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Glen
Mister Garth
Hardir O’ Fardor
Glimpses of future past
Part II
-The success of failed plans-
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Hah... ha-ha... Ahahaha!
Glen ran towards the scream, the corpse’s maniacal laughter and the dark interior of the ancient Mastaba making the moment even more surreal. The lightstone creating shadowy figures that danced away from him. Some of the shades had faces, others were amorphous and hideous to look at.
Jinx jumped out of the darkness scaring the living daylights out of him, small hands flailing and legs kicking at the air, stepped on the astounded Glen’s head using it as springboard of sorts and hopped away lithely. Glen rolled on the ground almost biting his own tongue off, landed on a shoulder with a groan, the lightstone smacking him in the face and Jinx ended her drawn out screaming double-somersault three meters away with a pained wince and a groan of her own.
“Whisper!” Glen hissed getting up irate.
“THERE’S A MONSTER IN HERE!” She screamed again with a mighty screeching voice, then stopped abruptly, opened her gleaming eyes wide and screamed again twice as loud. “DUCK!”
Huh?
Glen swung around furious.
RRRRRRRR
“Ye fuck—!” was all he managed to blurt out.
Biscuit bulldozed him out of the way, Glen twirling around and grabbing him by the tail, as the fast-moving wyvern dashed determined through him. The former thief got dragged on the ground, with Biscuit shrieking very annoyed and swinging his tail right and left to dislodge him. Glen wouldn’t let go, so he got dragged almost five meters before the horned Wyvern stopped and turned to glare at him.
His huge burgundy eyes giving out almost as much light as the lightstone.
ARRRRREH?
The Wyvern screeched menacingly confused, as Glen let go of his tail with the darn thing returning, the stinger at the end of it -now fully out- tracing his face from cleft jaw to his right eye.
“Buddy, she’s a friend—” Glen managed to say, before a screaming Whisper tackled him violently out of the way. They both tumbled away in the darkness, Glen seriously rattled from repeatedly thrown down or aside, hands and feet all tangled up and the Gish’s pants totally drenched.
“RUN!” Jinx yelled in his face, while Glen tried desperately to get his hands freed.
“Stop! For fuck’s sake Whisper! Calm the fuck down!” Glen roared, losing it as well.
RRRRRRR
“Shut up you!” He snapped at the approaching on its hinds legs Wyvern. Biscuit was standing almost as tall as a grown man now. The long scorpion tail swaying menacingly behind his scaly horned head.
“What the hell are ye doing?” Jinx whispered hiding behind him. The rattling of her teeth getting on Glen’s nerves.
“Stop that!” Glen rustled and turning to the Wyvern hissed an order. “Go stand with Gimoss.”
RRRRR
“Now. Or there’s no food period.”
Biscuit made a clicking sound with his throat and snapped his black teeth once. Then he retreated, dissolving in the surrounding darkness.
“Fuck me,” Jinx whispered in his ear, her teeth still rattling. “What was that thing?”
“Biscuit?” Glen replied with a tired sigh.
“Nah, me stomach is messed up, thanks,” Jinx replied. “Ye appear unusually brave about it, Glen.”
“His name is Biscuit,” Glen explained again and turned to examine her. “Is this blood? Are ye hurt?” He asked touching her soaked pants.
“Urine mostly,” Jinx retorted sniffing at the air. “What? I’ve pissed meself. That thing appeared out of nowhere!”
“For fuck’s sake Whisper!” Glen blasted her, looking about him for something to clean his hands. “Gods, I can’t believe dis. I’m covered—”
“Who keeps a monster in a building?” Jinx argued, looking around them for a different reason. “Is it gone? What was it?”
“No, he can’t,” Not yet. “It’s a male by the way.”
“How the fuck ye know? What are ye, a monster expert now?”
Glen thought that given the poor current state of the profession, he was probably the most qualified to deal with the situation. The top candidate at the very least.
One could argue, there was coin to be made in this business.
Let’s ease her in the finer details now…
Start from the beginning, she’s rather slow.
“Remember that ‘egg’ ye had given me?” Glen asked and Jinx frowned, alarm back on her face. Looked around her once more and then jumped into his arms fully panicked. Glen shoved her away, but Jinx was very determined and kept trying to hug him. The Gish was shaking all over.
