Chương 144: AF Chapter 143 – Those Who Work with Stone

Giving a Shout-Out to the Longwinded One, the fellow who recently did a interview Podcast with me. He has started writing his own story here on Royal Road, and sent me advanced chapters to read and review. His story has gone live today. https: //www. royalroad. com/fiction/88011/children-of-the-cold-moon-the-four-treasures-saga It is a VERY well-written story. My sole detraction is that the MC is not my 'style', it's the older, classic style of a Lucky Fool (which a lot of people prefer).

I encourage everyone to give it a try. If you like old Celtic stuff with a dash of modern updating, you will enjoy it! I rated it a 4. 5, and the only reason it isn't a 5 is because of me, not the author or the story. Even if it isn't my cup of tea, I think a lot of people will greatly enjoy it, and it's very well done.

================ The Aun hunters took their leave at the dawn, bringing word of the traitor to their clans back to them, which would rapidly filter through all the allied families where it wasn't known before. Auns took their oaths seriously. An oathbreaker like Aun Shumua had just cut himself off from his family entirely, probably not something he had ever been expecting to face when he just wanted to make Isparians pay for the injustices life had heaped upon his tribe.

I wondered where that was going to go, and I imagined 'not well' was a part of it. Redemption could always be part of it, but that was always a hard road to travel.

The Lugian lands were Warded by significant magical effects carved into stone, and all the extant Summoning points were boxed in and caged, effectively dying over and over in cold and silent stone cages as they were brought in. Certain areas were used as combat practice for the younger warriors, and other areas were natural, subtle channels for the wandering threats of the island.

We entered along one of those channels, an incline between hills sharp enough to be hard to climb, and harder to balance atop without sliding down. As geomagnetism instead of true flight seemed to be the rule for many creatures here, adding a touch of gravity to thwart the true fliers shoved them into a killing zone. I could see the nicks and scrapes of a lot of rocks bouncing off the walls here.

The Wards gently pushed any zefirs, wisps, or wasps around and along to the channels, they entered, and the watching spotters splattered them with hurled stones. There were only a couple of the rocks in the channel, and the Mick directed the roaches to pick them up, indicating it was considered polite and neighborly to bring them back to the watching lugian sentries at their posts on the walls. Greetings were called out from the big grayish-blue fellows, the great gates were opened, and we passed into the hillside.

Mines for the stones and walls without had been expanding into living quarters and chambers for beings taller and stronger than rote humans were. Inside we were stopped by fully-armored lugians wielding Heavy weapons appropriate for Jotuns, taking advantage of their extremely solid builds and stumpy, splayed feet.

They seemed to be reluctant to overarmor their limbs for some reason, but I was quickly told by the Mick that armoring the limbs was a sign of going to war, while breastplates were easy to wear even while traveling. Even the Gotroks we'd fought had not fully armored their limbs, probably because they had to run around so much.

A lugian strapping on a full suit of armor was going directly into a fight, make no mistake about it, and NOT strapping on a full suit was basically belittling an opponent that they weren't worth the hassle of putting on the extra armor.

"Or," Kris spoke up from the side, "it's probably harder to swing those forty-pound weapons they are using with heavy armor on their limbs."

"Real world physics become default traditions? Too reasonable, Highness," I replied, as we passed into the central living area of Ithaenc Tukal. The lugians had basically hollowed out most of a mountain with great energy and skill, and given they averaged eight feet tall, it didn't feel cramped at all. Massive open antechambers were a rule, not a feature; sunlight streamed in from overhead and multiple windows, lighting the area without need for magic.

There were simple but well-done carvings everywhere, the lugians as a people more into strength and stability than intricacy, saving the latter for either writing or tattoo work, I was informed, and it carried through under observation. They did love adorning stuff with pageantry and symbols, however, so everywhere you looked there were tapestries, frescoes, dioramas, and blazons telling stories, representing feats and ideals, memorializing the fallen, and so forth.

Artistic and lovers of history, without being flighty or anything. Given the place was already a fortress, you'd think they wouldn't build another one, but the standard lugian design for a throne room was to build it atop an advancing spiral tower, which meant intruders would have a massive uphill fight if they managed to breach the insides.

"They don't seem to like walls and rails too much?" I asked Lord Mick, who was leading us three up said spiral to the throne room of the aged Lord Kresovus, the one-handed king who still reigned over his people. The spirals wound around the outside of the tower, meaning on our right was open space, save for the corner column areas extending up to the roof. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

The rest of the Roaches were scattered out getting supplies and renewing contacts.

"It plays to their strengths," Princess Kristie called back to me.

"They are big and heavy and strong. Tossing their enemies over the side is all to their advantage, and their big feet and stockiness give them excellent footing. Plus, I imagine the magical nature of Soak and Health here means they can survive accidental falls, so they aren't too worried about it, and going over the edge is just going to generate chuckles about people who can't keep their balance on good, solid stone."

"Fair enough," I replied. Creatures that could fly didn't believe in rails, either, so why would things close enough to the earth?

"How's your relations with the King here, Lord Mick?"

"Fair," he responded evenly.

"We know one another, we get along, but we don't much share drinks. He's a busy fellow, an' I never got along that well with lugians in general. But I've been happy to share information with him, an' he appreciates the blunt honesty, at the least."

