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Glen
Mister Garth
Hardir O’ Fardor
And now, you are here
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> The old adventurer walked inside the brothel and found a spot at the bar. There was no tall stool at the near, so he remained standing. His eyes roamed the packed joint for a while, the ruckus grating to his ears after so many weeks on the road. Armium was a big city, a large port, but it wasn’t famed for its whorehouses.
>
> That didn’t mean there weren’t plenty around, or that the sailors and merchants that crossed the Lesia Desert weren't flocking to them just as everywhere else.
>
> The Lena eyed him from afar and he nodded respectfully. He turned towards the man behind the counter to order a cold beer, but a short girl jumped on the polished counter, skirt and tight top leaving plenty of skin showing. Some of the tattoos on her made out of black ink, the others reddish creating an elaborate pattern around her neck and down her naked back.
>
> “I feel much better to the touch,” She purred behind dark painted eyelashes, red-rimmed eyes hidden behind a curtain of thick pink curls. That face impossible to forget. Adding with a calculating stare. “But it ain’t free and this isn't a homeless shelter. Name’s Lynx. What do they call ye old man?”
>
> Luthos be cursed, Sam Mathews thought and stood back a little numb, the years not diminishing the shock of seeing her again.
>
> That ancient Gish was right after all, he decided and pushed his grey hair back, afore telling her.
Glen coughed to clear his throat, black smoke and ash billowing near the banks of the lake. The mist had retreated but the embers of Uvrycres wrath were still visible and half-smoldering, along the many corpses that is. He pulled away, eyes smarting and walked gingerly towards Kalac and Angrein that had gathered their injured near the first standing building at the outskirts of Goras, a hundred meters away. Fikumin tackled him before he’d a chance to talk with the others.
Literally.
The accursed dwarf almost tripped him up standing alike a heavy log in front of his legs.
Glen being preoccupied with examining the aftermath of the bloody scrap near the Eternal Springs and Lake, hadn’t noticed him standing there.
“Fuck’s sake!” Glen cursed, his ribs and chest hurting, tongue still lodged on his chipped tooth. He rubbed at his smarting knee with a hand glaring at the scowling dwarf. “Almost broke my knee there…”
“It was my head. You have weak bones,” Fikumin grunted and Glen raised a mocking brow at the easy retort offered on a plate.
“Friend, yer head is just too thick is all,” He deadpanned didactically.
And huge.
Fikumin snorted, but there was no coming back from the hole he dug himself into, Glen thought satisfied.
“You need to do something about the dead,” The dwarf grunted. “Afore it comes back to bite you.”
“What about them?”
“Your Wyvern is feasting on them for starters in plain view of everyone,” Fikumin explained and Glen frowned. “Same as some of the local Zilan. It freaks the rest of us out.”
Glen spotted a Zilan gulping down what looked like a liver, the Zilan pausing to lick his bloody lips afore continuing chewing on the piece of flesh.
Whoa.
“I’m working on it,” He replied, although he wasn’t. “Where’s Whisper?”
Fikumin snorted in disgust at his excuse and pointed at the two females kneeled over the covered body of Alix.
Ugh, for crying out loud.
“I’m going to…” He paused and grimaced in pain. “See what you can do about the corpses… the dead was my meaning.”
“Nobody is going anywhere near your wyvern Garth.”
“Hah, come on… you know him since—”
Fikumin glared at him.
“No one is going near Garth.”
“Fine,” Glen yielded. “I’ll see to that too. Anything else?”
“You need to send for the caravan to come here. I’ll speak to Kalac about it,” Fikumin offered seeing his expression.
“I appreciate yer contribution. I may need you for later Fikumin,” He told him. “This will be a team effort friend, there is no doubt in my mind.”
“That, I believe Garth,” Fikumin retorted with another grunt.
There, we are on the same page finally.
Cooperation and diplomacy.
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The exceptionally lithe Maeriel turned her purple and silver eyes towards him, a scar visible under her chin marring a very handsome face. She had a hand on Jinx’s small shoulder offering comfort.