“What? The fuck is wrong with you?” Glen blasted her, but allowed the hug and immediately felt the moist pants on his again. He stared at the top of her pink head and sighed. “Breathe in and out. Relax, it is okay Whisper.”
“A Wyvern,” Jinx murmured, sounding haunted.
“Not a monster,” Glen reassured her, his voice soothing. “I’ve known Biscuit all his life, he’s a good boy.”
Eh, most of the times.
Like seventy-thirty.
Sixty-forty tops.
On a good day, if well-fed.
When Glen is around.
Ugh.
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Flix eyed them exiting the Mastaba a frown on his aged face. Glen was doing the walking, as Jinx’s legs had turned to rubber and he had to almost carry her outside. Thankfully Gimoss had given Biscuit something to play with. Glen didn’t know what that was and in some instances like for example this instance…
It is better not to know.
“Is there space inside?” He asked the old Gish.
“I sent the workers to the warehouse. They didn’t like sleeping with their slaves,” Flix replied, the matter amusing to him for some reason.
Glen carried Jinx inside and helped her on a cot, but she wouldn’t let go of his arm and he had to sit down as well. Flix who had followed them inside, sat cross-legged on the cot across from them and reached for his pipe.
“She met Biscuit,” Glen explained. “Got a bit scared.”
Flix puffed smoke out of his nostrils.
“Young Gish are raised with horror stories to better learn to deal with the world,” he explained reminiscing. “Subtlety is absent from our teachings, I’m afraid. At least in my times.”
“Do they believe them?” Glen asked frowning when Jinx wiped her drooling face on his armour.
“They better,” Flix replied with a smile. “The stories are true for the most part.”
“What are the stories?”
“Fear Abrakas’ mercy. Never seek Nesande’s divinations,” Flix said casually, sucking at his pipe. “Never trust a Zilan, or was it love one? Stay clear of Wyverns for they love eating the Gish more than anything else.”
Glen cleared his throat, the matter disturbing.
“An exaggeration?”
“Hardly. Hunting Gish was the favorite sport of the previous King of Kings,” Flix replied. “Unless they were too pretty, then they were kept to enhance their mating rituals.”
“What kind of rituals?”
Glen had to ask that question for academic purposes.
Flix chuckled and stared at his pipe for a long moment.
“I don’t think I can describe them fully. Zilan are very particular, when they are mating. Depending on the caste they belong to, downright weird. Keep in mind, their females can only conceive once normally and the older bloodline is credited the offspring. So with that fear in mind, all kinds of different mediums were used to avoid an unfavorable mishap.”
“That would make them difficult to decide on a pairing,” Glen noted.
“Indeed. You need a lower caste always, so you can ensure your line isn’t overridden. Kept at a good purity. So you don’t pick one from the streets. Records existed, for when a pregnancy was to move forward safely. Can’t exactly scrape the bottom of the barrel. Either way elevation to a higher status isn’t… wasn’t favored.”
“Sounds a lot of trouble, for a fuck,” Glen commented. “No wonder they seem miserable.”
“Oh, you got that wrong. They say a Gish will tease your senses until you give in and have the best fun of your life in bed, but a Zilan… the higher up one goes, will fuck your soul. Turn you inside out. Many a Gish had fallen victims, even died in the attempt.”
“What about humans?”
“A human mind can’t handle the sophistication they put into it, Garth.”
“Because of magic,” Glen noted and realized Jinx had quieted down and was listening in.
“Because of the magic in their blood,” Flix repeated and got the tool out to empty his pipe. “Also the fact, that in the throes of passion and the need for a superior spell, your lover might take more than you are willing to give. Even by accident.”
“Are ye seriously talkin’ about fuckin’?” Jinx asked, wiping her eyes with a hand. “There’s a bloody wyvern in there!”
“It’s Garth’s Wyvern,” Flix corrected her. Jinx blinked and sniffed at the old Gish. “It won’t harm his friends.”
“Hmm.”
“Nice to meet you fair Jinx.”
“Yeah, nice try mister. I’m not showing ye my toes.”
“I’d appreciate if you didn’t. Is that old Gish still doing it?”
