Chapter 147: Chapter 140: Mages, Soldiers, and Old Thrones
By the second morning, the roads no longer felt like the heartland of Asterion.
The villages became fewer, and the watchtowers stood farther apart. Stone markers appeared beside the road, carrying symbols Lucien did not recognize.
The convoy had entered treaty lands.
No banner fully ruled these roads. They existed because several powers had once agreed that envoys, merchants, armies, and messengers needed safe passage to Caelrith.
Lucien watched the passing markers from his carriage window.
Some were cracked.
Some were covered in moss.
Others still glowed faintly with old enchantments, their runes pulsing like fading embers.
The Royal Guardian had called them neutral roads.
Lucien saw them differently.
They were scars of old agreements.
Proof that the world had once been desperate enough to cooperate.
Above the convoy, Aurethar flew high enough that only his shadow appeared from time to time. Each time it passed over the road, horses stiffened and soldiers looked upward despite themselves.
The Warhounds moved steadily at the front of Elarion’s section.
The rougher road slowed the wagons, but the machines handled it well. Their tracks crushed loose stone and mud without complaint.
Royal soldiers had stopped flinching whenever the engines growled.
They had not stopped staring.
A knock sounded against the carriage door.
"My lord."
"Enter."
Malen stepped inside.
Dust marked his cloak, but his expression remained calm.
"We have foreign travelers ahead."
Lucien looked up.
"Which power?"
"Likely Aetheris."
That caught Lucien’s attention.
Malen continued, "Silver robes. Two floating carriages. Four mounted escorts, though the mounts appear to be enchanted constructs rather than horses."
Lucien glanced out the window.
"Constructs?"
"Metal frames shaped like deer."
Malen’s tone made his opinion clear.
Lucien smiled faintly.
"Elegant?"
"Unnecessary."
The carriage slowed shortly afterward.
Outside, the convoy adjusted formation. Royal scouts moved forward while several court mages approached the road ahead.
Lucien stepped down from his carriage.
Ahead, he saw them.
The Aetheris delegation was small, but impossible to miss.
Two carriages hovered a few feet above the ground, their wheels folded beneath them as if they were decorative. Silver-blue runes glowed along their sides.
Four constructs stood nearby, shaped like slender deer with crystal eyes and polished metal limbs.
Several robed mages waited beside the road.
Their clothing was too clean for travel.
The Royal Guardian walked forward with no haste.
Lucien, Cassian, Elena, and Malen followed.
The leading Aetheris mage bowed politely.
"Royal Guardian Vaelthron."
The old man smiled.
"Archmage Selvar."
Lucien immediately became more alert.
Archmage.
The man looked no older than forty, though age meant very little when powerful mages were involved. His silver hair was tied neatly behind him, and his pale violet eyes were sharp without seeming hostile.
Then the archmage’s gaze moved to Lucien.
"And this must be Lord Lucien of Elarion."
Lucien inclined his head slightly.
"Archmage."
Selvar’s smile remained polite.
"I have heard interesting rumors."
The Royal Guardian chuckled.
"Rumors are usually more entertaining than truth."
"Usually."
The archmage’s gaze drifted toward the Warhounds.
"In this case, I suspect truth may be stranger."
Several Aetheris mages behind him stared openly at the machines.
One of them whispered something under his breath. A faint circle of light appeared near his fingertips.
Malen’s hand shifted slightly.
Lucien noticed.
So did the Royal Guardian.
The old man’s voice remained pleasant.
"Careful."
The young mage froze.
Archmage Selvar turned his head slowly.
The circle of light vanished at once.
"My apologies," Selvar said smoothly. "Curiosity sometimes outruns manners."
Malen’s expression did not soften.
Lucien looked at the archmage.
"Curiosity is acceptable. Unauthorized probing is not."
For the first time, Selvar’s smile gained real interest.
"Direct."
"Efficient."
"That is rare at summits."
"It should not be."
Elena quietly wrote something in her notebook.
Cassian looked amused.
The Royal Guardian watched without interrupting.
Selvar folded his hands inside his sleeves.
"Then allow me a proper question. Are those vehicles powered by magic?"
Lucien looked toward the nearest Warhound.
"Partly."
Several Aetheris mages exchanged glances.
Selvar’s eyes sharpened immediately.
"Partly?"
