Chapter 5: Fraud

Larean had a good feeling about the day.

For summer in the desert, the weather was actually quite pleasant. Thin wisps of clouds in the sky kept the worst heat of the sun at bay, and the sandstorm he had seen on the southern horizon in the morning had shifted in the other direction, sparing Jai Karal from being blasted once again by a billion tiny shards of sand.

Of course, if every grain of quartz were worth even a fraction of a scalii, he’d have vanished into luxury years ago, leaving the dust and the oppressive heat behind.

He had set up shop in the market quarters long before sunrise, hoping to secure a reasonably good spot close to the Square of Traders. Instead, he had managed to get a place for his booth right on the square itself. That was more than he could have hoped for and would surely give him the chance to sell not only to the peasants and traders of the city but also to the noblemen of Jai Karal.

Making money was important, by whatever means he could. Despite being twenty-three years old, he was still working for his father, slowly scraping together enough to open his own business. But it was slow going, and he would have to slave away for the old man for at least another year before he had enough to set up a booth of his own. It wasn’t the stall itself or the wares he would trade that were the biggest expense, but the license he had to pay the nobles for the privilege.

The market quarters were a busy place. There were a hundred booths on the Square of Traders alone, with a thousand more lining the streets surrounding it. Merchants shouted prices and deals to anyone walking by, peddling everything from Agerian perfumes to live hens.

Well, perhaps not everything everything was for sale here. Some things were instead traded in the darker corners of the city, far from the noblemen's eyes, in places where the rich and powerful would never be seen.

Of course, that made the darkness of those corners very helpful indeed, when the high and mighty came calling anyway.

Larean found the cacophony in the market invigorating. There was life here. People to meet, news to overhear, and scents to smell—a thousand fragrances from every corner of the known world. He could go on a dozen adventures just by walking to the other side of the square.

Not to mention the money he could make here.

Let’s never forget the money.

He was quite happy his father wasn’t in the poultry business, though. Packing up after a day of selling jewelry from all over Taeron was a whole lot easier than cleaning up after live birds.

Then again, if the chicken farmer failed to sell his stock, he wouldn’t go hungry. He could just eat his hens. Larean had to make sure he sold his allotment for the day, or he wouldn’t get supper when he came home in the evening. The small lunch package that his mother had sent with him, now sitting beside him wrapped in a brown cloth, wouldn’t last him until breakfast.

Greedily, he eyed the juicy sandwich that Jolmar in the booth next to his had sitting in the back, stuffed between boxes of melons and trays of grapes. But no matter how tasty it looked, appropriating it was probably not the best of ideas.

Obviously, he had never done such a thing in his entire life. Not Larean, no. Of course he hadn’t.

Despite the bustling, chaotic nature of the market square, with people continuously coming and going, there were surprisingly few thieves around. Well, if you didn’t count the traders themselves, he thought smugly. In every corner and at every crossroad, a group of soldiers kept a steady watch over the proceedings, making sure everyone visiting the Square of Traders was safe.

The military was the backbone of the Nimean Compact. Not that the Compact had any intention of expanding outside the Burn, but situated as it was, bordering both the Agerian Empire in the northwest and the Derimar tribes in the northeast, its position was precarious, and it paid to be prepared for all eventualities. The Compact kept to itself, but woe to anyone who dared to trespass on the precious sands of the Nimean Burn.

At least someone thought the quartz was worth something.

The Derimar tribes themselves were not really a concern. In fact, Larean held a certain respect for them. Up until five centuries ago, the Nimeans had been tribal themselves, before they united in the Compact. And beyond their shared social heritage, the Derimar were valuable trading partners, with the gemstones they mined in the northern mountains providing Larean and his father with a steady source of income when polished and set in jewelry made from precious metals. Or, in some cases, painted lead, depending on the customer.

No, the real threat to the Compact was the Cold Edge. Or, to be more precise, the Agerian Empire’s inability to cross it. The mountain range stretched all the way from the Sea of Rage in the north down to the Nimean Burn. If the Empire ever truly set its mind to invade Derimar, the easiest route would be to march past the southern foothills of the Cold Edge.

And that would mean invading the Nimean Compact along the way.

Larean glanced at the soldiers positioned in the market square, mostly thankful for their presence. Not only were they protecting perfectly honest traders like himself from thieves and robbers, but they also protected the stout-hearted men and women of the Compact from the real criminals out there—the Lion of the Agerian Empire, and his merry men.

So far, the sales had gone about as well as Larean had expected, given his promising position on the square. He had counted his good fortunes when he had managed to sell a set of twelve Derimar bracelets, all part of a series, to a traveling trader from the Agerian River Plains. But looking up from his booth, Larean realized his luck was about to take another turn for the better.

This was truly his lucky day.

Approaching his stall was Jayman Raol—Count Jayman Raol, Larean corrected himself—together with his full entourage of advisors, concubines, and, most important of all, his treasurer.

“Welcome, sir, to my humble shop,” Larean greeted the nobleman, standing up from his chair as a sign of slightly less than sincere respect for the well-dressed and very rich man in front of him.

“Everyone knows you’re a man of the most refined taste, sir,” he continued, making sure to butter up the Count properly before even thinking about making a sale. “How can the beautifully crafted items you see in front of you enrich your splendid home today?”

Count Raol didn’t say a word. He looked at Larean with a certain amount of disdain, before quickly glancing at the jewelry in bronze, gold, and silver lying on the plum-colored cloth covering his sales desk.

It was immediately apparent the Count was not impressed by the collection.

Realizing he was about to lose the biggest sale of his life, Larean decided it was finally time to bring out the special items. There was simply no other choice now.

