Chương 27: 26 The DSR

<<Name: Ingred Valentini of the Coppersmeldt Clan >> <<Race: Dwarf>> <<Class: Winter Artillerist>> <<Rank: Paradise Cousin>> <<Lvl: mage-6; User-2>> <<Total: 8>> <<Stats: >> Might (STR) — 6 Will (WIS) — 6 Focus (INT) — 8 Resilience (CON) — 7 Grace (DEX) — 6 Cunning (CHA) — 6 My face covering had dried—again. I'm not sure it even helped me cool down. For the first half hour, it just felt like a hot wet rag on my face. But once it dried, that's when I started missing the moisture.

I licked my dry lips and focused ahead.

"There," Naomi said telepathically, nodding forward. My gaze fixed on the black iron gate. A squad of Vulcan guards checked documentation at a guard booth. I exhaled slowly, feeling for the Sea's Tears in my inventory. I had sixteen inventory slots total as of my last level up, and they were all full.

"We're sure this is the best target?" I sent.

"That's what Fravrik seemed to think." I counted guards. Eight at the front gate alone. A column of chained Coredwarves drew my eye. Their bodies were filthy and unclothed, save for their loincloths. What was worse than the nakedness, they were shaved. No self-respecting Coppersmeldt man would be caught dead without a full beard. Coredwarves—we shared a genus, not even the same species. It didn't matter. Seeing them in bonds, it wasn't just wrong; it felt personal.

The Ash Lords would bind my people just as readily if they got the chance. A Vulcan cracked a whip, and a Coredwarf flinched. No cry escaped him, no glare of hatred; he merely shuffled faster. Something cracked within. Every day I appreciated Paradise Rock more. We trudged into line behind the slave drivers. The Vulcans exchanged words and then papers at the guardhouse. My gaze fell on the brass plaque, set in the steel gate. Department of Status Resignation (DSR).

A young Primord boy clutching a woman's hand fell into step behind us. My hand twitched. I had hoped for a target that wouldn't be filled with bystanders, but Teledila had explained that the DSR was indispensable in the Scorched Rock slave machine.

"Hey, what are you?" The young Primord boy chirped from behind us. Naomi and I tensed, then glanced back.

"I'm sorry," the Primord woman apologized. Perspiration gathered on her warm green skin.

"Sparker, it's not polite to bother strangers." I stared. I couldn't start throwing spells around in there if it was going to have children inside.

"It's okay," Naomi said, tugging her scarf down.

"I'm a—" she winced, "Derk feykin." She couldn't admit to being a Shad feykin. Her people were too closely affiliated with Paradise. My brow furrowed. But why talk to them at all? We needed to be discrete. She looked my way, but I didn't care to introduce myself. Considering what we were about to do to this place, the fewer details we willingly offered to witnesses, the better.

"Foreigners," Sparker said, eyes going wide.

"Cool. Look, Ma, they're not flame born!"

"Yes, Sparker, very nice." She turned to us, shrugging apologetically.

"I'm sorry he turned ten today. He's just excited to get his brand."

"They're—branding children?" I asked, my voice monotone.

"Of course," she said.

"You don't?"

"I'm a second-order citizen," Sparker said proudly, thrusting his chest up. Not just the slaves, but the citizens too? I shifted back to the DSR, the black iron gate, the smoke rising from the sigil forges within.

"They didn't tell you?" Naomi asked.

"The civil forges are down today. They're only doing military and slave brands."

"What?" the boy asked, panic climbing in his voice.

"But it's my birthday! I'm finally old enough!" His mother spat a curse in their elemental tongue.

"I scheduled this six months ago. Incinerated bureaucracy!" The Vulcans herding the Coredwarves pushed past the gate, and we stepped up to the box at the gatehouse.

"Papers," the Vulcan sitting behind the glass said. He wore a buttoned-up shirt and a tie. The other Vulcans wore breastplates and carried weapons. Naomi thrust two booklets through the pass-through tray that ran under the glass. He flipped them open. My heart sped up. While Teledila's people weren't willing to put their lives on the line, they had provided us with forged documentation. I guess it was time to see how well they held up.

"Excuse me," the woman behind us called.

"Are the civil forges down today?"

"Wait your turn," a guard grumbled.

"Your visa number is wrong," the administrator said.

"We switched to a twelve-digit code last year. Yours only has eight." Naomi shrugged.

