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Glen
Arguen Garth
Hardir O’ Fardor
Lord of Morn Taras
Monarch of Sinya Goras
Beyond Lo-Minas
Part I
-The Queen of Queen’s Stable Master’s daughter-
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Abarat
Early Fall 3398IC (192NC)
Mueah, Glen yawned ineligibly rubbing his face, the sun coming from the prominent balcony doors of Rothomir’s Hall blinding as it multiplied on the mirror-like ceiling. The headquarters building dabbling as a personal house and a public office coming with the usual Zilan hatred for walls and small windows.
Vulreon who was scribbling down his words dutifully paused unsure on the spelling and turned to glance at a sweating Glen. Glen ignored him and eyed Folen who was busy trying to figure out Onas decrypting of the ancient map and how it translated to a new one they were creating with the updated facts and sans the missing portions of land, or infrastructure.
“… stop and head west before Edlenn’s Pond, this lake,” Lord Onas continued, tapping at the map with a long stick, he frequently used to prevent Folen from penciling something down erroneously. “The road is overrun and you can’t round up Windbreak Heights to reach the bridge at Shaelor River, assuming the bridge is still standing.”
“But the road is ruined for the most part west as well,” Folen countered, Glen staring at the map as well but having no idea what they were arguing about, too bored to even bother paying attention. He turned his head the other way, spotted Aenymriel wearing a simple long kimono with a white ribbon on her head pretending to listen and smacked his lips.
“Yes, but the Aqueduct still stands partially and if you follow it will point you the right way and the sea, or you stick with the road of sorts until you find Vasati River son. It’s good you avoided the army,” Onas argued censoriously.
“Hey, how about we have a taste of those fine silver carafes Olonelis has send us?” Glen asked Aenymriel and she glanced at the fancy platter. Lady Olonelis had excused herself citing a ‘family emergency’ earlier.
“It’s juice I believe,” she said. “Would you like some?”
“Was my meaning,” Glen replied raising his upper lip to show some tooth with his friendly grin.
He stared at the map again for a moment and the two men arguing, until the dressed in ‘civilian garbs’ Nym to ‘keep some semblance of secrecy going’ in Glen’s court, returned with a goblet of red juice.
Glen started gulping it down, but paused midway and stared at the assassin, who had some as well from her own goblet with an equally unconvincing smirk.
“What does it matter?” Nym whispered and she wasn’t talking about the possibility to have had his drink spiked.
“It doesn’t,” Glen agreed and turned to the map-studying officials. “We’ll just go to Lo-Minas,” he told them with finality. “See if Lord Suraer has something figured already about what’s still working or not. How long ago was Roran’s expedition?”
“Six years,” Lord Onas replied.
“That’s a lot of time,” Glen decided. “Did he talk with Lord Suraer the last time he was there?”
“He didn’t.”
“Is he running the stables by himself?” Glen chanced, only half-joking.
Nym chuckled always appreciative of a jabby retort.
“Of course not,” Onas retorted, not favoring it when on the receiving end, or addressed to members of the upper caste he respected.
“Then it’s settled,” Glen said with a shrug. “Have… hmm, I’ll need a portion of the Phalanx to come with me.”
“Anfalon?”
“That Roran dude. Anfalon I need here to keep the peace.”
“There’s no unrest in Abarat Hardir,” Onas grunted. “But for the Wyvern scaring folk doing their business.”
“A good thing,” Glen agreed, although Onas wasn’t agreeing obviously. “Think of the alternative Lord Onas.”
Onas sighed and then stared at Aenymriel. “Thinking of marching with the lads lass?”
“She’ll ride with me,” Glen replied for her.
“Are you sure about Roran?” Onas asked with a grimace of incredulity.
“What’s the matter with him?”
“Nothing, he’s a fine officer,” Onas replied.
“But… he has fallen out with Lord Suraer?”
“No, that’s gossip. He worked for Lord Rothomir is all and Suraer didn’t see eye to eye with him.”
“You worked for Rothomir as well,” Glen pointed out.
“I’m a member of the Council,” Onas grunted. “I serve the Monarch and the good of the realm.”
“Me,” Glen elucidated.
“You, Hardir,” Onas agreed.
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“Where’s Vaelenn?” Glen asked after Lord Onas departed. “And what’s this weird fruit for crying out loud?”
