RE: Monarch

Chapter 165: Whitefall XXI

A purse of ten golden rods, Alten said immediately.

Those who heard him immediately whispered among themselves, and for good reason. The price was astronomical. Enough for a massive home in the noble section of Whitefall, and a gods damned estate anywhere else. I wasnt opposed. Even if I lost, in terms of the treasury, it wouldnt leave a dent.

But what struck me was how specific it was.

I inclined my head. It was a large enough sum that I wouldnt trust anyone in this room outside of Cephur and Maya with it, but if I didnt present it at all, Alten might get the impression Id go back on it.

Okay. I counted out ten golden rods into a small leather pouch, and instead of handing it over to a bookkeeper, tossed it on the ground.

Alten shifted back on the balls of his feet. It was hardly the first time I saw someone take a stance, but something about the smooth-as-silk nature of the movement immediately put me on guard.

The fight pits were nothing like the countless tournaments Id attendedfull of stuffy, prideful knights currying favor from nobles, where the worst that could happen was a loss of face. Here in the pits, survival was anything but a foregone conclusion. Killing your opponent was frowned upon, but no one was going to step in and stop you, and the only rules were the ones you made for yourself.

Restraint.

An image of the drephin burning in a swath of violet fire swirled up in my mind. I needed to remember that despite the dangerousness of the situation, this wasnt the sanctum, and as far as I knew, Alten had no magic.

Of course, that didnt mean I wouldnt use it.

Alten was taller than me, the weight difference was in his favor, and he had a hell of a lot more bare-knuckle experience. Tying it all together, he was inhumanly quick. Those were all advantages he had that I lacked.

Magic was my advantage. But Id grown too accustomed to fighting with every resource at my disposal. I just needed to be subtle. Restrained. The question was how.

Out of the corner of my eye, a bookkeeper whispered in the announcers ear. The bets were locked in. Wed be starting soon. Next to him, I caught Maya and Cephur whispering to each other, each looking considerably more concerned.

With a cheery smile, I gave them a wave, then turned my focus to the matter at hand.

I cycled mana through my body activating the inscriptions on my legs, then drew it up to my arms, exuding air mana in a fine mist. It caught a warm current from the one of the many torches that surrounded the ring and nearly blew off into the stands, but my control was better than it used to be, and I successfully guided it back to Alten, spreading it around his form, paying extra attention to muscle groups, until the mana entirely outlined him in glowing white.

If there was a mage in the audience, theyd guess what I was up to, but probably wouldnt give a damn.

Altenstill stoic and grimshifted his neck from side to side, and I felt the movement before it happened.

Fight!

The announcer barely finished speaking the word before Alten shot forward.

My eyes widened. Id expected him to hold back, feel me out as he had during the other matches. Instead, he was trying to end it in one strike.

Even with the air manas early warning, he nearly did. I stepped aside smoothly, muscle memory taking over as I caught Altens wrist and pivoted, transferring momentum and sending him crashing towards the stands. He pinwheeled, unable to slow himself, and forced a few people closest to the action to leap out of the way as he caught himself on a bench.

Going somewhere? I asked innocently.

A slow Ooooooooh, rose from the crowd.

Alten growled, pushed himself up to his full height, and slowly turned.

Going to wipe that smug look right off your face. He stomped back towards me.

I felt the haymaker coming, and still only barely ducked beneath. Hands grabbed my shoulders and Alten drove a vicious knee towards my face. I caught it and pushed him back.

What followed was pure defense on my part. Alten was too quick and reacting was all I had time to manage, other than light returned blows with little impact. Part of it was that my left arm wasnt exactly suited for restraint. In carapace form it was incredibly dense, essentially a bludgeon. Fantastic for defense, but if I struck with full force, it could easily shatter bones.

Not the way I wanted this to end.

Alten slowed, winded, and I disengaged, dancing back and putting a few span between us. Once he recovered, he took a step back and looked me over once more. Youre not what I thought.

And youre exactly as I hoped. I wiped my sweat from my brow.

