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Glen
Arguen Garth
Hardir O’ Fardor
Lord O’ Morn Taras
Monarch of Sinya Goras
Now you won’t have to fight them
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The Zilan buried their dead near the roots of old trees. There was a mystagogue surrounding the whole event held by the deceased closest friends, or family if present, a hierophant played by a respected older Zilan if they weren’t. So Anfalon got busy with that for the next ten days and Glen who’d seen one pyre too many by that point while simultaneously having no interest in the burial rituals of foreign peoples unless there was considerable loot deposits involved, just got himself busy with learning as much as he could about the situation in Abarat.
Which meant first that he was busy ‘healing’ back up again via the time tested manner of visiting as many Healers as he could to get the best possible treatment and extra potions. In order of trust Soletha and Lymsiel were at the top of the list, but Lady Darunia’s attentive personality could win over a granite plinth, plus she appears to be gullible as all fucks. He-he, right. Second, discover the fate of Vulas and his released soldiers carrying his offer to Lord Rothomir as a day into their crossing of the canal, parts of the ship washed ashore hinting at an accident.
Which was of course one way to put it, when the fate of the ‘freed’ soldiers was revealed.
Darunia blinked them big eyes and Glen blinked along with her afore catching himself. Keeping his expression as lordly as possible he waited for someone to say something. A long minute later he grimaced, a couple of nervous ticks starting on his face, Darunia refilled his goblet with some type of ‘fruit juice mix’, because it was ‘healthy’ or some other shite and realized no one present was going to speak afore him.
“Well fuck you very much,” Glen grunted unable to keep it in, just as Soletha grabbed the juice carafe from Darunia’s hands and send the comely Zilan to sit a chair away from him with a curt nod. Folen took the opportunity to strike a high note on his lute sitting cross legged away from their field table. The weather above their heads lovely, the topic grave and the situation approaching the desperate.
“Arguen Garth,” Elwuin started absentmindedly reading from his many notes. “Have you given thought on the matter of rebuilding the canal bridge? I’ve sent you a detailed proposal.”
What?
When unsure deny everything, he thought.
“No.”
“You could avoid—”
“Not the topic of this meeting Elwuin,” Lord Onas cut him off soberly.
“So we are to waste our time talking about something that can’t be fixed and avoid looking to the future?”
“Just sit down,” Onas grunted crooking his mouth.
Folen hit three deep notes while the academic found his chair murmuring under his breath.
“We should have a dance to celebrate the dead,” Darunia proposed next before someone could speak. Seeing Anfalon’s and the military heads present sour at her words she crossed her arms on her chest with a cute pout.
“Hardir please continue,” Anfalon urged the distracted Glen and the Lord of Morn Taras frowned not remembering what he wanted to say.
Ah.
Yes.
“Give me an update first on where we stand,” he dodged under Folen’s musical encouragement, this time with an epic four notes underscore.
“Does Garth wish to have him forcefully removed?” Soletha whispered stooping near his chair.
“You know what?” Glen retorted, while Anfalon sighed and grabbed a scroll from a Hoplite officer. “I kinda got used to him, but I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Bards must always be present. Every good story needs music. The bad ones need it even more,” Soletha replied. “Arguen Garth,” she added with a bow of her head eliciting a giggle out of Darunia despite her desperate attempt to muffle it with both her hands. Even the usually stoic-faced Vaelenn smiled at her reaction.
“Fuck it,” Lord Onas said scratching the almost white brow above his missing eye. “Pass me the juice carafe Soletha. I’m willing to risk the bowel movement at this point.”
Ha-ha.
“Go on Anfalon,” Glen said turning to the waiting Hoplite Leader.
“Three hundred and fifty four killed,” Anfalon started as gravely as one could and Glen’s face dropped. “A hundred still carrying various injuries, not life threatening and given excellent treatment by the healers present.”
“Gratitude Lord Anfalon,” Darunia said getting up. “It is an honor to work alongside you.”
“Don’t interrupt me Darunia. I’m reading a casualties tally!” Anfalon admonished her. “Get your arse on that chair and let me finish.”
Darunia’s face had turned white as snow.
“I’m sorry,” she croaked.
“What did I just say?” Anfalon grunted and the Hoplite officer next to him frowned.
Roran, Glen thought watching him closely.
He didn’t trust any of the newcomers and Nym’s advice to him was not to. The fact that he was missing his wife’s pendant since the battle making him twice more suspicious of people.
