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Glen
(Garth Aniculo)
What lurks in wait…
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The small wyvern climbed on his back and used its twin talon-like fingers to grasp at his deltoids for purchase, tail wrapped around Glen’s waist for extra support, when it found a good spot. Its ugly head protruding over his right shoulder. Nostrils blowing air into his ear.
“Stay still now, here they come,” Glen said, watching the two riders slowing down upon noticing their friends’ bodies and the armed stranger blocking their way.
GRRR
The older of the two, a grey-bearded Cofol with lined hard eyes, nocked an arrow on his bow and raised it.
“Your friends made the same mistake,” Glen warned him, wild curly hair covered in spider-webs, a disconcerting smirk on his tanned face, the cloth sticking out of his nose, completing the disturbing outlook.
Glen hadn’t gone for it, but in a vacuum, he looked like a crazy person.
The old Cofol narrowed his eyes, probably noticing the wyvern’s head moving next to his. His brows shooting up, when he realized the creature wasn’t going to attack Glen.
Little did he know Glen himself wasn’t a hundred percent certain about that.
“You did this?” The old warrior asked, staring at the carnage.
“I had help,” Glen replied. “But yeah. Shit happened.”
“You admit this savagery?”
“Listen… friend,” Glen said warningly. “They attacked us. Twas a disastrous lapse in judgement on their part.”
“What’s yer name?”
“Garth.”
“What manner of name is that?” The Horselord asked.
“Ask my mother,” Glen deadpanned. A tile slid down the roof from the building directly to their right and landed on the street with a dull thud, disturbing horses and riders. “Ah, there she is. Say hello mum,” Glen added with a toothy grin, both riders twisting on their saddles to check their flank, the old Cofol leader blinking shocked, seeing the short old woman aiming a loaded crossbow on them, from atop the half-sunken building’s rooftop.
Flix raised his left arm in greeting, keeping the weapon trained on them with his right.
RRRREEEEE
The small wyvern’s sudden screech almost blew Glen’s eardrum off.
“What in all gods ye have there? What are you doing here?” The old Horselord queried worried, eyes gawking, doubly nervous now. “What is this abomination?”
“A small wyvern,” Glen replied without hesitation. “Worry not, it has had its fill already.”
The Old Cofol glanced down at his friend’s ravaged bloody face, recoiled and put his arrow away. His friend doing the same.
“You’ll let us go?” He hissed, through clenched teeth.
“Sure. I’ve killed my quota for the day.”
“We may come back,” the Horselord warned.
“Haha, please do,” Glen retorted, grinning like a maniac. “You’ll get to meet the rest of my family.”
Both his opponents stood up straighter and glanced at each other.
“What about the horses? We need the supplies,” the old Cofol haggled, sounding desperate.
“We keep the spotted grey. Take the other two,” Glen countered, with a merchant’s smirk.
The old Cofol nodded, looking at him up and down. Made to say something, glanced a last time at the hissing wyvern and turned his horse with a grimace. His friend took hold of the reins of the spare horses and they rode away, covered in a thick dust cloud.
The wyvern burped and sniffed Glen’s earlobe, slimy forked tongue tickling it.
“Don’t even think about it,” Glen warned and turned hearing Flix approaching. The Gish stooped and started dragging his feet, the moment Glen twisted his head. “You know, yer not convincing at all, right?” Glen mocked.
Flix blinked and feinted surprise.
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Uhm, right.”
“Why did you let you them go? I had a good angle,” Flix probed, seeming unhappy. “Not to mention climbing atop the roof. My thighs are on fire.”
“No reason to kill them.”
“They had supplies, you just gave away.”
“I did.”
“Word will spread, Garth. They will tell it again and again, if they make it out of the desert,” The Gish pointed out. “People will come to see for themselves.”
“Perhaps they will. Thing is, every time the story is told, it will be different. More outlandish,” Glen replied and removed the bloody piece of cloth from his right nostril. “We’re not going to live in the desert forever. Or hide in the ruins.”
“Obscurity, or infamy,” Flix murmured and used the small leather loop to hang his crossbow on the hook under his armpit. The Gish wore three different weapon harnesses, underneath his female garbs.
“Ayup,” Glen agreed, channeling Marcus’ favorite expression.
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“How did you know?” Flix asked, while stripping the dead from anything valuable. Glen was busy trying to entice the baby wyvern with a hard-tack biscuit. Hard wasn’t used loosely here. If you dropped the darn thing amidst the grit and small rocks, you couldn’t discern it from the latter.
Hardest food ever created bar none.
“Know what?” Glen said, moving the biscuit in front of the creature’s face.
