Chương 13: Chapter 12

Outskirts of Erem Mallorn the elf"Look," Dura declared, pointing up at a distant peak as they rounded a long stretch of gently-curving road.

"You can see Father Erem now, sitting atop the mountain." They had made good time in the night, going wide around the encamped goblins and pressing hard for many hours after. An army could only march so fast, and the dwarf was quite insistent on arriving to her mountain home as quickly as she could manage. After outpacing them and speeding ahead, they relaxed to a slightly more sedate pace to recover, before resuming a brisk pace. With luck, they'd make it to Erem in time to warn of the approaching goblins.

In time, the roads began to widen and turn from packed earth and gravels and the occasional sections of cobble into much more consistent and smoothed pavement, a sort of crude concrete in light grey shades, cutting through clearly purposefully crafted hills and valleys. Immense loads of dirt and stone from sweeping sections of landscape had been cut away and redistributed to make broad, open, and mostly flat paths for the roads to sit upon.

This newly-moved earth had then been lined with saplings, to root the soil in place, which had been allowed to grow for at least thirty years, from the size of the branches. Fruit trees, apples and pears primarily, to feed however many hungry mouths. It was a scale of environmental shaping not quite to the degree of the elves', but far more obvious. Far more importantly- it included roads. The mountain that Dura had pointed out was partially shrouded in the distant, rolling mists common to such immense peaks.

It was distant enough that he had not even bothered to look yet, so great and remote was it from their present location. And yet, now that it had been pointed out to him, it was impossible to look away. For sitting atop the mountain, as if it was some immense throne overlooking the world, was a horned figure. The very tip of the mountain had been carved down around it, creating a series of terraces for the megalithic throne to be erected and loom over the surrounding mountains." A giant?!"

Mallorn whispered with astonishment. From the measure of the hills near to him, and his size compared to the mountain itself, the figure must be- Dura and Lucia giggled at his amazement, followed by an amused chuckle from Rayne. They were amused, why were they amused by him calling it a giant? Unless it- Mallorn's ears twitched, before drooping. Unless it wasn't a giant.

"Ah, that's just a statue, isn't it?" he asked somewhat ruefully, reaching up to scratch his neck. He supposed it was quite silly of him. Even giants probably couldn't get quite that big. Looking more carefully revealed a complete lack of movement, which was probably indicative.

"I suppose you don't see many things like that in Elven lands, huh?" Dura pushed against his side playfully. Mallorn sighed good-naturedly.

"It's not that I'm unfamiliar with immense statues, but hearing of giants and seeing a giant figure sitting on a giant-home and well…" He shrugged helplessly.

"I suppose I let my excitement get ahead of me."

"Giant's don't get quite that big, no." Rayne huffed.

"Maybe a tenth of that, it's just the mountainfolk have no reasonable sense of scale."

"We have a reasonable sense alright- otherwise we couldn't make things so big!" Dura boasted with a raised finger and a happy smile. She turned back to pat him on the hip.

"That's Father Erem, for whom the mountain is named. He earned his sainthood in the Dragon Wars!"

"All giant-holds are built to commemorate some dwarven saint or another," Lucia explained with a gentle smile and roll of her wrist.

"Of course, doing this takes a very long time, so they've quite the backlog of saints to carve mountains out of."

"We haven't forgotten them, we just have yet to carve them out!" Dura protested with a grumble and wave of her hands.

"What happens when you run out of mountains to carve?" Lucia asked with an amused tilt of her head and a mocking grin.

"Bah." Dura waved her off, ignoring the question and focusing on him once more. He couldn't quite keep the amused wiggles from his ears.

"Father Erem cut off the horns of a dozen dragons, and carved them into drinking-horns! They're the crown-treasures of the mountain now. Even to this day the dragons curse his name, and even to this day he laughs at their seething!"

"He's alive?" Mallorn asked for clarification, furrowing his brows and looking down at her.

"Ah, no, he's dead." Dura shook her head.

"Died at three-hundred and forty-four, he fell over and never got up again." She then raised a clenched fist.

"B-but if he was alive, he'd be laughing!"

"What she means is there's a great many dragons with a great many grudges with this mountain," Rayne clarified with a shake of his head.

"There's an attack every few decades, it feels like."

"Aye, twenty years ago was the most recent." Dura nodded with a scowl.

