----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
> Belaeg Oel IL-Hoer
>
> Elas Bridge
>
> Summer of 66NC
>
> Eighteen years into the reign of Duke Rupert I ‘the violent’ of Asturia
>
> A hundred and twenty into the reign of Lord Rothomir of Abarat
>
> 2274 years into the reign of Lord Suraer ‘the Mithren’ of Lo-Minas
>
> Seventy two years after the Fall
> ‘Let me try this again’, Valwarin thought, tip of his tongue out the side of his mouth, the nineteen year old busy checking the chords and the tuners on his scratched lute again. Folen the willowy Zilan, well combed and oiled blue hair on his head, big golden loops hanging from his rabbit like ears, watching him carefully with those gleaming large eyes.
>
> ‘Creep.’
>
> The narrow weeds covered land bridge teeming with life from colorful bugs, to the watermelon sized frogs that feasted on them. A flock of Ostriches had gone past their spot a couple hours earlier and had all but run over Valwarin and their Zilan guide. Well, Folen had admitted on being a part-time guide ‘among other things’ so there was that. Like for instance a smuggler and procurer of ‘exotic females’. When Ebenezer had inquired what he meant by that –as if he didn’t get what the Zilan meant- their guide had remained vague on the species not wanting to commit perhaps, or just because this was a new scheme he was working on.
>
> There were crooks in every species, his uncle used to say.
>
> “I used to be an adventurer like you,” Folen jested in his terrible common, the joke running old by now.
>
> “Ahm, I’m a musician really,” Valwarin replied and eyed the resting on a dead giant turtle’s shell Zilan. “A bard, aye. Eb and Dubrot are the action heroes.”
>
> “Hah!” Folen guffawed, smacking a buzzing hornet with the flat of his palm. The bug exploding midair. “Shit! A gusher! Well, I’ve done a bit of that as well. Uhm, bet you I can play any tune you come up with.”
>
> “Is that so? I’ll have you know I delve in verses as well,” Valwarin retorted and thumbed the chords expertly. “Though I’m a bit hoarse at the moment due to the ungodly humidity of this hellhole.”
>
> “Just don’t drink the water. Enough Sulphur in it to boil yer innards,” Folen advised him, looking about them. They had stopped near the end of the land bridge. Elas Bridge, the Imperials called it. Which would have been irrelevant since the High King had declared they were extinct for the most part, but wasn’t, seeing as they were pretty lively far as Valwarin was concerned. Scary as fuck as well. And modestly helpful, meaning they were lucky Ebenezer spoke their language fluently. Folen had admitted that he thought of eating him in a drunken confession in Abarat.
>
> The problem with Eb was of course that he was as untrustworthy as the Zilan guide. His youthful looking friend, Ebenezer was six and thirty already despite looking not a day older than the first time Valwarin had met him in 57 NC, was always getting them in trouble. He had Zilan blood in him of course, but he looked more human than his mother which was something. Other than the ears. Those were… well, big for a human. Just like Durbrot’s head was huge in comparison, though the dwarf just wouldn’t admit it. Dwarfs were seriously angry motherfuckers.
>
> Valwarin cleared his throat, a blue and red ugly bird landing on a fiercely red-leafed maple tree, winking at him once and then stepping back awkwardly to disappear into the environment.
>
> “Give me an E,” Valwarin told the cleaning his hand Zilan.
>
> “Like what?”
>
> “Just use whatever word comes to mind, I haven’t thought of verses yet.”
>
> “Tum, Tum…” Folen started, nailing the fifth semitone like a pro.
>
> Valwarin taking over, flicking his fingers on the chords.
>
> “Ta tum ta-taaaa!” he hummed accompanying the notes, the bird squealing and flying away in panic, heavy boots splashing in the mud coming their way. Out of the tall weeds burst Dubrot, lower part of his beard covered in mud and teeth clenched in his snarling mouth.
>
> “What?” Folen gasped and jumped to his feet, Dubrot grabbing Valwarin’s arm as he went past them and all but lifting him clean off the ground.
