From there, the streets had grown more crowded, with both people and structures. It became hard to see the surrounding lay of the land. The smell of refuse, and the press of the populace, had been overwhelming. That evening, when they came to the center of Castlemont and stood in the city’s wide open square, Shaella pointed up and to the east, and showed Gerard what a real castle looked like.
Wildermont was easily the richest kingdom in the east. The small mountain range was full of iron and copper deposits. Nearly all raw iron ore, and the majority of worked metal products in the entire realm, came from here. Brackets, axles, fittings for wagon building; banded hinges, frames and latches for construction; swords, steel spear and arrow tips, and armor all came from Wildermont. It was no wonder the ancient kings had built into the side of the mountains a monstrous palace-like structure that dwarfed any other kingdom seat in the realm.
Half the mountain was bricked, blocked, tiled and arched, all in the same pale gray stone. Half a hundred towers reached into the heavens, while in their shadows, twice as many more tried to do the same. A dozen wide crenellated walls, with wagons, and groups of people scurrying along the tops of them, snaked across the mountainside. Here and there, huge wooden gates were set in the sides of them. The tiny colorful specks of a thousand different banners flickered in the breeze. All of this seemed to glow dully in the evening as the sun slowly set.
As darkness slipped over the world, Gerard’s amazement grew a hundredfold. Thousands of window-arches and doorways began to glow golden, as torches and lamps were lit all over the palace. Large barrel fires blazed forth from along the tops of the walls and bridges, making them all look like elevated roads that floated in the air. It was a sight to behold.
They had gotten an inn again that night, but Shaella hadn’t come to him. She had other business, she had told him. He didn’t complain. He drank a mug of dark ale, in the common room with Greyber, while a bard sang a ballad about a pirate who had his entire ship snatched from the sea by an angry blue dragon. The pirate’s lover was so stricken by the loss that she rowed a skiff out to sea, and was never seen again.
Later, Gerard went back to his room and fell fast asleep. His dreams were full of the wonders that the rest of the world might hold for him to see. Only a small portion of his dreams concentrated on the fact that soon, he was going to be very close to a dragon himself.
The next morning, they rode further south. The familiar Leif Greyn River found the road again and flowed along beside it. Here, the river was so wide that he could barely make out the opposite shore line. Westland was over there. The roadway was wider here too. Carts and horse-drawn wagons came and went, three abreast. They passed, but didn’t cross, the incredibly huge bridge that led over into the Westland City of Locar.
“Locar Crossing,” Shaella called it. She paused, and studied the impossible span for quite some time.
The bridge was colossal: four wagon lanes and a pedestrian lane. Gerard watched, as a barge slipped under one of the seven arches that the viaduct made on its way across the river. The center arch was bigger than the others. At its top, the bridge seemed to be impossibly thin, yet it held fast as three fully loaded wagons, five horses, and a large huddle of squealing pigs went across it at the same time.
While Shaella studied something that was further across the bridge, Gerard studied the diverse types of fashion he saw people wearing. Here was a pair of men in red robes, and over there, was a peasant in rags. A lady, in a fine yellow dress on horseback, being led by a fully armored knight, had the crowds parting before them, as if they had the plague. A man in baggy silk pants the color of emeralds hurried past, a long, shining cape wavering after him. The variances were endless. But almost everywhere he looked, there was at least one uniformed man sporting a red wolf’s-head patch.
After finally leaving the crowds of Castlemont behind them, they came to yet another river bridge. This one was called Low Crossing. It spanned a small river that came out of the Wilder Mountains, just before it joined the main flow of the Leif Greyn. The town there, also called Low Crossing, was full of warehouses, and seedy looking men who wore the garb of river men.
They didn’t cross this bridge. While Shaella secured them a room for the night, Cole and Flick spoke with some workmen near a dock, where several barges full of wooden crates were moored. Gerard saw Cole pass a pouch to one of them, but didn’t concern himself with the matter. Shaella was returning, and he could tell by the look on her face, that she was going to spend this night with him. They didn’t make love, but instead, stayed up late kissing, laughing, and talking of the sights and wonders that had amazed Gerard. Eventually, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.