“Exiled from their own lands, they fled across the world – until they found a place they could call home. Here, they learned to live again, and struggled to regain what was lost.

-Scriptures of Viera”

* * *

Demnir

The room was filled with stuffed animals. Harts, boars, foxes and birds. Even the paintings on the walls depicted hunting scenes. Demnir had absorbed it all the moment he entered the room, but right now his attention was directed elsewhere. He watched carefully the face of the man before him, whose eyes were darting left and right as he read the contract and glanced at the diagrams.

Each and every change in the man's eyes, he caught with his own. From the faintest frown to the slightest gleam, and even the details of his face. The almost invisible wrinkles on his forehead and around the corners of his mouth, the occasional greying hair. The lord eventually looked up and gazed at Demnir.

“Yes,” he said, nodding, “yes, that will do.”

Demnir beamed a large smile. “Wonderful, lord Keadon. You can expect to hear from us in a fortnight or so.” They both got up from their seats and after exchanging farewells, Demnir left the lord's estate. As he crossed the gardens, he saw Nelvel waiting for him at the gates, the reins of a horse in one hand.

“How did it go?” the slave asked.

Demnir mounted, and thought about the diagrams that had just convinced lord Keadon to spend a rather large amount of money. Despite his apparent enthusiasm, something wasn't to the lord's liking, he knew it. Not that this customer really seemed to understand anything about crossbow making, but he probably fancied himself an expert of sorts simply because he hunted deers in his time of leisure. Probably the price of the bow and the string. Regardless...

“...He'll buy,” Demnir simply said.

Composite materials were cheaper, but also less sturdy. Most people still failed to understand the point of steel bows, and how it allowed for tremendous power – therefore, they often pursed their lips when they noticed the cost and weren't convinced by Demnir's explanation.

“Akilne's nobility seems to really have taken an interest in your new sporting crossbow,” the slave observed, walking beside the trotting horse of his master.

“Mmh,” he grunted. But the nobles weren't his only customers, fortunately. Less elegant characters, the ones that would often hear and share interesting tales, had also contacted him. “We'll have to employ more smiths and woodworkers, at this rate,” he muttered.

They spoke of accountancy and smithing costs while they returned to the city. Demnir had to admit that Nelvel's legs were something worth admiring. The Keadon estate wasn't that far on horseback, but was still quite the tiring walk between here and Akilne – yet the slave wasn't complaining.

“Let's take a detour,” Demnir suggested at some point.

“Don't you have appointments soon?” Nelvel objected.

That's precisely the reason, Demnir replied in his mind, though all Nelvel got to see was a smile. “What, are you already tired?”

“No,” the slave assured. “I can go on.”

They left the road that ran along the farmlands and walked through the forest. Once Demnir made sure that the sun was high enough in the sky, they returned to Akilne. Upon arriving in his workshop, Demnir found two horses outside, none belonging to him or anyone he was acquainted with. And yet he was aware of the identities of these riders. Inside, one of his slaves was in a state of panic. “Ah, err, master... Customers...”

“Yes, Vieric?” Demnir replied without much care for the nervousness of the middle-aged slave. “I believe I had two more meetings today.”

“One,” the man with greying sideburns corrected. “This Samaar fellow you were supposed to see this evening cancelled his appointment. His note said that he was, err... busy discovering the wonders of Akilne's brothels.”

He raised a brow. “Ah, very well. What an interesting gentleman.” Craving the company of women after spending a long time at sea was entirely understandable, even though a week should have been plenty enough to discover most Vieran priestesses in Akilne. Perhaps Samaar liked to rediscover them...

Still, a shame. He had been looking forward to hear the tales of this famous sailor – some would rather say pirate – who just returned from a journey in the south. Word was that Samaar was able to navigate through the cursed southern seas, and that he saw all manner of living beings, amongst them mysterious monkeys and madmen who had lost all humanity... Most people would be intrigued – Demnir was especially intrigued.

No worries, though. I can always meet him tomorrow.

Nelvel stared at Demnir for a moment, perhaps judging him with these morals of his. Eventually, he exhaled deeply and addressed old Vieric. “So... There's only the Honourable Companions left today.”

“Which brings me to my point,” the older slave whispered, glancing at the stairs. “Their lieutenants are upstairs, and, ehm, they were late, but you were even more late... Master, they are bandits, I say! No manners at all, this lot!”

“Shall we?” Demnir said as he started climbing the stairs and motioned for Nelvel to follow. “Vieric, bring our guests clean cups, and wine to be poured in.” In the corner of his eyes, he saw the middle-aged man bowing and complying.

In the large room at the upper floor, three men were waiting, two of them having apparently taken whatever ease they thought they were entitled to. The most conspicuous of them all, a very large man with messy hair and a scar going from his cheek to his lips, was sitting on a divan, his legs crossed and rested on top of the low table. He probably had one purpose in life – to be intimidating. Too vulgar, Demnir thought. He glanced at the next one, who stood between the desk and the divans. An old man, with a short white beard and wax tablets under his arm. A slave, he immediately guessed.

