Ambassador (Conqueror of Isles Book 1) by Stephen L. Hadley

Author:Stephen L. Hadley [Hadley, Stephen L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-11-27T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Elias’ first clear view of Dan Tien arrived roughly an hour before sundown. He’d glimpsed the walls and a few high towers sporadically throughout the day, but it was not until they’d practically reached the city itself that he realized just how incomplete his impression had been.

Dan Tien was a fortress. He’d imagined the walls to be akin to Islesmark’s defenses, roughly twice his height and perhaps just wide enough for a sentry to patrol atop. In reality, Dan Tien’s perimeter rose taller than the highest peak of Governor-General Offert’s palace, perhaps three times taller than he’d expected. Nor was height its only impressive attribute. One glance at the enormous slabs of stone that comprised its bottommost layer told Elias that the fortification was easily a dozen paces wide, if not wider.

“Seven hells,” he whispered. He did not even realize that he stopped in his tracks until Avans nearly collided with him from behind. “Look at the damned thing!”

Avans barely even glanced up. “Aye,” he agreed. “That’s one hell of a wall. I don’t envy Offert having to find a way inside.”

“Forget Offert. How are we going to manage it?”

The answer, as it turned out, was quite simple. From high atop her mount, Rhona led them down a broad, winding road to the western side of the city. They passed dozens of elves along the way. But, true to Lucasta’s prediction, none bothered them with more than a greeting. Twice, they passed small groups of soldiers riding the opposite direction, but received only disinterested glances. Until, at last, they reached the gate.

If anything, Dan Tien’s western gate was even more impressive than the wall that contained it. The vertical beams that comprised it had been fashioned from whole trees and reinforced with enormous slabs of heavy iron. Even more astonishingly, the gate did not open inward or rise like a portcullis, but swung up and outward with the aid of enormous chains and half-hidden gears that loomed overhead like the fangs of some immense, mechanical creature.

“Don’t stare,” Lucasta whispered, unexpectedly at Elias’ side. “Keep your head down. The Gwydas will do the talking.”

He was about to ask what she meant when he saw them. On either side of the gate, directing the flow of foot traffic and occasionally glancing through famos-drawn carts, roughly two dozen soldiers were stationed. Distracted by the sight of the gate, Elias had completely missed them until now. And, upon noticing them, a flash of icy fear stole the warmth from his chest and hands.

“Keep walking,” Lucasta continued. “Everything will be fine.”

Elias doubted that very much, but they were too near to turn back now. Fighting to keep his shudders hidden, he trudged forward alongside the others.

The queue was less an organized line than a narrow crowd of bodies gradually shuffling forward when the route ahead was clear. At times, the guards interrupted the flow of traffic to search a wagon or question the odd pedestrian. But, otherwise, they moved without the chance to pause or prepare.

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