Looking at the snake monster intimately wrapped around Sylas's hand, faintly resembling a green bracelet, Sylas couldn't help but curl his lips.
What he had just performed was a type of magical contract: the Blood Oath, a powerful magical pact that guarantees both parties will not harm each other. Of course, the version he used was his own improved form of the Blood Oath.
It only ensured that the snake could not harm him, while leaving himself completely unrestrained. He even treated the snake as the Blood Oath's carrier; unless the snake was killed, the oath could not be broken.
With this safeguard in place, he could now raise the creature without worry. Under the Blood Oath's constraints, even without Sylas speaking Parseltongue to command the snake to close its eyes, the moment Sylas appeared it would instinctively shut them, preventing any harm to him. Unconscious harm was also forbidden.
"You will be called Herpo from now on," Sylas declared. A habitual name-giver, he drew inspiration from his own knowledge, naming it after the first basilisk breeder in the magical world, Vile Herpo.
Sylas had been giving a great deal of thought to the immense castle that master builders had been working on. Eventually, he decided to make his home at the foot of the mountain, within the castle grounds. There, in a secluded corner, he began constructing a secret chamber, a hidden place where he could safely raise the serpent creature he had bound with a Blood Oath.
Time passed swiftly. Before long, the construction of the great fortress reached its final stage. Now, high above the mountain, a majestic citadel crowned the peak, its silhouette cutting proudly against the sky.
The outermost fortifications were formidable, a high and thick stone wall, following the natural edge of the mountain in a vast circle, enclosing the entire summit. Upon the wall was a broad walkway, allowing guards to patrol the perimeter with ease. On either side, the structure was built from expertly cut stone, laid by the finest dwarven masons. The outer face bristled with narrow arrow slits and far-seeing apertures, perfect for archers to fire upon any approaching foe. At regular intervals, watchtowers rose above the battlements, silent sentinels keeping eternal vigil over the surrounding wilds.
Above the main gate towered an imposing keep, built both for long-range observation and for raining destruction on any who dared threaten the gates. Those gates themselves were a marvel of craft, two massive bronze doors, their surfaces bore intricate patterns and ancient runes, each stroke a testament to centuries of skill. Hidden within them were ingenious locking mechanisms; once closed, the gates could only be opened from the inside.
Beyond the gates stretched a vast expanse of grassland. A straight white-stone road cut across it, leading directly toward the central city keep. In front of the keep stood a grand fountain, its basin carved from gleaming marble, the water within drawn from an underground spring deep beneath the mountain. To reach it, the dwarves had tunneled nearly a thousand meters into the mountain's heart.
Atop the fountain stood a golden dragon statue, Smaug's personal request. He had even contributed gold from his hoard for its construction.
The dwarves had once suggested sculpting Sylas's likeness for the fountain, but he flatly refused. The thought of every guest staring at a statue of him upon entering the city was more than his modest pride could bear.
The clear water spilled from the golden dragon's mouth into the basin, then flowed outward along carved channels toward the main city tower. It passed through lush gardens filled with flowers in full bloom, wound beneath the shimmering leaves of Mallorn trees, and drifted past the ethereal blossoms of the White Tree. The streams converged into a tranquil lake nestled in a natural hollow within the city walls. From there, the water spilled westward, tumbling through a break in the wall to cascade down the mountainside in a dazzling waterfall, its spray catching the light like scattered jewels, before plunging into a small, still pool.
Returning to the heart of the fortress, the dwarven craftsmen had outdone themselves. Using immense, rune-carved megaliths, they had raised a majestic central keep, the Main City Tower, its eight-story core surrounded by a constellation of smaller towers and grand halls.
Among them, the Tower of Amon Sûl still reigned supreme, its lofty crown rising high above all other structures, the rest standing like loyal sentinels at its base. Seen from afar, the complex resembled a colossal pillar of stone, flanked by proud, angular spires that jutted skyward like the petals of some indomitable flower.
Behind the keep, nestled within the protection of the walls, stood additional towers and utility buildings, stables tucked into a sheltered corner for the castle's steeds, warm houses for winter comfort, and quarters for the many servants, stablehands, and attendants who kept the great fortress alive with daily bustle.
The Tower of Amon Sûl remained Sylas's personal residence. Upon stepping out from his private chambers, he emerged into a vast reception hall so large it could hold over a thousand guests. This grand hall would serve for banquets, winter balls, victory celebrations, and solemn state gatherings. It was also here that Sylas would receive citizens, hear petitions, and preside over matters of governance.
Around the periphery of the hall lay kitchens rich with the smell of baking bread, vaulted warehouses, council chambers, guest lodgings, and well-appointed waiting rooms for visitors from distant lands.
"What do you think, Lord Sylas?" asked Balin as they walked together through the echoing corridors and sunlit courtyards. "If there is anything amiss, say the word and we shall set it right."
