Mastery Is Earned

Brightwater was the capital of the County of Silvertide and one of the most important port cities in the Kingdom of Goldvale.

A large river flowed into the inner bay from the northwest, serving as the main inland shipping route. Several smaller rivers also emptied into the lagoon and the bay. A vast coastal lagoon lay near Brightwater. The local fishing economy depended primarily on the lagoon, rivers, wetlands, and bay.

The number of bandits roaming the County of Silvertide had recently increased, though the trade routes had not yet been seriously affected. The road between Blackstone and Brightwater was not particularly busy, and most of the bandits along it dared prey only on small merchants and lone travelers. They generally avoided large, well-guarded caravans.

The morning after reaching an agreement with Bob, Raymond and Henk joined his caravan with three wagons loaded with their spoils.

Bob had already hired three drivers for them. Raymond would pay their wages, food, and lodging in advance. Once the spoils were sold, those expenses would be deducted from the proceeds belonging jointly to Raymond and Henk.

The caravan consisted of eleven wagons. Besides the goods belonging to Bob, Raymond, and Henk, the merchant who owned the quarry had also arranged for two wagonloads of merchandise to travel with them to Brightwater. In addition to the eleven drivers, there were two caravan hands and seven mercenaries. Including Raymond, Henk, and Bob, the party numbered twenty-three people in all.

Law and order in Silvertide was not what it once had been, so Bob had hired seven mercenaries for the journey. All of them were locals from Blackstone, with more dependable reputations than mercenaries from elsewhere.

The caravan encountered no trouble along the way and arrived at Brightwater at noon on the seventh day.

The city was far larger than Raymond had imagined, and the air was heavy with a damp, briny smell.

The closer the caravan came to the city gates, the more congested the road became. Even from far away, they could see crowds of ragged people gathered along both sides, many accompanied by elderly people and children.

As the caravan passed, these people immediately crowded around with their children to beg for food. Many others held up battered tools and weapons as they asked whether the caravan needed more hands or guards.

The seven mercenaries remained close to the wagons, while the towering Henk walked grim-faced in the middle of the caravan. Some people kept their eyes fixed on the goods, but no one dared slip past the mercenaries and approach the wagons.

Raymond looked at the crude shacks outside the city gates, then walked over to Bob. “Where did all these people come from?”

“Who knows?” Bob sat on a wagon, sounding unconcerned. “They might be villagers from nearby, or they might be refugees from the north.”

“Were there always this many?”

“No. At least, there weren't nearly as many refugees the last time I came.” Bob studied the crowds on both sides of the road. “Judging by their clothes, quite a few are probably from nearby villages.”

“Nearby villagers? Why have they all come to the city?” Raymond asked.

“That I don't know.” Bob sighed. “All we can do is guard our purses and watch the goods. Once hunger drives people mad, there's nothing they won't do.”

Raymond returned to the middle of the caravan. Henk was still walking there, silent and frowning.

The road grew clear once they entered the security zone extending several dozen yards beyond the city walls. The guards evidently did not allow refugees to linger there. The disorderly shacks ended outside the cordon, leaving an open space before the gates.

Raymond and the others joined the queue several dozen yards from the entrance. They used a lane reserved for caravans, where tax collectors assessed duties according to the types and quantities of goods. Only after paying could a caravan enter the city and sell its merchandise.

They waited a long time before a tax collector finally came to inspect their goods.

“Well, Bob. Haven't seen you here in a while.” The tax collector recognized him and called out a greeting.

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“Business has been difficult lately. A lot of goblins have appeared around Blackpine Forest, so we can hardly get hold of any decent goods now,” Bob told him.

“Oh? You're having monster trouble too?” the tax collector asked curiously.

Bob raised an eyebrow. “Are there goblins in Silvertide as well?”

The tax collector waved a hand and laughed. “No goblins around here, but plenty of fishfolk. I hear they've been causing serious trouble lately. The catch is down, and some villagers have supposedly even been attacked by them. Who knows whether it's true?”

“Fishfolk attacks?”

“Never mind. Forget I mentioned it. What goods have you brought today?” The tax collector waved dismissively, then led several soldiers toward the wagons.

Bob calmly took out a list and handed it over. “Same arrangement as always. Everything on our wagons is listed here, so you can save yourselves some work.”

As Bob extended the list, Raymond saw several silver coins tucked beneath it.

The tax collector accepted the list, using it to conceal the coins as he slipped them into his pocket. After glancing over the inventory, he smiled. “Quite a lot of fine goods this time. Doing well for yourself, aren't you?”