“Hardir,” The Ranger greeted him getting up.
“Maeriel,” Glen said and looked at the silent hugging her knees Gish. “Whisper, we need to move him.”
Else gods only know what will come out of the woodwork, when night falls.
“We tossed Zola into the sea,” Jinx said hauntingly without looking his way and Glen flinched caught unawares.
“I’m sorry.”
“Dante I just left there in a field,” Jinx continued and Glen gulped down worried. He glanced at Maeriel, but the Ranger seemed to expect a solution to come from him.
“Whisper,” He started with a grimace. Glen could barely stand upright and was hurting all over, but he would have traded for another injury not to have to see the despair on the young Gish’s face.
“I can’t let them eat Alix,” Jinx explained to him and Glen noticed she grasped tight at that stupidly expensive medal with her hands.
“Nobody is going to…” Jinx turned her red-rimmed eyes to look at him and the words died in his mouth. “I’ll have Kalac build a fire… a pyre for our dead,” He said after a contemplating moment.
“I’ll run that way and inform him,” Maeriel offered and Glen eyed her suspiciously. Flix seemed to think it was a good idea to have those two come near, but Glen wasn’t so sure about it. Where the fuck was that old Gish anyway?
Maeriel frowned at first, understanding Glen’s hardening stare, but then gave a nod with her head.
“You don’t have to worry about her,” She reassured him.
“I’ll worry just the same,” Glen rustled. “I can be a mean man Zilan, if me and mine are threatened,” He warned her and Maeriel surprised him with a smile.
“It’s been foretold Hardir,” The Ranger replied and dashed away as fast as a gazelle.
All Gods damnit! Glen thought impressed, whilst looking at her fit arse hugged by her leather pants sashaying away .
Whoa.
What in the slovenly fuck!
Jinx sniffled and snapped him back to the harsh and gloomy reality. She had placed the gold medal back under the sheet, where Alix’s head would have been and covered it.
“You should—”
Keep that it worth’s a lot, was what he intended to say, but Jinx murmured talking to herself mostly and cut him off.
“He earned the fuck out of it,” Jinx said. “Stupid gold trinket.”
Right.
“You know what? Let him have it,” Glen said with a croak and helped her up, shocked at how small she was. “You put on some weight, even a bit of height me thinks, hmm?” He teased her not likening seeing her so depressed.
Jinx wiped her nostrils with her palm and then cleaned said hand on Glen’s pants.
“My tits are bigger,” Jinx explained and Glen felt her up a bit, pretending he was fixing her vest. “But if you are looking to bed someone stay clear from Maeriel.”
“Whisper, come on. We almost died, it’s natural to… fine. I was only trying to make you feel better.”
“Glen I have a feeling we’re not going to leave this place alive,” Jinx told him and Glen hanged his head with a groan of despair.
“Fuck’s sake Pretty!”
“I’m sorry,” She replied all sad. “I just feel terrible, but I’m going to be alright truly.”
Glen sighed. “Are you sure? I’m injured, but willing to stand here until you crack me a big ole smile.”
Jinx smiled and then shoved him away with both hands. “Aye, now go talk to these people you dork. Stop stalling and do some work for once.”
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Uh, Glen thought seeing Anfalon waiting for him outside the house Angrein had picked for them to spend the night, until the caravan reached them. The badly injured Hoplite standing rigid and impressive, though a bit chewed up.
“Hardir a word,” Anfalon grunted. Glen realized he was surrounded by a lot of scowling men and unstable females. He genuinely missed Alix then and sighed, his body hurting and in need of a long rest.
“What about?”
Anfalon pointed at the abandoned lake-suburb of Goras sprawling all around them. The buildings massive and tall, the rooftops angular and exotic. Everything build out of cut and polished granite.
Shit made to last obviously.