“Strawberry, peach and a touch of melon,” Aenymriel replied.
“Hmm, why mix it up?” Glen asked curious. “Seems a waste and the taste is funny.”
“A different offering to the palate? Olonelis fruit cocktails are famous,” she replied sipping at hers with a pleased smile.
“Ehem,” Felon cleared his throat, Vulreon scribbling down their words.
“A moment,” Glen interrupted Felon. “Give me the page,” he ordered the scribe.
“I haven’t finished Hardir,” Vulreon replied nervously.
“You don’t have to,” Glen retorted. “Take a break. Walk to the market. Find me some redleaf. Don’t write it down afterwards.”
“Ahm, any other blend, if I can’t find it? It’s pretty heavy stuff Hardir,” Vulreon queried.
“Varg can find it,” Nym whispered.
“Just head to the kitchen, see they prepare us some… cake for the road,” Glen yielded.
“What flavor?” Vulreon asked just to be sure.
“Strawberry,” Glen retorted readily. “Just put them in whole and no mixing up.”
“Ehm,” Felon started the moment Vulreon left.
“What?” Glen snapped.
“Vaelenn… she’s with Elwuin reviewing Abarat’s library,” Folen replied. He’d split his hair right the middle and oiled them so much they had turned almost black. It made his ears look huge and the loops he had on didn’t help.
There’s big ears and then there’s stretched skin to its limits.
“That sounds dreadfully boring,” Glen retorted. “You know what’s interesting though?”
“The gossip surrounding Roran and Lord Suraer,” Nym whispered.
“No it… shite!” Glen cursed and glared at her. “Aye, that’s right. What the actual fuck girl? Is this a magic trick?”
“I just guessed Hardir,” she replied coolly.
“Don’t do it in my presence,” Glen admonished her. “It’s disturbing.”
“I shall strive to avoid it,” Nym replied, her voice barely audible.
“Any ideas?” Glen asked after an awkward moment.
No one knew, so he called for an end to the meeting.
Just in time as well. Glen could barely stand the blasted sun on his face and jumped from the throne immediately to find a quiet spot with a shade.
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He rushed down the corridor, Kirk coming after him seeing Glen bursting out of the council room. Glen all but left the main Hall grounds intending to head to the kitchen, but he spotted a gloomy faced Sam Mathews there and turned the other way not wanting to deal with the adventurers.
He owned them a bit of coin still.
Almost run on Lady Olonelis exiting her quarters that were adjacent to Rothomir’s Hall main building east side. Since he couldn’t avoid her on the empty path, he paused and smiled at the lovely mature council member. She wore a similar wrapped-front green garment, but more sophisticated than Aenymriel’s with no ribbon on her made in a long braid hair.
“Hardir O’ Fardor,” Olonelis greeted him with a small bow.
“Lady Olonelis,” Glen returned the greeting hoarsely, Kirk nodding unsure on the protocol for guards.
Glen had no idea if there was one.
“Out for a morning walk?” she asked casually.
“A breather after the meeting,” Glen replied, sweat rivulets reaching his collar.
“Apologies for missing it.”
You didn’t miss anything.
Wait.
“Don’t worry about that,” Glen said. “But I have to ask… what is the gossip with Roran and Lord Suraer?”
Olonelis glanced about them and then walked under a big hardwood tree with pink flowers casting its shade at the edge of the path.
“Why would Hardir inquire of this matter?” Olonelis asked Glen after he approached, immediately noticing the difference in temperature in the shade, the humidity not as pronounced also.
“Is it of a personal nature?” He asked.
“Doesn’t Nym know?” Olonelis responded and looked about them.
“She’s not…” Glen started to say, but Aenymriel had appeared next to the grey-brown cracked trunk looking a little miffed.
Hmm.
“What gave me away?” she asked the frowning older Zilan.
“You smell of peach and strawberry,” Olonelis replied. “The breeze is blowing towards Hardir and there no fruit trees on this side of the grounds.”
Serves ye right for eavesdropping haha!
“Right,” a grinning Glen said interrupting them. “She knows?” he asked Nym.
“I was in the Queen’s inner circle,” Olonelis replied.
“Lord Onas?”