“He’s dead,” Jinx retorted. “What’s yer name?”
“I’m Flix.”
“Where did ye get that robe?” Jinx asked him all curious, the wyvern forgotten. “I like the color. I got a tunic that would look lovely under it. Wanna share? I can trade you two colored rocks for it.”
Glen groaned and rolled his eyes.
“Stay with her,” he told Flix getting up. “I’ll catch a bit of rest.”
> ‘Behold what thou asked for,’ Nesande’s Seer shushed crowing like a hag.
>
> The world appeared tiny behind the clouds. Fields of sickly green and the mountain-tops a brilliant white. The black soil of marshes and two lakes standing side by side, the rivers pouring into them resembling rodents’ long tails. The ground came at him, trees ballooning in size and the wind screaming in his ears.
>
> Only it wasn’t the wind. It was the sound of a city dying. Glen flinched and a giant ball of fire fell on him. He dived in it. Gone were the trees, the mud turned into sand and a thousand sinister smiling silver faces looked his way. He smelled bones burning and tasted rot in his mouth.
>
> ‘Return the jackal’s steel helm and his sword.’
>
> ‘The biggest treasure on Eplas and the thief who’d stolen it.’
>
> ‘A pirate’s secret and forty tons of gold.’
>
> ‘How did you die? When?’ The king of kings had asked his lover.
>
> A cackling baby grabbed Glen’s hand and he saw a golden statue come alive inside the garden. A goddess’ gift he hated. ‘Unveil yourself enchantress,’ he rustled and the treasure in her eyes turned all black. The flesh became old stone.
>
> ‘Come and see,’ the nameless dead crooned in the night, many different mouths, but only one voice.
>
> ‘Rivers flow against the current beyond the Haze Sea.’
>
> ‘Only the gone can carry the traveler’s key.’
>
> ‘What thou lost shall be returned to thee.’
>
> ‘Don’t let the witch hunt for the banshee,’
>
> ‘Breathing inside the artifice.’
>
> For black were the walls, the floor tiles a lacquered ebony and the light blinding inside the circle. Glen closed his eyes, but he heard battle’s clamor and opened them up again. Saw the menacing knight galloping at him, long spear lowered and the army roaring in one voice.
>
> Insanity. Fear. Desperation.
>
> Grass and mud on the field, the iron hooves digging it. The crimson of her hair, garnet-colored crests, rubicund plates, white steel and all the shades of black. ‘Kill the fool,’ the Wyvern hissed turning a giant horned head around, teeth the size of his blade and the explosion brought the walls down.
>
> Glen raised a gloved hand to keep the light out and Black Eirkor hummed of mayhem and old memories. ‘Take her throne,’ the Moon’s daughter had sang thinking she dreamt of another, her melodic voice ringing hauntingly over the old ruins. The silence following when the light retreated deafening.
>
> The scales tipping one way, then the other.
>
> Clacking and clanging.
>
> The weights, onyx glass spheres.
>
> ‘Spell-shaped and spell-crafted.’
>
> Ever moving.
>
> Love and Misery.
>
> A parent’s love.
>
> Fear and Valor.
>
> Solitude and Apotheosis.
>
> A strange wind had come from the Scalding Sea in the very beginning. It had poured over the small Isles, twirled around the narrow village’s straits and then pretended it was another. Something else to fool the mummer. There and back again, above the boiling waters, skirting over ghastly reefs and lurking blood-sucking alluring Ticu. It blew through the open floor to ceiling windows, touched the ancient dark granite walls, danced around the huge black pillars and disturbed his sleep.
>
>
Glen gasped loudly and opened his eyes. He felt Biscuit’s breath on his face, reeking of brimstone, the Wyvern’s wedged heavy head resting on his chest and the large gleaming burgundy eyes watching him in the thick darkness of the Mastaba. Glen rubbed its scaly head, between the horns and yawned.
“What time is it buddy?” He asked. “Seems early.”
Biscuit made a low guttural sound and raised his head to stare towards the closed doors. Glen had slept next to them. He slowly got up and stretched his arms. His back hurting from sleeping on the hard ground. The former thief felt tired instead of rested. The sound of the latch being removed interrupting him.
Glen glanced at Biscuit and the wyvern snorted.
