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<blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 7438043" data-attributes="member: 143"><p>Let's just say that there are a lot of hidden wheels at work within elvish society. But for now we'll drop in and see what Bredan and company have been up to...</p><p></p><p>* * * </p><p></p><p>Chapter 169</p><p></p><p>The dwarves were a quiet, competent-looking lot, all warriors clad in plate armor with various axes, hammers, and crossbows hanging about their persons. They rode sure-footed mountain horses that stood several hands shorter than the mounts that the companions had brought from Five Spires. The only one who introduced himself was their leader, a gruff-faced figure named Trok. There were seven in all, a number that Quellan said held special significance for the dwarves.</p><p></p><p>Grimacing slightly as she settled once again into her saddle, Xeeta fell in with her companions as they resumed their journey. The dwarves spread out and surrounded them, almost like an honor guard—or just guards, she thought. They seemed to watch the surrounding landscape and their charges with equal scrutiny, and Xeeta had to school herself to keep her attention focused ahead, and to ignore the eyes she could feel on her back.</p><p></p><p>The road continued to climb as the day advanced, and the temperature dropped steadily even as the sun rose higher into the sky. Dark clouds gathered over the mountains to the south, but they remained too distant to threaten the company.</p><p></p><p>Bredan had grown quiet again, withdrawing once more into himself. Konstantin tried several times to start up a dialogue with Trok, but the dwarf made it difficult with his monosyllabic responses. But the wizard persisted, occasionally drawing Quellan into his conversations to fill the gaps. He was a natural diplomat, Xeeta thought. Certainly more so than the rest of them. She looked again over at Bredan. She wasn’t here because of the Libram, and didn’t really care if the quest that the wizards had set them upon succeeded or failed. She knew that it was all about power. That was a topic that she knew something about. But she didn’t need the power of a book or some other forgotten lore. Her power burned in her blood, her birthright, her curse.</p><p></p><p>They paused for a brief lunch at another rest station. The dwarves moved with the efficiency of warriors who had spent much time together, caring for the horses and moving their charges along. They seemed impatient, though none of them showed as much as an irate grimace on their faces.</p><p></p><p>It was midafternoon when they spotted their destination ahead. The small column emerged from a steep-walled defile to see another long ascent in front of them. At the top of the ridge stood a walled town, nestled against the shoulder of a white-capped peak. To their left the road dropped away to a steep plummet that concluded in a tree-lined valley hundreds of feet below. Xeeta instinctively shied away from that edge, but their escorts rode a scant arm’s length from it, heedless of the danger. She had a mental image of a sudden gust of wind knocking one of them over the edge, the dwarf rattling in his armor as he bounced down the slope.</p><p></p><p>To distract herself from those thoughts she focused on the town ahead. The wall was impressive, maybe twenty feet tall if she had her scale correct, but the area it sheltered did not look especially large. Only a few buildings were visible behind it, and certainly nothing that came close to the monumentalist structures of Severon.</p><p></p><p>“This is Ironcrest?” she said. “Doesn’t look like much.”</p><p></p><p>She hadn’t meant to be heard, but Quellan was close enough to make out her question. “That is just Hightown,” he told her. “Just one of the districts that makes up the dwarven city. Underhold is said to be breathtaking.”</p><p></p><p>That just raised more questions, but not wanting to show her ignorance she didn’t ask them. She would see for herself soon enough, she thought.</p><p></p><p>As they approached the walls of the town she could make out more detail. Her guess about the height of the wall had been, if anything, a bit low. The gates that the road ended at were generously banded in iron and looked thick. They were flanked both by arrow slits to either side and murder holes above, dark openings behind which vague shadows moved. Two protruding towers stuck out from the wall, each supporting platforms that bore heavy ballistae on swivel mounts. Xeeta noted how they tracked the party as it approached.</p><p></p><p>“Really laying out the welcome mat, aren’t they?” she asked. But this time her companions, distracted by their own thoughts, did not respond.</p><p></p><p>Their escort did not slow as they approached and the gates began to swing slowly open. Xeeta could see that they were operated by a heavy mechanism rather than muscle; she could hear the gears grinding together within the walls as they passed through. There were more guards inside, armed and armored much like their escort, but they made way to let them pass into the town.</p><p></p><p>Hightown was fairly unremarkable. It was laid out on a simple square grid, the streets straight enough that Xeeta could see all the way to the outer wall each time they came to an intersection. They continued straight on from the gate, down a central avenue lined by stores and workshops. The buildings were all made of stone, with steeply sloping wooden roofs designed to keep snow from piling up. The streets were busy but not crowded, and while they drew attention no one stopped what they were doing to stare. She saw that her estimate of the size of the town was more or less accurate; they had only traveled a few blocks when she could see the cliff face that marked the shoulder of the mountain against which the dwarven community rested. She guessed that there couldn’t have been maybe fifty or so buildings in the town altogether; one of Severon’s smaller neighborhoods could have swallowed it up with room to spare.