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Sam Mathews
Abarat
Part III
-A tomb in the Garden-
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[https://i.postimg.cc/SxkMPkwz/Nesande-s-Garden.jpg]
A young Zilan carrying a huge round loaf of bread turned the corner and almost fell on an amused Marlo that was debating whether to enter the small bakery or not. The young Zilan managed to avoid the adventurer, the boy looking curiously at their weapons and run on Soren, the giant putting a spade like hand out to stop him. The Zilan gasped in shock seeing the giant Nord towering over him, the round loaf of crusty bread flying upwards until Soren caught it.
“There ye are,” Soren said in common. “Mind if I take a bite out of it?”
Darunia translated for him, but paused mid-sentence. “Sam Mathews, is there a different meaning in the phrase?” she asked him and Sam who was still taking in the exotic castle city turned to answer unsure. He stared into Darunia’s sapphire eyes and felt that pleasant warmth washing over his senses again.
Damn.
Darunia smiled, neat sharp twin incisors bleached white like the rest of her smaller but equally sharp teeth.
“Well, I used ‘em words aplenty,” Marlo admitted and used his ring finger to scratch his jaw, since he was missing the mid one. Made using a weapon with his offhand a bitch, but it was for all the ‘other uses’ the adventurer was missing the finger the most. “Just cut a piece out with yer hand. Mathews has blacked out. Hey, snap out of it lad!”
“Uh? I’m fine Marlo,” Sam grunted a little peeved, returning to the present. Soren shrugged his massive shoulders seeing he was getting no answer and teared out an equally massive portion of the large loaf, almost down the middle and returned the remainder to the astounded young boy.
“Thanks buddy,” Soren said and took a large bite out of the well-baked dough. The Zilan grabbed it and run away as fast as he could. He had probably resigned to the fact the giant Nord wasn’t going to leave him any and took no chances. “Hah, it’s pretty nice guys!” Soren guffawed without pausing his enthusiastic chomping.
“Gods darnit,” Marlo cursed and went to grab the bread from him. “Give it here! Let me have a bite as well big guy! Let. Go. Of the loaf!”
“Well?” Darunia asked him stepping closer. “Do I get an answer?”
“You can’t work as an adventurer,” Sam told her, thinking on their previous talks.
“Silly Sam Mathews,” Darunia replied and touched his face with her right hand. “Was this a dodge for my real query?”
Darunia could go from a daydreaming teenager to a shrewd debater in a split second and could be nigh impossible to fool at times. Wiser than her years, he thought and then realized he didn’t really know how old she was. Her youthful, fresh appearance and character making it easy to forget Darunia was an Elderborn.
“I wish I had more magic,” she whispered suddenly very close to his face. “My threads wither so fast, it’s not fair. But it is nice, because I get to touch you again.”
Sam stared in her large cerulean pools mesmerized.
“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” he murmured, feeling her breath.
“Hey guys,” a chewing Marlo said. “If this is going for a roll in the hay, or anythin’ nastier, ye better do it fast because that’s Ulovir approaching. Moth’rfucker looks pissed as all fucks.”
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“Lady Darunia,” the Hoplite Ulovir rustled, eyeing the unlikely duo munching at the corner of the busy street near the market. “Your mother thought it wise to send me to summon you to the Guards Headquarters. Rothomir’s tower of sorts, Sam translated. The Hoplite making it clear he wasn’t pleased with running errands for the Council member.
“I’ll have master Mathews escort me dear Ulovir,” Darunia replied pleasantly.
“That would be prudent,” Ulovir replied icily. “He’s invited as well.”
“Oh,” Darunia said with a cute frown.
“Does Glen need anything?” Sam asked the peeved Hoplite. “Garth that is. Hardir.”
“I wasn’t informed. I serve the Phalanx, find a palace herald for gossip.”
“And we value your service Ulovir,” Darunia said tactfully.
“Hey,” Marlo asked. “Do they serve dinner there? Or if you can point us to a tavern—”
“What am I?” Ulovir grunted, getting all fired up again. “A tour guide? You have legs human, just walk the market!”
“A bug crawled up yer arse?” Marlo retorted belligerently. “Loose the helmet lad, reckon it boils yer brains.”
