Chapter 57 - Auction and Artos
For a moment, absolute silence fell over the hall. Three hundred thousand gold dragons was a sum that approached the annual revenues of entire lordships. It was more gold than most men would see in ten lifetimes.
Then a hand rose. Lysandro Vex, the Pentoshi merchant who'd purchased the Dornish wine, his pale eyes fixed on the daggers with an intensity that was almost predatory.
"Three hundred and fifty thousand," a Braavosi merchant immediately countered, his voice sharp with determination.
"Four hundred thousand," another voice called out—a Lyseni banker whose wealth was apparently as considerable as his ambition.The bidding climbed with a speed that suggested multiple parties were willing to spend extraordinary sums for these particular blades. This was not the careful, measured competition of earlier lots—this was hunger, desperation, the pursuit of something that transcended mere acquisition.
Four hundred and fifty thousand. Five hundred thousand. The bids climbed in increments of fifty thousand, each raise a declaration of seriousness, each price point eliminating another competitor.
At five hundred and fifty thousand, most of the initial bidders began to fall away. Only Lysandro Vex, the Braavosi Young Merchant Prince , and a mysterious magister who'd been silent until now continued the bidding.
"Six hundred thousand gold dragons," Lysandro announced, his voice carrying absolute confidence. The merchant was leaning forward now, no longer lounging in his seat, his entire body language suggesting that he would not be denied these blades.
The Pentoshi magister raised his hand. "Six hundred and twenty-five thousand."
The Lysandro merchant paused, clearly calculating whether the daggers were worth such an extraordinary expense. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he wrestled with the decision. After a long moment, he shook his head and withdrew from the bidding, slumping back in his seat like a man who'd just lost something precious.
The auctioneer looked around the hall, clearly astonished at the sums being bid. "Do I hear Any advance on six hundred and fifty?"
"Seven hundred thousand," the Pentoshi magister said coldly, his voice carrying a note of finality, as though he'd just made a statement of absolute intention.
Merchant Prince's face darkened with fury. For a moment, it seemed as though he might bid again.
Artos heard himself speak before he'd fully consciously decided to bid. His voice cut through the silence like a blade through silk."Seven hundred and fifty thousand gold dragons."
The entire hall turned toward him at once. Ronan actually grabbed his arm, his fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks."What in the seven hells are you doing?" Ronan hissed, his voice carrying genuine panic. "Do you understand what that sum represents? That's nearly your entire liquid wealth! Do you understand—"
Bravosi Young Merchant head whipped around, his eyes finding Artos ."Eight hundred thousand gold dragons," announced, his voice cutting and sharp.
Artos didn't hesitate. "Eight hundred and fifty thousand gold dragons."
"Hal," Waymar said urgently, leaning in close. "You cannot be serious about this. That's—that's more than entire armies cost. That's more than some kingdoms spend in a year."
But Artos was already watching the merchant's reaction with the same intensity he'd bring to analyzing an opponent in combat. The careful calculation in those pale eyes, the white-knuckled grip on the armrest, suggested that the brat was reaching the outer limits.
Bravosi Young Brat raised his hand, his movements jerky with barely suppressed rage. "Nine hundred thousand gold dragons."
"Nine hundred and fifty thousand," Artos replied immediately, his voice steady and certain.Silence fell over the auction hall. Absolute, complete, tomb-like silence as though everyone present had simultaneously stopped breathing. Nine hundred and fifty thousand gold dragons. The figure seemed almost meaningless in its enormity.
Lysandro stared at Artos for a long moment, his expression a calculation. The Merchant was clearly wrestling with something.
Merchant Prince's hand trembled slightly as he gripped the armrest, and Artos could see the war happening behind those pale eyes.
Final his expression twisting into something that was half-sneer, half-grimace. He raised one hand in a gesture that might have been acknowledgment or might have been a curse.
"Nine hundred and fifty thousand going once," the auctioneer said, his voice slightly strained. "Going twice..."He paused, clearly hoping against hope for further competition. The Pentoshi magister sat perfectly still, his expression unreadable. None came."Sold," the auctioneer announced, his voice carrying genuine astonishment. "The Valyrian daggers are yours, Commander Hal, for nine hundred and fifty thousand gold dragons. A sum that will be recorded in the history of this auction house."
As the attendants carefully brought the ornate case forward, their movements now tinged with something approaching reverence, Ronan released his grip on Artos's arm and simply stared at him with an expression that suggested his entire understanding of his business partner had just undergone a fundamental realignment.
"You just spent nine hundred and fifty thousand gold dragons on a pair of daggers," Ronan said quietly, his voice hollow. "Nearly a million gold dragons. That is more than some kingdoms generate in a decade. That is more than the annual revenue of White Harbour. That is..." He seemed to struggle for adequate words. "Hal, what in the seven hells were you thinking?"
But Artos's attention was fixed on Lysandro Vex. The Volantene merchant was staring at him with an expression the look of a man who'd been outmaneuvered and knew it.
The merchant prince stood abruptly, still holding the defeated gaze for a moment longer before turning and storming from the auction hall, his attendants scrambling to follow.
Waymar watched him go with concern. "Commander, I think you may have just made a very dangerous enemy."
Artos accepted the velvet-lined case containing the daggers and opened it carefully. The Valyrian steel seemed to glow in the light, the rippling patterns in the metal creating the impression of movement, as though the blades were somehow alive despite being inanimate.
"I think," Artos said slowly, running his fingers carefully along the edge of one blade without quite touching it, "that man was already a dangerous enemy. At least now he has a concrete reason to be angry with me, rather than some abstract rivalry based on principle."
He closed the case gently and looked up at Ronan, his dark eyes intense. "I was thinking that I have spent the last two years accumulating gold that means nothing to me. That I have fought and killed and conquered, and for what? For coin that sits in vaults, for reputation that exists only in tavern gossip, for power that is meaningless when exercised in service to myself."
He held the case before him, feeling its weight. "But these—these are something different. These are weapons forged by masters who have been dead for centuries. These are steel that will outlast me, that will remain sharp and true long after I myself am dust. These are worth spending gold on because they represent something real, something that matters. And apparently, they're worth making enemies for as well."
Waymar shook his head, but there was a complicated expression on his young face—part admiration, part genuine concern. "That's either brilliant strategy or complete madness. I genuinely cannot determine which."
"Why can't it be both?" Artos asked, setting the case carefully in his lap.Around the hall, conversations were resuming, but Artos noticed that many eyes remained fixed on him. The Pentoshi magister was watching him with an expression that suggested profound reassessment. The other merchants and magisters were whispering among themselves, clearly discussing both the absurdity and the audacity of what had just occurred—and more importantly, the apparent rivalry that had just been created between the mysterious Northern commander and the dangerous Bravosi merchant prince.
As the remaining minor lots were presented and quickly sold off without much fanfare, Artos found himself thinking about Seraphine Valen and wondering what she would think of his latest bout of spectacular excess.
---YOU LIKE THE WORK PLEASE SUPPORT 🙏
Please join the patreon and join the pack
www.patreon.com/Cregantheblackwolf
Thank you for your support and I am really grateful