>
> Valwarin yelped desperately holding on to his lute, the dwarf sprinting fast despite his weight and short stubby legs.
>
> “MOVE! YOU FOOLS!” Dubrot bellowed cutting through the vegetation, Valwarin tripping over his feet trying to follow after his friend, Folen catching up with them and then pulling ahead with ease sending mud and rotting material on their faces.
>
> “What’s happening?” Valwarin cried out, half delirious from the sudden exertion and he heard the thudding of hooves rushing up behind them, Ebenezer’s characteristic voice cutting through his panic induced haze.
>
> “LEG IT BOYS!” Their leader yelled and there he was out of the foliage, riding a magnificent horse. Valwarin stumbled and almost went down, gulped down a sweet grape that was probably a sugar-fly given his rotten luck and glancing back to see Ebenezer catching up with them, he spotted the riders pursuing their fleeing group.
>
> Oh, the horror!
>
> “FOLEN TAKE DUBROT TO THE GARDEN!” Ebenezer yelled in common galloping wild and slouching sideways over the saddle grabbed a screaming Valwarin by the waist, lifted him off the ground a second time in as many minutes, his legs still kicking and then deposited the squealing at the top of his lungs bard on the horse behind him.
>
> As much dashing as humiliating an experience for the scared bard.
>
> “Damnit Eb,” Valwarin cried, Dubrot cursing them both in his heavy southern dwarvish dialect. “What did you do?”
>
> The adventurer turned and showed him a beautiful Mithril shirt he had slotted in the saddlebags, while whispering for their horse to pick up the pace. They literally blasted through the narrow land bridge ahead from their pursuers sporting the ‘Stallion by the lakes’ crest of Lo-Minas on their armoured chests.
>
> “Where did you find that?” Valwarin screamed hoarsely to be heard over the thundering hooves. It came out a croak, his music future –such as it was- threatened with such attempts.
>
> “Remember I’d spotted Aelinole bathing wit Darunia the other day? Well, she goes by herself as well,” Ebenezer yelled through his fierce wolfish grin and glanced back to watch their opponents falling behind. “Had them running in circles for a while haha!” He exclaimed with enthusiasm and seeing Valwarin’s disheveled sweat and drool covered miserable face looking at him with ogling eyes, he shrugged his broad shoulders afore adding. “She took the darn thing off and left it by the shore. Almost didn’t take it, but I had to.”
>
> “Why… you almost didn’t?” Valwarin croaked miserably, not wanting to die in the middle of nowhere and then get eaten by their guide.
>
> He hated Folen so much at that moment.
>
> ‘Allgods!’
>
> “Not all naked arses are created equal, so I split afore I lost it,” Ebenezer retorted somberly. “The alternative would have doomed us all my lily-livered friend,” he added and left it at that.
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
Glen
Arguen Garth
Hardir O’ Fardor
Lord of Morn Taras
Monarch of Sinya Goras
Abarat
Part II
-A whole lot of dates-
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
Lord Rothomir’s Abarat guards’ headquarters tower is the biggest building that had ever sported the title, Glen thought and gazed at the expanding hall and impossible to discern high ceiling seeing as it was angled. The covered in polished silver sheets ceiling reminding him of mirrors, giving even more height to the hall. The twenty white marble thrones placed in a large semi-circle in front of his also out of fine white marble, beautifully engraved seat, dominating the otherwise empty space.
Glen sighed and marched to the lonely throne. He parked his arse on it, grimacing as he found it a bit narrow for his tastes. Kirk came to stand next to him and Folen followed a moment later after Aenymriel, Olonelis eyeing both his council members suspiciously. Folen especially was ‘too quiet’ from the moment they had neared Abarat. Vaelenn and Anfalon had remained with Onas and Olonelis, but after a brief exchange of looks they each found a throne to sit on.
Aenymriel sighed, more a scoff, but remained standing near an increasingly bored Glen. He had agreed to remain silent for diplomatic reasons, but the Zilan behaved as if they had all the time in the world, which in a sense they had and in that same vein, he didn’t.
Shit.