“Never bothered with this side of the court’s business,” she rejoined. “Most think Aenymriel got so deep into her brother’s research and manuscripts she lost her calling, tried to turn into a sorceress, but failed.”
“Is this true?” Glen asked the silent Nym.
“There’s truth in all stories,” she replied. Glen admired her ability to pout without showing it.
Olonelis grimaced. “Baltoris turned a little paranoid at the end of her reign, looked for any kind of paths out of her troubles.”
“I’ve helped the realm,” Nym argued. “Better than you.”
“I’ve kept a portion of our people functioning,” Olonelis retorted. “Digging the earth and planting roots anew. There’s hope now, where there was nothing for years.”
“Back to my question,” Glen intervened not wanting them to start slapping each other or worse. Nym was a killer after all and he didn’t believe strong words could put her down.
“I never bothered with Roran,” Nym whispered.
“Roran has been a very good friend with Lord Suraer’s daughter Aelinole for centuries,” Olonelis replied staring at the annoyed Nym. “But they had a falling out after the empire’s collapse.”
“Was there anything more?”
“Lord Suraer is notoriously protective of his daughter. He soured when she became unhappy with Roran,” Olonelis replied stiffly. “It’s not unreasonable.”
“Her mother?” Glen probed.
“Nuala’s sister Lyrael, or Nuala herself,” Olonelis replied. “Suraer had been a dashing Rokae in his early years. They are both diseased of course. Nuala was killed and Lyrael got lost in the Fall as she was visiting Cydonia at the time.”
“Is this important?” Glen asked.
“Well she’s an Elderblood from both her parents, which isn’t very common,” Olonelis replied.
“What did Roran do?” Glen asked.
“Wasn’t this when…?” Nym started, but Olonelis cut her off.
“Gossip is what you claimed robbed you of justice Aenymriel,” she cautioned her. “If you wish for us to forget the past and welcome you back, a certain maturity is expected.”
Nym licked her lips. “You talk of Nuala, a master Ranger. Kythaela was her friend and best pupil. An assassin couldn’t have entered without her spotting his shade. No such assassin ever existed and I researched the matter for centuries. No skill escapes me,” she hissed and Olonelis grimaced in annoyance.
“Still at it,” she murmured disapprovingly. “You poisoned Baltoris’ head with the ‘old’ spells and ‘dark’ magic theories one time, returned to do it again all over again.”
“I didn’t,” Nym jeered her eyes narrowing. “Baltoris didn’t trust the old sorceress, because she held a grudge and thought the witch blamed the King for her daughter’s demise and trying to annul the treaty. As for Aelrindel, she did something to assist Reinut, someone did and she was here!”
“Who told you this?” Olonelis retorted and Glen stood back deciding to enjoy the rich shade, without interrupting the vexed females. He did place his hand on the pommel of his sword just in case this turned violent.
“Semilor had the Queen’s final orders,” Nym hissed.
“He’s dead conveniently,” Olonelis scoffed. “The Queen’s Herald never reported to the Council during the campaign.”
“I have no reason to lie and I was wrong about Edlenn, but not Aelrindel,” Nym rustled.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“You might be wrong again,” Olonelis replied. “Anyway, the witch’s daughter is dead.”
“She’s not,” Nym snapped.
Olonelis stood back and breathed out slowly, her face flushed.
“You can only pin one of the two sins to Aelrindel,” she said tiredly. “Who was it then? If not you, if not Edlenn, because it’s not the young sorceress for sure.”
Nym pursed her mouth tight.
Olonelis shook her head disappointed. “The trail has gone cold Aenymriel. Let the past die, move forward.”
“I took a contract,” Nym hissed stubbornly.
“Maybe, but you got blamed for it before that happened and lost your mind,” Olonelis argued. “Gossip can poison the well. It led you down a dark path. Come back, Elas was a great mind. You are fouling his memory.”
“Not great enough to figure out the truth, or stand up for his sister,” Nym retorted spitefully. “All that knowledge, all this magic and power,” she continued. “Counted for naught and now you all bow to a human.”
“Nym,” Glen warned her and she stood back.
“I’m on your side Hardir,” Nym whispered, her expression turning serene again.
“She is too,” Glen cautioned her. “I’d like to keep it that way.”