“Alright that’s enough!” Sam intervened. “You’ll come with us Marlo. Where’s Jingo? Get him as well. Glen has found food for sure. We’ll be fine.”
Darunia sighed.
“What is it milady?” Sam asked. The fuming Ulovir had marched away from them.
“I prefer the shires at times like these,” Darunia replied.
Right, Sam thought and glanced at the veteran adventurer for help.
“Don’t look at me,” Marlo scolded him. “I married twice and still don’t remember their names, or why I did it. That is if it was legal even.”
Uh?
“Really?” Soren asked curious.
“Ayup,” Marlo replied. “One in Badum, the other in Aegium. Got too drunk and forgot about the first one. By the next morning, I had no idea who the second girl was as well. That sweet wine can turn yer brains to mush, aye. Mess ye right up,” he sighed reminiscing. “There’s a lesson here lads.”
“What is?” Soren asked, combing his beard to get rid of bread crumbs with his fingers.
“Never drink wit an empty stomach,” Marlo replied soberly.
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Glen was arguing with Anfalon over an engraved into a map of the old empire portion of the marble-tiled floor, right behind the Lord’s throne. A Zilan artist repainting some of the washed out parts with Glen not agreeing with some of his color choices. Rothomir’s Hall had the thrones of the Council of Twenty facing his, an exact copy of the now destroyed palace in Elauthin according to Darunia, ‘but much smaller’. Seeing as this was a depressingly large and rather empty of furniture or decorations hall, Sam thought it was perhaps for the better.
Her mother, Lady Olonelis stood alone some twenty meters from them across the room, under a fresco showing a bloated naked Nesande giving birth to the divine triplets, the light carrying Uher, the spear wielding Tyeus and the blackened stillborn Oras. The gory scene vulgar as much as terrifying, despite Darunia’s efforts to present it in a light way.
“That’s enough dear,” Olonelis said austerely and turned to look at them. Her face resembling an older Darunia but for the less pronounced high cheek bones and the darker green spots in her piercing large Zilan eyes.
“Yes mother,” a chastised Darunia replied.
“It’s elating to see thee unharmed,” her mother continued in fluent though a little archaic Common.
“It is for me as well,” Darunia said with a relieved smile, while Sam tried to fix his leather belt and sword sheath wondering what he was doing there.
“As much it is upsetting given what has transpired, the rumors spreading since this morning and your company,” her mother continued and reached to touch the side of her daughter’s now worried face softly.
“Can I address the rumors in private?” Darunia asked, glancing at the furious Glen wrestling for the artist’s brush, the Zilan protesting in turn to Anfalon who offered a duel to the death outside not wanting to take sides, which seemed to calm the artist down immediately. So Glen got to paint the waters of the lake by himself.
How hard could it be? He stated before diving into it with enthusiasm.
“You may not,” Olonelis had replied sternly in the meantime. “For I do not believe I would like it.”
“Mother… a lot has happened—”
“Gods I hope not! Rothomir has left Abarat and I fear that he may not return,” Olonelis cut her off.
“About that…” Darunia started, but she was summarily interrupted again.
“I decided it is for the better if your union was severed,” Olonelis said. “So we must look through the available pool for something better and befitting your legend.”
“Can leeway be offered given the times?” Darunia asked with a small voice looking at her hands and Olonelis set her eyes on an uncomfortable Sam afore replying strictly.
“Out of the question.”
“Surely…”
“As a matter of fact dear, a much more skillful and higher ranked suitor must be found,” Olonelis argued.
“Like Lord Suraer?” Darunia taunted, which her mother received with a sour press of her lips.
“I won’t have your childhood friend’s father bed you,” Olonelis scolded her with a snarl and a blushed Darunia gasped.
“It was a jest!” She protested.
“Clearly thy humor has deteriorated in the past months daughter,” Olonelis retorted. “Mayhap it is your new and of bucolic-origins company?”
Hey there!
“Master Sam has saved me from enslavement!” Darunia snapped and then recoiled hearing her voice reverberating inside the roomy hall. Glen paused and raised his head to look at them.
