Chapter 162. Oberys

"Ah, where are my manners? Please, please, sit," Oberys said, gesturing to the chairs around his table. "Any friends of Kellan's are most welcome here."

He snapped his fingers, and a serving girl appeared as if summoned by magic. Probably was magic, actually.

"Wine for our guests," Oberys said. "The good bottle. Not the swill we serve the tourists."

The girl nodded and vanished back into the crowd.

Adom settled into his chair, noting how Oberys had positioned himself so he could see the entire market while keeping his back to a solid wall. The others took their seats with varying degrees of comfort—Sam looked like he was trying not to touch anything, while Karion kept glancing around as if expecting an ambush.

"Now then," Oberys said, steepling his fingers. "Kellan, you must introduce me to your companions properly. I confess I'm quite curious about this little expedition of yours."

"Of course." Kellan straightened slightly. "Master Oberys, allow me to present Law"—he gestured to Adom—"my employer and the leader of our group. These are his associates: Gareth, Marcus, and Thomas."

Oberys's eyes fixed on Adom with the intensity of a jeweler examining a particularly interesting stone. "Law. How wonderfully simple. And so young! Tell me, my dear boy, is there some new magical enhancement on the market that keeps one looking so fresh? Or perhaps"—his smile turned speculative—"elven blood in the family tree?"

There was, technically. Somewhere on his mother's side, maybe two thousand years back, there'd been an elf who'd married into the family. The bloodline was so diluted it barely counted as a footnote in genealogy records.

Adom smiled. "Half-elven, actually."

"Ah!" Oberys clapped his hands together in delight. "I knew it! Those eyes gave you away immediately. Such an extraordinary shade of blue—like sapphires with fire trapped inside them. And that skin tone!" He gestured appreciatively. "I've been trading for three millennia, and I've never seen quite that particular caramel hue. Absolutely striking."

The man seemed to be using an artifact to make his words charm people. It was subtle. But it was there.

The serving girl returned with wine. Oberys poured, the liquid catching the amber light from the market's fungi.

"You're very kind," Adom said, accepting his cup. The compliment reminded him of the lutin at the bank who'd said something similar about his eyes.

Fire.

"Kindness has nothing to do with it," Oberys replied. "I simply appreciate beauty when I see it. Now, Gareth"—he turned to Sam—"that red hair is magnificent. Reminds me of a sunset I once saw over the Crimson Peaks. And those freckles! Like stars scattered across porcelain."

Sam's face turned approximately the same color as his hair. "Thank you, sir."

"Marcus," Oberys continued, focusing on Karion, "such noble bearing! You carry yourself like a knight from the old stories. Good breeding shows, doesn't it?"

Karion nodded stiffly. "You're too generous."

"And Thomas." Oberys's gaze settled on Damus. "The strong, silent type. I can always appreciate a man who speaks with his actions rather than his words. That intensity in your eyes suggests depths that would be fascinating to explore."

Damus simply inclined his head. Which was probably the most diplomatic response he could manage.

"Now then," Oberys said, settling back in his chair. "What brings such an interesting group to my little corner of commerce? Kellan mentioned you might have need of my services."

Adom reached into his inventory—the movement hidden by the table's edge—and produced an ornate wooden box. It was about the size of a jewelry case, carved with intricate patterns and bound with brass fittings. He set it on the table between them.

Oberys's eyes lit up like a child seeing birthday presents. "Ooh, magic! After three thousand years, you'd think the novelty would wear off, but it never does. Storage enchantments always make me feel like I'm witnessing genuine miracles."

He leaned forward, examining the box without touching it. "May I?"

Adom nodded.

Oberys opened the box with reverent fingers. Inside, nestled in velvet padding, were neat stacks of gold coins. The kind that caught light and threw it back in all directions.

"My," Oberys murmured. "How refreshingly direct."

The elf closed the box with a soft click and leaned back in his chair.

"Very generous," he said. "Though I confess I'm curious what sort of information commands such... substantial compensation."

"We're looking for someone," Adom said. "A woman who passed through here some time ago. She would have been traveling under an assumed name, probably presented herself as a merchant from the southern kingdoms."

