Heathbrand sat back in his arm chair and twirled the goblet of wine in his hand as he watched the black dwarf and the dark man in conversation. On the table between them there were numerous ornate plates holding many different coloured mounds of pungent powder that scented the air. The dwarf wore an alert expression of cunning as he eyed the man across from him.
"How much, do you say?" he asked.
"Ten....twenty gold per ounce. Perhaps more once the demand takes hold." The dark man lifted his gloved hands in a conciliatory gesture.
Heathbrand took another sip of Dorwinion wine; it dulled the pain of the wound in his lower body and made his nose a little more accepting of the strong smell of sandalwood that came off their 'guest'. Unwin had said he had found a commodity worth more than gems, and listening to the dark man speak with his accented words it would seem he was right. Yet there was something not right about the pomaded stranger, nor was it his odor. Heathbrand took a third sip and narrowed his eyes. That was it....the man's fingers did not bend. He gestured often with his hands and they would close at the knuckle, but his fingers remained straight. The guardsman turned merchant listened as he heard the words of the silk clad man who wore his hair oiled and combed straight over his ears.
"The caravans of that region are answerable to one family only; the great house of Amizrak. If one were to have their trust... or at least the trust of their slaves... it would be possible to obtain these goods and many others in quantity."
Unwin smiled, "And I take it you are such a one?" The stiffened fingers made a wide gesture as the man bowed, smiling as well.
The dwarf's teeth flashed in a grin, "Then bring a small shipment here to Arrowhaven and we shall see if there is a market for these 'spices' as you claim. I will stand for your expenses, but beyond that the profit is to be shared equally." The man smiled and bowed once again.
Heathbrand smirked, the dwarf did not know the rules of barter. He would find himself out of pocket at that rate, though the thought did not trouble Heathbrand greatly. Nor would it trouble him until he became directly involved with the profit in question. His were the contacts, therefore the market was ultimately his . He watched as the gloved man awkwardly replaced the precious powders into silken bags emblazoned with two crossed spears supporting what looked like...an eye?
He put down his goblet of wine and raised his voice. "What is that crest?"
"This?" the perfumed man held up the embroidered pouch. "This is the sigil of the House Amizrak...the Sons of the Spear."
Heathbrand sat back in his chair and took his goblet in hand again. "I have not seen it before" he said and took his fourth sip of wine.
