Steven George & The Dragon
Trading for the Dragon
STEVEN REALIZED something was not right, but nonetheless helped Ibin Arriaga to his feet and supported him as they left through the servants’ door and made their way to the street. Whenever Steven looked into the trader’s eyes, he seemed helpless but to obey the man. Perhaps this was the custom in the city, Steven thought. In his own village, people went freely in and out of each other’s homes. There was already movement in the city as they left and in spite of his lack of sleep, Steven was alert for any danger that might come. Ibin warned him that guards would brand or—worse—cut off the hands of people they mistook for thieves.
“It makes being an honest trader a risky business,” Ibin said.
Steven had never felt himself in danger before but the huge city disquieted him. He hurried as fast as Ibin could support himself on the staff through the streets. It was surprising how quickly and agilely the trader could move even while complaining of his crippled leg. Soon they came to a market square where Steven could smell fresh bread and pies. Ibin directed him to go to one and buy them breakfast for that would show he was a respectable traveler. Steven did so, fishing coins from his little purse.
“Now,” said Ibin, as they finished eating their shepherd’s pies, “we need to see about some armor for you.”
“The armorer was across the road from the inn with the sign of a rooster,” Steven volunteered, now anxious to be about his own way. “That is where the knights were getting their armor to ride off to the king’s war.”
“Which makes it a good place for us to avoid,” said Ibin. “Going where so many officers of the king are in one place is asking for trouble. Besides, if the armorer is handing out swords at government prices, he will be charging twice what you will want to pay. Now I know of a place where common weapons are sold for common people. Let us go there.” And so, Ibin Arriaga led Steven deeper into the city where the streets twisted between buildings so close together that Steven could see only patches of sky overhead.
At last they came into a square that ran with muck in trenches down the middle and smelled of garbage and refuse. Across the square, Ibin pointed out an armorer.
“Now Steven,” said the trader, “here is how we approach this smith. I will go in through the front door and occupy the master by offering him this fine silver goblet to trade. He will offer me a third of its value. I will reason with him until he finally reaches half the value which I will accept. You will go around the side of the shop and slip into the back workroom. No one will be there because this man is a hard master and cannot keep an apprentice. So, he makes everything himself and is a harder man for having no assistants. While I argue with the smith over the price, he will give me for the silver, you will select a fine sword from the stock you will see there. Make sure it is a good sword with a pommel that wraps the wrist like so.” Ibin demonstrated the type of pommel that Steven was to choose. “The blade is to be the width of your thumb and no larger. A sword quickly becomes too heavy to wield if it is thicker. You should depend on speed and agility instead of brute force like the knights do. No dragon is going to quake in fear at seeing you, no matter how big your sword is. Do not take anything but the sword. It will balance out the value of the trade I make for this beautiful silver chalice.” Steven was hesitant, but Ibin said, “Look at me Steven George Dragonslayer.” Steven looked into the trader’s fathomless eyes. “You will do this and return to me.” Steven believed him.
And so, having been instructed, Steven circled around to the back of the shop on a deserted alley. He saw the smith working at a bench and heard the chimes ring as Ibin Arriaga entered the front of the shop. As soon as the master moved to help Ibin, Steven quietly entered through the back courtyard. As Ibin had assured him, there were a wide variety of swords on display. Steven looked down the line for the one that would match the description that Ibin had given him.
And then he saw it—a beautiful sword. He drew it from the rack and it seemed to sing. Steven saw the engraving on the blade and knew at once this was no sword forged by a master smith in Byzatica. This sword was meant for Steven. The engraving was of a dragon. It glowed with a blue-white light in the semi-darkness of the room.
Steven quickly wrapped the sword in a cloth that he found nearby and started for the garden gate. But something did not seem right to Steven. Remembering what the merchant had told him, Steven left five gold coins where he had found the sword and made his speedy exit. He walked along the dark alley for many steps as the trader had instructed him, turning neither left nor right until at last Ibin caught up with him. The trader was whistling brightly as he stepped smartly up beside Steven, then leaned heavily on the staff that Steven had loaned him.
“It was good bargaining,” said Ibin. “The armorer got what he wanted, I got what I wanted, and you got what you wanted. What could be better?” Steven declined to tell the trader that he had left gold coins for the smith.
Ibin helped Steven conceal his new sword in the pack so that he did not draw attention to it. Then they continued to walk through the city.