“Hardly. It's all thanks to you looking out for me.” Bob laughed the remark off.

The two continued chatting, paying no attention to the other caravans waiting behind them for inspection. The soldiers accompanying the tax collector were all smiles as well, entirely unlike the cold faces they showed the other merchants.

Only after a lengthy conversation did the tax collector finish assessing the duties. Once Bob paid the required silver, the caravan was allowed into the city.

“The duties came to twenty-two silver coins in total. We're dividing the cost by the number of wagons, so your share is six silver coins,” Bob told Raymond earnestly once they were inside. “Remember to reimburse me later.”

Raymond nodded. “Of course. But aren't you including the gratuity you gave them?”

“No need.” Bob shook his head. “They only take money from people they know. You're a new face. If you tried handing them money directly, they might not accept it. They won't risk taking money from just anyone.”

Raymond understood what Bob meant. The silver coins Bob had handed over clearly had not purchased permission to enter. They had bought preferential treatment during the inspection and tax assessment. The collector and soldiers had accepted the money with practiced ease. This was obviously far from the first time they had taken payment from a merchant.

Once the caravan entered the city, the seven mercenaries soon went their separate ways.

Raymond and the others delivered the goods to a warehouse for temporary storage. The warehouse charged twelve copper coins per wagon per day.

“So, what do you plan to do next?” Bob asked Raymond and Henk after the goods had been stored.

“We'll look around the city, then start searching for buyers.” Raymond glanced at Henk before answering.

Bob nodded and warned him, “Don't let anyone see how much money you're carrying. This isn't Blackstone. In a city this large, once someone marks you as a target, your money might be gone before you even realize what happened. I'll be staying at the Salted Herring Inn for the time being. You can find me there whenever you need me.”

“Thank you.” Raymond nodded.

After parting ways with Bob, Raymond turned to Henk. “Where should we go next?”

“Find somewhere to eat.” Henk patted his stomach and grinned, exposing his canines.

Raymond laughed. “I was thinking the same thing.”

The two walked through the streets of Brightwater. Judging by the surrounding buildings and crowds, they were probably in the outer city. The air was thick with a strong fishy reek.

Every kind of person crowded the road: farmers in linen clothes, black-clad figures whose faces were hidden beneath hoods, and bare-chested porters waiting for someone to hire them.

What caught Raymond's attention most, however, were the full-figured young women in revealing clothes who leaned against wagons and beckoned to passersby. From time to time, drunken sailors approached, wrapped an arm around one of the women, and climbed directly into a wagon with her. Unrestrained moans and panting soon sounded from within.

Unlike the people of Blackstone, Brightwater's residents rarely stopped to stare at Henk, though some still showed fear when they saw him. People here appeared accustomed to the presence of half-orcs.

Vendors packed both sides of the road, their stalls displaying a wide variety of goods, many of which Raymond had never seen before.

Much of the seafood was brought to market near the harbor as soon as it came off the boats. Some vendors lit fires directly beside the road and cooked their catch while it was still alive, filling the air with rich aromas. After days of eating travel rations and dried meat, Raymond became hungry the moment he smelled the food.

“Why don't we eat right here?” Raymond swallowed as he stared at an enormous lobster fully three feet long and weighing twenty or thirty pounds.

“I was thinking the same thing,” Henk said.

The two sat down at a roadside stall and let the owner choose the dishes. The man scooped whitefish, shellfish, and lobster from his tanks. He told them the seafood had been caught by his family's fishing boat that very morning.

The seafood was larger and plumper than anything of the same kind Raymond had seen in his previous life. Even the simplest preparation was enough to make it delicious.

A lobster as thick as a man's thigh and an enormous crab were simply steamed, drizzled with the stall's special sauce, and served to the two men. The lobster meat was firm, springy, and delicious. Each of them also drank a bowl of milky-white fish soup.

The seafood was a complete change from the meat they had eaten throughout the journey. Raymond ate heartily and felt thoroughly satisfied by the end.

The lavish seafood feast cost only eighty-five copper coins, far less than Raymond had expected. The owner said the recent decline in the catch had already driven prices upward. Two months earlier, the same spread would not even have cost sixty copper coins.

If this inexpensive seafood could be transported to Blackstone and sold there, it would fetch several times its local price. Unfortunately, Blackstone was far from Brightwater. With the transportation available to them, most of the catch would rot and spoil before it ever reached the town.