CH818 · Rewrite
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Chapter 818: The Neverwinter Power Rankings

Drow Silvermoon was overjoyed.

She embraced Lorgar the moment they met — a full, immediate embrace, the kind one chief might offer another chief, or a close blood relative. Lorgar’s hand had been halfway to the formal salute, the one hand-to-chest gesture appropriate for greeting the head of another clan. She ended up standing with her arm raised at an awkward angle, unsure where to put it, while Echo’s arms were already around her.

The chief showed none of the calculated distance that rank usually created between people. Within a few minutes she had insisted on the informal name — “Call me Echo, please” — and begun enthusiastically describing life in Neverwinter, her gestures growing larger as she built toward each new detail.

Lorgar listened and did not believe all of it.

She had heard tales about the northern kingdoms for years. They were organized around the same basic arrangements she already understood: a small number of people in high positions with access to comfort and security, and a large number of people below them who got by on whatever remained. The accounts Echo was giving her sounded like someone describing a Kingdom of God where illness was healed on request and no one went hungry. Lorgar had left the desert for the first time in her life, not because she expected to find paradise, but because she expected to find strong opponents. She adjusted her calibration accordingly and listened for what was factual rather than hopeful.

What she wanted from Neverwinter was simple: opponents strong enough to require everything she had.

When she mentioned the Wildflame clan’s plans — that her father was considering a migration to Port of Clearwater — she watched the room’s reactions carefully. The effect was instructive. Drow Silvermoon was delighted. Iron Axe furrowed his brow and said nothing, which was more informative. Only Echo asked the obvious question, asking it with transparent pleasure: Really? Great! Once Wildflame arrives, the Port of Clearwater will restore its former prosperity even faster!

“Ahem, Lady Echo.” Iron Axe caught her eye. “It’s still only a plan.”

“Ah. Yes, of course. You’re right.” Echo looked slightly embarrassed.

Lorgar had already understood the real dynamic. Wildflame had more than five thousand people — significantly more than all the Mojin immigrants currently at the Port of Clearwater combined. The northerners had arranged things here with smaller, competitive clans: easier to manage, easier to balance against each other. A dominant clan arriving intact would change that balance, and the people who had designed this arrangement had not designed it to absorb Wildflame’s weight. Iron Axe’s hesitation was not personal. It was structural.

She didn’t press the point. She was aware of the implications herself, including the part where her father’s arrival might incidentally benefit her clan at Graycastle’s expense — and that this was, from one angle, not entirely unwelcome. She was still Princess Lorgar of the Wildflame clan, whatever else she might be chasing.


In the days that followed, Lorgar walked the length of Clearwater Bay when she had no other occupation. She was in no hurry to leave for Neverwinter now that Ashes was here. She wanted to understand what she was traveling toward, and this place offered a partial view of it.

She was surprised by the pace of construction.

On the riverbank she found a row of hemispherical furnaces, dome-shaped and efficient, producing a new batch of bricks each day from a mixture of local earth and river sand. The furnaces burned not wood but a dark grayish stone shipped from the northwest — coal, she would learn, though the word was unfamiliar — that required refueling only once a day and burned for the full duration without requiring tending. The output compared favorably to charcoal in every visible way.

The brick-making operation employed mostly Mojin women and older workers, organized into groups for different tasks — digging earth, carrying stone — with marks pressed onto the workers’ arms by supervisors to track each individual’s daily contribution. The marks determined food allocation. The system was legible, consistent, and apparently accepted.

Construction itself was handled almost entirely by northerners. They used a gray powder mixed with water to produce a binding paste that bonded the stacked bricks into something more durable than the individual components. Every house followed the same design, the same dimensions, the same method. She could see new stories going up on structures that had had no second floor the day before.

The other thing she observed: the reactions of the workers to her appearance.

She had stopped covering her ears and tail when she left Iron Sand City. Most Mojin workers she encountered would avert their eyes when they saw her, pull subtly away. She was not surprised. She had grown up with those reactions; she had trained herself not to need them to go away. She had simply stopped pretending the ears and tail were not there.

But the Graycastle workers were different. They showed no fear. The braver ones greeted her directly. Several seemed merely curious, the way one is curious about a newcomer rather than afraid of something inhuman.

She asked Ashes about it.

“Half-human and half-beast isn’t unusual among the witches,” Ashes said, palms out in a gesture of casual equivalence. “There’s a witch named Maggie who transforms into things that would genuinely alarm you. She’s served as a rescue courier several times. Everyone’s gotten used to her.” She paused. “Even if you don’t look human, they won’t push you out.”

Lorgar turned this over. The determination she’d made — to embrace what she was, not to disguise it — had been formed in a context where that determination cost something. Apparently the cost was not universal.

She filed it away and thought of something else. “Are you the strongest witch in Neverwinter?”

Ashes was quiet for a moment. When she answered, she chose her words with more care than usual. “That depends on who the opponent is wearing.”

“The God’s Stone of Retaliation? It suppresses abilities?”

“Yes. Without it, I’m not certain I could defeat certain witches in the Witch Union.”

“Even you?” The information genuinely startled her.

“Before they evolved, probably. But their abilities after evolution passed beyond what speed and strength can simply overcome.” Ashes considered. “There’s a witch called Leaf. Within the territory controlled by her Heart of Forest, she becomes something like a deity — you fight the forest itself, not just her. Even with God’s Stone of Retaliation, escaping her terrain requires more than I have. If I had to fight every witch in Neverwinter, she would be the last one I’d want to face.”

Lorgar was already thinking faster. “Who else?”

“Anna. Not built for combat. But her raw ability is without ceiling — no God’s Stone means I can’t conceive of how to beat her. She’s also the most important witch in Neverwinter, and Roland’s—” Ashes paused with a very slightly complicated expression — “sweetheart. You won’t get a duel with her.” She counted on her fingers. “And Nightingale. If you start challenging witches regularly, you’ll get her attention. She’s particular about protecting the people she cares for, and her ability is strange enough that the normal framework for reading an opponent doesn’t apply. Avoid her if you can.”

Lorgar was noting each name, turning it into a record. “What about Maggie? You said she transforms into something large?”

“She’d be a real match for you in a duel.” Ashes paused. A meaningful pause, followed by a meaningful smile. “But I’d advise against it. Everyone who’s challenged her seems to encounter bad luck afterward. And if you accidentally hurt her, you’d have the entire Witch Union to deal with.”

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