“I’m going to find a place for you,” he promised and walked towards the large wooden gates.
Metu looked a bit tired as well. Glen glanced at the still dark sky and sighed again.
“Any news?”
“Master Lon-Iv will talk to the commander first thing,” Metu said. “Request the pirates to allow Mistress Sen-Iv to come ashore, or else.”
“How many soldiers do they have?”
“I don’t know Mister Garth. Lord Tsuparin’s son had taken the city guards with him.”
Glen scratched his beard. “I counted about twenty riders patrolling in two groups. Lon brought ten men, but he already sent a caravan out.”
“He did. Dia needs supplies. They pay at a premium.”
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
“They sent birds that far?” Glen probed.
“They came in person,” Metu elucidated.
“Right. Apparently they’re desperate. How many men did Lon send with the caravan?”
“Six?” Metu replied. “A local that left before us, thought they were enough.”
How would he know? Glen wondered.
“It seems to me, the commander doesn’t exactly have the numbers to enforce his demands,” Glen said. “Revealing we have a valuable passenger aboard the ship, might even entice them to act.”
“Angering the Khan won’t help them. They need this port and its market. They won’t risk it.”
“It depends though. This is mostly a Sopat problem,” Glen countered. “With the war going on, the Khan might decide the pirates are more useful.”
“Angering one of the Sisters is ill-advised,” Metu argued, apparently well-versed in the politics of the Khanate.
“Hmm. Has his man returned?” Glen asked.
“He will at first light. He’s catching his rest,” Metu replied, a touch of envy in his voice.
“Wake him up,” Glen said. “I’ll speak with him. There’s no time to waste Metu,” he added and the slave’s eyes lit up, a smirk on his lips.
“Of course, Mister Garth. I’ll sent him over.”
Glen sighed and rubbed his eyes with both hands. It did nothing to wake him up, so he hunched over a large water-barrel next to the gates and splashed his face and head. Pushed his hair back behind his ears and turned his drowsy eyes on the still dark road and the warehouse.
A sole kid was coming down the street from the north. It had wiry hair on a head fit for a goliath, a chunky body, short feet but longer hands that reached his knees. Glen narrowed his eyes perturbed. This kid-sized person had three times the amount of hair Glen carried on his face. That beard a massive tangled mess, but nothing could ever top the size of that nose. Round at the finish and thick at its bridge, it dominated that boulder-sized head, as if to counterbalance everything and keep the dwarf upright.
Get the fuck out!
Hah!
“Fikumin!” An excited Glen shouted and run towards him. The dwarf stopped and stared at the approaching armed man with an angry frown. Glen made to pat the top of his head, but the dwarf pulled away with a grunt finally recognizing him.
“Glenavon,” Fikumin said after a pause, in his baritone voice. “It is pleasant you made it out.”
Wow. Yer enthusiasm is oozing out of you.
Not.
Glen groaned. “Hugging people don’t make you less manly dwarf.”
And petting.
Dogs love it.
“We only hug at funerals and weddings,” Fikumin grunted. “And in bed.”
Glen stopped him raising a hand. “I don’t want to hear about yer weird mating rituals. Had enough of that already.”
An awkward silent moment ensued, man and dwarf thinking of different things.
Fikumin smacked his lips breaking it. “Where’s Marcus? I need to inform him of our journey.”
Glen frowned and stood back. He stared at his worn out boots troubled.
“He’s dead.”
“I feared as much,” Fikumin retorted, as if it was all Glen’s fault. “I take it Larn won the duel. Ottis informed me he’d caught up with you. The fact you made it out of the desert on your own, is frankly much bigger a shock.”
Glen scowled. “It wasn’t an easy journey.”
Fikumin shook his head. “The Zilan allowed you to live?”
“Not exactly. More the other way around. Wait, Ottis is here?” Glen asked with a frown and then his eyes lit up. “How many men made it? Ten, twenty?”
Fikumin stared at him, as if he was trying to figure out what his scheme was. “I need to talk to you about that, milord,” he said diplomatically.
“Leave the milord part out,” Glen told him with a smack on his back that caught the dwarf unawares. Wow, the little guy is solid as a rock! “For… security reasons, I go by Garth now.”
