The Black Merchant
A war in a fantasy Middle Ages—not even an ordinary medieval one. I wanted to see it at least once. Tell me to join as a meat shield or a common infantryman, of course, and I'd have turned tail and run without a second thought.
In this world, though, I was a noble. And with the magical gear wrapped around my body paired with modern weapons, I figured I could keep my life even if things went to hell.
The problem, then, was how to watch a war without it looking forced.
It solved itself more easily than I'd expected.
After fighting alongside them once before, I'd gotten on familiar terms with the company captain and a few of the mercenaries. I had a beer with one of them—Hans, if I remembered the name. He was a talker even on an ordinary day, and he rattled off every scrap of related news without pausing for breath.
"We've decided to stay here too. The contract's almost up anyway, and rather than tag along for nothing, we're better off washing our hands of it and finding new work in Drail. There's talk of war, after all. From here on, the caravan doesn't really need us either."
"Border trouble between Drail and Zahed isn't exactly a thing of yesterday and today. From Zahed's side, the land used to be theirs, so they want it back. Drail says it's a key stronghold defending the north, so they'll never give it up."
"And the chancellor Zahed just appointed? He's the older brother of the emperor's favorite concubine. Looking to bleed the houses that keep him in check, he gave those families an order—take back Albredo, the place Drail's holding."
"You think the houses that got the order are going to try hard? They'd only be cutting their own flesh. They'll probably make a show of attacking and then turn around. The mages on both sides will trade a few spells, both sides will burn through the meat shields they brought, and once each side figures it's killed enough, they'll pull back."
"Knights? I doubt it. If a knight order charges in fully geared, meat shields get slaughtered where they stand—but the problem is, if we commit ours, they can commit theirs. And if precious knight strength gets chewed up over nothing, the losses are brutal."
"Us? Of course we're joining. The captain's been in touch with the Drail Kingdom's knight order these past few days, so I'd say it's a hundred percent we'll be in."
"You, Baron—you're a mage. Say you're joining and they'll welcome you with both hands and both feet. You've got a title, too, so maybe they'd even give you a command of a hundred? What, you're thinking of joining? You're shy? Ha. You don't look the type. No, I don't mean it like that. Then you could join as a mercenary. If you want, you could move with our company for a while, couldn't you? One word from the captain and it's done. That's all there is to it."
Armed with what I'd heard from Hans, I went to find Captain Marcus.
Marcus turned the question back on me.
"You're running a mercenary company?"
"That's right."
"And where are your men?"
"Me and Maximus. You've seen him. My slave, I mean. And three more as auxiliary troops."
Four slaves and myself. A mercenary company of five, in other words.
"Right. So here's the thing. I don't have much experience as a mercenary, and I'd like to move together with your company."
Marcus turned it over in his head for a moment.
Baron Sahara was a strange man, but a mage all the same. Thinking back to the fight with the orcs, he had been no ordinary low-rank mage. The company was obviously thrown together in a hurry, and yet every magical item he carried was powerful. The automatic carriage he rode outpaced a warhorse at full gallop, and the firepower of that magic rod of his had slaughtered dozens of orcs in an instant. If a mage like that joined the company, he would be a serious addition to their strength.
"Very well. I'll speak with the kingdom, then."
"I'd appreciate that."
"Think nothing of it. I owe you from last time. Let us say this settles that debt."
"Let's do it that way."
With Marcus's help, I signed a mercenary contract with the Drail Kingdom.
At the signing, the Drail Kingdom's court chief steward looked my Sahara Mercenary Company over with open suspicion, but a baronial title and my standing as a mage were just enough to get me through.
"The Albredo expedition is set for a fortnight from now, so you are not to leave the region before then. Fail to appear after that fortnight, and it will be treated as a breach of contract. You know the penalty, I trust? As a noble you will not be sold into slavery, but you will be required to pay a ransom of equivalent worth."
I told him not to worry, rolled the contract in my fist, and left the Drail royal palace.
About two weeks left, then. Time to take care of the business I'd been putting off.
I called Marco.
"Look after the slaves while I'm gone."
"Yes, boss. Have a safe trip."
I left Drail Castle with Maximus, IS Number One, IS Number Two, and one of the more docile IS trainers.
As always, I sent Maximus ahead to scout before we passed through the gate. By now he handled not only the radio but several modern devices with ease. Once we'd crossed and checked the surroundings, we went to where the trucks were hidden.