The pretty healer had collapsed on her chair crushed in the meantime and started crying which of course delayed Anfalon’s report even more until she got back to her senses.
Some desperate scenes ensued while her friends tried to help her recover.
Sam Mathews, who never allowed a good deed slip by him, offered to take her to the canal, the recuperating adventurer had of course befriended the Elrderborn much as everyone else and Glen agreed forgetting to ask whether Darunia wanted that or not. But no one voiced any objections so he decided that it was fine.
But of course wasn’t.
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“The men have scraped the place clean,” Anfalon continued twenty minutes later. “The supply train can’t keep up with the demand.”
“With so many killed we shouldn’t have problems,” Glen argued sounding callous, but it was the truth. Half his force was gone.
“You need to account for the prisoners and the Phalanx, plus the men I brought with me,” Anfalon replied. “In order to make good time, you brought the minimum supplies with you.”
“Hmm.”
That was correct.
“Anfalon is right Hardir,” Onas intervened. “You need to move. Either retreat to Goras, or cross Serpent’s Canal and head to Abarat.”
“Fikumin sent a caravan already,” Folen reminded him. “They are to stop at Hydra’s Marshes to build the fort there, but you can bring them straight here with a runner.”
“It will take weeks,” Glen told him.
“It will,” Folen agreed sheepishly.
“Can the more seriously injured move?” Glen asked Soletha.
“They can’t. I suggest leaving them here Arguen Garth,” the graceful older Zilan replied.
“We need to guard the docks from the Cultists,” Glen started thoughtfully. “Secure they don’t harass our lines of supply until the fort is finished. Send the ship to Hardir’s Port,” he decided. “Bring more people in Chimera’s Leg and repair the jungle road from Eodrass Temple. Cut rations in half for now to buy us more time for Lord Rothomir’s response.”
“He might not answer at all,” Onas noted.
“Who would?” Glen grunted.
“Lady Olonelis, you have her daughter,” Onas said.
“She’s not a prisoner.”
“Is she your subject? A noble female should be escorted by someone worth of note if he’s available. It’s another thing to scold her. The adventurer is a hired blade I wouldn’t trust to walk my horse.”
“Sam is as a good a man as you’ll get in these lands Onas and a friend,” Glen told him and Onas stood back on his chair with a grimace.
“Lord Onas, Hardir is foreign to our customs,” Anfalon reminded him.
“Humans devolved then?” Elwuin chuckled finding it funny for some reason. He was drawing something on a scroll, his fingers black with ink.
Glen got up and glared at the one-eyed Council member. “I know Sam and his people Onas. You on the other hand, I don’t know. Darunia will be fine that’s the end of it. Sam would take a blade for her. Now, I need a day to think on our next move. This meeting is over.”
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Anfalon left with Onas and Elwuin, while Soletha went to her patients in the field hospital to help a hard-working Lymsiel out. Vaelenn and Folen stayed behind with the addition of Aenymriel who unsurprisingly appeared after the crowded table next to the small docks building emptied. The clad in a leather one-piece full-body outfit female, also wore a cloak over her uncommon attire and was escorted by a sinewy hard-faced Zilan with short dark-blue hair –almost black, fierce yellow-red eyes and a short beard one very rarely sees on a Zilan. Glen remembered him working the supply train with Laedan. He’d assumed the Denmaster had picked him to help with the animals.
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
Apparently that wasn’t the case.
“Eh,” Vaelenn said.
“He’s tame,” Aenymriel assured the judge. “This is Varg, of… Cyran. He’s very trustworthy.”
Varg grinned a wolfish smile, his twin pairs of fangs thicker and more prominent. There was something feral about him, but he carried no weapons that Glen could see and he knew Aenymriel’s people were all weird.
“Right then,” he said and turned to Folen. “Sen isn’t in the caravan?”
“She’s not Garth.”
Damn you girl, Glen thought and puffed his cheeks out. Realizing everyone was staring at him he sat up straighter and rapped his fingers on the table. “Would Rothomir agree to a truce?”
“With his army lost, it is the prudent thing to do,” Vaelenn said.
“It is,” Glen agreed.
“It would be better,” Aenymriel started, but paused to stare at Folen and Vaelenn.
“Go on,” Glen urged her impatiently.
“Leaving the Council options is ill advised,” she said.
“We control the Council, the Phalanx. What can he do?” Glen countered.
“Anfalon controls the Phalanx, as long as your title is in question. He’s very old.”
“You’re not that much younger.”
“Eh,” Aenymriel chuckled. “That was very Zilan of you Hardir.”
