Chapter Ten: In the Money

The town of Black Park was not a true town. Sitting on the major trade route between the powerful city-states of Falinesti and Silvenar, Black Park resembled a perpetual Merchant's Fair. Many powerful traders made this place their home, and along with the shop tents, there were numerous small manors.

Having just left the wilds of Valenwood, being amongst civilized people was comforting for the exiled Breton. It had taken him a little over an hour to reach the town, and as he passed over the guarded defensive ditch, the sun was high in the sky. With Magnus giving warmth to the clearing, many people were out and about, bartering their wares, and proclaiming the quality of their goods. Shouts of "hot meat pies" and "good ale" echoed in the air, and Ernand almost felt as if he were in the Market District of Cyrodiil.

But now is not the time for regrets and memories, he thought, Now is the time for doing.

Ernand reached into his pocket and fondled the Ruby Key. He was confident that there was at least a single jeweler or collector in Black Park, and with an item so well made as the key, the Breton could have a full money pouch by noon. "Now what was it," Ernand mused, "Arnulf always said about trading?"

Play your cards right, and you can get a man to sell his own family. Play them wrong, and you'll be left with nothing, came one of his old tutors voice. Luckily, Ernand had no intention of buying a family; only wanted some money to get him started on wherever he was going. The noon came quickly as he went about Black Park's merchant boothes, presenting the key. Each trader had been in awe of the thing, eager to get their hands on it. However, they each made it clear that they lacked the money for so fine an object.

Disappointed at not finding a buyer, Ernand decided to take a break from his search. Tromping through the market place, he was eventually attracted to a sweet aroma emanating from a nearby tent across the lane. Making his way to it, he ducked under the flap. The smell of roasting meat assaulted his nostrils, and Ernand eagerly sought out a free table. Picking one near the center of the tent, he weaved through the crowd of people and took a seat. Seconds seemed to pass before a waitress materialized at his table.

"What'll it be?"

"Whatever I'm smelling." The girl giggled, and went off to find the Breton his food. Time passed, and other customers came and went. One that caught Ernand's eye was quite possibly the most corpulent Bosmer he had ever seen. His great girth, alongside his fine clothing, jewels, and burly Nord body-guards marked this man as one of wealth. Reaching into his pocket once again to fiddle with the Ruby Key, Ernand got it into his mind that this rich elf may have the money to make a buy. When the waitress returned with his food, he thanked her politely. Plate in had, the councilor weaved over to the table where the fat man sat.

"Get outta here, Breton." One of the Nords pushed him as he approached, "Lord Ethredor don't want know company!" Being some inches shorter than the Nord, Ernand was prudent enough to not deal with him. Instead, he called out to Ethredor.

"My lord, please. You look like a man who adores his fineries, and I have something you may wish to see." Ethredor continued to consume plates of food, as if not hearing the Breton.

The other Nord now began to pressure Ernand. "Didn't you hear my brother? Lord Ethredor don't talk to nobody when he's eating."

Reaching into his pocket, Ernand withdrew the dazzling treasure. "A man of your stature must see this, my lord. Please, look." Ethredor's eyes left his plates of food to see what all the fuss was about. When they locked onto the key, they widened in sheer awe.

"Boys! Boys," came Ethredor's squeaky voice, "Let the man by. Don't you see he has business to discuss." Inviting the Breton to sit down, something that displeased the Nord brothers greatly, but they let him by. "So," Ethredor put his hand on the table and leaned in, "Where did you come by such a marvelous treasure?"

Taking his seat, Ernand responded, "An inheritance from my late mother. But I've come down on hard times and this is all I have to sell that could fetch me a decent sum."

"A decent sum, indeed," Ethredor agreed. "I've never seen a ruby cut into this shape before. It's perfect!" His eyes narrowed then, "But one has to wonder if it's real."
"I've been seeking a jeweler all day to have it appraised. Unfortunately," Ernand shrugged, "It has been difficult to find one."

Clapping his hands together, Ethredor proclaimed, "Well it just so happens I know a man in the market that could appraise this for you. I could you to him," then after a pause, "After supper of course. Please, won't you join me?"

