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Glen
Arguen Garth
Hardir O’ Fardor
Lord of Morn Taras
Monarch of Sinya Goras
Abarat
Part I
-Broken gold arm-
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The road had taken them away from the lake and the basalt flat rises in a long half a loop through an exotic but clearly pruned forest straight next to a massive mound of rubble. The local flora hadn’t spared the ruins, but for spots…
And square, finely cut holes, the experienced burglar in Glen recognized as entry points.
Folen’s lute chords jingling rapidly at the touch of the bony pick –once part of a finger- and his nimble thumb working the thicker strings in the encore, accompanied by his rhythmic humming.
“Ta tum ta-taaaa!” Folen droned on top of his horse, a leg crossed over the saddle reminding Glen of Jinx, to better control the music instrument. “Tum tata, tum tatum taaa, uhum,” the humming repeating at an increased pitch, almost alike an aroused cat in a hot summer night getting gangbanged by the whole hood.
Most annoying music Glen had ever heard. The top five had three of Folen’s ‘own’ tunes.
“FUCK’S SAKE!” Glen roared all riled up, Outlaw neighing disturbed underneath him at the sudden brouhaha, afore stopping altogether. Kirk that was riding next to him pulled at the reins to stop as well a moment later.
“It is a catchy tune,” Soren said crunching on a spherical red fruit. Either the mother of all tomatoes, or a pepper, if he was lucky. There were a lot of spores dropping from that thing. “Adventu… ehm…”
“…rery!” Folen helped him finish the incorrect word stopping his singing and playing, Darunia heard still droning right next to an amused Sam Mathews, afore stopping herself with an embarrassed cute gasp.
Eh.
“There’s no such thing!” Glen growled.
“Heard it from a bard no less,” Folen argued, striking a couple of more notes for emphasis. Onas who was riding at the front, turned around abruptly and hurled a small stick he used to scratch his nappe at him. Folen dodged it managing to stay on the saddle somehow, which Glen thought was nigh impressive given his position. “Adventurers through and through,” Folen added a little peeved with the old Zilan.
“When was that?” Glen grunted and spotted Elwuin leaving the trail and heading for the large mound of ruins. Luthos had a boil amidst the balls! The long procession was coming apart at the seams. “Hey!” He yelled at the distracted scholar.
“Eh, a mere hundred years ago and some change,” Folen replied and Sam frowned.
“Gods darnit,” Glen cursed having moved on to more pressing matters. “Somebody stop that fool!”
“He’ll be back,” Folen assured him.
“You want me to go get him Glen?” Soren asked and Glen sighed.
“I’ll do it.”
“Nonsense,” Vaelenn said, the Judicar of Goras had a fine light-blue mesh over her wet hair, since she had ‘dipped in a spring’ while they were watering the horses with Darunia. “Master Sam should go.”
“Ah, leave it Sam,” Glen retorted. “Elwuin needs special care.”
“Pfft,” Lord Onas differed audibly.
The legit adventurer of their group along with Jingo and Marlo, the latter a more dour version of himself after Snakeville shrugged his broad shoulders. The three men had membership to the Guild and everything.
“Wasn’t going to go after him,” Sam admitted crooking his mouth. “Just got a bad vibe from the Judge there is all.”
“Your services are no longer needed is why,” Vaelenn hissed hauntingly and Glen puffed his cheeks out unsure what was this about. He clicked his tongue and with another glare at Folen who had sneakily started thumbing the chords seeing him on the move, Glen left the road and rode after Elwuin.
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“Elwuin!” Glen yelled. He’d reached the base of the massive structure and jumped from his horse, who proceeded on tasting the prairie sprouting out of the flat ground. “Shite!” he cursed, stumbling on a rock hidden under the grass. “Motherfucker!”
“Lord Garth?” Elwuin’s voice came from one of the openings. “Here.”
“Where?” Glen grunted climbing the slippery slope to reach it. “Found anything in the hole?”
“It’s a door,” Elwuin explained and Glen walked through the dark opening towards the light coming from the other side. Almost cracked his head open stepping out of it, his boot plunging down to the void without warning. The terrain was starting much lower than the lip of the threshold.
