Chapter 163. Debt

"Where are they?!"

The shout cut through the marketplace's usual din. More voices joined it, urgent and searching, a commotion that made every merchant's hand drift toward their money pouches.

"Search every stall! Check the back rooms!"

"Sundarians! Four of them, traveling together!"

Oberys was moving before the echo faded, his reflexes faster than anyone else at the table. "Stay exactly where you are," he said quietly. "Do not move. Do not speak."

He slipped away from their table, melting into the crowd like he'd never been there at all.

Adom felt his pulse quicken.

Around their table, the others had gone statue-still. Sam's knuckles were white where he gripped his wine cup. Karion's eyes darted toward the exits, calculating distances. Damus had shifted slightly in his chair, angling himself to watch both approaches to their alcove.

The marketplace continued its chaotic symphony, but the undertone had changed. Merchants were closing stalls. Customers were finding sudden reasons to leave. Authority figures with swords tended to have that effect.

Oberys's voice drifted back to them from somewhere in the crowd, pitched to carry just the right mix of curiosity and concern.

"My, my. What seems to be the trouble, young masters? Such excitement in my peaceful little market."

Adom couldn't see him, but he could hear the performance in the merchant's tone.

"Master Oberys." The central elf said. "We come from the Qínglóng Empire on official business. Your people tried to deny us entry."

"We had to... persuade them," the thinner elf added, his nervous energy barely contained. "Things escalated unnecessarily."

Oberys made a soft sound of concern. "How unfortunate. I do hope my staff weren't too discourteous. They can be overly protective of our usual atmosphere of... discretion."

"As allies of your empire, and given that the Qínglóng delegation represents some of your most valued customers, we expected better reception," the third elf said, his voice sharp with indignation.

Adom recognized these voices.

"Haha.." Oberys laughed. "Most valued? Oh, my dear young masters, you flatter me so. Though I must say, the delegation from the Northern Reaches was just saying something remarkably similar yesterday. And the week before, the Sunset Principalities made nearly identical claims." His voice carried amusement. "It's fascinating how many 'most valued' relationships one can cultivate in this business."

Adom slipped from his chair and crept toward the edge of their alcove, where a gap in the hanging curtains offered a narrow view of the main market floor. Then he saw them.

Three elves stood near the central auction block. Young Master Wáng stood in the center, his soft features set in lines of cold determination. Flanking him were Liú and Qián, both looking like hunting dogs straining at their leashes.

"What's happening?" Sam whispered, barely audible.

"It's them," Adom breathed.

"Them who?" Karion's voice was tight with tension.

"The elves from Lì Shān."

Damus leaned forward, his expression shifting from wariness to disbelief. "Seriously?"

"They followed us here," Adom confirmed, still watching through the gap. "All the way to Silvandros."

"Why?" Sam's question came out strangled. "What could they possibly want with us?"

Oberys's voice carried clearly across the market. "I'm afraid I don't understand the nature of your inquiry, young masters. Perhaps if you could be more specific about what brings you to my establishment?"

Wáng stepped closer to the merchant, his robes rustling with the movement. Even from a distance, Adom could see the calculated intimidation in the gesture.

"As I stated before, we're here on official business. Qínglóng security concerns." Wáng continued. "We're tracking Sundarian operatives who passed through our territory recently."

"Sundarian operatives?" Oberys's tone managed to convey both surprise and helpful interest. "How fascinating. I do hope they haven't caused any difficulties in your beautiful nation."

"They infiltrated our capital under false pretenses. Gathered intelligence. Left just ahead of our investigation." Liú spoke up, his nervous energy barely contained. "We have reason to believe they continued south toward the trading ports."

"I see." Oberys sounded genuinely concerned now. "And you believe these individuals might have passed through my market?"

"We know they did." Qián interjected. "Our tracking confirms they might have arrived in Silvandros days ago. They would have needed information, contacts, passage to wherever they're going next."

"Well," Oberys said thoughtfully, "I do serve many travelers from many nations. Perhaps if you could provide descriptions of these individuals?"

"Four humans traveling together," Wáng said. "Young males, maybe early twenties. One with distinctive blue eyes. Another with red hair, a blond and a brute looking one."

"What the fuck did he just—" Karion started to rise.

"Sit," Sam hissed, grabbing his arm.

"Down," Damus added flatly, not even looking at him.

Adom pressed a hand to Karion's shoulder. "Stay."

Karion sat back down, scowling.

"They would have been asking questions about transportation, possibly seeking passage to other territories."

The description was not quite specific enough to be damning. Half the travelers through Silvandros probably fit some variation of that profile.