“Garth of what?” Fikumin deadpanned and seeing Glen stare at him blankly, the dwarf elucidated. “The name you use, it means Keeper in the old tongue. You didn’t pick it at random?” He asked Glen, with the dwarf’s eyes suggesting he believed Glen had.
The dwarf remained a very annoying person for his size.
Glen sighed and glanced at the Mastaba. “Ah. It’s a long story. Lots of weirdness mixed in. But I’m on a tight schedule. How many soldiers left?”
Fikumin snorted. “Soldiers we have around thirty, but it’s the fifty civilians that followed us down the Merchant’s Path you have to deal with, Garth. There are women and children with us.”
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Lon’s worker crew had built a crude large table with a bench outside the small watch tower, to eat in comfort after their shifts, but Glen commandeered it for himself and it was there the coming dawn found him, a cup of wine in hand.
A ton of problems needed solving and he was the only one people expected the solutions to come from. Metu cleared his throat, a plate with fried eggs in his hands.
“Your breakfast sire,” he said and left it on the table. Glen stared at the plate, saw no bread in there and grimaced. Metu gave him an iron fork.
“What’s our supply situation?” Glen asked taking the fork and digging in.
“Lon promised to send a wagon for the workers, but you’ve demanded supplies for over a hundred people and this might give him pause.”
“What about more workers?” Glen asked in between large mouthfuls.
“More workers means even more supplies, sire.”
Glen groaned and accepted a towel the slave offered to wipe his mouth.
“We’ll put the soldiers in the warehouse for now,” he decided tossing the towel on the table. Metu picked it up deftly. “Clear the collapsed lot next to it of debris and turned it into a small camp for the slaves,” Metu frowned not happy with the arrangement. Glen stared at him. “You’ll stay here, in the house,” Metu smiled, his demeanor immediately changing.
“Excellent arrangement sire. I must confess, you have exceptional skills in leading.”
Glen nodded agreeing. Metu is a decent fellow once you get to know him. “Now, I need to find a place to put the civilians. We have space aplenty, but not many good buildings, unless we cordon the neighborhood and clear out this lot as well.”
“Why cordon it, sire?” Metu asked.
“We own the land,” Glen explained and stood up, the plate empty. He washed his mouth with the rest of Lon’s wine. “Might as well, put a fence on it. This city is full of crooks,” he paused thinking ahead. “And we have a Wyvern. People might get funny ideas.”
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Stiles looked about as happy as someone waiting to be executed. Given his life history and rotten character, probably a look the man frequently sported.
“Just trade the cunt,” the pirate argued, ever looking for the easy way out. Throwing other people under the proverbial wagon his first thought. “For Lady Sen. It’s a no brainer, milord.”
“Will her crew give her up?” Glen asked him, eyeing the sun’s position on the sky.
Stiles grimaced. “Nah. Not these old bastards. The others we could easily sway though.”
“You can say we found out during questioning,” Glen said, reverting to his own plan. “Realized everything was a misunderstanding. We are all… friends here. What’s the sayin’? Honor amongst thieves and all that.”
“Eh, folk here are mostly pirates, milord,” Stiles argued.
“Ye think that’s better?” Glen deadpanned.
“Why did ye do in the desert, milord?” Stiles asked nervously. “Because that was the main problem the broth’rs had.”
“I didn’t kill children Stiles, nor barbequed people,” Glen assured him. “Surely Van Fleet doesn’t believe this shite!”
“What about the Wyvern and the other stuff?”
“They’re true, for the most part,” Glen admitted.
“The Wyvern part?” Stiles chanced.
“That’s the true part,” Glen retorted and Stiles blinked in shock. “Hey, rejoice! At least I ain’t no plaguin’ Magus, nor a cannibal!”
“May I inquire as to the whereabouts—?”
“In the Mastaba,” Glen cut him off his tone sober. “Stay well clear of it.”
“There’s a wyvern inside—” Stiles repeated, unable to wrap his mind around it. Glen sighed and stared at him.
“Stiles snap out of it. For fuck’s sake man, get yer shite together! Then get Leona to Van Fleet. Make our case, but if you see they are lookin’ to arse-fuck us, switch sides. In fact bring them straight here.”