</p><p></p><p>But the mystery posed by Quellan’s earlier comment was quickly solved as they passed through the last part of the town. The structures here were larger but still not especially tall. They had large doors on one ends and few windows; Xeeta guessed them to be warehouses. But her attention was drawn to the cliffs ahead, where another gate was just coming into view.</p><p></p><p>This gate made the entrance to Hightown behind them look humble by comparison. These doors were solid stone, and each stood a good fifteen feet high. They were embedded <em>into</em> the mountain, at the end of a short tunnel that could accommodate the massive portals with room to spare. Xeeta didn’t see any arrow slits or other defenses here, but she could still feel eyes watching them as they approached.</p><p></p><p>Trok reined in his horse a good fifty feet from the mouth of the tunnel. The dwarf waited until the others had all stopped, then he slowly raised his right hand and made a fist.</p><p></p><p>The mountain rumbled in response. The doors shook, then slowly began to swing open. Xeeta had thought the gears from the outer gate had been loud. This was like the thunder of an earthquake, even though they were far enough away that she could not see any details of the mechanism. Inside the tunnel proper it had to be deafening.</p><p></p><p>The doors only opened partway before the grinding came to a stop, leaving a gap of maybe six or seven feet between them. Trok dismounted, and his men followed suit. “Your animals will be cared for,” he said.</p><p></p><p>The members of the diplomatic party slid down from their saddles. Xeeta handed the reins of her horse over to one of the guards. Apparently, they would be continuing on foot from this point.</p><p></p><p>As they started forward, a figure appeared in the gap between the doors. It was another dwarf, his beard split into two long braids that covered a richly-embroidered tunic with silver trim and a fur-lined collar and cuffs. He waited for them in the entry, and as the companions approached a pair of lights began to shine from recessed niches inside the roof of the tunnel. They were bright enough that it was painful to look at them directly, and as they entered that radiance Xeeta felt something else, a slight prickling sensation on her skin that made her feel slightly uncomfortable. She could now see other dwarves waiting beyond the gates, a mix of warriors and well-dressed officials like the one standing before them.</p><p></p><p>“On behalf of the Council of Elders of the Dwarven People of the Iron Crags, I welcome you to Ironcrest,” the dwarf said.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Lazybones, post: 7438043, member: 143"] Let's just say that there are a lot of hidden wheels at work within elvish society. But for now we'll drop in and see what Bredan and company have been up to... * * * Chapter 169 The dwarves were a quiet, competent-looking lot, all warriors clad in plate armor with various axes, hammers, and crossbows hanging about their persons. They rode sure-footed mountain horses that stood several hands shorter than the mounts that the companions had brought from Five Spires. The only one who introduced himself was their leader, a gruff-faced figure named Trok. There were seven in all, a number that Quellan said held special significance for the dwarves. Grimacing slightly as she settled once again into her saddle, Xeeta fell in with her companions as they resumed their journey. The dwarves spread out and surrounded them, almost like an honor guard—or just guards, she thought. They seemed to watch the surrounding landscape and their charges with equal scrutiny, and Xeeta had to school herself to keep her attention focused ahead, and to ignore the eyes she could feel on her back. The road continued to climb as the day advanced, and the temperature dropped steadily even as the sun rose higher into the sky. Dark clouds gathered over the mountains to the south, but they remained too distant to threaten the company. Bredan had grown quiet again, withdrawing once more into himself. Konstantin tried several times to start up a dialogue with Trok, but the dwarf made it difficult with his monosyllabic responses. But the wizard persisted, occasionally drawing Quellan into his conversations to fill the gaps. He was a natural diplomat, Xeeta thought. Certainly more so than the rest of them. She looked again over at Bredan. She wasn’t here because of the Libram, and didn’t really care if the quest that the wizards had set them upon succeeded or failed. She knew that it was all about power. That was a topic that she knew something about. But she didn’t need the power of a book or some other forgotten lore. Her power burned in her blood, her birthright, her curse. They paused for a brief lunch at another rest station. The dwarves moved with the efficiency of warriors who had spent much time together, caring for the horses and moving their charges along. They seemed impatient, though none of them showed as much as an irate grimace on their faces. It was midafternoon when they spotted their destination ahead. The small column emerged from a steep-walled defile to see another long ascent in front of them. At the top of the ridge stood a walled town, nestled against the shoulder of a white-capped