Oberys's expression didn't change, but something shifted behind his eyes. The kind of shift that came from recognizing a description.

"I meet many merchants," he said carefully. "Could you be more specific?"

"Dark curly hair, blue eyes, pale skin. Mid-twenties. She would have been interested in acquiring warriors—skilled fighters, not common laborers. And she would have had the gold to pay for quality."

"Ah." Oberys smiled, and this time it reached his eyes. "Lady Aethel. Yes, I remember her quite well. Charming woman. Excellent taste in merchandise."

Damus leaned forward slightly. "You did business with her?"

"Oh yes. Quite a lot of business, actually." Oberys gestured expansively. "She purchased seventeen slaves from me over the course of two weeks. All fighters, as you said. Veterans, most of them. The kind that cost more than a small house but are worth every copper."

Adom kept his expression neutral, but his pulse quickened. Seventeen fighters. Added to whatever forces she'd already gathered elsewhere...

"She was very particular about her requirements," Oberys continued. "Had to see them fight first. Tested their skills personally, if you can believe it. Most buyers just trust my word, but she insisted on demonstrations. Quite impressive, actually—she clearly knew what she was looking for."

"Did she say what she needed them for?" Sam asked.

"Security work, she said. Protection for her trading ventures in dangerous territories." Oberys's smile turned wry. "She also asked me to put her in touch with my best weaponsmiths. And armorers. And an alchemist who specialized in... shall we say, more volatile compounds."

Oberys chuckled.

Karion frowned. "You helped her with all of that?"

"Of course I did. Business is business, and she paid very well for the introductions." Oberys spread his hands. "Besides, the woman was absolutely persuasive. Had a way about her that made you want to help, even when your better judgment suggested otherwise."

"Persuasive how?" Adom asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

"Charismatic. Intelligent. The sort of person who could convince you that black was white and have you thanking her for the education." Oberys's expression grew slightly rueful. "In fact, she convinced me to give her my entire stock of those particular fighters. Every last one. Even the ones I'd been planning to keep for special customers."

"She bought them all?"

"She did indeed. Cleaned me out completely and left me scrambling to explain to some very disappointed clients why their orders couldn't be filled." Oberys laughed, but there was a note of genuine admiration in it. "Brilliant negotiation, really. By the time I realized what had happened, she was gone with the lot of them."

Adom felt another piece click into place. She'd moved fast, taken everything available, left before anyone could ask too many questions. Classic Morgana efficiency.

"Do you have any idea where she might have gone?" he asked.

Oberys tilted his head, considering. The marketplace noise seemed to fade around their table as the merchant studied Adom's face with those ancient, calculating eyes.

"As a matter of fact," he said slowly, "I do."

Adom looked at him steadily, waiting. The silence stretched between them like a taut bowstring.

"Well?" he finally asked.

Oberys smiled and took a sip of his wine, savoring both the vintage and the moment. "Tell me, Law, what do you know about the nature of ambition?"

What was this about?

Adom studied the merchant's face, looking for tells. The man had gone from helpful information broker to philosophical interrogator in the span of a heartbeat. There was a purpose here, a direction Oberys was steering the conversation toward. But what?

He decided to indulge for now.

"I know it drives people to do things they might not otherwise consider."

"Indeed. And what separates the ambitious from the merely greedy?"

Karion shifted in his seat. Sam's eyes flicked between Adom and Oberys. Damus remained perfectly still, but his attention had sharpened to a razor's edge.

Adom felt like he was being tested, but for what?

"Vision," he said after a moment. "The ability to see beyond immediate gain."

"Excellent." Oberys leaned forward slightly. "Now, when someone of obvious intelligence and considerable resources begins acquiring skilled warriors in significant numbers, what might that suggest about their... vision?"

A trap question.

Oberys already knew what he thought it suggested. This was about drawing Adom into admitting something, or revealing how much he knew about Morgana's actual plans.

"That they're planning something that requires skilled warriors."