Stiles cleared his throat. “Ahm, when ye say switch sides… and I wouldn’t do it milord, on me word. But say I be forced into a terrible position, after a solid bout of prolonged resistance, do you mean I can betray you?”
“Dude, yer a coward and a ruffian and I’m being lenient here, since I consider ye a friend,” Glen told him not mincing his words and only half-lying. “We both know you’ll not die for a bloody deal, nor resist for more than a second. Do your part, be yer fuckin’ self and let me know what their plan is. You’ll get rewarded, when you switch back to my side.”
“May I inquire as to the reward, milord?” Stiles probed a little hurt, but focusing on the important stuff.
Glen smacked his lips. “You’re not a man of action Stiles. There’s no shame in it. You’re smart though and know how to survive. Weasel yerself out of a bind. Swindle people into a deal. You lived a life of piracy, but yer talents lay elsewhere. Am I doing all right up to now?”
The one eyed scoundrel smirked. “Ye have it right, milord.”
“Find a way to make this work, warn me if it doesn’t,” Glen told him and eyed Leona kissing Jinx passionately on the tower’s doorstep, the whole thing on the verge of escalating into a brothel’s live show. Wow. “And I’ll find work for you, more suitable to yer talents. Serve me right and you’ll profit, as ye did back in Altarin.”
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Sergeant Ottis had lost some weight, but he was well-tanned now at least, which suited him and stood with the confident air of a man that had been put through the ringer and came out of it on his own two feet. His eyes and face hard lined. He raised his fist to his chest and thumped it once, voice hoarse but excited.
“Lord Reeves, sire!” The soldiers behind him standing in three rows of ten, jumping to attention. “Praise the Gods Milord. These men owe you their lives!”
Glen raised his arms to silence the excited hollers and thank-yous, his eyes on the even bigger crowd of civilians. Refugees from Rida that had followed the guards down the Merchant Path. Their number was bigger at start, but most of them had stopped at Devil’s Cove, a new port the Issirs had opened. Those present had stuck to the soldiers they knew, making the journey into the unknown.
“Listen up,” Glen started, in his most confident voice. “This isn’t Raoz, you’re not in Rida and I’m not your old Lord. Let’s get this out of the way. Like you, I was forced to start anew. Sergeant Ottis, you’ve been briefed on what the situation is. Should you choose to accept my lead again, then new rules shall apply. It isn’t a matter of whim, but outmost necessity. Tis my intention to save lives and find us a place to ride out the war, but I’ve my own plans as well. I can offer you shelter here and my trust. A chance of making something of your lives and stand on yer own feet again,” Glen sucked a deep breath in, his throat hoarse. “Now I can’t be lax, so don’t expect it and I don’t have time to lose on lengthy explanations. You choose to stay, then you follow my orders without questions,” he stilled his eyes on Sergeant Ottis. “What will it be sergeant? Shall I hear an aye Mister Garth, or I just fuckin’ wasted my spit here?”
Most of the soldiers cracked up at that and relaxed their stance.
“Aye, Mister Garth!” Sergeant Ottis boomed, the soldiers following. Glen nodded, his eyes on the civilians.
“Sergeant, let the men have some water. Post a guard outside the Mastaba. That area is off limits to all by the way.”
“You heard the man!” Ottis shouted. “Break ranks and find shade.”
Glen turned around and walked towards Fikumin and Norec, the two dwarfs watching from the side of the watch tower.
“Good seeing ye Norec,” Glen greeted.
Norec grunted, never one for small talk.
Glen cleared his throat and stared at Fikumin.
“Can we trust the civilians?” He asked.
“It depends,” the dwarf replied. “What you’re up to Mister Garth?”
“Save my wife, Soren and little Liko. The two girls,” Glen counted the names with his fingers suggestively, to put him in his place. “Why?” Fikumin grimaced and stared at Norec.
“Most are families and orphans. Some artisans.”
“Like bards?”
“That I don’t know, but there’s a shoemaker, a baker and a couple of other professions.”
“Right. I have no idea where to put those people Fikumin.”
“Setting up large tents is a good starting point,” Norec offered stunning them both. “How far is the river?”
“About a kilometer, probably less,” Glen replied. “Pretty close.”