"A magical engine forms the core," Lucien said calmly. "But the Warhound does not move by magic alone. The engine, transmission, suspension, armor, control systems, and mechanical structure all work together."
One of the younger mages frowned.
"So it is an enchanted vehicle?"
"No."
Lucien’s answer came without hesitation.
"An enchantment assists a tool. The Warhound is a complete system. Magic is one part of it, not the entire explanation."
Selvar became silent for a moment.
That answer clearly interested him far more than a simple confirmation would have.
"A fusion of magical power and mechanical engineering," the archmage said slowly.
Lucien nodded.
"Exactly."
Ironbreaker, who had appeared behind them at some point, snorted loudly.
"Took the mages long enough to discover machines become better when you stop trying to replace every bolt with a rune."
The young mage looked offended.
Archmage Selvar did not.
His gaze remained fixed on the Warhound.
"That is considerably more interesting."
Lucien studied him.
"Interesting things still have boundaries."
Selvar looked back at him.
"Naturally."
The Royal Guardian gave a dry laugh.
"That word has caused more trouble than any insult."
Selvar bowed slightly.
"I look forward to seeing Elarion’s work at Caelrith."
Lucien met his gaze.
"And I look forward to hearing Aetheris’ questions."
"I imagine there will be many."
"I imagine there will be limits."
For a brief moment, the air between them sharpened.
Then the Royal Guardian clapped his hands once.
"Good. Now that everyone has tested the edges of politeness, we should continue before the road becomes crowded."
Archmage Selvar bowed again.
"Until Caelrith, then."
"Until Caelrith."
The Aetheris carriages rose slightly and drifted aside, allowing the royal convoy to pass.
As Lucien returned to his carriage, Malen walked beside him.
"They will be a problem."
"Yes."
"You sound calm."
"They were always going to be a problem."
Malen accepted that.
Behind them, Ironbreaker muttered, "Floating carriages. Waste of perfectly good arrogance."
Lucien almost laughed.
By afternoon, the treaty road climbed into open highlands.
The forest thinned, replaced by rolling grass, grey stone, and wind. With fewer trees, the convoy could see much farther.
That was when the Valdris riders appeared.
They waited on a ridge to the north.
A small scouting column.
Maybe thirty cavalry.
Dark armor.
Long lances.
Square banners marked with a black fortress and red spear.
They did not approach immediately.
They simply watched.
Lucien noticed how naturally their formation spread across the ridge. Every rider had a clear line of sight, and every horse remained steady despite the distant growl of the Warhounds.
Cassian rode closer to Lucien’s carriage.
"Valdris."
"I guessed."
"They have been watching us for several minutes."
Lucien looked toward the ridge.
"Scouts?"
"Likely an advance party from Prince Kael’s delegation."
The Warhounds continued forward.
Their engines echoed across the open land.
The Valdris riders held position until the convoy drew near the base of the ridge. Then their commander raised one fist.
The entire column shifted as one.
They descended in orderly fashion and stopped at a respectful distance from the road.
The commander removed his helmet.
He was a hard-faced man with close-cut hair and a scar across his jaw.
He saluted the Royal Guardian first.
Then Crown Prince Cassian.
Then his gaze moved to the Warhounds.
The salute changed slightly.
More military than diplomatic.
Lucien saw it.
So did Cassian.
The Valdris commander spoke in a firm voice.
"Commander Dain Orvek of Valdris. Advance escort to His Highness Prince Kael Valdran."
The Royal Guardian nodded.
"Commander."
Dain’s eyes shifted toward Lucien.
"Lord Lucien of Elarion?"
"Yes."
The commander looked at the nearest Warhound again.
"I have heard reports."
Lucien waited.
Dain continued, "Reports were insufficient."
Cassian smiled faintly.
"That is one way to put it."
The commander ignored the comment.
"How many crew?"
"Four."
Dain’s eyes sharpened.
"Only four?"
"For the current model."
"What road speed?"
"Approximately fifty kilometers per hour on proper roads."
The Valdris riders behind him exchanged glances.
Dain remained focused.
"Operational range?"
"Roughly four hundred kilometers under favorable conditions before resupply."
A pause followed.
"Main armament?"
"Fifty-seven millimeter rifled cannon."
"Effective range?"
"Two thousand five hundred meters under proper conditions."