"Malamadr the half-horned, spell-weaver and curse-bringer. She was one of the dragons who lost a horn against Father Erem, and works to get it back even now. She nearly reached the treasure chambers in her last attack." Dura shook her head before continuing.

"The elves of Greenwood rode out and struck her flanks, allowing us to regroup and push her back. The elders didn't know whether to be glad for the aid or wroth that we needed help from the elves."

"I remember hearing about that," Lucia muttered.

"There was some great tragedy that day, wasn't there?"

"There were a great many tragedies that day, dark elf," Dura responded with a little frown. Lucia had a little look of realization, before raising her hands apologetically and nodding her head.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Lady Dura." Mallorn reached down to rustle her hair, gently and calmly. Twenty years ago would've been the year of his birth, he supposed. She huffed at the touch, but leaned into it.

"All is well, it's the dragons to blame regardless. I'll have to remember to ask grandfather to tell you the story of that battle, he'd do the tale far more justice than I."

"Hah! Maybe over drinks, I heard dwarves are fond of their ales." Mallorn grinned, even if the expression was hidden behind his warmask.

"Aye!" she chirped up at him.

"Ales, meads, beers, wines, spirits and more! There's not a dwarf who doesn't love a good drink!"

"It's the best way to lay Dwarven women," Rayne declared with a little grin, ignoring the suddenly scandalized yelp Dura gave at that.

"Buy her drinks first, there's a good chance she'll rip your pants off herself."

"There is not! That's not true!" Dura exclaimed, leaning over to punch at Rayne's hips with her little fists.

"If it's not true, then why does it always work?" Rayne asked with a tiny grin.

"Because you're a damn liar, that's why!"

"No, I'm a Bastard." He was almost laughing as he said this.

"Hold still, I'm gonna thrash your shins!" Dura was not particularly amused. Mallorn's attention was still focused on a prior detail. Twenty years ago, Greenwood elves rode out to fight a dragon. He never did end up asking how his father died. It had never come up in conversation before. He supposed something like a dragon could manage it though. It was just trivia at this point though, twenty years after the fact. No point in getting too worked up about it.

"I'll have to keep that advice in mind, Rayne," Mallorn declared with a suppressed laugh.

"Absolutely not!" both Dura and Lucia responded at once, for very different reasons. — Eventually the gently-sloping roads gave way to great, expansive plains that similarly bore the signs of purposeful crafting on a grand scale. Massive stretches of earth had been dug down and remolded into rolling hills, with great stones erected and saplings planted.

After a point, the native grasses grew thick, tall enough to cover Dura completely were she to stand in them, broken up only by those pillars of stone or occasional fruiting tree. Plains like these should not be native to this area, from the vicinity to the mountains that loomed over the region. The hills should be sharper and rockier, and the valleys should be deeper and wetter. The rivers shouldn't be so straight and well-demarcated, the trees shouldn't be so regular, the road so smooth and gentle.

Everywhere he looked, he saw the touch of an intelligent hand, just enough to turn forests into open expanses. It was just so gosh-darn neat! Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators! The scent of some kind of mead wafted over the rolling grasses, and the sound of claws dragging on stones and exhales of exertion followed. His ears twitched to listen, as he ignored the conversation taking place between Rayne and Lucia about the best shape for a dagger.

There was the distinct sound of a blade cutting through the air, the shift of a foot along the earth, followed by another blade-swing. That pattern repeated consistently as they walked. Someone was practicing their swordsmanship, by the sounds of it, next to a river. The river was wide and deep, but slow and gentle. Possibly one of the many great canals that had been carved out to feed into this great artificial plains.

"What's the point of a dagger that you can't cut with? Might as well just have a spike at that point," Lucia complained, waving a hand.

"When are you ever going to cut something with a dagger? It's a dagger, you use it to stab or not at all!" Rayne waved a hand back, as if pointing out some great flaw that only he noticed.

"What are you talking about?! You cut all the time when you use a dagger!"

"We have things to cut with! They're called axes and swords!"

"Axes are used to cleave, you buffon!"

"A cleave is just a better cut, dark elf!"

"It absolutely isn't!"

