I'll Pay It Back Tenfold, Part 1

I went to the item market and looked the goods over with care. Coming with my mind made up didn't mean buying whatever happened to catch my eye. I wanted the best value for the coin, and I chose each piece only after thinking through where it would actually be of use.

On that score, Aphago's cold, cutting appraisals were an enormous help.

"That one affixes a Mark of Tracking. Fix the target in your line of sight, set the mark, and a linked crystal orb will give you direction and distance."

"This one is imbued with Pass the Wall. Ordinary brick, stone, even a wall of packed clay—it slips through easily enough. Thieves are usually the ones who commission such things. A normal person would simply use the door. I do find it rather suspicious, the reasons anyone would bother making one of these. The maker's morals, shall we say, are open to question. Still, for slipping in unseen, it would serve quite ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠well."

"What about that one?"

"The Lightning Dagger? Hmm. The weapon you already carry should be attack magic enough, I should think."

The stopping power of an automatic rifle far outstripped Magic Arrow. It moved faster than the eye could follow and struck harder than any crossbow. On top of that, an RPG-7's shaped-charge warhead could punch through defensive spells short of a proper Fifth Circle shield. Armed with an RPG and an automatic rifle, I effectively fielded Fifth Circle offensive power.

Fifth Circle put a mage at the level of chief sorcerer for a sizable domain. Sixth Circle usually meant a court mage, or the head of a magic tower. Seventh Circle earned the title of archmage. By the Eighth, one became an asymmetric power—only a handful known in all the world—and every step such people took was enough to spark diplomatic friction abroad. The Ninth Circle existed only in legend, a realm of demigods; across several thousand years of Gaia's history, it had appeared a mere three times.

"Even the strongest man in a thieves' guild is unlikely to be a Fifth Circle mage or better. And your equipment is specialized for offense, so even matched against another Fifth Circle, you would hold the advantage."

That, at least, was a relief.

I drew my confidence back up and kept circling the market. Shopping didn't end until late in the afternoon. When I returned to camp, Marco had just finished his own work and come back.

"Well? How's the market?"

"Male slaves are still selling best, Guildmaster. Prices are holding between thirteen and fifteen gold."

"How big ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠is Gerona's slave market?"

"Roughly ten thousand heads a year. The peak season is generally the month that starts now, and about four thousand of those change hands in that window alone. Call it a hundred and thirty sales a day, on average."

"Is that so. Do the men get sold off to the farms?"

"Usually, yes. They work the fields, and if a territorial war breaks out, or there's some other fight, they're handed spears and sent into battle. Failing that, they're used as meat shields."

"I see."

"When male slaves run short, people sometimes substitute the lesser races."

"Lesser races?"

"Goblins and lizardmen are too belligerent, and too dim, to be of any use. Orcs are aggressive as well, but they have intelligence enough to be handled. Train them properly, and they make a fair substitute for male slaves."

"Orcs?"

In that instant the orc horde I had seen before rose in my mind. The road to Drail. The ones who had ambushed the Modric Caravan. There must have been hundreds of them.

I spread the map and studied the country around Valdar Fortress, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠across the Adria Sea. One harbor caught my eye. I called Marco over.

"How long from Gerona to here?"

"There? By ship, five or six days, I'd say. The wind favors the outbound run."

"And the round trip?"

"About half a month."

A hundred kilometers east of that harbor lay the grassland where the orcs had hit us. Drive a truck, and it wouldn't take more than a few days. Which meant I might still pull this off before the peak season ended. Once a plan is set, the sooner you move, the better.

"Find me a ship. The fastest one you can get."

"Sir?"

"We have to cross to here. Get the caravan ready to move, and tell Captain Marcus as well. I want to add to the contract. Ask whether he's willing."

"Add to the contract? What sort of..."

"On top of sentry duty and escort work—will they hunt orcs with us?"

Captain Marcus, having heard Marco's proposal, thought it over for a day and then agreed to come with us. Part of it was vengeance for what they had suffered last time. More than that, he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠trusted the strength Argon and I had shown. The weapons I had displayed then—things Marcus believed were magic items—packed a punch that did not suffer by comparison with a decent aura wielder. Argon might look like a boy still wet behind the ears, but stand near him and instinct left no room for doubt: he was stronger than Marcus himself.

Once the mercenary company had joined us and Marco was seeing to the move, I decided to settle the thieves' guild before we left. I couldn't waste time hunting them down. The best method was provocation.

I gathered the slum children who ran the streets, pressed a few coins into their hands, and set them singing from one neighborhood to the next.

Word had already spread through the market that every Night Cat thief who had raided the Sahara Merchant Group had been taken. A thieves' guild's greatest weapon is fear. People have to be afraid of you before they will pay tribute and protection money. But if your reputation did not merely crack—if you became a laughingstock—then the quiet businesses, turf included, would inevitably suffer.

While the children roamed every corner inside Gerona's walls, the ship charter was finalized. I attached IS Number One, the one who could drive the truck, to Marcus, and loaded Marcus's mercenary company onto the vessel as well.