Sylas's eyes roamed over the finely carved stone, the inlaid floors, and the smooth perfection of dwarven craft. At last, he gave a deep nod, his face lit with genuine satisfaction. "The skill of the dwarves is truly unmatched. I've no complaints!" A smile tugged at the corner of his lips before he added with a touch of humor, "Though I can't help but wonder, how can one man possibly fill the largest fortress in the realm?"
The Tower of Amon Sûl had always been an imposing structure, but now, with the surrounding fortress complete, its presence was nothing short of monumental.
Hearing Sylas's words, Balin chuckled knowingly.
It was true, the fortress felt far too empty. A castle of this size could easily house several thousand people to live and work, yet its permanent residents were only Sylas himself, with the occasional presence of Legolas. Even Edward, who had taken on the role of something like Sylas's butler, spent much of his time in the Hogsmeade.
Lately, Edward had been especially occupied, often seen in the company of Anna, the daughter of the village chief, Luke, the two of them running across the hills almost every day.
Still, Balin said warmly, "This is nothing to fret over. You're a lord now, a lord must have attendants, servants, and guards. That's not just for appearances; there will be guests coming in the future, and a castle such as this must be ready to receive them properly."
Sylas found himself nodding. It wasn't vanity that stirred him, but practicality. Someone needed to tend the gardens, someone to keep the halls and courtyards in order. And then there were his companions, Thorondor, the young eagle; Smaug, the proud dragon; Herpo, the basilisk and the Giant spidrrs, all of them needed feeding and care. Sylas could manage these tasks himself, yes, but…
"No," Balin said, reading his thoughts, "even with your magic, you'll have little time for such things. Your days will be spent in study, magic, alchemy, the arcane arts. You'll want your focus there, not on sweeping floors or scrubbing fountains. Ah! That reminds me, the underground passage is finished. You should take a look."
At that, Sylas's eyes lit with interest. "The underground passage? Then let's go."
Balin led the way toward the side of the city gate, where a stairway wound down into the depths. They descended into a vast basement, the air growing cooler with each step. At the far end was a heavy stone door. When Balin pushed it open, a rush of cold wind swept over them, carrying the scent of deep stone and earth.
Beyond the threshold yawned a vast, bottomless cavern. A narrow, winding stone path clung to the cliff face, descending into darkness. Seeing Sylas's look of surprise, Balin's voice carried a note of pride.
"We've dug the tunnel all the way to the base of the mountain. In truth, save for the peak itself, the whole fortress of the monutain summit can be considered part of the city. If trouble ever comes to the upper halls, this passage will take you all the way down to safety at the mountain's foot."
Together, they began the descent, their footsteps echoing off the stone. Sylas conjured a glowing orb of light, which floated above them, casting pale gold over the narrow steps and jagged walls. Down and down they went, the stair spiraling endlessly into the heart of the mountain, until at last they reached the lowest passage.
There, almost invisible in the rock face, was a small stone door.
"This here is the back door," Balin explained, running his calloused fingers along the stone. "It's operated by a hidden mechanism. Whether you're entering or leaving, brute force won't open it, not even a battering ram would make it budge. You'll need a special key."
From within his belt pouch, he produced a sharp, golden key and handed it to Sylas.
Sylas raised an eyebrow. The stone door looked so seamlessly part of the wall that, at first glance, it was almost identical to the rest of the cavern. Under Balin's guidance, he found an unnoticeable keyhole set into the mountain rock. When he slid the key in and turned it, a deep, metallic clunk echoed through the chamber. Somewhere within the stone, hidden gears began to turn, and slowly, the narrow door swung inward.
A shaft of daylight streamed through the widening gap, illuminating a low passage beyond. Sylas ducked his head and stepped outside, emerging into a natural cavern. Balin followed close behind.
The cave beyond opened out toward the mountainside. Below, a river wound its way past the rocks, disappearing into the distance. "Here," Balin said, "we can cut a channel to the swamp outside. That'll create a large lake, and we can keep a few small boats ready here in case we need them."
He smiled knowingly. "It's not just a natural screen. It's also the perfect escape route if things go badly."
Sylas nodded. He doubted he'd ever truly need to flee by this route, but he knew well enough, it was better to have a path prepared and never need it, than to need one and not have it.
"How long to dig out the swamp?" he asked.
Balin's grin widened. "With Smaug lending his… considerable talents, no more than a fortnight. He can move more earth and rock in a day than a hundred dwarves could manage in a week."
Over the past months, the dwarves had learned why Smaug had been so keen to help in rebuilding the fortress, to keep the treasure in the underground hoards safe from drifting away.
The dwarves, long accustomed to dragons being greedy, had not expected one to also be so… frugal. Frugal enough to haul building supplies through the skies rather than spend so much as a single extra gold coin.
Sylas laughed at that. "This is good news. I'll go tell him. He'll likely agree, especially since it will spare him the daily agony of seeing dwarves loitering about, shouting for more wine and watching his gold trickle away barrel by barrel."
Half a month later, the work was complete. At the foot of summit, a vast semicircular lake gleamed in the sun, its waters wrapping around half the mountain. The sheer cliffs to the east and north formed a natural wall, sealing off two sides entirely and leaving the fortress more secure than ever before.