"It would be an honour, my lord."

The Breton and Bosmer enjoyed the meal set before them. Unlike the elves from the collective, who cared only for their own troubles, Ethredor knew about what was plaguing the Empire. He lamented the fact that the roads weren't as safe as they used to be, bandits attacking caravans from Arenthia to Haven. He also related to Ernand the rumour that Falinesti and Silvenar's rivalry was reaching critical proportions.

"And if fighting does break out, Black Park will be the main battleground. Let's hope it does not come to that." Wiping his hands on the tablecloth, Ethredor hefted himself from his seat. "Come now, my boy. Let us go and see the man about getting a price for that jewel."

*

"Good Gods! This thing is a solid ruby!"

Ernand rolled his eyes. Was it so hard to believe that? Did it take a professional jeweler to deduce it? I mean, I can understand being suspicious of a foreigner, but damn. The squat little man continued to extol the virtues of the Ruby Key. Ernand had stopped truly listening minutes ago, and only turned his attention back to the jeweler when he began to talk about money.

"This thing could easily act as a real key," Ernand laughed a little inside, "The workmanship is topnotch?No, this goes beyond that. It's like Zenithar himself constructed this masterpiece. I know men who would kill for something like this." Ernand's interest was total now.

"So what's the price tag on this thing?"

"I'd say around 6000 drakes." The Jeweler turned to Ethredor, "If I were you, I'd buy it for about 4000. The workmanship is just that good."

Ethredor took the key from his friend, and looked at Ernand. "Well, Breton, does 4000 Imperial Septims strike your fancy? Or do we have to go through the annoying game of haggle?"

Grinning, Ernand shook his head. "I think 4000 sounds fine. Was honestly expecting it to be worth a little less, so this is good news for me. That money ought to serve me well where I'm going."

Reaching his hand out to take Ernand, Ethredor gave it a good shake, and asked, "Why don't you stick around for a little while. There is a fair tomorrow, and Black Park is known for having all sorts of interesting merchandise passing through it. You might see something that strikes your fancy. Stay, as my honoured guest."

Ernand would have preferred to leave immediately, and though Ethredor's request was completely benign, he was nervous around the stout elf's henchman, eyeing him up and down as they were.

"Well, I might as well stay a little while. Get ready for the road and catch some sleep."

Small nitpicking: You missed the "n"
I enjoyed it. :icecream:

Another great write! More, more!!

Here is the only thing I found: - used in this context it should be "no"

I saw it too but I am sure Verlox meant it that way. From what I can tell, it's a Nord accent thing.

...Actually, that "know" should be a "no". I'm just a dolt and didn't catch it. You can tell I love to proofread

I proofread myself to death and always still have errors on the page, lol. You have an awesome story here! Great write!

Chapter Eleven: Spite Part I

Day dawned over Black Park, and all but the poor were still shut up in the homes. A storm had rolled in late the day before, and rain was still coming down. Merchants had taken their goods indoors, leaving empty booths scattered about the muddy square.

Locked up within Ethredor's manor house, Ernand sat with the giant Bosmer as the elf droned on about the recent happenings within Tamriel. As a merchant, he could not be indifferent to news coming in from the other provinces, and he regailed his Breton guest with a tale from up north.

"And the Count of Bravil was executed for conspiracy to assassinate the Emperor," Ethredor said after he drained another glass of Valenwood brew. "The executioner was ill, I heard, and the authorities had him thrown into the lake to be devoured by slaughterfish. Nasty business that."

Ernand grimaced at Ethredor's story. While he wouldn't put it past the count to conspire against the Imperial Crown, knowing that Tharn was impersonating the Emperor made him regret that the count was no successful. If Bravil had been, Ernand thought, he wouldn't be sitting with a greedy little Bosmer, sharing a drink.

"Something wrong, Ernand?"

The Breton was jogged from his thoughts when Ethredor spoke.

"What? Oh, sorry. No, nothings wrong. You're right, nasty business about Bravil. Do you think he was really planning to assassinate the Emperor?"