"Precisely. And when that same person also seeks out weaponsmiths, armorers, and alchemists specializing in volatile compounds, what additional conclusions might one draw?"

The conversation was shifting beneath him like quicksand. Each question built on the last, creating a logical chain that led somewhere Adom wasn't sure he wanted to go.

"That whatever they're planning involves more than simple defense."

"You have a quick mind. I appreciate that." Oberys set down his wine cup. "But before we proceed further, I find myself curious about another matter entirely. What is your take on all this, exactly?"

There it was. The real question. Everything else had been groundwork.

"We're just adventurers," Sam said. "I am not sure what you mean here."

"Ah, but adventurers come in many varieties, don't they? Some seek glory, others gold, still others knowledge or power or simple excitement." Oberys's gaze moved from face to face. "You, however, strike me as something rather different. More... purposeful."

Kellan remained silent, but Adom could see tension in the set of his shoulders. The guide was clearly uncomfortable with where this was heading.

"The woman you seek," Oberys continued conversationally, "Lady Aethel–as she called herself—she had that same quality. The sense that every action served a larger design. Most merchants think in terms of the next profitable quarter. She thought in terms of... well, shall we say longer horizons."

"What's your point?" Damus asked, his voice carefully neutral.

"My point, dear Thomas, is that I've spent multiple millennia watching patterns. Political currents. The rise and fall of kingdoms." Oberys picked up a grape from the small bowl beside his wine and examined it as if it held the secrets of the universe. "And lately, I've been observing some rather... interesting developments."

He popped the grape into his mouth and chewed.

"Have you been following the recent diplomatic movements? The Qínglóng Empire announced just last month that they would formally support Farmus in any future conflicts. Meanwhile, the Tirajin Confederacy has signed mutual defense pacts with Sundar. My little birds told me that the Northern Clans are mobilizing their ice-walkers for the first time in fifty years."

Adom felt a chill that had nothing to do with the underground air. "You're talking about alliance building."

"I'm talking about the same patterns I witnessed before the War of the Burning Skies. And before the Heighten Collapse. And before the Sunset Rebellion." Oberys's voice remained conversational, but his eyes had grown distant. "Kingdoms don't announce military support unless they expect to need it. Confederacies don't sign defense pacts unless they anticipate being attacked. And northern clans certainly don't mobilize ice-walkers unless they smell blood in the water."

Sam had gone pale. "You think there's going to be a war."

"I think there's going to be several wars, young Gareth. All connected, all feeding into each other like streams flowing into a river." Oberys leaned back in his chair. "The question becomes: who's orchestrating the flow?"

"Maybe no one," Karion said. "Maybe it's just... politics."

"Perhaps. But I've found that when multiple seemingly unrelated events begin trending in the same direction, there's usually an intelligent hand guiding the current." He paused, and looked at them with a knowing smile. "Which brings me back to my earlier question about what is your take on all this."

Adom could feel the conversation tightening around them like a noose. "Why does it matter?"

"Because I've also been observing another interesting pattern. Have you heard of the Wangara Merchant Guild?"

Adom kept his expression neutral. "Should we have?"

Oberys looked directly at him and chuckled. It was a bit unnerving.

As if he was mocking them.

"Perhaps not. They're relatively new—only five years in operation. But in that short time, they've accomplished more than guilds with centuries of history. Their investment choices are... remarkable. Almost prophetic, one might say."

"Prophetic how?" Karion asked, though Adom could hear the strain in his voice.

"They invested heavily in mana crystal mines just before the discovery of new veins tripled the ore's value. They cornered the market on Thessian steel three months before the kingdom announced massive military expansion. They bought controlling interests in seven different shipping companies just before a trade war made independent transport extraordinarily profitable. But that's not all."

Oberys began counting on his fingers.

"They purchased vast quantities of preserved food supplies just before crop failures drove prices through the ceiling in Anpokolous. They acquired mining rights to what everyone thought was worthless mountain territory, only to discover the largest celestium deposits in recorded history."

Sam frowned. "Lucky investments?"

"One or two might be luck. Three might be exceptional insight. Seven in a row?" Oberys laughed, but there was no humor in it. "That suggests something rather more interesting than mere fortune."

