The journey to Ironhorn was arduous. An already difficult journey was made worse by the injuries affecting their party. Though Sub-Commander Akash seemed to be able to ignore his injury with a near-inhuman determination, the others were not similarly gifted. Salah might not have been able to make it if not for the dramatic increase of his haztu rations, and the other injured soldiers were not much better.
Perhaps worse than this was the constant anxiety. At night, once the tents went up, the terrible silence crept in. Every rabbit in the forest became a Galyrian assassin, and every broken branch sent the group into high alert. Most nights, Hashim read until sleep left him no choice but to submit. The book was certainly interesting, but it did not mention anything relevant to what the strange man had said . He had skimmed through the book looking for mentions of a place named Mistkeep, but he didn’t see anything. Despite this, he read on, hoping to find a clue of any sort.
“The Ra’khemians were a single race, alike in their basic features, but diverse in their subtleties. It was not until the second era that the races we know today began to develop, as a result of a drastic decrease in migration, and a mystical process that is still not well understood by scholars. Researchers have generally described these distinct features as localizations of the symbiosis the Ra’khem shared with the land of Eroth.
While the Ra’khem expressed their connection to the entirety of the world, the races of today express their connection to a specific area. For example, pale features and resistance to cold are found in the Snoweyes of the North. Among the Vinelings who inhabit the rainforests of the Southwest, green-tinted skin is commonplace, and plant growth in place of hair is not unheard of. The Sai’Ath, who traditionally spent their lives nomadically, running nearly constantly across the sprawling plains of Eastern Eroth, has developed unmatched stamina. The Saffremi, who inhabit some of the most extreme of Eroth’s climates, have outstanding resistance to drought, heat, and cold.
The Bar’sholi of the Feral Isles (now known as Elkenvale) are a different matter, which is outside the scope of this book.”
This passage intrigued Hashim, and he wondered how he might be able to explain the physical features of the man he had met — his Snoweye stature and eyes, and his Sai’Ath ears. He decided that he could explore this more in Ironhorn, when they all knew a bit more about what was going on.
In the mornings, as soon as the sun rose, Hashim and Sophia would spar. It was a good way to take their thoughts off the ever-present thoughts, but it also fed into something else for Hashim. The warm glow of anger was growing within him with every day, threatening to consume him. Never in his life had he felt such rage, even when he had witnessed a Snoweye prince assassinated by Wirrsholis during a speech innSilverreach. As far as Hashim was concerned, there was no honor among the Galyrians, and so they did not deserve to be treated with honor. As he went back and forth with Sophia, he imagined himself cutting down Galyrians. As he had this particular thought, he felt a moment of disgust at himself. He had always tried to remain above such cruel sentiments, believing that all peoples had good and bad, and anyone who said otherwise was biased in some way. But this idea was beginning not to fit him anymore. Now was not a time for understanding, he felt. Now was a time for revenge.
Eventually, after four more nights, the group came within sight of Ironhorn. As soon as they crested a hill and laid their eyes upon it, they understood its name. From a great distance, it appeared as a group of stone spikes nearly as tall as a mountain, rupturing the earth and reaching into the heavens. As they rode down the hill towards the city, Hashim squinted his eyes and saw that a sprawling network of stairways, tunnels, walkways, and hanging houses wrapped around the sides of these spikes. Not spikes, Hashim realized, horns. Horns of stone and iron. As they drew closer to the city, the extent to which the people of this city lived on, around, and in these spikes became increasingly clear. At some points, huge caverns were cut into the horns, their depths illuminated by the flickering lanterns of merchants and citizens dwelling within. Around these central horns, of which there were seven, lay a sprawling city, at least four times the size of Silverreach.
Hashim was speechless, and the others appeared to be too. They approached the city in silence, watching in awe as the true scale of these horns continued to reveal itself.
As they approached, Hashim asked Sara whether she had ever been to the city before. “Once,” she had answered, “when I was a small girl. I remembered it to be so large, and here I am now, and it is even more daunting than I remember.”