"It absolutely is!" Sure enough, as they came over the incredibly gentle slope of the next hill and gained a better sightline, an immense manufactured river came into view. It cut through the land at a low point, dragging along the shallow valley towards the southwest. The side of the river was lined with a combination of great carved pillars and well-grown peach trees. The river was crossed by a broad and incredibly stout stone bridge, far thicker and stronger than he would think was needed.

Then again, they had giants of some scale, and apparently herds of genuine dinosaurs, so perhaps stouter construction was prudent. There at the banks of the river, under the shade of one such peach tree and near one of the immense carven pillars, was a woman swinging a greatsword. Up and down, time and time again, in a steady rhythm. She wore a kind of wide-sleeved gambeson jacket, long enough to serve as something like a skirt as well, tightened around her body with various belts.

Most notable, however, were the non-human features. Her forelimbs, arms and legs both, were sheathed in broad and thick evergreen scales. Almost enough to mistake them for gauntlets and greaves, but capped in large clawed hands and feet. A robust scaled tail emerged from the back of her gambeson skirt, and swished about as she swung the blade time and time again. Her ears completed the look, being a sort of frilled lizard-like crest rather than anything humanoid. A monstergirl, clearly.

Mallorn leaned over to Dura and quietly asked.

"Is she a dragon? I'm not exactly sure." Dura looked up to him, hefting her bags with a huff before looking down to the woman with scaled limbs and a tail.

"Nay, no horns on her. She's one of those lizardmen." Their conversation did not interrupt their walking.

"Lizardmen?" Mallorn asked with a tilt of his head.

"Aye, I think they get born whenever a dwarf and a man have a child?" Dura reached up to scratch her head.

"They come out all funny, they don't get big like they should, and they never grow horns. And if they end up turning into dragons, their wings replace their hands instead of coming out the back. There's a word for what they're called in Dwarven, but it doesn't translate well."

"Wait, turn into dragons? Dwarves turn into dragons?" Dura blinked, pausing at that, before looking up to consider him.

"Oh. Did you not know? It's uhh…" She fiddled her fingers together in thought.

"Sorta like how elves turn into dark elves, if they get all full of evil and wickedness and whatnot. Elves turn into dark elves, dwarves turn into dragons."

"Hmh," Mallorn responded, ears flicking as he took in the information. He supposed that made sense, in a very classical manner.

"And thus a lizardman is a… half-dwarf, half-man, correct?"

"Something like that." She nodded, reaching up to tap the horns growing from the side of her head.

"Dwarves have horns because they sop up all our evil, they don't get horns though, so all their wickedness makes them grow scales and tails and claws much faster. They're decent folk other than that bit of ugliness, my great-uncle married a good ol Salamander. She keeps the forge hot for him."

"... Is this the same one that had all the goblin-children?" Mallorn huffed amusedly, raising a hand to wave at the lizard-lady. She had ceased her swinging, and had walked out to stand in the middle of the road before them, patiently waiting for their arrival. Dura sighed, and shook her head in a disappointed fashion.

"No, that's my uncle. Great-uncle is one generation back. Mother's side of the family is- I don't know what's knocked loose in their noggins', but something is and it needs to be knocked back into place."

"Hail!" the lizard-lady called out to them, great scaled hands planted on either side of the rather broad greatsword-hilt. He supposed it had to be that big, otherwise her claws would be too large to effectively use it. A great many tasks would be more difficult if his nice, dextrous fingers were suddenly tiny knives, he imagined.

"Hail!" Mallorn called back, before letting his hand drop. The small group pulled to a stop before the lizardlady, but within range of a rather casual conversation.

"I suppose you're guarding this bridge?" he asked, letting his hand rest on his hip.

"Hm?" she responded with a glance back to the stone structure in question.

"Ah, ah suppose so? Ah'll do my best to turn away any wicked sorts, but it's not official. I'm here for my training."

"Well, I can say that we're not wicked sorts, but I'm not sure how much good that will do to convince you." Mallorn raised a hand up to scratch at his neck.

"Well, you don't look like wicked sorts, cept maybe those two," The lizardlady responded with a pointed claw at Rayne and Lucia.

"Hmph," Lucia let out, crossing her arms.

"Damn, she got my measure at once," Rayne mused, reaching up to cup his chin with a grin.

"Ah suppose you're heading up to Erem, on business then?" the lizard-lady continued, bringing her claw back to rest on the hilt of her sword.