"Honestly?" Ethredor smirked a little between gulping down more of the brew, "No. It was a political execution. The Count of Bravil was a malcontent with a large Nibenean following. It makes sense to me that an Emperor can't let a man like that live. I don't understand why he didn't do it sooner."

I do. Emperor Uriel would have never condoned such an act, Ernand thought, he would have found another way. Chugging down his brew, Ernand grimaced at the taste. "I gotta ask, Ethredor, what is this? It tastes a lot like Nordic mead, but we're to far south to find any of that."

"Ah, this is a special Valenwood brew. Tree sap, some fruits, a touch of moon sugar, and then fermented under intense pressure and heat."

"Isn't moon sugar illegal?"

"Yes," Ethredor grinned, "But who is going to stop us? If you hadn't noticed Imperial garrisons now days are hardly anything to worry about."

Ernand leaned forward in his seat, tilting his head to one side, "And that doesn't strike you as odd? Not three months ago all the garrisons were at full-strength and cracking down on crime. What do you think made that change?"

Ethredor hummed and thought to himself for a minute before snapping his chubby fingers together, "That war up north, of course! Nasty business that."

The Breton and the Bosmer passed a few more hours in discussion with each other before the rains finally let up around Noon. Instantly, Black Park seemed to spring to life as merchants and workers burst from their homes and began to set up tents and restock their booths. Ethredor had excused himself to go look in on his shop, leaving Ernand alone to pursue his own interest until the Merchant Fair started that night.

Getting up from his chair, Ernand left the den, stepping out into a hallway. Taking a right, he proceeded down until he reached Ethredor's Foyer. There, the Breton stopped, and even took a slight step back. The large oaken door was flanked by the two Nord brothers who were Ethredor's bodyguards. They regarded the smaller Breton with smirks on their faces. Neither of them carried their weapons, unlike Ernand who was armed, but they weren't at all diminished by the lack.

Swallowing, Ernand stepped forward, and boldly said, "Excuse me, gentlemen. Business attend to outside." They didn't move, and the older of the two brothers challenged Ernand.

"Did Lord Ethredor give you permission to leave, witchman?"

"No," Ernand dropped his hand to rest on the pommel of his sword, "Unlike you and your oaf of a brother, I am not a servant of his. I may come and go as I please!" Ernand's brash statement enflamed both Nords and they stopped lounging by the door and stepped towards him.

"You better apologize for that, Breton. If you do, maybe we won't break all your bones!"

"Sure that's a good idea?" Ernand asked contemptuously, "I don't think Ethredor would be very pleased to find his honored guest mangled. He might even turn you two over to the authorities, and I'm sure the Bosmer would love to get their hands on a couple of Nords."

The threat of an ancient hatred seemed to get through to the Nord brothers, and they slowly backed down from confrontation. As Ernand scornfully brushed by them and out the door, he heard one of the brothers call out, "You watch your back, Breton! Tonight I'll have your head!"

Ernand grinned.

*

Tromping down the muddy lane the cut through Black Park, Ernand made his way from the manors of the rich merchants and into the settlement's square. All around him was hustle-and-bustle as the merchants and workers labored to get ready in time for that night's fair. The mud gushed under him as he continued on until he reached the town's stables.

Ernand brushed the mud from his boots before stepping into the dimly lit building. The smell of horses was quite strong, and Ernand wrinkled his nose at it. The front of the stables shop was rather sparse; more of a sitting room than anything else, but the Breton knew that business would be conducted in the stable-proper. What he did notice was a long bell-rope dangling from above. Moving over to it, he pulled three times, the bell above clanging in tandem with his pulls, and then he waited.

Only a few minutes passed by before a wild-eyed Bosmer came bursting from a backdoor. "Well, hey-hi-howdy, sir! Sorry that took so long, was just getting finished shooing a big ol' hoss. What can I help you with?"

"Ah, yes. I need a horse and cart. Nothing special."

The little Bosmer regarded the Breton with astonishment. "Sir," he began, "You are the first person in this entire town to ask for something simple. Rich merchants are always here buying expensive, well-bred horses, so I stock quite a few of those. But since that's not what you want, you and I may have to go do some looking. Follow me." The Bosmer led Ernand out the backdoor and into the stables, where the smell of horse was most powerful.