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An hour later Glen had informed those he intended to take with him that they were leaving on the morrow. The reason for wanting to travel beyond Lo-Minas simple. Glen wanted to find the distant west shores of Wetull. He sought to see personally if it was possible to reestablish connection with Greenwhale Peninsula, something he’d promised the Sopat years back and was certain it would please Sen, but also out of the more selfish desire to bring Emerson into his life again. While they had assured him the old knight was fine Glen thought it would be for the better to check for himself.
Roran, an impressively fit Zilan and second in seniority and skill inside the Phalanx after Anfalon, was a bit taller than Glen even with his hoplite helmet off. The square jaw and angled face showing his slight displeasure for plucking him out of the unit currently returning from trotting around Abarat’s walls. Atju tsk-tsked disapprovingly and carried Glen’s food near the Ruler of Morn Taras, leaving the large plate on a table they had positioned next to the throne
“Anything else master?” Atju asked, the third slave holding the surprisingly difficult job.
“Bless ye no,” Glen jested, his witty reply not registering with the stoic Cofol. He cleared his throat and reached for a piece of strawberry cake, nicely baked dough with whole fruits in it. Glen ate the piece, thought of having another, but decided to get the business out of the way first and gestured for Kirk to have a bite himself. “Roran, I’ve given it some thought. You’ll bring a detachment of the 2nd Othrim along. Enough soldiers to deter Lord Suraer, but not too many so as to strain the supply situation here and appear to the old… Lord, we’re invading.”
Even if we are.
“Lord Suraer won’t fight against the Phalanx without provocation,” Roran assured him.
“That’s nice for we don’t want the man provoked,” Glen agreed with a nod. “I understand you’ve visited Lo-Minas a couple of times lately.”
“Nine times since the Fall,” Roran replied sternly.
“That seems like a lot, but probably isn’t given the time involved,” Glen said. “Are you on good terms with Lord Suraer?”
“Few people are,” Roran replied.
“Any way to befriend him?” Glen queried and slurped down some water to clean his mouth.
“He’ll either like you, or he won’t Hardir.”
Yeah, I can’t risk that.
“Does he like you Roran?” Glen probed sitting back on the uncomfortable chair using his elbows to avoid sliding forward.
“I respect him and believe he respects me,” Roran replied and eyed Felon approaching with a map, he opened on a table behind the badly constructed throne. With the Council’s seats occupying the area in front of Glen, apparently not to be moved, he had to use the area behind his own throne to install some extra furniture.
“Ah, Folen,” he said and got up. “Come Roran,” he told the Hoplite and walked near the stooped like an old man Zilan. “I want you to show me on the map how far you went last time.”
“I reached the shores,” Roran replied and eyed Folen thoughtfully.
“Mmm,” Glen said staring at the map. “Can a ship moor at the old port?”
“Most of the old port is destroyed, or underwater Hardir,” Roran replied narrowing his eyes troubled for some reason.
“Still some of it, is there,” Glen murmured and pointed further west. “What about Rain-Minas?”
“It is doubtful anything survived.”
“If the old roads are there, we could reopen a trade route at this spot, or convince the Cofols to brave the Torn Earth and dock under Teleniel’s Bridge’s shade,” Glen thought aloud and noticed Folen standing cowered next to his left shoulder. “Good grief, stand upright like a normal person!” he admonished him.
“You,” Roran grunted.
“Who?” Glen asked turning towards him, the Hoplite looking livid.
“You’re that sneaky guide,” Roran added recognition on his face.
Ahm.
Glen stared at Folen surprised, the latter assuming a weird grimace in an attempt to change his facial characteristics, whilst humming under his breath.
“Fuck are ye doing?” Glen told him, Roran turning a tomato red from all the blood rushing to his head.
“You’re the guide,” he repeated with conviction.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Folen blurted out and jumped away when Roran rushed him almost going through a stunned Glen.
“Stop!” Glen barked, Folen whistling notes and ready to dodge if the Hoplite rushed him again. “Roran what’s the meaning of this aggression friend?”
“He brought that cretin here!” Roran growled pointing an accusing finger on the gawking and appearing shocked Folen. Also guilty-looking Glen had to admit.
“What cretin?” Glen asked not wanting to assume Roran was talking about him, but it was an alarming thought.
