Chapter 05: The Merchants' Day

Isabella emerged from the house a few minutes later, holding two small leather purses that she jingled discreetly. Arthur and Mordred exchanged a surprised look - their aunt usually guarded their money so preciously that she counted every copper coin.

- "Come on, boys," she said with a mischievous smile. "We're going to the village. It's a special day, after all."

The journey to BrowStone was livelier than usual. Even from a distance, they could see unusual activity, additional smoke was rising above the rooftops, and a hubbub of voices carried in the morning air. When they finally reached the central square, Arthur held his breath in amazement.

The transformation was spectacular. The usually empty space now swarmed with feverish activity. Enormous iron-wheeled wagons were arranged in a circle, their colorful canvas covers flapping in the wind like banners. Between them, dozens of stalls had sprung up as if by magic, overflowing with exotic goods that caught the eye with their bright colors and unknown shapes.

Shimmering fabrics hung from wooden posts, heady-scented spices perfumed the air, and everywhere echoed the calls of merchants praising their wares. The inhabitants of BrowStone wandered between the stands with the wondering eyes of children, timidly touching precious fabrics, sniffing rare spices, fiercely bargaining over the price of a jewel or tool.

Isabella stopped in the center of the square and took out the two purses from her satchel. She handed one to each boy, ignoring their stunned looks.

- "Fifty festis each," she announced simply.

- "Aunt Isabella!" Arthur protested. "That's far too much! We can't accept..."

- "That sum represents months of savings!" Mordred added, his eyes wide. "You need it more than we do!"

Isabella shook her head with a determination that brooked no contradiction.

- "Listen to me, both of you. Arthur is celebrating his eighteenth birthday today, and Mordred leaves for the army in a few days. When will I have another chance to spoil you a little? And besides," she added with a tender smile, "your uncle Gareth would have insisted. He loved these market days."

She stuffed the purses into their hands before they could protest further.

- "You have free rein until tonight. Have fun, buy what pleases you, but be in front of Thorn's inn at seven o'clock sharp for the evening meal. And no mischief!" she added with a conspiratorial wink.

Arthur and Mordred exchanged another look, then separated in silence, each going off to explore the market's wonders in a different direction. Arthur slipped his purse into his satchel, next to the mysterious stone that never left him, and headed toward the stall that had attracted him since their arrival.

He knew these merchants well from seeing them every year since childhood. They traveled the Empire according to an unchanging itinerary, and Stonebrown was traditionally their last stop before returning to the big cities for winter. Arthur had learned their names over the years, observed their merchandise evolve, listened to their travel tales with the fascination of a child dreaming of distant horizons.

Orel's stall was situated near the central fountain, in the most prestigious location. The merchant specialized in goldsmithing and fine jewelry, and his stand sparkled with a thousand lights under the morning sun. Necklaces with delicate chains sat alongside rings set with colored stones, while complex earrings hung from velvet displays.

A small group of village women had gathered in front of the stall, marveling at the displayed wonders. Orel himself was a mature man with carefully combed graying hair and the fine hands of a craftsman. He wore a blue wool tunic adorned with silver embroidery, a sign of his prosperity.

- "Look at this ring, ladies!" he was saying, brandishing a ring set with a green stone. "This is genuine emerald, imported from the Southern mines! And this brooch, admire this filigree work! It's the latest fashion in Drakemoor, all the court ladies wear similar ones!"

Arthur waited patiently for the crowd to disperse a bit, then approached the stall. Orel looked up and his face lit up with a smile of recognition.

- "Well, well! Arthur! What a surprise to see you here, my boy. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? Are you looking for a jewel for your aunt? She would certainly deserve a little present, that saintly woman."

- "Good morning, Master Orel," Arthur replied politely. "Actually, I'm not here to buy this time. I would rather have something that might interest you."

The merchant raised an intrigued eyebrow.

- "Really? And what might that be?"

Arthur glanced at the women who continued to examine the jewelry, then leaned toward Orel.

- "I found a stone... a particular one. But I can't show it in public. The people here are superstitious, and since it comes from the Cursed Ridge, they'll believe it's cursed without even looking at it."

Orel observed Arthur attentively, gauging his sincerity. Then he turned to his customers.

- "Ladies," he announced in a loud voice, "I must temporarily close my stall for urgent business. But don't hesitate to come back in an hour, I may have received new pieces!"

