----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
Glen
Arguen Garth
Hardir O’ Fardor
Lord O’ Morn Taras
Come soon, bring everything.
Part II
-If it comes down to it-
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
[https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKPGpiXGsmf-eb7mqdNYzu9BU2OJjpuPZtgNDAoi6f5yD8umpA9hDLtKMLfCzEKWA-cN0ziMZkH_52B_QovK6993o0iLeTwbeZN4nQjzBf9CsebmlE3GWhZUx8cqPP-E9vn8JOmRLJstCQQrWRlgmpKdZxLB5Ty5ZC1VKwgm0c0EAahhyjlzIa3MHO/s1605/WETULL%208.jpg]
(Right click on image to open fully)
-
“No,” Glen said firmly and kept his eyes on Inis-Mir rolling her gold egg all over her huge new bed, Iskay rolling alongside her giggling.
“I’m not staying behind husband,” Sen-Iv insisted setting her jaw stubbornly, seeing seduction hadn’t worked. Well, it actually had worked fabulously, if one wanted to be precise, but not to advance her demand.
“The decision has been made,” Glen told her matter-of-factly and glanced at Maeriel standing at the door, the ranger’s eyes on his daughter. “It’s a foray into hostile lands and jungle terrain unsuitable for babies.”
“I know of caravans,” Sen argued. “Inis-Mir is safer near you. We both are.”
“This is the safest place Sen,” Glen countered. “The supply train isn’t a caravan. You stay, end of discussion.”
“What if someone tries again?”
Glen grimaced seeing her worried. He didn’t like that, but he’d too much on his mind to add another problem to the task at hand.
“It won’t happen.”
Sen sighed and hugged his waist tight. “I don’t like it when you’re nervous,” she murmured in his chest. Glen kissed the top of her head, then cupped her face with his hands and raised it to stare in her exotic eyes mesmerized.
“Say you’ll stay here and be careful then and I’ll stop being nervous,” he told her.
“I can’t wait another year alone,” Sen warned him. “That was torture.”
It was, but there are worst things than that babe.
“I know. You’re my treasure,” Glen teased her touching the small diamond on her nose, his finger tracing her shapely mouth. “Literally. Let me get to the meeting please.”
“Can I keep you?” Sen-Iv purred trying again, kissing his knuckle.
Yes.
“No. It’s important,” Glen replied with a wink and pulled away.
“Do what Uvrycres says,” Sen said to his back and Glen paused with a frown.
“How do you know what he says?” he asked her and Sen raised a dark painted brow.
“The way you do,” she replied vaguely.
Ah, girl.
Glen checked to see he still had the dagger with him.
“I mean it Glen,” Sen-Iv whispered.
“I can’t just kill them all arbitrarily,” Glen murmured knowing Maeriel was hearing everything. All he needed now was for Jinx to start calling him a murderous tyrant. As if there were rulers that weren’t tyrants, or murderous. The Gish was suspicious enough already and fiercely disapproved of those wielding too much authority. No wonder they are stuck living on their islands. The Gish had never built a city, much less a kingdom. “That’s not how it works.”
The thing is of course Whisper is right most times far as what’s decent or not goes.
“Yes you can,” Sen argued harshly that darker side of her coming out. She would do whatever was necessary to solve a problem, however risky, or distasteful. “And it is,” his Cofol wife added.
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
Anfalon was present, the Zilan had brought his exotic spear along all the other weapons, but the guards weren’t brave enough to ask him to leave them at the door. It was doubtful Anfalon would anyway. Soletha had just arrived with Lymsiel and were standing further back, leaving the table to Fikumin, Folen, Aenymriel, Vaelenn, Metu and Voldomir. Angrein was busy, Voron was still at the new port and Leona passed out in the brothel for the second day in a row.
The latter a good thing.
“How many have you gotten ready?” Glen asked staring at the map with a permanent scowl.
“A hundred and fifty have Hoplite armour on, four hundred and fifty have gotten the old weapons. The rest we can’t arm adequately.”
“What do they have?”
Fikumin eyed him sternly. “They can’t go Garth.”
“What else?”
