Northern Barrier Range

Mikkin inhaled the crisp air, so cold it nearly burned his lungs. It was colder in the open than it was down in the tunnels, made worse by the biting wind. Much worse. Here, winter was in full swing, the darkest day long since come and gone. In two months, spring would arrive. But until then, the world was covered in white. From their perch high up in the aviary of Bird's Nest, it was a view to behold.

"It is as we hoped!" Fik shouted over the wind, coming out of the mountain's carved shelter, waving a small cylinder in his hand. He'd just popped into the aviary to speak with the Dwargs who safeguarded the ravens. Mikkin stood on the far side of the viewing deck, hewn from the mountain with nothing but a short parapet to keep onlookers from tumbling to their deaths. "A message arrived ahead of us from Lord Dubrael. Been here three days."

Fik wouldn't chance reading the message aloud here, not in the cold, and not when the Dwargs who operated this sky aviary weren't of their immediate party. So they took a few more minutes soaking up the pale sunlight before departing back into darkness.

"I hate admitting that I'm relieved to be out of the wind," Jamie muttered. "But I'm sick of the dark." The lad had kept his spirits up along this journey, his curiosity and call for adventure battling his fears over his parents. Fears that they might have been lost when the dragons swept across the north burning and destroying whole settlements. Mikkin had reassured Jame time and again there was still a possibility they had survived—but it was only a weak hope. Word was that thousands of refugees had fled the remaining northern settlements for Squall's End in hopes of seeking protection from the Drengr. That was of course, before Squall's End had been overtaken. Still, it was said that the dragons didn't harm the inhabitants there, that they merely held them captive. And with the Dwargs pledging to assist the king in reclaiming the city, he and Jamie had a better chance of seeing if Tynen and Mary had survived.

Here in the dim light, Fik was already unrolling the scroll. Beside him, Gro held aloft a torch to read the script as the rest of their party gathered close. It was Dwargish, so Fik translated aloud. "Dubrael has received word from the Drengr king. Plans to reclaim Squall's End are underway. They have discovered a way to attack while protecting the citizens—"

"How?!" both Mikkin and Jamie blurted at the same time.

"It does not say. It appears the Drengr king kept that a secret. Obvious reasons, methinks. The king plans to move his forces into position after Spring Solstice."

"That's two months from now," Berbik chimed in.

"Aye," Fik confirmed. "But there's plenty to do until then."

"Is that all it says?" Jamie asked, peering over Fik's shoulder, as if it would help since the lad couldn't read the script.

"No, there's more. The forces and supplies we've pledged are to rendezvous with the king's armies along the coast near Brezen. A delegation will meet us there. We are to arrive in staggered groups, multiple ships to disguise our coming, giving the dragons and Squall's End a wide berth."

"We'll need ships then," Mikkin mused.

"Oh, aye. Lord Dubrael says that he has already started transporting armor and weapons for the Drengr—" Fik sucked in a breath. "Dubrael has asked our allies to travel in secrecy, out of Kane's sight along the Shadow Road."

"The Shadow Road?" Mikkin's brow furrowed.

"A road that traverses the length of the Northern Barrier range in its shadow, but not on this side."

"He means to travel through Kalderland?" Jamie asked. "Why not move everything along the tunnels like we're traveling now?"

"It's the only way he can avoid moving through the cities that did not pledge," Mikkin said, realizing at once that Lord Dubrael was being smart about this. "Even though they're not enemies, they're not supporters either. Fauthiel and Tulian—they both refused to lend aid. Can we truly trust them? I'd say not. If Kane were to discover what we are doing, it might tip him off about the king's plans to reclaim Squall's End."

"Aye. Lord Dubrael says as much here," Fik added, tapping the parchment. "With Drengr armor for the king's flying army, it will take wagons upon wagons to transport. He plans to have forces and supplies assembled in Port Ice within one month's time. We have safe places there, secret places to hide while everything is assembled."

"And what are we to do in the meantime?" Jamie asked. They'd reached the end of the Great Stone Road. There were no more cities in their path. Bird's Nest had been the last place to visit along the path before depositing them into the vast port city and the very edge of Dragonwall. It didn't make sense for them to turn around and head back to Safuil when forces would reach Port Ice in a month's time.

