“She really is quite, quite spectacular my friend.”
Two great lords stood by the window, framed in its wooden structure. One was tall, pale and had pure white hair that draped over his shoulders. Once, about a year ago, that hair had been a light blonde, but now it had faded, or some might say brightened. The other man was tanned, with dark hair poking from under a orange-red turban and a small smart beard. He wore robes of crimson, whilst the first man had a smart tailcoat suit of dark blue.
Together they stood as nobles, watching out of the window to the light stoney drive to the front of the house. On it life was in abundance. A near constant trail of horses and carts came in through the gates, coming around to the doorway of the house. There, the horses and carts stopped, only to be set upon by many hands, a handful of the troupe of around a hundred hired hands and volunteers who had offered their services over the past three days.
At their head, running back and forth was a kenku. Black and dressed in a simple white cotton tunic, she organised every package coming in. The loads were similar in kind - all food and drink from far and wide. Eggs, meats, alcohol, they were designed to supply a city that was verging on chaos simply because their livestocks were facing annihilation.
A black haired elf came back and forth to the kenku, a sheet of papers in her hand. From her a further eight people were organised. As a delivery came in it would be met by one of these eight, who would take down the details of the cart or horse bearer, and what they had brought. This would then be steadily unloaded, and an eventual payment given by the kenku.
“You said it took her three days to organise this?” Rafael looked to Vitruvion, arching his brow.
The god took in a breath and passed Rafael a goblet. He nodded, though his face did not smile, it lined with angst.
“Yes.”
“My friend, she is incredible. No wonder you are so determined to keep her.”
Vitruvion kept his eyes on Stare, who was currently trying to negotiate with a man who had brought in three cagefuls of chickens. He seemed to be disagreeing with how much money they had determined, and she was calmly trying to show him a signed piece of paper.
He lowered his drink. “You are not getting her from me, if that is what you are asking.”
Rafael rose his brows, watching his own slave woman, Guilia, talking with a deliverer who had just stopped his mules. She had asked Rafael's permission the previous day to help, and had been assigned as one of the eight.
“I do not need her, but if she was for sale I would definitely put in a bid. Indeed,” he took a swig of his wine. “I think you undervalued her to me.”
“Hmm? What do you mean?” Vitruvion glanced to the official.
Rafael smiled. “Remember that all Hernsfordan slaves are given a standing from one to five. Also known by their colour standards - Bronze, Silver, Gold …”
“Mythril, Adamantine, yes, the last being very exceptional,” Vitruvion agreed.
“And I rated your little bird there at a Mythril from the information you gave me,” the Hernsfordan looked right at his old friend. “And when I first came here, I was convinced of that. But seeing this, seeing her …” Rafael shook his head in disbelief and jabbed a finger at Stare. “That my friend is a jewel amongst jewels. Not only is she a rare breed, but she could also said to be beautiful, very highly and adaptively skilled and by what you have told me about her magic, a very special item. By the gods, I don't know where you found her, but if my deductions and experience are anything she's definitely Adamantine. And I've maybe seen a maximum of ten ever go for sale, in all my forty years in the business.”
Slowly Vitruvion tipped back his goblet, his eyes focusing on Stare. For a long time he said nothing, his eyes only filling with a knowing light. Rafael kept watching him, a smile on his lips, and leant against the window frame.
“She's saved an entire city from possible chaos, Vitruvion, even possible starvation. I know your agreement with her is to keep it silent, but I cannot help let you know my friend. Tying in what we have talked about this week, what you have managed to make her … she would be one of the most expensive slaves I have ever known,” he paused, and stared at Vitruvion. “I hope you know this. Stare is … one of a kind.”
The god breathed in slowly, lowering his goblet. Tenderness filled his eyes, and for a single moment he was not the angry, frustrated man who had been dealing with what seemed like hell.
“I know,” he murmured. “And she is all mine.”