Finally, Demnir's eyes locked themselves on the man seating at his own desk. Short and balding black hair, square jaw, and despite his aloof eyes, his grin gave him an unmistakeable air of confidence. That's the one.

He didn't even need to see the mercenary putting a piece of paper back on the desk to know that he had been looking at some documents. Stacks of diagrams had changed places, notes had been moved, papers had been read. All according to plan, Demnir observed with satisfaction. There wasn't a single document here that wasn't meant to be read by these ruffians. Each was incomplete, in a way that explanations were needed to understand how they worked, but clear enough so that a curious reader would see their purpose and their novelty.

“I see you've made yourselves at home,” he began merrily as he neared the divans, but kept standing. His eyes still locked on the balding man. “I am Demnir, and I would assume you are Zeron, captain of the Honourable Companions.”

“Forgive us,” Zeron said with a indecipherable accent. Certainly, there was the melody of the Vieran cities, the strong Daeli consonants, and the growling guttural sounds of Paar, though Demnir would have had no idea of this man's origins, had he not researched him first. “We were told you were out of town, and that we would be faced with quite the wait. The Callirian is a busy man, we've heard – as expected of someone who earned a reputation here in such a short amount of time.”

“Well, here I am. Let us not delay business.”

Surprisingly, Zeron rose from the chair that wasn't his, and came to sit on the divan, next to his associate, who didn't seem like he intended to speak a single word. Perhaps he was mute. Demnir sat in front of them, and before long Vieric brought them cups and poured them wine. Then, and only then, they spoke of arms.

“So... Fifteen spears,” Nelvel repeated as he took notes on his wax tablet, “as many shields, ten sets of ring mail plus headgear to go with it, twenty crossbows, and three hundred bolts.” He looked up and asked Zeron, “Is that correct?”

Zeron glanced at his slave, lend his ear for the old man to whisper something in, and eventually nodded. “Your bows are all steel, your strings aren't loose, and your bolts have iron heads?”

“That would be the reason they cost so much,” Demnir explained, staring in the merc's eyes.

Zeron stared back, and chuckled. “No, the price is of no concern. Still, I must ask – would you be able to produce even more daring tools, and for an adequate cost, if we were to provide you with the necessary wood and ore?”

Demnir squinted his eyes. Everything up until now was banter. He already knew what resources these men-at-arms had access to, but still asked for appearances' sake. “And do you have the means to provide us with said materials?”

“There are ways,” Zeron said mysteriously, as expected.

“Hmm.” Demnir sipped from his cup, barely bothering to hide a grin. “I'm sure people in your line of work have their own ways.”

In turn, the mercenary captain gave him a knowing smile. “Indeed.” He got to his feet and his silent lieutenant did the same. “But let's stop here for today, right? We'll try out these weapons of yours, and if they're as promising as they sound, you may very well see us again, with a carriage of iron, another of wood, and the largest bag of silver you've ever seen.”

“A sight I would be very pleased to encounter,” he replied with genuine cheer in his voice. Demnir and Nelvel accompanied Zeron and his lackeys to the door, and before parting, the captain slipped one last word.

“You seem to know much about siege engines, despite your age,” he said, and Demnir knew he was referring to the documents displayed on the desk. “Good day, Demnir of Callir.”

He did not reply, and Zeron hopped on his saddle. They exchanged one last glance, and the two mercenaries steered their horses forward while the old slave walked behind.

Demnir returned in his office, ordered Vieric to clean things up a bit, and put away the jugs and cups of wine.

“Don't you want to celebrate?” Nelvel wondered. He noticed the slave still did his best to avoid calling him master.

“Celebrate,” Demnir repeated slowly, sitting at his desk and putting order in his diagrams and whatnot. “We haven't accomplished anything yet. Business is merely starting.”

“You mean the documents you left here on purpose. You're expecting a bigger order, and a bigger pay.”

Aren't you a clever one. He glanced at the slave, who seemed to be judging him behind a more or less stoic face. “You have keen eyes.”

“I thought it was unlikely you would forget important diagrams here, for all to see. That, and this odd detour of yours that made us arrive late...” Nelvel shrugged. “Carelessness doesn't suit you – and if you appear careless, then it's on purpose.”

Demnir shifted in his seat, and rested his chin on his fist.

“Master,” Nelvel carried on, frowning and obviously having something important to say. “A word, if I may.”

“You may.”

“...You are playing a dangerous game. I mean, they are an infamous mercenary band, aren't they? Small in number, but violent.”

“Small, hence perfect for us, as we cannot satisfy too large of an order yet,” Demnir said, nodding, not having the faintest desire to admit that the Honourable Companions were much more than a band of sellswords, though Nelvel seemed aware of this. They don't mind plundering when they're on the job, and I've heard they dealt with pirates and slavers. It could be that Nelvel felt uneasy, as a recently enslaved individual, to deal with slavers. But this has nothing to do with why I'm interested in them, and it shouldn't be of any concern to him either.

