Spear of Destiny by James Baldwin (little bear else holmelund minarik .TXT) 📕

and workshop. Suri stayed behind with Cutthroat at a public stable, letting her gorge on meat to her heart’s content while I walked to the store.

“Welcome!” Our salesman was human, judging by the warm brown color of his hands, though he wore the robes, concealing enchanted mask and large flat basket hat that was the typical outdoor wear of a Mercurion civilian. “Looking to buy?”

“Yeah. And looking to trade in,” I said. “I’ve got a ton of pelts, metal, and even some mana for sale or trade. I’m also looking for new armor. Good armor, suitable for someone who does a lot of flying.”

“Flying?” He eyed the Nizari Suit with a critical eye. “A quazi rider?”

“Dragon,” I said.

“Ohh! You’re him! The dragon knight who attends the court of the Volod!” The man clasped his hands together.

“Count Dragozin, at your service.” I twirled a hand and bowed. “This is the workshop of Master Armorer Yaola Tlaxi’Zanya, right?”

“Yes, my lord.” The salesman bowed from the waist. “The Master Armorer does not serve customers directly unless they require a custom piece, so let us see if we have something you already like before we fetch her. We can take care of your materials sales, first.” He gestured in the air, working his HUD with his hands. “Let’s see here...”

I was able to unload a lot of Inventory space: selling my old pieces of armor and unused weapons for scrap. When it was time to buy, I had a look over the options, but didn’t see anything that was exactly what I wanted. At that point, the checkout guy went and got the smith—a small, fine-boned Mercurion with a smooth, soft voice.

“Describe your combat needs to me,” the smith, Yaola, asked me as she led me back into her workshop.

“High mobility. I do a lot of jumping around,” I said. “Armor that provides speed, stealth, or evasion bonuses, but something heavier than what most Rogue Path classes would need. I can wear metal, I just don’t want it to clatter when I’m flying or moving.”

“Hmm. The Dragoons almost exclusively request leather and chain hauberks, so that is what I sell outside.” Yaola crossed her arms, looking around. “Are you an open-minded man?”

“Not so open-minded that I’d let my brains fall out, but I’m willing to try almost anything once.”

“Then let me show you something.” Yaola stopped in front of an empty armor stand, went into her Inventory, and began equipping pieces onto the dummy. First up were a pair of metal boot sheathes with a bladed ridge on either side of the square toe, perfect for those times when you wanted to kick someone in the junk and castrate them at the same time. The boots climbed up into elegant thigh-length greaves that were made to fit over leggings or close-fitting breeches. The cuirass was a form-fitting suit of interlinking, diamond-shaped mail that strongly resembled dragon scales. There was a layer of solid plate over the most important vitals: neck, chest, spine and kidneys. The gauntlets matched the boots, with spiked knuckles and reinforced protection over the hands.

“Huh. Neat. How does this work?” I rubbed a finger over the raised diamond mail. It was one of the weirdest designs for flexible armor I’d ever seen. The pieces didn’t overlap, like scale armor: they fit together like a tessellation.

By way of reply, Yaola took a dagger from her workbench, braced the mannequin around the back with her other arm, and forcefully stabbed the dummy in its belly several times. The scales bowed, contracting into a wide depression around the point of the knife. It diffused the impact almost completely, and the blade didn’t penetrate.

“I took a very fine looking-glass and studied the armor of small ocean creatures known as chitons to create this. Their armor is some of the finest in the natural world,” she said proudly. “It is my own patented design. Here. Try it.”

I took the knife and did my best to gut the dummy. I was not successful: it was like ramming the knife into dense putty; the steel didn’t even scratch the armor. “Well, damn. Can it stop bullets?”

“It reduces the damage caused by bullets substantially. In fact, that is what I designed it to do. As time marches on, I predict that warfare will be ruled by two factors: the bullet and the sky. He who fields the best air power and the strongest firearms will triumph.” Yaola drew themselves up tall, hooking their thumbs in their belt. “I call this the Stormrider armor. It is an innovation in protective technology, though I have struggled to convince the Black Army command of this fact.”

“Why?” I took my Spear and poked the armor with the tip, testing it against the razor sharp bluesteel point. “I’d be shitting myself with delight if I was a general, and someone came to me with stab-proof armor that could stop a musket round.”

“Two issues,” Yaola grunted. “I am an artisan, not a saleswoman. I must hire others to do that work. And second, there is a lot of red tape. The army is led by a cabal of old lords who think the same way they did fifty years before. I swear every soldier must visit a scribe and file paperwork to take a shit on their Royally approved toilet seats, which must have been reviewed and expressly approved by the Volod. Innovation is slow to gain traction in a bureaucracy.”

“Jeez. Tell me about it.” I winced.

“However. If a popular and prominent human lord were to wear it into battle and report its efficacy to the Royal Court, that would be of great benefit, both to me and to the soldiers whose lives this armor could save,” the smith continued. “I would be willing and able to reward you if you were to test the armor, and drop a kind word in His