“How many they were,” Flix said, tasting a curved dagger on his arm.
“Hmm,” Glen turned to look at him. “Remember Gimoss?”
“What about him?”
“He’s around, talks from time to time,” Glen explained.
Flix tossed the dagger casually into an open sack, he had set a couple of meters away.
“Gimoss is a dead myth, Garth,” he said without looking at him.
“So what? People are wrong all the time about stuff, Flix.”
“Dead,” Flix repeated. “Unalive.”
“Sure… darn it!” Glen flinched away, feeling the wyvern’s teeth on his gloved thumb. “Let go, of the thumb,” he warned the little bastard and it kept its burgundy eyes on Glen, while biting down a bit more, trying to penetrate the hard leather. Glen pulled his hand away and jumped up, but the wyvern kept its grip on it and went along for the ride, while redoubling its efforts to cut through, dangling hind-legs losing the ground, wings flapping and long tail wrapping around his arm.
“HEY!” Glen blasted it and then remembering the biscuit, he brought it on his mouth and bit on it. “Here! Much better food!” Almost lost a tooth in the attempt, but the creature was now eyeing the biscuit with interest. Glen dropped it on the ground.
The wyvern, always tracking it with hungry eyes, let go of his thumb and dived for it, found the dense biscuit amidst the desert sands and started chomping at it, with manic enthusiasm.
“Wow,” Glen thought, the gridding down of the hard piece impressive. “You know what?” He told the chomping creature. “I’ll call ye Biscuit henceforth. Ayup.”
> Hahahaha!
>
> This idiot already has a name you buffoon!
“What is it?” Glen asked and went to bring more biscuits from their horses.
> How should I know?
>
> If yer a real Keeper, you should know it already.
Whatever, Glen thought and grabbed a handful of biscuits from their supplies and turned to return, jumping back scared, as the creature had followed him and was now eyeing him judgmentally.
RRRR
“Hey,” Glen replied, puffing out to calm himself down. “Don’t ever do this again. This is for you,” he dropped another biscuit, putting the others on a side pocket and this time the wyvern snatched it out of the air. “We’ll use Biscuit. It’s a fitting name.”
RRRR
“There it likes it,” he decided.
> It’s a fuckin’ male, are you blind?
“What? How do you know?” Glen asked and watched as the small wyvern climbed up his leg, looking all determined, reached his waist and found the pocket with the food and started ripping it away with his talons. “Hey! God darn it, stop!” Glen snapped and went to grab it by the neck again. Biscuit moved his neck out of the way nimbly, ripped open Glen tunic’s pocket with a sharp talon, spilling everything down and jumped away, flapping his wings once to land more smoothly, that smug look back in his expressive eyes.
> He only has two horns on his forehead?
>
> What’s this, amateur hour?
>
> Did you pick the job out of an adventuring board?
Uncouth cretin! Glen cursed.
“They are always hungry,” Flix commented didactically, lit pipe between his lips. “Especially when they are growing.”
Fantastic, Glen thought rolling his eyes, everyone is a plaguin’ expert!
“Hmm,” Glen murmured, trying to put his torn tunic shirt back together. A thankless task. “How fast do they grow?” He asked.
“I’ve only seen them fully developed,” Flix replied, staring at the baby wyvern, going after the biscuits with fanatical purpose.
“How big?” Glen queried and Flix glanced across the street and a half-buried building, at least ten meters in length wall to wall and over three in height.
Glen snorted, then looked at the small winged creature. Shaking his head, he stared at the frowning Gish. “I don’t believe you.”
“It’s not a pet, Garth.”
“You want me to leave him behind?”
“You can’t do that.”
“Says who?” Glen countered.
Flix shook his head and then sucked on his pipe long.
“Wyvern’s Keeper,” he said simply. “You are bonded for life. Your bidding will be his and his wants your… What’s his name?”
“Biscuit,” Glen helped him. Flix grimaced.
“That can’t be. What manner of stupid…” he started, but Glen stopped him.
“It works for me. You were saying?”
“I can’t help you with this task,” Flix said with a weary sigh. “I don’t think any human had ever, or Gish… it doesn’t make much sense. Only Elderborns—”
“What’s that?” Glen cut him off curious.
“Old lines of the Zilan. Since the First Era. I… you are an anomaly,” Flix rubbed his forehead troubled.
“Or you were lied to,” Glen said and walked towards their own building, with a brief stop to pick the sack Flix had filled up. The Gish came after him, with Biscuit watching them from afar still chewing.
If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
“Lied?” Flix probed.
