Page 37 of Sword & Shadow
Her green eyes sparkled. “You’ll oblige me then?”
“It’d be my pleasure.”
CHAPTER NINE
Built into a valley between the rocky hillsides dotted with emerald trees, the city of Blacklion greeted them like a ghost. The fog sapped all color from its stone walls and buildings. A jagged, muddy path wove its way to the rusty iron gate. It was as though the moment they’d exited the forest, the world had turned a gradient of grays and browns.
The guards at the gate eyed them suspiciously, asking far too many questions about their visit, only allowing them through once Auden slipped a dozen strange copper coins their way. When Deckard asked about the currency, the Mage brushed it off.
“With a millennium of Auldan coins floating around, neither Wauld nor Ephria deemed it worth curating a completely new royal mint,” he explained. “However, there are copper mines aplenty in the southwest, and the managers decided to take their overabundance of copper, cut it with tin, and create these—” He held up one of the coins, its once-shiny face dulled with age. It bore the symbol of a goat’s head wearing a crown of twigs. “They’re called nanny farthings, or nannies for short.”
Deckard tipped up a brow. “A regal name,” he said in the Waulden lilt.
Auden grinned. “They’re viewed as somewhat traitorous in the eyes of the king, since they’re a currency created without his approval or the backing of his treasury. However, by the time he’d learned of their existence, it was too late. They’d spread throughout the whole of the South and even up into central Wauld. Now, they’re viewed as a commoner’s coin. You couldn’t pay a reputable man with them, but they’ll work just fine for daily provisions or simple bribes.”
He tucked the coin back in his pocket. “I brought a bagful on our journey, knowing we’d likely need them.”
“Why the goat?” Deckard asked.
“The copper mines are located within the Vaulgan Mountains, notably rife with Vaulgus goats. They overpopulate the area so much that they’re more of a nuisance than a resource. Granted, their fur makes for quite soft knits.”
Moving through the dirt streets of Blacklion, Deckard stuck close to Auden’s side, warily taking in the foreign sights and people. Learning about the goats and the coins of their name left him keenly aware of just how little he knew of the Waulden people’s lives. And how easily he could be identified as an outsider. Had someone mentioned something as ordinary as “nannies” to him, he would have readily made a fool of himself.
Deckard vowed to keep his mouth shut in the settlements of Wauld from then on.
The city was a maze of corridors and moss-covered buildings. Everything was built close together with only minimal dried patches of grass or spindly, barren trees. The citizens wore weary and haggard expressions, the majority of them in plain, well-worn garments of charcoal gray or terrae brown. Men patrolled the streets, hands on their weapons and embroidered patches on their breasts.
“Who are those men?” Deckard whispered.
“In the plum-colored coats?”
“Yes.”
“Liege officers,” Auden said. “They’re appointed by the nobility to police their fief. You don’t want them to catch you paying with nannies.”
“What about the guards at the gate?”
“They aren’t liege officers. They’re Cityguard, and they take their jobs less seriously. Probably due to their lower pay.”
Deckard watched as two liege officers walked into a shop, several customers vacating within seconds of their arrival. “I take it they’re not well-liked,” he remarked.
Auden scratched his beard, tempering his smile. “Certainly not.”
They entered a general store, its windows less grimy than many others. A chipper voice greeted them from the back. The interior was more refined than Deckard had expected, with plastered walls and polished floors. Dozens of shelves lined the shop, each one decorated with organized symmetry. Dry goods, basic groceries, toiletries, home supplies, and even finer luxuries filled the shelves and bins.
While Auden bartered with the shop clerk, a tall, spindly blond man with the thickest Waulden accent he’d yet heard, Deckard perused the nearest shelf. He was surprised to find it covered in paintings, wood carvings, ceramic sculptures, and other handmade decorative pieces. A porcelain tea set dominated the display, featuring intricate yellow flowers painted on each cup and the pot. Deckard didn’t recognize the variety, wondering if the flora was unique to the western half of the continent. He glanced at the price tag, and his brow rose. Who could afford such a frilly luxury?
The door opened, and it seemed his thoughts had summoned one such man. He wore a scarlet brocade waistcoat, his dark hair neatly swept back from his lightly aged face. With his shouldersback and chin held high, he approached the counter even as Auden spoke with the clerk.
The newcomer cleared his throat, bringing their exchange to a halt. Unconcerned with his rudeness, the man ignored Auden as he slid a slip of paper to the shop clerk. It bore a short note and a wax seal on its bottom edge.
“Ah, yessir,” the clerk said, his voice taking on a stuttering quality. “Righ’ away, sir.” He turned, paper in hand, and departed behind a curtain to the back of the building.
Quiet descended in the room. Auden and the well-dressed man waited side by side at the counter. Deckard expected some small talk to engage between them, but Auden took a deferential step back as though abdicating his right to service.
The clerk reappeared, a square parcel in his hands.“’Ere yeh are, sir,” he said, gently placing the brown paper-wrapped package on the counter. “An’ please tell Duke Obel, tha’ anytime he needs anythin’, I’ll get it for ’im.”
At the mention of the nobleman’s name, Auden stiffened but remained silent.
