe the city will eat you up and spit you out without me doing a thing."
"I will take that under consideration,
Lord Khamsin," you say. Oh, you've heard of the wind-bears; monsters, gluttons, princes of the sky. He's right. As it is, you couldn't take him in a fair fight. He could tear you limb from limb without even shedding his human form.
Now, why is something like that choosing to walk the ground as a human?
"That you should!"
Akif clears his throat. "Apologies, apologies, Lord Khamsin, but while I could not find you a dragon-child to serve you, I could find others who were on the list your servants gave me. I have some of the mead you like, so perhaps we could speak further and…"
That gets his attention. "Yes," he barks, turning his back on you. He doesn't look at you when he heads into the room; you get the feeling you're out of his mind. He postured at you, threatened you when you wouldn't work for him, then got bored.
"I've heard of him," Amigere says over the watery wine you're offered by the servants. "One of the most famous treasure hunters. Khamsin is the name he's taken, but that's a local hot, dry, sandy wind that blows in off the Burning Sands."
"It's not his real name?"
"No."
Damn. You can't use that against him. Stupid name-hiding spirits. "Does anyone know why he's walking among men?"
"Not that I've heard. But the stories are that he's made a fortune, and his private army is one of the best in Cahzor. It's not just men, either. Elementals march with him."
One of those elemental warlords, an outlaw from Heaven's laws. Who destroys anyone who he thinks of as a rival, and who's plundering the city below for his own gain.
"Well, fuck," you say eloquently.
At least Amigere laughs at that. "Yes. We should pick up who we need and then get out of here. And pray to the gods that he's not looking for… what we are."
You scowl as you start jotting down figures on a slate, working out how much you're willing to spend. He's right; best not to linger near a wind-bear. You need the forces to keep you safe down in the old city, and to hold the site you want to investigate so you can go and slip into the Elemi temple. But you also don't want to get yourself too much in debt.
Hmm.
The base cost of this expedition is 2 Debt. Additional hirings will be added on top.
Votes should be done plan-style, covering the main choice and the up-to-two auxiliaries you take.
Select one mainstay force:
[ ] Cahzori Dregs. Just gather up the people who hang around this place looking for work. They can fight, and they work cheap, but they're a motley crew. [3 Debt]
[ ] Zumurrud Deserters. Formerly soldiers for az-Zumurrud, but deserted and took up work as mercenaries due to their wages not being paid. A few fangs of light infantry, with spears or bows. [5 Debt]
[ ] Raider Hirelings. Hired from a warlord down in the valley, who supplements the pickings from his land by renting his men to any who can pay. Men with the blood of the desert tribes, and a goodly number of camels. [7 Debt]
Select up to two auxiliary picks:
[ ] Porters & Labourers. There are plenty of people who head down into the Old City looking for plunder, and they need people to help dig, set up camp, and carry supplies. You're hiring a comfortable number of them. [3 Debt]
[ ] Guides. A few people who know the area you're heading to. Your nose wrinkles at the price they're demanding to show you the way, though. [1 Debt]
[ ] A Fang of Ruins Scouts. A team of hardened men and women in sand-coloured clothes who know the treacherous landscape down below, riding camels and armed with blade and crossbow. And demand a very high price for their services. [6 Debt]
[ ] A couple of land-barges. Related to sand-ships, Cahzori land-barges run on wheels or runners and have mules to help when buildings block the wind. Considerably increase carrying and re-supply capability. [10 Debt]
[ ] A pair of dehya sisters. Thugs on their war-hyenas. You know what they're like. They say they're the last remnants of their band, so they're just working for coin-hire. And that they'll smash in the faces of anyone who gets in the way of their payday. [2 Debt]
