Hearthhold

Weapons. Armor. Repair.

Three forges burn at all hours. The Iron Veil has armed knights of the Iron Kingdoms for nine generations. Master Brenhold is the seventh of

Potions. Alchemy. Resistance Tonics.

A low-ceilinged room thick with the smells of distilled herbs and someone's just-burnt bread. Tessa knows every traveler who has been throug

Maps. Guides. Route Charts.

Six tables, each with a different map under glass. Marra has visited every region in the realm except the Hidden Vale.

Guidebooks. Histories. Dragon Manuals.

Two floors of bound volumes and one floor below that only Helonor has the key to.

Black Market. Illegal Relics.

Behind the Tavern of the Black Wyrm, down two flights, behind a door that is always closed and always unlocked. Hellard pretends not to know

Food. Rations. Magical Teas.

Open at first light. Closed before dusk. Yura's sons bake the bread; Yura brews the tea; the cat names itself.

Crafting Materials. Forge Services.

A workshop that smells of cold metal and warm oil. Veld is a hundred years old; if asked, he says he is older.

Mercenaries. Scouts. Healers. Guides.

A long hall with a hundred names on the wall: contracts past, contracts honored, contracts broken. Captain Bren keeps the list. This is the

Restricted Magical Knowledge.

Behind the Shrine. A dark-stoned chamber where the Order's elders sometimes meet.

Mounts. Travel Animals. Trained Beasts.

An open yard, four pens, one barn. Old Quint knows the temper of every horse in the Iron Kingdoms.

We buy, we lend, we keep the ledger honest.

A two-story stone building just off Trade Row. Three iron balls hang from a bracket over the door — the old Lombard sign, kept by the family