“Are you kidding me?” Jericho says, irritated. We’re dressed in less-than-mediocre clothing, to fit the disguise, and he apparently finds it extremely uncomfortable.
“No, I’m not,” I answer.
We turn a corner and I get my first glimpse of Amgid.
It’s a tall city. A plateau-like structure rises out of the ground, upon which the city is built; as a result, the walls appear twice as high and formidable. An enormous arch sits at the bottom of the incline, the walls like cliffs descending the sides of the plateau to meet with it. A road leads up to the main gate that sits at the top of the incline. A large towering fortress rises from the center of the city, but where we are we can only see the highest towers. To the right, an enormous bridge spans the distance from the south gate, over the river, to a similar plateau where stands a malicious-looking watch tower. The pines of the forest surround the city to the base of the plateau; some even have managed to grow on the rocky cliffs of the plateau, but they are short and scraggly.
We pass under the huge arch and into an enormous inclined courtyard-like area. The walls slope with the incline of the plateau along each side of the area, to the main gate.
The oxen pull the cart up the steep road with ease, though they are thankful when the ground evens out again and we lumber up to the front gate.
The gates are square and about twenty feet high, made of thick layers of wood and reinforced with steel plates. Towers stand on either side of them, and guards watch from the crenellated top.
We stop at the gates and a guard yells down, “What business have you in the city of Amgid?”
“We bring a shipment of ale requested by Jarl Theyor,” I call skyward.
They converse. “We were not told of any such shipment,” the spokesman responds. “Have you the papers?”
“Dingflies,” mutters Nathaniel.
I elbow him and pretend to look about for them. When I, of course, don’t find anything, I yell back up to them, “Oh, the owner forgot to send one with me. I’ll take the shipment back, then, if you need.”
I take the reigns and begin to turn the cart around when the guard yells, “No, wait! One of my colleagues told me he was expecting this shipment. The papers won’t be necessary. Who is to pay for the transaction?”
“It is already paid in full,” I reply.
There’s a bang from behind the gate and the sound of metal clicking on metal. There’s another bang, and then the sound stops and the gates roll open with a loud creak.
Once our cart rumbles into the city, the gates close behind us. I turn back to see the clicking and banging had been four huge rectangular wooden planks, lined with steel, that are drawn across the gate by mechanisms in the towers to the sides. They set into place, locking the gate with yet another bang.
“That was genius,” whispers Jericho. “How’d you know that would work?”
“I didn’t,” I reply.
“Well, it got us in,” he says.
“That’s not the hard part, though,” Percival says softly.
Tygnar soldiers are everywhere. Some patrol the streets, some drink in the bars, and some just stand there watching. Their armor is all the same; dark grey, with an orange insignia of a scorpion on their helmets. Their helms are simple, leaving all of their face but their cheeks, mouth, and nose uncovered. Almost all carry swords on their belts and shields on their backs. Most of them are wooden diamond shields, with steel linings and the insignia outlined in steel in the very middle. Only the soldiers positioned on the walls have bows.
I stop the cart and look at the nearest guard. “Excuse me?”
“What do you want?” he says, obviously extremely annoyed at something, if not me.
“Can you point us towards the guardhouse?” I ask.
He nods, eyeing our load of tantalizing alcohol. “There’s one on each side of the city,” he responds, a little friendlier. “But you can drop it all off here at this one. I can make sure it gets ‘round.”
I acknowledge his suggestion. “Where is it?”
“There, that building,” he says, pointing to the building across the street.
“Thank you,” I respond. Then I turn the oxen to pull the cart next to the chosen building.
“We’re really gonna drop it all here?” asks Jericho.
“Of course not,” I mutter. “I just didn’t want to argue with him.”
“How do we want to do this?” asks Percival. “Just walk in and put it down?”
“They’ll do it for us,” I say quietly, referring to the guards walking towards the cart.
“This ale for us?” one of them asks.
“Some of it,” I reply.
“Good,” says the other, moving towards it. “Even if you said no we would’ve had to take it from you.”
They help us unload about seven waist-high barrels. They go for more, but I step in the way and say, “Sorry, we’ve got a couple of stops to make. “We’ll need all the rest.”
One guard tries to stare holes in me, but the other shrugs. Finally the other joins him. “Very well, then.” They roll the barrels on their edges one by one into the guardhouse as we get back on the cart and drive away, towards the citadel.
The city is enthrallingly built. The citadel in the center, the Acropolis, is tiered like a cake, with four levels. The first is easily four stories high, and quite circular. The second is much the same. The third level, however, is much more erratic, though one form dominates the entire structure: an enormous tower standing to the sky from the first tier, connected to every other tier with all sorts of halls, bridges, and archways. Four vast bridges span the distance from the first tier of the citadel to the surrounding wall in each of the compass directions, casting their enormous shadows across houses and markets along the way. Equally titanic supports rise from the ground underneath the bridges to hold them up and, I’m assuming, to provide shortcuts onto the bridges.
“This whole city is an enormous fortress,” observes Percival. “And we’re in the courtyard.”
