Chapter 11 Truth #4
Thankfully, someone had placed some food in his hiding place while he had been sleeping.
It would be easy enough for him to leave the small compartment, but as he understood, also perilous.
Even though the orderkeepers from Winterstone hopefully didn’t know where he went, he didn’t want to risk anything by showing his face to more people than necessary on the journey.
Truth be told, he didn’t mind the chance to calm down and think a bit.
About his dream, for example, or what he was going to do when he arrived at Bronzebreak.
There really was a lot of opportunity to think. One of his favorite topics during the next weeks was: “How are river ships so slow upstream?” followed closely by “How did I end up here?”
The dream didn’t return. It didn’t have to.
Every single impression had burned itself into his memory with the force of a branding iron.
Not only could he recall the names of each of the eight Principles with ease, but also all the emotions and sensory impressions he had felt.
Still, it felt like something important was still missing.
These were the Principles. But what was he supposed to do with that knowledge?
One thing was for certain: the plain wooden planks of his dark hiding place did not hold the answer, and there was only so much pondering in the darkness he could do during the journey.
It was always the same sailor, a boy considerably younger than himself, who brought him food and water, and exchanged the bucket for an empty one.
He didn’t speak with Kraghtol, and the half-orc felt no motivation to begin a conversation either.
It was probably safer this way, and his situation felt oddly humiliating, more like a prisoner than a passenger, even though he could have walked out of the compartment at any point.
From time to time, he could hear muffled sounds of the sailors talking, singing or laughing, but never clear enough to follow the conversations on deck.
Telling time was difficult, too, since all he had were the cracks in the wood letting in some daylight.
There was just one exception: one evening, about two weeks after they had departed, he heard more laughter and songs than usual, and he realized it had to be the evening of the spring equinox.
A pang of sadness rose in him as he thought back to the other equinox and solstice festivities he had been to.
This certainly was a new low, and he was glad when the good mood outside ended later that night.
To fight boredom, Kraghtol resorted to working out, starting with the idea of restoring mobility to his healing left shoulder.
Thankfully, the injury had recovered with no problems, despite the overexertion during his break-in.
Once he could move his arm without trouble again, he proceeded with exercises to keep his muscles strong, pushing himself up from the floor or squatting down until he exhausted himself enough to be content.
While these exercises helped him to get his mind off the mind-numbing boringness that set in over time, they did not help another emerging problem, and even though he had his bucket full of water every day, after a few weeks, there was little Kraghtol wanted more than a bath.
After what felt like an eternity, a soft jolt went through the ship, and the bustling activity that broke out all over the ship told him he had reached his final destination. Not long after that, the bearded captain appeared to escort him off the ship, not speaking one word more than necessary.
Blinking against the sudden brightness, he stood rooted right at the quay, taking in the unfamiliar location.
The ground beneath him was solid stone, and so was the ceiling above.
The docks of Bronzebreak were built into a giant cavern, carved out of the mountain stone in what had to be the work of generations.
Everything was sturdy and right-angled and seemingly built for eternity.
Where the docks of Winterstone were dominated by planks and ropes, he spotted mainly stone slabs and metal chains here, heavy and sturdy beyond what Kraghtol thought useful.
Despite being surrounded by stone, it wasn’t dark. Bright sunlight beamed through the ornate granite entry, and radiant metal lanterns illuminated the docks so brightly that Kraghtol assumed an alchemical lamp oil had to be used.
And then, there were the people. Kraghtol was used to rising taller than most people around him, but standing in a hall mainly populated by dwarves who weren’t taller than one and a quarter meter, made him feel like a giant.
Of course, there were the mainly human sailors from Winterstone, and a few other humans and elves dotting the crowd, but all in all, Kraghtol stood out more than ever.
“Stars above, you reek.”
Startled beyond measure, Kraghtol spun around, only to come face to face with one of the people he had expected least. Standing in front of him, expensive suitcase in hand and the smile of superiority on his lips, was Valir.