Chapter 35

  The glare of the teleportation circle was still burned into my retinas as the air of Drymon—muggy, ozone-heavy, and thick with the magic of the Rift—transformed into the sharp, dusty dryness of the southwest. Teleportation always felt like being squeezed through the eye of a needle that was far too small, only to be spat back into reality at the other end with a dull thud.

  Why didn't we travel like this all the time? That was the question every layman asked. The answer was as simple as it was sobering: gold and security. A jump of this distance consumed enough mana to light a small town for a month. Furthermore, the fortresses of the Great Lords possessed shields that turned any unauthorized teleportation attempt into a very efficient method of deconstructing oneself into molecular components. Reyn surely would have loved to try, but without the proper seals, he would have ended up as nothing more than a bloody mist clinging to the protective walls upon entering the palace grounds.

  Maira had stayed behind. There had been a brief, almost heated debate, but Gravor had become louder and more persistent in my head than ever before. “The Rift, Luken! The Rift is the anchor. If that thing in the palace becomes unstable while you’re playing in the dirt with Orcs, there won't be a Caleon left to return to,” he had growled. I had no idea what he was sensing, but his mistrust of the portal was profound. So Maira remained with the Arcane Guard while the three of us set out.

  “Take care of the Orcs!” Thivan called out after us, but his voice was already being swallowed by the rushing of the ether.

  The fortress of Rockguard truly lived up to its name. No sooner had we materialized on the arrival platform than we were struck by the sheer weight of the gray stone. There was no pomp here, no filigree Elven ornaments. Everything was designed for functionality and resistance.

  “So, you’re the second reinforcement?” asked a man who looked as though he had been carved directly out of a cliff face.

  Lord Grohl, Baron of the Gray Lords, didn't spare us a glance as he climbed the metal ladder to his golem. The machine was a behemoth. Compared to the sleek, almost elegant models of Wolfsgrund, the golems of the Gray Lords looked like clunky siege towers on two legs. They were seven meters high, wide as barn doors, and plated with armor that looked like it could shrug off a direct hit from a mana cannon. The most striking feature, however, was the arms: while Wolfsgrund relied on claws and cannons, the arms of these golems ended in detailed, almost human-looking hands, though they were surrounded by a bluish energy field. Energy fists designed to crush things that were supposed to be uncrushable.

  Grohl paused halfway up and looked down at us over his shoulder. His gaze was suspicious, almost dismissive. In our travel clothes and armor, we probably looked like toy soldiers next to the massive machines.

  “Yes, we are,” I replied matter-of-factly. I didn't want to waste time with protocols. To emphasize the point, I let a bit of Gravor’s and my own power leak out—a brief, dark flicker around my gauntlets that made the air turn cold for a second. I pointed to my companions. “Vin, a Nature Elf. She can turn anything green into truly cruel weapons. Don’t underestimate her just because barely anything grows here; she always finds a way.”

  Arik took a step forward before I could introduce him as well. He crossed his arms, and I saw his skin on his forearms already turning grayish, as if he were impatiently waiting to be let loose.

  “My name is Arik,” he said in a voice that sounded like the grinding of pebbles. “I am an Ashblood with a rather... malleable body.”

  To demonstrate his words, he let his right hand disintegrate into a cloud of hot ash for a fraction of a second, which immediately reformed into a hand, only to take the shape of a jagged blade shortly after before returning to normal.

  Grohl watched the display with a raised eyebrow. He didn't seem easy to impress, but he finally gave a respectful nod. “An Ash-Runner and a Vine-Weaver. I see. Well then, I look forward to fighting by your side. The Scar-Horde is no ordinary bunch of looters. When they reach the walls, you’ll need every trick in your book.”

  “We’re not here for the view, Lord Grohl,” I added.

  “Good.” Grohl climbed the final rungs. “The people from Ironbrand are already in the lower city occupying the ramparts. Find yourself quarters, get some sleep. When the horn sounds, there will be no more breaks.”

  With a loud mechanical click, the head of the golem—the cockpit section—opened, and the Lord disappeared into the machine. Shortly after, the behemoth hummed to life. A deep, magical vibration filled the courtyard, and bluish light pulsed in the seams of the armor. With heavy, ground-shaking steps, Grohl marched off toward the main wall.

  “Next time, I can speak for myself,” Vin said suddenly, once the golem was out of earshot. She looked at me with narrowed eyes. “I’m not a botanical curiosity to be put on display, Luken.”