“Sam enlisted seventy adventurers of sorts,” Fikumin replied. “Half of them are criminals in my opinion. A number of pirates in the mix.”
“Criminals can kill stuff,” Glen deadpanned. “What about the caravans?”
“You don’t have a problem with the Sopat’s but I have three formal listed complaints here. They ask for leverage for their animals.”
“Not their guards?” Glen retorted.
“The guards will get paid by you.”
“How much do the merchants want?”
“More gold than what you have available.”
Glen sighed. This was always going to hurt him financially. “Pay them in wine.”
“The Zilan would want to get paid as well,” Fikumin cautioned him and Glen glared at Soletha. The female stepped forward and smiled.
“The producers will accept Garth’s word for a later payment,” she started and Glen nodded pleased, frowning when the mature Zilan added. “In writing.”
Soletha had a thing for official decrees.
Perhaps it was the fact she’d been exiled for so long.
“How many Cofols?” Glen asked Fikumin who glanced at his papers.
“About a hundred, mostly horse archers, but they come armoured. These caravan units are neither full knights, nor light cavalry.”
Expensive as fuck I bet.
“They get paid in coin?”
“Upfront for two months.”
“Six,” Glen countered readily. “I get the option to renew their services.”
“The merchants need to return Garth,” Fikumin reminded him, but Glen shrugged his shoulders indifferently.
“They could hire a new bunch from Eikenport. The road is safe,” he glanced at Metu and the Cofol gave him a scroll with numbers on it. “Supplies?”
“Nine hundred horses of various qualities, sixty mules and a hundred and twenty camels my Lord,” Metu replied. “We scrapped the city clean.”
“How many soldiers can we load on the ship?”
“Less than four hundred men without animals.”
Glen thought he should have brought all the ships, but he didn’t know Kalac would get himself in trouble and expedite the campaign. There was a lesson to be learned here, he decided. Always plan for war the same as you plan for a robbery. Bad shit might happen, an alarm raised, or the owner returning early.
“Anfalon your boys will use the ship,” Anfalon had fully trained two hundred Hoplites. The procedure brutal and with no wiggle room for mistakes for those attempting it. He would cut a cadet without a second thought if they veered off his instructions. “Plus another a hundred and fifty of the guard. All Zilan Fikumin and I want a commander.”
“You think Kalac might have gone to Eodrass’ Temple?” Anfalon asked him.
“Aye. It’s a small chance, but if he’d made it there you can break him out using the ship. If not you’ll march through the jungle road towards the bridge, but not engage afore you get word the rest of us have arrived.”
The two groups would probably be a couple of weeks apart, even with Glen using a completely mobile force. Fikumin taking his cue cleared his throat and summed up the numbers.
“Four hundred and fifty regulars from the city guard will take the long road,” the dwarf said using a quill to write the final numbers down on a fresh scroll. “Seventy adventurers and about a hundred caravan riders for the second group. This gives a total of six hundred and twenty. A bit more probably.”
“Everyone gets a horse?”
“We have horses. We don’t have good horses.”
“Keep the best, return the others,” Glen ordered and stared at the map again. “We must reach the neck of the crater as fast as possible gents. We will leave the supply train there, continue without it. Fiku we need a travel station built there. By the way that’s an oversight on your part mate. Make it a small fort to control the south approach towards the Pale Mountains.”
“We are doing all we can Garth,” Fikumin replied scowling.
“Do better,” Glen retorted. “Someone give me an estimation. I’m running out of spit god darnit! What is this? Speak up my friends! How long to reach the bridge?”
“Less than a month for sure,” Folen replied cautiously. “Two to three weeks.”
“Two or three?”
“It depends on the road,” Folen said. “It’s the rainy season.”
“I don’t fear rain, but I’m concerned about that Hydra. Soletha how did Pelleas manage to bring it here?”
“I don’t know Garth,” Soletha replied. “It was here when we returned to Goras.”
“Vemoro wouldn’t have moved from his marshes,” Anfalon elucidated. “It is strange that he did.”
“How do we know it was the same? Anyone asked for its plaguin’ name because for sure I didn’t?” Glen probed curious.
