Chapter 5

Flint had always been a man of frugal means. Unlike the other builders, he didn’t frequent brothels or pubs. As a result, his salary had accumulated over the years, and Flint found himself with a tidy sum. He had never carried more than five gold in his pockets. Having fifty all of a sudden was jarring.

No one had heard anything from Lea’s Slumber in months, and Flint didn’t know what to expect on arrival. Thanks to the builders, he was set for a jacket and boots. He needed more underwear, changes of clothes, and weapons, though. Unfortunately, the Wyld’s forces had destroyed all the stores and workshops in the settlement.

So, Flint was forced to seek out the neighbouring crafting town, Hammercrest. He bid the builders goodbye first and thanked them for putting in a good word. To avoid building resentment, he didn’t tell them about the life quest. Ed and Tailor appeared heartbroken over Flint’s departure. He wished there was more he could do to improve their lives in the Iron Army, but whatever pull he had was now gone.

The trip to Hammercrest took most of the day, and he ended up spending the night in a barn with Maya. He didn’t ask the owner and got through the night without anyone finding out. Maya woke him up when the farm awoke at the crack of dawn, and they fled into the town.

A seamstress sorted Flint out with three sets of all his clothing needs. Her leatherworker neighbour tried to sell him a new pair of boots and jacket, but Flint chose to hold onto his builder friends’ gifts as a souvenir. He did pick up a set of alchemist-made treatment oils, though. The man promised they’d strengthen the leather and make the articles waterproof. A wide-brimmed hat caught his on the way out, so he purchased it too. Altogether, he spent four gold in the two shops. Flint gritted his teeth when he realised that the alchemical concoctions constituted more than half the bill. A direct supplier would’ve given him a better cost.

Another ten got him a light, quick-loading crossbow at a Tinkerer’s workshop. He initially baulked at the price, but the double barrel won him over. He liked the idea of loading two bolts and firing them together or individually. The craftsman threw in a quiver of bolts and two boxes of iron arrowheads at a discounted rate. Apparently, not enough people outside of the Iron Army bothered with crossbows. They preferred bows or slings. The rich had hopped on the hand-cannon bandwagon.

Out of curiosity, Flint investigated the firearms but was alarmed by the accompanying price tags. Bullets, gunpowder, and the maintenance kit together were an ongoing cost that he couldn’t afford to pay. After some thought, he invested in a high-quality club. If Lea’s Slumber didn’t have a fletcher, he’d need to be economical with his bolts.

Members of the Building Division didn’t receive riding training. The brass preferred loading them into the backs of carts with tools and building materials. Fortunately, Flint had ample experience driving them too. So, he used a large chunk of his savings to purchase a mule and a small cart. He put together a building kit using the essential tools and nails too, turning the fifty gold into five. Even though he hadn’t spent money on many luxuries besides high-quality jerky, fresh fruits, and an enchanted waterskin, Flint couldn’t help but feel guilty.

The veteran builders often advised the newcomers to invest their gold or save them with the Iron Bank. He had spent all of it instead. Then Flint reminded himself what Greenfinger had said. The quest was most likely suicide.

“What’s the point in saving if I might not get to enjoy my riches?” Flint asked Maya. She tilted her head to the side. One ear pointed to the sky, the other flopping over. “Aren’t I right, love?”

He knew the thoughts were too complex for her but laughed when she barked in response.

Flint started his journey early in the morning, two days after waking up in the healer’s tent. Maya hopped into the driver’s seat next to him, and they exited Hammercrest together. The refuges from the Iron Army’s unnamed outpost were just starting to filter in, and Flint was glad not to get caught in the incoming crowds.

The war made no sense to him. It had started close to three decades ago when he was still a baby and had become a regular part of life on the disk. The Iron Lords blamed the fae for attacking budding towns and villages without provocation. Flint wondered whether the enemy said the same. It didn’t make sense. The two sides had been at peace and co-existed for centuries. Something must’ve gone horribly wrong to make the fae break the treaties and recreate the Wyld armies.

The orphanage’s matrons said that war was good for only one thing: creating widows and orphanages. Only the rich and powerful benefited from them. As he watched groups of parentless children walk towards Hammercrest, Flint accepted their words as truth. Much like him, the poor souls would grow up scrambling for food and survival. They probably had countless questions for their family which would forever go unanswered.

After his close encounter with the puck, Flint wished to know more about his heritage. He had questions regarding which of his parents were born of the fae and what kind their ancestors were. All fae had some sort of natural gifts. Pucks—or satyrs, as the scholars called them—enjoyed great agility and climbing skills. They had hardy bodies, sharp minds, and natural talent with musical instruments. Changelings changed faces like clothes. Pixies were winged tricksters and occasionally displayed size-changing spells. No fae he had heard of shared empathic connections with dogs or any of the Wyld races.

As the rocky Craggletooth Hills turned into the expansive Verdant plains, Flint’s ponderings turned from his heritage to the life quest. He was still having trouble accepting that the Heartstone had picked him of all people. He had the necessary skills to restore a crumbling fort and restoring defences, but there were more experienced builders than Flint in his former company. He didn’t know much about fighting besides standing atop a wall and shooting down attackers, either. Then there was a matter of protecting a village and a ‘Champion’. He didn’t know where to start with them.