  I raised my hands defensively. “Sorry, Vin. I just wanted him to realize immediately that we aren't a burden. These people here only respect strength and results.”

  Arik snorted softly. “He’s right, Vin. The guy looked at us like we were errand boys. At least now he knows that one of us can turn him into ash and the other could probably strangle him with a blade of grass.”

  Vin sighed and brushed a green strand of hair from her face. “Fine. Let’s go. Since we’re here, I want to see what these ‘Gray Lords’ consider a city. So far, it looks more like a very large quarry.”

  We left the arrival platform and began the descent into the actual city, which stretched out in terraces below the main fortress. Rockguard was an architectural marvel of stubbornness. Every house was hewn into the stone; the streets were narrow and steep, lined with massive retaining walls.

  It was fascinating to see how the city prepared for war. Everywhere, you could see the soldiers of House Ironbrand in their conspicuous red coats, providing a sharp contrast to the eternal gray of the locals. They were lugging canisters of fuel, polishing their flame cannons, and erecting makeshift barricades at the bottlenecks.

  “It smells of sulfur and fear here,” Arik remarked as we passed a smithy where spearheads were being sharpened in shifts.

  “More like sulfur and preparation,” I corrected. “The people here don't seem fearful. They seem... ready.”

  We reached a marketplace that was likely the center of social life in normal times. Now, it had been converted into a massive field hospital and supply depot. Women in coarse linen dresses sorted bandages while children helped stack bundles of arrows. There was a busy, almost eerie silence, broken only by the metallic hammering and the occasional roar of golem cores in the distance.

  “Look at that,” Vin said, pointing to a group of Ironbrand engineers hoisting a giant apparatus onto one of the towers. “Those aren't normal cannons. That looks like a mana-pressure amplifier.”

  “Ironbrand loves anything that creates pressure and then explodes. Like my homeland...” Arik grunted, with a trace of longing. “I just hope they know what they’re doing. Once the Orcs are at the wall, those long-range weapons won't be of much use.”

  We continued wandering through the alleys. The lower we went, the more the tension of the common people became palpable. The taverns were full, but there was hardly any laughter. Men drank their beer in silence, eyes fixed on the windows as if expecting the shadow of an Orc on the glass at any moment.

  “Do you think the Horde is really as big as Maira said?” Vin asked softly.

  “Erebos rarely lies when it comes to destruction,” I replied. “And Reyn wouldn't go to this much trouble for just a small tribe. He wants to tie down the southwest so he has a clear path in the north.”

  We stopped at a parapet that offered a wide view over the plain before the fortress. In the distance, on the horizon where the land merged into the barren wastelands, I thought I saw a dark line. It could have been dust kicked up by the wind, or it was the vanguard of the Scar-Horde.

  “Ten years,” I murmured, more to myself than the others.

  “What did you say?” Vin asked.

  “Nothing. I just thought... we’re a long way from the Elven highlands, Vin. From the magical forests, too. A long way from everything we once knew.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Vin placed a hand on my shoulder. She knew nothing of the memories Gravor had hidden in my head, but she sensed my restlessness. “We are here, Luken. And we are ready. Let the Orcs come. We will show them that Caleon is more than just a map to be conquered.”

  Arik stepped beside us and also looked into the distance. “I saw some lichen on the north wall. If I feed it enough mana, I can grow it into tripwires that could bring down even an Orc Warg.”

  “That’s the spirit we need,” I said, forcing a smile. “Let’s head back to the fortress. We should coordinate with the Ironbrand commanders. If we’re going to be fighting on the front lines, we need to know where their cannons end and our operational area begins. I have no desire to be roasted by our own people.”

  Arik let out a short laugh. “That would indeed be an embarrassing end for the ‘Pal’.”

  I groaned at the name, but it helped loosen the oppressive atmosphere for a moment. We began the climb back to the upper city, while behind us, the sun slowly sank behind the jagged peaks of the Gray Mountains, and the shadows over Rockguard grew longer and colder.

  After the steep climb back, we found a red tent city near the barracks. In the gray gloom of Rockguard, the camp of House Ironbrand looked like a gaping, bloody gash in the stone. While the architecture of the Gray Lords was designed to merge with the mountain, Ironbrand seemed to loudly claim every square meter of ground they occupied. Scarlet and gold banners fluttered everywhere, and the air was thick with the scent of lamp oil, hot iron, and the acrid ozone of mana tanks.