“You think there’s another?” Folen stood back with a frown. “That’s rather interesting.”
No dude, it’s rather disconcerting.
“All I’m saying is, perhaps he had to move because things were getting crowdy back home, or whatever the fuck they call what that thing lived inside,” he grunted.
“You’ll bring the Wyvern Garth?” Aenymriel asked innocently. Glen had almost forgotten she was there. Din as well, Metu almost had a heart attack seeing the assassin standing next to him. Soletha stepped forward and opened a vial in front of his face to bring the faltering Castellan about.
Glen grimaced, but nodded once to answer Nym’s loaded query.
He had to. Glen couldn’t afford to lose a potential confrontation. This is one of those rare times where the house owner comes at you with a cleaver, but ye have to make a stand and not leg it out of the window because the loot is un-fuckin’-losable, the window five stories up with sharp angry rocks waiting underneath it.
Ye better have a spear in hand then and skewer the motherfucker dead.
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
“Walk with me,” Glen told Aenymriel, the dressed in a simple dark blue kimono female following after him with a slight head nod. Her hair cut very short, in a military manner complementing her unadorned look.
They walked outside and waved for Kirk to stay at the door while they rounded the first corner of his villa leading to a dead end alley.
“People might talk,” Nym taunted and signed for Din who’d followed after them to guard the corner.
Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.
“What do people say when they do?” Glen asked her sternly. He had Folen’s report of the general mood in the city, but Aenymriel’s point of view was always interesting.
“The Horselord asked for help,” Nym whispered stooping near him. Up close she looked more female, her elongated ears very thin almost translucent. The small dark veins clearly visible under the pale skin. “Is Glen interested?” she asked sensing his scrutiny and Glen blinked.
“I’m just curious.”
It was the truth. Nym while comely without making an effort was also chillingly scary.
The crazy wench variant. He’d something of Lith in her.
Maybe it’s all that old blood, he thought.
“Perhaps you should sample Folen’s plebeian girls first? There are steps in pleasure one must take in turn. My tastes are rather fridge and frowned upon I’m afraid. Eh,” Aenymriel hushed with the tiniest hint of a blush, but she circled her finger in front her mouth timely afore finishing and her words were scattered in the empty street unrecognizable.
“What?” Glen gasped not understanding the meaning of her gesture.
“It’s a spell,” she explained. “What I said after ‘in turn’ is of little interest to you.”
Glen frowned.
“I’ve heard everything,” he admitted with a shrug.
Nym blinked slowly, her indigo eyes twitching in anger, but quickly relaxed her ire melting away. She then reached with a long thin index finger and tapped the pommel of his sheathed dagger once.
“Naughty witch,” Nym murmured with fake courtesy. “A wyvern’s bone hidden in plain sight.”
“Anything else?” Glen grunted.
“People wondered what your response would be,” Aenymriel replied.
Glen had feared that. He couldn’t show any weakness.
Leaving Maeriel’s pupils to get killed by the cultists would rile up the locals, even if no one cared about Kalac and his people.
“What is there we don’t know about?” Glen asked her.
“Olonelis, Elwuin, Onas and Paeris are members of the Council of Twenty currently living in Abarat,” Nym said confidently. “They backed Rothomir’s claim for the throne.”
“What throne? There’s nothing left,” Glen grunted.
“Yet, people say you’re the Monarch with a wyvern friend.”
“Hardir was supposed to have a wyvern.”
“But not to assume the throne outright. Hardir O’ Fardor was foretold that he’ll pass judgement to the wicked. As for the Wyvern, Pelleas started his journey trying to be you. When he found no Wyvern to befriend, or tame, he went for something else. In a sense he’s a Hardir as well.”
“He tamed the Hydra?”
“As much as you tamed the Wyvern,” Nym retorted calmly.
“Yet, you are backing me,” Glen countered.
Nym nodded. “I didn’t care about Hardir the myth. But this Hardir is a Monarch I can get behind. I like your style oh Arguen Garth. It has exciting potential.”
Hmm.
“How many other members are still breathing?” He asked her.