Flint prayed—he wasn’t sure who to anymore—that the Heartstones would guide him step by step. The first objective felt easy enough, but he doubted all future ones would be as straightforward. Yet, he was determined to find out. The disc had given him a gift, and he wasn’t willing to squander it.

Wild fields and hills replaced farmland as the cart ventured further from Hammercrest. Soon rocks and cracks filled the rode, turning the ride bumpy. Eventually, Maya got sick of staying in the cart. Flint trusted her not to do anything stupid and set her free. She occasionally ran along the road. Sometimes she disappeared into the tall grass and returned with dead rabbits. They ate well on those nights, saving the cheese and jerky for leaner times. Whenever Flint fell, his connection to Maya stretched thin, he whistled. He didn’t expect Maya to return every time, but she’d get back in range for them to maintain communication.

As the days turned into a week, Flint realised he was happy for the first time in a long time. He didn’t care that he was no longer making any money and only have five gold to his name. Flint did miss the companionship of his builder-brothers—some of them at least. No matter how much he believed that dogs were better company than people, he had spent twelve and a half years surrounded by them. That was close to half his lifetime. On the bright side, he didn’t have to worry about rank or bureaucracy anymore.

Things took a turn after the two-week mark. The wind picked up as the cart crested a hill, and Maya’s ears pricked up. Flint sensed her concern as the sheepdog turned her snout to the sky, twitching her nose. Maya tried to leap off the cart, but Flint maintained a tight hold on her collar. [Keen Eye] enhanced his vision as he studied the Verdant Plains’ endless sea of tall grass. At first, Flint saw nothing.

The fae and their Wyld armies weren’t the only threats on the Iron Disk. Flint had heard tales starring all manners of beasts. Travelling merchants and veterans claimed to have spotted flying serpents that breathed fire, chimeric creatures with petrifying gazes, and man-eating felines that travelled through shadows. Flint had loaded his new crossbows barrels as soon as the cart left Hammercrest. He hadn’t needed to use the weapon yet, and he didn’t want to unless push came to shove.

A distant growl got Maya on her feet. Her back stiffened as she faced a distant mound. Her ears turned to face two shadowed blobs. The shapes lazily waded through the grass downhill before disappearing into the green sea. Maya didn’t calm down, though, making Flint worry that the figures were coming towards them. It annoyed him [Keen Eye] hadn’t helped him discern any details.

Before starting their journey, Flint had studied a cartographer’s map and committed their path to memory—he didn’t have enough money left to purchase one. One of the builders had slipped an old compass into the coat pocket, though—or it belonged to the previous owner who was no longer among the living. He didn’t need it since the roads had official and hand-drawn directions running along them, and he had followed them thus far. They hadn’t encountered any signs after the last fork, but Flint estimated they were less than a day from their destination.

After a moment’s thought, Flint tied Maya to the cart so she wouldn’t jump off. She was a good girl most of the time and followed his instructions. However, she had intense chase and protect drives. He didn’t trust her not to attack a giant monster if it posed a threat to him. Then he fed the mule an apple and pushed it to speed up for the first time since the start of their journey.

The animal appeared surprised at first when he snapped the reins but picked up the pace. Flint had let the mule trot so far, but his urging made it break into a cantor. When he leaned forward and softly kicked the beast’s bottom, it broke into a gallop. Maya’s quiet bark made it speed up further. He scratched her between the ears as a thank you, but she didn’t lean into his hand as usual.

Flint had detected a dull, blankness from the mule for most of the journey. The feeling didn’t compare to what he sensed from Maya and was weaker than the waves he felt off the puck too. When he gave the mule a treat or scratched its head after a long day’s ride, it would radiate contentment. Now, the creature expressed annoyance. However, as the wind turned into a gale, fear became the primary emotion. Flint scanned the tall grass with [Keen Eye] once again but saw nothing. So, he trusted Maya and the beast.

The clouds and distant mist cleared for the first time in a week as noon approached, and the mountains finally came into view. The Gator Teeth range ran all along the disk’s western edge, separating it from the void’s emptiness. The road ahead continued towards the mountains before splitting. Two ran along the Verdant Plains just before the Gator Teeth started, while the third disappeared into a narrow pass.

“I was starting to think we took a long turn somewhere,” Flint said, scratching Maya’s head once again. She sat up on the driver’s seat next to him, taking in the growing green foothills, the dense green forests populating the incline, and the white peaks reaching for the sky. “Let’s just hope the sunlight keeps the beasties away.”

Maya relaxed once the sunlight reached the cart. Her ears relaxed, and her tail started wagging again. The mule appeared to calm down too. Flint still kept his eyes on their surroundings. The wind’s direction had shifted once again. He maintained a relaxed tone, so Maya didn’t sense his concern. If their pursuers were intelligent, they’d avoid the angle of approach to avoid detection. Flint hoped he was wrong and spurred the mule on towards their destination.