those buildings near it are houses and the shops that cater to wizards, right? What do the rest of the people do who live here?”
“Different things,” Hobart said. “Some are prospectors. Others provide services to the caravans or soldiers. There are a lot of metalworkers here, too; the volcanoes are excellent heat sources for forges, and they channel the hot air under the city in tubes. A lot of ore comes through here to get smelted. There are farmers, but they stick to the south, just outside the wall. The mountain slopes far more gently in that direction, and it’s quite fertile. The growing season is limited, though. Those are the major enterprises; the minor ones are too numerous to list.”
“The large buildings near the walls are mainly storage,” Giorge added. “They have to stock up on supplies when the caravans come through, and they store the surplus in them. There’s a lot of trade here even outside of the caravan season.”
“Wyrmwood has coal mines,” Angus said. “What do they mine here?”
“Gems, mainly,” Giorge said. “The volcanoes are too unstable for mining gold and silver unless it’s near the surface. There’s some iron, too. Not much; the dwarves are pretty thorough.”
“Don’t forget the fertilizer,” Ortis said. “See that smoke over there?” he pointed to where threads of smoke rose above the southeast corner of the town. “They have a crusher by the river where it bends south. After it rains, they go out and gather up the hardened layer of ash and bring it back. The crusher—it’s like the millstone they use to grind grain seeds into flour—grinds the ash into a fine powder, and then the wizards use their magic to separate out the bad stuff. They fill wagons and oxcarts with what’s left over and take it into the Western Kingdoms, where it’s most needed. The winds generally blow east, like they are today, and it takes the ash with it, spreading it as it goes. The plains of Tyr are quite fertile because of it, so Tyr doesn’t need the fertilizer.”
“If you go south,” Ortis added, “don’t drink the water in the river until you pass the rapids. They’re about six miles from the city. You’ll know why when you see the river.”
“Let’s get that cart,” Hobart said. “We can talk while we walk if you want.”
“One last thing,” Angus said. “I’ve noticed a few temples down there; do you know which one is devoted to Muff?”
“No,” Hobart said. “We didn’t know Teffles long enough to find out anything about his beliefs.”
“All right,” Angus said. “Where’s the cart?”
“This way,” Hobart said, leading them along. “It’s too bad the caravan wasn’t larger. It’s an amazing site to see them crossing over the town.”
“Where’s the bridge?” Angus asked. “I thought you said it spanned the city from one lift to the other.”
“It does,” Ortis said. “But you can’t see it unless it’s in use.”
“The wizards built it,” Hobart added, as if that was explanation enough.
And it was; Angus nodded knowingly and decided he would have to take a long look at it when it was more convenient to do so. For now, there was too much to do, and he couldn’t even give it even a casual glance….
8
“Do you know of a cobbler named Ungred?” Angus asked the man pulling the cart carrying Teffles’ body. He was a stout, barrel-chested man a few inches shorter than himself, and he seemed to guide the cart with little effort. His clothes were the standard fare—wool tunic and breeches, leather boots, belt—but he kept them cleaner than most of the people he had so far seen in Hellsbreath. If it weren’t for the sweat stains under the armpits of his tunic, Angus would be tempted to think he lived a life of leisure with servants to do his bidding.
“Aye,” he drawled. “He’s a fine one, that Ungred. His shop is not far from the ramp entrance. Wall side, whitewashed, no sign. He doesn’t have to advertize; everybody knows he makes a fine pair of boots. Costly though.”
“How costly?” Angus asked.
Ungred shrugged. “Enough he doesn’t haggle. He usually has back orders lined up for weeks. Caravans come through, make an order, and when they return, he has them waiting. Even that little one that went through today will probably keep him busy for a week or two.”
Angus frowned. “If I order a pair, I’ll have to wait until he has time to make them, then?”
The man shrugged. “Have to ask him,” he said. “He’s been known to make exceptions. For a price.”
They walked in silence for a little while, Hobart behind the cart and Angus walking beside the cart man. The slope of the ramp was significant but not overwhelming, and he fought against it to keep his cart from propelling him forward at a reckless speed. When they reached the bottom of the slope, he moved the cart to the side of the road and set it down so he could flex his fingers and shake his arms for several seconds. “It won’t be long now,” he said, gripping the handles and lifting the cart up again. “Three streets over.”
