Dragon Sacrifice (The First Realm Book 3) by Klay Testamark Page A

said my childhood friend, falling into elvish. “I have been looking forward to the elven prince’s envoys since he sent these.” He waved a hand over their horses.
     
    “Magnificent creatures!”
     
    “Mina and Angrod has been planning this trip for some time,” Cruix said.
     
    “I’m glad you like them,” I told Ardel. “My liege takes pride in his stables.”
     
    “And I pride myself in my hospitality,” Ardel said. “Come with me to my hall. Tonight, we feast!”

    Getting into the fortress would take some work. The gates were solid bronze and seriously huge.
     
    “Each door is forty feet high, ten feet wide, and one foot thick,” Ardel said. “Together, they weigh well over twenty tons.”
     
     
    “And each of the gates is the same?” Cruix asked.
     
    “The four gates are identical, yes.”
     
    “That’s a lot of door,” Cruix said. “Wait, why are you all dismounting?”
     
    I stepped up to the left-hand door with Byrnjar. Eadric and Rangvald placed their hands on the right-hand door.
     
    “The gates swing both ways,” said Orvar, Ardel’s half-brother. “But only in peacetime, of course.”
     
    “Should we help?” Cruix asked. Orvar hadn’t dismounted.
     
    “Eh, they can handle it,” Orvar said.
     
    “Go!” Ardel said. His men and I threw ourselves at the doors. Together, we began to push the sons-of-bitches open.
     
    I strained. Byrnjar was a head taller and bulky even for a human, but his face was red. Eadric and
     
    Rangvald were up on the balls of their feet, shoulders tense and bulging.
     
    “Come on, men, put your backs into it!” Ardel said. “Push! Puuush! But don’t forget to breathe!”
     
    “Yeah, do your breathing, guys,” Orvar said. “People have fainted before.”
     
    Shoulders shaking, back shaking, feet digging for traction, the gate finally shuddered. It inched forward. Slowly, slowly, the door began to pull apart.
     
    “Come on!” Ardel said. “Come on!”
     
    He stepped forward and placed a hand on each metal slab. With a grunt, he shoved the doors and they flew wide.
     
    “How—?” Cruix asked.
     
    Ardel laughed. “The hinges are well-constructed, despite their size. The gates are not difficult to open once you’ve gotten them moving.”
     
    “It makes my brother feel so very strong,” Orvar said.

    The guards strained at the great oaken doors of King Garvel’s hall. Four times the height of a man, they tapered to a point and were covered in carved vines, serpents, and kraken tentacles.
     
    Everything swirled and weaved and braided together. Intricate was an understatement. The doors were works of art. Heavy works of art. It was many seconds before we were able to enter.
    It was dark and smoky inside. There were no windows, no light except what the long central hearth gave off. A bit of gloom is no problem for Northlanders, however. Our eyes reflected what light there was, making us look like cats in the night. Cruix threw off his hood and blinked. He was using his own elven Sight.
     
    King Garvel sat upon his throne, playing a board game with another man. He looked up as we approached.
     
    “Ah, Ardel. You have returned!” he said.
     
    “Father,” Ardel said.
     
    The king got up to embrace him. Both were large, powerful men. Both wore their hair in thick braids. The older had grey hair, a grizzled moustache, and many more scars, but clearly they were father and son.
     
    “I’ve missed you,” King Garvel said. “You had me worried.”
     
    “Father, I’ve only been gone a few days.”
     
    “I wish you wouldn’t go out hunting,” the king said. “Odin knows, it’s not the safest thing you could be doing.”
     
    Ardel broke away to look him in the eye. “Yes, but when is safe the same as fun?”
     
    Orvar stepped forward, arms wide. “Father. I also have returned.”
     
    “Yes, well, that’s good,” the king said, patting him on the shoulder. Orvar let his arms droop.
     
    “Now, is there some