Hungry Heart - Book 5 - Ch. 3 (Patreon)

Chapter One / Chapter Two

Chapter Three – Tradeweaving

Duril observed the colorful brochures displayed on the stand behind which a merchant with a long beard stood erect, a pipe hanging from the corner of his lips, waiting for his customer to choose his preferred item.

“So many languages,” Duril said, hesitating to touch the beautiful leather leaflets, although his fingers hovered above them, reflecting his awe at seeing such things. There could be no other place as excelling in abundance as Coinvale. The smooth sheepskin was usually reserved for tomes and other manuscripts of such great value that only librarians were allowed to touch and hand over from their vaults to needy readers kept under their watchful eye. But here, in Coinvale, the precious leather and pigments for coloring the pages were wasted on materials meant to present the city. Even the word ‘brochure’ was new to his vocabulary, having just been communicated to him by the old merchant at the stand.

“We have visitors from many places,” the merchant said in the sweet twang they spoke here. “I see that you speak the old language of Eawirith. Can you read it, too?”

“Yes,” Duril confirmed. “How much for this one?” He pointed at one of the brochures that touted the comprehensive list it contained, a list of all the important places to see in the city.

He handed the merchant a few smaller coins and then received the brochure with reverence, barely containing his eagerness to get between its pages and uncover as many of the secrets of Coinvale as he could glimpse from the information offered.

The merchant held up one of the coins and waved his hand a little. “Take this back. You should learn how to haggle, or you will be taken for a fool here.”

Duril blushed a little and put the brochure into his pocket so that he could receive the small coin back from the merchant’s hand. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

The merchant snorted but he smiled. His was a kind face, Duril could tell. “You’re welcome, stranger. Do you have a story to go with that?” He gestured at Duril’s missing arm with a short jerk of his chin.

“Quite the story, and many others,” Duril said, no longer feeling embarrassed of his deformity as he had used to be in the past. He had changed a lot throughout the last years, and people’s curiosity no longer hurt him.

“My son is a collector of stories. If you are ever in need of coin, drop by again and I’ll take you to him.”

“A collector of stories? Is he a librarian?”

The merchant laughed, holding his belly, and chewing on the end of his pipe with delight. “No, he is a writer. His last creation has sold five hundred copies.”

“Five hundred copies?!” At this point, Duril was beginning to believe that the merchant liked to joke at the expense of strangers who didn’t know Coinvale and the propensity of its inhabitants for making fun of people visiting there for the first time.

The old man’s crinkled eyes gleamed with excitement as he continued. “I know. Have you ever heard of such a thing before?” The pride in his voice was unmistakable. “Tradeweaving makes it all possible. You’ll read about it in the brochure.”

Duril stared at the leaflet in his hand with renewed interest and awe. “He surely didn’t write all those five hundred copies by hand himself, I reckon. Does he run an office with many calligraphers, then?”

That had to be an expensive business to be in charge of. All across Eawirith, as far as Duril knew, people who could read and write were in short supply. However, a rich city like Coinvale most likely drew a crowd of various professionals, calligraphers included. Even his astonishment at the merchant’s words was probably seen as provincial and uninformed.

“Tradeweaving,” the merchant repeated and smiled encouragingly at him. “It hasn’t always been as strong, but we’ve been blessed by the gods. Read it all in there. And don’t forget to drop by again so I can take you to my son to write your story. My name is Misar Dagou, and his is Misar Sogou. A well-known name in the city,” he added with self-importance. “My son’s name, I mean. He’s the best collector of stories to have lived in Coinvale for the last century.”

Duril could only take the merchant’s words at face value. That was the pride of a father for the deeds and accomplishments of his son, and it had value in his eyes. He assured the merchant that he’d be in touch and hurried along to catch up with his companions, who had been entranced by other stalls and offers of the amazing city.

***

Toru licked his lips and swallowed thickly. Ever since they had set foot in this alley, his nostrils had been assaulted by the aromatic and flavorful offerings from the street vendors selling various foods to the passersby that he didn’t know where to look first. The stalls overflowed with pastry, meats and veggies on a stick, pancakes, steaming cups of tea, and many other wonders. In fear of not losing sight of some delicious tidbit, his eyes moved over the items readily available, while his belly growled in need.

“Kitty, don’t tell me you’re hungry again after the hefty breakfast Arid brought us this morning.”

“Not hungry,” Toru said in a clipped tone, “but I haven’t had these ever before.” He pointed directly at a tray filled with a sort of round pastry that enticed him with its pleasant, sweet smell.