“Lord Suraer is one. He’s difficult to approach.”
“Where’s he?”
“Lo-Minas.”
“The guy is backing Rothomir?”
“I don’t believe he will,” Nym replied.
“Anfalon fears it.”
“Anfalon thinks militarily. This is a different matter. You won’t face riders in Eroshin.”
Glen frowned not knowing whether to believe her or not. His instinct was telling him Nym wanted him campaigning against Rothomir. She had urged him since the start to take action. Would she downplay the danger?
“Anyone else that can cast a vote?” He asked her instead.
“Your Anfalon. The Sorceress.”
Lith.
“You,” Glen said remembering Anfalon’s words and deciding not to bring Lithoniela up.
It was moments like these he missed those early days’ and the friends he’d found at the start of his adventure. Emerson as well. Yeah. Years later the image of Lith maiming their attacker didn’t appear as disturbing.
He’d seen much worse since those days.
“I don’t think the others would appreciate my presence Glen,” Nym said teasingly using his real name.
“I would appreciate yer vote,” Glen retorted. “So what the others think I don’t give a shite about.”
Aenymriel stood back pleased. “You only need one vote Hardir,” she said absentmindedly. “If everyone else is dead.”
Mine, was her hidden meaning and it chilled Glen’s blood, because he realized the Elderblood assassin was deathly serious.
“Let’s not go there yet,” he replied diplomatically and with a nod walked towards the corner.
“You are staying to guard my wife,” he told Din and the assassin glanced towards Aenymriel. “Have you found anything else?”
“Din believes the killer is on the loose still,” Nym replied for him and approached them. “Qanuq wore closed-type sandals and the footprints were from heavy boots. Pretty common unfortunately.”
“God darnit,” Glen cursed and pressed his lips tight. “Any way to narrow it down?”
“They were made on Jelin,” Nym replied. “Din thought he recognized the type of nails used on the soles.”
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
“Citizens of Sinya Goras,” Vaelenn finished her brief speech on the legality of his decision, with several historic examples of past massacres cited for the general assembly. Glen hoped it wouldn’t come down to that. A crowd of almost ten thousand had gathered to hear Glen speak about the coming foray in the interior of Wetull. Zilan, Cofols and humans making the majority of it, but Glen spotted a couple of dwarfs and the pink head of a Gish amidst the crowd. The festival stand used to give him a good vantage point over the mostly unknown faces. On the west side of the packed grounds stood the Goras soldiers in full battle gear, the light rain making their armours appear slick and new. “Friends, family, allies, associates and lowly slaves,” the judge continued in fluent common her voice rising menacingly. Vaelenn is one hell of an enthusiastic orator, fake hand, or not. “Bow afore Hardir O’ Fardor, celebrated Arguen Garth, First of his Bloodline, Keeper of the Onyx Wyvern, Lord of Morn Taras and the Monarch of Goras!”
Damn old girl, Glen thought appreciatively and stepped forward accepting Vaelenn’s deep curtsy with a broad grin, he quickly dropped to address the big crowd. The falling rain getting on his nerves.
“I could have gone another way,” Glen started nonchalantly. “I found wickedness aplenty here right? But we had a contract made you and me,” he continued in a reasonable manner, but loud enough to be heard over the roars on the sky. “A friendly understanding and an honest deal. We made things work here, kept each other safe by avoiding stupid shit. Some though think because we are peaceful and cultured individuals we ought to be made fools and taken advantage off. It won’t do,” Glen paused to stare at the silent nervous crowd and then glanced at Uvrycres watching him speak from the rooftop of Folen’s brothel. The Wyvern’s snout covered in vapors as it breathed under the falling rain and its glassy black scales shining bright with every lighting, almost as much as its gleaming rubicund eyes. “Maeriel’s rangers are precious, the Horselords are precious. EVERY FUCKIN' CITIZEN IS PRECIOUS!” Glen barked hoarsely getting all riled up.
EEERRRRRRRR
Uvrycres shrieked, the prolonged trumpeting menacing sound rattling Glen’s teeth and the crowd reeled in panic fearing he would unleash another fireball on them, the remnants of the burned up beach tavern’s footprint still visible on the granite tiles.
