Page 68 of The War of Four Winters

Beside me, Niro's face remained impassive beneath his own simple but effective disguise. He'd shaved his beard back at the headhunter’s camp, and undone all his braids. That alone would make him nearly unrecognizable to those who knew him by reputation. Simple wire-framed spectacles, also from the headhunter camp, completed his transformation into a clerk rather than a warrior.

"Remember," Niro said quietly, "you're Thelian, junior documentation clerk from the Assembly Archives, dispatched to gather testimony about the western incursion.”

I nodded. "Will the deception hold?"

"Long enough, if the gods favor us." Niro's hand rested briefly on my shoulder. "Walk two steps behind me. Never make eye contact with higher-ranked nobles. Keep your head slightly bowed in deference but your spine straight.”

I schooled my features into the neutral mask I'd practiced. "How will we gain entrance to the Assembly itself?"

"Through bureaucratic channels. The archives always send clerks to document important sessions. It would be suicide to attempt deception at the formal gates. We'll enter as we are—minor officials doing our mundane duties."

The path down the ridge was treacherous, packed snow covering patches of ice that threatened to send us tumbling with each step. By the time we reached the main road approaching the city's southern gate, my borrowed boots were soaked through and my feet were numb with cold.

Guards at the outer gate wore the silver and blue of House Deepfrost, Tarathiel's personal colors. They examined travelers, paying special attention to humans in merchant caravans. I kept my gaze downward, focusing on the documents in my hands as Niro had instructed.

"State your business," one guard demanded as we approached.

Niro stepped forward, his bearing deliberately measured and formal. "Archivist Faerin from the Assembly Records Division, accompanying my assistant with documentation regarding recent events at Homeshore." He produced a leather case bearing what appeared to be the Assembly seal—carefully forged during our journey.

“Another batch of paper-pushers," he muttered to his companion, then nodded curtly. "Proceed."

We moved through the gate without further challenge, entering the sprawling outer district of D'thallanar. Here, humans and elves mingled in greater numbers than I'd seen anywhere outside Calibarra. Merchants called their wares in multiple languages. Smoke rose from food stalls selling roasted meats and steaming bowls of broth. Children darted between adults, some playing games that crossed cultural barriers despite the bitter cold.

"Keep moving," Niro murmured. "The outer rings provide an illusion of equality. That changes the deeper we go."

He was right. With each ring we crossed, the demographics shifted. By the fourth ring, humans appeared only as slaves trailing behind elven masters. My throat tightened at the sight of a human child carrying an elven noble's packages, struggling under their weight while her mistress walked ahead, oblivious or uncaring. Seeing the collar around her small neck made me clench my fists.

"Focus," Niro warned. "Remember who you are today."

I swallowed hard and forced myself forward. Each collared human we passed was a reminder of what was at stake. Of why this deception was necessary.

We proceeded directly to the center of the city, toward the Hall of Wisdom that housed the Assembly. Unlike some of the more ornate structures in D'thallanar, the Hall was built on a grand scale, its ancient stone walls rising in perfectly concentric circles around a central dome. This was where the true power of elven society resided. Not just in the Assembly chamber itself, but in the countless offices, archives, and record halls that filled its multiple levels.

The smell of ink, parchment, and dust permeated the air as we entered the records division. Shelves of scrolls and ledgers stretched from floor to ceiling in the outer chambers, with ladders positioned at intervals for accessing the highest records. Elven clerks moved with quiet efficiency, sorting documents and filing reports from across the realm.

Niro moved through the space, nodding occasionally to passing officials without actually engaging anyone. I followed his example, keeping my eyes downcast in the manner of someone preoccupied with administrative tasks. No one challenged us or even gave us a second glance. In a society where status and clan affiliation dictated every interaction, the bureaucratic class seemed to exist in a parallel world—essential yet invisible.

"The beauty of being a clerk," Niro murmured as we ascended a staircase to the upper levels, "is that you're expected to be wherever records might be needed. And today, records will be needed at the Assembly."

We passed through a series of increasingly formal spaces. Unlike the practical archival areas with their endless shelves of documents, the upper levels featured polished stone floors and ornate pillars carved with the histories of the twelve clans. Even here, our administrative disguises served as perfect camouflage. Guards at security checkpoints barely glanced at us, their attention focused on more obviously important visitors.

A pair of guards stood at the entrance to the Assembly chamber itself, but they barely looked up as we approached, clipboards and document cases in hand. One of them gestured vaguely toward a narrow staircase. "Observers' gallery. Don't disturb the proceedings."

I nodded with the deferential bow of a junior clerk and followed Niro up the stairs to the gallery—a ring of tiered seating that encircled the main chamber from above. The space was already filling with minor officials, scribes, and representatives from the lesser administrative branches of the Assembly, each equipped with writing materials to record the proceedings.

We found seats near the back of the gallery, positions that allowed us to observe without being closely observed ourselves. From this height, the entire chamber spread below us like a living map. Twelve massive pillars carved with the history and symbols of each clan supported the structure. Between them, tiered seating accommodated the representatives of each clan, with the most powerful houses granted positions closest to the chamber's center.

"We should be able to observe the proceedings without—" Niro's whispered instructions died in his throat as the massive bronze doors at the far end of the chamber swung open with ceremonial slowness.

A hush fell over the Assembly. The massive bronze doors opened to reveal a solemn procession. First came the Honor Guard in ancient ceremonial armor, their silver spears striking the marble floor in perfect unison, creating a rhythmic heartbeat that echoed through the chamber.

Then came the Primarch's personal guard, twelve warriors in crimson and silver, their expressions as cold as the blades they carried.

And then, surrounded by guards with drawn blades...

My entire body went rigid.

Ruith. Here. Inchains.

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