One Moo'r Plow

B2-Chapter13: Iron is the hand.

Given as how I presently owned a single horse, the decision to forfeit the cart entirely was made and the long trek to Hullbretch started on my own. Ishila promised to ensure my wishes were carried out in my physical absence, and off I went.

This path I had not tread in quite some time, yet it was familiar still. Dust kicked up from my heels, a clear indicator of how dry this summer had been. The air lay hot and heavy, frighteningly little moisture at the base of these slopes. Trees had lost their lush tint and roadside plants looked parched.

A distinctive difference when compared to my mostly irrigated farm.

Riders under the banner of the Verdant Dawn passed me, on their way back up the mountains long inclines. Men and women I had not seen before. The reinforcements Raffnyk had once longed for, I concluded. They too passed, and my journey resumed.

Heat was what made me doubt my eyes at first. Yet as I drew closer and the blurry sight became sharper, slight bafflement instead filled me. Right there, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by empty fields and dry forest, stood a gate. Squarely planted across the road, wooden structures to either side.

A shout rang from the small battlement and a hatch was cranked open. A shout demanded I stand and declare my business in the region. The following statement -made by a separate voice- informed me the toll to pass was a single gold piece.

Its on the wrong side of the gate fer a toll, you eejit! The first barked at whoever had just uttered that.

The voice turned back to me, a surly, barely-shaved human in ill-fitted armor that peered through the hatch at me.

Declare yerself, citizen. He barked again.

They seemed rather willing to accept that I was a farmer living up the mountain, truth be told. After several moments, the gate was hauled open and I was waved through. A short, almost amusing interruption to my day, yet it posed several questions.

From the recesses of my memory, I recalled that no one was allowed to bar entrance to a dungeon, yet it seemed someone had found a way to at least discourage travel. Or, even more likely, simply profit from it. I did not see Ironmoors colors flown above the gate, but would his soldiers not have torn it down if this was unsanctioned?

This only further cemented in my mind an image of the Baron as someone who skirted the rules. Divine or otherwise.

The rest of the trip proved uneventful, if boring. I soon found myself draining my water flask, the heat and sheer dryness of the air sapping my strength. Hullbretch loomed, and I soon found myself once more within its walls.

The looks I received here were..different. People kept a respectful -sometimes fearful- distance. No longer was I just a minotaur. Now, I was someone denoted by the Gods Above themselves.

Shopkeepers wanted my coin anyway. Something so trivial as being blessed by the System itself did not exclude me from paying their prices, I found. While I would not have turned down differential treatment of my coin-purse, this did little to bother me. Now, I had the gold to have carts sent right to my doorstep, laden with seeds and materials and promised to arrive in a timely fashion.

A few spoke of trade agreements and future contracts to buy crops and more magical materials from me. My reputation was well-known, I found. The alchemist whos name I had forgotten attempted to cut me a deal for more lucrative ingredients and access to some of my monstrous plants, but i refused his ever-growing offers.

Only a fool traded with resources he did not yet have.

Pardon my impudence, but not just anyone can walk up and see the Baron.

While well-meaning, this advice from a guard I had fairly cornered to acquire directions was lost on me.

I suspect he will make time for me. For one reason or another.

I was gone moments later, clear directions to the Barons home acquired. Another quarters days walk past Hullbretch, towards the inner territory of the Ironmoor lands. A long walk for most men, but once again, my longer stride and relentless endurance proved their universal usefulness. With naught but the road and dust around me, I soon found myself once more immersed in my thoughts.

If given the chance, would I ever even go back to a humans body?

The larger stature could prove a hindrance at times, yes. People were frightened by me, in most cases.

Yet I found that I preferred this over simple apathy that came when they regarded just another human. They noticed me. They knew of me. And I would be the boldest of liars if I said that did not satisfy me, somewhat. My mere presence provoked fear, and more than that, respect. And like a weed, this had grown on me.

Time flowed by quickly with this train of thought, and all too soon, I found myself before the gates of the Barons fortress. Safe to assume this was his, given the colors that flew overhead and the lack of any other royalty in these lands. Situated on an upward slope, one could marvel at the almost utilitarian defensive placement here. The forest was stripped away for nearly half a kilometer in circumference to the walls. I could glimpse several layered walls from where I stood, each larger than the last.

There had been no expense spared in securing and making this fortress formidable. Horns sounded as I emerged from the trees and strode up the stone road that led to these front gates. Like a disturbed porcupine, the fortresss quills rose into position. Ballistae mounted upon the walls swung down towards me, and archers appeared on the ramparts, massive greatbows nocked as they regarded me.

Neck craned back, I gazed at the ramparts top once I had stopped before the stout iron gates.