"We must hire ships, young Master Jamie," said Fik. "Lord Dubrael suggests somewhere between ten and twelve. It is mostly Drengr armor we are transporting, with small forces from Safuil, Kisteg, Yberg, and Proaloth."

Each city could spare some one hundred warriors. It wasn't much, but the warriors wouldn't be much against dragons anyway. With some four hundred Dwargs and armor to outfit a portion of King Talon's Drengr, they'd need a lot of space to transport everything. There was no guarantee they'd find enough vessels.

"We will need to do all of this with secrecy," said Mikkin. "Which means it could take at least a month to find enough trusted captains willing to carry our cargo at the risk of Kane discovering us. If he does, he will send means to halt our support."

"It will be a challenge, yes, but one I do not think we are incapable of," Gro said, rubbing his hands together as if he welcomed it.

"How long until we reach Port Ice?"

"Four days, Master Mikkin," said Fik.

"Well then, I think we'd better get moving. What do you say, Unka?" The Gobelin had been quietly watching like the others, shifting from foot to foot.

"Aye. We move." Unka nodded, his eyes missing nothing. They'd have to keep a close watch of him once they reached the port city, more for the creature's safety than anything. Gobelins weren't favored here or much of anywhere, really.

***

Mikkin knew they'd reached the end of their journey when a faint golden light glowed at the far end of the tunnel. The western entry beckoned, calling them from the depths of the mountains, sloping up, up, up. They emerged into a torchlit atrium that left them blinking. A handful of Dwargs milled about, attendants, stopping to greet them, throwing strange looks at those in the party who were not Dwargish.

Words were exchanged, few of which Mikkin understood. "They are recommending several inns," Berbik translated from beside him, keeping his voice low. "Fik tells them we plan to stay a short while here, taking in the sights before we return to Safuil. You have been claimed under Lord Dubrael's protection, so they will not harm the Gobelin," Berbik added. Mikkin exhaled, letting his shoulders relax, taking his hand from the weapon at his side.

He looked around. The atrium was similar to those in each of the Dwargish cities they'd visited. Uniquely carved stone, set in shapes with different types of rock making patterns, showing off the might of the Dwargish race. "Much of Port Ice is still owned and inhabited by the Dwargish," Berbik said beside him. "You will find much of mine race's work on display. And it won't be only stone that you see."

"What, then?" Jamie asked, also keeping his voice low, so as not to interrupt Fik.

"You will see," was all Berbik said, giving the lad a knowing grin.

"Something tells me it has to do with the name of the city," said Mikkin.

"Oh, aye." Berbik nodded.

Minutes later, they emerged from the large atrium onto a set of steps that spanned the length of the massive building. Mikkin blinked, squinted, letting his eyes adjust to the bright sunlight after days of darkness. His breath caught in his chest. "Ice sculptures," he whispered, glancing at Berbik who stood transfixed. Everyone in their party gazed at what lay before them.

The atrium's outer entry was set higher than most buildings in Port Ice, which sloped down towards the port and sea beyond. It's plaza was filled with ice sculptures and snow. The buildings that surrounded it had pointed, sloping roofs to deter snow buildup. What was most impressive, many of the yards boasted not greenery for decoration—it would have been buried beneath snow anyway—but ice sculptures.

"We Dwargs enjoy carving," Berbik explained to Mikkin, Jamie, and Unka. "It is a way to show off our skill."

"Port Ice," Jamie mused.

"Come," Fik said, lifting his voice for the entire party. "Let us find our inn and be warm!"

They descended the stairs and made their way into the city. The Dwargish homes were grand, most made of stacked stone bases with wooden or thatched roofs. Of course, you couldn't see any of that beneath the snow. Their yards had all manner of fountains and sculptures.

As it was, their party made very little progress while as they found themselves stopping frequently to point out carving after carving, each as beautiful as the last. A stallion, a bear, a maiden with a pitcher of water on her shoulder, a miniature forest with trees the height of a human. Mikkin eyed the forest with wonder, tempted to unlatch the gate separating him from the garden in which it lived. "Magnificent," he mused, taking it in.

"Come along, Master Mikkin. There will be time aplenty to tour the city. Unless your hungry belly isn't in wont of hot food?" Fik called.

Mikkin forced his feet to start moving again. The promise of hot food was welcome. If Port Ice was anything like his home city of Belnesse, there'd be inns aplenty filled with common rooms, good food, good music, and merry company. That alone had him increasing his pace to keep up with the Dwargs as they made their way through the streets. Bul and Moz took the lead and kept their hands on the hilts of their weapons, ensuring that should anyone try anything, they'd answer to Safuil's guards first.

