Chương 385: 10.5

Some terrible sorcery had happened, and Bruiser was glad it hadn't happened to them. The rains no longer stopped over Terminapolis. The ever present storm churned black and dark, filling the air over the city with a downpour of ice and water. The looming, piling stack of clouds rising up to the heavens and then spilling over and out like a wobbling, misshapen pot. The wind beneath that cloud was all but dead.

The sun was blotted out at noon, and yet all around the surrounding lands and villages the sky remained almost entirely clear. The winds a brisk billowing outward from the walls of Terminapolis. What sparse clouds could be seen rushing overhead to join their brethren in the tumult above. And like a spear, a great tongue, or a roaring handle to the hammerhead of storms and wind and darkness. There was a single shaft of dark cloud and rain shooting south. Their party fled the rain via the western gate.

And then dried quickly for the miles after. Bruiser had to be careful to not let the looming darkness over the capital of a nation drag her eyes from her watch of the road and potential ambushes. They were there in that city under that miserable not quite snow for twelve days with no sign of its fury abating. Rumors ran hard and fast all around the palace on what transpired. The wyrms had fought, the Wolf Prince had attacked the High King, the Countess Wyrm had attacked the High King.

One of the wyrms was slain or both of them were slain. Either story was stupid, there were witnesses that each had fled the city in a different direction the very same day. The Shining Countess by caravan, the Wolf Prince on the wing. But no matter what the word was, the storm had remained, it had emptied a deluge on the city, lesser structures had collapsed under torrents of water. Improperly cured bricks had melted and been washed away. Canvas shelters frayed by lumps of ice hurled from the angry sky.

Day and night, rain and ice. Dead air on the streets and furious tumults in the sky. It had grounded the flurries of Gryphons Magarskans seemed to favor for messengers and Bruiser heard more than one argument in the various places people had come to huddle from the unending weather. Twelve days waiting for the storm to let up before finally the Trade Masters could no longer excuse the expense of staying. And then it was barely an hour to march out of the city and the Inclement weather was behind them.

Why had they waited twelve days for the weather if it only took a short walk in miserable rain to escape it? Bruiser didn't know, it wasn't her business either, the Trademaster and Robin (stars watch out for the boy) likely had their reasons. It was enough for her that they were finally underway at last.

That they had managed to dodge not one, but two of the heavens and deeps accursed wyrms in their stay at the High King's Palace and according to Robin had divested their caravan of wagons full of treasure and goods for something at least twice as valuable and far more easily stolen. Which was why Bruiser and the rest of the band were especially busy now. The trip through the skyways had been an important one for Caravan guards. A large party with a heavy train of burdened wagons was an enticing target.

But now they traveled with significantly fewer beasts and much lighter but far too valuable burdens. To put it bluntly two riders could sneak away the bounty of the entire enterprise and be gone in the night. Not that they could be sure to get even half the price that had been paid for the eggs. But even that amount was something that could tempt a man. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. True Wyrm Eggs.

Four of them, each perhaps a little bit larger than Bruiser's head. She didn't know much about birds or Gryphons. But they didn't look particularly fancy or valuable. Just big things that you couldn't even tell the nature of without trying to scrape the shell or give them a good strike with a hammer. She'd heard some lords and jewelers once wrapped these things in filigrees of gold, silver, encrusted gems and pearls. Held them as heirlooms. But little else used to be done with them.

There was not a lot you could do with indestructible eggs Bruiser supposed. Especially given the awkwardness of their size and shape. Maybe as ammunition in siege weapons? But the things were not even particularly heavy, so that was probably out. So for most of Bruiser's life Wyrm eggs had been fancy baubles for rich families, proof some ancestor murdered a dragon or what have you. But then the now Countess of Viznove hatched. Then there was the Uprising of Bathory.

Then everyone knew about the Shining Wyrm of Viznove. And not long after that apparently some kind of miracle in Old Cantor was performed by The Pantheon. So suddenly Wyrm Eggs had some kind of use? When Magarska got its own Wyrm Bruiser could admit it was obvious there would be a scramble of some sort over the things. Still. Only four eggs? Bruiser had seen the wagon loads of treasure. Could four eggs possibly be worth all of that?

Especially since all the word among the caravan is that the Pantheon was definitely not trying to hatch them. Bruiser could have almost understood in that stupid way lords, officers and captains could be that might justify the price. If they wanted to hatch the things into more Wyrms? She and every waif in the world could attest the kind of power that even one wyrm might entice the greedy and foolish. She turned to glance over her shoulder at the looming black stormclouds that hung over the Capital of Magarska.

From this road it definitely looked like a warhammer caught frozen in mid swing. On the verge of descending onto the kingdom and bringing doom to not just the city all but lost in its shadow, but vast enough to shatter the entire vault itself. Twelve days that storm had hung over Terminapolis. The unnatural nature of the thing stank of sorcery, of a curse. And all the noise around them as they had been trying to secure a last few eggs were all wyrms up and down the halls and in every corner of the city.

Wyrmish sorcery hanging over a city, looming on the verge of a death blow to a kingdom, a vault, and empire. A weapon poised to break everything in the world. Bruiser dragged her eyes away from the terrifying new monument to why seeking to try and hatch, collar and cage these beasts was absolute idiotic folly. But that would at least make sense to her, a stupid naked lust for power to wield what could not be held was a very common failure of men and women sitting on thrones.

Yet that was not what the Pantheon sought. A way to hatch wyrm eggs was not what the god workers had found, and the rumors surrounding what it was they discovered did nothing but leave Bruiser uneasy. Robin, Bruiser, John and all the rest of the crew were never going to have to work again in their lives from this pay out. Everyone in the caravan was abuzz with it.

Even the animal drivers were talking of trading in portions of their gold for the touch of miracles called forth by the greatest priests in the known world. The trademasters were speaking of being able to found noble families with the wealth they would gain from this. Of the power their guilds would hold afterwards, paid in even more than gold. Owed divine favor with the Pantheon itself and its archpriests. Bruiser kept her hands ready, her club unslung and over one shoulder. Eyes sharply following everyone.

They were going to have shifts, the treasure of this 'Bulchavan Enterprise' could not be left without at least one of the crew guarding it until they finally reached Old Cantor and Robin had secured their share. Then Bruiser was going to try and convince the foolish children that they needed to get as far away from Cantor and this part of the world as they possibly could. The mystery of what was going to be done with those eggs made her fingers itch. Nothing good could come of something valued so highly.