To my complete surprise and the confusion of the crowd, Alten bowed. Feet together, back stiff. Unlike the usual bows directed at me, it didnt feel like the rote acknowledgement of station, rather, something else.

Recognition.

I returned it.

As Alten straightened, the surrounding air changed. Grew thicker, more dangerous. The rage in his eye compressed, dulled to a spark of pure focus. Like he saw everything with perfect clarity.

Any pointers? I asked, trying to mask my nervousness.

He stared at me mutely, and for a moment, and I thought he might rush forward again. Instead, he spoke. You know how to kill. Id reckon youre good at it. But you dont know how to fight.

Some would argue thats the same thing. I thought of my father.

Alten slowly shook his head, then slid into a stance. The room grew darker, and for the first time that evening, the crowd was silent.

Shall we continue? he asked.

I took a deep breath and centered myself.

Stop!

A man in a tunic tied off with a golden clasp descended from somewhere in the back of the stands, wringing his hands as if he was working in an ointment. He bowed to me repeatedly, floating tufts of messy hair mimicking the movement, then turned andwith a stern look, backhanded Alten with all his might. Alten took it. He turned his head at the last second to minimize the impact, but sound rang out, and when he turned back, there was a bright red welt on his cheek. The man grabbed him by the neck and attempted to push his head down. When that didnt work, the mans face twisted in ire and he struck Alten in the gut.

After hed recovered his breath, Alten finally bowed his head, and the man bowed along with him.

Humblest apologies my liege, the man rambled. That brutish orc pounded him upside the head, addled his mind.

From my perspective, Alten was doing most of the walloping, but I let it slide considering the bigger issue at hand. The way the man was acting could only mean one thing.

Hes your slave, I said. It wasnt a question.

Alten stiffened, his mouth firm.

A shrewd recalculation went through the mans eyes. Certainly not. Slavery is against the law.

But he answers to you, I observed. And Id be willing to bet a considerable sum if I raised a hand to him outside the ringstatus be damned, he wouldnt just stand there and take it. So its not about who you are, is it?

Forgive me. I am Scyld, of House

No. One. Asked. I cut him off, letting acid into my voice. His background was unnecessary. Unless I missed my guess, he was from House Westmore. They acted the part of noble seafaring merchants when, in reality, they were nothing more than slavers in fine clothes, likely hit the hardest by my fathers new mandates. It wasnt as if they were destitute. They had the architecture in place to be effective tradersthough their profits would have taken at least a minor hit given how profitable the slave trade could be, and I was sure they still carried out their trade in contested territories.

He will be punished, the man said, eyes darting back and forth, looking for a way out.

Thats irrelevant. The question Im asking, Scyld, is why Alten here complies so obediently with your commands, I pressed.

Scylds mouth worked furiously, before he finally straightened and tried to comport himself with presence and dignity, hands folded above the golden nautilus on his belt. There is nothing untoward about our arrangement. Alten is my servant. He entered my service willingly, undertaking the indenture of another. All perfectly acceptable within the parameters of the law.

Who? I asked Alten directly.

A friend, Alten said. His voice had changed, grown harder, but the reckless rage dissipated to cold acceptance. One of many they took from Oyath, offering passage to Uskar.

It was a revelation that Alten was foreign, but it certainly connected the dots. The Oyath region northwest of Uskar was reportedly a wasteland, with scarce resources and endless swaths of brush and dirt. Whitefall scholars regularly disregarded its people as savages huddling in tents, fighting over water. But their martial prowess was the stuff of myth and stories. Anytime a story began with a mysterious protagonist rolling into a town of goblins or orcs with nothing more than a sword and horse, it was a safe bet they were from Oyath.

Let me guess. I crossed my arms. They were foggy on the repayment details right up to the moment the ships docked.

Aye, Alten said.

All perfectly legal, my liege, Scyld reiterated, clinging to his robe.

There were many things I wanted to do. The practice of indentureship was a revolting loophole and nothing would be more satisfying than to set the slavers robes on fire and watch him run, screaming from the building. But such an action would build the sort of reputation I needed to avoid. In the meantime, Id leverage my influence at the palace to rein House Westmore in through the proper channels.