The women dispersed with disappointed murmurs, and Orel quickly began putting away his most precious jewelry in velvet cases.

 - "Come," he said to Arthur, "let's go up to my caravan. We'll be more comfortable there."

He guided Arthur toward one of the large wagons, whose interior had been fitted out as a veritable traveling shop. Secret drawers opened in the walls, revealing compartments filled with gems and precious metals. A precision scale sat on a small table, next to a magnifying glass and various evaluation instruments.

- "Well," said Orel, settling in comfortably. "Show me this famous stone."

Arthur carefully took the stone from his satchel and placed it on the table. The effect was immediate and spectacular. Orel froze, eyes wide, mouth agape with stupefaction.

- "By all the gods of commerce..." he murmured. "What is that thing?"

- "That's exactly what I'd like to know," Arthur replied. "I found it in the forest, and it's been intriguing me ever since."

Orel extended a hesitant hand toward the stone, then stopped.

- "May I?"

Arthur nodded, and the merchant delicately lifted the object. He examined it from every angle, turned it in the light filtering through the caravan window, scrutinized the dark veins that ran beneath its surface.

- "Extraordinary," he muttered. "I've never seen anything like it. This golden color... and this perfect form... It almost looks like..."

He stopped and pulled a small metal file from his pocket.

- "Allow me a test," he said to Arthur.

He lightly tapped the stone's surface with the tool. The crystalline sound that resulted made both men jump. It was the same melodious chime that Arthur had discovered a few days earlier, but amplified by the acoustics of the closed caravan.

Orel's face transformed. All trace of wonder disappeared, replaced by an expression of perplexity tinged with worry.

- "My boy," he said slowly, "this is neither gold, nor silver, nor any precious stone I know. And believe me, I've seen all sorts in thirty years of trade."

He put the egg back on the table and stepped back slightly.

- "I'm not even sure of the value of this... thing. To be honest, I'm not certain I want to take the risk of buying it. It's too... unusual."

Arthur felt his heart sink. He had hoped that Orel could enlighten him about the nature of his find, perhaps even offer him a price that would solve his family's financial problems.

- "However," the merchant continued after a moment of reflection, "I cannot deny that it's strikingly beautiful. For its pure aesthetic value, and assuming there are no... complications... I could offer you fifty festis for it."

Arthur contemplated the stone for a long time. Fifty festis! That was exactly the sum Isabella had just given him, instantly doubling his pocket money. He could buy medicine for his aunt's cough, new tools for the farm, maybe even something beautiful for Mordred before his departure...

His hand reached toward the stone, ready to close the deal. But the moment his fingers touched the golden surface, he felt a strange reluctance wash over him. Something in him refused to part with it, as if this stone was already part of him.

- "No," he said finally, putting the stone back in his satchel. "I can't. Not yet."

Orel shrugged with a polite smile.

- "As you wish, young man. But if you ever change your mind before we leave, don't hesitate to come see me again. My offer remains valid."

- "Thank you, Master Orel. I wish you a good day."

Arthur left the caravan and found himself in the market's bustle. He wandered between the stalls, stopping here and there to admire curiosities from afar: spices with unpronounceable names, fabrics with exotic patterns, tools forged according to techniques unknown in the region.

He finally stopped in front of a confectionery stand run by a smiling old woman. The stall overflowed with sweets of all kinds: nougats with dried fruits, hazelnuts coated in caramel, candied fruits brilliant as jewels. Arthur spent a few copper coins and left with a bag of various treats.

He settled on the church steps to taste his purchases while observing the square's animation. The spectacle was fascinating: the inhabitants of Stonebrown, usually so measured, were letting themselves go with an almost childlike excitement before the displayed wonders. Children ran between the stands shouting with joy, their parents following them with tender but vigilant eyes.

Arthur smiled seeing little Tam, the son of blacksmith Harrold, trying to chase his friends despite being barely four years old. The kid ran with all his might, cheeks red with effort, when one of his older companions tripped him. Tam sprawled full-length in the dust, got up crying, then charged back with touching determination.

This scene brought Arthur back years, when Mordred and he ran the same way on this same square. How many times had they fallen like that? How many times had Isabella had to clean their scraped knees and dry their tears? These memories suddenly seemed precious, tinged with the nostalgia that comes with the passage of time.

The day passed peacefully. Arthur continued his stroll between the stands, sometimes buying a small object that intrigued him, but mostly spending his time listening to conversations, observing people, soaking up this particular atmosphere of market days.