Ernand spent the next hour with the Bosmer looking over numerous steeds. The Breton learned his name was Malgoth, but everyone just called him Moth because he could flit from one subject to another quickly. "Most people don't care to look at the horse before they buy it. They trust me enough to do all the checking for them. Why do you think they're like that?"

"Well," Ernand brushed the back of his neck, removing some hay left over from having to dive into a hay pile to avoid a horse-kick, "They're merchants. Fat merchants. They don't want to leave the comfort of their homes to buy a horse."

Moth laughed with Ernand. "I see you've met Lord Ethredor. I didn't know we Bosmer were able to get that large."

"I'm actually staying with that man until tomorrow. I've seen what he eats, and it doesn't surprise he's as fat as he is." Ernand stepped in to another stall after Moth, this one containing a massive draught horse. "Now this is what Ethredor probably needs to get around, but it may also suit my purpose."

"You going to be doing some hauling?" Moth asked.

"No, it's for riding. But I need something that has endurance and strength."

"Well, this creature may be just what you need." Moth began by measuring the animal, the creature topping out at eighteen hands high at the withers. The speckled gray coat was healthy, and the well-muscled limbs showed off the steed's great power. "So shall I start estimating a price, sir?"

Ernand stroked his chin, looking the animal up and down. After a few moments, he muttered, "Yeah. This is what I'm looking for. How much?"

"Well, demand for something like this is pretty low around here. And?Well, you seem like a pretty good person; a better person than a lot of the other Bosmer around here. And you seem to know your horses!" Moth grinned shyly as Ernand smirked. "So I think I can let it go for about nine-hundred, with an additional hundred for a day of stabling and feed. So a thousand total. Quite a deal if I do say so myself."

"It's acceptable." Ernand reached down and took five pouches from his belt. "Each sack contains two-hundred septims." Moth took the hefty pouches, holding them under his arms. He noticed that the Breton seemed to stand a little taller with that money gone. "So do you think business if going to be good for you during the fair?"

"Oh yes! All those merchants will needs new horses and wagons to transfer all their goods. There's no better time for me, actually." Ernand and Moth left the stables and back into the main room. The Bosmer noticed two his stable hands lounging in a couple of chairs, and he ordered, "Why don't you two go take the horse to stall thirteen to the overnight stables. I want it fed and brushed down by tonight."

After the stable hands left, Moth flopped down in a chair near the door. He motioned for Ernand to do the same, then asked, "So what brings a Breton down into Valenwood?"

Ernand shifted in his seat, "You know, just passing through." His thoughts then jumped back to the trouble between Bragor's Collective and Longvale. "I was employed down in Longvale. Things were getting nasty so I left."

"I guess that would explain the elven armor," Moth pointed out, "You don't see that kind of stuff on many Bretons."

"Indeed," Ernand said slowly, "Altmer want their mercenaries to be well armed."

Ernand and Moth passed a few more hours in conversation until a bell resounded loudly some distance away. Moth flicked his head up, and a grin crossed his face. "And that would be the bell calling us all to mass, I suppose?" Ernand joked.

"Nah; Merchant Fair. A lot like mass in Black Park, though." Standing from their seats, Moth bade farewell to Ernand. Leaving the smelly stables, Ernand noticed that people were all over the place, drinks in the hands, and other haggling for wares. While they did not know it, the people of Black Park had sprung to life to pay homage to Zenithar.

Ernand's mood swelled as he regarded the scene before him, and he soon was swept up into a passing crowd, propelling him to Black Park's square where the main festivities were going on. There, numerous merchants were hawking their wares, straining their voices over the din of the crowd. While he was interested in their goods, Ernand forbore to take part in the economic side of the fair. Instead, he gravitated over towards the eastern quarter of the square where a small arena had been set up.

The Breton remember going to the Imperial Arena in Cyrodiil. The grandeur, and the pomp and ceremony, had always been his main draw. Safe within his balcony seat, the former councilor was well away from the blood, dirt, and sweat of the combatants. This was not so in Black Park. Here he had a front-row seat to the real violence of an arena. The grunts and howls of the fighters, coupled with a close-up view of savage beatings, actually made Ernand's stomach turn. He was about to leave the scene when he felt a large hand clamp down on his shoulder. Turning his head, he winced when he saw Ethredor's Nord guards.

