>
> ‘Three-teeth’ Gloom came to stand next to a frowned Leona at the aftcastle’s rooftop. The bell ringing warningly and the lights of the ship dousing the dark misty waters. The black reefs sailing by them in the dark in eerie silence. But for the bell Merton worked with fervor, only the calm waves and the creaking of the large warship disturbing it.
>
> The captain’s eyes set at the distance where that ship had appeared heading west through the reefs further away than the island and Wetull’s shores. She had seen its lights once and for about five minutes and then the mist had thickened again as they were moving away from it heading north. The mystery ship had disappeared in the humid fog.
>
> “Was it the same ship?” the pirate asked her squinting his eyes. “The one that came looking for us after the battle?”
>
> “It wasn’t mister Gloom,” Leona replied hoarsely with a grimace of pain coming from her mutilated hand.
>
> “Caught a glimpse of its shape then?”
>
> “I have,” Leona replied thoughtfully, remembering the heavily laden Barque that looked like the Marquette but wasn’t obviously. Her sails larger, with similar rigging though and figure. A huge lily flower carved at its bow. The packed with crew deck and masts staring at their lights unmoving as if mesmerized, but no one interested enough to look for a spyglass or signal them. “It looked like a merchant ship.”
>
> “What ye think could its cargo be?” Gloom queried.
>
> Leona licked her salty lips and then closed her spyglass. “I have the sneaky feeling mister Gloom,” she rustled returning to the wheel and an anxious Kidd steering it. “That it carries people.”
>
> “Where to?” Gloom asked wobbling after her.
>
> “That’s the thing,” Leona replied unsure. “Their course is weird and dangerous. Dead set west towards the blasted lands. I don’t think they’ll make it.”
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Glen
Arguen Garth
Hardir O’ Fardor
Lord of Morn Taras
Monarch of Sinya Goras
Beyond Lo-Minas
Part II
-You have to-
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[https://i.postimg.cc/1zT5pqmr/Lo-Minas-193-NC.jpg]
Delmuth, the Zilan knight ordered his riders to fan out at the edges of the road in a loose half ring and the procession started moving again. Aelinole came to ride next to Glen. Folen, Vulreon and Kirk coming right behind them.
“Is that Roran I see back there?” Aelinole asked straightforwardly, her manner less haughty than the other noble Zilan he’d met.
“That’s him,” Glen replied, his understanding of Imperial stretched thin already but he didn’t know if the Ranger was fluent in Common. So he kept his answers short now that Folen wasn’t near him. Nym had managed to drop all the way back to the last row of the Phalanx with the adventurers and was chatting up Marlo, or whatever it was they were doing. Glen had the impression the dressed in a dark-brown, loose riding tunic assassin was making an effort to socialize, starting with the easier targets.
“Hmm. Lord Rothomir?”
“Unknown. I shall… speak to Lord Suraer,” Glen replied staring at the first cultivated farms appearing on the north side of the road. A thin, but rich forest hiding the lake’s shores on the other side but for some cut through the vegetation parts.
“You seem older than the rumors,” she noticed carefully.
“It’s been a rough couple of years,” Glen replied and pushed his greying unruly hair back.
“I meant wiser Hardir, apologies,” Aelinole elucidated with a light purse of her mouth. “Perhaps we should speak in Common?”
Glen smacked his lips and stood up straighter on the saddle.
“It’s been a rough couple of years,” he repeated with a small grin and she nodded, clicking her tongue to calm her large horse down, as it had been spooked by the patrolling wyvern.
A sneaky fool tracks you, Uvrycres told him, when his hand touched the dagger.
Where?
Hides in the trees.
Is she armed?
“My father is in the field, inspecting horses,” Aelinole said, but Glen had stopped paying attention to her.
He spelled out!
“Ugh?” Glen grunted and the Ranger paused and looked at him surprised.
Or was it alarmed?
Hah. An illusion spell, Uvrycres sniggered. That fool thinks he is a mage.
“Shite!” Glen cursed in Common, Aelinole’s eyes opening wide and Delmuth turning his masked head around. Apparently everyone here knows a couple of languages at least, Glen thought and kicked his legs to get Outlaw going. Mayhap it’s the long living. After a while you sort of learn stuff, or just hear a lot of cursing?
Yeah.
He cut hard towards the forested part of the lake, leaving the road under the startled murmurs of those near him. Kirk reacted trying to follow after the galloping away Glen, but Aelinole was the one that dashed after him.
“Where?” Glen asked the Wyvern and saw Uvrycres diving towards the forest’s canopy a hundred meters in front of them. He disappeared behind the trees and Glen opened up the pace, Outlaw galloping hard on the grassland and entering the treeline a minute later.
The peaceful lake appeared amidst the foliage, Outlaw’s hooves digging at the soft fertile ground scaring the birds away. The flap of small wings and the chirping maddening, but the thicker part of the forest gave away without any incident. Glen reached the lake’s shores, most of it covered with blossoming canes, with insects buzzing over them and the humidity making the air taste of flowers and wet weed.