“So,” Glen started in Common and Olonelis turned to look at him inquisitively. “Where is Rothomir?”
Onas stared at Olonelis, his wrinkled face equally curious and she returned his one-eyed stare a little annoyed. Glen could understand that, the old geese had a disturbing intense glare.
“Lord Rothomir, has left Abarat and released the city to me,” she replied in Imperial. Now Glen could understand the gist of what she was saying, but he wasn’t as fluent, or cooperative, so he probed in Common again, using a bit of his own sauce of ‘jargon Imperial’ favored in Goras for flavor.
“Let me get something out of the way girl,” he cautioned the graceful, but austere female Zilan. “I’m way past circling the drain, or fiddling the berries,” Onas cracked a smile at his incoherent rumblings, Vaelenn scrunched her face to hide her embarrassment and Olonelis blinked in shock, which Glen appreciated.
It made her look younger.
“So when I ask a question Nely, I expect a reply with a bit more meat in it,” he finished and stood back on the uncomfortable throne. The polished marble made his arse slide forward slowly and he had to still his calves to stop the forward momentum.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
It would have been nigh awkward if he glided off the throne and onto the marble tiles while waiting for an answer.
Fuck’s sake!
“Ahm… what was the query Hardir?” Olonelis asked, a little redder in the face.
“Rothomir is missing,” Glen reminded her tensely.
“He fled with his entourage. That is all I know,” Olonelis replied. “I would appreciate if you remembered my name Hardir.”
“I do,” Glen retorted. “It was a moniker.”
“She prefers Nel when she has a cup too many,” Onas commented with a chuckle and Olonelis showed him her teeth not appreciating it. “What? Oh, come on old lass. He’s a rustic lad,” Onas scolded her. “Ninthalor was even worse, he could barely string a couple of sentences together, when he wasn’t drunk.”
Glen furrowed his brow unsure if that was a praise.
“Could he have gone to Lo-Minas?” Aenymriel asked evenly and the other members of the Council of Twenty present turned to look at her. Elwuin was missing, since he’d work to do according to his own abrupt statement made the moment they had reached the center of the castle city.
“I don’t believe it,” Anfalon replied. “Lord Suraer has sent a missive.”
“He wants to talk?” Aenymriel asked and Olonelis hissed in annoyance.
“Why is she here?” She probed.
“Hardir wants her in the Council,” Onas stated and Olonelis puffed out exasperated.
“Is Hardir informed on the circumstances that led to her removal?” She asked patiently.
“I don’t believe he is,” Onas replied.
“I don’t care,” Glen said and eyed them warningly. “This is a new start. I shall judge her performance and not you.”
“Hardir…” Olonelis paused and licked her lips. “As you wish. Will you allow the Council the courtesy of questioning her?”
Glen glanced at Aenymriel and then at the other Elderbloods. “Let me think on it,” he finally said. “How many members of the Council are around?”
“Lord Suraer and Paeris are the only ones not in Abarat,” Onas replied.
Glen nodded. “Paeris is a scholar?”
Aenymriel made a small sound like a giggle. “Of sorts,” she whispered.
“He is an artist, but hasn’t performed in years,” Olonelis explained.
“How many years?”
“Ahm, around fifteen centuries?” she replied not fully certain and Glen cleared his throat, a bit weirded out at the numbers being thrown casually.
“So Elwuin, Onas, Anfalon, Aenymriel, Nel, Lord Sure—”
“Suraer,” Folen corrected him.
“Whatever,” Glen continued with a warning side glare. “Paris,” Olonelis opened her mouth to correct him in her turn, but close it back down seeing Glen’s eyes lock on her. “Who am I forgetting?”
“Well, would some of the exiles still survive out there?” Onas asked thoughtfully.
“Like Aelrindel?”
“You know of the sorceress?” Olonelis probed quite interested.
“I’ve met her,” Glen replied smugly. Lith as well, but I’ll keep it to myself. “Anyone else?”
“Eh, there’s Ena in the Garden,” Onas murmured and scratched his balding head with a hand. Glen caught Olonelis tense up in her throne. He turned his head around and stared at Nym, now in a fetching long light-grey tunic.
