Luenor remained quiet. His eyes remained on the elf as he calmly tapped a bidding rune located on their booth's console.
"2,000 gold."
Almost immediately, another VIP countered.
"2,500."
"Marquis Duskwatch," Thalanar quietly spoke. "I can see the pattern in his silks."
"3,000." The bid jumped.
The rune in the third booth glowed—3,500. The men in black suits were now entering the bidding process.
The floor below began to murmur in envy. Common traders and nobles stared daggers towards the VIPs, their teeth grinding.
"Greedy bastards," hissed someone from behind them.
"They already have everything—why take the good ones too?"
The auctioneer's smile widened even further.
Duskwatch leaned ever so slightly toward his son. "Elves are loyal servants, Argen. Silent. Graceful. Worth their weight in gold."
Argen did not reply, still watching the elf's impassive face.
"5,000," Duskwatch bid again.
"Sir," Ren leaned in. "We still have to come to the main lot. If you spend the funds now…"
Duskwatch clenched his jaw. "Damn that gate… draining my coffers…"
The men in black suits paused and then stopped bidding.
7,000.
"8,000."
Luenor's finger pushed the rune again. 10,000.
The whole floor erupted with murmurs. The price was ludicrous for a slave silenced. The auctioneer was as pleased as a man counting coins.
Thalanar whispered, "You don't have to—"
"I want him," Luenor replied dully. "We will talk later."
"12,000!" Duskwatch screamed.
But his hands shook. His anger was turned back on himself. "Who the hell are they? Where the hell is this bastard getting all this gold?"
Ren shook his head - mind blank.
Luenor pressed the button again.
15,000 gold.
Silence.
The auctioneer clapped once, "Sold - to our generous guest in Booth Three!"
The elf did not move. Did not react. A statue had moved into living stone.
More elves came out in the next hour, some darker skinned with pointed ears and tribal scars, clearly from the Archipelago. Others had frosted tattoos like the first. Every time, Luenor raised his rune without hesitation. And every time, he won.
Duskwatch's lips curled down as he watched the auction with growing suspicion. "Call him after the auction," he whispered to Ren. "I want a word with that masked fool."
The men in black suits leaned closely into each other and one whispered, "They're spending without flinching. Dangerous."
"Could be Duke Verasus's secret dogs. Or worse." one of the men nodded.
____
Backstage past the gilded curtain and glamored illusions, Arwin sat statue-like.
Dozens of items had been put in and took out of the boxes, and a silver plaque was put on each box that showed which booth the buyer was. But the knight he'd followed...hadn't returned.
Another guard came past Arwin's post. "Hey, you seen Alofonso?".
Arwin shook his head and kept his voice neutral. "Not since morning."
The guard mumbled something as he walked away.
But Arwin was still. Eyes narrowed against the shadows, he observed the guard leave the storage room, followed by a knight at the entrance of the auction hall.
The two conversed briefly, then turned towards him, walking back to the storage room.
The storage room he was supposed to be maintaining as a guard.
Arwin slowly exhaled and unsheathed his sword whilst remaining silent. He followed slowly at a distance, from the shadows, careful to tread lightly. The corridor was empty.
Then—
The knight paused. A slight movement in his shoulders, something wasn't right.
He had turned—
But it was too late.
Arwin's sword sank clean through the guard's back. The man's eyes widened in disbelief, before gasping and sputtering blood, "Alofonso..."
He looked into Arwin's eyes. Then he was dead.
The sound of metal clashing echoed from the dark hallway as Arwin's blade slid against the knight's armor, sparks arching from the hit. The knight jumped back, already drawn into his blade with a flourish, eyes narrowing to slits.
"You're not one of ours," he whispered, walking while maintaining the posture of a seasoned knight as he walked around Arwin. "Did you kill Alofonso?"
Arwin said nothing.
Instead Arwin lunged as the knight finished circling, his sword humming through the air as he executed a large arc to swing his blade down, but the knight easily stepped to the side and slashed again toward Arwin's ribs. Arwin could see the movement out of the corner of his eye, and twisted obliquely to the side, using his wrist to deflect the blow. The sound of their swords ringing again filled the hallway.
"Not talkative, huh?" Growled the knight, with light reflecting in his eyes. "Good... But not one of us. Are you working for someone? The VIPs upstairs would be good to retrieve from the rubble."
Arwin continued to push up against the wall of the storage vault, throwing controlled but rapid-forged strikes into the knight, a mixture of intending to land a blow, but using them all to push the knight to the side, toward the wall, away from the corridor with deeper access into the storage vault.
Each of the knight's strikes matched Arwin just as quick, but it was clear the way that Arwin moved had not been expected from a man in guards clothing.
"Not going to talk?" the knight chuckled again as he added another sidestep to avoid the thrust of Arwin's blade. "Then allow me to tell you something."
They clashed blades again, but on this occasion, Arwin slammed his boot forward onto the knights shin, disrupting his balance.
"Ugh," the knight pressed, steadied quickly, and swept his sword in for an upward strike that Arwin ducked under. "The man in charge of this auction—he's not a merchant. He's a butcher disguised in noble skin. Do you even know who you're dealing with?"
Arwin flipped over a crate to place it as a barrier around himself for some cautious cover, choosing to keep his body tight and narrow—as silent as before—making sure not to bump the array of boxes stenciled with the sigil of the auction house.
He didn't have to answer.
The knight moved forward again. This time he moved carefully, "You're trying to be stealthy. You're trying to not create a scene. Which means that your accomplices are still in the building. Intriguing."
Arwin's sword snapped back forward again—fast. quiet. deadly. Their weapons once again smacked together in a wild dance of sparks and dusk, collaborating in a duel below the grandeur of the impassioned auction above.
Needing their combat to last. Neither could afford to fail.