Varg took him by the shoulder and, for a moment, Toru thought that his friend would guide him away from the alluring smells. Instead, the wolfshifter reached into his pocket and pulled out a big shiny coin, offering it to him. “Duril warned me that you might feel tempted by the many goodies on display. Make sure not to spend it all in the same place.”

Happy with his newfound treasure, Toru grabbed the coin greedily.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Varg asked with a lopsided grin.

“Do you want something too? I’m sure this coin will buy enough for both of us.”

“I’m not talking about that.” Varg patted his cheek with his right forefinger. “Don’t I get a kiss for so kindly looking out for you?”

Toru wrapped his arms around Varg and kissed him loudly on the cheek. “This coin is all for me, though, right?”

“You little rascal,” Varg chided him affectionately. “Go, fill your belly. But remember not to eat too much or your belly might hurt.”

“When has that ever happened?” Toru retorted with a scoff.

He turned on his heel and went directly to the round puffy pastry that had stolen his eye. “What are these called?” he asked the vendor, a middle-aged woman with slanted eyes, as many were here.

“Sunfire kisses, young lad,” the woman said in a cheerful voice. “You’ll love them. Do you see?” She pointed at their crusty surface and dragged a small fork over them to elicit a crunchy sound. “All crispy on the outside, but so mellow on the inside.” She picked one up and broke it open in front of him. A sweet custard – it had to be sweet by the way it smelled – of a golden hue poured forth, making Toru’s tongue loll out for a moment.

“I want the whole tray,” he said. “Is this enough?” He held up the coin.

The vendor laughed and snatched it from his hand. “I have other things I can entice you with. You’ll love them all. How about I choose for you? I promise you’ll be delighted by them. Lotus syrup pancakes, dragon dumplings, moon cakes, mushroom noodle soup, spicy pheasant buns, jasmine tea--” She presented her offer to him, in the same melodic cheerful voice, until his belly began growling again.

“Dragon dumplings? Do they have dragon meat in them?”

“No, it’s quail actually, but do you see their shapes? Don’t they make you think of a dragon?”

Toru had to admit that he had no real basis for comparison save for Drahlung from Niverborg, the monster he had defeated to release his brother’s tribe from their cursed bondage. And that dumpling looked nothing like that beast. Still, quail meat sounded just fine. “I will take everything,” he said with the expansive generosity of a king opening wide the coffers of his kingdom.

“Right away,” the vendor chirped and rolled up her sleeves. The pleasure on her face was that of a trade well done, and Toru felt happy, too.

Of course, he’d be even happier once he got all those delicious morsels into his belly. As he turned away with his arms filled, searching with his eyes for his friends, he saw Duril hurrying toward him. The healer also held something, and it appeared to be a piece of leather folded neatly with colorful pictures on it. Toru had never seen such a thing before, so his eyes grew wide with curiosity.

“What is that?” he asked as he picked a sunfire kiss from the woven basket the vendor from the food stall had supplied him with at the end of their transaction.

“It seems that this place is even more magical than we thought at first,” Duril answered with a bewildered expression on his face. “Tradeweaving seems to be what they call their magic, and they can use it to create five hundred copies of the same book!”

Toru didn’t quite understand what sort of magic would be used for writing books, when it was usually used for more destructive or astonishing things, but he could share Duril’s excitement. He pointed at the goodies in his basket. “I have a lot of magical things here, too. These ones are called dragon dumplings, but there’s not actual dragon meat in them. Drahlung was nasty enough not to have good meat, don’t you think?”

“What kind of meat is in them, instead?” Duril asked.

“Quail,” Toru replied, feeling pretty proud that he knew such things now. “They sure like to name their wares in all sorts of strange ways around here. Like these ones,” he explained, “they’re called sunfire kisses, but there’s no actual sun fire in them, either.”

Duril laughed softly. “They all look delicious. Let’s find our friends and start our quest. If I can find the best library in Coinvale, I suppose I could start asking questions there. Librarians tend to know many things, and if there has been any talk of a magical shard having been spotted in the area, they’re the right people to ask.”

“And you’re going to find out about that from the thing you’re holding?” Toru pointed at the neatly folded piece of leather in Duril’s hand. “Is that a book? One of the five hundred copies of it?”

“No, this is a brochure,” Duril explained with the same pride Toru had felt when talking about the new foods he had learned of from the food vendor earlier. “Ah, here they are.”

Varg and Claw were walking toward them, with smiles on their faces. Toru smiled, too; it was the sort of pleasant feeling one got when recognizing a beloved face in a sea of strangers that filled his chest with warmth.