“What of her?” Glen asked keeping his eyes on Aenymriel.
“She’s incapacitated,” Onas replied and glanced about the room sensing the tension in the air. “Right?”
“As far as I know,” Olonelis said and Nym stooped in Glen’s ear, her breath teasing and whispered.
“She’s a witch.”
Glen shivered and stood up on the throne remembering the freak in Snakeville.
“Speak so we can hear lass,” Onas grunted.
“I thought you people hear everything,” Glen retorted mockingly.
“She used the ‘Silent Tongue’,” Anfalon explained and Olonelis grimaced in disgust.
Ah.
Din does it, but the dude has no tongue allegedly.
Glen hadn’t exactly checked to be sure.
“A fighter delving in dark magic and doing Oras biding,” Olonelis hissed.
“Warlocks do and mystics,” Aenymriel replied sternly standing up straighter.
“Oh, please. You didn’t learn a whole new class to help others! You did it to obscure your dark designs like now,” Olonelis snapped at her.
Hey, old crow. She was helping me here.
“I’ve done what many have done in the past afore me. All you need is the will and a bit of crazy stubbornness,” Aenymriel said, a bit of anger in her voice.
“You didn’t have the talent for it, but you’re clearly fluent now,” Olonelis hissed. “I knew your brother! You’ll use his defense of your craziness as your backstory? Elas lied to save you!”
“Why?” Glen asked.
“Can we direct our attention on present matters?” Onas grunted, his wrinkled face sweating. “You’ll talk of something that happened in 2090 IC Lady Olonelis?”
“The question has never been sufficiently answered!” Olonelis snarled at him.
“Wait,” Glen intervened. “This happens in the future?”
The room turned silent, but for Kirk who nodded as confused as Glen.
“Ehm,” Vaelenn said in a small voice, the Judicar very quiet around the Elderbloods. “I believe Lord Onas was referring to the Imperial Calendar.”
“The old one?” Glen asked and repositioned his butt on the throne.
“No that’s another,” Onas replied. “It doesn’t matter, it’s in the past.”
“What’s the date on the one you were talking about?” Glen asked him curious.
“What is it?” Onas asked his colleagues. “I’ve lost track.”
“Ninety eight, three hundred and three thousand,” Aenymriel replied calmly. “The Third Era.”
“What about the years since 3206?” Olonelis asked.
“What happened then?” Glen asked trying to keep up.
“Baltoris fell,” Onas replied pensively.
Lith’s mum, Glen thought. That’s a lot of fucking years.
“The middle ages?” Aenymriel offered and the others seemed to go along with her suggestion.
“So, what happened in 2090?” Glen asked although he’d guessed already.
When you learn of the old King’s fate, Flix had advised, ask what happened to Elas sister.
Every story has a beginning, a middle and an ending.
“The King and his wife were murdered,” Onas replied hoarsely. “The killer was never caught.”
Glen stared at the blank-faced Aenymriel. “She was cleared?”
“Not everyone was convinced she couldn’t have done it,” Olonelis argued. “The Queen consort was an Imperial Ranger.”
Glen could see the appeal, that darn uniform was something. Though Nym’s assassin tight-fitting garbs were noteworthy as well. He wanted to keep it fair.
“Did she have a name?”
“Kythaela,” Olonelis replied. “She was very skilled, but a master assassin could slip through.”
Onas scoffed at that and Aenymriel took offence.
“I trust your brother’s assessment,” Onas told her with a shrug. “Know that there’s a place in the army for you still. Always thought that all you needed was a good drilling and seeing ye now I believe I was bloody right. A fighter wears armour lass.”
“I’ll pass on the drilling Lord Onas,” Aenymriel retorted icily. “I don’t have the legs for it,” although she clearly had legs for days.
Ye better sleep wit an eye open old goat, Glen thought, a grin creeping up on his sweaty face. He had to push some of his unruly hair back and out of his eyes, in order to keep everyone under appraisal.
