"That may be true. But I won't lie to a grown man who is not my enemy, to make him choose as another desires."

"Besides, we've got allies now - and one good fighter is worth ten bad ones."

Not by the warcraft Abramo learned! 

Ok tutorial over, everyone can level up!

Horgus Gwerm would also like to make some assumptions! They're about racial solidarity between humans! As against - although he does not use the word, Abramo can hear it very clearly - "subhumans".

Abramo is not impressed by Horgus Gwerm. It's not that the Aiello - of whom he is, or was, a major shareholder and chief officer - could buy him out of the petty-cash budget of any one of their minor African operations; that's the luck of high technology and seven hundred years of compound interest. No, it's that he's the sort of merchant who believes that those whose comparative advantage is financial capital, are thereby made better people than those whose advantage rests in their hands, or their minds. And, worse, is not at all shy about proclaiming that belief loudly. Abramo has lived through two revolutions in his life, the Communist one and the Venetian Spring that overthrew it. He knows very well what happens to merchants who don't respect the people they trade with.

So that'll be two thousand gold, thanks.

"Let's trade!"

This is more like it. Abramo smiles - for the first time since the Jackal's teeth closed on his throat - at Dyra's enthusiasm; he recognises it. The passion for trading, bartering, making all parties better off by exchange - it's not universal, even among the Aiello. But all the best ones have it.

It's a coincidence, no doubt, that just before he died, he had been speaking - to the Jackal, of all entities - about his beliefs; almost his last words. What I believe in, he had told her, is truck and barter, gains from trade, the exchange of one thing for another and the division of labour. And he'd been dictating terms, then, to an enemy he'd defeated in war... but the words were true, for that's often the best weapon. That is what he believes in. He nods respectfully to Dyra.

"Let's trade, indeed."

Yes, yes, ingame he has been a cleric of Abadar this whole time and indeed he just hit level 2; don't @ me. I've been separating gameplay and narrative longer than many of my readers have been alive. And as a point of roleplay, I did in fact refrain from using Abramo's spells for the fights in the cave. 

That's interesting. Let's... investigate the possibility of trading.

Another vision?

Abramo is of an extremely monotheistic faith, and has just fought a world-spanning war against an entity with immense powers of mind-control and illusion; and he has not yet heard the word 'god' spoken in Taldane. When he is swept away from the world of his ordinary senses, his first thought is not of the divine, or of gods, but of powerful nonhuman entities of unknown powers and goals. He is, to say the least, wary. 

Abadar is looking for trade partners, not subjects or servitors or subhumans.

Ah. Trade is, indeed, an interest of Abramo's. And yet - in dealing with alien entities of unknown powers, one ought to be careful that one does not give more than is visibly part of the deal. He thinks for a moment of the natives of the Far Eastern island chains, where the Aiello trade-ships would sell liquor and metal needles and cotton cloth, and of the many things that were included in those bargains - not for free, but for payments not measured in ducats. And with the reminder of the Christian missionaries that always followed the traders, he thinks, too, of very ancient words: "Thou shalt have no other god before me". The joke among the Aiello is that profit is not a god, and so it is all right to put it first... but it's only a joke. One that's less amusing now, in this world of angels and visions, and an entity whose power is indeed godlike. 

Abramo will be clear: He will not trade his soul, nor his worship. Those are already pledged to another Covenant, and the terms of the lien are binding even in death.

That is all right; Abadar appreciates the clarification. Abadar requires no worship, and does not trade in souls. He offers a simple contract: Fee for service, revocable by either party at will.

The fee is indeed impressive; powers that seem magical even to a man of the twentieth century, who has killed men at five hundred paces and lit a room with the flick of a finger. Manipulation of forces unknown to human science; with these 'spells' at his fingertips, perhaps he could finally meet the Jackal - or its home civilisation - on its own ground.

And again he is reminded of his last speech to the Jackal, the one that ended with her teeth in his throat: Tell me, did you ever consider using anything but force and fear, to accomplish your goals? Did it occur to you that, with your superior knowledge, you could pay in education for the metal and labour to build your spaceships?

It appears that Abadar has considered that, and has come down on the side of trade, of comparative advantage and value for value given. Abramo appreciates that. But the question remains, what is the service Abadar wants? It is not well to sign contracts with open-ended consideration.

Abadar wants trade to flourish and industry to spring up. He wants contracts respected and merchants unharassed. He wants grain to flow from the fruitful plain to the hungry city, and cloth from the workshop to the field. He wants roads filled with goods, and bellies with food; wants everyone to do the work they can do, and respect that of others. He wants every man to serve his country by seeing to his own best interest, as though guided by an invisible hand.

...yes.

Abramo can work towards those goals. Has done so all his life.

Then we have a deal.

How strange, to be the one signing on the dotted line marked 'employee'. But such is life; in this world, the Aiello name carries no connotation of vast unmeasurable wealth, will not bring Abramo unlimited credit in any bank he deigns to grace with his presence. Here, Abramo's only capital is his mind and his hands. And for such folk the best trade is done with the wealthiest of capitalists, who can provide the best tools. It is only a few minutes since Abramo looked askance at Horgus Gwerm's attitude to his workmen; he is pleased to find that he still agrees with his ideology, now that he himself sells his labour for capital. He straightens his back and lifts his chin. He is a workman now; then let him be worthy of his hire.

Then we can have some level-up mechanics which we'll elide the details of, and some work figuring out how to prepare new spells and rest.

And in the morning, the news that the tribes are gathering - a mighty host, more than three dozen men mongrels!

It'll have to suffice; after all the enemy also seems to lack rifle-armed conscripts by the millions, tanks by the tens of thousands, guns and aircraft and battleships... Although they do have locusts which only strike one side's logistics, just like the Jackal. So at least some of Abramo's experience is still relevant. 

"Shoon, shoon we will attack!"

"Sull will take a day getting ready. Let's scout ahead."