Soldiers turn their heads to watch the cart stocked full of barrels of ale. “I hope this works,” I mutter.
I turn the cart to head towards the left wall. Already shadows are getting longer as the day waxes on. All according to plan, of course.
“Where are we going, exactly?” asks Nathaniel as we pass a particularly malevolent soldier.
“Delivering the ale,” I respond, careful not to look at the guard. “The guardhouse, remember?” Then I look to him and nod as we pass. He shakes his head and continues down the street.
The dwellings here are enormous, but each one houses multiple families. Almost all have second stories and some even have three, with stairs along the wall leading to doors on each level. Every family must have their own house inside a much bigger house. Consequently the roads are more shadowy in the residential areas of the city.
The hooves of the oxen clack loudly on the street. Some rambunctious children play off to the side of the road, play fighting with wooden swords or sticks. It’s the usual hubbub of a city.
“How do you know where they are?” Nathaniel asks.
“I’m guessing,” I say. “The last guardhouse was next to one of those enormous supports holding up one of the overpasses. That guard said there was one on every side of the city, so I’m assuming that mean’s there’s one underneath every overpass.”
My hypothesis proves correct. When we reach the intersection of the four-story-high overpass and the wall, sure enough a guardhouse sits between the support and the wall.
The guard leaning against the wall helps us unload seven barrels in much the same way that the first guards did. When we ride away, the oxen are able to walk a little faster.
We travel under the bridge that leads into the Acropolis and I study it. Every bridge is easily wide enough for our cart to travel along it, though getting up would be a problem, if not impossible. The bridges are crenellated and probably a valuable vantage point for archers in the case of
an attack. A portcullis stands at each of the four entrances from the bridges into the citadel. Penetrating the Acropolis may be much more difficult than any of us had envisioned.
The third guardhouse goes much the same as the two before, with no trouble. The guards put their love of ale before their doubt, if there is any doubt to be had.
The fourth sits to the right of the south gate that leads onto the bridge over the river and into the forest. This gate is smaller than the main gate, though it is the same shape and material. It’s just as well guarded as the main gate, if not better.
The sun is beginning to set as we unload the barrels of ale into the guardhouse. The sky turns orange and the clouds streak with color. I am reminded vividly of the same scene I had observed back in Virfith about a month earlier. It’s incredible to me how much time has passed since my adventure began with the attack on our little town.
There are yells of pleasure from inside the guardhouse when the guards see barrels of ale finding their way into the barracks.
“That’s a good sign,” Nathaniel mutters.
I hear a loud clank and somebody yells, “Break one of ‘em open, let’s give it a try!” More yells follow it and there are more clanks.
“That’s an even better one,” I say.
“Even with all that ale, there’s no way we’ll get all the guards!” says Jericho as we get back on the cart and ride towards the front gate.
“You’d be surprised,” responds Percival. “I wouldn’t be, if I saw them abandon their posts to get a drink before everyone else drinks it all.”
Jericho nods. “But four thousand?”
“Most of them are probably garrisoned in the citadel,” I say. “And it is nighttime so chances are most of them will be asleep. This might be easier than we had imagined.”
“Never say that,” Percival says. “Never say that…”
As we make our way back towards the front gate, the city begins to light up with torches. Orange firelight flickers at intervals down the streets.
The Acropolis is an even more menacing sight with its form lit against the dark sky. Shadows flicker with every torch, giving the entire structure an eerie aura.
“They won’t let us out,” I say. “We’ll just have to park this somewhere.”
We decide that in an alley is a good idea. It’s up against the wall of a nearby building and we keep the oxen hitched up so as not to lose them. The main gate stands only a few blocks away.
Just as we had hoped, the guards are few and far between. Those that are supposed to be on duty are drinking with their friends before their claim is consumed.
“I’m hoping to do this with as little bloodshed as possible,” I whisper. “But I think I’m going to need a hammer.”
“Or a sword,” mutters Percival.
“Or a sword,” I concede.
“But we still won’t be able to open the gate until they’re all either asleep or dead,” Nathaniel says. “It’s too loud.”
“And we’ll need to figure out how anyway,” I say. “Something as big as those would be really difficult to push.”
The gates come into sight around the corner, but we stay behind one of the adjacent buildings. A few guards still stand atop the gate. We can faintly hear them arguing.
“It’s not like we’re doing anything up here!” one of them argues.
“We have to stay at our post,” says the second. “It’s our duty. What if-”
“What if this, what if that,” the first interrupts. “We’ve stood on this wall for ninety-six nights in a row and nothing’s happened! Ever!”
“Well, there was this time when-”
“That doesn’t count,” the first cuts off again. “Back me up here!”
The third raises his hands like he wants to be left out of it. “I agree with him,” he says reluctantly, pointing to the first. “I’d like a drink before the mutts down there decide to drink it all. And nothing’s happened for months! So what if they retook Terrace? Why does that mean I can’t have a drink tonight?”
The second guard shakes his head. “Fine. Fine. Go, drink your hearts out. When the captain comes and finds you’re asleep on the floor drunk, I’ll still be here, and I won’t have a licking to face.” He turns about and stares off into the distance, where our army lies in wait, scattered in the trees.