“Anyone else capable of doing it?” Glen asked casually keeping the sneakily stepping back Aenymriel in his field of vision. The short haired boyish-looking female raised a cobalt eyebrow impressed.
“Not at her level,” Onas assured him, the conversation not to his liking, since he obviously considered the matter resolved. Military heads don’t like rethinking past decisions. “Not unless the killer was a corpse. There were three Zilan in that bedroom, two Elderbloods and a very skilled Ranger.”
“Who was the third?” Glen asked.
“Paeris,” Onas replied. “He almost died in the attempt.”
Hmm.
“Is he with Rothomir?” Glen queried making a note to revisit the matter in the future. “Wait, is Ena in the garden still?” He asked and Aenymriel sighed in relief as if she was waiting for him to make the connection.
To Glen’s defense he had been bombarded with too many details whilst being very hungry from the journey. A whole lot of dates. It was his defense, in the sense Glen had made it himself to justify not jumping on the witch as the logical culprit faster.
“Where else could she be?” Onas asked and glanced at Olonelis again. The Council member rolled her eyes.
“The site is disturbed,” she finally said.
Of course it is.
“And?” Glen probed.
“You don’t expect me to send innocent people inside the tomb right?” Olonelis snapped and then grimaced. “Apologies Hardir, these past days have gnawed at me.”
Wow, a tomb is way out of the left field, Glen thought not minding her outburst. He had expected a lonely shed in the woods, or an old retiree’s field with tomatoes. He cleared his throat and glanced at Kirk, the bodyguard’s expression very troubled.
“That’s alarming,” Onas grunted. “Anfalon you need to check it out.”
“Ena would have come here,” Anfalon informed them calmly. “Or head to Elauthin, if her brains are still scrabbled.”
“There’s no Elauthin,” Onas grunted.
And she didn’t come here, because the bitch went to Snakeville to ram her fist up our arseholes, an acerbic Glen thought scrunching his face and eyeing each person present in turn.
Aenymriel let out a soul deep sigh and caught sight of Folen admiring her figure.
It was a loose tunic for her standards.
Again Glen could understand the need to show off a bit.
“I always admired your courage Lady Aenymriel,” the former bard/tavern and brothel owner, current Master of Silence blurted out quickly. “To delve into different things unafraid and unapologetic. I just wanted to get that out.”
“I don’t sleep with males wearing garish earrings,” Aenymriel said, disregarding his diatribe. “If jewelry is involved I’ll take a woman. They have better taste.”
“So if I lose the earrings…” Folen haggled and Glen slammed his fist on the armrest, darn thing hard as… marble and cut him off with a roar.
“For slovenly fuck’s sake!” he cursed froth in his mouth and eyes ogling enraged. “I need a team to check on that tomb! They get in, check for value… ehm, worthy targets and sneak right out!”
His tongue had slipped there unwittingly, despite not thinking about grave robbing at that moment.
“You should send him,” Olonelis replied disapprovingly and pointed a long nicely manicured finger on Folen. “He has delved in lots of sneaking in the past. Why I bet you he has visited the tomb already!”
“Lady Olonelis,” Folen protested weakly. “I find all this hostility towards my person unwarranted and way past its due date—”
“Oh shut it you crook!” she snapped. “You still owe Lord Suraer a Mithril shirt!”
“Hey, I didn’t take it!” Folen protested nervously. “I’m the patsy!”
Oh boy, Glen thought and collapsed on the throne. Not a moment later he started sliding forward slowly and after a soul-searching second moment Glen gave up and jumped to his feet.
“I’ll go,” he grunted and eyed the guilty-looking Folen. “You’ll come too and you,” he pointed at Aenymriel.
“I hate the Garden,” she retorted a little annoyed.
“I don’t believe you,” Glen deadpanned. “Either way I want to find everyone here when I return. Call it a precaution. I would suggest a change in garbs.”
The tunic is good, but them leather overalls are even better, he thought and then realized all the guilty-looking females in the room were subtly trying to influence him all this time.
Wow, the dagger hissed inside his head in disbelief.
You actually figured it out.
See that you forget it in the next five minutes.
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
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/