"I'd like a nice tankard of ale," Bur announced to no one in particular. "Perhaps two or three, and then a nap, and then some more ale."

"I'd just be happy with some hot stew," Jamie mused.

"You'll have that and more, Master Jamie," Net announced. "There, that's where we will stay." Ahead of them, Mikkin spotted one inn that stood out among others. "Made to accommodate all sorts of folk, not just us smaller people. Your kind too. Lots of seafaring folk come through here to transport Dwargish wares."

"The Icicle," Mikkin found himself saying aloud as he read the sign. It's sign swayed in the cold wind that caught between the tall buildings. And apt to its name, the sign and entire building had hundreds of icicles dripping from it, frozen in place.

"Come lads, let's get out of this chill." Fik stomped his boots on the mat outside the door and the rest of them followed suit. The doorway wasn't grand or tall. Mikkin had to dip his head slightly to walk through, but the room beyond was spacious indeed. Vaulted ceilings towered over a room of tables and comfortable sagging sofas with a second floor landing hosting more tables. There were roaring fireplaces at both ends of the room. Chandeliers of stone and candles cast everything in a warm glow, as did the fire places.

A group of minstrels were set up at the far end on a stage. They played stringed instruments, drums, a flute. It made for a merry backdrop of noise beyond the clank of cutlery, din of voices, and scraping of chairs. Laughter abounded, putting a smile on Mikkin's face.

"Haven't been here in some years," Fik announced. "But still looks the same as it always does." The Dwarg led the way to the bar, which was unique in its own right. It had two sections, one for shorter patrons and one for taller. There were a couple of barmaids present, including one Dwargish female pouring out tankards of ale for a group of Dwargs before her.

"You got rooms available, Mistress?" Fik asked, getting her attention.

"Oh, aye. Several for Dwargs and a couple for your tall folk, too."

"Just one large, if it please you, Miss," said Mikkin. "The lad and I can share." Jamie might have been of age, but he didn't plan to grant him the freedom of his own room...yet. Never mind that they didn't have infinite funds. He'd promised Tynen to keep an eye on the lad and he intended to. Unka would also stay with him. He'd feel safer knowing they were in sight.

Coins were exchanged for keys and they trudged upstairs to drop off their things, wash up, and change into clothes more befitting of a nice establishment. A maid met them in the hallway to collect their travel clothes, and for an extra steely, offered to launder everything. Then they rendezvoused downstairs at a large booth in the corner that fit their party perfectly. The roaring fire nearby brought warmth that thawed the chill in Mikkin's bones.

Gro came over, sagging beneath a giant tray of drinks, which were quickly passed around. Already, Than and Net were engaged in a heated discussion about which of the maids were prettiest. Bur snorted at some of their comments but focused more on his drink. Fik and Berbik compared notes about the city, what they remembered, and so on. Berbik hadn't been here but once in his life, when he was much younger. Fik answered his questions. Was this still here? Was that still there? And so on. Mikkin merely let their talk wash over him, not focusing overmuch on any of it. He was too busy relaxing into his drink, letting his muscles unkink, enjoying the music, and basking in a successful journey.

The minstrels switched to a lively tune that had many around the common room clapping. The flute trilled. Feet stomped. Voices rose to be heard over the music. It was heaven. He couldn't help but think of how much Mardra would have enjoyed a place like this—dancing.

"All right, lads. Food." A barmaid dropped a large round tray at the table. It was filled with bowls topped to the brim with stew. Good stew, by the looks of it. Chunks of carrots and meat piled generously. And accompanying it were two large loaves of brown bread, steaming and already sliced. Jamie, closest to the maid, began taking bowls off the tray and passing them down the table. She let him, paying the lad a shy grin before stealing a glance around the table. "You certainly make for an interesting bunch," she noted, her eyes falling on Unka before flicking away, as if pretending she hand't noticed the Gobelin who stuck out like a sore thumb.

"Oh, aye," Mikkin said, holding her gaze in warning. "A merry band of friends at that." She nodded and picked up the empty tray. "Need anything else—you've but to ask."

She winked at Jamie before departing; his gaze followed her across the room. Mikkin clapped a hand on the lad's shoulder. "She was rather pretty, I'd say," he said, keeping his voice low for Jamie's benefit.