The others shrug and walk off into the nearest tower.
The lone guard fumes for a moment, obviously at war with himself. A yell from the tower comes, “The captain’s challenged you to a drinking game!” Roars of laughter follow.
The guard shakes his head and moves about, agitated. Finally, after another minute of indecision, he yells, “Oh, give me one of those!” Then he disappears into the tower.
“That worked incredibly well,” comments James.
“How long should it take for them to fall asleep?” Nathaniel asks.
“Not long,” Jericho answers. “Sometimes my dad would come home drunker than fish swimmin’ in wine. He was really easy goin’ and would fall asleep in his chair within minutes on a good night.”
“Let’s find some weapons, then, while we’re waiting,” I suggest. “I fear we may need them to overtake the Acropolis.”
“Good idea,” Nathaniel compliments. “But we may have to wait for them to get to sleep. I’d imagine most of the weapons are in there.”
“True,” I admit.
The guards stay true to Jericho’s word. In only a few minutes the laughter is starting to subside and is replaced with loud snoring. I hear some glass breaking and figure one of them must have started a fight.
“We didn’t give them bottles,” says Jericho in confusion.
“They might have dug into their own stores,” I explain. “The more the merrier, right?”
“Especially in this context,” he mutters.
“Let’s go,” I command.
We sneak around the guardhouse and peer in one of the windows. Sure enough, most of them are asleep. Those that aren’t sleeping are dozing.
“Inside,” I say, opening the door with a creak and holding it open for the others. Then I follow them in.
One of the guards, apparently still at least conscious, stands from his chair and unsheathes his sword. “You wanna getta… tatates… taste of this?” He swings his sword dangerously and wobbles about, spins around, and keels over backwards. His tankard falls out of his hand and spills on the ground as his sword hits the ground with a clatter.
“He okay?” Nathaniel asks, a little concerned.
“Yep,” I answer when he snores. “He’s just going to have an enormous headache in the morning.”
The room we have entered into has, or had, I should say, a square table in the center with a chair on each side. The table still sits there innocently, but its chairs are scattered about the room and one of them is missing two legs, one of which a guard is gripping tightly, his other hand holding his tankard.
Along the wall to the right stands a weapon rack, but it’s lined with unlit torches instead of weapons.
There’s a door to the left, but I infer that it must lead into the support and eventually to the top of the bridge. A staircase rises on the right side of the room, but we ignore it for now, hurrying through the door on the other side of the room.
I’m glad to see that we have found the armory. Or, at least, a small one. A couple of suits of armor hang on wooden mannequin-like structures, and there are a few racks of weapons and shields. Quickly we don the armor and strap some swords to our belts. I choose a long broadsword, and Nathaniel picks up a bow. He takes a few test shots at the dummy on the wall to assess the individuality of the bow, and then decides it is worth keeping.
Quickly we check the second floor of the guardhouse and find an empty bunkroom and an office with stacks of parchment, an inkwell, and some quills atop a desk. There’s nothing of importance. I and Jericho each take a torch on the way out, lighting them with one of the torches outside.
“Now how on earth
do we open the gate?” Nathaniel wonders aloud.
“I guess we’ll have to figure it out,” I answer. “Come on.”
We enter the tower to the left of the gate, shutting the door firmly behind us.
Immediately to our right sits an odd mechanism with an enormous crank. To the left of the crank there’s a block of wood lined with steel. Along the bottom of the block are large teeth, like a saw would have, but the teeth are blocky and rigid. They fit into the teeth of the large gear attached to the crank. “That’s simple,” says Percival.
I take the handle of the crank and pull with all my might. The gear begins to turn with a creak, and the wooden block begins to move into the room. I turn the crank until the bar cannot come any further.
“It’s one of the door bars,” I say quietly. “There are four. There must be two on each side.”
“We’ll split up, then?” asks Jericho.
“We can split into pairs,” I say. “Make it go a little faster. “I’m just worried about getting caught. I think we should stay together.”
“I second that,” says Nathaniel.
With that we hurry down the hall a little ways and up the spiral staircase to the left. We find an identical contraption on the second floor, and pull in the bar using the crank.
One of the guards stirs. It’s not important or dangerous, but it makes me nervous. “We should move faster,” I say. “Do two of you want to move to the other side and take care of the bars there?”
Jericho and Percival volunteer.
“Hurry,” I say. “And don’t get caught. I’ll stay here and look for the contraption that opens the gate. We’ll meet up top.”
The other two run down the stairs and out of sight.
Nathaniel and I run to the stairs and ascend to the next floor, where we find exactly what we are looking for.
An enormous wooden bar sticks into the room through a hole in the wall. Upon closer inspection, I notice the bar is connected to the gate.
Nathaniel and I wait for the slight bang to signal that the bars on the other side have been removed. After the sound, we each push with all our might on the bar. Slowly as we push it forward, we hear the monstrous creak that means the gate is opening.
Dragonhammer: Volume I Page 18