Naegling is its name, though I don't use it. The family tales say it was the name of a dragon slain by the sword, and it would be in poor taste to prize the achievement.

The city itself—

[ He tipped his head back, fondly reverent: ]

It sits atop a mountain, half above and half below the clouds; to reach it, you must go by bridge, or fly. Our stonemasons are the most brilliant of any nation — there are arches and bridges and pillars and great carved statues all around; wherever stone can be found, a stone-carver has left his love of the art, and the spires of the cathedrals were made to look as though they touch the heavens. The cold is too much for most things to grow, but the mountain flowers and evergreens that will are in every window-box, lining every street. If you look below over the edge of a path, the foundation of the city stretches down and down and down into mist, till you can see no more. The highlands outside the gates were green, once. Now it is winter, there, no matter the time of year — but beyond that, past the mountains, on a clear day, you can see the green hills to the south.

[ He looked back at Cain, a little abashed. ]

I am no poet, I fear. Still: I have been to every friendly city on the continent, and Ishgard, I would swear to anyone, is a jewel among them.