— The Emperor's Imperial Record, Entry No. 33 —
I walked up to the gates of Lunis with the payment in hand.
After days of walking and an encounter with soldiers, I was tired, if I could sleep on the ground, I would have. But I still had to get the payment to Big Randy.
I should have taken warmer clothing when I left for the barracks, but I wasn't annoyed. I had my mind on other things.
The coin pouch in my hand was warm from my body heat, even warmer the more I thought about the ideas in store for my trade caravan.
Big Randy had told me that the two sects were gearing up for war. A real war.
Over a spirit vein.
Cultivators would kill each other for a small area of dense qi, the size of a coffin, but a peasant like me? I'd die like a fly in a dung heap.
No one would notice.
So, why not make some coin off it? Those high and lofty figures were something I couldn't reach yet. No matter what I wanted, this war would still happen.
Cultivators weren't the type to settle for "peace" when there was qi involved.
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.
The real money lay in the soldiers. Whatever they needed. A bunch of isolated, hungry, ground-down men, in a place they knew they were being sent to die.
And they couldn't run. What man could stand up to a cultivator?
Prancing around, wallowing about right or wrong wouldn't save their lives, and I still wanted to start a trade caravan.
This would be a good start. How hard could it be to deliver to a bunch of starving soldiers?
It would just be finding out what they like, buying the goods from Lunis, and selling them back to the soldiers.
I started to think about all the things I could get for them, food, new boots, clean robes, medicine…secrets.
My mind raced.
Maybe this military carrier role I'd been given was actually a good deal.
*Moo* An ox sounded out, protesting against the weight of the grain packs its master was loading on it.
I snapped out of it.
The gates of the city were right in front of me 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.
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 lying 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, 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 before giving me a couple of 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 is one of the few people around here, I'm sure has any goodwill for me.'
I knew he'd vouch for me in a heartbeat. He had done it before. I thought back to that moment with the supervisor. The supervisor had come, with his men–his goons, and Big Randy, along with his friend, Igor. They defended me.
'How will he feel about me getting another deal while working for him?'
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 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, then looked at him, then 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."
Taking a seat, I rested 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.
I was acting 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 onto a plate, shattering it.
I didn't look at the pieces.
The sounds of the smithy grew louder. Like the cries of an angry mob. Like a tribunal. They hounded my ears. Pressed in on my mind. I kept my face in my hands.
What was I waiting for? Sympathy? A pat on the back? I did not know. I felt that sick, heavy heat crawl up my chest — from the silence, the kind I got every time my conscience accused me.
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.
Big Randy exhaled. A slow, ponderous 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, 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 is he asking this? What's the point?'
Big Randy 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.
Big Randy took out a flint and set alight a candle wick.
Then the smith 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. "Sharp. Ambitious. Good heart." But that its gonna rot if you feed it only silver."
The candle went out.
The silvers didn't feel any lighter in my hands.
"Do you think this war is just swords and spirit veins? A game you can choose to jump in and out of?"
Big Randy sighed, "That's the thing about war. It's a young man's game. But you are not the champion in the arenas of one of those slave games Khan. You're the ones they throw in to die."
My head was completely out of my hands now.
"It's gonna eat people like you first. 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 douse that fire for me. The deal is not a problem. You do better work as a trapper anyway." 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. Especially with men like that."
Silence. Only the ringing of hammers, steady and slow.
He stood, heading back toward the forge. "Come here tomorrow. I have something I want you to see."