The sun was already declining when he headed toward Thorn's inn. The establishment, usually almost empty except on feast days, now swarmed with activity. The main hall had been enlarged by opening all the partitions, and additional tables had been set up to accommodate the crowd.

Arthur spotted Mordred sitting at a table near the window, in the company of Selena. His cousin was radiant with happiness, holding the young girl's hand across the table while murmuring sweet words to her. Selena was blushing and laughing, obviously over the moon.

- "So," Arthur called out approaching with a teasing smile, "this is the good life?"

Selena looked up at him and her face instantly lit up. She jumped from her chair and hugged Arthur with sincere affection.

- "Arthur!" she exclaimed. "Happy birthday! Mordred told me you turned seventeen today!"

- "Thank you, Selena. And thank you for making my cousin so happy. I'd never seen him smile so much."

She turned toward Mordred with a tender look, then back to Arthur.

- "I have to leave before father sees us together," she said regretfully. "But we'll meet again later, won't we?" she added, addressing Mordred.

She leaned down and placed a tender kiss on her beloved's forehead, then disappeared into the crowd before anyone could notice her.

Arthur sat facing his cousin, who still wore a blissful smile.

- "You look like a man who found treasure," he joked.

- "That's exactly it," Mordred replied seriously. "I still can't believe she loves me as much as I love her."

They chatted while waiting for Isabella, discussing their respective purchases and discoveries of the day. Around them, the inn gradually filled. Village inhabitants mingled with merchants, recognizable by their good-quality clothes and cosmopolitan manners. But Arthur also noticed the presence of several imperial soldiers, easily identifiable by their red and gold tunics and regulation swords.

Conversations became animated, fueled by alcohol and the day's excitement. It was then that one of the merchants, a corpulent man with a ruddy face, raised his voice a bit too loudly:

- "Frankly, I don't know if we'll come back this way next year! The roads are becoming more and more dangerous!"

A worried silence fell over the neighboring tables. The inhabitants of Stonebrown exchanged anxious looks - the annual arrival of merchants was a crucial event for their local economy.

- "What do you mean?" asked Malonne the butcher, visibly concerned.

- "Vrath attacks are multiplying!" the merchant explained, waving his beer mug. "They're coming out of their holes more and more often, pillaging caravans, massacring travelers! We lost three convoys just last month!"

Angry grumbles rose among the villagers.

- "And what is our good emperor doing to protect us?" sarcastically called out blacksmith Harrold.

Several imperial soldiers turned toward him with threatening looks, and Harrold quickly lowered his eyes to his mug.

Another merchant, older and more measured, spoke up:

- "The problem is that Tawaye attacks are also multiplying. These rebels have made a pact with the Vrath to sow chaos throughout the Empire. Our forces are scattered on all fronts."

- "Fortunately Emperor Cinereus is doing everything possible to protect us!" intervened a third merchant. "Without him, our villages would all be exterminated already!"

This declaration was met with general laughter. All the present villagers burst out laughing loudly, and one of them called out mockingly:

- "And why not tell us the Phoenix Guardians are back, while you're at it!"

The hilarity doubled, but Arthur noticed that the merchant who had spoken was reddening with anger.

- "But really!" the man exclaimed, indignant. "It's the truth though! Even a child knows that!"

Arthur stood up, annoyed by the merchant's arrogance.

- "Master merchant," he said in a clear voice that carried throughout the inn, "just because someone claims a cloud is green doesn't make it actually green."

Murmurs of approval rose among the villagers, but before the merchant could reply, a familiar voice rose from the back of the room:

- "Well said, my boy!"

All eyes turned toward Kaer, the village tanner, who was slowly rising from his table. Arthur had always known him, this man of indeterminate age with graying hair and piercing eyes. Kaer was respected in the village for his know-how, but especially for his reputation as an extraordinary storyteller.

- "But now that we're talking about the Phoenix Guardians," Kaer continued in a voice that immediately captured attention, "do you know the truth about them? The real story of Emperor Cinereus?"

Absolute silence fell over the inn. Even the imperial soldiers leaned forward, intrigued despite themselves. Arthur felt his heart accelerate - he loved Kaer's stories, and this one promised to be exceptional.

The old tanner cast his gaze over the audience.

- "The world has indeed not always been as we have known it," he ruminated, taking a puff from his pipe.