“Precious. Every citizen under my protection shall not fear any lord, any king and no FUCKIN' CULTIST! Tomorrow the army of Goras shall march down the coast and remind everyone responsible for this sleight, of this simple god darn fact! Our contract shan’t be broken! What I say goes and not otherwise. You know it, it’s high time the rest of those cunts learn it as well,” he finished under the thunderous roars of the crowd, a healthy mix of screams in it as well, probably fueled by Uvrycres that decided to blast a long column of flame towards the black angry skies.
For a moment the cool rain falling over the crowd turned to hot vapors, the warmth blasting a smiling Glen in the face very pleasantly. He waved at the delirious citizens and visitors and jumped from the stand lithely to walk towards his waiting council.
“That was pretty amazing milord,” Kirk commented sounding moved.
“Yeah,” Glen agreed grinning. “I thought so too.”
“Excellent speech Garth,” Folen said. “I liked the fireworks at the end.”
“Twas spontaneous,” Glen replied staring at Fikumin’s guards picking up a few of the injured and unresponsive. Soletha rushing to offer her services. Lymsiel had followed Anfalon and his own group that had departed earlier for Hardir’s Port to board ‘Fat Libby’. “Let’s hope no one died from it.”
“It’s expected,” Vaelenn assured him with a rare smile. “Am I to follow Garth to his conquest?”
“Foray,” Glen corrected her, wiping his face from the moisture. “Aye, you will come along. Soletha too.”
“I’ll make arrangements,” Vaelenn replied very pleased.
“Tell Fikumin to make a roof for the darn stand while at it,” Glen grunted, realizing he was soaked to the bone.
“A massive Auditorium is perhaps the correct word here,” Folen noted treading carefully. “Someplace where talented people can perform, after Garth’s rousing speeches.”
“Hmm,” Glen murmured unsure, not liking the use of massive next to unknown words. “Let’s speak of this another time. I don’t think I’ve the coin for it now.”
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
AERR
EAEEEEEEEEERRRR
ARRRRRERRR?
The shrieking Wyvern was flying low over the rows of riders early at dawn the next day, the horses neighing disturbed when its shadow touched them and the sun coming behind the heavy clouds a putrid orange red.
It painted the mounted men and women in its crimson hues ominously.
Sam Mathews and his group leading the seventy strong mercenaries. The men and women staying loosely with their friends. Hush, Jingo and Hilton Marlo with Sam. Mary Clopton and Lydia Hyde behind them. Zacharia and his hard-faced lads after them and so forth.
Ran-Sahor the Cofol mercenary captain with his hundred hardened guards.
The giant Hoplite Hobor, the Nord atop his great warhorse and Lyceron next to him, leading the hundred and fifty strong Zilan soldiers Anfalon had cut originally, but found themselves in Hoplite armour and spears due to circumstances.
Captain Caius Mutilus, a Legio veteran turned adventurer only to return to the army with a promotion and Lieutenant Barnaby Darcy his second, with the main force of three hundred guards clad in Cataphract scaled armour, swords and shields.
Glen stood up straighter atop Outlaw, the loyal horse snorting probably not excited to start another journey into the unknown. He secured the gold rimmed hoplite helm on his saddle and glanced towards the stand where families and friends had gathered to bid the soldiers farewell. A heavy mood all about the square, Uvrycres unnatural trumpeting shrieks not helping at all.
Jinx jumped from the stands to approach his group -Sen had stayed away for security reasons- and Glen smiled seeing her friendly face.
“Oi,” Jinx said and smacked his knee once. She looks tiny from atop Outlaw, Glen thought. A kid almost. Then he remembered that Jinx was still one in Gish years. While he was in his twenties and full manhood, poor Jinx had been left behind. “I have written some things for you to look for,” She had a tattered, twisted piece of paper in her hand. “Only grow on that part of the continent.”
“Whisper for fuck’s sake, I’m not going on a vacation,” Glen grunted and grabbed the paper with her unintelligible scribblings to glance at it. “What in Luthos lost gonad, is cosmos and Rost orchis?”
