I walked up to the gates of the city of Lunis. Parcel in hand. Weary. I should have taken warmer clothing when I left for the barracks, but I wasn't annoyed, my mind was on other things.
The coin pouch in my hand was warm from my body heat, and felt warmer still as ideas ran through my head–I may have gotten a good deal with this military carrier role I'd been given.
Big Randy had told me that the two sects were gearing up for war. An actual war. To fight over some spirit vein somewhere. But I was a mortal, I was just as likely to die from the blowback of a cultivator fight during the war as to die hunting.
From what I'd heard of battles between cultivators, I doubted they gave a thought to anything around them during combat. Much less to a normal human, like myself.
They'd murder each other for a small area of dense qi, the size of a coffin. They couldn't care less about a man like me.
So, why not make money from it? Those high and lofty figures were something I couldn't reach yet, and this battle would happen regardless. Cultivators weren't the type to let things go in the name of "peace".
I'd carry all the things I needed to, and deliver them wherever they needed to go. No questions asked.
But that wasn't where the opportunity lay. I had access to a blacksmith, a tanner, a butcher, and whatever I didn't have access to, I was sure I could gain enough money to pay for.
No. The real money lay in the soldiers. Whatever they needed. A bunch of isolated, hungry, grinded down men, in a place they knew they were being sent to die. What human could stand up to a cultivator?
Naturally, they would want things. Things that would not be readily provided by their commanders.
I started to think about all the things I could get for them, food–the edible kind–not just the hard, stale rations I was sure they ate, new boots, clean robes, medicine…secrets.
My mind was racing, thinking of all the opportunities.
I snapped out of it. I was at the gates of the city now. Thankfully the overseer didn't have much power here, though I could see a couple of the guards looking at me with dark eyes.
The gates were wide open. I was able to walk through without any problems. I went through the city, with fresh eyes, thinking of ways to squeeze all I could out of this opportunity.
I went to Big Randy's smithy first. I had to give him his money. It was still in its pouch. I had made sure not to tamper with it in any way.
I waltzed into the smithy, pouch in hand as I heard the ringings of the hammers around me. The stench of sweat, smoke and the sound of sizzling hot metal as it touched water, permeated the place.
At this point, it was basically a second home. I made a straight line to where I was sure Big Randy would be.
This time he wasn't working. Just resting. He sat on the long couch next to the door, feet up, with his back laying on the rest. He was eating one of his wife's pastries.
I raised the pouch up to show him what I had in my hand. He looked up, not surprised to see me, at me, then the pouch, a smile gradually appearing on his face. "Welcome back." He got up, reaching to take the pouch from me, wolfing down the last bite of his snack.
He counted it promptly, before giving me a couple silvers. "How was the trip? It's almost winter now. It couldn't have been an easy journey."
"Everything was fine, I ran into some trouble at the–" I paused, my throat tightening just a bit, I looked at him, an aging, kindly man, 'Should I tell him? He was one of the few people around here I was sure had any goodwill for me. I knew he'd vouch for me in a heartbeat. He had done it before. How would he feel about me getting another deal while working for him?'
I thought back to that moment with the supervisor. The man had stood up for me. In this very room. The supervisor had come, with his men–his goons, and Big Randy, along with his friend, Igor. They defended me.
It wasn't long ago that my own village people turned their backs on me. On my father.
Was this how it started? Was this how it started for my father, when the village turned their backs on him? Quiet, small betrayals. Wrapped up in neighbourly smiles.Was I doing the same sort of thing?
Throwing away those who had helped me when they were no longer useful? Was I betraying him?
I glanced down at the silvers in my hand. Somehow, they felt heavier now.
I looked at him, then down at the floor, debating with myself. Finally, my sentimentality won out.
"Can I sit down?"
He pointed an open facing palm at the couch, "Of course."
I sat, resting my elbows on my knees. My face in my palms. I didn't want to look at him. Just in case he thought I had spat on his goodwill. Like a coward. "While at the barracks, I met the commander, he wanted a transporter—a carrier for goods." No reply. Just the sound of hammers. A faint hiss of cooling metal, "2 silver per travel and delivery."
He nodded his head as he listened, raising an eyebrow, but nothing more, when I was done, he said nothing. Silence. I could feel him looking at me.
A crowbar fell at the back, dropping down onto a plate. It shattered. I didn't look at it.
The sounds of the smithy grew louder. Like the cries of an angry mob. Like a jury. They hounded my ears. Pressed in on my mind. I kept my face in my hands, refusing to look up at Big Randy.
What was I waiting for? Sympathy? A pat on the back? I did not know. I felt that sick heat crawl up my back — from the silence.
He had given me a chance, even at the cost of some opportunities for some of his apprentices. And here I was, being an opportunist. I felt like a snake.
He exhaled. A slow, heavy thing. Like a bear moving its body while hibernating. He turned away from me. Looking at the wall. He took another pastry from nearby, I couldn't see where. He chewed, and chewed…and chewed.
When he was done with all of the pastries, he spoke, a calming, but gruff tone. "Have you ever carried something heavy, Khan?" He smacked his hands past each other, wiping off all the crumbs.
I blinked. Confused. "I'm a hunter, I've carried heavy animals my whole life." I answered, head still in hand, but slightly raised now. 'Why was he asking this? What was the point?'
He shook his head, the way old, experienced people tended to do when looking at the folly of someone younger. "No. I mean heavy. Not in the hands. Here."
He tapped his chest with a blackened finger.
I didn't answer.
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "I am old Khan. Very old. The first time I took a deal I didn't understand, it cost me a piece of my soul. Took years to get it back. The type of person you just made a deal with…" he shook his head. "That's the thing about these jobs. It's not the terms of the deal. It's what's tied to it."
I stayed quiet.
"You're smart," he said. "Got eyes. Got a good gut. But that its gonna rot if you feed it only silver."
The silvers didn't feel any lighter in my hands.
"You think this war is just swords and spirit veins? A game you can choose to jump in and out of? It's gonna eat people like you first. The honest ones. The curious ones. The ones who think they can walk through fire and still stay cold. Like ice." He sighed, "the hubris of youth, you think the fire can't burn you."
I was still listening.
"You're gonna go down a long road, boy," he said. "And you'll pick things up along the way — names, weight, connections…power." He leaned back, put an arm on my shoulder,
I looked up.
"You are young. You have ambition. It would be foolish to turn that off for me. The deal is not a problem. You do better work as a trapper anyways." He looked down at my mostly healed arm. "You have to learn, though, Khan, when you shake on a deal, the words spoken are only part of the contract. You always carry something after. Especially with men like that."
"When the time comes — and it will come — don't trade your name for a crown of chains."
Silence. Only the ringing of hammers, steady and slow.
He stood, heading back toward the forge. "Drop by tomorrow. I've got something I want to show you."