The main gate of Iron Pass Fort was a massive barrier of split hardwood, five paces wide and four fingers thick, heavy with crisscrossing straps of hammered bog-iron.
Hoarfrost crusted the bolt-heads, sparkling like bitter salt under the dim northern sun. Above the gate, the castle walls were built from rough-hewn dark rock blocks, their crenellations pitted by decades of potion-made hail and arrow strikes. A row of spiked timber chevaux-de-frise stood along the ditch line, tangled with rusted tripwires and dried coils of thorned vine.
Lin Tao and Tie Shan approached within forty paces. Then, the slit of an iron shutter slammed open above the archway. A pair of heavy iron-tipped crossbows poked through the embrasure, their trigger gears creaking under full draw.
“Halt right there!” a raspy, gravelly voice barked from behind the low roof wall. “Step one pace closer and I’ll pin your boots to the frozen rock! State your turf and drop your baggage!”
Lin Tao didn’t break stride until he reached the edge of the dry moat, exactly thirty paces from the gate—the formal boundary for approaching officials. With a smooth, practiced motion of his right arm, he withdrew the heavy bronze-banded lacquer case containing his court credentials. Then he held it aloft.
