Chapter 3
The smell of Altdorf hit them before the saw it. The smell thousands wood and coal fires, the smell of sweat, the smell of spices and timber, the smell of live stock, grain, old fruit, mud, horses, cooking meat, baking bread, the tang of hot metal, the reek of tanners yards, the fishy odor of the waterfront and docks, all underlaid with the smell of hundreds of thousands of humans and their waste gathered together. The smell of Altdorf. The smell of Home.
Emmaline reigned in her horse as the reached the top of Cemetery Hill, a small knoll on the east of the city where the road rose up to give a view of the great Imperial metropolis. The great ribbon of the Stir curved away in both directions, touching the city in an intricate series of docks, jetties and quays. Hundreds of ships were docked or underway, flying the flags of dozens of nations from the insolent ensign of Marienburg to the silken standard of far off Uluthan. Many were heading east, under sail or banks of oars, carrying troops or supplies towards the Siege at Nuln. Millitary aid between provinces was a matter of politics in the Empire, but a direct threat to Nuln and its vast gunpowder works and armament factories ensured a swift and savage response. Not all of the vessels would be millitary of course, many a merchant would seek to make a fortune supplying the troops that were already rushing west, or by being the first to bring food and material to a great city which was now starved of both.
Beyond the docks the city rose in levels of increasing opulence, from the waterfront tenement and firetraps up through the prosperous streets of Market Lane and the Crofter Square. Emmaline though she could make out a flash of color that marked the Street of a Thousand Taverns, her old haunt when she had lived here. Beyond that were the towers of the College of Magic and the mighty spire of the Grand Cathedral, glowering at each other in eternal unease. Beyond that lay the Imperial Palace, or more accurately palaces, where the great and good ruled the Empire of Man and Riekland with tenacity which always outweighed its effectiveness. These final vistas were hazy and indistinct, the smoke of cook fires and furnaces wafting from innumerable chimneys to stain the crisp fall air.
"Welcome to the greatest city in the world," Emmaline declared as she looked out over the vista.
"It stinks," Neil observed, wrinkling his nose.
"Doesn't it though?" Emmaline said happily and touched her heels to the flank of her horse to get it moving again. She neither knew nor liked horses, but from comments she had received during the journey it seemed that both of their steeds were of good quality. Emmaline suspected that several minor nobles had vanished on Hexenaucht, adding to the grim legends for the wrong reasons. The horses trotted down through the traffic, farm wives on their way to market, peddlers driving wagons of goods, even the occasional Imperial messenger dashing past on a fast horse. They might soon have to sell the beasts, as what little coin they had scrapped together was nearly exhausted, the only thing of value that remained to them was the Wyrdstones that had stolen in Nuln. Emmaline was confident they could sell them, but it would take time and subtly to do so safely. The needed money badly and in Altdorf, so close the Colleges, there was no hope of passing false coins shimmed up with a spell.
"We need to find somewhere to stay," she told Neil, "and I doubt there are any towers free."
The smell of Altdorf hit them before the saw it. The smell thousands wood and coal fires, the smell of sweat, the smell of spices and timber, the smell of live stock, grain, old fruit, mud, horses, cooking meat, baking bread, the tang of hot metal, the reek of tanners yards, the fishy odor of the waterfront and docks, all underlaid with the smell of hundreds of thousands of humans and their waste gathered together. The smell of Altdorf. The smell of Home.
Emmaline reigned in her horse as the reached the top of Cemetery Hill, a small knoll on the east of the city where the road rose up to give a view of the great Imperial metropolis. The great ribbon of the Stir curved away in both directions, touching the city in an intricate series of docks, jetties and quays. Hundreds of ships were docked or underway, flying the flags of dozens of nations from the insolent ensign of Marienburg to the silken standard of far off Uluthan. Many were heading east, under sail or banks of oars, carrying troops or supplies towards the Siege at Nuln. Millitary aid between provinces was a matter of politics in the Empire, but a direct threat to Nuln and its vast gunpowder works and armament factories ensured a swift and savage response. Not all of the vessels would be millitary of course, many a merchant would seek to make a fortune supplying the troops that were already rushing west, or by being the first to bring food and material to a great city which was now starved of both.
Beyond the docks the city rose in levels of increasing opulence, from the waterfront tenement and firetraps up through the prosperous streets of Market Lane and the Crofter Square. Emmaline though she could make out a flash of color that marked the Street of a Thousand Taverns, her old haunt when she had lived here. Beyond that were the towers of the College of Magic and the mighty spire of the Grand Cathedral, glowering at each other in eternal unease. Beyond that lay the Imperial Palace, or more accurately palaces, where the great and good ruled the Empire of Man and Riekland with tenacity which always outweighed its effectiveness. These final vistas were hazy and indistinct, the smoke of cook fires and furnaces wafting from innumerable chimneys to stain the crisp fall air.
"Welcome to the greatest city in the world," Emmaline declared as she looked out over the vista.
"It stinks," Neil observed, wrinkling his nose.
"Doesn't it though?" Emmaline said happily and touched her heels to the flank of her horse to get it moving again. She neither knew nor liked horses, but from comments she had received during the journey it seemed that both of their steeds were of good quality. Emmaline suspected that several minor nobles had vanished on Hexenaucht, adding to the grim legends for the wrong reasons. The horses trotted down through the traffic, farm wives on their way to market, peddlers driving wagons of goods, even the occasional Imperial messenger dashing past on a fast horse. They might soon have to sell the beasts, as what little coin they had scrapped together was nearly exhausted, the only thing of value that remained to them was the Wyrdstones that had stolen in Nuln. Emmaline was confident they could sell them, but it would take time and subtly to do so safely. The needed money badly and in Altdorf, so close the Colleges, there was no hope of passing false coins shimmed up with a spell.
"We need to find somewhere to stay," she told Neil, "and I doubt there are any towers free."