“I can see your discerning eye has already noticed that the expensive ornaments I sell to the generals and bankers of Jai Karal are not up to the standards of a man of your extraordinary standing.”

“Perhaps, if I may, sir,” Larean continued as he ducked down behind his desk to bring forth the small wooden chest he had stuffed under there, “I could interest you in the special items you can find at Larean Onyx’s, and only at Larean Onyx’s jewelry booth?”

He repeated his name, making sure Count Raol would never forget him, in case he ever found himself in want of Larean’s products again. The pitch piqued the nobleman’s interest.

Larean gathered the gold and silver trinkets resting on the purple cloth, wrapping them carefully inside for protection, before placing the wooden box on top. Slowly and meticulously, making sure to convey to the Count the importance and exclusivity of the contents, he unlocked the small chest.

He found himself sweating a little. Which, considering the burning sun high in the sky, probably was to be expected.

Surely the sun was the reason.

When he opened the box, a ray of light glinted on the polished metal of the treasure inside.

“Hm,” said Count Raol. It was the first word, if you could call it that, the nobleman had spoken since arriving at the booth.

Larean lifted up a small golden medal, hanging from an intricate chain made of alternating links of silver and gold. In the center of the medal was a large diamond, surrounded by a ring of smaller rubies.

“It was the find of a lifetime, sir,” Larean explained. “I was lucky enough to help a Derimar chief visiting our fair city, which, I must add, prospers under your wise rule, if I may say so. Anyway, he had the bad luck of almost getting cheated by one of my less honest colleagues here, and when I intervened, he allowed me to buy one of his most treasured possessions at a very friendly price.”

“This is it,” Larean continued, holding up the golden object. “There’s only one of these in the world. As you can see, the diamond the medal is designed around is likely the largest in Jai Karal. This piece of jewelry would make your eminence stand out among all your fellow counts in the northern territories.”

He handed the medal to the Count, who proceeded to inspect it from all angles. He held it up to the light, marveling at how the white rays of the sun broke through the transparent surfaces of the diamond and reflected back in all the colors of the rainbow.

Without a word, Count Raol gave a brief, dismissive gesture to his treasurer, who immediately stepped forward to handle the transaction. The sale was a done deal. Careful not to give away his feelings, Larean took the rather substantial bag of scalii the old, crusty man handed him and stuffed it into his pants.

He probably should pack up his booth early today, Larean thought. And maybe, just maybe, leave town tonight for an unannounced visit to Uncle Olar in Jai Morag.

But remembering Aunt Etari’s stewed beets, Larean thought better of it.

* * *

Very early the next morning, Larean was brutishly awoken by a loud knock at his door, followed by a barking voice ordering him to come out immediately, on the orders of Jayman Raol, Count of Jai Karal.

Scrambling and failing to get dressed, he was dragged into the street by two Compact soldiers who smashed in the door and simply grabbed him, without any sense of decorum whatsoever. The rude treatment didn’t stop there. After binding his hands with thick ropes, the guards pushed him down the street to a waiting wagon—and not at all the kind of carriage you’d use when entertaining ladies. No, this was, as he cleverly deduced after spotting the bars covering its small windows, a prison transport.

The trial was short, as it should be. After all, justice in the Nimean Compact was swift and decisive, especially when said justice involved counts and their ilk. Though if Larean had had a say in the matter, he would have appreciated a little more trial and a healthy dose of justice added to the process. As it was, the magistrate simply declared that Larean Onyx, son of Olmar Onyx, had sold a polished piece of the Old Ones’ warm ice to Count Raol of Jai Karal, fraudulently claiming it to be a diamond, and that the sentence for such a hideous crime was death—as were most punishments for hideous crimes in the Compact. And considering all crimes against the counts were by definition hideous, heads tended to roll on a regular basis in the Jais.

Things didn’t slow down from there. Just a little over an hour after snuggling safely at home in his soft, warm bed, Larean found himself sitting on his squatted legs in front of City Hall, with his head secured in a very uncomfortable slot that was part of the Count’s guillotine. It was not, he thought, his best moment. Counting his blessings, at least he didn’t think Daurola was out doing her shopping this early. Explaining his current predicament to her would require something of a miracle. On the other hand, Olaura was a morning person. And so was Illistra…

If they all showed up together, he was probably better off letting the Count have his fun with him.

But despite all appearances, the day would turn out a whole lot better than it had begun.

From the north-western horizon, an object, shining bright like the desert sun, suddenly appeared in the sky, streaking silently across the heavens to the east. Behind it roiled a tail of dark smoke, like that coming off a burning arrow shot high into the air by the city guards. All around him, people—including his jailers and the executioner—pointed and gawked in awe at the strange sight above, suddenly oblivious to events on the ground.

If only he could get rid of the ropes binding him, Larean thought, trying to untangle the cold tendrils of fear gripping his heart. If only he could free himself somehow…

Just as that thought entered his mind, there was a sudden sound coming from the sky, a boom like thunder that shook the ground. For a second, he was afraid the blade of the guillotine would come loose and fall down, ending his attempt at evading the Count’s version of justice as quickly as it had begun.

But the contraption of death he was secured in held, and Larean could safely continue focusing on escaping it. Closing his eyes, he saw in his mind a vast fabric, stretching across the sky. As he desperately plucked at it with his imagination, it stretched into a funnel until he could touch it with his hands.

His hands… his hands were burning. Sparks danced along the ropes binding them to the wooden frame of the guillotine. Suddenly, the hemp fibers in them burst into flames, incinerating the cords.

He was free.

Before the thing in the sky disappeared into the sunrise, Larean Onyx had vanished from sight into the milling crowd of would-be onlookers.

Everything would work out just fine.

Author's Note

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