Not far from the gate, a hollow screened by rock. A two-and-a-half-ton truck and an armed pickup sat there, standing exactly as I'd left them. No one had come looking.
I put the trainer in the driver's seat and climbed in beside him. Number One, Number Two, and Maximus got in the back. The bed was packed with weapons and ammunition stolen from the IS training camp.
Our position was the borderland between Syria and Iraq. Damascus, the capital of Syria, lay roughly five hundred seventy kilometers off in a straight line.
The trainer drove the truck along an unmarked secret road. Running on faint lights, it cut through the dawn dew and raced the wasteland all night. We reached Damascus nearly twelve hours after setting out.
Once we were in the city, I handed the wheel to Number One. Knowing the ground well, he took the truck to the empty lot behind the motel I'd leased long-term.
I parked in the lot and called the slaves over.
"Room 201 in that motel up ahead is my office and my quarters. Stay there. Don't come out until I get back. Eat what's already inside."
There were military rations and drinking water, so a few days would be no problem. Four men in one room would be cramped, but what could you do. They were slaves.
I pulled out as many magic pouches as I could and packed every last item from the truck into them. One big pouch would have been nice, but I had to make do with what I had. Once the goods were stowed, I put the pouches in a suitcase, took a taxi, and went to the airport.
There I boarded a flight out of Damascus, bound for Cairo.
A back alley in Cairo.
Hood drawn fully over my face, sunglasses on, I went to see the usual arms broker. It was our third meeting, and he made a show of being glad to see me.
"Been a while."
"Doesn't feel that long."
"Just saying hello. So. This time you want to sell? Let's see the goods first."
From inside my coat I set a bag of pills on the table. The broker lifted it, peered in, and looked back and forth between me and the pills.
"This. Is it what I think it is?"
"It is. Straight from the factory. You won't get cheated."
Well, it had been skimmed from an IS training camp. Hardly likely to be fake.
"We don't usually handle this sort of thing. I can broker it for you, though."
Good. That was what I'd wanted.
I'd thought about making money off the drugs, but I had no desire to become a pill peddler. Leaving them sitting there felt like a waste, though, and after turning the problem over I'd landed on this: connect with the trash who dealt in IS drugs. Use the narcotics as bait, get introduced to that scum, take their money, and haul them off as slaves. That was the bigger picture. Drain the ditch and catch the crayfish. See your lover and pick the mulberries on the way. If that wasn't the classic case of two gains for one errand, nothing was.
"How much is the introduction fee?"
"Same as always. Ten percent of the price."
A hell of a lot of money for introducing a single person. Then again, you couldn't broker arms or drugs out in the open the way you brokered real estate. In the end, the one holding the network was the one who got paid.
"I'll take the introduction."
"How much product?"
"A hundred kilograms."
"Whoa. That's a lot. I'll send word."
"I'd rather you leave a message. The phone might not connect."
"You going out into the desert or something?"
"Off the planet."
"Huh? Heh. All right. Got it."
"And—how does it work if I want to sell weapons?"
"Weapons? Oh. So now you're on the selling side? Isn't this turning around a little fast? You bought a single shotgun barely a month ago."
I didn't answer. Nothing to gain by talking more.
"Right. Well. You know the buy price and the sell price aren't the same. What kind?"
"AK-47s. Good condition."
"Yeah? Then I'll give you fifty dollars a rifle."
I nearly lost my temper before I caught myself. Fifty bucks. That was it?
No. I'd expected something like this, honestly. The most produced model in the world, and the most sold. In certain countries, people said it went for less than a chicken.
The rifles I'd laid up came to about ninety in all. Sell every one of them and I'd clear four thousand five hundred dollars. That was the whole of it. Not even the price of a single slave. Better to hold them until I had a use than to let them go at that rate.
"Well? If you're selling, say so."
"If I decide to sell, I'll tell you."
"Yeah? Bit of a letdown. I'll be in touch as fast as I can."
I dipped my head in place of a goodbye and left the broker behind.
Out of the broker's, I went into the old bazaar. It hadn't turned up in any search, so I'd have to find it on foot. I walked the market asking around, and at last I found what I was looking for.
Even another world couldn't have wars every day. I meant to take my cut while the chance was here.
With that, I walked in toward the place where the heavy clang rang out.