“Nah, that was all Jinx,” Glen retorted. “You have a proposal?”
“Remove the army’s alternative options.”
Nym’s suggestions had all something in common.
Murder.
“No,” Glen said. “We are not in the business of murdering people,” he added and a runner came to inform them more bodies had washed up ashore.
Darunia had found them.
Luthos you piece of degenerate turd, suck a bag of dicks!
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“Well?” Glen asked eyeing the bloated corpses arranged in rows. Most of them carried bone deep burns on their bodies.
Meaning the bones were scrapped clean of flesh and blackened.
Ugh.
“Seventy seven,” Soletha replied with a grimace. “These are Vulas’ men and Axilyel’s rangers.”
“How do you know?” Glen grunted.
“That’s Ievis her lover,” Roran replied darkly pointing at a bloated head with most of his torso still attached, but nothing else. “I knew her.”
Ugh, right then.
Well the ranger cunt, I didn’t much like anyway, but this is a problem.
Fucking Luthos doing me dirty again.
“Vulas?”
“Can’t find him. The currents might have carried people on the other side of the Canal,” Soletha replied.
“The Wyvern did it,” Roran grunted. The Hoplite leader seemed all wound up and Glen could understand he was frustrated. Glen was frustrated as well, although he feared Uvrycres might have had a claw in the debacle since the start.
He glanced at Laedan, but saw that the Denmaster was not looking too optimistic.
“What do you think?”
“I don’t believe anyone made it,” Laedan replied and used a cloth to wipe the underside of his tearing drooping eye. “Unless they could swim after getting blasted into the water.”
“Why not?”
Laedan shrugged his shoulders. “Berries in a bowl,” he added much to everyone’s despair. Glen didn’t get it at first, but pretended that he had and nodded soberly.
“I’ll talk with him,” he finally said. “It was a misunderstanding.”
“Hardir with all the respect,” Onas said setting an accusing eye on him. “A lot of people were killed here.”
Well, I lost a lot people as well, but I’m not in your fuckin’ face about it!
Glen cleared his throat and eyed Anfalon. The Hoplite stood silent next to Onas.
“There’s no need for alarm,” he assured them sternly. “I will talk with the Wyvern and sort this thing out.”
“What would Rothomir think?” Onas asked him. “Olonelis?”
“This is a war Onas. It wasn’t my idea to start it,” Glen replied. “I gave him terms and he’s slow-walking us after getting defeated in the field. Make him see reason. I’m patient and very reasonable, but Uvrycres isn’t.”
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“They’ll think you ordered it Garth,” Folen whispered, when they reached his ‘quarters’. Glen glanced at a grim faced Kirk.
“Post guards. Our own people.”
“You think they’ll revolt?” Folen asked.
“No. But I want to be sure they know I’m thinking about it,” He replied. “Kirk. I want an escort for Soletha readied. Arrange for supplies.”
Kirk stood back with a frown.
“You’re sending Soletha to meet the caravan?”
“No,” Glen replied in the negative again and eyed Aenymriel, followed by Varg moving towards the Canal shores to check on the bodies washing ashore. “I want her back on that ship. I need her in Goras more than I need her here.”
Sen-Iv not taking his offer to join him, had worried Glen profoundly despite not showing it. He realized most of his closest friends were away and even questioned his decision to leave Jinx behind.
Then again perhaps it was for the better.
“Don’t send Soren back,” he told Kirk with a grimace. “I want him here.”
“Aye milord,” the bodyguard replied. “I suggest notifying Sam and Hilton Marlo.”
“I shall,” Glen said with a nod. “Kirk,” he said to the turning to leave ex-soldier. “You’ve done me great service these past years friend. Know that I have in mind to reward you for it.”
“Why, gratitude milord,” Kirk said moved. “Twas quite the journey.”
Yeah, Glen thought. It was, but it’s not over yet.
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The Hoplites were slowly boarding the transport ships two days later. Longer than any of the ships Glen had seen on his Isles, or on Jelin. Their lines narrower and carrying different decorations carved on their sides and the oar openings, along tall pairs of twin masts with different colored triangular main sails for each vessel.
Anfalon and the Phalanx were to depart first and secure their landing by taking control of the docks on the other side of the Canal. The rest of the army would follow, bringing most men across, but a large portion of Goras soldiers Glen had decided to leave behind to guard their hospital and camp, along Ran-Sahor’s riders. He’d given Mutilus orders to make sure the caravan arrived safely and to finish construction of the small fort. To heavily escort everything until they neutralized Pelleas’, but not to attempt to attack beyond the marshes.