Youre a long way from home, minotaur. A gristly voice followed clanks of armor as a figure appeared over the walls pinnacle to gaze down at me. My wonderful eyesight could not make out any distinguishing features underneath the veritable mountain of armor this man wore.

Not particularly. I answered, hands on my hips as I regarded the fortress. Thick walls, alert guards, well-armed and armored. Not a place I would ever assault without considerable magical help and a clear-cut advantage in every way. I am a citizen of these lands, here to see the Baron.

The head withdrew for a moment, and I was left alone, naught but myself and dozens of archers for company. With the size of those bows, I had no doubt they would have me resembling a pincushion if given the order.

Skin of iron or not, I knew what a proper greatbow could do to even steel plate armor. These thoughts kept me company as time dragged on. Patient face well and truly put on, I pawed at the stone beneath my feet and wiped sweat from my brow. My waterskin was dry before the figure appeared once more.

Be you Garek? Came the yell from on high.

I am. I rumbled back. The clanking of metal cut off anything further as the massive gates began to inch open before me. One last thought wove fleetingly through my mind before I stepped through and the steel began to close behind me.

There were arrow-slits spaced methodically to either side of the tunnel I walked strode through now. Iron grates were lifted ahead of me as I walked through the kill-zone. Once, I would have considered the construction of this fortress to be among the most secure in medieval times back on my homeworld.

Now, I knew how many things magic could trivialize.

A contingent of armored guards waited for me at the tunnel's ends. Easily a dozen figures, all armed and armored to the proverbial teeth. Grey steel with slashes of the Barons deep green over top. I stepped into the sunlight and was immediately gestured forward. Rank closed behind me as the soldiers fell into step, carrying me forward. My eyes sighted a stable as I was ushered along, then a smithy where the ring of hammers echoed from. Guards lounged everywhere. Every conceivable line of sight had someone in it. And even more simply lazed around, watching figures duel in practice and play games of chance.

My estimation of how dangerous Ironmoor was rose by several notches as I beheld the veritable army stationed inside this fortress.

Your lordship seems to have enemies. I slipped the barbed observation into the relative silence as we walked along. By silence, I meant a lack of words spoken, not noise.

Tug at a trees rotten roots, and the branches will come crashing down. The commander grunted cryptically.

To station so many soldiers at ready here, to keep them paid and at the ready would require deep, deep pockets. Either that, or Ironmoor expected something to happen, and soon. One did not simply raise an army and then have it sit idly by.

We pass beneath another, inner wall soon after. Another fortress sat squarely inside this one, an imposing structure of dark stone and steel. There was no plant life within these walls, I noticed.

Druids. The commander grunted in response once I asked why. There was no time for further questions, I found. We were stopped abruptly, and I was told to keep moving forward. Now by myself, I passed into the fortress under the watchful gaze of guards above.

The guards within here were less uniform, but it would take a fool to not sense they were elite. Often less armored, there was a danger to how these people walked and sat. rough-looking humans in different clothes. All who seemed familiar with bloodshed.

A fully raised army and elite killers? There was a storm forming underneath these clear skies.

The first hint of greenery I spotted was a courtyard that I was directed towards. Trees grew here, and grass covered the floor. Not a hint of animal life was within this place, however. Indeed, I found a single living person in this artificial garden, death hung before him.

There hung a chimeras corpse from the branches of the widest tree I had ever seen. Elbow deep in the corpse, the human ignored my approach as he carved loose the scaled skin of this monstrosity. Leather livery stained with blood, he methodically worked away to skin the great beast.

Clear grey eyes turned to me as the figure continued to cut loose muscle from flesh. His gaze regarded me flatly, no emotion shown. Drenched in blood and sweat as he was, his scent showed the same. No fear stirred in this man as he regarded me up close.

The minotaur. He grunted and withdrew one bloody arm from the massive corpse, knife held in his grasp. Without a change of expression, he stabbed his tool into the exposed shank of the dead beast and offered me one blood-drenched hand.

Baron Ironmoor, I presume. I returned and squeezed the mans hand. It was slick with blood, but even so, his grip was tight.

I finally put a face to all the tales I have heard. The man spoke, looking me up and down.

As do I.

To the chase, then. What brings you to my home this day? Last I heard, we had bad blood between us, given your..unique circumstances.

No nonsense, right to the point. A man who valued time. I would not do him the disservice of wasting his.

Recent events have shown me that burying this feud would be the best course of action for me. I spoke carefully, my tone neutral.

You have crossed my path several times, set back my plans, and attempted to kill my favored justiciar. His words had never shifted in tone, but I heard the iron in his words now. Were you any other, I would have had you disposed of by now. But as fate has it, I find myself in need of your talents.

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