"I got it last year."

"Still," the Vulcan sighed, folding the booklets and tucking them under his arm.

"I'm going to have to confiscate these and turn you away. Unless—" I tensed, ready to start throwing frost. Naomi rolled her eyes.

"What do you want?"

"Five silver," the administrator said with a shrug.

"Is that it?" Naomi asked, fey canines peeking through her grin. She looked over her shoulder at the guard who had the mark of a sergeant on his uniform. She sighed, turning back to the administrator.

"I can pay you five silver to get them back, or I could pay him and his buddies ten gold to drag you out of there and beat you for corruption." She flashed a grin.

"Guess which one I'd prefer." The passports were back in her hand in a second.

"Unbelievable," she scoffed, shaking her head.

"Just because we're foreigners, you assume we have money. Guess what, you're right. What I don't have is patience. Remember that next time you assume someone doesn't know any better." The Vulcan waved us in angrily. We strode past the gate. Sparker and his mother stepped into our place to demand to know if the forges were closed. I couldn't blame Naomi for trying to steer them away, but they were persistent. We'd have to watch out for them when we executed our hit.

We stepped through internal doors into—I inhaled blessedly—cool air. Secretaries sat behind caged booths that ran down either side of the gallery. Chairs for waiting occupied the center of the long hall, most of them filled. Please Have All Documentation Ready— a freestanding sign read. A young Primord man swayed from foot to foot, arms folded as he waited in line. A Magmote mother grappled with a fussy baby; another patron glared in her direction.

"Caino Flairus," a voice called.

"Finally," a mustached Primord man growled, lurching from his seat and tossing a brochure aside. A cough cut through the low drone of administration, and a young couple murmured in soft tones.

"Go back and fill out boxes seven through eleven," an irritated clerk said to an exasperated old woman. Then my eyes locked onto the forges. There were four, placed between the booths. A Vulcan knelt over a stand, gripping a support bar. A Primord woman pressed a crackling white brand into the back of his neck, and he tensed but didn't scream. I bit my tongue. Those brands weren't glowing red; they were trailing vapors, crackling with ice. That made sense.

Given everything in the room's tolerance to heat, of course, they'd use cold brands. That explained the temperature. A brandsmith opened a door on the forge to replace a brand. Frost hissed out, dropping the temperature by several degrees. The patrons sitting closest shivered, pulling their jackets tight. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. I blinked, unsure of what I'd expected. Fire, fear, screams. Not cold, paperwork, lines, and policy.

"Do not block the door!" a voice rumbled from the end of the hall. I flinched, realizing the speaker was talking to us. I squinted, trying to get a better look, and gasped. A dais supported a massive desk, and a Fire Giant glared at us from behind it. A dozen heaters surrounded him, keeping him warm in the chilled room. I shivered for reasons unrelated to the chill. Giants.

"The lines are alphabetized by last name," he grumbled.

"Find your place and go. Also, no face coverings." We started inward, and I tugged my scarf down. I actually blushed as we drew bored stares. Sparker and his mother came in behind us.

"Forges are open!" The boy happily announced.

"Whoever told you they were closed was wrong." His mother simply glared.

"What's next?" Naomi asked into my mind. I scanned the forges. Valves and dials set into pipes gave readings as periodic vapors hissed from an outport. They differed from the forges back home, but they made sense. I'd always had a sound mind for machines. I focused my thoughts into a message.

"I get the feeling these people don't have a high tolerance for a chill. See the valve wheel under the cryo-hatch? Think you can spin it from here?" In response, Naomi's finger went to her temple, and a wheel across the room started to spin. Red lights flashed and a sharp bell rang out cyclically. The Fire Giant slammed his hands on his desk.

"Absolutely no magic in the DSR!" he snapped.

"Who's doing that?" Naomi shifted to the other side, focusing on the second forge's cryo-wheel. Patrons, moments from dying of boredom, glanced around, their interests piqued. One of the Vulcans working the first forge yelped as he checked at a pressure valve. He grabbed the wheel and spun it back. As soon as he let go, the wheel revolved back to its open position. Naomi stared at the valve, focused.

"Registrar!" the Vulcan screamed.

"The forge is malfunctioning! The valve won't close."

"Mine too!" a Primord called from the second one. The Fire Giant surged to his feet.

