Chapter 25 Merchants

In the bustling port city of Castford north of Clifractia, nestled along the edge of a frozen sea, a group of merchants gathered. The crackling of a massive stone hearth filled the air with warmth, but the mood was far from settled. All eyes were on the ice-choked horizon, waiting for the inevitable thaw.

Marius, a stout merchant with a thick fur cloak and a sharp eye for trade, stood at the head of the long wooden table. He slammed a hand down on a map of Obelia, its frozen borders clearly marked.

"We've all heard the news," he said, his voice cutting through the low murmurs. "The ice will break soon, and when it does, Obelia will be desperate for supplies. The country is war-torn and filled with scum who bleed their coffers dry.

A thin, wiry man named Olin, who specialized in transporting grains from the southern farmlands, leaned forward. "They have minerals, yes, but what good are they when their nobles don't care about the people? Their soil is frozen, and the last reports from the traders say the nobles are paying ridiculous sums for basic provisions. If we time it right, we could make a fortune selling foodstuffs—grain, dried meats, salted fish—anything they need to get through the thaw."

A woman named Tyra, known for her sharp business acumen and control of one of the largest fleets in Clifractia, frowned. "But the journey to Obelia is dangerous, especially right after the ice melts. The Sea of Shards will still be treacherous, and rumors are that pirates are stalking the waters again. We risk more than just bad weather."

Marius grinned. "The greater the risk, the greater the reward. The nobles of Obelia will pay handsomely for food, and we have the advantage. They can't afford to turn us away. If we strike a deal with the lords, our route is still the same we will land in Rotengen."

A heavy silence fell over the room as the merchants considered this. Obelia's mineral wealth had always been tempting, but its harsh winters and internal strife kept most merchants away. Now, though, with the kingdom in turmoil and their own resources stretched thin, the opportunity seemed too good to pass up.

"We'll need protection," Tyra added, her tone calculating. "My ships are fast, but they'll need an escort if pirates are lurking. We can't risk losing a single crate of grain if we're to make this work."

Marius nodded. "Agreed. I've already spoken with some captains—mercenaries who know the route well. They'll safeguard our cargo in exchange for a share of the profits. It's a small price to pay."

The room buzzed with quiet discussion, each merchant calculating their own profits, weighing the risks against the potential gains. Finally, an older merchant named Jarek, who had spent years trading in Obelia before the war, spoke up.

--

The fire crackled softly in the dimly lit room, casting long shadows on the walls of Frosthaven's war council chamber. Caelan Greyheart, seated near the hearth, swirled the glass of wine in his hand, his brow furrowed in thought. Across from him, General Lysandra Drakos stood, her arms folded.

Caelan broke the silence, his voice measured. "I still don't understand why you admire him so much. Yes, he wiped out 60,000 men, but that doesn't make him invincible. Power like that is dangerous. Unpredictable."

Drakos didn't turn to face him but spoke quietly, her tone deliberate. "Admire him? It's not about admiration, Caelan. It's about recognizing what he's capable of. You and I have served long enough to know that force alone doesn't win wars. Strategy, timing, and vision do. And Martin has all of those."

Caelan leaned forward in his chair, setting his glass on the table with a soft clink. "Vision? Is that what you call these reforms of his? Appointing ministers to run Frosthaven, raising a new army while draining the coffers, growing grain fields with sorcery? Fancy reforms and flashy displays of power might work in the south, but this is Obelia. The people here are wary of sudden changes, and when word of that massacre spreads beyond our borders, do you really think other nations will sit idly by?"

Drakos finally turned, her expression calm but unyielding. "They won't sit idly by. I expect they'll come. But when they do, they'll find that Martin isn't some child playing with power beyond his understanding. He's smarter than you give him credit for.

Caelan's eyes narrowed, and he leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping the armrest. Drakos sighed, moving closer to the table, her hands resting on its edge as she spoke quietly. "It's not about repeating the same trick, Caelan. You've served long enough to know that wars are won through adaptation.

Caelan raised an eyebrow, his skepticism clear. "And what happens when the other nations see that? They'll view him as a threat, and Frosthaven will be the first target. You think grain fields and ministers will hold back armies?"

Drakos's eyes met his, her gaze unwavering. "I think Martin understands what most leaders don't. He's not building for the short term. He knows the other nations will come for him, and he's preparing for it. But he's not doing it through brute strength alone. He's creating stability—something Obelia hasn't had in years. And stability is harder to topple than you think."

Caelan chuckled softly, though there was no amusement in it.

Drakos stood straighter, her tone sharp but not unkind. "You're underestimating him. And that's dangerous. You think he's just another upstart, another noble with grand ideas. But you've seen what he can do, and I think you're scared of it. Not just the power, but the possibility that he's not the brat you want to believe he is."

Caelan was silent for a moment, watching the firelight flicker. His voice, when he spoke, was softer, more reflective. "Maybe. But I know one thing for sure—other nations will come, and when they do, we'll see just how stable this kingdom really is. If Martin can't protect our nation from what's coming, then all of this will be for nothing."

Drakos gave him a long look before turning back to the map. "Then I guess we'll find out. But I wouldn't bet against him, Not after what I've seen."

Caelan leaned back, watching her for a moment, then picked up his glass again, the firelight casting shadows across his face. He still didn't share her faith in the new king, but Drakos wasn't a fool. If she saw something in Martin, maybe he had underestimated him.

But power—especially mysterious power—came with a cost. And in his experience, no one wielded that kind of power without paying for it eventually.