“Everybody lies,” Glen explained. “You were fed a story, it happens all the time. Zilan controlled Wyverns, they had magic, this and that. Bullshit. How do you explain Gimoss?”
“Gimoss?”
“He was a Wyvern. How did you say it? From another Realm. Haha. No Zilans there?”
“We can’t know what happened back then, Garth. This is eons upon eons into the past. You are rushing to conclusions,” Flix insisted.
“I’m not really,” Glen said, walking inside the ancient building. “I have a dagger that does magic shit, a dead wyvern talking to me and a live toddler chewing biscuits out in the street. I’m human,” he sighed and licked his lips once. “I’ve used magic in the past.”
“Who taught you?” Flix asked.
Uh?
“Nobody.”
“No. You’re missing part of the story, or you’re lying, Garth,” the Gish said sternly.
“I don’t.”
“Everybody lies,” Flix retorted using his own words and then stopped walking. “Where are you going?”
“There’s a locked door downstairs,” Glen explained. There might be valuables inside.
“How is it important?”
“I’m curious,” Glen admitted.
“Ebenezer was like that,” Flix said, looking at him strangely.
“Who was that?” The name vaguely familiar.
“He wasn’t a Lord, or a knight that’s for sure,” the Gish continued. “But you, hmm… what comes after Eikenport?”
“I don’t know yet,” Glen said.
“If the Khan’s sides with the sorceress, will you fight against her?”
“I’ve fought the Khan already and Larn,” Glen replied, a little annoyed at the old Gish’s queries. “I don’t plan on making it my life’s mission.”
“What about Altarin?”
There was that of course.
Deflect.
“My wife is a Cofol, Gish.”
“A strange choice.”
“Why?”
“You saved the people from turning into slaves, I watched you do it, yet you take a slave as lover,” Flix explained. “I don’t understand this.”
“Sen is not a slave!” Glen snapped, the matter thorny.
“Didn’t you sign a contract for her? What did you give in return?”
Glen scrunched his mouth this way and that, the conversation turning very uncomfortable. He puffed out a little exasperated.
“You were a slave,” he started in a sympathetic tone and Flix narrowed his eyes and crossed both arms on his chest. “So I understand your concern,” Glen stopped and rubbed his face hard. “I made a deal, because she asked me to do it.”
“She asked you,” Flix said, not convinced.
“It’s the truth.”
For the most part.
The Gish stared at the dark opening leading downstairs.
“What do you hope to find?”
“Gimoss said there’s a skeleton, behind the door,” Glen replied.
“Wyverns are deceitful, Garth.”
Great.
“Anything else?” Glen asked and reached for his lightstone.
“You can only fool them once,” the Gish replied.
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“Give me a bit of help here!” Glen growled, his shoulder firm on the ancient heavy door, the stubborn hinges creaking, rusted over and also firmly stuck in place.
“My back can’t take the stress,” Flix argued, standing back. “How about we check one of the other doors?”
Glen, sweat running down his face, black soot making thin lines down his neck, veins popped and breathing heavy, stopped and glared his way.
“I broke the darn lock!”
“Little good it did,” Flix replied and approached the next one, cutting through the spider webbings, round lightstone in hand.
Glen puffed out and collapsed on his arse, back on the sturdy ancient door.
“What do you think this is? A vault?” He queried, reaching for his flask of water.
“This is either the second, or third floor. One more hall above us,” Flix replied and checked the door with a light push.
“Offices?” Glen chanced.
“Not a palace, close to the Gardens and the main street,” Flix said, thinking out loud. “The drawings showing everyday themes.”
“An inn? Are you kidding me?” Glen grimaced and put the flask down.
“A Customs Building.”
“A merchant company,” Glen added.
Flix rubbed the spot where normal people had a nose and shrugged.
“Sure.”
“Is the door open?” Glen queried.
“Barred from the inside.”
“This one isn’t,” Glen noted.
“Aye, that’s troubling,” Flix said and took a step back. “These people barred themselves in. Who does that during a natural catastrophe?”
“Who says it was a natural event?”
“No one,” Flix yielded and frowned. He’d a small axe in his hands now. “Use this on the hinges.”
He tossed it to him. It made a loud clanking sound that reverberated inside the underground ruins and Glen picked it up intrigued. The weapon made of steel, curved shaft gleaming, blade sharp and elongated for a typical hatchet, its butt ending sprouting out like the edge of a dagger.
“What’s this?”
“A Peleg. A throwing light axe. Very useful,” Flix explained. “Also very expensive, don’t lose it. I have it for over twenty decades.”
Old arse shite.
“Can I use it on the rusted iron hinges?”
Flix stared at him unsure, if he was jesting.