“Whoa!” Glen said stopping Outlaw. The horse snorted and turned away from the alluring water reaching for a nearby lush bush to feed.
Damn it, where’s is he? He asked the unseen Wyvern, the breeze coming from the lake blowing curly hair off his flushed face. Glen looked about him, the well-trotted path cutting through the forest offering a good spot for someone to watch the nearby road and their large procession. He stared at the disturbed grass, the path Outlaw had taken clear, the horse’s legs covered in wet dirt and then at the canes near the shores.
A frustrated Glen jumped from the saddle, grimaced when his boots landed, as the missing toe bothered him and the breeze blew over the lake again creating small waves and moving all the greenery about. Small stems bending to its touch but for an unassuming cluster less than eight meters away, facing south. The reflective shape resembling a crude rectangular at first, a meter wide and less than six feet tall, but as Glen kept staring at it, a figure emerged.
A yellow-green glass man standing still.
Weak! Uvrycres commented and landed on the shallows, wings extended to break the momentum, hind legs sinking in the soft bottom and a couple of barrels worth of water splashing Glen’s way dousing him.
Three frogs that found themselves on land out of the blue croaked in panic, Glen cursed half covered in mire and the translucent cane-resembling man gasped in fright. He shuddered and jumped away from the approaching, walking on all fours large Wyvern. A small hut couldn’t welcome Uvrycres inside anymore. The black scales shining, the water sparkling as it dripped off of him.
Glen wasn’t paying attention to the terrifying creature, but was busy running after the legging it away hooded male. The man –now slowly turning solid- jumped over a thorny bush, cleared it with ease with a following Glen twisting around it and Uvrycres cursing in his head irate.
Fuck’s sake! You were supposed to keep him out of the trees!
Not scare him away!
What? Are ye serious? Learn to talk plans aforehand! A snarling Glen retorted running hard, the man glancing back to see if he was still after him. He danced right behind a tree and out of sight, but Glen rounded the trunk sprinting determined, but rolling nimbly away a stride in. He got mud plastered on his fine pants, leaves and bird shit on his shining cuirass and a gigantic fat bright-yellow and black caterpillar got stuck on his forehead somehow.
At least he dodged the sneaky opponent’s straight baton.
The man cursed his lineage in Imperial, Glen stopped his roll on a tree trunk and stood up saying quite a few shocking words about the man’s unknown mother in Common, just as the green-eyed man rushed him. Glen jolted left to avoid a stick to the cranium and punched the skinny man right at the solar plexus, angling his knight’s ring to dig into flesh. His opponent stumbled back with a groan, Glen retreated as well and unsheathed his sword, the Jackal’s cackle reverberating on the shaded dark-brown rough trunks.
Glen’s next move was to remove the caterpillar from his forehead with a shiver.
“Eh,” the man said, hood pushed back over his head, short blondish hair with several darker strands on them wet from the forest’s humidity and twisted the edge of the baton. It clicked and turned into the sheath for a straight blade, a little shorter than Glen’s, who sighed and unsheathed his Hoplite sword as well.
No cackling for the blade he’d taken from Abarat’s well-stocked armoury, but the steel on it pretty darn sharp.
“Hardir?” the strange man said. Strange because Glen could spot his pointy ears sprouting out the sides of his head.
First blond Zilan Glen had ever seen.
Glen flipped both blades needlessly and when his opponent raised a trimmed brow, the former thief kicked a bucket of mud, rotten leaves and rooted out grass on his face. The man dodged right to avoid the worst, but Glen cut his path.
The blades clanged, but he managed to open a wound on the Zilan’s shin with the spare weapon, before his opponent could jump away.
“Where’s the magic?” Glen queried in Imperial, looking for a way to finish this quickly. The sound of galloping coming from the shores, no more than fifty meters behind them. The man checked the bleeding cut above the rim of his boots and grimaced.
“It doesn’t work.”
“Poor plan,” Glen retorted with a nod and attacked again. A low feint with the Kopis to draw his attention to the smarting leg and the longer blade screeched leaping for his face. An arrow striking the flat of the blade just as he was angling it to shorten the man’s head to the ears.
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It shoved his sword away.
The Zilan lashed at him with his blade, but Glen parried with the Kopis and twisted away, glancing with a gawking eye for the arrow firing culprit, the other on his retreating opponent.
“Let him go,” Aelinole said getting out of the trees, bow in her arms loaded. “Please.”
Plaguing bitch, Glen cursed angry. “Put that down else the Wyvern will turn Lo-Minas into a desert,” he warned her.
Fuck them all, Uvrycres agreed. Burn that shit!
Gods darnit, where are you? Ye were supposed to back me up!
Too many trees to land, the wyvern explained, a frowned Aelinole sidestepping to approach the standing still Zilan, keeping her bow on him steady. Thought of clearing this part of the lake, but you may get a bit singed?
Uh? Glen grimaced, trying to figure out what was going on, whilst ensuring the wyvern didn’t kill them all.