Marco looked at me, worry plain on his face.

"Guildmaster. Will you be all right? You ought to just come with us."

"Then at least take Lord Argon with you."

"I'm better off alone if I have to run. I can run better than Argon. So stop fretting and go."

"Then we'll be waiting in Sorbon. Please take care."

Marco and the party would sail for Sorbon, the port near Valdar Fortress. It lay close to Damascus, so once I finished my business I planned to fly in from Earth and join them.

"Right. See you in Sorbon."

I saw Marco and the caravan off. The caravan was gone, but the camp where it had stayed remained. The tents were still up, and so were my quarters.

Those who remained with me were IS Number Two; Trainers Number One, Two, and Three, now turned; Istanbul Number One and Istanbul Number Two; and Maximus. Seven in all. Word that eight of us, counting me, had not left the camp spread through the market at once. I had even sent the escort mercenaries away.

It was an open provocation. If they still refused to attack under these conditions, the thieves' guild would be perfectly placed to hear that fear had made them tuck their tails.

I prepared to receive them. From the IS warehouse I brought out AK-47s and issued them to the slaves. I didn't normally hand over weapons, for fear they might turn on me—but right now it didn't matter. A Fifth Circle shield spell was never going to be bothered by mere bullets.

The three Iron Skin vests I always wore, I put on Maximus. From the item market I also bought him weight-lightened steel plate and had him wear that as well. With protection enough to stop not only a rifle but an anti-materiel round, Maximus took a battle axe in each hand, as expected. He equipped three further items besides: strength enhancement, bodily acceleration, and Owl's Sight. The axes were no ordinary weapons either; lightning magic rode along with every swing. At that level he was a match for a respectable aura wielder.

Each of the other IS slaves was given a rifle and ten thirty-round magazines. We took our places inside the tent and spent the whole day filling sandbags and stacking them. In front of the bags we dug pits, covered them with earth, and made traps meant to swallow an ankle. To further restrict the raiders' movement, we laid wire across the ground and drove in stakes.

Then we waited quietly for night.

Midnight passed, and furtive shadows began to gather around the camp, where the fires still burned. Among them, a subordinate approached a figure whose cold eyes had gone hard.

"Boss. The perimeter is sealed."

"Their movements?"

"They seem to be gathered in that red tent. The other tents are definitely empty."

"And the knight—you're certain he left?"

"Yes. I saw him board the merchant ship at the docks myself. The mercenary company left with him. All that's left in there is the one they call the caravan master, and a handful of slaves."

"I see. Arrogant bastard. A merchant, daring to provoke us—he'll pay for it. Attack."

"Yes."

The trusted man put his fingers to his mouth and whistled.

Wheeeet—

The attack signal went down, and some fifty shadows clung low to the earth, like dusk itself settling, and began to close slowly around the tent.

Maximus woke me from sleep.

"Master. They're here."

I sat up. The Coward's Bell on my wrist was jingling.

"So they couldn't help themselves after all."

Of course. Let this chance slip, and their reputation as thieves would crack wide open.

"All right. Let's have a look."

I parted the long slit cut into the tent and looked outside. By rights there should have been nothing but pitch-black dark. I activated the item I had just bought.

Pale auras stirred into sharp relief against the darkness. Thanks to the item, I could track their movements more clearly at night than I could have in daylight.

"They're almost on us. Shall we start the fireworks? Send up a flare."

On my order, Trainer Number Two raised a flare and fired it through the hole we had cut in the tent's roof.

Bang!

The tail climbing into the sky had nearly faded when the charge burst overhead.

BANG!

A white mass of light flooded the surroundings. In that instant the black-clad crowd moving through the dark was laid bare.

Caught off guard, the thieves dropped and flattened themselves on reflex. But this ground was open country—no brush, no rocks, nothing to hide behind. Lying flat did them no good. Their cover was blown, and all they could do now was finish it fast.

"Attack!"

"Wipe them out!"

The ones with daggers rose as one and sprinted for the tent. About half of them drew crossbows from the small of their backs and aimed at the canvas.

Thuk-thuk-thuk-thuk-thuk.

The heavy bolts punched through the tent, but the sandbags stacked inside stopped them dead.

Thud! Thud-thud-thud—!!

After the opening volley from dozens of crossbows, they came on at a dead run.

"Closer. A little closer."

When barely thirty meters remained between us, I jammed the button on the detonator in my hand.

BOOM—BOOM—BOOM—!!!

With the blast, the suicide vests hidden among the loads laid out on the ground went off. Shock wave and storm flung steel balls in every direction and tore apart the thieves who happened to be passing alongside.

"Aaagh!"

"Ghk!"

"Agh!"

A storm of steel shot swept a radius of thirty meters.

Those IS bastards. To think they had meant to use something like that in a city. It struck me all over again that shipping every last one of them off this planet was a service to the world. And along the way, I collected a commission.

The sudden explosion shocked the ones still charging and threw them into confusion. Now it was our turn.

"Sweep them all."

At my order, seven muzzles spat fire at once.

Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat—!!

Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat—!!