"Everyone out! Full evacuation." A chorus of grumbles and scraping chairs reverberated from the hall as the customers poured out. Naomi and I remained in place, standing like reeds against the river. The Fire Giant picked us out of the crowd, and his face constricted.

"Wait for them to leave," Naomi sent.

"Then we raise this place."

"I'm sorry," I said, holding my hand out.

"But they're moving too slowly." An ornate carved box dropped into my hand.

"Users!" the Fire Giant gasped. I hurled a sapphire at the nearest cryoforge. Pressurized steel shrieked as it ruptured. Ice crystals spat across the floor as vapor froze water droplets. Screams filled the air, and the crowd surged for the exit, bottlenecked at the doors. I turned, eyeing the linked chain of Coredwarves being dragged out on their tether. I launched a Frost Strike, and the chain snapped in the center. Most of them kept pressing for the exit.

One hauled on the line, jerking the icy steel through a ring on his shackles. The second he was free, he cut away. We pushed through the fleeing crowd toward the Giant Registrar.

"So what is it?" he demanded through clenched teeth, eyes fixed on the ice-coated furnace.

"Cousins? Exploits?"

"Leave Registrar," Naomi responded.

"No need to get hurt."

"Too late for that!" he sneered. Then he seized a brass orb on the desk, giving the top a one hundred and eighty-degree twist. Four plumes of fire jetted into the air from each corner of the room, blazes coalescing into obscure shapes. Shoulders, a head, and arms fused atop a vortex of flame.

"Primordials!" Naomi cried. I tossed her a tear and started summoning a Frost Strike.

"Good thing we know how to deal with them," I said. The Elementals barreled at us, closing in from each corner. The Fire Giant reached under his desk, coming up with what looked like a cannon to me, but what amounted to a carbine in his hands. Vulcans with spears and shields poured in from a side room.

"Go!" Naomi cried. She dropped her hand, but the tear remained suspended in the air. Her finger went to her temple, and the sapphire telekinetically zipped toward the nearest Primordial. The elemental disintegrated into steam with a shriek. The Fire Giant leveled his carbine at me. I dropped to a knee and cast Frost Bolt —my newest addition to my feats. His gun roared—big target vs small target. The math favored me. The bullet disintegrated four chairs, spraying me with splinters.

My bolt hit the carbine, a streak of frost forking down the Giant's arm. He bellowed, recoiling as he gripped the frostbitten limb. A spear sailed past me, and I whirled on the three Vulcans who were charging me. I plucked a fresh tear from the case and wound to throw, but all three collapsed like marionettes with cut strings. Naomi dropped her hand, nodding toward me. I tossed her the tear, and it hung in the air just before it reached her. Flames roared as two Primordials incinerated a path through lobby chairs.

I hurled the tear. My aim was off; the sapphire struck the ground between them. Water exploded; both elements shrieked as steam hissed from their blazing forms. It was too indirect. I plucked another tear, then twisted and hurled it. It struck a second forge, and the cryochamber ruptured, ice crystallizing around a Primord who was leveling a pistol at Naomi. I was going through tears like candy; I made a considered effort not to guess how much each one cost. The ground rumbled.

"Look out!" Naomi shouted aloud and in my head in unison. I turned. The Giant had charged from his desk, frost-burned arm pulled tight to his body. I barely had time to cry out before he punted me across the room. The world flashed, and I tumbled through the air. The box of tears flew from my hand, scattering enchanted sapphires. Three of them hit hard enough to detonate in a wave of icy sea-foam. The bars of an administration booth slammed into my back, and I crumpled to the ground. The air rushed from my lungs.

I staggered to a knee, groping at the ground for the tears as sapphires scattered out of reach. The ground rumbled, and I lifted my head to find the Giant barreling toward me. I gritted my teeth, caging my hands. The rings on my fingers spewed vapors, a ball of ice coalescing. I braced, prepared to cast, then Naomi's cry pulled my attention from my opponent. My team leader stumbled backward, staggering as she bumped into a chair. The final Primordial swelled as he loomed over her, flames melting iron chairs.

The Giant roared, bearing down. One shot. Two targets. I cried out, shifting my stance as I snapped my Ice Ordnance at the Primordial. A cannonball-sized chunk of ice zipped across the chamber, trailing a frost path. The Ice Ordnance struck the Primordial, detonating in shards and hoarfrost. Naomi flinched as frozen shrapnel peppered her, and the Primordial vaporized. I pivoted, summoning a Frost Strike, but the Giant's searing hand closed around my body. Gagging, my ribs cracked as he slammed me against the booth.