“Tomorrow,” said Ibin, “we must find you a horse. Now horses are another thing altogether. We can’t simply distract a livery lad and ride off on one. Horses are known to their owners and are easily spotted by the guards. You must buy a good horse. But for the price of ten gold coins for a horse and saddle, you won’t find more than a nag to cart you out of the city and die. Nor should you have a charger like the knights ride. They are large and made to carry great weights that include their armor, their knights, and the armor of the knights. You need a smaller, faster horse and a donkey to carry your pack. I can show you a market where we can find such a horse. There is great demand for chargers as the kingdom goes to war, but scarcely any for lighter horses. You might even get a good price.”
They found an inn, and the trader convinced Steven that he should pay for their night’s lodging and dinner so they appeared to be a respectable country gentleman and his page visiting relatives in the city. With this agreed, the two arrived at an inn with the image of a hanged man over the door and took a room there. Steven continued to ask the trader about his profession and who in the city of Byzatica he was trading with. But Ibin was canny about his answers and Steven had no more information than he started with at the end of the night.
For the trader’s part, however, he probed into Steven’s travels, who he had met, and where he had been. Steven told of the village idiot who couldn’t make his way home for fear of getting lost, and of the tinker who knew a dragon.
This seemed to interest the trader more than a little and he begged of Steven to tell him where this village idiot could be found. But Steven had learned from his dealings with the merchant that some information was worth more to some than to others.
“A merchant was willing to pay ten gold coins for that information,” Steven said proudly. “I can see that you think this information is even more valuable than the merchant thought. As he taught me that things were worth more to some people than to others, I should sell this information to you for twelve gold coins.”
This vexed the thief. “Now where am I to get twelve gold coins,” he asked. “This is not a charitable act for a brother who has helped you acquire a sword from his own acquired wealth, whom you shot from the sky with a wayward arrow and crippled, and who has freely given you a story.”
Now Steven was troubled, for indeed he did feel he owed the trader for the story, but since he had paid for the sword and had faithfully shot his arrow believing he had seen a dragon he dismissed the Ibin’s attempt to collect on those debts.
“I’ve helped you with your lodging for the night, food, and the profit of a silver chalice for which you traded my herbs,” Steven said resolutely. “I recognize only that I have a story debt to you. If you want more information you will have to pay the price like anyone else would.”
The trader steamed over this and after dinner told Steven that he would discuss it further in the morning. Then they retired to their beds.
In the morning, Steven rose and ate his morning meal in the common room. The trader was nowhere to be seen. In their room, the bedclothes were rumpled, but the trader was not there. Steven waited for a while, supposing Ibin to have gone off to arrange for the horse, but when the innkeeper began to ask if he would be taking a room for another night, Steven shouldered his pack and left. He was not twenty steps away from the inn, not knowing what direction to turn, when a horse trotted up beside him and Steven looked up into the face of Ibin Arriaga.
The horse was small with a slightly pointed head and ears that flicked forward. He picked his feet up with a dainty yet commanding stride that pled to be let run. The thief sat upon a splendid black and silver saddle and looked haughtily about. Behind the horse, a tiny donkey plodded along. The poor animal would have a hard time keeping pace with the thoroughbred.
“Ibin,” Steven began, “you returned!”
“I’ve been about doing the business of the dragonslayer,” said the trader. “I have traded for this fine horse on his behalf and there is no better deal to be had in all of Byzatica. I could sell him to you if you are interested.”
Steven looked at the fine beast and thought that there was no finer way that he could ride to meet the dragon than on this horse. His confidence soared as he imagined charging the mighty dragon on his fine horse, wielding the tinker’s sword and dagger.
“I will gladly purchase this fine animal,” he said, reaching into his purse to find the ten gold coins.
“I am sorry,” said the thief, “but the horse-trader I got this animal from could see how valuable he would be to you and refused to part with him for less than twenty gold coins, plus five for this fine saddle.”
Steven looked in his purse. He had only fifteen gold coins and seven silver remaining.
“I do not have so much,” he said to the thief.
“Well, now,” said the thief dismounting to lead his horse alongside Steven. “What have you that is worthwhile to trade? I know! A certain bit of information about the whereabouts of a village idiot. That would be worth, say twelve gold coins. So, if you tell me what I want to know, I will credit you with twelve coins and you can pay me the other thirteen. You will still have good journeying money.”
Steven had a feeling that he was being taken advantage of. Trading with Ibin Arriaga was tantamount to being robbed. The spirited horse was so perfect and the terms in keeping with what he said, however, so he agreed to tell the trader where Jasper could be found. Ibin directed them to another inn which he said was only a few steps from the road south that Steven would ride out on in the morning. Over dinner, said the trader, Steven could pay his story-debt and then tell him where Jasper had hidden himself. Steven only hoped that the Merchant would have reached his brother first.
And thus, they came to the Inn of the Lost Soul near the southernmost gate of Byzatica.
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