“It’s Imperial steel, Garth,” he finally said and added. “Of course.”
Hah.
Nice.
Glen had the door down in less than five minutes, hacking frenzied at the hinges, teeth clenched in a manic smile.
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The small office room was empty. A broken apart desk dominating the space, the chair behind it toppled over ages ago. Unseen walls covered in arm-length thick spider webs, in a circle around the broken furniture, a sole silver letter opener on the marbled floor, blade half-tainted black. Glen cut through the silky nets, blocking the entrance, stepped in and stooped to pick it up.
Red, he noticed.
Blood.
Who defends himself with a letter opener?
There was part of an emancipated arm showing behind the broken desk, middle finger sporting a heavy gold signet ring. The skin on the arm, a brilliant white, loose and translucent, the flesh underneath it melted away, bones showing.
Oh, crap.
“There’s a dead dude in here!” Glen yelled, louder than he’d preferred to and Flix replied immediately sounding alarmed.
“Don’t take anything from it!”
Glen stared at the letter opener in his hand perturbed.
“Fine,” he said and walked around the desk to glance at the ancient, mummified corpse. Empty eye sockets, sunken cheeks, skin a grey-white, the hair almost all fallen off from his skull. The corpse wore pieces of a dissolved tunic, or coat, some silver buttons still visible at his sides.
“His throat is slit open!” Glen yelled and Flix’s shadow appeared on the doorway. “I think he killed himself.”
“With what?” Flix asked tensely and Glen stared at the blood-stained old letter opener he held.
Why would you do that? He wondered and the webbings breathed all around him. They bloated, as if they were alive, or waking up and the corpse under him hissed, the scariest sound Glen had ever heard and shuddered, limbs jerking mad.
Luthos balls caught in a bear trap.
“RUN!” Glen screamed, the sound unmanly, but totally justified given the horrifying implications and jumped away panicked. He stumbled and went down, a forkful of spider material in his mouth, coughed most of it right out and rolled towards the exit, the corpse behind him rising, making all kinds of creaking sounds.
“WHAT DID YOU TAKE?” Flix growled, eyes hawking at the half-naked corpse following after him, but Glen now standing and running at full speed, blasted past him not even looking his way.
He reached the corridor, boots sliding on the ancient dust, turned left using wall and right shoulder to break momentum, the impact rattling his teeth and hoofed it for the stairs determined to get the hells out.
> Use the dagger.
Huh? Glen thought and turned to look back, Flix sneak-attacking the walking corpse with two shortswords, blades sinking to the guard under both armpits. He didn’t even slow it down. The dead man, opened a decayed mouth, lower jaw hanging loose and kept coming after him.
Glen had reached the stairs in the meantime, still running looking back, tripped on the first one, hurt his knee, but threw an arm out to prevent his head splitting open as he went down.
“Gods dammit. Fuck!” Glen cursed and stood up, his knee stinging and the corpse coming, even more determined now. He dropped the letter opener and went for the dagger. Flix following right behind the corpse fired a bolt through its neck, the projectile flying a foot from Glen’s head and striking the wall behind him.
The young thief stood his ground and when the corpse swung at him with a bony claw, he ducked under it and stabbed it right through the heart, the ancient bones and skin giving away and the blade sinking all the way in.
“Hah!” Glen guffawed and rolled to the side and away from the flailing corpse. Flix reaching him, pulled the grinning Glen back by his arm.
“What did you do?” The old Gish asked, searching in his vials sheaths for something.
“Stabbed it right through the fuckin’ heart!” Glen announced proudly, his knees shaking still, but regaining some of his bravado.
Flix grimaced, seeing the corpse twisting this way and that in great agony.
“That never puts them down.”
“Puts what down?” Glen probed, unsheathing his longsword.
“I thought it was a construct. A bonemancer’s pet,” the Gish replied and turned to look back towards the room, they had escaped from.
The corpse had stopped struggling and just stood there, looking confused as fuck, the dagger still in his chest.
“Gimoss said to use the dagger,” Glen replied, with a shrug.
“Damn it, Garth!” Flix cursed and run towards the room, stooping to pick up the Peleg, Glen had dropped next to the broken door. He reached the door, made to jump inside, but flinched in panic and rolled to the side nimble as a cat, the giant white spider’s forelegs missing him for an inch.
Good fuckin’ grief!
The massive insect -the size of a young colt really- made a disturbing clicking sound, walked sideways, many legs feeling out the walls of the corridor and then turned its red compound eyes on the dumbfounded Glen, long spinnerets rising above its body aimed at him.
Duck.