"Good, you're here. I was afraid we were gonna have to kill you in a alley or something," the elder brother, a giant with a shaggy black mane and piercing blue eyes. Ernand tried to pull away, but the Nord's greater strength held the Breton in place. "As soon as this fight's done, me and you are gonna step into the ring."

"You and I," Ernand said dryly to cover up the hint of fear, "It's not 'men and you', it's 'you and I'." Seeing the Nord's confusion, Ernand couldn't help but dig further. "I suppose it makes sense that a savage like yourself?" He was cut off when the Nord swung him around, pulled back his fist, and slammed it right into the Breton's midsection, sending Ernand to his knees.

The crowd around the crude arena silenced, even the combatants stopped their fight when they saw another one brewing. The only sound that could be heard was the distant ruckus from the merchants, the wheezing sound of the Breton breathing.

"Teach you to make fun of me," the Nord gloated as his brother guffawed, "And that's just a taste of what's coming." Brushing past the toppled Breton, the Nord brothers began to threaten the Bosmer fighters in the arena to finish up quickly.

Meanwhile, Ernand was taking in shallow bits of air to get his breath back. The Nord's punch had not only sent him to the ground, but knocked the wind out of him. He could hear the Nords making threats, and being a general nuisance. Unsteadily, Ernand got to his feet and turned to face the barbarians, whose back were turned to him as they harangued the Bosmeri fighters in the ring. The brothers were given a great deal of space by the other fair-goers, and a great space surrounded them. In that moment, Ernand knew what he had to do.

Raising his mailed hand, he outstretched his pointer finger. Focusing his magicka, he began to mutter to himself. Bosmeri eyes were on him now; their sight centered on the small, glowing orb that was shimmering at the tip of his finger. Slowly, it grew brighter and brighter until it was hard to look at directly. Finally, Ernand said, not loudly but forcefully, "Palava Rausku!" The orb seemed to convulse, becoming flat and elongated. The Breton's magicka then sent the burning bolt soaring towards the Nords.

The Bosmeri mass cheered when the Breton's spell connected with the elder Nord's rear-end. The savage yelped, swatting at his butt in an attempt to put out the fire that was growing. His brother, panicking, did nothing. The fire was quenched before it could become any larger, but the spell had served the purpose of igniting another flame. One of anger. Twisting to face the Breton, who was grinning unrepentantly, the Nord's fury spewed forth in a burst of profanity colorful enough to widen Ernand's eyes.

"You sorry sack of guar dung!" the Nord howled, "I'll get you for that. Sven!" He looked at his brother, "Clear those misbegotten elves from the arena. I'm tired of waiting to crush this witchman's skull." Sven complied with his brother's command, wading into the arena to separate the Bosmeri fighters. The elder Nord them vaulted over the fence, calling out to Ernand, "We're settling this now. You and me, Breton!"

With his wind back, Ernand drew his curved elven blade. The crowd was hushed as the councilor moved through them and into the arena. Sven had disappeared for a few moments, quickly materializing at his brother's side with a hefty hammer.

Ernand knew he could expect no mercy from the enraged Nord. If he lost, he would die. Spreading his legs, Ernand lowered himself closer to the ground and raised his sword overhead, the blade shimmering in the sun that had burst through the clouds. His armor seemed gilded in light as Magnus's rays shone upon it, and the Bosmer crowd was hard-pressed to look directly at the Breton.

The battle in the forest against the goblins was different than this, Ernand thought; it had been a surprise attack. But it was also carried out by significantly weaker opponents. This was different. The Nord was in peak physical condition, and he hefted his heavy weapon as if it was a small building hammer. In a toe-to-toe fight, Ernand knew there was no way he could win; if the Nord got a hold of him, his life was over. Magick, the Breton knew, would be the key to this battle.

Lets just hope Ria's lessons are enough

Woo Hoo! Don't stop there! ARGH! I can't wait for the next chapter!

Now that's the kind of response I enjoy.