Page 61

“Have you ever seen a more glorious sunset, Lady Clover?” Pranmore asks me, walking merrily beside my horse. “The colors, the radiance. The hue is the exact shade of spring beet juice blended with the milk of a thornthistle.”

“Or watered-down blood,” I point out, since we’re being fancy.

Pranmore turns to me, aghast. Then his features soften, and he softly chides, “You’re teasing me.”

“I am, yes,” I say with a laugh.

“Well, no one can say I am an elf without a sense of humor.” He pauses. “Though, that was a bit morbid perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” I agree, laughing a little harder. Then I reassure him, “It’s a very nice sunset.”

Mollified, he begins looking for words that rhyme with thornthistle.

“Scorn whistle?” Bartholomew suggests.

Pranmore shakes his head thoughtfully. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

I ride ahead, leaving the elf to ponder his options with Bartholomew.

“Not much longer now, Lady Clover,” Simon says when I join him and Henrik at the front.

And true to the captain’s word, as soon as we ride over the next hill, the guard post comes into view. It sits upon the shore of Lake Ileastra, the headwater for the river bearing the same name and the source of much of northern and middle Caldenbauer’s water.

Unlike many of the structures in Caldenbauer, this fortress was constructed by humans and not elves, and its design mimics the architecture from our homeland—sturdy, with few of the ornate embellishments that the elves favor. It’s beautiful in its simplicity.

The multilevel building is constructed of gray stone, with steeply pitched red roofs consisting of many gables and windowed dormers. Smoke puffs from several chimneys, promising our final destination will be warm.

The bailey surrounds it, and a low wall, made of the same rock, encircles the area's perimeter. Two large wooden gates stand open, and beside them, affixed to the stone on either side, hang massive iron lanterns.

“It looks more like a hunting lodge than a guard post,” I say to no one in particular.

Simon laughs. “Wait until you see inside.”

I study the building, watching the guards as they go about their business.

Men stationed at the post keep an eye on the nearby talvernum mine to ensure all the extracted ore makes it onto the waiting boats. The talvernum is then shipped down the river to Waterside and taken to Cabaranth. From there, the raw ore is carefully inventoried, and then a ridiculously high tax is placed upon it. Only then can it be bought by the elven people of the swamps—perhaps King Algernon’s way of getting back at the High Vales for their exorbitant oil and energy crystal prices. After all, they are the only race who can manipulate the magically conductive metal.

Because the price of talvernum is so high, and it’s so carefully regulated to ensure the High Vales don’t create their golems once more, it’s become a much-sought-after item in Caldenbauer’s seedy underground markets.

“The supplies are here,” a guard posted atop the wall yells into the bailey when we are close.

Just like when we entered Denmel, the soldiers in Fortress Lintanry watch curiously as I ride past the gates with Henrik and Simon. These ones, however, are wise enough to keep their mouths shut.

Guards surround the wagons like ants, eager for the new rations. They greet one another and share news.

I dismount my borrowed horse, thanking a soldier when he takes him, and watch the organized pandemonium around me.

Henrik stands in the middle of it all, a long list in his hand, checking items off as they’re unloaded from the first wagon and barking at anyone who attempts to pull things from any of the others. An older, dark-haired knight stands next to him, tall but shorter than Henrik, nodding as Henrik directs the madness.

“You’re efficient, Henrik,” he says approvingly when they’ve finished with the first wagon and are about to move to the next.

“Thank you, sir,” Henrik says, and then he reluctantly admits they lost some of the supplies to the vultures.

“How odd,” the man says. “I’ve never heard of them acting so aggressively.”

A young soldier next to him says, “Do you think it has something to do with the aynauths’ unusual behavior? Perhaps it is connected?”

Henrik clears his throat. “Actually, we believe they were drawn by cheese we were requested to deliver to Lord Forlentia. It has a unique aroma.”