This Novel currently consists of over 100 finished parts so I promise you will not be reading something that has no finale. Enjoy.
City of Steel.
The following insipid dawn found Renard riding hard, white foam flecking his roan horse's coat, the black forbidding fortress rearing into his sight, squatting like some waiting demon on the arid, saline plains below. As its darkened, unscalable battlements emerged more clearly into view, Renard found himself when greeted with this vision, not so sure that his plan was one of brilliance, but rather one of reckless folly.
He gazed at the somber walls again, his dark eyes seeking and finding many defenders there, arrows poised and he knew he had been seen. So swallowing hard and giving his tired mount one last kick of encouragement he galloped toward the gates, and uncertainty.
The dark steel walls towered high above, dwarfing him as he rode toward the gate's massive portals, scores of eyes above watching his every movement. Renard felt very vulnerable indeed, as he reigned in his exhausted horse some twenty feet from the gate, which still remained tightly shut, and dismounted. Then staring up at the defenders on the walls, doing his best to mask any trepidation he felt, Renard summoned all his courage as he called out to those who watched him critically from high above.
"I am Renard son of Stephan, and I have come in peace, bearing an important message for your leader." Half expecting at any moment to feel the answering barb of an arrow in his flesh, or worse still the thought of the mounted flame cannon, its evil blackened snout already angling his way. It's hot kerosene breath like that of some mythical dragon's maw.
His statement of intention was met with austere silence from the watchers on high, only the faintest howl of the lifting breeze permeated the tense scene. Renard's nerves were razor edged as he held his hands high in a display of surrender, he hardly dare draw breath, and wondered at the sanity of his plan. Still he had no other choice considering recent events, he had to take his chances.
After agonizing moments came the grating sound of the gate being winched partly open, chain clanking over steel in a metallic scream of protest. Accompanied by a contingent of ten armed soldiers who swiftly converged on the lone man. One prominent amongst them wearing engraved metal plate and full silver chain mail, divesting him of his weapons with brutal efficiency.
Still Renard did not dare move lest he be struck down. The same man, who appeared to be the commander then addressed him, the man's voice grim, his short sword drawn and threatening. "Come peacefully then, if you so much as look like trying anything, you're a dead man." At this Renard felt the encouraging prod of a spear tip rending his heavy brown woolen shirt, piercing the skin beneath, the blood running, tickling his skin under his clothes as he was urged forward into the compound.
Under this aggressive escort he entered the formidable city fort, not at all sure if he had indeed made the right decision, hearing the ominous thud of the immense gates shut behind him, effectively imprisoning him, and he was not at all comfortable with the idea. Renard was conducted in silence toward the fort's central plaza, the hub of the community. A place lined with numerous, bustling, workshops which produced every essential item the city could require. The many artisans and workers paused at their work, to eye the procession suspiciously as they passed on by. Renard had accompanied his father to this place in his youth many times before, mainly to deliver the produce to keep Lothar's peace, and to conduct diplomatic talks. So he had a rough idea of where he was going as he was herded hurriedly by.
They turned a corner and a large dark portal suddenly swallowed the group, as they descended the metal staircase into Lothar's inner sanctum. Here only the elite officers and warriors had their place, and only the most important guests or prisoners were permitted entry to this dark metallic realm. Renard shuddered at the impersonal, oppressive steel walls, and was momentarily blinded as his eyes adjusted to the artificially lit dimness in the tunnels below. His ears assaulted by the hollow ringing of the checker plate floors beneath his escort's trampling boots. The tips of their spears relentlessly prodding him ever forward.
The grid of dim passageways seemed to have no end, and even Renard an expert navigator, began to become disoriented as every passage looked the same to his eyes. Finally they reached an iron bound door, and Renard was pushed into a small furnished room, the light and air somehow directed in from above, comfortable enough though it had the feel of a prison rather than a guest room to the now worried young man.
The head soldier stepped in after him, the remainder of his men blocking the doorway behind, and any chance of escape, announcing. "You will wait here, and Lord Lothar's aide will be here to see you shortly. Until then make yourself at home." Before Renard could protest or phrase a reply the gruff man was gone slamming the door with dread finality behind him, locking it as he departed.
Renard slumped down on to the small bed, running his long graceful fingers through his mop of wavy, dark hair, trying to alleviate the stress he felt, resigned to his fate at Lothar's hands. He fretted that he still had no idea of the situation here, or indeed whether the Wolf Lord still lived. Then there was the pressing matter of Frances. One month of rations Bennett had said, and already more than two weeks had gone by. He had to find her soon, he just had to.
A feeling of helpless panic rising in him at the thought of his sister, all alone, imprisoned in the dark, helpless and afraid, and he had to fight to push it aside. All his plans depended on his staying cool and dignified, and he would do just that. So Renard spent the next many hours alone, alternatively pacing the confines of the small room or laying on the bed, occasionally drifting off to sleep and into troubled dreams. Still no one came.
Renard must have dozed off, only to be abruptly awakened by the grating of a key in the lock, and to see the steel door swinging wide on its hinges. He was greeted with the sight of several servants bearing platters of delicious smelling food and a decanter of red wine which they hurriedly set down on the small wooden table and retreated just as swiftly.
They were accompanied by an officious looking well groomed man, aged somewhere in his mid fifties. He was of smallish wiry build, no more than five foot six, and grey haired, which was close cropped. He was clean shaven and dressed in somber well fitting, black attire, with narrow severe features. However in this rather austere package Renard noted, this man's eyes were the most incredible vivid blue he had ever seen, and sparkled with evil intensity.
Something about this sharp man warned Renard to be ever careful, though he knew not what it was exactly. Then he spoke, a Germanic accent tingeing his clipped voice.
