The Arkanist

The Broken Blade

Chapter 22

The Broken Blade

They reached Dalh in a little more than a week. It was slow traveling along the Mountain Road, and the long nights had never helped, especially the harsh ashfalls mixed with snow, and the harsh winds. It had grown colder as they rimmed the mountains, wheeling around on their right shoulder. The ground had grown rough and rocky, with little shelter from the weather, and little comfort when they slept. Aera had picked up a cold, with a runny nose, and aching limbs. Ollor had tried to warm her when he could, but after their short rests, it returned, with a vengeance.

         Dalh was a vast city, dating back to years of the Anturrian Empire. It sat under the great shadow of the stark black mountains, rising like teeth, sharp and piercing, for they were young formations. Gleaming blankets of crystalline snow adorned their rocky slopes, splotched with ash, and turned to grey. Mist curled about their massive feet, shifting with the winds down into the dale below. Two rivers cut through the rock slopes like silver blades, winding down to flow into one, where the city sat, on either side of the river. The towns people called the river Ied, meaning friend in their tongue, while it true name, given to it by the Aanglars, long ages ago, was Aangar.

         The city shone with shivering torchers as Aera began to climb down a crumbled stone ruin. It was sprawled wide and far, with wooden towers and houses, ragged old shops and crude inns, and paved cobble streets, teeming with people. Dalh was also sat on a ancient trade route, still running today, with goods entering and leaving the city, crossing over the great bridge that arched over the River Aanglar, connecting both sides of the city. Though, trade, today was not as spectacular as it was back when it first opened. With the collapse of the Anturrians, the trade between the East and the West of Runir, collapsed as well, which Dalh was on the main trade route. Rough times followed soon after, but as of late, they have begun to flourish again.

         As Aera and Ollor came closer to the city, they could see the décor of the great celebratory time of Yune, the month after the day of Yule, the new year of Sheon in their calendar, and the day they were formed. Banners of red and gold streamed from the ramparts of the walls and draped down from roof to roof, glistening with the glow of the torches and braziers. At the gates, the doors were open, and the dirt road met cobble and stone. The gate was grand, flanked with banners of Yune, and two massive lights that set on the parapet. They looked like lamps, but they didn’t give off the same kind of light. Aera guessed they were ashcatchers, invented by the genius of Sheon, Elaod. In the convex outer shell of blown glass, was a simple converter, round and glowing a dark shade of red, which he had invented as well. The converter, with the open top, caught the falling ash, and transferred it into energy, which built of and would spark against a wick, and begin to glow. Aera watched the invention pulse with the beating red light, which also flushed out warmth, which flooded into the close streets as well.

         Dozens of ashcatchers lined the streets, hanging on thin strings that made them look as if they were floating, illuminating the cobble, along the shuddering flames of the torches bolted to the wooden walls about the shops or inns. The towns people were gathering about a large stone statue of some god when Aera and Ollor entered, Ollot leading the way through the throngs of people. Most of them were garbed in ratty wool robes or roughspun cloaks, dyed grey. It seemed all those gathered about the statue wore a cloak of white. They were dirty and frayed, but still white. Aera guessed they couldn’t afford anything better.

         As they got closer to the river the split the city, the air grew rank with the smell of salt and fish. Shops with bait and tackle and raw fish, freshly caught walled Aera as she passed, the smells drifting into her nose. Their steely silver scale armor glinted in the lights of torches that burned over the shops. A large fishery rose on the edge of the river, where mass productions of fish and food were being made, with steaming plumes of smoke coiling into the dark sky like black serpents. Ships drifted across the river as if it was glass, the currents slow and steady. Many were docked, their sails laid flat, and their masts bare and empty. Cargo was carried off their hulls by grim seamen, and boxes of goods were laid on the ports.