“And the Wizards’ School is another five streets, right?”
“Aye,” the man said, plodding along at a comfortable, steady pace that was neither fast nor slow. The streets were busy but not crowded. He breathed slow, measured breaths and focused on the road in front of him, paying little heed to his clients as he plodded along with him.
Angus sighed and let the man pull the cart ahead of him so he could join Hobart in the rear.
“It was nice of Hedreth to make that room available,” he said. “You must be good friends.”
“I’ve known him for a few years,” he said. “He’s an affable man, quick with a joke and a beer. You should hear his story about the skirmish with Brin. That was a sticky situation—at least the way he tells it.” Hobart grinned. “I’ve known a few soldiers who were there, and they tell it a bit differently. But it doesn’t matter; it’s a good story.”
“Is it too late to visit the Wizards’ School today?” Angus asked, looking at the long shadow creeping up the east wall. “It will be near dark by the time we get there.”
“There is always a wizard at each gate,” Hobart said. “Just like the four men on the spire. Others are stationed on the roofs of the garrison towers keeping watch on the volcanoes. At least, that’s what they say they’re doing, but it looks to me like they are staring at nothing all day long.”
Angus smiled. It wasn’t the volcanoes they were watching; it was the magic keeping the volcanoes under control, a steady vigil to ensure the city was protected. The ones on the spires no doubt watched the dome and reinforced its magic whenever it was necessary. He looked up and reached out for the magical strands and was almost immediately overwhelmed by them. He reflexively lifted his arm in front of his eyes, but it was pointless; he could see the intense, complexly interwoven strands even through the bone and muscle. He gasped, blinked, and set his jaws, trying to bring the fluctuating image into tighter focus so he could see the details of the weave pattern.
“Whoa,” Hobart said, reaching out to steady him. “Are you all right?”
Angus reluctantly let go of the magic and shook his head. “I’m fine,” he gasped. “I was just taken by surprise.”
“By what?” Hobart said, his eyes alert, checking the people around him. “Did you see something?”
Angus half-smiled and tilted his head. “Yes,” he said. “The magic covering the city. I—” he paused and frowned “—I wasn’t prepared for it. Next time I will be.” He glanced upward, sighed, and lowered his gaze. “We should catch up with him,” he said, pointing at the cart man plodding steadily forward, unaware that his clients had stopped.
Hobart relaxed a bit and hurried forward. “You have to be careful here,” he said. “There is a lucrative underground—thieves, assassins, black market—and most of them start coming out at dusk.”
Angus nodded. “All cities are like that, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” Hobart said. “But Hellsbreath is on the frontier. If the garrison wasn’t here, it would be a lot worse. Still, there’s always some tolerance of that kind of activity if t
he right pockets benefit from it, especially when most of the victims are visitors.”
“I see,” Angus said. “Perhaps we should hurry then?”
“It wouldn’t hurt,” Hobart said, “but we should be fine. Giorge knows the right people, but it sometimes takes a day or two to spread the word.”
The man with the cart stopped at a small building and gently lowered his cart. “Here’s the Temple of Muff,” he said. When Angus and Hobart didn’t move to empty the cart, he said, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to make it home by dusk.”
“Of course,” Hobart said, hurrying forward and lifting Teffles’ wrapped corpse from the bed of the cart. He draped it over his shoulder as the man lifted the cart handles, pivoted on one wheel, and headed back toward the ramp. “Thank you,” Hobart said to the man’s back.
The man kept going.
“Well, what do we do now?” Angus asked. “It looks like it’s deserted.”
“It’s not,” Hobart said. “There aren’t a lot of followers of Muff the Rodent, but they are as devout as any.”
“Muff the Rodent?” Angus repeated.
“Yes,” Hobart said. “Most of their temple is below ground and connects to the sewers. I don’t know the particulars of their beliefs, though. I was looking forward to learning more about them from Teffles.” He shrugged with his free shoulder and walked forward. “There should be someone waiting inside.”
As they neared the