“Water, a bit of fishing, people will get into a rhythm after that.”
“Thank you Norec,” Glen said and he was meaning it.
Norec just shrugged his shoulders and that was that.
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Glen run the last couple of meters and jumped, caught the lip of the still standing wall and pulled himself up. He walked the narrow part, one foot before the other and reached the part of the ceiling that was still standing. Glen could see the entrance to the port from the rooftop of the ruined two story building. He glanced across the street and Flix waved once from what was once a spacious terrace, before disappearing into a thin shadow.
With a sigh Jinx plopped down next to his spot and offered him a couple of loops of thin leather cord she had in her hand.
“What’s this?” Glen rustled. His voice tired from interviewing as many people as he could.
“For yer hair,” Jinx replied.
“I’ll visit a barber soon.”
“Turn around,” Jinx told him and pulled his messy hair back when he did. “Flix gives me Silent Servant vibes,” she told him in a hushed tone while working on tying them up on a short ponytail.
“He’s an Imperial Assassin, just like Larn was upon a time,” Glen said.
“How do ye know?”
“He told me.”
“Why?”
“He likes me?” Glen had never dwelled on that. “Probably because of Biscuit.”
“Very few Gish survived, let alone elevated their station,” Jinx murmured. “He told ye that Glen.”
“So?”
“Someone must have loved him very much,” Jinx commented.
Or has him doing his bidding.
“Flix saved my arse in Rida,” Glen hissed.
Jinx snorted and got an arrow out. Started scratching on the dirty surface with its tip.
“I should have told ye about the egg,” she said without looking at him.
“Don’t worry about it,” Glen replied, his eyes on the port.
“How was the Desert?”
“Surprisingly less empty than I’d thought it’ll be.”
“Ha-ha, yea,” Jinx grinned and put the arrow back in her wooden quiver. The surface painted a dark brown with intricate gold carvings.
“Is that Zola’s?” Glen asked and she nodded, a veil of sadness covering her face.
“I’m sorry Whisper. She meant a lot to you—”
“She was pregnant,” Jinx stopped him. “Twas Soren’s. It fucked him up losing her.”
Glen grimaced. He puffed his cheeks out and glanced at the gloomy Gish.
Better pick a more pleasant topic.
“Hey,” he told her. “How are things with Leona?”
“I broke up wit her,” Jinx replied.
Damn.
Glen started coughing not expecting it. “Why?” He croaked.
“She loves the sea and I have the Gallant Dogs to rebuild.”
Change the subject.
Abort.
“Have you talked to Alix? Are you still going to look for that grave?”
Jinx sighed. “I am. Are you going to join us?”
“You require funding? Or company?” Glen teased.
“Both, I guess,” Jinx glanced at his grinning face. “What are you going to do wit it?”
Biscuit was her meaning.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Aren’t you afraid?”
Glen shook his head in the negative.
“No. I never did Whisper. For me he’s just like Outlaw.”
“A Wyvern is not a pet Glen.”
“Yet, everyone treated them like they were,” Glen replied and got up to stretch his legs. “You see, Outlaw is my buddy and so is Biscuit.”
“What am I then?”
Glen laughed and gave her a hand to help her up.
“You’re like family,” he told her all serious. Jinx stared into his face for a long moment, red-rimmed eyes contracting.
“Like a sister? A young aunt?” She chanced.
“Well… that’s not exactly…” Glen said thinking about it and the young Gish shrugged her shoulders dropping the topic.
“Hey wanna fuck?” She asked out of the blue a moment later and Glen recoiled dumbfounded.
“Whisper, for cryin’ out loud!” He managed to groan. “Good fuckin’ grief!”
“Wow,” Jinx retorted with a grin. “You thought about it? Hmm?”
“No, I didn’t!” He lied weakly.
“Mister Garth, I don’t believe you,” Jinx replied. “Now, since this rooftop is like standing on the top of a furnace, wanna race me to the street?”
“Ah… sure,” Glen mumbled still recovering his wits and by the time he’d finished talking, Jinx had taken two quick steps and then jumped down.