***

Coinvale was a place like no other, Varg had to admit, and even a seasoned warrior such as himself, who had been in many battles across the continent, was in awe of the city. Scercendusa was a majestic place, but the way it had been designed before Toru had destroyed it and put it back together had been meant to crush and subdue the people walking its streets, with its monumental buildings, and the grim underbelly of beast fighting and whatnot.

In contrast, Coinvale was a place blessed by the sun, and that could easily be gleaned from the joy reflected in people’s faces. If Varg were to compare Coinvale with Shroudharbor, the other city of merchants they had met in their adventures, it would be like trying to compare day and night. Here, every street ran in undulating lines, not straight, and every stall seemed to offer a different thing, making the visitor believe that the vendors here were all in a competition to win them over to themselves. Of course, they were guided by a thirst for gold, but Varg couldn’t hold that against them, since they didn’t seem to act as such because of greed.

Joy. It was the only word that came to his mind to describe what flooded the streets of Coinvale like an impetuous stream.

Duril explained to them about the brochure in his hand and tradeweaving, his face all lit up. Joy appeared to be a contagious sentiment, as well, since Toru was happily devouring morsel after morsel of delicious food from the basket in his arms, and Claw stole one now and then, much to the young tigershifter’s chagrin that lasted very briefly.

“What does that brochure tell us about Coinvale, Duril?” he encouraged the healer to read for them. He protectively took his friend by the shoulders so that he could walk while reading, without worrying that he might stumble and fall.

Duril seemed to have been waiting for that question. He opened the folded piece of sheepskin and began reading. “Welcome to Coinvale, the best place on the face of Eawirith.”

“That’s a bit boastful of them,” Claw remarked.

“It is true,” Toru said, sounding quite indignant at the suggestion that there might be another city on the whole continent better than Coinvale. “Where else have you seen so many different foods? And I haven’t even tried them all yet!”

“We have time, kitty,” Claw teased him. “Go ahead, Duril, let us hear more about this marvelous place.”

“Coinvale is famous as a hub of commerce and trade,” Duril continued, “where merchants from all over the world gather to exchange goods, secrets, and magical artifacts.”

At this, they all stopped for a moment, even Toru, with one wooden stick skewering tiny meat squares up in the air.

“Magical artifacts? Well, those should definitely be of interest to us,” Varg said. “I bet that if there was any talk of a shard capable of doing incredible things anywhere near this place, or even in some faraway land, they’d know about it.”

“They’d better not be playing with such things, though,” Toru said. “Those shards are evil.”

“That’s the truth,” Varg agreed. “And it’s the reason we need to find them before unaware people do.”

“Or magical beings in search of more power,” Claw added. “Duril, continue to enlighten us on the nature of this place, please.”

Varg could vaguely tell that there was a certain apprehension in Claw’s manner when he talked about the city. Was he seeing something they couldn’t? But he wasn’t the kind to keep such things to himself, which only meant that whatever suspicions Coinvale’s uneven streets raised in the bearshifter’s mind, they had yet to take a solid shape.

“The labyrinthine pattern of Coinvale’s streets gives the city an otherworldly charm,” Duril read from the leaflet.

“Yes, it does feel like you might get lost if you don’t know where you’re going,” Claw commented.

Varg nodded as he observed his friend. Since Claw had been imprisoned under the house of merchants in Shroudharbor for centuries, his apprehension regarding people exchanging goods and coin was warranted. Maybe it was just that, but Varg doubted it.

“At the heart of the city, you will find the Grand Market,” Duril read, “where our most important landmark stands tall.” He stopped and looked at the brochure as if he didn’t know whether he should continue or not. Varg peeked over his shoulder, and his eyes grew wide, as well.

“What does it say?” Toru asked impatiently. “Why did you stop? Is there some writing you can’t understand?”

Varg took the brochure from Duril and brought it closer to his eyes. A picture was there, right on the next leaf of the brochure, and it looked unsettling. He showed it to Toru and Claw, too, who brought their heads together to stare at the thing.

“That’s a shard!” Toru exclaimed, pointing at the picture. “Why is it so big?”

The colors staining the sheepskin left no room for misinterpretation. The tall spire that dominated the Grand Market, as depicted, displayed at its peak a large shard of the deepest black, just as they had known the other fragments they had found so far to be. And yes, Toru was right. It was incredibly big, unlike the others they had seen of its kind so far.

Even on the soft material it was imprinted on, the shard didn’t conceal its evil nature for a moment. It sucked the light from all around it, and, for a moment, Varg sensed its strange power calling to them even if it was only a representation there, without being the actual thing.

“The Heart of Tradeweaving,” Duril recited slowly. “What are these people thinking?”