“What is your profession master Samwise?” Her mother asked mockingly.
“Just Sam Lady Olonelis,” he corrected her tensely. “I’ll have you know I may be foolish, but good at heart. Any fault lies with me and not your daughter.”
“That implies a transgression came to pass?” She hissed.
“Nothing untoward,” Sam argued feeling very embarrassed and glanced at the approaching Glen with Anfalon.
“How would you know?” Olonelis queried and Darunia blushed to the roots of her blue-purple hair.
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“She’s jesting,” Darunia said quickly.
“I’m certainly not,” Olonelis insisted gruffly.
“Can we talk about it in private?” Darunia pleaded.
“Hey, Mathews!” Glen shouted reaching them, blotches of paint in his hands and armour. “I have good news friend.”
“I want to talk about it even less now,” Olonelis complained. “How could you?”
“He’s an adventurer,” Darunia blurted out and Glen furrowed his brow, face full of suspicion.
“So was Eben and look at what he did!”
“Aelinole didn’t sleep with him,” Darunia protested and Sam stood back as he had no idea what they were talking about.
“You want me to go into the details, or the yield of his actions?” Olonelis countered and Glen stepped between them arms stretched out, his left almost cupping Olonelis breast, but she managed to jerk away from him.
“Sorry about that,” Glen said suavely. “Thought I had more wiggle room there. In my defense it is a loose tunic Nely. Stuff bounce about.”
“Hardir…” Olonelis croaked, adjusting the front of her tunic. “I’m not seeking a partner at this time, if that is your intentions.”
“Could’ve have fooled me earlier wit yer antics,” Glen reproached her and Darunia’s mother turned as red as her daughter in the face. “Now, I don’t know what this is, but if it is what I’m guessing,” with that he eyed Sam disapprovingly. What? “I think I can help.”
“Glen I did nothing,” Sam protested. “But offering a helping hand to a Lady.”
“Aww,” Darunia gushed very moved.
“Yer not helping yourself friend wit all this hand talk,” Glen cautioned him. “I was like you in my youth,” Glen was several years younger than Sam Mathews despite his greying at spots hair. “And got in trouble once.”
“What happened?” Sam grunted.
“Why, I met Sen,” Glen replied with a frown, which turned into a grin. “Actually it turned out rather well for me. Hmm.”
“Hardir, I won’t have her mate with an adventurer! Better to have me exiled!” Olonelis exploded losing it. Glen nodded, Darunia screamed in panic and Sam felt his knees weaken.
“She asked me to join the group,” Sam explained to set matters straight, Darunia covering her face with both hands, but leaving a crack to stare at him through her fingers. “She’s persistent, but I wasn’t going to give in.”
“Oh,” Darunia murmured a little disappointed. “You don’t mean that Sam Mathews.”
“Join your group,” Olonelis hissed and Glen puffed his cheeks out flabbergasted. “Surely you’ve taken the hint.”
What?
Was there interest in his part? Of course, Sam thought. But he would never act on it.
“Lady Olonelis I assure you—”
“Darunia?” Olonelis asked cutting him off.
“I like adventuring with Sam Mathews,” her daughter admitted dreamily.
Ah.
Dammit sweetheart.
“Which is why you won’t leave Abarat again on your own,” Olonelis retorted angry. “Much less with him!”
Glen sighed and hang his head.
“Right. Well this turned out as best as it could’ve considering the circumstances,” he finally said after an awkward moment. “Sam we are going to explore a Garden,” Glen announced casually next. “You’ll get paid the standard rate. I’ve run out of coins though. So we’ll have to work something else out.”
Sam grimaced, his mind on the conversation he just had and the sullen Darunia. “Marlo wants to see some coin Glen. We’ve lost good men here, friends and I need him to recruit some more when we get back in Goras. Won’t happen if he complains about your frugality.”
“Can’t do it. No coin. But I might have something else tucked away. Gold alright. Clean and solid. Pure stuff,” Glen argued, giving it a thumbs up to sell it better.
Sam looked at him. “I need something upfront at the very least.”
“A couple of fingers,” Glen relented.
Huh?
“A what?” Sam raised his brows taken by surprise.