“You're planning to sell them weaponry and siege engines that outperform the current Vieran arms,” Nelvel kept on, his frown still clouding his expression. “I know we aren't exactly responsible for the deaths it'll cause, but-”

“Ha!” Demnir scoffed, interrupting him. Seeing Nelvel's confused look, he chuckled once more. “Murder is what we do, Nelvel. It is our trade, don't fool yourself into thinking you have no part in it. We kill animals with the crossbows we sell to the hunters. We kill guilty men with the blades we sell to the citywatch. And we'll kill innocent men with the weapons we're about to sell to the Honourable Companions.”

There was a hint of worry in Nelvel's eyes, which he then expressed through words. “What I meant... I just don't get it. You have a successful business going on, the nobles pay well, what need is there to get involved with shady customers?”

Money is not the point, Demnir would have wished to reply, but he simply studied the nervous frown of his slave instead.

“You have a knack for languages and accents,” he eventually said. “Where do you think their captain is from?” Nelvel thought for a moment. Perhaps he had no idea – Demnir himself would not have guessed from the accent alone. Not without a background check. Seeing that the slave failed to reply, or refused to, he gave the answer. “He may fancy himself a man of the world, and enjoy sounding so, but I discovered that he sails from Paar.”

“Why is this relevant in any wa-”

“And you know Paarese. You spent time in the kingdom.”

“...I do, and I did.”

“Then I take it you're somewhat knowledgeable about Paar and its citizens.” Nelvel kept silent, and Demnir went on. “Have you heard about the recent events in Ocia?”

The slave nodded. “Ships that can't cross the strait. A blockade, they say.”

“A blockade indeed,” Demnir said with a smile. “Now, why, all of the sudden, would Ocia decide to close the strait? There was no trouble regarding the trade route for half a century, if I recall.”

“Not since the last Callirian king,” Nelvel muttered.

Yes, Demnir thought. Last time there was trouble, it was because of the monarch doing everything to isolate Callir. Dear old Therenus did his best to rebuild the trade with the Vieran cities, but all it took to end it was an assassination attempt.

The idea came across his mind the first time he heard about the blockade in Ocia, adding to his suspicions that the assassins in the temple of Xito were meant to infuriate Callir rather than eliminate Rina. Before that, there had been talks about a Daeli princess marrying into the Vieran nobility. Officially, the blockade was a way to weaken Callir before the angry followers of Xito decided to start a war in retaliation for an assassination attempt, which the Vierans kept denying they were responsible for.

But then, what if they really weren't responsible for it? What if the attempt on Rina's life had just been a way to break the ties between the Vierans and the Callirians, so that someone else could meddle in Vieran business? Who would have the power to do so, and for what reason?

If I wanted to get my claws into Ocia, getting rid of foreign influence and marrying a princess to their lord would certainly be among my preferred options... was what he had concluded back then. Perhaps whoever sent that Daeli princess in Ocia was thinking the same. If that was true, that only left a small group of suspects – not many people in the whole world had enough power to pull off such a trick.

Nelvel's anxious voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “Master?” Demnir glanced at him once again, saw anguish in his eyes. Nervous because he feared he had offended him by mentioning the king of Callir, perhaps.

“Nelvel,” he said at last, “I gather there will soon be trouble in Ocia.”

“Trouble, you say...”

“Ever since they contacted us, I've suspected that Zeron and his merry band of professional killers could be agents of Paar. We're not the only arms dealers they've met with, they've probably scouted all of Akilne's city-state. Maybe similar meetings are happening in the other Vieran states. I had been wondering who the Daeli and the Vierans were trying to weaken with this blockade, and now I believe it could very well be the Paarese. The siege weapons the captain seemed so interested in will probably see the walls of Ocia. Perhaps he even thought that as a Callirian, I'd be biased against the Vierans.”

Nelvel swallowed his saliva loudly. “What... what does that mean?”

“Who knows. They may act under the guise of mercenaries for now, or try to incite indignation and rebellion against Daeli influence. What we can assume, however, is that there won't be a Paarese army marching through the Vieran lands with siege towers and whatnot. Most likely, they intend to buy and build their siege engines here, in secrecy, or at least, make sure that they can provide tools to whoever they'll be backing.”

The slave thought for a moment. Even if he was wondering why would Paar risk a siege, or why would someone incite them to siege Ocia, he probably didn't need Demnir's input. Having spent time in Paar, Dael, and perhaps other countries, he should have been aware of the lay of the land, of the populations, of the diplomatic treaties. Especially aware of the lack of cultivable land in Paar, of the Daeli dreams of conquest, of the non-aggression pacts between nations that hated each other, and who would do their best to find ways around said pacts.

“Ah...” Demnir stretched his arms and gazed at the ceiling. “I hope I'm right about all this. And if I am... I can't wait to see how it'll unfold.”