Darius tapped on the piece of paper before him and sighed. He had asked Ryker to come see him so they could go over the trade agreements they needed to finalize.
The candlelight flickered gently against the polished edge of the desk. It was still early, but Darius had already downed two cups of strongleaf tea and scribbled across the margins of the old trade maps. The parchment in front of him was filled with notes in neat, heavy strokes, Ironshade's current inventory, expected yield from the mines in Hollowrock, and the estimated capacity of transport wagons bound westward.
Ryker entered a moment later, without knocking, a habit Darius had long since stopped reprimanding him for. He tossed his coat onto the back of a nearby chair and flopped into the seat across from Darius with a groan.
"You called?" he drawled, resting his boot on his opposite knee.