“There are a number of... civilians, former strays, I’ve given lease to stay on Imperial lands,” Anfalon explained appearing uncomfortable. “I want them moved here and take over this part of town. Phinariel’s village is built near very dangerous territory.”
Glen nodded, raising his brows hearing the young Zilan’s name.
“Alright, I don’t see the problem…” He trailed unsure on what he was supposed to say to that.
“They are not allowed to set foot in Goras. This was the Queen’s city,” Anfalon grunted eyeing him. “So you’ll have to decree it, also absolving them of fault for their lineage.”
Glen blinked more confused than before and eyed Fikumin waiting for him to get inside. The dwarf sighed and walked towards them slowly. Now being as he was so lacking in the leg department, Glen was willing to give him a pass there, but still the dwarf was extra annoying.
“In writing?” The dwarf asked the Hoplite.
“I will stand witness to an oral order,” Anfalon explained and Glen breathed in loudly looking at them blankly.
“You basically want to grab those houses—” Glen started and Anfalon frowned and barked cutting him off.
“I want to keep them safe and secure that there won’t be any retaliation!”
“That’s admirable truly, from whom though?”
“From no one if you decree they can stay in the city,” Anfalon repeated looking very agitated, or perhaps in pain. Glen could understand that, being in pain as well his nerves were tensed. Fikumin groaned in turn as if in pain too.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
There are a lot of injured folk around.
“Make the decree Garth,” The dwarf urged him.
“Why does this fall on me?” Glen argued. “Let them make their own decisions dwarf!”
“Were you forced into this position Hardir?” Anfalon asked him curious. “Tricked?”
Glen stood back. “I wasn’t. Not sure what you’re getting at friend and don’t much like yer implication. I’ve won my titles fair and square.”
Or stolen them.
Basically the same plaguin’ thing!
“This is what you won Hardir,” Anfalon said relaxing his strained face, arm still in a sling. “You get to be the judge and law of the land. It’s a favor I ask, you could always refuse to grant. I had to make it for Phinariel and her people,” He added.
Hmm.
“They can use the houses,” Glen said and Anfalon nodded.
“You will talk to the others then?” Anfalon asked him.
“Sure friend,” Glen replied and the Hoplite allowed a satisfied smile on his face and walked away to an expecting Lymsiel. There was a lot worry into that Zilan’s eyes Glen noticed and shook his head. Another pretty one this, he thought and seeing Fikumin had started walking ever slowly on his stubby legs towards the building, he went after him.
“Hey, what others?” Glen asked him and the dwarf groaned again.
“The Zilan living here was his meaning,” Fikumin replied.
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“Fuck,” Glen cursed and sat on the high back chair Angrein had fished out of another empty building. The blacksmith had it installed in the empty high-ceiling hall of the estate size central building he’d singled out for them to reside for the night. “I can’t move my hand.”
“The glove is soaked in blood, it turned hard. Let me see it,” Fikumin said and checked on his wound there, after cutting away the dried up leather. “You might need some stitches. The color is better at least.”
“Really?” Glen asked and looked for himself at the pale wrinkled skin around the cut.
“It would need more work,” Fikumin explained and tied a clean cloth over it. Then he helped Glen remove his armour and checked on the bruises on his chest. Glen had dark-blue spots over all his body, as if he’d been trampled under a horse.
Repeatedly.
“Ugh, someone has already looted the place,” He said looking about him at the empty, though roomy, hall. The drawings and frescos on the walls washed out by time and neglect. The floor cracked and dirty but surprisingly clear and the roof still standing, although in a strange angled shape.
“They just moved to the shore, or left a long time ago,” Fikumin explained. “This was an upper class vacation suburb near the lake.”
“Isn’t this Goras?” Glen asked, seeing a good number of Zilan entering the building under Sam Mathew’s scrutiny. The mercenary was standing ‘guard’ at the large entrance.
“It is, Zilan liked their spaces, but also loved having all options available to them at the near. So they usually built their retreats, hunting grounds, summer homes, inside their cities. Of course they needed to expand their cities for that.”