Glen shrugged his shoulders, a clenching his square jaw Anfalon right next to him saying nothing. The helmet-less Hoplite had managed to stay out of the whole ordeal. “Yer a tough one friend,” Glen replied. “Fine, I’ll throw an almost new gold cup in it. Darn thing fell off anyway.”
Belaeg Oel IL-Hoer
Elas Bridge
Late summer of 3398IC (192NC)
Third Era
The mature ostrich stared at them through its long eyelashes, long ugly neck shooting straight up for more than a meter, a leg paused midair and its even uglier face holding a mean expression.
“Whoa,” Glen said stopping his horse. “What’s this bird’s name?”
Folen stooped to tell him again and the ostrich charged their way with a dissonant screech. The horses reared, the whole procession coming to a stop and Wylinor the ranger reached for an arrow.
“Wait!” Glen yelled and turned to Soren. “Put it to sleep friend,” he told him and the giant Nord jumped from his mount, much to the animal’s delight and walked towards the impressive large bird in his sluggish but covering quite the distance strides.
“They usually come in…” Folen started reminiscing, but Soren thwacked the bird once and sent it to the ground abruptly afore he could finish his sentence.
“Shit,” Marlo gasped very impressed. “Anyone likes bird brains, has to dig ‘em out of the mud!”
“Damnit Soren,” Glen sighed and climbed down his horse. “What happened there?”
“Didn’t expect the skull to cave in Glen,” Soren admitted sadly.
“Well, fret not hale friend,” their leader reassured him in a comforting manner. “Birds have thin bones, or something to fly the more easily. Though these don’t apparently. Right Folen? You were going to offer us some input earlier.”
The lute carrying, but acting as a guide for the mission, Master of Silence sighed deeply. “They come in flocks Garth,” he said and rubbed his worried face with a hand.
“What was that?” Glen perked up and another ostrich came out of the foliage screeching towards him. Glen rolled nimbly –his reaction impressive as always- out of the way, but a third blasted out of the weeds, bumped onto to him hard –his reaction not as keen this time- and sent him crashing down with a yelp. He cursed livid, everyone scrabbling to react, got his sword out jumping to his feet and chopped a leg off the nearest of the two. A pandemonium of cries erupting from all about them at the sudden explosion of violence.
“IT’S A TRAP!” Glen roared his eyes ogling wild and decapitated the next bird in line easily. Everyone rushing to defend themselves as a large flock of screeching two-legged large birds rushed them. Sam grunted and jumped from his horse sword in hand, but yelled and waved with it more than used it, trying to scare the birds away. Marlo and Jingo taking no chances next to him. They carved a bloody path through the assaulting flock until the ostriches broke and run away from the murderous company of adventurers.
“Haha!” Glen bellowed with a manic snarl, half-covered in gore and grey-black plumage, much like the rest of them, at least ten ostriches slain all about them. “Look at them legging it. Fucking ruffians!”
“Milord,” a disturbed Kirk said giving him a cloth to clean his face. “I think perhaps we should camp further down the path.”
Glen nodded and stared at his garbs. “Shit. You’re right. Folen, where does this end?”
“Across the lake,” Folen replied, his clothes clean compared to the rest of them. “But if you’re to use the water, it’s only good for stain removal.”
“Did we bring water with us Kirk?” Glen asked.
“We have milord.”
“There is plenty of water in the Garden,” Folen assured him.
“How do you know so much about it?” Glen asked and walked to his horse. Folen puffed out and stared at his hands.
“I dabbled as a guide in the past Garth,” he admitted.
“Were ye any good?” Glen queried reaching for the reins.
“How to judge one’s ability? Can we really?” Folen asked to appear modest.
“You get us out of this bug-infested strip of land, yer fine,” Glen replied readily. “Ye don’t, I punch you in the nostrils and you aren’t.”
A good guide, was his meaning.
