Monsters in the Mist by Mark Cheverton

Author:Mark Cheverton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sky Pony Press
Published: 2017-04-17T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 18

MEETING WITH THE KING

They were all shocked at the opulence and grandeur of the room in which they waited for the king. The floor was a complex mosaic of polished stone, granite, and diorite, the geometric designs incredible to behold. The walls were made of quartz, with the same mosaic from the floor sweeping up into the walls. Tall columns of pillar-quartz stretched from the floor to the ceiling high overhead, holding up a massive domed roof made of stained-glass. Splashes of color filled the room as sunlight pierced through the multihued ceiling. Every shade and tint imaginable was present in the roof overhead, and as a result was projected down on the floor. It was awe-inspiring and took Gameknight’s breath away.

At the far end of the room sat the king’s throne. It was made of solid gold, with blocks of diamond, lapis, and emerald decorating the sides. It sat atop a gentle pyramid of quartz, raised four blocks above the floor. The throne gave Gameknight an uneasy feeling; he’d seen one like that long ago, but he couldn’t remember where.

Higher up, a balcony ringed the room. It stuck out a few blocks from the wall, with dark, shadowy alcoves recessed into the back of the terrace. Likely these alcoves were passages that would allow visitors to gain access to the raised platform.

The size and height and elaborate decorations in the room made Gameknight and his friends feel insignificantly small; likely that was their purpose.

“You remember those creatures we saw working beneath the sky islands?” Hunter asked in a low voice. “I think they were the same as those monsters in the caves. I remember some of them clinging to the ceiling of the tunnel when we escaped their caves.”

“It isn’t right that they enslave those creatures,” Stitcher growled. “Slavery is wrong, no matter the reason.”

“Couldn’t they leave if they wanted to?” Weaver asked.

Stitcher flashed the boy an angry scowl that made him take a step back, as if she were about to strike him.

“You don’t understand,” the young girl explained. “I was a slave in Malacoda’s fortress in the Nether for what seemed like an eternity. The constant state of fear and terror just makes you want to give up and wish for … you know.”

“Did you ever give up?” Woodcutter asked.

“No, I knew my sister would fight through an army of blazes and ghasts to save me. I just had to keep my spirits up and wait for my opportunity. When the army of villagers came into the Nether to fight Malacoda and his monster horde, the slaves revolted and fought back. You see, for the first time, the slaves had one thing they didn’t have before.”

“Weapons?” Crafter asked.

She shook her head.

“Armor?” Weaver asked.

“No, it was simpler than that,” the young girl said. “For the first time, we had hope, and that’s more powerful than the sharpest blade or the stoutest shield.

“We used our shovels and pickaxes and bare hands. Most of the guards had been pulled away to delay the villagers while Malacoda finished his portal to the Source.

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