“Ebe, argh!” Roran grunted clenching his fists.
Eh, someone else then.
“Calm down,” Glen told Roran. “Folen explain what happened,” he ordered the sweating Master of Silence, his nicely parted hair now disheveled.
“I wanted to make ends meet,” Folen croaked, switching to pleading and sad pity-inducing storytelling. “Offered them sweet mother and sister’s services…”
Wow, dis came out all wrong, Glen thought with a frown.
Roran scoffed and Glen stepped in to douse the fire.
“They are not related,” he explained to the fuming Hoplite. Roran looked the conservative sort. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. Ehem…right then, continue Mister Folen.”
“They wanted a guide to the interior and I took the job,” Folen admitted. “Anyone would’ve done the same in my position.”
“You lying scum,” Roran grunted. “A guide doesn’t help a perverted thief escape justice! Then he’s a blasted accomplice!”
“Wait,” Glen stepped between them again to deescalate the matter. Ah, shit… I need more info. “What did he take?”
Although the ‘perverted’ had stricken him as the strangest part in Roran’s words, Glen avoided to inquire about it.
“Aelinole’s shirt,” Roran spat bitterly.
Ugh.
Glen stood back with a frown. “That’s it? I mean sure… that’s condemnable, but mayhap he mistook it for his?”
“A Mithril shirt!” Roran growled. “You pretend he didn’t have it on him?” he asked the grimacing and humming different tunes Folen. Nothing was sticking though.
“A shirt is easy to hide under clothes,” Glen said to help Folen.
“She had her shape. Until the day she breathes her last,” Roran grunted the matter hurting him. “She had it from her cradle.”
“Did she stay small growing up?” Glen asked a little confused, but not wanting to provoke him, or offend Suraer’s daughter femaleness.
Jinx was petite, but a lot o’ woman regardless.
“It was a Mithril shirt,” Roran explained.
Alright, so what?
“I had no idea he was going to do that,” Folen told him and the Hoplite whipped his head around angry.
“What did you do next?”
“I didn’t—”
Roran’s backhand had almost decapitated the sweaty Zilan. A groaning Folen flew over the table with the maps, landed awkwardly and stopped near two stools and a smaller table Atju used to have his meals. Roran going after him.
Shit.
A shocked Glen run after the Hoplite, rounding the big map table and arriving there just as Roran landed a kick to a humming and bleeding down his mouth Folen and sent him back across the room with a yelp. Glen got in front of Roran.
“That’s enough,” he warned him, not really wanting to fight the hoplite for no reason, or with little reason, but Glen couldn’t let him kill Folen. It was difficult to find another person to do the job back in Goras, he could semi-trust with not fucking it up.
“He helped him escape punishment,” Roran grunted furious.
“I understand,” Glen nodded. “A thief steals a… valuable small shirt,” Roran frowned. “Bigger elastic shirt,” Glen corrected. “Fine, you can’t put the blame on the guide, even if he should have perhaps reported him.”
“He knew what he was, you heard him,” Roran said bitterly. “You don’t bring a bastard like that near noble people.”
“I didn’t know, swear on my mother,” Folen protested from the floor wiping the blood from his face, his left cheek swollen and turning blueish. Still he attempted to whistle.
Eh, that’s a lie, not to mention we don’t know which mother ye mean here, Glen decided and eyed the fuming Hoplite, but not before admonishing the injured humming Zilan.
“Cut it out you fool, it’s not plaguin’ working and yer making it worse!” Glen growled and then turned to address Roran. “You said perverted earlier,” he started. “What did you mean?”
“A liar weaving his way into a higher caste lady’s affections,” Roran grunted. “Taking advantage of their kindness,” Glen furrowed his brow. “Even playing them against each other. We don’t do that, who does? Nor do we invade another’s privacy, without permission.”
“When you say… privacy?” Glen asked seeing him struggling to get the words out.
“He didn’t touch her!” Folen croaked standing up. “All he wanted was that darn shirt!”
“Ah, curse your lineage!” Roran grunted and clenched his fists. “You’re a piece of trash Folen! What are you doing in Hardir’s court?”
“He serves a function,” Glen replied sternly. “Roran, I think you should take a moment to calm down. My decision stands. We’re leaving on the morrow.”