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Clint appeared just after the noon sun had dipped towards the west. He waved his hand once, sweat on his face, dark circles under his eyes and then started running. Glen glanced at Jinx, the Gish gave him a wink and then he turned to sergeant Ottis, the sinewy soldier nodding they were ready. With a sigh, Glen got out from behind the barricade and walked to the middle of the street.
Stiles and the pirates following after Clint saw him standing there, clad in his brigandine and paused unsure. Glen counted at least twenty, before stopping.
No Van Fleet though.
“Mister Garth,” Stiles started, hands crossed on his chest. “The broth’rs demand retribution! Why, the matter can’t be resolved another way!”
“Arr!” Several of them cried behind him.
“Tell him Nine Lives!” A passionate voice added.
“That’s right!” Said another, while a couple on the front row, just stood there and glared at him.
“Why is that?” Glen asked, his tone indifferent.
“Dayton died from his wound!” Someone yelled.
“An eye for an eye,” said another, the crowd gaining confidence.
“A hand for a hand,” Stiles added, not to appear disinterested.
“Will you fight me for it, Nine Lives?” Glen asked him and Stiles stood back disgusted at his suggestion.
“I’m a maimed man, pick another Mister Garth!”
“How about you?” Glen asked the man standing next to him, somehow managing to keep a straight face. The man sporting many silver earrings showed Glen his missing index finger.
“It’s me good hand,” the pirate explained, his tone reasonable.
Right.
“Sergeant Ottis!” Glen barked and behind him the soldiers started coming out, taking positions right and left from him. Shields and blades in hand, everyone covered in chainmail, since they’ve traded their Rida plates to Sir Gust De Weer’s men to better pass for a mercenary company.
The pirates murmured as one and Glen’s voice cut through the noise, hoarse as much as taunting.
“Will someone just step the fuck forward?” He asked and unsheathed Emerson’s blade. “I have better things to do, coin to make aplenty and a wife I’m dying to bed, than wasting my plaguin’ time,” he drew a heavy breath in and then unleashed at them, genuinely angry. “Way better things than burning time away, in the middle of the fuckin’ street, the blasted sun over my head, whilst talking to the likes of you!”
“I’ll fight ye,” one of them said and stepped forward.
Glen glanced over to the side of the street. Everyone watching for his answer.
“You know what?” Glen decided, all a performance. “I’m bored with all this. Fuck it. I’ll just kill you all,” he pointed his blade on the challenger. “Starting with you.”
The pirate, long hair braided, smiled a golden smile and then died with a bolt to the brain. Glen watched him toppling backwards and crashing on the street and sighed, feigning disappointment.
It was a hell of a shot, it must be pointed out here.
“Ah, well,” he said. “Never mind then. Hmm, you,” he told the one standing at the empty spot in their line and started walking towards them. The plan working perfectly for a couple of seconds, the pirates just about ready to break, until a young eager Rida soldier broke ranks and charged at them. He run past the slow walking Glen, a couple of his friends following him. First two, or three and then Ottis realizing they were going in piecemeal, charged them all down the street.
Turning a neatly prepared plan into a bloodbath.
Nevertheless Glen declared the matter a half-success.
> On the second month of autumn of 189 NC word came that a new warlord had sprouted in crime-ridden Eikenport. The mysterious man going by the moniker Mister Garth, took advantage of the Khan’s inability to control this faraway part of his kingdom and wrestled away from the pirates controlling the local underworld, a part of their business. He used a mercenary company to do it, one rather famous today, the Gallant Dogs. It was a bloody affair, few probably know in our times.
>
> With the authorities unable to dislodge him and the local merchants’ favoring coin and business over legalities, the man came to control almost half the ancient city. Rarely appearing in person, but well-connected and carrying favor with the Sopats’ of Lai Zel-Ka, Garth entered a lucrative agreement with the pirate captains and buried the hatchet.
>
> This lesser known contract was to open up a bit later, a trade route that no one had ever used for centuries. It connected Eikenport again with the narrow misty waters of Wyvern’s Mouth in Wetull.
>
>
>
> Lord Sirio Veturius
>
> Circa 206 NC
>
> The Fall of Heroes
>
> Chapter L
>
> Addendum
>
> -Volume II -
>
> (The Onyx Wyvern’s origins,
>
> The case for Mister Garth,
>
> Second month of autumn
>
> 189 NC)
>
>