Chapter 3 Welcome to Winterstone
Welcome to Winterstone
Winterstone was huge. It wasn’t just the biggest city Kraghtol had ever seen. That was easy to achieve, since the half-orc had never left the vicinity of his home village before.
No, Winterstone was positively enormous, even compared to what Kraghtol had expected, and he took a moment to take it all in from the hill he was on.
Dense clusters of brick buildings lay sprawled out on the other side of a large river, and smoke from countless chimneys sticking out of tidy red roofs rose into the chilly morning air.
Kraghtol had no doubt they could house thousands of people, if not tens of thousands, a sheer number that made his head swim.
While a massive wall protected the city to the west, south and east, the glittering blue band of the river Kraghtol was approaching separated it from the northern reaches of the country on the last side.
It transported massive amounts of water from the mountains in the east towards the west and brought with it a small fleet of trade ships laden with goods from the rest of the country.
Dozens of these ships with furled white sails were docked at the river harbor of Winterstone, on the opposite bank of the flowing water. On Kraghtol’s side, there was only a small ferry dock signifying the way into Winterstone from the north.
As Kraghtol walked up to the dock, he noticed two armed men in what Kraghtol assumed to be the colors of the city — green and blue — sitting at a table in front of a small guard post. They were playing a card game and only looked up when Kraghtol was close.
Then, however, both shuffled to their feet instantly and grabbed their halberds tightly.
“Halt! Who… what are you?”
It was hardly the first time Kraghtol had heard that question in his life, and even though the idea of how easy it would have been to overwhelm the inattentive guards flashed through his mind, he fought it down and smiled.
“I’m Kragh Wulfspar, from the village of Mistpine.”
He was acutely aware of how his smile accentuated his damned tusks, but there was nothing he could do about it. Instead, he added,
“And I’d like to enter the city.”
The two guards exchanged a look before the same one from before said,
“But you’re a savage, an orc, even though you speak like a civilized man. Your kind is not welcome here. How did you even cross the border? And what do you want in the city?”
The weird mix of polite words and thinly veiled hostility told Kraghtol that the guard was out of his depth. He had probably never seen green skin in his life, and Kraghtol couldn’t blame him. He took a deep breath and tried to remain calm and polite.
“I assure you I’m not an orc. I was born to a human mother within the borders of Wardenreach and raised by Merrick Wulfspar, a renowned healer, who is also as human as you are. My appearance must seem startling to you, but aside from that, my ancestry is harmless.”
He took another deep breath, trying to believe the lie himself despite knowing his short temper and intrusive thoughts.
“And to answer your question, I’m here to join the alchemists’ guild.”
The guards exchanged another look before the one talking to Kraghtol excused himself for a brief exchange with his colleague.
Kraghtol tried not to eavesdrop, but he still could hear words like ‘green’, ‘savage’ and ‘not illegal’ from the post. Then, he found something else to concentrate on: without his active doing, his fist had clenched at his side, and it took a minor feat of willpower to unclench it again just in time as the guards emerged back from the conversation.
“Sorry for the wait, …sir. If you have nothing to declare, you may enter the city. The entry fee and payment for the ferry is a silver coin.”
The ‘sir’ sounded cautious, and Kraghtol couldn’t remember anyone addressing him like that before.
But apparently, the guard was careful to stick to some unknown protocol now, and Kraghtol just nodded as he fished out one of his few silver coins.
He hadn’t considered that the mere entry into the city would cost him money, but he still had enough for now.
Without further problems, the city guards allowed him to proceed to the dock, where an old lady who operated the ferry gestured him towards one of the small boats.
They undocked in silence and were already half across the broad stream when the lady suddenly spoke in an unpleasant, croaky voice.
“This is your first time in Winterstone?”
“Yes. I’m here to join the alchemists’ guild.”
The old ferrywoman nodded.
“Aye, I couldn’t help but overhear that. Never seen one of your likes in the city before. My advice: keep out of trouble if you can.”
Kraghtol hesitated with a feeling of uneasiness.