Right, Glen said recognizing Soletha and Maeriel in the at least fifteen strong group of Zilan. A couple of them dressed quite fancy for the occasion.
“Hardir O’ Fardor,” Soletha said. The priestess had thankfully cleaned all that blood from her face. She immediately prostrated herself before his feet. Glen sitting in his undershirt, and covered in sweat, blood stains and dirt felt a little silly.
“You may stand,” He rustled and glanced at the scowling Fikumin. “Snap out of it dwarf. I need someone to help me here. I can’t do everything by myself.”
“Of course Garth,” Fikumin grunted.
“Start contributing friend, I can’t carry yer arse all the time,” Glen warned him and the dwarf shook his enormous head and puffed out.
“Priestess Soletha,” The dwarf said to the expecting Zilan. Soletha despite her grief-stricken face was another fine female of her species. Not that males of her group were bad-looking. There was a symmetry to their faces, broken by their pointy and different in size elongated ears. “What is it you seek?”
“I wish to thank Hardir O’ Fardor for breaking Pelleas hold on this part of the city,” Soletha said in that half-Imperial half-Common Glen could understand for the most part. “We are ever grateful.”
“You lived here?” Glen asked thinking on his talk with Anfalon.
“We live on the coast, Hardir,” Soletha replied.
“Where is that?” Glen asked.
“In Goras Hardir,” Soletha replied and Glen stared at her blankly.
“How far is the coast?” Fikumin asked her.
“Mmm, it’s over a hundred kilometers to the northeast,” She replied looking at the dwarf a little troubled.
“I see,” Glen said, although he couldn’t. “So who was living here?”
“Higher Favored.”
“And you are?”
“The coast is full of artisans, like architects and engineers. The lake attracted bards, dancers, those favoring Naossis—”
“Hah,” Glen interrupted her finally hearing something he could understand. “I get the picture. Thank you Soletha,” He finished and looked at the expecting Maeriel that stepped forward.
“Hardir—”
“Yes,” Glen interrupted her, bored out of his mind and hurting from arse to eyebrows. “I get it, move along Mae dear,” He added.
“It’s Maeriel Hardir,” The Ranger protested civilly, but sternly.
Glen sighed, his tone hardening.
“Speak girl, I have injuries to tend to.”
“I formally petition the land hugging the Eternal Lake and bordering the Springs to be bequeathed to Phinariel and her people and for them to be allowed to enter Goras,” An insulted Maeriel thundered and Glen noticed several Zilan behind her -Soletha included- flinch and gasp in horror at her words.
Hmm.
“I’ve already agreed to it,” He said over the loud murmurs of the Zilan present.
“Gratitude Hardir,” Maeriel said with a sharp bow and retreated her face still strained.
“What is this Maeriel?” Soletha protested glaring at the Ranger. “You can’t take all this land for yourself.”
“It’s not for me Soletha, don’t try to twist this around,” Maeriel explained angrily. “There are over a hundred… strays struggling to survive near Hfrial Depths. Our kind is at the brink of extinction and I’m trying to salvage what I can.”
The silence inside the hall with the sealed windows and empty walls was deafening. Then almost all the Zilan present roared in protest, glaring daggers at the sweating ranger.
“That’s bullshit!” One of them said from the back.
“Yes, using the Gish to elevate herself,” Another commented, a short sour-faced female.
“Bringing strays inside Goras,” A well-groomed male regarded with a shiver. “Why, the Queen will turn in her grave.”
“The Queen would skin you all for worshiping the apostate’s spawn!” Maeriel snapped and things started turning ugly.
“Go back to your woods Ranger!” Someone yelled. “Take the streets with you!”
“You cursed hypocrites!” Maeriel snarled and reached for her blade.
“ENOUGH!” Fikumin boomed cutting through the noise. The voice reverberating inside the hall, huge and belonging to a much taller person. Glen stared at him with a newfound admiration. “You’ll behave afore Hardir O’ Fardor,” The dwarf added glaring at each one of them. It was an impressive sight, with him being the shortest person in there and all.