“You don’t need me there Hardir,” Roran grunted and stood back breathing heavy.
“You served Rothomir and I want Suraer to see for himself, he holds no more power,” Glen replied.
“He knows that,” Roran replied.
“Still, it will help.”
“What about Lord Rothomir?” Roran asked tiredly and Glen reached into his shirt and got a gold ring out. Nicely engraved with the roots of a tree all around. “I found this in the Witch’s grave.”
Roran took it and examined the ring thoughtfully. “This is Abarat’s Guard symbol. Vulas ring.”
“Hoped it was Rothomir’s but the other skeleton parts had nothing on them,” Glen replied a little disappointed.
Unless the adventurers had pocketed the loot whilst I was busy talking with Nym.
Eh.
I guess I don’t own them crooks shit!
“He’s dead?” Roran asked in disbelief. “Did he actually opened the tomb?”
“I think he is and that he did,” Glen said. “But I prefer not to have to explain to Suraer what happened. Frankly, I’m not sure myself.”
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Half an hour later a worn out Glen sat on the stool at Atju’s table, the slave bandaging Folen’s ribs and face, a cup of wine in hand.
“Who was this Ebe?” he asked the injured official.
“An adventurer,” Folen replied with a grimace of pain, his nose swollen as well, which made it half his face. At least he sort of looks different now, Glen thought. Now if the swelling remains perhaps he can tag along without anyone else recognizing him.
“Right. So, he took the shirt. Anything else of value? It’s best to be thorough on these matters.”
“What matters?”
“Just answer the plaguing question!” Glen blasted him losing it.
Fucking ruffian! Collaborator!
“I don’t think he did.”
Drink piss through the nose.
“Anything else?” Glen rustled not believing him, but forcing himself to calm down.
“The Ranger really liked him,” Folen grunted. “Had a way with the ladies,” he explained. Glen thought of punching him once on the other cheek to even the swelling out, but managed to restrain himself. “Darunia was fond of him as well. Roran is jealous.”
“Did she like him enough to take a roll in the hay?” Glen asked through his teeth.
“He denied it, but they were almost caught in the lake,” Folen murmured. “I can’t fathom…”
“What lake is that? The one at the near I don’t believe qualifies.”
“Near Lo-Minas. We visited during the festival.”
“Uhm. How did he get the shirt off?” Glen probed.
“She was bathing at the time,” Folen replied.
“Does Roran know this?”
“I don’t know what happened afterwards. We had to leg it out fast and we couldn’t return to Abarat,” Folen explained reminiscing. “So we skirted past the patrols and cut through the garden, but turned around upon reaching the Orchard. Crossed Myrdiel River Bridge and traveled to Old Port Canal following the shores.”
Glen tried to remember the map. “So you know of Rain-Minas?”
“I don’t remember it. There are ruins there, but nothing worth risking your life over. I told them, but it was futile.”
“Who were his accomplices?”
“That dwarf, the bard and later that stupid Gish,” Folen griped and touched a finger on his swollen cheek carefully.
Wait… could it be?
“You’re talking of Ebenezer Framtond?” Glen asked not expecting it. “Haha. No way. Really?”
“Ebenezer is known?” Folen stood back, his brows raised in a grimace of disbelief. “Really? I thought he’d never make it back.”
“He is and he did,” Glen shook his head. “We used Valwarin’s key to go through the tunnel at the mountain.”
“Pfft,” Folen scoffed.
“How did they make it past the Arachne?” Glen asked furrowing his brow.
“I don’t know, I left them at Goras,” Folen admitted. “That was enough adventuring for me. But he did have the ‘soothing ring’ on him, so he may have used it, if they had enough forewarning. Usually it was the other way around with Dom’s stupid loud mouth.”
“What did the ring do?” Glen asked curious.
“It calms predators down for a while.”
“How long?”
“Nowhere near long enough.”
“Where did he find the ring?”
“His mother gave it to him,” Folen shrugged his shoulders. “He was a half-breed and this I learned from the bard. Ebe was lying even when he was talking in his sleep.”
Glen could appreciate the skill and shook his head.
“Could he have made the story up?” Glen asked crossing his hands on his chest. “About the… flexible shirt?”
“What did he have to gain? The lady’s escort almost caught him in the act,” Folen replied.