Soletha who was riding next to a rigid Vaelenn and a whistling annoyingly Folen, the Master of Silence had brought his lute along ‘to inspire the troops’, stooped and pored over the paper quickly.
“The first is a dark red leafed sunflower,” she commented. “Very rare, used in the drugs you’re smoking,” Glen frowned at her innuendo. “The other is a ghost orchid, so you were quite close Garth. It means testicle in old Lorian.”
“She wrote nothing close to that!” Glen blasted her. “That’s the letter R clearly and its missing stuff on top of that!”
“I did!” Jinx protested a bit flushed. “Look at the tight turn! It’s the same!”
Glen groaned and pocketed the crumbled paper.
“What does she need that for?” he asked Soletha.
“Nothing,” Jinx blurted out.
“Hmm,” Soletha murmured thoughtfully and reaching abruptly over the saddle slapped Folen squarely in the face to stop his whistling. “Lady Jinx is hoping to catch the larvae of a giant sphinx.”
“What’s that?” Glen queried even more confused than a minute ago.
“None of yer business!” Jinx hissed and punched him in the knee hard.
She howled miserably right after, hurting her hand.
Glen wore hardened leather knee pads over his pants.
Mail reinforced.
“A very big moth,” Soletha replied in her measured manner, whilst eying Folen disapprovingly. “If dried and grinded you can use it in fertility potions.”
“Hahaha!” Soren, the other member of Glen’s group, guffawed thunderously and Soletha glanced his way with a rare warm smile.
“Well that was not useful at all. More like disturbing,” Glen commented and signed for Kirk to get them going before it started raining again. “Whisper, I trust you to keep my family safe,” he said as a final word.
Jinx sighed and stood back from his horse still holding her right hand. “Don’t be a fucking idiot. It goes without saying Glen.”
“I meant you as well,” Glen told her seriously. “You’re part of it Whisper.”
“Uh? She’s what?” Soren grunted and turned his red head. “Since when? What is going on here Glen?”
“KIRK!” Glen barked after rolling his eyes so hard he almost damaged the nerve endings. “GET US MOVING FOR CRYIN’ OUT LOUD!”
If it comes down to it, Jinx had written him under her list of ingredients Glen should look out for, get yer stupid arse back safe ‘n loose the loot.
A wish, as much as a pointed reminder of the time Glen had almost gotten himself killed over trinkets in Hellfort years back.
Also a warning.
> Garth had a thousand men and women with him younglings. Zilan, humans and two giants. As many mounts. It was late winter, the year of the New Calendar 191. The year changed on the road as a matter of fact. Yes, the numbers don’t sound like that much today, but then you need to take into account the Wyvern. Uvrycres was young then, but still quite magnificent and the strongest wyvern of them all. Then there were the warriors that rode alongside him. Mighty Soren and the Majestic Lyceron. Aenymriel and the Great Anfalon. Hobor the Giant Nord and Noble Sam Mathews. All those that joined beyond the Canal. When Garth returned to Goras much later than he’d anticipated originally and for a different reason, Wetull had a king and the phalanx marched behind him. The famed knights of Cydonia with their silver masks and magnificent horses came alongside them, from one continent to another.
>
> You don't recognize the name for the people still call him today as they did back then, the dreaded King beyond the Pale Mountains.
>
> Duath Erin I Menel, the Shadow in the Sky.
>
>
>
>
>
> -
>
> Fikumin Flintfoot
>
> Jarl of all the Folk
>
> First Servant of the Onyx Wyvern
>
> Foremost Shield,
>
> of the King beyond the Pale Mountains,
>
> Lord Arguen Garth Aniculo.
>
> -
>
> Chapter IV
>
> -Prologue-
>
> (The Palace of Red & Gold)
>
> An Adventurer’s Tale
>
> Circa 250 NC
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
read it at Royalroad : https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/46739/touch-o-luck-the-old-realms
& https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/47919/lure-o-war-the-old-realms
Scribblehub https://www.scribblehub.com/series/542002/touch-o-luck-the-old-realms/
& https://www.scribblehub.com/series/547709/the-old-realms/