“You,” Glen said and pointed a finger on the well-groomed male. “Come forth and explain.”
“Hardir,” The Zilan said diplomatically. He wore a rich red and finely-tailored doublet and soft leather boots. “The Queen had declared all strays to stay outside the city proper.”
“She also had ordered your lot exiled Voron, yet here you are!” Maeriel hissed all flushed and Glen spotted Jinx peeking inside the hall curious.
“The Queen is dead,” Glen said and grimaced. “And I see no city here…” He added looking at the Zilan with the funny name.
“Voron, of Wylariel Hardir,” The male said quickly with a curtsy.
Yep that’s a name that could get you into trouble, Glen thought with a half grin.
“Mor… Voron friend,” He started almost tripping up a bit. “Goras is gone, destroyed.”
“Most of it is,” Voron agreed.
“We are trying something…” Fikumin cleared his throat and Glen glared at him. “I’m trying to build something new here. A place where you and your…”
“Apostate’s daughter acolytes,” Fikumin reminded him, using even more complicated words. Probably on purpose. “That would be Edlenn Garth. An Elderborn quite famed.”
Not to Glen it wasn’t.
Hell, he had no idea who all these fools were. He remembered Prince Sahand’s wife though. The memory alluring. He cleared his throat and thought of Sen. It didn’t help alleviate his arousal at all.
“Right. You people could stay and Maeriel’s folk could stay as well,” Glen continued diplomatically.
“Hardir, these are lawless strays. Living in the woods, uncultured,” Soletha argued.
“These strays… and I find ye a little bigoted there milady. Anyways they came to your assistance Soletha. They brought Anfalon and Maeriel to fight for you, whilst you more cultured folk were killing each other and other disturbing stuff.”
“Will Hardir revoke the Queen’s ban on the Old Ways?” Voron asked him.
“Hardir will do whatever he believes is needed to make this thing work Voron,” Glen said, his patience running thin. “This part of the old city belongs to Phina’s people now. It is decided. I suggest you get along with each other. The way I see it, it’s a roomy city. There’s space for everyone.”
“Gratitude Hardir,” Maeriel said.
“We will need the decree in writing,” Soletha said. “There are citizens still in hiding. The ban must be lifted Hardir.”
“Let me think on it priestess,” Glen replied and looked at Voron.
“What did you do afore all this?” He asked him and Voron frowned.
“I was an architect, Hardir. I have a hundred and fifty years of experience.”
“Were ye any good?” Glen asked him and the haughty Zilan hissed at the insult.
“I finished Ninthalor’s Bridge over the Gulf.”
“Isn’t that in ruins now?” Glen mocked him. “Anything still standing?”
“I didn’t have time to dwell on other projects then and the later years were plagued by a lack in funding,” He admitted wearing his professional face. “But I’m still young Hardir and full of ideas. May I inquire why?” He asked and looked at Glen with renewed interest.
“The whole place is a fucking mess. I know how it sounds guys, but trust me it’s disappointing as fuck,” Glen replied and tried to stretch his hurting back. “I need stuff build to make coin out of it and keep everyone fed. It’s simple economics and unless you big-eared people have valuables stashed in yer basements I should know about, we better start doing it sooner rather than later.”
His words were received lukewarmly by those present, but Glen thought it was a fine ending to a dreadfully boring ordeal. Jinx approached him after everyone had gone away finally and told him Flix was leaving.
“Where is he going?” Glen asked her, not likening the sound of it.
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Flix, wearing a fresh -a bit garish- yellow dress and that typical great hat of his, was waiting by his horse. The animal laden with a couple of bags of supplies from the caravan that had arrived an hour before dark. From afar he looked like an old very short woman smoking her pipe, reminding Glen of the first time he’d seen him up on that pile of debris in Rida.
Almost ten months back.