Over a meter in difference. Glen had to roll midair and turn sideways to land on a shoulder, luckily not connecting with any of the protruding rocks.
Plaguin' cretin!
“Beware,” Elwuin murmured stooped over a pile of rubble, next to what had been a staircase. The inside of the massive building gutted, the ceiling collapsed and few walls still left standing of what once had been at least a six-story high structure. “The floor has caved somewhat.”
“Gods damnit,” Glen growled hoarsely, rubbing at his hurt knee. “You could’ve told me that sooner!”
“Uhm,” Elwuin replied cleaning what looked like a piece of porcelain with his sleeve.
“That’s a lot of caving,” Glen griped approaching him now sporting a slight limp.
“There are a couple of floors under us,” Elwuin explained absentmindedly.
“Is it safe?” Glen asked and looked about them. The open sky above them letting plenty of light in to shine on the devastated surroundings.
“Nothing is safe,” Elwuin replied. “A bug can sneak in your throat, when you attempt a morning yawn. Get stuck in there. Die, or lay a million eggs.”
“Right. I get the picture,” Glen grunted with a shiver. “Was this a palace? It is pretty massive in size.”
“An Academy.”
“Uhm. Lots of students?” Glen asked, checking around his boots for any snakes. There were dangerous-looking holes on the debris covered floor, dark and creepy.
“Not really, but Quiceran loved large spaces,” Elwuin said licking the porcelain to clean it better. Glen shook his head and caught the glint of something in one of the larger chasms. Something metallic and yellowy. He walked there and started moving rocks out of the way.
“Any mining lessons given?” Glen asked preoccupied with unearthing the item.
“Other than alchemy, everything else was either art, or architecture. Engineering for those looking for something to get their hands dirty.”
He found a moss covered cup first, attached to a hand. “Shit!” Glen recoiled.
“Animals come over to nest—”
“No ye fool,” Glen interrupted him annoyed and breathing heavy. “That’s an arm holding a cup right here!” Not a corpse. A genuine gold cup, held by a gold-looking arm. Half an arm. Eh. Hmm. “Help me out here,” he urged the distracted scholar. “I think dis is gold gods damnit!”
“Haha, yeah it is,” Elwuin agreed coming closer to see for himself. “The main hall had these golden statues about. Pretty garish, but for Nuala and Naossis I suppose,” the scholar continued, although Glen had stopped listening after the ‘golden statues’ part.
“When you say gold…” he queried lifting the unearthed piece of treasure up. “Do ye mean, like hollow?” Glen turned it around to see for himself. That thing weighed a ton.
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
“Nah,” Elwuin replied, the chopped off arm slipping from a stunned Glen’s fingers and hitting the rocks under him. It cracked the cup right the middle. “The Rock was basically a gold mountain. No need to be frugal on the material.”
“The Rock?” Glen asked stooping to pick up the hefty piece carefully.
“On Cydonia Cazan,” Elwuin elucidated and Glen’s mouth turned numb.
“A gold mountain,” he repeated slowly, feeling dizzy. “That sounds… rather big. Mm?”
“Haha, yeah it was Lord Garth. Or eh... I don’t really know how things are over there now.”
“Your meaning is?”
“Well, the place went under, but for the peaks I suppose,” Elwuin explained and examined the piece of the statue Glen held in his arms.
“So… there’s a peak,” Glen murmured thoughtfully.
Of fucking gold!
“Luthos,” Elwuin said cutting his internal excited outburst short.
“Luthos willing?” Glen guessed. It made sense, but still…
“No, that’s Luthos statue you have there,” Elwuin corrected him. “Now that’s quite unlucky.”
“Why is that?” Glen asked narrowing his amber eyes.
“Well, that fool’s statue was the smallest one,” Elwuin sighed pensively looking about the destroyed structure. “Somewhere under the rubble are much bigger pieces and much more important finds than gold I suppose.”
“Gems?” Glen perked up. Sen loved gems. He did as well. Diamonds the most, because they worth a fuck ton of gold coins. Haha!
