Chapter 180: Arrived at Cindralock
They rolled toward the north gate, tires picking up dust, the engine’s low growl turning heads. The guard shift bristled for a heartbeat, then relaxed as the two faces in the cab resolved to known quantities. The senior sentry stepped forward—a woman with a scar like a misplaced smile along her jaw—and rested a hand on the gate jamb.
"Going far?" she called over the rumble.
"Cindralock," Lyra said. "Guild business."
"Always is," the woman said, amused. Her gaze moved to the JLTV with the skeptical fondness the city was learning to have for Inigo’s imported monsters. "Bring it back with the same number of holes."
"Increased holes will result in an after‑action report," Inigo promised solemnly, and she laughed and waved them through.
Stone gave way to dirt. Elandra fell behind in a ribbon of roofs, then a suggestion of towers, then nothing but a line on the horizon. The road unfurled in clean brown and the kind of pale gold that made Inigo think of mornings in other lives—pavement heat, hazy cities—but the JLTV’s cab was all here‑and‑now: the hum through the frame, Lyra’s elbow on the open window ledge, the map on the dash weighted with a smooth river stone.
Lyra folded her legs under her for a minute, watching fields move past. "If the alchemists asked for us by name," she said, "someone in their branch knows you from more than rumors."
"Or wants to watch the foreigner test their glassware," Inigo said.
"That too."
They drove. The sun climbed; the world ripened with heat. Farmers walked fencelines. A pair of shepherd boys tried to race them along a low stone wall and lasted all of six seconds before collapsing in laughter. Twice, caravans gave them a wide berth without being asked. The JLTV wasn’t just fast; it announced itself like a herald with a loud voice and expensive clothes.