***

It had only ever happened under duress, but Toru felt his appetite vanishing in the blink of an eye. “I knew magic shouldn’t be something to play with, and these people don’t even know what they are playing with. I must go and take the shard.”

“Yes, that is true,” Varg agreed, “but it might be that the people of Coinvale won’t be very happy with us snatching their most important landmark just like that. I suggest that we proceed with caution.”

Toru snorted. “There’s not anyone in this city that could stop me.”

“That might be the truth, but we don’t want to hurt the people here, either,” Varg said. “We don’t know how the shard will react. While it appears not to have truly tainted this place, maybe it is dormant and only waits for the right moment to reveal its real face.”

As at many other times, the wolfshifter was right. Toru nodded in agreement. “Then, what should we do?” He touched his shoulder briefly, to see if the shards under his skin were already reacting to the presence of one of their brethren being so close. But they seemed to be as mute as ever.

“Even a bustling city such as this one has to go to sleep at night, right?” Varg suggested. “We should wait for the right moment to grab the shard and then leave this place, leaving everyone in Coinvale none the wiser.”

“But there are lights everywhere,” Toru pointed out. “How can we steal something, when we would be so easy to see?”

“All those lanterns lighting up the street reek of magic to me,” Claw said. “They must be enchanted, which means that they will not be snuffed out that easily.”

“Ah, that is why there are so many of them,” Toru said. “It doesn’t matter. You will keep watch, and I’ll climb that spire to grab the shard. I can be very fast.”

“No one doubts that,” Varg agreed. “Let’s learn more about the Heart of Tradeweaving in the meantime. Duril, please read further.”

The healer brought the brochure up to his eyes again, even though his sight had to be as good as ever. The revelation they had just stumbled upon made them all grave and wary, so when the next words left Duril’s mouth in a secretive whisper, they were all ears.

“Tradeweaving has been our secret for centuries, but recently, we were blessed by the gods.” Duril stopped for a moment. “That is the same thing that Misar Dagou told me. That tradeweaving is more powerful now because of such a blessing.” He shook his head in disbelief for a moment, and then continued. “The miners out of the town of Sheparon discovered our Heart of Tradeweaving buried deep in the ground and brought it to light. Tales of the incredible powers these miners received spread like wildfire, so our Council hurried there to discover what made them so. Thus, they found out about this incredible magical artifact and brought it home.”

“Just like that?” Toru asked the obvious question. “Didn’t those miners have anything to say against that happening?”

“There is more,” Duril said. “The moment we saw the artifact, our Council says, we knew that we had to have it. We offered the miners their weight in gold, and they accepted the trade.”

“The miners were probably happy with getting rid of it,” Toru concluded by himself. “And these merchants were fooled into taking it off their hands.”

“Tradeweaving is more powerful than ever before. Our lights burn brighter, our mills run day and night, and there is knowledge we discover every day like never before.” Duril sighed. “Ah, here’s another bit that should interest us. I’m afraid the shard in the Grand Market is not the real thing. It says that the real Heart of Tradeweaving is kept safe, while the copy set on top of the tall spire in that square is only that, a copy.”

“That means we need to find where the real one is kept,” Claw said. “I had a hunch these merchants might be up to something other than good.”

“It’s not their fault,” Toru argued, although the food he had just eaten no longer seemed as tasty. “They cannot know the shard is that bad.”

“That is something we need to find out, right?” Claw said, setting his jaw hard.

“Let’s not get into a fight over it,” Varg recommended and took them both by the shoulders. “Our quest just got a little more complicated, that’s all. We need to find someone we can ask about where this Heart of Tradeweaving is being kept.”

“I have an idea,” Duril intervened. “The merchant who sold me the brochure said that his son is a collector of stories, stories that he then turns into books. He invited me to tell any stories I might have in exchange for payment. I assume that a collector of stories must be curious by nature.”

“And that means he might know a thing or two about the place where the real shard is being kept,” Toru added. “All right, then I will come with you when you visit this writer. And if he tries anything, I will protect you, Duril.”

The healer laughed and gave him a little kiss on the cheek. “Although I doubt that a writer will be armed with more than a pen for writing his stories, I appreciate the thought, Toru. You will come with me.”

“In the meantime, Claw and I will try to see if there are other clues we can discover about the location of the shard,” Varg said. “I would like to believe that these people’s intentions are good, and that they’re not aware of what sort of dark power they have stumbled upon.”

“While I’ll be the one to reserve such trust for when it is earned,” Claw added. “My friends, our quest has taken on a new shape and carved a new path before us. Let’s follow it.”

TBC

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