“Eh, no… people, old perished colleagues,” Elwuin replied with a frown.
“Encased in valuables?” Glen probed peacefully not to disturb the dead.
“No. Just robes, these were scientists Lord Garth. Pillars of knowledge.”
Fuck them then.
“Uhm. Well, first chance we get, we need this place properly cleaned and everything of worth dug out,” Glen decided and tried to slot the arm in his satchel, but it was too big.
So he kind of held it with his right hand, but it weighted him to the side a bit, which was bothersome.
But not enough to leave it behind.
Hah.
“You mean that?” Elwuin asked sounding moved, afore catching himself. “It will mean a lot to have all those poor souls placed near a tree properly. The people will cherish the gesture Lord Garth.”
Glen stared at him blankly for a moment unsure what he was talking about and then nodded. “How do we get out?” He asked the scholar, among other things.
“Back through the opening,” Elwuin replied nonchalantly and started walking on the bombarded floor to the direction of the now much higher exit.
“You mean climb?” Glen grunted following after him. “I thought you knew of another way damnit! A carefully placed rope, or something! Dude no offense, but ye suck arse at looting! I’m bringing Jinx next time.”
And Soren, for the heftier pieces.
Belaeg Oel IL-Hoer
(Great Acid Lake)
South banks,
Vines Wall approach to Abarat
Summer of 3398 IC (Third Era)
192 NC
A lithe Zilan wearing a simple short tunic paused at the narrow top of the long wall of vines and looked down at their long procession curious. The twenty meter tall ‘wall’ was wider at its foundation and about two meters thick at the top. It was fully covered with vines, wiry branches heavy with large colorful grapes and had thick knotted ropes dangling down every three or four meters, all the way to the ground. It continued on for kilometers following the banks of the mist-covered lake, leaving a large empty weeds-covered no man’s land on the other side and ‘restricted’ access to the giant lake’s shores. Dozens of Zilan were walking its top and worked on gathering the grapes in large leather sacks they carried over their shoulders. As many Glen spotted climbing down the other side using another set of knots-covered ropes carrying long sticks.
The sonorous sound of many bronze Lurs came from the distance, probably the towers of Abarat. One moment the fine granite road they had been following was quiet and even idyllic, the wilderness of Nature so characteristic in the jungles around Goras tamed somewhat, or perhaps cultivated, the other, Zilan appeared on top of the Vines Wall and structures sprouted near its foundations. Yards and bizarre scalene triangle shaped houses, three-four human stories tall, but in typical Zilan fashion mostly one regular one story buildings with very tall ceilings. Space was everything. Most rooftops so high they connected to the top of the wall with narrow suspended bridges.
Some of the perilous rope-bridges as long as a hundred meters.
A veteran burglar would have a panic attack crossing these motherfuckers, Glen thought.
But it can be done.
Colorfully dressed locals appeared at the thresholds, some very near Phina’s age, or even younger than the curious female. Others followed by laden ostriches carrying supplies, or in small groups. Most pausing, or moving away from the weary horses. A few raising their arms, thumb and index finger extended in the old Imperial salutation.
Glen stood up straighter at the saddle, glanced nervously at the sky to make sure Uvrycres wasn’t going to dive on the clueless citizenry and blast them to smithereens, afore turning to Vaelenn for advice. Folen whispering before he could get a word out.
Too low, given the cursed horns/lurs, or whatever the allhells those things were, blasting his ears out, for Glen to hear him.
“What was that?”
“The supports for the wall are on the other side,” Folen repeated. “Garth has poor ears.”
“Other than the fact I don’t give a shite about it, Folen is missing teeth in his future,” Glen retorted curtly. “Do you know how it happens? Bring your face closer lest the secret gets out.”
“I rather not, oh ye great tamer of beasts.”
“Hmm, while you’re right, I don’t believe you mean it.”
“He’s nervous,” Vaelenn intervened with a sigh. “It is better not to speak a lot Hardir. Remember you don’t have to explain yourself in the open.”