"I'm Gravelbrook Dura, returning home and bringing ill news," Dura declared with a nod.

"I got spirited away by goblins. The good elf here slew them before they could do anything, and has been escorting me home." She then glanced at Lucia and Rayne, before pointing back at them.

"And those two are evil as they come, feel free to destroy them." Mallorn gave her a light smack on the back of the head, Lucia gave another even-larger offended huff, and Rayne gave a sharp bark of laughter. The lizard-lady responded with the ghost of a smile, nodding her head.

"Ah see. Ah've no reason to stop you from heading across the bridge then. But Ah have something of a personal request." She patted the hilt of her sword.

"Ah'm looking for a swordsman who can best me in a duel, and Ah spot at least one sword among you." The group turned to look at him, being that he was the only one to carry a sword. Mallorn nodded in turn.

"I'm agreeable to a duel, but we're in something of a hurry at the moment. Behind us is a band of goblins at least three hundred strong, and on march to Erem. We'd like to inform the hold well in advance of their arrival." The lizard-lady gave a grave and concerned look at that.

"Ah see. That's troublesome news indeed and Ah'll ask to accompany you back to the hold if that's the truth. All the same, Ah'll ask for that duel here and now. It's a matter of clan pride." Dura inhaled sharply, before nodding seriously and smacking him on the hip.

"If it's a matter of clan pride, then it can't be helped. Mallorn, either lose or best her swiftly." Mallorn huffed in amusement, setting his bags and bow down and stepping forwards.

"There's not a need to say that first part, because I'm not going to lose." He hadn't ever been challenged before a bridge by a lizard-lady before, this was a distinctly new experience.

"Confidence is good." Her dark brown hair was tied back in a functional ponytail, and swished in time with her tail as she stepped back to heft her greatsword and brandish it in his direction.

"Please be warned, Ah've lost to no swordsman yet."

"Not one? Is there no one in Erem who can best you?" Mallorn asked with an amused flicker in his ears.

"No, there is," she clarified with a nod.

"But they don't use swords." Mallorn observed several things very quickly, right before the duel began. First, as this was merely a duel to determine skill, she probably wasn't going to be trying to kill him. She'd be holding back her strikes, testing the waters at first, before finally going for a more decisive blow. Possibly an attempt to disarm him. Second, she was using a greatsword and he was using a longsword.

Her weapon was larger, heavier, would build up more momentum, and would be overall slightly less agile. When combined with the first detail, her initial strikes were probably going to be fairly slow. Thirdly, he was wearing much more covering armor than she was. He could see a bit of her inner thigh from this angle. Her eyes narrowed. His ears flickered. At once, they began. She performed a testing thrust towards him, using her reach advantage to poke at him. She was quite a bit slower than Titania was.

He parried her conservatively, pushing the blade to the side with his own and stepping forwards in the process. She stepped back, pulling up into a more telegraphed swing. But her eyes weren't focused on his upper body, they were focused on his legs. He dropped one hand from his sword and caught her clawed foot, lashed out in a kick using the sword as a distraction. Sure enough, from this angle he could see that her inner groin was entirely without armor. Her eyes widened as her balance was thrown off.

He yanked his hand back. Her sword came down. He leaned forwards, into it, sword arm low. The greatsword crashed into his pauldron, shaving off a great chunk of wood and going wide, his arm beneath bursting with great pain. A bruise no doubt. His ears flickered in amusement. The lizardlady was staring at him with wide eyes, one leg still elevated and clutched in his grip. The cold flat of his blade pressed against her inner thigh.

Had it came at the proper angle, the artery beneath would've been severed and she would be bleeding to death.

"I think that's my win," he declared cordially, eyes smiling down at her.

"A very good bout, my lady, but my mentor was by far your better." He used the flat of his blade to give her thigh a little slap, before pulling back and letting go of her leg. She maintained the position for a few moments, before returning to a normal stand. Her gaze was fixed on him. Mallorn glanced to the side, feeling slightly awkward, before looking back to her.

"I- are you okay?" he asked with a tilt of his head.

"Will you marry me?" she asked suddenly, expression serious and tail swishing.

"Sur-" he was about to say, before being cut off by a shout.

"Absolutely not!" Lucia was taking it upon herself to be a busybody, as usual.