Catching up with an old friend

"It has been a fine year, my friend. I had plenty of trade, but I'd be lying if I said it has been an easy voyage." he said as he put the large bag down next to his chair and took his seat. "I must thank my old Fang over there. Everywhere we stop in Elgacai, there are locals gathering in crowds to look at him. I'm starting to doubt that they come to trade for my products and not just to get a chance to see Fang."

"How old is he now? I'm sure you put him through hell all these years. He probably traveled more than anyone else of his kind." said Lycaon.

"I have to admit that he's getting more laggard with each passing day, 'cause of his age and all that. You have to remember that he's older than us both." his face suddenly got serious. "We had some troubles with the raidons when we passed through the valleys to get here. Fang got scratched up pretty badly on the side, which is what caused my delay. I gave your town's doctor a visit, poor fella was scared out of his skin when I entered through the door with Fang behind me. That's why he doesn't look as bulky and daunting as he usually does."

"So what did you do to the raidons, did you escape them or..."

"Yes, I had to end one's life with my spear," he made a gesture. "I left it on Fang, don't want to get into trouble bringing weapons inside. It was the bastard that left him with that gash, bit down hard and had no intention of letting go. Off-putting that there are wild beasts like that so close to Melov'era, when you people never had such problems around here. Careful with those sheep."

"Let's hope they stay far away from the village, with autumn approaching, a pack of raidons would quickly become a grave matter for us." Lycaon glanced at the filled bag on the floor. "Rich harvest day today?"

"Aha, this here is just where I keep my most prized possessions, the rest is tied to the saddle. Even in peaceful towns such as yours, it's best not to flaunt."

"I guess Fang doubles as a guard as well?"

"And I tell you, some even tried. Not from around here, obviously, but when I was in Blackmurk, or thereabouts, some stupid boy thought the beast wouldn't see him grab a necklace that was hanging from the chest on his back."

"Lad lost his hand?"

"Up to the elbow, I heard he had to get it cut. Happened four years ago, if I remember well. But for the vast majority of individuals, the sight of Fang is enough to keep them at a safe distance." Mike pulled a hat from the bag. "Now I know you are not much of a spender, but I found this one near the continent's border, and thought it would fit you well, seeing as the one you are wearing now is all grungy. And 'cause we're great pals, I'll offer it at half the price!"

Lycaon took his straw hat off to compare it with Mike's and see if it really was as battered as he said. "This one suits me well enough, it would look wrong if only the hat was clean" he quipped. "But I'll buy it for Virgil, he always says the sun is bothering him at the orchard."

"Your brother is one step ahead of you, it seems, he already traded with me for one this morning. I'm sure you have a special someone you could still make a gift to."

In the end, Lycaon agreed and exchanged a woolen cloth he had with him as merchandise. Every villager in Melav'era did the same, and it wouldn't be unusual for there to be piles of random objects behind the counters of stores after a long day.

They conversed some more over a round of beer as midnight slowly approached. The town slowly lost its light as its inhabitants returned to their homes and went to rest for the upcoming day. Virgil stopped at the inn to catch up with his brother but, more importantly, to have another look at Fang.

Saul came by multiple times, only saluting Lycaon hurriedly as he dashed through the crowd, complaining about the people blocking the Bell's entrance and helping the innkeeper with the surge of visitors. Even inside, the tables were all full of customers, and some even sat directly on the floor, many of whom gathered around Gleeful Mike. He was still selling items deep into the night.

Avis was hanging out with her group of friends in a corner of the dining hall.

"So you gave a block of wood for one piece of cheese? And that's it?" Avis told her friend Marie. "Then why did I have to trade away a whole sack of potatoes? In what world is wood more expensive than potatoes?" she said as Marie munched on a wheel of orange cheese.

"Are you sure that it's safe to eat? That color doesn't look right to me."

Nah, it's because of ...*chomp*... the grass. It's probably ...*chomp*... orange grass."

Mike, where'd you get this wheel here?"

He was in the middle of at least two dozen people encircling him.

Uh, that one might be from a raidon, I think" he said loudly, making the whole inn laugh.

...

The traveling merchant was checking his list one last time, making sure he didn't miss any important goods he ought to purchase. Now he had four new sacks filled to the brim with newly obtained items, which he had to carry back to Fang with Saul's help.

Only one thing was left unchecked on his list, and that was the wine, which he always saved for last to avoid the unnecessary risks of carrying around town before leaving. In other places, Melov'era's wine was a greatly valued possession, sometimes even obtaining him a gold ingot worth of resources per bottle. The white ones would sell for most outside of the continent of Elgacai, with lords and barons being among the common consumers. The reds he would buy in even larger amounts to keep as basic currency around the neighboring cities and, as he liked to admit, take home for himself and his wife.

"As much as I'd like to rattle on with you guys 'til the sun comes up, my little buddy over there is not too keen to skip a night's worth of sleep, and I assure you, you don't want to see him in a bad mood." he said, trying to get the people to disperse.

After hearing these words, the crowd nervously looked out the window towards where Fang was sitting, licking his wound. Bit by bit, the people left Mike's side and either went back to their tables or outside.

"Works like a charm, I see. Don't let Wool catch a glimpse of him though, she'd bark for days on end."

The merchant made a gesture to the innkeeper, who was sitting at the counter, cleaning a wooden plate while listening to the conversation. Immediately, he put down the towel and approached Lycaon's table. With a practiced sleight of hand, he presented an old iron key to the two.

"The long awaited ceremony begins, right, innkeeper?" says Mike.

"No two ways about it." he responded.

They knew each other for a long time, probably before Lycaon was even born, as he always remembered the two as close acquaintances, even though no one else knew how the two had initially met. The subject would always be avoided by Mike when asked by the locals.

Together, the three of them went around and behind the bar as the others minded their own business. The door to the backroom is opened by a serving-maid, leading into a room almost the same size as the dining hall. While it was spacious, the actual room in which you could move was basically a tenth of its volume. Everywhere you looked, there were hundreds of piles of materials and all sorts of unusual objects that were used for trading with the customers for their meals and lodging.

Lycaon remained silent during the whole ordeal, as he would always do each year, following closely behind Gleeful Mike.

In Melov'era, the very rich, such as the innkeeper, would donate the unwanted resources, giving them to the young or to the sick who couldn't go to work. Truthfully, the innkeeper possessed the most items in the village by far, but only after dusk. When daylight came, his wife would donate the vast majority of the resources.

After traversing the cluttered room, they were met by another door, which the innkeeper opened without the need for a key. Inside this much smaller chamber, there was only one thing: an ancient-looking wooden cellar. It was a simple-looking, flat trapdoor that Lycaon figured was made more than a hundred years ago.

Mike lighted a candle. One swift click and creak of old wood later, the cellar opened. Behind them came close to ten servants and waiters to help with transporting the wine.

They must've passed by thousands of bottles and barrels of alcohol before arriving at the particular red the trader was so infatuated with.

Immediately, at the innkeeper's order, the servants started taking out as much wine as they could carry. In the meantime, the three went on to the white. The air around them got colder as they went deeper inside the cellar.

"This candle may flicker too much, or my eyes must be betraying me now, but do you see it too?" Mike asked with a trembling voice.

The innkeeper's moustache twitched. "Must be the devil's work..."

Lycaon was at a loss for words. On the shelf where the white wine was usually preserved, it was now empty, and when he peered closer, he said, "There's some sort of cavity in the wall here."