“Of stealing,” Glen added.
“Of course Hardir. What else?”
Hmm.
North Lake’s approaches,
Above Royal Cobra River and the border to Glae-Lintul,
(Shallow Lakes Lands)
Less than a day from Lo-Minas
Mid first month of Fall 3398IC (192NC)
A large hawk lithely dived for the ground, grabbed an unassuming fat rabbit minding its own business and elevated rapidly towards the sky, running into Uvrycres waiting gnarly open mouth and flying straight for his gullet. The black jaws snapped close, the Wyvern silently banking a hard left over their party and even twirling once showing off.
“Haha,” Glen guffawed seeing the scene unfolding, whacking a buzzing Oldfly heading for his open mouth away with his hand. “Son of a goat!” he cursed and glared at Kirk, the bodyguard raising his shoulders.
The long procession marching slowly for over a week, the road well maintained between the two cities and the land relatively tame. The soil rich and covered in green grass teeming with wildlife that stayed away from them. The forest beyond it thick, but not the wilderness that he had encountered at Goras.
Glen stood up on the stirrups, tipping his hoplite helm back over his brows, Outlaw snorting probably pissed on traveling on hard cobblestone, when there was perfectly fine and nutritious grass on each side of the wide road. The lake’s crystal clear waters to their southeast, the forest that started on Great Acid Lake’s shores hugging the road over the flat terrain to their northwest.
He sighed, Uvrycres shrieked warningly from above, his large shadow shading their advanced group and a score of riders appeared four hundred meters away slowly coming their way. Men and horses covered in gleaming silver armour. The horses Chamfron or head-cover equipped with protruding steel horns attached to the plate mask. The riders wearing a long scalemail shirt that covered their hips and triangular metal plates on the chest, polished engraved silvery metal and same quality solemn masks on their helmed head hiding their faces. They resembled the Cofol Cataphracts in armour and weaponry, but the Khan’s cavalry appeared poor in comparison.
Glen had counted twenty of them, one in their group sporting gold details on his armour and helm, but then he saw another one that didn’t look like a Cataphract at all. With her braided cobalt hair caught at the nappe, elongated ears prominently displayed unadorned and a squarish face for a girl, the clad in a dark-green leather ring-reinforced armour female -the heaviest variant of the Imperial Ranger outfit Glen had ever seen- kicked her encased in leather legs and trotted in front of the slow to react Zilan Knights.
ERRRRRRRR
Uvrycres trumpeted from the skies, the ever growing Wyvern circling over the group, scaring their horses. The ranger halved the distance between them, Wylinor reaching for an arrow next to Glen as he had hurried to the front of their procession to better see the strangers.
“Don’t,” Glen ordered the Goras ranger and the female Zilan stopped her proud horse and twisted around with it expertly in the middle of the ancient road, its hooves tapping rhythmically. Stopping then starting again, forward and then rearing without missing a beat, the dressage a pure expression of absolute skill.
Glen raised his left arm in a greeting and the female smiled fiercely, then let out an ululating cry that was answered by the approaching and initially startled at her initiative Zilan knights. The mask wearing Rokae sounding otherworldly on the flat plains between the lakes.
ALALAE!
ALALAE!
RRRRRRRREEE
EERRRHHH
The Wyvern answered with a thunderous ear-splitting shriek from above them and then dived making a very close pass barely two meters over them that almost scattered both groups, but for the stoic Glen –other than an abrupt dodge with his head to avoid Biscuit’s stinger that attempted to flick the helm from his head- and the fiercely staring his way female ranger.
“That’s her,” Folen croaked and glanced back to make sure Roran was still far behind with the hoplites.
The wiry, but still strikingly feminine Zilan in her Valkyrie fierceness justifying Roran’s anger towards the Goras official, former guide/bard/bar and brothel owner and Glen could have missed a couple of professions there without a doubt.
“You came to wage war on Lo-Minas Hardir O’ Fardor?” Aelinole, of Suraer & Lyrael asked in fluent Imperial and Glen grabbed the helm that had almost toppled from his head, grinned as fiercely as her and answered in his most lordly manner in not as fluent Imperial.
“The thought, never crossed my mind Aelinole.”
Lying through his teeth like a hair-growing snake-oil merchant fresh out of stock.
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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/