Unbound

The warding around the High Roads faded considerably by the time they had reached the gates of Birchstone, and the storm had reached its fullest measure. The whipping winds and blinding snow flurries had gotten so bad, that at one point Felix had been forced to shape it away. A difficult task, not only due to the amount of Mana it burned through but because he made an effort to be subtle about it. They still ended up pummeled by sleet and a bitter, northerly gale, but at least none of them were buried or swept into the nearby river.

Storm Shaping is level 37!

…

Storm Shaping is level 41!

None of the Ironclads had noticed his subtle manipulation. The low visibility coupled with the driving winds meant all of them had their faces buried in their thick, woolen cloaks. Captain Doric, meanwhile, was entirely preoccupied with the roads themselves.

“What is happening to the wardings?” he muttered, not for the first time. “They shouldn’t be so bad, especially not near the city.”

“What could cause it?” Felix asked.

“I don’t know,” Doric said. His jaw firmed. “But I plan to find out.”

The walls of Birchstone loomed ahead, dark against the endless white, and bright sodium-colored flames atop strange, box-like torches. Dwarves in heavy armor stood by a sixty foot gate that looked carved from the bedrock of the earth. All of it, walls, watch towers, and gate appeared to be made of a single piece of mighty stone, without join or break.

His Voracious Eye picked out several enchantments on the fortifications, mostly to repel would-be climbers or even sappers that tried to tunnel beneath. The stone itself was a Tier VI material called Deepstone, and was even more durable than the High Roads themselves. That put Felix at ease. An army of redcloaks wouldn’t be able to breach it easily.

A circle of pyramids surrounded the area, and here at least the wardings functioned perfectly. Wind, snow, and cold were cut off as if they were encased in a glass dome, and it was wide enough that all of the Ironclads and Claw were able to fit in with space to spare.

Doric shook his cloak out, letting snow run from its folds. “Let me do the talking, Mr. Veil. The Watch is best handled lightly.”

One of the guards lifted a hand as the two companies drew level with the gatehouses. “Name, rank, and purpose of your visit.”

“Good evening Lieutenant Ulrich. Captain Doric, Stoneheart Vanguard of the Ironclads. Returning from patrol.”

“I know ya, Doric. Go on through.” Ulrich grunted and swung his gaze to Felix. “Name, rank, and purpose of your visit.”

“Silas Veil. Merchant. Carrying goods for trade.”

The guard nodded at two others that had emerged from the guardhouse. “Inspect those sleds.” He stared at Felix through his barred visor, and his eyes flashed with some sort of Skill. “What sort of goods requires such a heavy escort? All Journeyman Tier, too.”

“Rare alchemical reagents. Some metals and woods,” Felix said, trying not to worry about the Watch approaching their supplies with long spears. They started to prod bundles of cloth and move aside crates. “Essence draughts.”

The guard scoffed. “Really. Carried essence draughts across the mountains, have you?”

“Lieutenant, I can vouch for Mr. Veil’s integrity. He and his guards saved us from a Troll attack not six glasses ago.”

“Open those crates, boys!” the guard ordered. Felix heard wood splintering and forced his breathing to calm. Willpower was useful in many ways, he’d found.

“Lieutenant! This is unnecessary!”

“Leave off, Doric. Savin’ your hide don’t mean Howler spit to me. If he had essence draughts, then he’d have flown here in half the time it’d take to cross the lower peaks. Rich merchants don’t walk,” he sneered at Felix. “No, we’re gonna strip these sleds. No tellin’ what contraband’s in here, let alone if he’s smugglin’ in that thief again.”

Ah, that’s why the tight security, Felix realized.

A sharp crack splintered the air, and was followed by a terrified series of shouts. A wind tore through the area, trails of vaporous Mana suddenly visible to all like a swirl of glowing ink in water. It crackled, condensing into a storm cloud of flashing lights, pulled from inside the silent dome of wards until it clustered above the sled.

The guards fell backward, and the lieutenant shoved his visor up and away from his face in confusion. Beside him, Captain Doric’s jaw dropped and Felix allowed himself a tiny smile.

“What’s in the crate, lad!” the lieutenant snapped, his self-satisfied annoyance crumbling. “Tell me, quick-like!”

“E-essence draughts, sir!” his subordinate stuttered. “There’s crates and crates of ‘em!”

“As I claimed,” Felix said, calm and measured. “Do you believe me now, lieutenant?”

Ulrich looked at Felix and then at the cloaked and armed Claw that backed him. At some point, they had completely surrounded the Watch, and the Dwarf was keenly aware of that fact. “Aye. Still gotta do my duty though, don’t I?”

“Of course.”

The lieutenant gathered himself up, breathing so hard his mustache quivered. “Anything else, men?”

“N-no, sir.”

“Right.” Ulrich proffered a wooden token to Felix, who took it carefully. “Take that to the Watch’s bursar down Mended Way. He’ll…compensate you. For the crates.”

Felix smiled. “I appreciate it.”

The lieutenant only grunted before half turning to the guardhouse. “Open the gate!”

