Dangerous to grow…? Abruptly, Lerial recalls what Altyrn had said and how the elders of Verdheln used cammabark to blast away dirt and rock for roads … and how they’d used it against the Meroweyans at Faerwest. “What about lorken?”
“In smaller quantities,” admits Khaythor, with a smile that includes not just his lips, but his whole face and light green eyes. “Are there any stocks in Cigoerne?”
“If there are, they would only be known to the people of the Verd.”
“That’s too bad. One can scarcely make a profit when timber is eightdays by wagon from a river or the ocean.”
Lerial loses track of Mephaes’s response, because he hears two men somewhere behind him talking in comparatively low voices, and he is straining to catch the words.
“… you know Aenian House has an advantage…”
“… not if they don’t use it. Alaphyn is far better positioned to deal with the Austrans…”
“… what about the Nordlans?”
While Lerial recognizes the fact that the duke’s consort is from Aenian House, he cannot decipher anything close to the specifics of what he hears in passing.
“… always about transport, Mesphaes,” Khaythor continues. “It doesn’t matter if you have the goods, not if you can’t get them to those who want them cheaply…”
“But you have to obtain them with better quality or lower costs, don’t you?” asks Lerial amiably.
“Transport is just part of the cost.”
“Ah … here’s Lord Lerial!” Two more merchanters join the group. The speaker wears a white linen jacket over a pale green shirt, rather than the muslin overtunic favored by many of the merchanters, and he looks directly at Lerial. “Corsonnyl—not so much a merchanter as a builder of fine structures.”
“A merchanter of buildings and dwellings by any other name,” adds the shorter man with him, clad in a dark blue overtunic. “And I’m Sosostryn … and proud to claim to be just a merchanter of fine fowl. Any kind, any time.”
A merchanter of fowl? Does he raise them by the scores? Lerial nods. “I’m pleased to meet you both. What sort of buildings?”
“Any kind. I built this villa for Graemaald…”
Lerial listens as Corsonnyl declaims on the stones in Graemaald’s villa and how the stones employed, the purpose of a structure, and the location all must be considered in order to create the best possible building.
A set of chimes brings the time of refreshments to a close, and in moments Lerial finds himself seated at the long table, with Rhamuel at the head, Graemaald to the left of the arms-commander and Lerial to the right. On Lerial’s right is an older man, with thick gray hair, introduced to Lerial by Rhamuel as Fhastal, a merchanter of note, both in Shaelt and in Swartheld. Once several toasts have been offered, the first to Rhamuel, the second to Lerial, and the third in appreciation of all those who came on such short notice, Fhastal turns to Lerial.
“Have you been adequately introduced, or merely inundated?”
“Adequately introduced and occasionally inundated.”
“That is the nature of such dinners. One attempts to overwhelm with spirits, conversation, excellent fare, the obvious known, and the insignificant otherwise unknown, in an effort to gain an advantage that may never be used, but which will be remembered and held in case of necessity or mere opportunity.”
“Then,” replies Lerial with a laugh, “what obvious known and intriguing insignificant unknown will you present?”
“The obvious to all but you”—Fhastal smiles—“is that I trade in golds, silvers, and coppers. I provide letters of credit based on those, and take an interest in the resources of those who need ready credit or ready golds.”
“Then at times, you must have found yourself with interests in or in possession of almost every form of merchanting … and learned something, if not much, about each. That, in turn, since you are here, obviously enabled you to become even more astute.”
“Some might say so, but in the merchanting of golds, one single misstep can destroy one, just as a single grave misstep can destroy a ruler.”
“Or a commander in battle,” adds Rhamuel.
“Precisely.”
“And your insignificant but intriguing unknown?”
“That I once purchased some jewelry from your grandmere, and paid more than anyone thought I should have.”
“Was it worth it?”
Fhastal smiles once more. “I did not profit from the trade, but I more than profited from the knowledge.”
“And what might have been the profit from that knowledge?” Lerial asks lightly.
“Let me just say that I was one trader in golds and credits when I made that purchase. Now…” He shrugs.
Lerial looks pointedly at Graemaald.
The cotton merchant pauses, then replies. “He holds the largest countinghouse in Hamor, by any reckoning.”
That explains why Fhastal is seated where he is … or at least one reason. “That suggests that you maintain interests in far more than golds and credit.”