Soletha had left the day before to get on the ship and return to Goras. Fikumin had assured him everything was fine, but Jinx was silent and Glen wanted another set of eyes on his family. Soletha with all her baggage had always come through for him, since Glen had given her the chance to avenge her slain daughter and repatriated her people. He kept Folen with him and Vaelenn, since the judge and ex-High priestess knew her way around the old court. Laedan was a better option here, but Glen quickly realized the Denmaster wasn’t well-liked by the old guard.
The dead Queen’s people, the dead King’s men, the Sorceress’ acolytes, the army and the pretenders. Followers of the Old Ways and the ‘reformed’ new Zilan. The strays. The intellectuals of Elauthin, the pragmatists of Goras, Nym, the Council of Twenty and the ancient aristocracy of Cydonia –mostly extinct now- all distrusting each other. Centuries upon centuries of old grudges, petty jealously, enormous egos and outright bloody murder.
You gotta watch them all my dude.
Glen groaned and puffed his cheeks out, feeling the ulcer in his stomach returning. He brushed his wild hair back, a couple of grey hairs sprinkled in them and heard the Wyvern’s trumpeting shriek coming from the skies.
Ah. There you are.
Uvrycres came to land behind the people loading at the docks, most stopping to watch the ever-growing Wyvern fully extend its impressive black with dark-red underside leathery wings to cut its momentum. Uvrycres hind legs plowed at the soft ground, digging two long lines out as he slid for several meters and then he dropped on all fours, two-horned wedge-shaped head snapping right and left energetically, until his burgundy eyes settled on Glen.
Everyone standing next or behind him had given the approaching -almost three meters tall and over five in length young Wyvern- the widest possible berth. He was taller than Soren and of course Hobor now.
“Where does all the food go?” Uvrycres jested in that peculiar Wyvern humor and clacked his glass-like sharp black teeth to form a deadly grin. Twice as many in his mouth than Glen remembered.
Everyone else had heard the Wyvern shriek at him.
“You grew… again,” Glen replied, resting his hand on the dagger discreetly.
I did and so have you.
Only less. You need to eat more food Glen.
“You shouldn’t have killed them Uvry,” Glen said and glanced at the silent crowd watching from the ships and the docks.
You would have fought them again.
This wasn’t a clear victory Glen.
Now you won’t fight them.
And it is.
Glen licked his lips, a twitch in his eye.
“A misunderstanding then,” he announced for those listening in and there were a lot of keen-eared folk around.
Let’s kill them all.
Burn Rothomir and his city.
Feast on their corpses!
Uvrycres bellowed in his mind and eyed him expectantly.
No, Glen told him and turned to face the crowd. “It’s done. We accept it and move on!” He yelled. “We march on Abarat to finish this stupid conflict! The sooner the better!” he added. The Goras faithful cheered but Glen spotted a lot of sullen faces in the crowd that dispersed slowly and got back to their business.
They’ll stab you in the back, the dagger whispered in his ear deciding to add its two cents.
They’ll come in the dark night. They’ll come in the light of day.
In your grave sorrow and in your feast of triumph.
Close and afar.
In your wake and in your sleep.
Glen grunted and reaching closer patted the still staring him Wyvern on its scaly hot snout.
“Any survivors?” he whispered, rubbing between Uvrycres horns protruding like small swords and equally sharp. He could barely reach far back on the large head now. The Wyvern’s segmented tail whooshed and made a protective loose loop around him, the wings shading Glen’s body from the eyes of the crowd from both sides.
Very few, Uvrycres replied in his mind, smelling of brimstone and earth.
They’ll bring the news and you’ll have the city.
You wanted to finish this fast friend.
It’s all you’re dreaming about.
That’s true, Glen agreed. You are right.
“But you have to tell me in advance,” he said and pulled away. “It’s what friends do Biscuit.”
The Wyvern blinked and blew warm air on his face. Then nodded with a horrifying smile as if getting it.
“A clever wordplay. Hahaha! Wait, you have one?” He asked cutting his laughter abruptly.
Glen did.
Never leave for a journey without enough food packed to feed a Wyvern.
Uvrycres who got the joke tipped his head back and roared very pleased. In the commotion of people fleeing, or duck for cover fearing the worst a livid Kalac challenged Sam Mathews to a duel for Darunia.
It sounded like a joke as well, but it wasn’t and it derailed Glen’s departure for a while.