“It will be dark soon,” He told him and Flix nodded blowing smoke out of his nostrils.
“Easier to move in the dark,” The old Gish said and reached in his bags searching for something. “And you’ve opened up a road through the jungle.”
“The tunnels will be nigh scary to pass alone.”
“Aye, they will be.”
“Why leave now Flix?” Glen asked him. “We’ve so many things to work on here. That Pelleas dude might come back.”
“You have things to do Garth,” Flix said finding what he was looking for. It was a thin metallic pipe. The bronze engraved with silver on it, shaped like the vines and leaves of the aromatic drug the Gish enjoyed. “But this is the end of my long years of service for me. I’ve nothing more to give, precious little time to live.”
“Flix come on, you’ll outlive us all buddy,” Glen told him and the Gish chuckled at that and offered him the expensive pipe. “Isn’t that what Angrein made for you?”
“I’ll keep the old one,” Flix replied. “I’ve gotten used to it.”
Glen accepted the pipe and flipped it in his palm once impressed at the quality.
“What I’m supposed to do now?” He asked him and Flix frowned, his eyes searching the lake that still washed out pieces of blackened Hydra flesh.
“You’ll find that out on your own Garth. You have good friends and a Wyvern,” Flix said a little moved. “You’ll be alright. It is written.”
“I don’t believe all that crap Flix,” Glen told him.
“Hehe, neither do I, but still I had to test you,” The Gish retorted with a chuckle. “Never forget that. Words are meaningless and mostly lies.”
“Where will you go now?” Glen asked, just as Flix got out his peleg and flipped it once in his hand.
“I’ll just pick a mission of my own. Travel to Yelin. Swim in Valeria’s lakes if I make it,” Flix replied and tossed the throwing axe to Glen, who caught it with his free hand. “Have Angrein make you a proper armor. Keep Anfalon on your side and remember all Zilan will charm you if you go near them, even unwittingly. Don’t mistake a spell for real feelings,” The latter giving the sense it wasn’t intended for Glen, but for himself.
“How can I tell?” Glen asked curious.
“Actions speak louder than words,” Flix told him and climbed on his horse, his legs not reaching the stirrups. “The rest you’ll figure out yourself, chop-chop.”
“I’m gonna miss you, old Gish,” Glen said his voice cracking.
“I intent to make it back here, Garth,” Flix said and lit his pipe again with a firestone. “But it is very likely I won’t. These past months was the most fun I had in years,” He added truthfully.
“Right, well I can’t say the plaguin’ same. Any last words of wisdom?” Glen rustled, looking towards the darkening woods.
“Be mindful of the shades,” Flix said, face hidden under the veil of his hat. “And when you hear of the last King’s fate, ask what happened to Elas sister.”
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Glen watched the old Gish riding away until the woods and the darkness that came hid him from his eyes. He turned back and walked towards the first buildings of Goras, leaving the woods and the quiet waters on his back. He could hear Uvrycres shrieking over the Lake’s surface as he left to visit whatever it was the Wyvern was visiting each night.
Glen paused when he spotted Jinx making out with Maeriel under a cedar tree and was about to head towards the big fire the men of the caravan had built in front of the estate, when he noticed a pair of indigo eyes watching him from inside the open doorframe.
“Hardir O’ Fardor,” Aenymriel hushed, her voice full of promises.
“Almost didn’t see you there,” Glen told her.
“Yet, you did,” She replied and stepped into the light coming from the firepit. “You also brought the strays into the fold. A bold move.”
“They needed a place to stay,” Glen replied. “What class is a surveyor?”
Aenymriel crooked her mouth into a smirk. “Something I picked up in my travels. An old Gish wouldn't know that. How does a scoundrel become a Knight?”
“I’m more than a knight,” Glen replied and crossed his arms on his chest.
“Yes you are, Garth,” She replied flirting with him, but he remembered Flix’s words and pulled back. Aenymriel watched him for a moment with that strange glowing eyes and whispered so only he could hear. “And now you are here.”