  It was not a quiet camp. It was a hammering, hissing factory of war. We watched as soldiers in heavy, red-lacquered harnesses hoisted huge barrels of incendiary mix onto carts, while nearby, squads of mechanics tinkered with flamethrowers as if they were holy relics.

  In the center of the square, between two massive supply wagons, stood a small group that immediately caught our attention. Three people in elaborate, gleaming plate armor, the red of which was so deep it appeared almost black.

  The woman in the middle was undoubtedly the leader. She was young, perhaps my age, but her gaze was as sharp as the blade at her belt. She wore no helmet, and her dark hair was plaited into a tight braid. She was flanked by two men. One was a gaunt, scarred veteran with a bald head and a sergeant’s insignia on his collar. The other was older, with a well-groomed but graying beard and that sort of arrogant nonchalance one only acquires by being either very rich or very talented at killing.

  "Ah, the cavalry from the capital has arrived," the woman said as we drew closer. She crossed her arms over her breastplate, which bore the engraved flaming crest of Ironbrand. Her tone was a mixture of mockery and genuine curiosity. "I was actually expecting more glitter and less... dust."

  I came to a halt and gave her a curt nod. "The dust comes with the territory. I’m Luken. These are Vin and Arik."

  "Luken, hm?" The older man stepped forward. He scrutinized us as if we were a pair of horses he was looking to buy at the market. "I am Valkor Ironbrand. Uncle to the lady here and the one who ensures this army doesn't shoot in the wrong direction. This is Sergeant Horgas. He’s the reason our men don’t run away when things get hot—mostly because he’s standing behind them threatening to set their backsides on fire."

  Horgas, the sergeant, gave a crooked grin that distorted the deep scars on his face in an unpleasant way. "Only for the recruits, my Lord. The veterans know that running is slower than dying."

  The woman took a step toward us. "And I am Elara. Daughter of House Ironbrand. I lead this vanguard. We heard Thivan was sending us support, but he forgot to mention that one of you is... well, a bit dusty." Her gaze drifted to Arik.

  Arik, whose entire body consisted of fine, gray ash, tilted his head. "Dusty is an understatement," he said in his dry, cracking voice. "But unlike your cannons, I don't need oil to function."

  Valkor laughed out loud and slapped his thigh. "Listen to that! A pile of ash with self-confidence. I like that. Most people from Drymon talk as if they have a stick up their backsides, but you at least seem to have some backbone."

  "We’re here to stop the Orcs, not to make speeches," I said, realizing that I actually quite liked the direct, almost boastful nature of the Ironbrands. They were show-offs, yes, but they looked like they could back up their words with deeds. "What’s the situation?"

  Elara motioned us toward a map table spread across two empty ammunition crates. "The Gray Lords are great at building walls, but they’re terrible at imagining that someone might actually climb over them. They rely on their golems and their thick stones. We, on the other hand..." She pointed to a line of cannons positioned at the edge of the camp. "...we rely on purification by fire."

  "The Orcs are about three days' march away," Valkor added, tracing a small dagger across the map. "Uzug is a fox. He’s sending small squads ahead to test our patrols. He knows the Gray Lords are slow. But he doesn't know we are here. We haven't officially manned our positions yet, so he’ll think the fortress is only half-garrisoned."

  "A classic trap," Vin remarked, looking around the camp. "But what happens if they overcome the first wall? Your cannons take time to reload."

  Horgas, the sergeant, chimed in. "That’s what the infantry is for, sweetheart. Ironbrand soldiers don’t wear this heavy plate for nothing. We form the wall of fire. Every man has a hand-projector. If an Orc gets closer than ten meters, he’s no longer a warrior; he’s a grilled chicken."

  I had to smirk. The arrogance was almost infectious. "Sounds like a plan. But the three of us aren't here to stand behind your shields. We operate mobile."

  Elara looked at me, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Mobile, eh? We’ve heard of your abilities, Paladin. And the Elf’s. But don’t think you can play the hero here while my men do the heavy lifting. We coordinate every sortie. Anyone who doesn't stick to the plan ends up in the crossfire of our flames. And believe me, that is not a pleasant way to go."

  "I don't plan on being grilled, Elara," I countered calmly. "But we can plug holes your cannons can't reach. Arik can slip through the smallest cracks, Vin can control the battlefield with her vines, and I... well, I’ll make sure Gravor has enough to do."

  Valkor raised his eyebrows at the mention of the demon's name but said nothing more. It was obvious they knew who I was, even if they hid it under a layer of bluster.