"Humans," Oberys mused. "Yes, I do recall some human visitors recently. Though I must say, young masters, humans are not uncommon in my establishment. The trading ports attract people from many kingdoms."

"These weren't common traders." Liú stepped forward. "They had resources. High-quality gear. They moved with purpose, not like merchants or tourists."

"Ah." Oberys's tone shifted slightly, becoming more collaborative. "Well, that does narrow things considerably. Resources and purpose do tend to leave impressions in my line of work."

"So you did see them," Wáng said. It wasn't a question.

"I see many people, young master. But yes, I do recall some well-equipped humans who seemed to know exactly what they wanted." Oberys paused, as if considering. "Though I'm afraid our interaction was quite brief. They made their purchases and departed without lingering for conversation."

"What did they purchase?" Qián demanded.

"Information, primarily. Directions to other merchants, recommendations for transportation providers. The usual requests from travelers seeking to move quickly and efficiently."

"Which transportation providers?" Wáng's voice had gained an edge.

"Several, I believe. I provided them with a list of reputable contacts throughout the port district." Oberys's tone remained helpful but vague. "I'm afraid I don't recall the specific details—such recommendations are quite routine in my business."

Adom could practically hear the wheels turning in Wáng's head. The elf was clearly frustrated by Oberys's cooperative but ultimately unhelpful responses.

"We need to search your establishment," Wáng said finally.

"Of course, young master. You're welcome to examine my market as thoroughly as you wish." Oberys's agreement came without hesitation. "Though I should mention that my current customers might find such attention somewhat... disconcerting. I do try to maintain a certain atmosphere of discretion for those conducting sensitive business."

"We're not concerned with your other customers," Liú said.

"Of course not. Though I should point out that several of my current patrons are representatives of various kingdoms and trading guilds. People who value their privacy and tend to remember when that privacy is... interrupted."

Wáng stared at the smiling merchant for a while, then around him. Several people were staring back. Nobles, mages, people with personal soldiers.

"...How long ago did these humans depart?" He asked, changing tactics.

"Oh, goodness. Two days past? Perhaps three? Time seems to move strangely in the underground markets, I'm afraid."

Another careful non-answer. Recent enough to be plausible, vague enough to be useless.

"And you have no idea where they went from here?"

"I'm afraid not, young master. As I mentioned, I simply provided them with general information about transportation options. Where they chose to go from there..." Oberys's voice conveyed regretful helplessness. "Well, that would be entirely their business, wouldn't it?"

The silence stretched out, filled with the ambient noise of a marketplace trying to pretend normalcy.

Finally, Wáng spoke again, his voice tight with controlled frustration.

"We'll need a full list of the transportation contacts you provided them."

"Certainly. Though I should mention that such a list would be quite extensive. I pride myself on thoroughness when assisting travelers." Oberys paused thoughtfully. "Perhaps fifty or sixty names across various port districts and trading routes. Quite comprehensive, really."

"We'll take the list," Wáng said tersely.

"Of course. I'll have my assistant prepare it immediately. Though I should warn you, young masters, that verifying the current status of so many independent operators will be quite time-consuming. The transportation business is notoriously fluid—routes change, operators relocate, partnerships dissolve without notice."

"We'll manage," Qián said, though he sounded less confident than before.

"Excellent. Now, was there anything else I could assist you with? Perhaps recommendations for lodging while you conduct your investigation? Silvandros has several establishments that cater to visitors conducting official business."

"The list," Wáng said finally. "Have it ready within the hour."

"Certainly, young master. My assistant will prepare it with all due speed."

Footsteps echoed across the market floor, growing fainter as the elves moved away from Oberys's central stall. But they weren't leaving entirely—Adom could still hear their voices as they began questioning other merchants, following the same pattern of polite intimidation.

Several minutes passed before Oberys returned to their alcove, slipping through the curtains.

"Well," Oberys said quietly, settling back into his chair as if nothing had happened. "That was unexpectedly entertaining."

"I suppose this complicates things," Adom said quietly.

Oberys sighed. "Significantly, yes." He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. "There's a treaty between our nations, you understand. Trade agreements, mutual protections, the usual diplomatic pleasantries. And these particular young... gentlemen... they're from families I deal with regularly. Powerful families. The kind who remember slights."

He paused, studying his wine cup. "I knew they'd arrived this morning, actually. But I assumed it was about the usual business—silk imports, perhaps some exotic metals. I certainly didn't expect them to be hunting Sundarian 'operatives.'"

"And now?" Sam asked.

"Now it becomes significantly more difficult to arrange your passage. Ship captains tend to be nervous about passengers who attract imperial attention."

