Read Online Weapon of the Guild [The Chronicles of Grimm Dragonblaster, Book 2] by Alastair J. Archibald - Free Book Online Page A

Redeemer, he saw only a simple length of wood. His marriage finger now appeared to bear a simple, tarnished brass ring.
    "Well, I'm convinced,” Crest said, blowing out his cheeks and whistling. “You look like simple travellers to me."
    "A simple enough spell,” Dalquist replied, puffing out his chest a little with evident pride. “However, it should suffice against casual eyes. Let us continue."
    The companions mounted their patient steeds and continued west. Grimm, allowing a little more of his weight to rest on Jessie's back, felt pleased that his muscles seemed far stronger today, strong enough to allow a few hours’ ride.
    Crar appeared as a small jewel on the horizon, gleaming white and polished. Around it were smaller black dots, evidently the homesteads and farms of the barony. After another hour, towers and turrets became evident, the tallest being a twisting black spire. After another hour, the true magnitude of the city became apparent: a fifty-foot stone wall ran around the city, with strategically placed firing-stations at thirty-yard intervals along the perimeter. Access to the main gate was through a long curving tunnel with thick walls, which would admit individuals but would exclude war machines and battering rams. How was this vast place to be supplied with raw materials, food and other supplies?
    Then, Grimm noticed a series of derricks arrayed around the wall, some occupied in swaying supplies into the city from the outside. The people of Crar seemed both secretive and cautious. Crest waved the group to a halt fifty yards from the entrance tunnel. “I suggest you let me do the talking here, gentlemen,” he said. “As I told you, I've been here before and I think I know how to wheedle our way in. I ask you to follow my lead, and not to contradict me."
    Dalquist nodded. “That makes sense, thief. Very well, then, you are our spokesman. I am sure your silver tongue and ready wits will not let us down."
    He frowned when Crest demanded the bag of magic gold, but the elf swore he would only use it when faced with extortion. Dalquist shrugged and handed over the heavy purse. The party moved in single file into the long tunnel. The horses’ gentle hoof-beats were amplified into a cacophony of clatter by the stone walls, and Grimm guessed this to be a cunningly wrought acoustic trap, ensuring no one could sneak up on the city unannounced. After a number of twists and turns, the tunnel opened up like a bottle in front of an imposing steel portal. Above the fifteen-foot door, Grimm saw a viewing-port with an arrow-slit at either side. In the ceiling, he saw a number of gutters for the discharge of burning oil or some other assault.
    If we need to get out of here in a hurry, it could be difficult , Grimm thought, feeling a sudden shiver run through his body.
    With a swift snick , the viewing-port in the metal door slipped open, and a suspicious, bearded face appeared, looking down at the group.
    "What do you want here?” the disembodied head boomed. “We have no time for beggars and wastrels here. If you come looking for charity, you're wasting your time." Crest spread his arms in disavowal. “We are adherents of the order of Blessed Kuhul, good brother, and we come here to purchase certain items with which to fulfil our pilgrimage to the shrine of our saint." Grimm heard such a plangent note of piety and deep humility in Crest's voice that he almost felt like dropping to his knees in fervent prayer. However, the gatekeeper seemed made of sterner stuff. The guard stifled a yawn and drawled, “We don't need priests here, traveller, and we don't want penniless pilgrims traipsing the streets, shouting their mindless creed to all comers and window-shopping for items they can't afford. Be off with you"
    Crest spread his hands in apparent supplication “Ours is not a poor order,” he protested. “We seek to magnify our saint by the magnificence of the items we can bring to his tomb. The rarer and more