Glen went down, the stream of webbing flying over him, sticking everywhere. He rolled to the side fully aware that the spider was going to come after him and then dashed back and towards the still standing silent corpse. Reach the stairs, he urged himself. Get out of here.
The young thief sprinted, the clacking sound of the onrushing spider’s legs following right behind him, the corpse looking at his face with empty eye-sockets, a stupid freakish grin on its decrepit mouth.
Huh?
The corpse raised a hand, one finger broken and dangling loose, another missing a fingernail and waved him out of the way. Glen, mouth hanging open, cut right to avoid the undead, slid against the wall polishing it for the first time in eons and reached the stairs, this time taking them three at a time alike a jumping cricket. There was a terrible shriek, followed by a crunching sound behind him and then Glen burst out into the upper floor and kept running for the door leading to the street and the blinding sun.
Salvation within his grasp.
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The Cofol’s eyes opened wide seeing him storming out of the building and fired instinctively, the arrow zipping past a wild-eyed Glen, who kept running at full sprint towards him. The Cofol dropped his bow and tried to unsheathe a long knife.
“RUN, YE FOOL!” Glen urged him unwilling to slow down, or change direction.
The crash send them both down, tumbling through the fine sand of the ancient street, all tangled up and hurting.
Stupid idiot, Glen hissed and shoved the Horselord way, kicking and punching him furiously. All his pend up frustration unleashing on his shocked opponent. He caught him with a full punch and felt the nose breaking underneath his knuckles, the man’s head bouncing off the street, only for an out of control Glen connecting with it again and again.
It was an intense pugilism training session.
“Cease this madness!” A voice barked and Glen let go of the bloodied unresponsive man and stood up.
The old Cofol was back it seemed. His eyes haunted and darting from him to the building, Glen had just escaped from.
“What’s this unholy thing?”
Glen looked back, saw the still living corpse standing at the doorway covered in bloody pieces of insect parts, fully soaked in slimy grime to be exact and dripping foul smelling disgusting yellow fluids down. Glen shook his head in bewilderment.
“You really don’t want to know, friend,” Glen said and spat a mouthful of bitter spider-web residue down. His mouth tasted like a sewer.
Glen had no idea what was going on himself.
“What in all-hells are ye doing here? Have ye lost yer mind? Curse ye fiend!” The Horselord admonished him deciding that whatever this was, it wasn’t worth it. The moment he heard Biscuit’s screeching roar approaching he pulled at the reins, turned his horse deftly and galloped away for real this time.
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“A Wraith Arachnus,” Glen repeated looking at the mess inside the underground corridor.
“Arachne. An old spider,” Flix corrected him and collected some of the yellowish-green fluids from the floor. “Very dangerous.”
Obviously.
“That’s no spider I’ve ever seen before,” Glen murmured stating the obvious and shivered all over, slapping his body to get rid of the freakish sensation. “What was it doing here?”
“Lurked in wait.”
Glen sucked air though his nostrils and then puffed out, flapping his lips like a horse.
“Patient bastard,” he said simply and glanced at the corpse extricating the blades out of him. “What about this dude?”
“I have no idea what you did,” Flix replied and stood up.
“I did nothing,” Glen defended himself. “I run away.”
What did you do? He asked Gimoss, but that bastard had been dead silent after all hell had broken loose earlier.
“Aye you did run well,” Flix said and grinned like an old grandmother. “Good boy.”
“Hmm,” Glen said and stared at the glass vial the Gish had tacked away. “What do you need that for?”
“Good medicine,” Flix replied and walked up the stairs, past the silent corpse. “Or poison.”
“For what?” Glen asked, following after the small-bodied Gish, taking a wide birth around the decayed man.
“Ticu,” Flix said.
“Fuck’s that?”
“Ahm, a mermaid,” Flix replied, after a pause.
“Haha, yeah right,” Glen chuckled. “You almost got me there.”
The sun had lowered on the sky, the day wasting away, when they reached the street again.
“Hey, can I have the Peleg? It don’t look like yer style,” Glen asked, seeing Biscuit approaching, sniffing right and left curious.
“You need how to learn to use it first,” Flix replied. “Else the weapon will be wasted.”
It’s an axe, ye silly Gish, Glen thought and went to pet Biscuit, the small wyvern ducking away from his hand with a glare.
“So, can I have it then?”
Flix stared at him, hint of a smile on his mouth. He reached in his pocket, got his pipe out, checked to see if it had anything in it and satisfied lit it up. Sucked on the aromatic mixture, closing his eyes, face relaxing and then exhaled slowly.
“Well?” Glen probed and Flix replied with one word and another weary sigh.
“No.”
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