Adom stood abruptly. "How fast could you prepare it? The boat?"

Oberys looked up at him. "Not fast enough, I'm afraid. Your new friends will be questioning every transportation contact in the city. By evening, they'll have a very clear picture of who's moving where."

Adom.

Zuni's voice cut through Adom's thoughts.

Yes?

I do believe we have a rather pressing situation. Someone appears to be employing an artifact of concealment to approach our position. Quite sneaky, really, though not entirely effective. The person is somewhat... blurry.

Adom kept his expression neutral, continuing to look at Oberys as if listening intently to their conversation.

Where?

Behind you. He's been at it for the past minute or so, trying to position himself near the curtain opening.

Adom shifted slightly, pretending to stretch, and caught a glimpse of movement in his peripheral vision. A shimmer, like heat waves rising from hot stone, creeping closer to their alcove.

I see him.

Not alerting the others?

Not yet.

Adom nodded at something Oberys was saying about harbor schedules, then leaned forward as if deeply interested in the merchant's words. "The evening tides, you said?"

"Precisely. Though with this new... attention... I suspect most captains will be reluctant to—"

Adom's hand moved.

The [Pull] spell took less than a second to weave, a sharp yank of force that dragged something solid and struggling through the curtain opening. His other hand shot out, fingers closing around a throat.

"What the—" Karion started.

"Wait!" The voice was strained, panicked, distinctly elvish. "I'm sorry! I wasn't—I didn't mean—"

The others had gone rigid with shock. Sam's wine cup hit the table with a sharp clink. Damus was already moving, hand reaching for his sword.

"Lyralei?!" Oberys said, incredulous and alarmed in equal measure. He seemed to recognize the voice.

The struggling figure in Adom's grip went very still.

"Master Law," Oberys said carefully, "might I suggest you not kill him? At least not immediately?"

A ring clattered to the floor, and suddenly Adom was holding a young, very frightened elf by the throat.

Lyralei's hands flew to his throat, fingers trembling as they found the already darkening impressions Adom's grip had left on his pale skin. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly for several seconds, like a fish gasping for air that wouldn't come.

Then the coughing started.

"Please," he wheezed between fits, the word barely audible. His amber eyes were watering now, whether from the coughing or the lingering terror, it was impossible to tell. "Release... release me."

Adom looked to Oberys who nodded once, almost imperceptibly. "He's not a spy." The old elf said. "That I can promise."

He released.

The coughing intensified for a moment, the elf's body finally free to react fully to what had just happened. He bent forward, hands on his knees, shoulders shaking with each harsh sound that escaped his damaged throat.

"Easy," Oberys said quietly, though whether he was addressing Lyralei or the suddenly tense atmosphere in the alcove was unclear. "Breathe."

It took nearly a full minute before Lyralei could straighten fully. When he did, angry red marks were already blooming across his pale throat. He worked his jaw carefully, testing the movement, then swallowed with visible difficulty.

"Your grip," Lyralei said finally, his voice rough and strained like he'd been screaming for hours. He had to pause and clear his throat painfully before continuing. "I wasn't expecting... that kind of strength from..." Another pause, another careful swallow. "Most mages rely entirely on their spells for physical confrontation."

Oberys leaned back in his chair, his fingers forming a careful steeple as he regarded the young elf. "What exactly did you think you were doing, Lyralei? Sneaking around my establishment with concealment artifacts? Spying on my guests?"

Lyralei straightened as much as his battered throat would allow, some spark of his earlier determination flickering back to life despite his obvious discomfort. He touched his neck once more, wincing, then let his hand fall to his side.

"I saw this young man," he said, and despite the roughness of his voice, there was something almost reverent in the way he pointed directly at Adom. "I wanted to pay a debt."

Everyone looked at Adom.

"Have we met?" He asked slowly, studying the elf's features more carefully now that he could see them clearly.

"Yes, actually." Lyralei's damaged voice carried an unmistakable note of certainty. He never looked away from Adom's face. "You grew up quite a bit. Six years ago, In the part of Arkhos they call the dregs. You helped me escape captivity and slavery."

Lyralei lifted one trembling hand to gesture toward Adom. "You freed my cage in the underground markets. During all that chaos with the escaped beasts and the fighting."

Ah.

You seem to remember something. Zuni said.

Yeah. This guy did seem familiar when I first saw him earlier...

Suddenly Adom was back in that hellish marketplace, trying to escape with Eren. Smoke and screams filling the air, the desperate voice of an elf calling out from behind bars. The cage wedged between waste bins. The amber eyes filled with terror and hope in equal measure.

"That was you." Adom breathed, his own voice barely above a whisper.