peak. To their left the road dropped away to a steep plummet that concluded in a tree-lined valley hundreds of feet below. Xeeta instinctively shied away from that edge, but their escorts rode a scant arm’s length from it, heedless of the danger. She had a mental image of a sudden gust of wind knocking one of them over the edge, the dwarf rattling in his armor as he bounced down the slope. To distract herself from those thoughts she focused on the town ahead. The wall was impressive, maybe twenty feet tall if she had her scale correct, but the area it sheltered did not look especially large. Only a few buildings were visible behind it, and certainly nothing that came close to the monumentalist structures of Severon. “This is Ironcrest?” she said. “Doesn’t look like much.” She hadn’t meant to be heard, but Quellan was close enough to make out her question. “That is just Hightown,” he told her. “Just one of the districts that makes up the dwarven city. Underhold is said to be breathtaking.” That just raised more questions, but not wanting to show her ignorance she didn’t ask them. She would see for herself soon enough, she thought. As they approached the walls of the town she could make out more detail. Her guess about the height of the wall had been, if anything, a bit low. The gates that the road ended at were generously banded in iron and looked thick. They were flanked both by arrow slits to either side and murder holes above, dark openings behind which vague shadows moved. Two protruding towers stuck out from the wall, each supporting platforms that bore heavy ballistae on swivel mounts. Xeeta noted how they tracked the party as it approached. “Really laying out the welcome mat, aren’t they?” she asked. But this time her companions, distracted by their own thoughts, did not respond. Their escort did not slow as they approached and the gates began to swing slowly open. Xeeta could see that they were operated by a heavy mechanism rather than muscle; she could hear the gears grinding together within the walls as they passed through. There were more guards inside, armed and armored much like their escort, but they made way to let them pass into the town. Hightown was fairly unremarkable. It was laid out on a simple square grid, the streets straight enough that Xeeta could see all the way to the outer wall each time they came to an intersection. They continued straight on from the gate, down a central avenue lined by stores and workshops. The buildings were all made of stone, with steeply sloping wooden roofs designed to keep snow from piling up. The streets were busy but not crowded, and while they drew attention no one stopped what they were doing to stare. She saw that her estimate of the size of the town was more or less accurate; they had only traveled a few blocks when she could see the cliff face that marked the shoulder of the mountain against which the dwarven community rested. She guessed that there couldn’t have been maybe fifty or so buildings in the town altogether; one of Severon’s smaller neighborhoods could have swallowed it up with room to spare. But the mystery posed by Quellan’s earlier comment was quickly solved as they passed through the last part of the town. The structures here were larger but still not especially tall. They had large doors on one ends and few windows; Xeeta guessed them to be warehouses. But her attention was drawn to the cliffs ahead, where another gate was just coming into view. This gate made the entrance to Hightown behind them look humble by comparison. These doors were solid stone, and each stood a good fifteen feet high. They were embedded [i]into[/i] the mountain, at the end of a short tunnel that could accommodate the massive portals with room to spare. Xeeta didn’t see any arrow slits or other defenses here, but she could still feel eyes watching them as they approached. Trok reined in his horse a good fifty feet from the mouth of the tunnel. The dwarf waited until the others had all stopped, then he slowly raised his right hand and made a fist. The mountain rumbled in response. The doors shook, then slowly began to swing open. Xeeta had thought the gears from the outer gate had been loud. This was like the thunder of an earthquake, even though they were far enough away that she could not see any details of the mechanism. Inside the tunnel proper it had to be deafening. The doors only opened partway before the grinding came to a stop, leaving a gap of maybe six or seven feet between them. Trok dismounted, and his men followed suit. “Your animals will be cared for,” he said. The members of the diplomatic party slid down from their saddles. Xeeta handed the reins of her horse over to one of the guards. Apparently, they would be continuing on foot from this point. As they started forward, a figure appeared in the gap between the doors. It was another dwarf, his beard split into two long braids that covered a richly-embroidered tunic with silver trim and a fur-lined collar and cuffs. He waited for them in the entry, and as the companions approached a pair of lights began to shine from recessed niches inside the roof of the tunnel. They were bright enough that it was painful to look at them directly, and as they entered that radiance Xeeta felt something else, a slight prickling sensation on her skin that made her feel slightly uncomfortable. She could now see other dwarves waiting beyond the gates, a mix of warriors and well-dressed officials like the one standing before them. “On behalf of the Council of Elders of the Dwarven People of the Iron Crags, I welcome you to Ironcrest,” the dwarf said. [/QUOTE]
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