Even though he was certainly unique in his home village, he had hoped there would be one or two other half-orcs in the big city.
However, the reaction of the city guards then and the old lady now seemed to suggest that he would be just as alone in Winterstone as he had been for all his life.
Well, perhaps not alone, but unique, he corrected himself quickly.
People were bound to be more open and more welcoming in a big city than in a small village, after all.
“Is there anything I should know about the city?” he asked.
“Aye. More than I can tell you before we are on the other side. Stay away from the Oldport. Anything beyond the clock tower is neither safe nor honest. So, unless you want to be robbed or drawn into shady business, don’t go there.
And don’t wander near the Silver Spires either, unless you are invited.
The orderkeepers don’t look kindly on anyone disturbing the rich and noble. ”
Kraghtol simultaneously tried to remember what she said and to make sense of the places she mentioned.
While he could only guess where the Oldport or the clock tower were located, the Silver Spires were easily discernible as they glittered on a hill to the west in the morning sun.
Kraghtol doubted the tall buildings were really made of silver, but even if it was just bright white stone, the sight was impressive.
“Got it, thank you. Can you recommend a place to stay? I don’t have many coins to spare.”
Before the old woman could answer, a sudden coughing fit struck her that sounded nasty in Kraghtol’s ears. The rattling breath suggested an inflammation of the lungs that was bound to only get worse if left untreated. Finally, she recovered, clinging heavily to the boat’s frame.
“Aye, sorry about that. There are many rooms for rent, but it might get difficult for you to find one, nevertheless. Can’t imagine too many people would be eager to house a green skin under their roof.”
Of course, Kraghtol thought. Sometimes he just wanted to rip this cursed green skin from his bones and… no. He stopped the unbidden thought before it could take hold and concentrated on something else.
“That cough doesn’t sound good. You should go see a healer about it.”
The ferrywoman laughed a dry laugh.
“A healer? Do I look like I’m made of money? No, son, that darn cough came on its own, and it will go away the same way.”
For a moment, Kraghtol was confused and about to answer that the services of a healer were among the more affordable ones when he suddenly remembered Merrick mentioning that the guild-dictated prices for treatment were different depending on whether you lived in a city or in the countryside.
Since the city had a lot more patients per healer, the treatment prices were higher.
This didn’t mean the healers were wealthier, though: the guild demanded the complete difference as taxes.
Kraghtol clearly remembered being utterly confused by that, but his foster father had explained that the higher prices were there for one reason only: to keep the less wealthy from frequenting the healers and taking spots and resources from the more important citizens.
“I see. You should…”
They were drawing near the busy port now, and Kraghtol hesitated. But they were still on the river, and nobody would know if he gave out some advice for free. And it wasn’t like the guild would care.
“You should look for Foalsfoot. It often grows on the roadside and has broad, almost round green leaves. If you drink tea made from the leaves at least twice a day, the cough should get better soon. But if it gets worse and you get a fever, add some Mossfern to the tea.”
The ferrywoman looked at him in surprise.
“Well, that sounds like you know what you’re talking about. Thank you, son.”
“Don’t mention it.” Kraghtol replied, and he hoped that the woman understood that he meant that literally.
She just nodded and moored the boat to the wooden pier, only a few meters away from a much larger trade ship that was currently being unloaded.
He thanked the older lady and climbed out of the boat, only to find himself right in the middle of more people than he had encountered during his entire journey.
Workers were busy transporting goods from the trade ship to the warehouses, sailors eagerly chatted in the vicinity, and busy-looking passers-by hurried past, minding their own business and paying no attention to the noise and turmoil.
Kraghtol was in the middle of it all, and his head was swimming.
There was so much going on around him, and his mind tried to process it all at once.
A million smells invaded his nostrils, and even more distinct sounds and noises mingled together to form a symphony of business.
The fall sun beamed down and created sharp shadows and bright spots, illuminating the bright colors of everyone around.
And it wasn’t just humans either: Kraghtol could see a few dwarves among the busy people, and he was pretty sure the tall figure standing on the ship and supervising the unloading had to be an elf!