"So, you're trying, he's seeing it, and he's patient with you?" Kris reasoned.

"Aye. Also, he carved the headstone for me lady with his own hand, when he heard she were buried in an unmarked grave."

"And for that, he made a friend forever," Kris said softly, her pale violet eyes gleaming as she shared a glance with me.

"That he did," the Mick answered firmly, as we finally reached the highest ramp and the open doors of the throne room. There were no lugians on guard duty at the door, those had been stationed on the floors below. If someone were coming up to be stopped, it would have been done so before we reached here. The lugians were also a very disciplined and organized society who didn't like bothering their king with stuff.

From the description, the main thrust of his office was settling disputes, and running the kingdom just sort of happened with thousands of years of precedents of behavior to draw on.

He was a big fellow in dark armor, nearly nine feet tall, although he'd set his helm aside to reveal the unique Tattoo marks of his station, building on what I had deduced were warrior, stonecrafter, and smithing patterns, a sure sign of mastery and respect from the greatest trades of the lugians, probably a true requirement for their King.

He was standing to meet us, as the rigidity of lugian bodies actually made sitting for long periods very uncomfortable, and they could literally stand around for hours without much effort. Sitting was only done for formal occasions and potentially eating, or among us smaller races so as not to be that overwhelming.

"Lord Mick!" he boomed out with the casual ease of massive lungs, waving his remaining huge hand. The Axe it normally gripped was as big as any of those used by his guards, a double-bitted thing of chorozite no normal Ispa ri an would have tried to wield in two hands, let alone one.

"It is good to see you, Scoutmaster! Did your visit to your lady go well?"

"Aye, your Majesty. She's resting just fine, waiting for the flowers t' return t' bloom with the spring," he replied easily, coming up to take the king's hand in a warrior's armclasp, smaller hand vanishing into the king's massive grip.

"How are matters with you? Your son was time t' take up a trade, last I heard…"

"He has chosen the hammer!" the king replied in open pleasure, not holding any doubts or reservations about the choice.

"He is just beginning the journey of steel, but one day our warriors will bear his craft upon shoulders and hand!" he stated proudly. Naturally, he also leaned forward and directly asked, "And you, proud Scoutmaster. Have you found another female to pass on your bloodline with?" The Mick took it right on the chin, as if expecting it.

"They all go for the young an' reckless these days, Your Majesty. The old an' reckless be just fools, as ye know."

"Hah!" The massive lugian king pounded down on his throne's arm solidly, a blow that likely would have cracked ribs on an Isparian.

"Perhaps they will learn wisdom sooner, Scoutmaster! Do not give up hope!"

"Would nae dream of it, Your Majesty," the Mick replied smoothly.

"I be not here t' talk about meself an' me failings now." He half-turned to include us.

"I be here to introduce these two lovely lasses, who belike may change the world for us all, an' I neither boast nor exaggerate to ye, Your Majesty. Diamond eyes, Your Majesty." That seemed to startle the king, who looked at the Mick in surprise, and then turned to stare at us warily.

"Diamond eyes, is it?" He looked us over from head to toe, lingering on my Staff and Kris' Cursemark, the latter of which did not deter him in the slightest, given lugians were basically bald.

"Your clothes were not made in these islands," he said slowly and thoughtfully.

"That Staff seems familiar to those used by Aluvian Masters of Ceremony, at least the older style. I am not familiar with the smith who wrought the Buckler there, nor your bracers. You bear the air of a spellcaster, but I sense only martial power about you." He looked between Kris and I, then back to the Mick. He nodded once.

"Your Majesty, may I present Her Imperial Highness Kristie Rantha-Briggs, second princess o' the Imperial Family o' the Isparian Empire back on our original homeworld. Also a merry throat-cutter, dancing butcher, and one o' the finest sword-wielders ye'll ever see.

"Also, she's also a Knight of the Lost Light," he added in an airy aside, and Kristie smoothly swept Quaver out with the first note hanging in the air. The king's gleaming eyes widened as her Sword expanded from the length of a long dagger to a full bastard sword, and the blue-black adamantine edged in Gold spiraled around with a nonesuch force radiance spiral that I could see he recognized instantly. It was fair to say his breath caught in his throat.

"An intact Sword of the Lost Light," he murmured, staring at it.

"And… are those Blackfire Stones, Your Highness?" he asked respectfully. Rather than answering him, Kristie flipped Quaver up on her palms and offered it to him for examination.

"If it pleases Your Majesty," she replied calmly. He did not stand on ceremony. The overlong hilt could fit two human hands, and if it was a bit slender, he hefted the Sword without problem, shooting her another glance at its weight as he did so, and the way the Gold about the edge faded away in his grip.

"Ho. Hooooooo…" he trailed off, hefting it up, and then carefully swinging the Sword back and forth.

"My people have no love of the sword that you humans do, but this is a magnificently made Weapon," he said with a warrior's appreciation and a smith's knowledge. The way the Lost Light swirled after and about the Blade he found particularly entrancing.

"Of what metal is this made?" he asked, raising it up before his eyes for a better look.

"Worldbone, Your Majesty."