For the first time, the commander’s expression shifted.
Only slightly.
But enough.
He looked back at the Warhound.
"Armor?"
Lucien smiled faintly.
"Enough for most things on a battlefield. Not enough for carelessness."
Dain’s mouth twitched.
It might have been approval.
"Honest answer."
"Useful answer."
The commander nodded.
Then he saluted again.
"Prince Kael will wish to speak with you at Caelrith."
"I expected that."
"Good."
Dain replaced his helmet and guided his horse aside.
His column allowed the convoy to pass.
As the first Warhound moved by, several Valdris riders straightened in their saddles.
None spoke.
None laughed.
They watched the machine like soldiers watching another soldier.
When the last Warhound passed, Commander Dain gave a quiet order.
The Valdris riders saluted the machines.
It was brief.
Disciplined.
Almost instinctive.
Lucien saw Cassian’s expression change.
The prince understood what that meant.
Valdris had not dismissed the Warhounds as strange inventions.
They had recognized them as weapons.
Perhaps even as comrades of the battlefield.
Malen stepped closer to Lucien.
"That was different from Aetheris."
"Very."
"The mages wanted principles. The soldiers wanted performance."
Lucien watched the Valdris riders return to the ridge.
"And both learned enough to become more interested."
That evening, the convoy established camp beneath a line of low cliffs.
The wind was colder there.
Campfires burned low to avoid scattering sparks across the dry grass.
Royal mages set ward stones around the perimeter, while Elarion soldiers placed guards near the Warhounds and artillery.
Lucien stood near the edge of the camp, looking toward the distant ridge where the Valdris riders had vanished.
The day had shown him two faces of the wider world.
Aetheris had smiled while measuring him.
Valdris had questioned him like a commander inspecting a new weapon.
Neither reaction had been simple.
Both had been valuable.
Footsteps approached.
The Royal Guardian stopped beside him.
"You handled them well."
Lucien did not look away from the dark hills.
"They handled themselves well."
The old man chuckled.
"Careful. Respect is the first step toward complicated relationships."
"Then this summit will be full of them."
"Yes."
For a moment, they stood in silence.
Behind them, soldiers moved through the camp. Some laughed quietly. Some sharpened weapons. Some stared at the glowing ward stones as if wondering whether magic trusted steel or merely tolerated it.
The Guardian eventually spoke.
"Aetheris and Valdris are old thrones. Different kinds of power, different kinds of pride."
Lucien nodded.
"One fears losing superiority. The other fears missing the future."
The old man’s eyes gleamed.
"Good."
Lucien looked toward him.
"And both could become allies."
"Yes."
"Or rivals."
"Also yes."
Lucien sighed.
The Guardian smiled.
"No one said world politics would be generous."
A low rumble passed above them.
Aurethar descended from the darkening sky and landed beyond the camp with less force than usual.
It was still enough to shake a few cups.
The golden dragon folded his wings and looked toward Lucien.
"You met Aetheris."
"I did."
"Annoying?"
"Polite."
"Worse, then."
The Royal Guardian laughed.
Aurethar lowered his head.
"And Valdris?"
"Practical."
"That can also be annoying."
Lucien looked at the dragon.
"Do you find everyone annoying?"
"Of course not."
Aurethar paused.
"Some are entertaining first."
The Guardian glanced toward Lucien.
"Tomorrow, the road begins turning toward older lands. Forest routes first, then highlands."
Elena approached from the camp, notebook in hand.
"The Sylvan Dominion?"
The Guardian nodded.
"Soon."
Ironbreaker appeared near the fire.
"And dwarves after that, I hope. Someone needs to correct whatever nonsense you plan to say."
The old man smiled.
"I was counting on it."
Ironbreaker grunted.
"That’s what worries me."
Lucien looked from one to the other.
Elves.
Dwarves.
Holy kingdoms.
Beastmen.
Dragons.
The names were no longer distant.
They waited on the same road.
The Royal Guardian looked toward the north, where the night swallowed the old treaty path.
"Rest while you can."
His voice softened.
"The closer we get to Caelrith, the more crowded the world becomes."
Lucien looked toward the sleeping Warhounds.
Then toward Aurethar’s golden silhouette beneath the stars.
The world was becoming larger with every passing day.
And Elarion had only just begun to appear within it.