  "Fine," Elara said finally. "I like people who aren't afraid of a bit of soot. We’ll include you in the next briefing with Grohl. Until then, feel free to look around the camp. If you’re hungry, head to the field kitchen behind the third tent. But don’t complain about the spice—we Ironbrands like it hot."

  "We already suspected as much," Arik said dryly.

  We left the group at the map table and strolled through the camp. It was interesting to see how different the mentalities were. The Gray Lords up in the fortress were like the rock itself: immovable, stoic, almost depressive in their seriousness. The Ironbrands down here were like fire: loud, bright, dangerous, and constantly in motion.

  "I like them," Vin said surprisingly, as we passed a squad of soldiers touching up their armor with red lacquer.

  "Really?" I asked, astonished. "They're pretty conceited."

  "Yes, but they're honest," Vin said. "They’ll tell you to your face that they think you’re an amateur, but they’ll still offer you their food. I prefer that to the diplomatic babble in Drymon."

  Arik nodded, a small puff of ash trickling from his shoulder. "Besides, they have good equipment. The mana tanks are built solid. When the fight starts, it’ll be helpful to have people by our side who won't immediately beg for mercy if their shield breaks."

  We reached the edge of the tent camp where a group of soldiers was practicing target shooting with their hand-projectors. Short, controlled bursts of flame shot from the nozzles, blackening stone practice dummies. The smell of burnt fuel was particularly strong here.

  I looked up at the walls of Rockguard. Up there, the golems of the Gray Lords patrolled, their massive shapes silhouetted against the evening sky. Down here, the light of the Ironbrands burned. It was a strange alliance—stone and fire, united against the dark tide of the Orcs.

  "We should take a closer look at the city," I suggested. "If the Orcs really are that fast, we need to know the bottlenecks. I don't want to end up in a dead end just because I misread the map."

  We left the red camp and plunged back into the narrow alleys of Rockguard. The city was a labyrinth. Stairs led into dark tunnels, bridges arched over deep chasms, and almost everywhere there were small squares perfect for ambushes.

  "Look at this," Vin said, stopping before a small fountain carved from a single block of granite. "Not a drop of water. All dry. The Gray Lords seem to have diverted all the water into the lower cisterns to secure supplies for a siege."

  "Makes sense," Arik said. "Orcs often bring shamans who can poison the water. If it’s in the cisterns beneath the rock, they can't get to it."

  We continued our exploration. In the poorer quarters of the city, we saw residents boarding up their windows with heavy wooden shutters and lugging supplies into cellars. There was a somber mood, but no chaos. The discipline of the Gray Lords had rubbed off on the population. Everyone knew what to do.

  At a street corner, we encountered a patrol of the city guard. They wore gray cloaks over their chainmail and held long halberds. They scrutinized us briefly, likely recognizing our insignia or the unusual appearance of Arik and Vin, and let us pass without a word.

  "There’s hardly any green here," Vin noted sadly, running her hand over the bare stone walls. "Only a few lichens and moss in the shadows. It will be difficult for me to build large traps here without sowing seeds first."

  "Then you’d better start right away," I advised her. "Target the most important intersections. We don't know how much time we have left."

  We spent the next few hours walking the key points of the city. We marked the locations of the Ironbrand cannons, the access routes to the walls, and the escape routes into the upper fortress. It was tedious work, but it gave us the feeling of having at least a little control over the situation.

  As darkness finally fell over Rockguard, we returned to the Ironbrand camp. The fires burned brighter now, and the clatter of mess kits replaced the hammering of the smiths. Elara, Valkor, and Horgas were back at their table, this time with mugs in their hands, laughing at a story the sergeant was telling.

  They saw us coming, and Elara raised her mug. "Well, have you explored your new home? Or did you get lost in the tunnels?"

  "We found everything we need," I replied, sitting down on a bench with them. "The city is a nightmare for attackers. If we defend it correctly, Uzug will break his teeth on it."

  "That’s the spirit, Luken!" Valkor cried, sliding a mug of a dark, potent brew toward me. "Drink. It’s Ironbrand Special. It burns twice, but it keeps the heart warm."

  I took a sip and immediately felt the heat racing down my throat. It tasted of herbs and pure alcohol, but it was exactly what I needed right now.

  We sat together for a while longer, exchanging stories and getting to know the people behind the red armor. They were show-offs, yes. They were convinced of their superiority. But they were also comrades, ready to die for each other and for this land.

  The Orcs might come. The Scar-Horde might be large. But here, within the walls of Rockguard, a reception awaited them that they would not soon forget.