Entering a new city was always an interesting experience for Felix. Each time he was accosted by something new, something different, even if most of the cultures were largely similar. Birchstone was built along the lines of Haarwatch, only on a much larger scale. The gate had opened and let their two companies in, but reaching Birchstone was a process. They had to walk through a hundred foot thick tunnel absolutely festooned with enchantments and defensive measures, before emerging into an open air pathway between the gate and another wall. The team was led by intense-looking Watchmen to the right, where they followed the curving defenses until a second gate and tunnel was revealed.

This happened two more times.

Finally, at the end of a much shorter tunnel of only twenty feet, Felix emerged into a wide, bustling metropolis. He was immediately accosted by the smells of wet earth, stone dust, and the sharp tang of metal while hundreds of Dwarves walked, drove, or hustled through the wide plaza. The air was alive with a symphony of sounds, too, from the raised voices of market-bound merchants hawking their wares, to the anxious griping of an older man, and the squeal of children running underfoot. Smoke from a thousand chimneys rose up like flags, adding char-scent to the tang of metal as well as a touch of baking bread. Several nearby street vendors sold hearty meat skewers and mouth-watering mini-pies.

Towering stone architecture was everywhere Felix looked, built into even the most mundane of structures. Here, a tavern filled with patrons, but featuring a massive arch covered in angular knotwork patterns and a depiction of some ancient battle. There, a private home, flanked by the beveled edges of a pillar that had once supported a great statue, of which only the hobnailed boots remained. All over there was a sense of age and weight to the large, stout buildings, everything built with a thousand purposes all layered atop one another.

It was amazing.

“This is where we part, Mr. Veil,” Captain Doric said as the two companies claimed a portion of the square. Crowds parted around them, curious eyes roving their cloaks and armor, though they mostly ignored the Ironclads.

“I appreciate the escort, captain,” Felix said. His Claw formed up around him and their sleds. “And the conversation.”

Doric barked a laugh. “Been a while since I talked so much! But duty calls. My Ironclads are bound to report to the Anvil. I’ll need to tell them about the Trolls and their nasty Evolution.” He nodded to the ice sleds. “Guard your wares well, Mr. Veil. Much as I hate to admit it, Birchwood is thick with thieves. And they’re bold, too. Given the chance, they’d steal the beak right off my old Fini, here.”

His Avum gave a confused squawk. Pit snorted. Quietly.

“Any good inns with vacancies, captain?” Tzfell asked.

“Take the Mosslane there down a quarter league, to where the river slows. You’ll see the statue of the Rockshaper, and two squares west is my nieces’ place. The Torrent’s Rest. Hard to miss it, accountin’ for the bloomin’ tree up the middle. Give her my name. Last I heard she had some vacancies, but if she doesn’t, coin talks.”

Doric gave Felix’s sleds a significant look.

“Plenty of stock, but no buyers yet,” Felix admitted. “The Watch Lieutenant was right. If I had the money, I would have taken a Manaship across the mountains. I hope I can change my fortunes here, though.”

Deception is level 47!

Doric buys it, telling Felix of several spots in town where he can sell fine goods. The Golden Scale, alchemist’s guild, will be breathin’ down your neck,” Doric warned, before sliding into a sharp grin. “But if you handle them as cool as you did the Watch, you’ll be just fine.”

Felix laughed. “I appreciate the warning.”

“Glad of it. Hope you’ll appreciate this one just the same,” he said, lowering his voice. “Watch yourselves as much as your wares. The Watch and I both got our duty, and over fifty Journeyman Tiers ain’t gonna go unnoticed for long.”

“You’re saying the Watch considers us a threat?” Harn asked.

“Aye.”

Felix put his hands on his hips. “Well, I can nip that in the bud. You said the mountain was closed off to everyone, right?”

“Just about everyone. The High Clans come and go as they please, and those that’re in good favor with the Hinterlord.”

“I have business with them all. What do I have to do to get an audience with him? The Hinterlord of Red Shield.”

The captain ran a gauntlet through his beard, tugging on it. “Can’t guarantee anythin’, Mr. Veil. Considerin’ the trouble you had with the Watch, I’ll do what I can. Been around a while, Stoneheart Vanguard. Might see what pull I still got.”

Felix let loose a relieved breath. “Thank you, Captain. That would solve a lot of our problems.”

“Happy to help…but I have a favor of my own, Mr. Veil.”

“Oh.” Felix steeled himself. The Dwarf looked downright nervous. “What’s the favor?”

“The Ironclads are many, but I don’t much like our chances if the Titan comes back. If she does, if she attacks this city, can we count you among the defenders?”

“Is that a worry?” Vess asked. “Your walls are quite impressive.”

“She attacked the city once before, but then her focus was on getting into the Clan Hold. Against her unnatural power…I truly do not know if our wards will hold.” Doric clenched his jaw, and a vein slowly pulsed across his forehead. “All able hands would be appreciated.”

Felix put out his hand, grasping the man’s forearm in a tight squeeze. “We will do what we can.”

“That is all I ask,” Doric said, squeezing right back. He looked like a weight had been shifted from his chest, and a tight smile spread his beard. “Be well, Mr. Veil. Til we meet again beneath star and stone.”

“Be well, captain.”

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