"Ingred!" Naomi screamed, stepping in my direction, but a Primord with a scimitar rushed to block her path. The Giant leaned down, massive face hovering mere feet from mine.

"This hall runs on order," he growled.

"On queues, on forms filled in triplicate—" I tried to conjure a spell, vapors and ice coalescing around a hand, but I couldn't bring the rings together to properly channel them. His grip tightened, and a choked wheeze escaped me.

"You don't get to skip the line." Naomi jerked her hand, and her daggers snapped forward, dropping the swordsman.

"Ingred!" she cried, starting forward, but a pair of Vulcan lancers stumbled in and barred her way. Her daggers danced through the air, one embedding in a shield. I clawed at his meaty mitt, hoping my cold hands burned hotter than his rage. They didn't.

"Oi, you're right, she can't skip the line!" a voice called. The Giant whirled. A short figure stood behind him, tossing and catching a glittering blue speck. A shackle cuff hung from each wrist, broken chains dangling. He grinned, tiny horns on his brow flaring orange with heat.

"Pretty sure I was next." The sapphire flew. A spray of water and ice exploded from the Giant's back, and his shoulders snapped back. He roared, and I hit the ground, sucking in air. The Coredwarf scooped another tear.

"What?" he snarled.

"Can't take the cold?" I coughed, lungs flaring. The Giant started toward the Coredwarf, but I clapped my hands together, gathering and then discharging a Frost Strike. The arch of blue-white crystals struck his ankle, and he shrieked, going down on one knee. One of Naomi's daggers sank into his shoulder, and he howled. She limped over the fallen Vulcans, scanning the room to ensure there'd be no more interruptions. I gathered myself with shaky legs, and the three of us triangulated around him.

His glare snapped from the Coredwarf, then to me, and finally to Naomi. The wrath of winter gathered in my grip.

"You fools!" he hissed.

"This will set us back weeks! The DSR must continue!"

"Oi!" the Coredwarf snapped again, stealing the brute's attention.

"Take a number!" He launched the tear. The Giant Registrar's head snapped back, water and ice fountaining from his brow. He tipped back, and I yelped, diving out of the way before he hit the ground. The alarm seemed sharp in the abrupt absence of chaos. Water dripped from the ceiling in half a dozen places, and ice crackled as it melted.

"Ingred!" Naomi called, rushing my way. I didn't meet her; I stumbled to the open floor, sighing and plucking three tears where they had fallen. Reinforcements would be here any moment, and we had to be ready.

"Oi!" the Coredwarf called, hugging himself, his lips blue in what I would have considered a modest chill.

"Thank you," I said, rubbing my ribs.

"You saved my life."

"What, that?" He shook his head.

"Nar, that was vengeance." Naomi caught up.

"Ingred! Are you okay?"

"Fine," I said, turning back to the Coredwarf.

"So are you lot running, or are ya waiting to get killed?"

"We can't run," Naomi said.

"We're the distraction." The Coredwarf lifted a brow. He swept an arm at the vapors drifting from ruptured forges.

"I'd say a job well done. Now, we've got about thirty seconds to bugger out of here."

"We?" Naomi said. He smirked.

"I can getcha outa the city. I know these streets. You stand out, I'll make ya blend in."

"How kind," Naomi said, frowning with suspicion.

"Here's the deal, grey Sheila. I getcha outa the city, you get me off this blasted rock."

"Sounds fair," I murmured. Naomi nodded.

"Amicable."

"Right then!" he clapped his hands and pushed deeper into the DSR.

"Let's be off."

"The door's that way!" Naomi jerked a thumb toward the front.

"Right," the Coredwarf said.

"That's where they'll be waiting. No, follow me. Ol Bebi's, never going to get caught again." Naomi and I glanced at each other.

"Your name's Baby?" I asked, too tired to smirk.

"Bebi—Beb-ee," he over-enunciated.

"And it's less silly than inbred."

"Ingred," I corrected.

"Whatever. Hicha'britches and let's hoof. Time to leave Obcity in the past." <<Time to Seal Collapse: 04: 02: 01: 05: 32: 44>>