"I—what? That wasn't..."

He laughed; it felt an age since he'd last laughed like this. "Just giving you a hard time, lad. You're welcome to eye anyone you wish." Jamie's face turned a deep shade of red. "We will be here quite some time," he added, letting the hint drop. "And I'm sure she's a nice gal."

Jamie opened and closed his mouth, looked down at his stew, then shoveled a spoonful in, silencing the matter. Mikkin just smirked before attacking the bread at the center of the table, using it to sop up the broth in his own bowl.

Groans of pleasure erupted around the table as each of them tucked into their food. It was only the middle of the day, but the inn seemed a popular place to take a midday meal. He waiting until his bowl nearly finished before turning their talk to more serious matters. "I take it the best place to purchase transport will be down at the docks?" He addressed the table as a whole, keeping his voice low enough. "But I'd wager that we don't want to go straight to the port master for such requests."

"Aye," said Fik. He finished scraping his bowl clean, letting the wooden spoon clack against its rim. "Better to treat with the ship captains on an individual basis."

"And how will we know which of those we can trust? I worry about them talking," said Mikkin, using one of the last slices of bread to soak up the dregs of what was left in his bowl. His stomach was full and happy, and with that came a deep sleepiness that had him all but desperate to get upstairs to his bed. An afternoon nap seemed a grand thing, but he had a feeling the day would melt away before one could be snatched.

"We can't know who to trust for certain, but I've a few notions," said Fik. "Gro and I have a few merchant friends. They have shipping lines, merchant vessels they've contracted. It's a start."

"But not today," Gro said, stretching, letting his hands come to rest on his belly. The other Dwargs echoed his sentiments. "Today we celebrate a journey well taken. The end of one road and the beginning of another, eh?"

"I'll drink to that," Than growled, already well into his third. With that, they all lifted their tankards, clanked them together, and drank deep.

Most of the tables in the inn filled and emptied, the ebb and flow of patrons coming and going throughout the day. Inns in big cities such as this weren't simply for letting rooms; they were fine eating establishments and merry gathering places. As the afternoon wore on, a new group of traveling minstrels filtered in to join those already playing, letting some of them take breaks. They all seemed to know each other, laughing and sharing stories amidst their playing. Three of the minstrels were Dwargs while the other four were human. One was a female who lent her voice to some of the songs. Patrons who wanted requests bribed them with coin, and every so often the younger drummer boy would circle the room with his cap looking for payment. Fik was quick to offer up coin; it would have been disrespectful not to after the hours they'd eaten away listening to the music.

They didn't have the best view from their booth, but none of them wanted to move. Especially when Nera, the barmaid Jamie now fancied, brought a tray of gooseberry pie slices for them. Two hours after that, it was dinner time and they ate again, thick slices of tender grazer meat swimming in brown gravy with hearty servings of potatoes and carrots. And it was at that point that Mikkin was all but snoozing in the booth. His eyes fell closed often, and he kept catching his nodding head. "I think I'll fall asleep in my own plate if I don't go upstairs," he announced. The others agreed. Dishes were cleared, quick plans made to meet here early in the morning, and Mikkin was on his feet, trudging up the stairs with Jamie and Unka in his wake. He didn't even remember pulling off his boots before he was flat on his face in bed, asleep like the dead. 

⭐️🌟⭐️🌟⭐️

Hey Bookdragons! 

Happy Friday!! I hope you've had a great week. This chapter was more of a...maintenance chapter? Not a ton happens but it is more to set up the plot and get from point A to B. Anyway, it was fun thinking about what Ice Port might look like and exploring the world building there. 

Next week's chapter is from JEANINE'S POV!!! We haven't had a Jeanine/Feowen chapter in the entire book (I think?) so i'm really excited for that one. And dare I say there might be a kissy-kissy scene??? :) It's titled "Noble Families" and I am excited to share it with you.

Today, I'm going to the ice rink to practice. I also need to catch up on some reading and chores. But after that, I'm hoping to finish Bennett's chapter this weekend (the one where he meets Mikkin) and HOPEFULLY also write an additional chapter from Claire's POV. I believe there might be a Sprite Ball in the future. There will be hints about it in next Friday's chappie...

I hope you all have a great week and I'll see you next Friday!

-Mel