“I wasn’t going to,” Glen replied sourly eyeing Folen suspiciously. “But I’m also not against the idea of a good word salad, if it gets the needle going in our favor.”
“What needle?” Folen queried annoyingly, having moved out of Glen’s reach.
Or so he thought.
Glen reached for a hardtack and then flicked it expertly from the hip, catching the Master of Silence –the position quite ironic considering Folen had strained everyone’s nerves in the trip with his ‘songs’- right between the eyes and snapped his head back.
“On the cosmic scales,” Elwuin started eyes closed as if visualizing the scene and everyone groaned mimicking the pained Folen not really wanting to expound on it. The scholar had approached on his mule, but Folen gave the animal a smack on its rear and it jolted forward away from their row, with the distracted academic continuing his long monotonous diatribe on whatever had caught his fancy.
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The walls of Abarat were taller than the wall Lord Rothomir had built. They stood angled, inclined outwards at its foundations, then shot straight up, the polished granite blocks it was made out of seamlessly joined. Built on a hilltop, its main gates were so big they almost reached the top of the inverted triangle shaped crenels and they were ovule-shaped. Made of wrought iron plates painted a dark bronze. Like its walls.
“Abarat means strength,” Vaelenn informed him, but Glen’s eyes were set on the Zilan riding a fine white stallion, its long mane braided with gems and colorful strings. She wore a long purple, silk-like chiton dress and had her hair caught loosely away from her austere Zilan face. Her clean long hair a pure white with several purple strands in it, which judging by Anfalon and Onas meant she was ‘old’ by Zilan standards. “This is Olonelis ‘The Astute’, Darunia’s mother,” Vaelenn added with a small frown. “Coming to meet you at the gates,” she added knowingly, as if Glen was some philistine brute that would start berating the old but charming Council member for not doing it, or even throwing pieces of food at her.
“Uhm,” Glen murmured after clearing his throat, as their horses climbed the sloped terrain towards the gates of Abarat. The approaches to the walled city mostly covered with fields and neat exotic estates like the ones in Goras. In fact, much of the city seemed to have spilled out of its walls and grew around them up the gentle slopes.
The severe Hoplite helmet and figure of Anfalon standing at the end of a long row of his men inside the Gates, the first familiar thing Glen had spotted for a while.
“Abarat salutes Hardir O’ Fardor, Arguen Garth, the Ruler of Morn Taras and the Monarch of Goras,” Olonelis started in refined, but by now more or less comprehensible Imperial to Glen, her long arms clasping the horn of her engraved wooden saddle. Granted she had used words he was pretty familiar with. “The Council of Twenty recognizes his claim over the land and Olonelis speaks for the Imperial citizens that have found refuge in the city’s embrace. Abarat yields Hardir, we shall not fight.”
“Um,” Glen grunted and gave a solemn nod, unwittingly sucking at his upper lip afore catching himself and assuming a more grave expression, as befitting men of his station and stature.
The moment dragging.
“I’m Vaelenn, famed Olonelis, Judicar of Sinya Goras,” Vaelenn thankfully said in as fine Imperial, seeing as Glen had a nervous tick starting on his left eye he could barely contain and he didn’t want to move his hands away from the saddle’s pommel, if things got worse. “To the Heavens above our greetings wise Elderblood. We come in peace.”
Bearing no fuckin’ gifts.
Other than a heavy broken gold arm, he wasn’t going to give up that easy.
Finders keepers old lady, he thought eyeing the wise Zilan female warningly.
“Our thoughts and prayers,” Olonelis replied in Imperial with the hint of a smile and with a nod probably to her daughter that was standing next to Sam Mathews a couple of rows behind Glen and Vaelenn, for much of the journey now that Glen thought about it, she turned her magnificent mount and waited for them to enter.
Oh well, Glen decided with a shrug, some of his uneasiness settling and clicked his tongue to move Outlaw near the rather tall council member and Elderblood apparently. While Olonelis was a fine looking female, Darunia was besting her mother on that department by a good margin, he thought, which was a weird line of thinking to delve on given the timing and the place, but Glen did it anyway.
Because he could.
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