Dragonjaw Gate was the massive fortress that protected the humans’ territory. The priests’ ceremony would reactivate the magic circle that protected the fort from all manner of projectiles. I could hardly even call it a ceremony; it was more like factory work as an army of priests simply poured in their mana on rotation. Not only was it estimated this would take at least three months of constant work, but on top of that, I learned I was supposed to remain at the fortress the entire time. As His Majesty’s field marshal and the man in charge of the country’s military, it was apparently my duty to oversee the process.
Despite my being a supervisor, there wasn’t any work for me to do. The procedures, decisions, shifts, and stations were all managed by the temple. All that was left for me to do was occasionally stop by the main chamber and observe the priests at work. It was a monotonous business, devoting themselves to injecting their mana and only swapping out when their bodies could no longer hold up. That was all there was to it, simple but arduous.
To be honest, it wasn’t the most exciting thing to watch for any length of time. In fact, I would have been more engaged watching an anthill. This thought inspired me to look around for an anthill on the ground, but perhaps due to the season, or perhaps because ants didn’t exist in this world, I couldn’t find any around Dragonjaw Gate.
Meg grew even more bored than me on the very first day, and she promptly decided she would return to her territory. What had happened to all that talk about serving as my attendant? She was the one who’d forced me to bring her along to witness the ceremony. What a free spirit she was. Well, neither of us had realized the procedure would go on for three months. Despite her capricious nature, she still had a relatively busy position, and she couldn’t be away from her territory for too long.
She expected me to bring her to her territory myself, as if it went without saying. It was a round trip of an entire day by dragon, and while I did have some thoughts on her attitude, I had to admit it was a welcome change of pace. From that day onward during my stay, I would spend my free time walking Veralgon through the clouds. It was fun and liberating racing through the sky, but by the third day, the dragon keepers begged me to refrain.
The keepers stressed that dragons generally entered a state of hibernation during the winter. Although domesticated dragons chose to remain awake as their riders did, Veralgon was a bit different from other dragons. He was already violent, so if I kept rousing him from his torpor to engage in the physical exertion of flight, he was bound to grow increasingly displeased.
“He takes it out on us dragon keepers the moment you’re out of sight, Hero. Last night, one of our young ones was actually injured. Please, don’t take the dragon flying without a serious purpose.”
Since an injury had occurred, I had to honor that request. So, left with little else to do, I decided to explore the fortress.
The fortress’s design was basic as could be. One massive wall faced the valley and collected water from snowmelt. A gentle slope climbed from its southern border to its eastern edge. There were nine towers of varying size, from which it was possible to rain arrows and stones down upon any enemy army that might attempt to climb the slope. The largest tower was the fort’s main headquarters, located at a central spot in the wall, and this was where the barracks were situated, as well. A massive water dragon was carved on the moat’s sluice gate, right beneath this central tower.
The second largest tower, commonly called the Gate Tower, was at the very end of the aforementioned slope. It was through this tower that the world of humanity connected with the world beyond. It was the more heavily protected of the fort’s two gateways, and had hostilities been underway, each of the tower’s merlons would have sheltered an archer with bow at the ready. Adjacent to the Gate Tower was an open space where troops would assemble before embarking outside on an expedition.
While incredibly sturdy against outside forces, the Gate Tower had no defenses against attacks from within. There wasn’t even a simple fence to protect it from the possibility of attack from humans. A house for dragon keepers had been erected a short distance from the tower, but this was as unguarded as the rest of it. Of course, I highly doubted anyone would attempt to steal a dragon. On a side note, atop the towers, there were only merlons and crenels for archers facing outward, not inward.
I found something else rather unexpected while investigating. As it turned out, the fortress employed orcs here and there. I spotted the first orcs as I was exploring the interior of the Gate Tower. In one chamber, orcs were chained to a thick, rotating pillar fitted with push bars situated in the middle of the floor. Here, they would be whipped into turning the device.
“This is the power source of the Gate Tower,” a young soldier told me. Herbert, the captain of the garrison, had lent him to me as a guide when I’d asked for permission to look around.
“What do they power?”
The young man courteously explained, “When they turn the pillar, it winds a chain, which can raise and lower the gate. There is an identical room on the opposite side of the fortress, for that gate.”
“But isn’t it dangerous to use orc labor here, of all places?”
There would be quite a bit of trouble if they were to open the gate in the middle of a siege.
Before my guide could answer, an older soldier who watched over the orcs answered me with a laugh. “Sure, they’re ferocious on the battlefield, but these here have all been broken in. They’re harmless.”
He produced an apple from a crate in the corner of the room and tossed it at the orcs. The apple landed and rolled between two of them, who immediately began scuffling for it.
“Place your bets, young’un,” he said to the guide.
“Then I’ll bet on the right-hand one.” The guide pointed at the younger of the two orcs, but the match was soon over, and the young soldier grumbled as he handed over a coin.
“Did you see that, Hero?” the older soldier said. “They’re no better than beasts. Not to mention, it’s impossible to see or hear anything outside this room, so they don’t know what’s going on. We had no problems at all the last time orcs invaded. We’re fine.” He confidently tucked the coin into his pocket.
The guide added, “The gate’s chain is only hooked up when necessary, and that isn’t done in here. Nothing would happen even if they did start turning the post on their own. During times of emergency, we can also sever the chain to drop the gate immediately. Shall we see the next machine room, then?”
They seemed to have a well-thought-out system. Orcs were similarly used to open the water gates, and to draw well water. They were treated better than those in my own territory in that each had its own room to retire to. That said, those rooms were essentially jail cells, damp places that never saw the light of the sun. Still, it was preferable to twenty of them sleeping in a huddle, as in our orc shed. Perhaps I could use the setup here as an example in improving our orcs’ conditions.
If it was not forbidden to bring orcs here, then perhaps I could fetch Johnny from Kadann Hill. Despite its size, there wasn’t much for me to do in the fortress. My language lessons could help pass the time.
Thinking of the lessons reminded me of something. I had intended to ask if there were any scholar priests who studied the orcish language. I planned on seeking out Worion in the ceremony chamber, for who better to tell me?
“Could you tell me the specifics?”
Worion leaned toward me, his eyes gleaming with fiery curiosity. His sheer intensity compelled me to step back. We were in the underground chamber with its many priests conducting the ceremony around us. Unfortunately, directly behind me was a circle of these priests, praying as they channeled their mana. As I carelessly retreated from Worion, I accidentally tripped and tumbled right into their midst.