It was hard to imagine that any force could take this behemoth of a city, a city so old that its founders, its birthdate, and even its original name had been long forgotten. And yet, Salah reminded Hashim that this city was not the largest in Eroth. Galehold, the capital of Galyria, and Lavakirr, the largest city in Illhana, were both said to be larger. This was most certainly the Iron City the man in Hashim’s dream had spoken of.
As the soldiers rode single-file through the outer suburbs of Ironhorn, they experienced for the first time, the full force of Wirrsholi resentment against the Gahlalians. Mothers shepherded their children inside, and men yelled and spat at the group. Sub-Commander Akash had warned them that this would likely be the case and told them quite strictly that they were not to react. Hashim was a bit worried about how Salah would take it, but it seemed that his worries were unfounded, as the soldier simply kept his eyes down the road, ignoring the insults being hurled.
A young man, clearly intoxicated, walked down the street towards the group. Upon seeing their stark white hair and small stature, his eyes narrowed. “How dare you walk through our city? Bored of…” he trailed off before remembering his point. “Bored of slaughtering our children at the border, eh??” When the third soldier passed him, he kicked at her horse’s leg, prompting the steed to neigh loudly and break from the course, attempting to run ahead of the others. The soldier brought it under control, but the man was stumbling after her.
Before he reached her, though, Sub-Commander Akash was between them. “These Snoweyes are here at the request of the Lord of Ironhorn and all Wirrshol. You will not interfere with their passage.”
The man looked up at Akash’s masked, armored figure, before scoffing. “Fine. They won’t make it through the night, anyway.” Hashim glanced at Sophia, and then Humeera. They both seemed concerned by this statement, and he would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t.
Eventually, the group reached the garrison. It was closer to the center of the city, but not in a particularly densely populated area. At the gate, Sub-Commander Akash spoke to the guard in Wirrsholi, and the soldier ran into the garrison. A couple of minutes later, the gates opened, and the group proceeded inside.
“Welcome, Warriors of Gahlal,” said an officer standing at the gate, his face completely obscured. “please make your way to the stables, and then report back here.”
The group followed his instructions, and after the commander took a list of names and ages, he led them to a large barracks. As Hashim walked into it, he was delighted to see that his fellow Gahlalians had been placed in the same barracks. However, this delight quickly vanished as he noticed their strangely small number, and the defeated looks plastered across the faces of many of them. Some lay on their cots, with a bandage around an arm or leg.
Sara was just as shocked as him. “Instructor Haddad! What has happened?”
Instructor Haddad was tall for a snoweye, and judging by his darker tone of skin and long, unkempt beard, he was a coast man, likely from Owlcros. “Galyrian assassins. They hit half our squads as they moved across northern Wirrshol.”
Sara’s face filled with dread, and she took a couple of deep breaths before replying. “By Malok… We were hit too. Lost nearly half our soldiers.” There it was. That name again.
Haddad seemed not to recognize the name either but continued nonetheless. “We figured as much… We were relieved to hear any of you arrived at all. They’ll be taking each of your soldiers to be questioned soon. These Wirrsholis can’t seem to make enough reports.”
Sara nodded, too tired and shocked to give a meaningful response. “Soldiers, find bunks. I have to talk with Sub-Commander Akash and the other Wirrsholi officers, to figure out what in Eroth we lost all these men for.” With that, she exited the barracks, walking out of sight alongside Akash.
Hashim and Salah found a bunk, Hashim taking the top one for the first time in their partnership. Well, silver linings I guess, he thought as he clambered onto his bed. The top bunk allowed a slightly higher level of privacy, but Salah had somehow won every bet they made for it. After setting up their things, they made some small talk with the other soldiers. Though it was good to see more Gahlalians, they all knew that their conversations were all an attempt to avoid the one topic they truly wanted to talk about.