"Such as?" Damus asked.

"Such as someone providing them with information that shouldn't exist yet. Knowledge of future events, political decisions not yet made, discoveries not yet announced." Oberys picked up another grape but didn't eat it, instead rolling it between his fingers. "It's as if they knew the future. As if someone was whispering tomorrow's secrets in their ears."

The marketplace noise seemed to fade around their table. Adom became acutely aware of every sound—the clink of Oberys's rings against his cup, the distant haggling of merchants, the soft scrape of Damus's boot against the floor.

"Even I—and I pride myself on reading the political winds—even I saw some of their investments as pure madness. Who buys worthless swampland in regions everyone's abandoned? Who invests in experimental magical research that half the Academies considers useless?" Oberys finally ate the grape, his expression thoughtful. "And yet, somehow, every impossible investment becomes exponentially profitable."

"What does this have to do with us?" Adom asked, though he suspected he knew exactly where this was leading.

"Well, now. As members of the Phoenix Guild, that depends entirely on what your relationship to Wangara might be, since your guild operates under their support."

Adom frowned, his eyes immediately shifting to Kellan. The man was supposed to have prepared the terrain, made them anonymous. How much had this elf known from the start?

Oberys caught the look and chuckled, holding up a placating hand. "Please, don't be too harsh on poor Kellan. I've had several millennia to build a sufficiently comprehensive network. My little birds told me about your guild affiliation the moment you registered at the gates."

Kellan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but said nothing.

Oberys set down his cup and fixed Adom with those ancient eyes. "You see, if representatives of such a remarkably successful organization were suddenly interested in the same woman who recently purchased enough firepower to level a small city, well... that would suggest certain implications."

Adom felt like he was walking across a frozen lake, listening for the crack of breaking ice. Every word could be the one that sent him plunging into icy water.

"What kind of implications?"

"The kind that make an old merchant very interested in where to place his next investments." Oberys's smile was predatory now. "You see, I've been wondering about Wangara's remarkable success. Such prescient investment strategies don't emerge from thin air. They require either supernatural foresight or access to information others don't possess."

He leaned forward, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper.

"Now, imagine my fascination when I learn that this mysteriously successful guild might have an interest in a woman who's clearly preparing for something significant. A woman who thinks in the same long-term patterns I recognize from history's great players."

"Why does it matter?" Adom asked carefully.

"Because I am a merchant. I trade in goods, yes, but more importantly, I trade in information. And when patterns begin converging—when a mysterious woman gathers an army, when a prophetically successful guild takes interest, when political tensions rise across multiple kingdoms—well, that suggests opportunities for those wise enough to read the signs."

Oberys gestured broadly at the slave market around them.

"I've survived three millennia by understanding that knowledge is the ultimate currency. More valuable than gold, more powerful than armies, more lasting than kingdoms. And right now, I'm seeing the convergence of knowledge streams that suggest something monumentally profitable is about to unfold."

Sam looked sick. Karion's hand had drifted unconsciously toward his weapon. Even Damus, usually unreadable, showed tension in the line of his jaw.

The elf picked up his wine again, swirling the liquid thoughtfully.

"War is coming. I don't know when. I don't know exactly who will participate. But I can smell it in the wind like smoke from a distant fire. And wars, my young friends, create opportunities. For those positioned correctly."

"You're talking about profiting from suffering," Karion said, his voice tight with anger.

"I'm talking about reality, young Marcus. War happens whether I profit from it or not. The question becomes: do I position myself to help shape its outcome, or do I simply wait to be swept along by forces beyond my control?" Oberys's expression remained pleasant. "Your Lady Aethel understands this. She's gathering pieces for a game most people don't even realize has begun."

"And you want to know which side we're on," Adom said.

"I want to know which side will win."

He set down his wine and steepled his fingers.

"Wangara's success suggests they have access to information that allows them to position themselves advantageously before major events unfold. If they've taken an interest in Lady Aethel, it implies she's part of something significant enough to warrant their attention. The question is: are they backing Lady Aethel, or are they moving against her? Because whichever side they choose, that's where a smart merchant places his investment." He leaned back in his chair. "Which brings me back to my fundamental question."

