DREAMWIELDER Book 1 of The Dreamwielder Chronicles

Chapter 7: THE DARK CITY

It had been a wearying three-week journey from Kal Pyrthin, first along the River Kylep, then across the border from Pyrthinia into Sargoth and into the highlands past Lepig, and lastly through Forrest Weorcan, which loomed dark and foreboding even though the massive trees had been cleared for a half mile to either side of the high road. Caile's journey was near complete though, and exhausted as he was, he bristled with nervous energy as Col Sargoth came into view. He had heard stories about the city, of course, but nothing could have prepared him for what he now rode toward. The hair at the nape of his neck stood on end, and his left hand involuntarily gripped tighter at his horse's reins.

"It's a dreary looking cesspit, isn't it?" Lorentz remarked.

Caile could only nod. The city stretched outward before them for miles to the south and east of where the Sargothian River emptied into the Gothol Sea. It looked like some great malignant, black sore spreading over the land, Caile thought. Even the seawaters around the city had turned black, and the white sails of the ships entering and leaving the harbor stood out in stark contrast to the inky backdrop.

They had been watching two plumes of black smoke loom larger on the horizon for hours as they approached, but now they could see the actual source of the black smoke. Two sprawling smelting factories at the north and south edges of the city belched out sulfurous black fumes from chimneystacks that rose into the air nearly as high as the five towers of Lightbringer's Keep. The keep itself glimmered like obsidian, and from this distance it looked like a black claw reaching its taloned fingers skyward from the center of the city.

Caile realized that the horses had all stopped of their own accord, and he urged his mount forward toward the south gate of the city. "We best raise our banner and make this official," he said, and Lorentz ordered the red and gold banner of Pyrthinia be raised.

By the time Caile and his honor guard reached the south gate, their banner had been noticed and a retinue of twelve Sargothian cavalry soldiers was waiting to receive them. The soldiers wore mail coifs over their heads and hauberks with articulated shoulder plates beneath black surcoats emblazoned with the symbol of Sargoth: a white sun radiating five shafts of light. Their riding pants were black leather with steel thigh plates sewn in and shynbalds to protect their lower legs. In addition, each soldier had a round shield and a flail strapped to his saddle. The flails were evil looking, crude weapons—huge spiked heads attached with chains to the long ash-wood handles. Hardly ceremonial weapons, Caile thought.

The captain of the guard, who wore an open-faced helm adorned with ram horns to signify his rank, rode forward to greet them, but the confusion on his face was obvious when he saw only Pyrthinian men before him.

"Where is the Princess Taera?" the captain asked, dispensing with any pleasantries.

"She is ill," Caile said. "I have been sent in her place."

"And you are?"

"Prince Caile Delios of Pyrthinia."

The captain sniffed and turned away with a curt waving motion for them to follow. Caile shot Lorentz a glance and Lorentz merely shrugged in return. Caile urged his mount forward, and they followed the retinue through the south gate, which was only a gate in the loosest of terms. There were two columns of granite on either side of the road and an archway spanning the distance between them, but unlike most cities in the Five Kingdoms, Col Sargoth had no outer wall. Rather, the city boundary was wherever the ramshackle hovels and tents on the outskirts of the city stopped. The south gate merely marked where the high road joined the main thoroughfare leading north toward the center of the city.

Once past the outer buildings, the streets were lined on either side with lampposts that smoked and sputtered, their filaments burning a dull orange even though it was still hours before nightfall. The road itself was not paved with flagstones but rather with tar and gravel. Caile watched as it came up in black clumps beneath the horses' hooves only to fall again and get trampled back into the road. The buildings were all tall rectangular affairs—two or three stories high, constructed of soot-stained cedar timber or granite blocks—and they seemed to trap in the choking stench of smoke and naphtha. What really stood out to Caile, however, was the fact that there were very few animals in the streets. In Kal Pyrthin and Sol Valaróz, the streets leading toward the city center were filled with horsemen, horse-drawn wagons, mule-drawn carts, and farmers leading pigs, sheep, goats, chickens, and any number of other animals to market. Here though, there were only the Sargothian cavalrymen on their horses and Caile and his men on their own mounts. There were plenty of city folk hustling about, but all were on foot. The carts were drawn by hand, and the few wagons they passed were self-powered vehicles that were propelled by steam engines, wheezing like bellows and spewing black soot from their smokestacks. Caile had heard of such things but thought them a myth before now.