Which meant a short-term solution was in order.

I glanced at Scyld. And you have proof of indentureship on you, of course? So I can see with confidence that this is all legitimate?

The slaver smiled and fiddled with a small satchel at his waist, flipping it open and withdrawing a spool of cheap parchment sealed with notary wax. He extended it towards me with a shake at the end.

I took it. How much?

Scylds smile died. Apologies. Hes not for sale.

What are House Westmores words again? Wasnt it, Ill sell my grandmother if it nets me a copper?

Alten snorted.

Gold buys all, Scyld said, coldly.

I clapped my hands together. Right! Of course, how could I forget.

The slaver tried to rally, raising his voice to broadcast to his words. Perhaps I spoke in error. But as youve seen firsthand, Alten is a rare talent. Gifted. He makes a small fortune here in the pits, so its only natural that I could part with him for nothing less.

I nodded, as if talking to a very slow child. And that number would be

Twelve golden rods, and not a sliver less.

A shocked murmur coursed through the audience.

Suddenly, Altens demand made sense. His lord had bumped the price, but ten golden rods was likely the sum necessary to pay off the remaining balance of his indentureship in full. It was an absurd sum by my standards. And I was royalty. By Altensa slave in everything but name, who probably made a paltry percentage of his winnings in the pitit wasnt even a question of paying it off in his lifetime. His great-grandchildren would bow and scrape to House Westmore before Altens obligation was halved.

I made a show of considering the price, then leaned over, ignoring the acrid smell of sweat, and whispered in the slavers ear. Its been some time since Ive been here, so forgive my ignorance. Indentureships were more or less unheard of before my absence and Im unfamiliar with their mechanics. The slavessorry, servantsare given room and board, taken out of their wages, of course, and any wage they make is directly applied to paying down their indentureship. Am I right so far?

Scyld nodded.

So the servants are being paid, and as their steward, you are simply saving them the inconvenience of receiving it and immediately handing it back.

Again, Scyld nodded, squinting in confusion.

And we agree that the servants are paidliterally paid, and voluntarily paying you with the funds by undertaking an indentureship initially.

Yes, Scyld said, growing visibly frustrated.

I smiled. My last question is simple. What percentage of the payments the servants make towards their freedom is taxed?

The slaver opened his mouth to answer and froze halfway. His skin turned ashen.

I have to say, Im interested in the minutia. How all the little numbers line up. But alas, thats all beyond me. If youre amenable, I might pay your house a visit to look at your records and bring along someone clever enough to explain what Im seeing. A scribe from the treasury, perhaps?

I stepped away. Still clammy and pale, Scyld swallowed.

Would five golden rods be agreeable? he asked.

Fantastic. I slapped him on the shoulder. Then retrieved the purse from the ground, counted out five golden rods, and pressed them into his limp hand. It didnt feel good paying him at all. But occasionally being on the losing side of bargain was part of being a trader, and at least this way there was a higher chance hed keep it to himself and wouldnt run home screaming to his house.

The less warning House Westmore had, the better.

Alten had been watching the exchange with interest, but grew more reserved when he saw the rolled up indentureship in my hand.

Youre to be my master, then? Alten asked.

Not a chance. I pressed the indentureship along with the bag of five golden rods into his hand. For a moment, he looked as if his head might explode. Congratulations. Youre free. Free to tell him, me, and Whitefall to screw off and go wherever the hells you want.

Alten tore up the indentureship on the spot. Then he opened the bag and stared at the contents, as if confirming it was really there. After a long moment, he tied the tassels shut. He looked lost.

Have you ever wanted something so bad its all you can think about. All you dream about. And when you finally get it, youre left wondering what the fuck to do next? Alten asked.

That surprised me. Given his circumstances, Id expected him to forge off on his own; I hoped to reconnect with him later. But if not, I was more than willing to let him go. A hundred golden rods wouldnt come close to repaying the loyalty hed shown me.

But this was even better.

Want a job? I asked.

Alten took a long time to answer. Eventually, he looked up at me curiously. What sort of job?