His smiled broadened.

"What is Wangara's take on this?"

Hah.

Adom wasn't even angry at the elf's cunning. This was fair game. There were all sorts of people in this world, and staying in Sundar for so long had made him forget that he wouldn't be the only one with information, with agendas, with networks spanning continents. The good news though, was that this wasn't an enemy. Not necessarily.

Plus, Oberys still thought Adom worked for Wangara, and was not the owner of it. This meant his information network was limited, and Adom had hidden his assets well enough.

This was a game of "I have pieces of the puzzle you need, but I want to know how my pieces fit with yours before I share them."

Adom leaned back in his chair, studying the ancient merchant's face.

"We're with Lady Aethel," he said finally. "We need to find her. To help her."

Oberys's expression transformed like sunrise breaking over mountains. Pure delight spread across his features, and he clapped his hands together with enthusiasm.

"Excellent! Oh, this is perfect." He leaned forward eagerly. "Then I shall help you, of course. Information freely given to allies rather than sold to strangers."

He snapped his fingers, and the serving girl materialized beside their table with that same magical promptness.

"Lyra, clear your schedule. You'll be guiding our friends to Keth Valorn."

The girl nodded without question.

"Keth Valorn?" Adom asked.

"A small island about three days south by fast ship. According to my last intelligence, that's where Lady Aethel has established her primary base of operations." Oberys gestured expansively. "Beautiful location, actually. Easily defensible, excellent harbor, close enough to major shipping lanes to be convenient but far enough out to avoid unwanted attention."

"You're still in contact with her?" Damus asked.

Oberys laughed, amused. "Oh, heavens no. Lady Aethel struck me as far too careful to maintain unnecessary communication channels. But among the seventeen fighters I sold her, one happens to work for me as well."

Karion frowned. "A spy."

"A prudent investment in future information," Oberys corrected smoothly. "I've been in this business long enough to know that when someone purchases an army's worth of skilled warriors, someone else will eventually come asking questions. It seemed wise to ensure I could provide useful answers."

He picked up his wine again, swirling the liquid thoughtfully.

"She's been quite busy, your Lady Aethel. Gathering forces, acquiring ships, establishing supply lines. When she came to me three months ago, I suspected she was part of something significant. Having Wangara's representatives confirm it..." He smiled. "Well, it tells me exactly where to place my investments."

"You know about the fleet?" Sam asked.

"My dear boy, I know she's assembled 20 fast attack vessels, 7 heavy transports, and what my sources describe as a truly impressive flagship. I know she's recruited approximately three thousand skilled fighters from various markets across the continent. I know she's stockpiled enough weapons and supplies to outfit a small army for extended campaign." Oberys's eyes glittered with satisfaction. "What I didn't know was whether she was planning protection or conquest. Your presence suggests the latter, which is tremendously useful information."

Adom nodded.

"So you'll help us reach her?"

"Gladly! Lyra will arrange transport and provide detailed navigation to Keth Valorn. She knows the waters well." Oberys raised his wine cup in a mock toast. "Thank you, by the way, for confirming Wangara's involvement and allegiance. That tells me exactly where to invest my considerable liquid assets in the coming months."

"Happy to help," Adom said dryly.

"I do hope we can work together again in the future. Information exchanges can be so much more profitable than simple commercial transactions." Oberys's smile seemed genuine now, warmed by the prospect of future cooperation. "When this all settles—and assuming we all survive whatever's coming—I believe we could establish a very beneficial relationship."

The marketplace noise continued around them, the casual brutality of human commerce providing an oddly normal backdrop to their conversation about wars and alliances.

Then the sound changed.

It started as shouting, distant but growing closer. Then came the unmistakable ring of steel on steel, the crash of overturning stalls, the screams of people caught in sudden violence.

Oberys was on his feet before Adom could blink.

"Battle," he said, his voice sharp with alarm. "Here. In my market."

The sounds were getting closer. Much closer.