However, they did learn some useful information about the journeys of the others. They set out either one or two days earlier than the soldiers from Silverreach. Those in Owlcros received the news first, and the news travel Eastward from there. Thus, they had arrived in Ironhorn around two days ago. Since then, those who had not been injured in the ambushes had been ordered to take part in the Wirrsholi training regimen. Those who were injured, but not badly enough to be in the infirmary, were assigned to tasks such as cooking and cleaning. Salah was not pleased to hear of his likely fate, but he agreed that cleaning was probably better than sparring through broken ribs.
Eventually, as Instructor Haddad had promised, an officer came into the barracks. He read a name from a list, and a soldier left with him. Ten minutes later, they were back, and the process repeated itself. Hashim was the fifth to be called, letting the officer lead him out of the barracks and into a small office, where stacks of paper sat unorganized on the desk. He gestured for Hashim to sit, then pulled out a couple of sheets of paper. Dipping his quill in ink, he touched it to the paper, before looking up at Hashim.
“What was your name again?”
“Um… Hashim Akimidi, sir.”
“Oh yes, that’s right. Well, Hashim. I am the sub-commander in charge of battle reports here at Ironhorn garrison, and I’ll be asking you a few questions. Is this alright?” Before Hashim could even open his mouth, the officer continued. “Great. So, you were camping outside Inarahi when the ambush occurred, correct?”
“Yes, that’s right.” The officer continued to confirm a number of basic facts, writing constantly as he did. He obviously knew all this, but he asked it anyway, no doubt to be sure no small details would be lost that could be of use to protecting against future strikes.
“So, I’ve been told three Galyrians were killed. Is this the case, and who was responsible for their deaths?”
Hashim shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “Well, two were killed by Sub-Commander Akash. And the other, was, uh, killed by myself and four other soldiers, sir.”
The officer looked up at him for the first time since they sat down, raising an eyebrow slightly. “I see…” He returned to taking notes. “Did you see any equipment of note? Anything you wouldn’t see on a Snoweye soldier?
“No, I don’t think so….”
“Okay, did the assassins talk at all, maybe they-“
“Actually,” Hashim said, prompting the officer to look up coldly. Hashim winced but continued. “The assassin we killed, he wore strange red armor on certain parts of his body. His forearms hands, and feet. Sophia, one of the other soldiers who killed him, and I got to keep his equipment.”
“Yes, that is the custom among rural Saffremi, I am aware. As for the armor itself, others have already informed me. It is likely just stained using some sort of dye we do not have access to here. They do the same thing on ceremonial swords.”
Hashim was somewhat underwhelmed. But then, he remembered the unbelievable ability of the Galyrian to block full-strength sword blows with only his forearm. “But the man who wore it… When we attempted to strike him, he would block with his forearms. You would think this would break them, but he just took hit after hit after hit. It was… inhuman.”
The officer looked up skeptically at Hashim. “I see…” he murmured, scribbling some notes. Then, unceremoniously, he stood up. “Well. that should conclude it. Thank you for your time soldier, return to your barracks now and await further instructions.”
Hashim felt a tinge of disappointment. He had hoped that this information would have surprised the officer in some way, but he seemed completely unphased. There was something else Hashim wanted to ask, but he wasn’t sure if he should. Deciding there was nothing to lose, he went ahead.
“Before I go, um, do you know anything about something or someplace named Mistkeep?”
The officer raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps you mean Mistshire? Small town in Illhana.”
“No, I don’t think so…” Hashim said, once again disappointed. “Thank you anyways, sir.” The officer looked at him suspiciously, then quickly scribbled down another couple of notes. Great, Hashim thought now he has it on record that I’m insane. With a quick nod, Hashim stood and left, resisting the urge to bow as he would to a Gahlalian officer. When he returned to the barracks, he was ordered outside to begin afternoon training. Its difficulty was surprising — and the Wirrsholi warriors seemed to be similarly unprepared. This was a nation training for war. As he settled into the rhythm of training over the next few days, and as his dreams of life as a city guard or a border defenseman began to slip away, along with everything else he had held to be true, he focused himself on a single goal. He would do his best to make the Galyrians hurt as they had hurt his people.