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Huge Sycamore trees started at the edge of the narrow land bridge across the great lake. They hadn’t seen much of it and it had taken them a whole day to move across it, camping for an hour and abandoning the idea quickly as the place was teeming with wild life. From large bloated frogs that could swallow a man’s fist with ease –Marlo had the misfortune of experiencing it and they had to cut away the creature to unstuck it- to myriad snakes, ostriches, water pigs and flying monkeys. The latter zipping from branch to branch ahead of them, the impressive wilderness looking more like a forest than a garden, though there was a clear paved road leading straight inside.
Damn, Sam thought and turned on the saddle to stare back at the lake’s shores. They hadn’t seen much of the lake as stated, but they could feel its presence in the humidity of the air, as much as its foulness. It had burned their lungs and reminded him of the stories about the Hfrial Depths Phinariel loved to talk about back in Goras. Though this was a much bigger lake, as big as Canlita Sea even, though Marlo didn’t think so. A gasp was heard and he turned just in time to catch Aenymriel leap from a branch and landing next to Wylinor, the ranger recoiling scared, until the lithe black-leather clad female placed a steady hand on his shoulder to stabilize him.
“A careless ranger,” Aenymriel cautioned him. “Has his corpse eaten by monkeys,” the final bit she delivered with a boyish toothy smile.
“Girl, I thought ye got lost,” a tired Glen griped from his horse. “How did ye get ahead of us?”
“I walked Hardir,” she chuckled and nimbly danced on the tips of her toes towards them.
Covering twenty meters to stand next to Glen’s horse in the blink of an eye. Outlaw snorted and sidestepped away from her.
Wow.
What the actual fuck? Sam wondered.
“Impressive,” Glen said, not sounding impressed, which caused the Zilan to pout in annoyance. “Anyone knows where the darn tomb is?”
Wait… what? Sam thought alarmed.
“Wait, what?” Marlo grunted even more alarmed.
Glen whipped his head their way and grinned fiercely. “An empty one. Fear not. There’s no need for alarm.”
Anyone knowing him feeling immediately ill at ease.
“Why should we fear, if it’s empty?” Marlo queried understandably worried.
“It’s a witch’s tomb,” Aenymriel elucidated. “So caution is advised… always.”
“Well, that’s a finger up the stinger,” Marlo commented sourly and glared at Sam. “Should’ve known when ye gave me them fingers mate, something’s was plaguing amiss!”
“Marlo…” Sam protested. “I didn’t know.”
“That makes it better?” the veteran adventurer griped shaking his head. “Might as well slot that gold finger in the missing spot and use it to clean me nose while I still can!”
“Fingers and clogged nostrils aside,” Glen intervened to nip it in the bud. “Folen will lead us to the tomb, so we can check on the hag’s whereabouts!”
Folen cleared his throat.
“Yes… friend?” Glen asked, in an unfriendly manner.
“Eh, I don’t actually know the way there Garth.”
“You know of a way near it?” Glen chanced.
Folen reached for his lute nervously. “It’s been years. I have reached the bridge and as far as the old Greenhouse,” he said thumbing out a couple of gloomy notes.
“Put that back,” Glen grunted sternly. “Fuck where ye doing in a greenhouse? Why not pick a blue, or a pink one?”
“It’s a cultivating house milord,” Kirk said stooping near his shoulder.
“I knew that!” Glen blasted the bodyguard, afore catching himself. “Speak Folen.”
“It’s a witch’s greenhouse. Was that is,” Aenymriel chuckled unwittingly and Glen glared at her.
“How do you know?”
The female Zilan frowned. “I rather not tell Hardir.”
“Hmm,” Glen hummed audibly.
“Anyone thinks it’s kind of weird that all these structures belong to witches around these parts?” Marlo noted scrunching his timeworn face this way and that. “Just saying, it’s kind of disconcerting, right Jingo?”
The solemn Issir didn’t even bother answering that.
“You lead us there then,” Glen decided turning to Aenymriel. “If he can’t.”
“The Greenhouse,” she repeated just to be sure.
“And the tomb after it,” a tired from the lack of sleep Glen grunted not amused. “They can’t have her buried far from there. They might have even tossed her in the greenhouse for all I know! Fuck’s sake, let’s move away from the darn lake. There were snakes crawling up my arse all night!”
A still rattled from missing Aenymriel earlier Wylinor proving his point just then, killing a viper with a well-placed arrow.
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