Nothing serious probably, the wyvern added with a thoughtful pause. Hey, there’s always the lake at the near. Want me to hurl a fireball?
“Are you alright?” the Ranger asked the scowling male, concern in her voice evident and lowered her bow.
No, Glen retorted in his head talking to the wyvern and lowered his blades.
“What is this madness girl?” He asked her in Common. “You’ve just blown a potential alliance apart.”
“This isn’t about Lo-Minas,” Aelinole replied, her ears turning to the sound of a much bigger host of riders approaching. “But it matters to my family.”
“So it is about it in other words,” Glen rustled and puffed out eyeing the weird Zilan. “You take the loss? It’s no shame.”
The young Zilan furrowed his brow. “I didn’t lose Hardir.”
“Berthas!” Aelinole reproached him and slotted her bow over her shoulder. Berthas pursed his mouth, the sound of horses and calls coming from all around them.
“I usually brag about this stuff, but ye were half-dead dude,” Glen said and sheathed his swords one after the other. The Kopis on his back and the longsword on his hip. “And you had a wyvern above yer head to deal with. What was the plan?”
“I wanted to see Hardir O’ Fardor,” Berthas said and went to pick up his baton.
“Why not try it like a normal person?” Glen asked and glanced at Kirk coming out of the foliage. “We’re fine,” he told him.
Berthas sheathed his blade, grimaced returning the bodyguard’s stare and then raised his hood to cover his head.
“Who’s the lad?” Kirk asked sensing something was amiss.
“My son,” Aelinole replied and then walked to him in order to check on his wound.
Ah, the plot thickens.
“Everything alright sir?” Kirk asked and Glen nodded with a look at his dirty garbs.
“Bring me a cloth to clean up a bit and a bucket. Me skin is tingling,” he ordered him, scratching at his enflamed forehead. Fuckin’ bugs flying out of nowhere! “And keep this between us.”
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“Piss on it,” Laedan suggested and tossed a slain fox to the rolling on the grass wyvern. “Lather it up thoroughly and ye’ll be fine.”
“I’m about to speak to Lord Suraer,” Glen grunted. “I ain’t doing that.”
“Use a cloth, hold it there for a bit and then wash it off,” the Denmaster explained watching Uvrycres crunching on the carcass. “You need to feed him more.”
“He’s feeding himself,” Glen retorted and walked behind a bush to have some alone time and do his business. They had stopped after his abrupt detour and prepared a campsite. Earlier Aelinole had ordered Berthas to return to Lo-Minas afore following after them.
“You need to know what he’s eating Hardir,” Laedan insisted, unwilling to give him some privacy.
Glen came out of the bush the wet smelly cloth pressed on his forehead. “Don’t worry about him. Good grief, stand back! I swear to allgods dis better work friend.”
“You’ll get used to their sting after a while,” Laedan explained, staring at him tying up the front of his pants rudely. “To speed up the procedure we can gather some and reapply the poison until you get used to it.”
“No,” Glen replied sternly without hesitation. “Kirk keep everyone at distance and leave the water bucket. Laedan I don't want to see yer mug until the morrow.”
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Lo-Minas was wide and long where Abarat was triangular and restricted on its plateau. It was also without walls, or battlements of any kind. Extending between North and West lakes and basically two rivers, it faced Glae-Lintul’s fertile flatland to its south, the latter reaching as far as Edlenn’s Pond and the Gullet.
So basically it’s three lakes, Glen thought, rash washed off his forehead after he reapplied Laedan’s remedy the previous night. They had spent it on the road after losing time in the day, but the morning brought them inside the ‘provincial’ city abruptly. The fields turning to farms and the typical Zilan estates morphing to large Mastabas near the spread out city’s center. Six grey pyramid-like granite rectangular structures made out of dark-stone bricks, flat-roofed and with inward sloping sides. Glen had seen one of those still standing in Eikenport, but here they had three per side of the twenty meters wide main road of Lo-Minas and two kilometers away the stone-tiles boulevard ended before a bulky step-pyramid with three wide steps, its flat-top sporting a slanted walled tower-like structure. It reminded him of Rida and Duke’s Palace, but not as massive.
“Stables to the east, warehouses to the west. It’s a copy of Elauthin’s grand central square in a more practical manner. My father believes in filling the empty spaces with either produce, or animals. Not all see the appeal, but during the ‘dark summer’ we had enough supplies to survive,” Aelinole explained a little apprehensively. She had spent the night without commenting on what had almost happened the previous day. Glen had kept the story for himself as well. Roran who had come to greet her at some point, left visibly disappointed without pressing the issue, after receiving an emotionless reception from the noble female. It was obvious she was faking indifference, as her eyes had lingered on the Hoplite when he walked away. “Lord Suraer’s palace is far away, but I’m afraid the smell reaches its walls. Most visitors favored staying at the estates near the lakes.”
“I don’t mind horse dung,” Glen assured her. “Unless I’m sleeping on it, then I do. So you sweep them floors and we’ll have no problems.”
“Why would Hardir sleep on the floor…?” Aelinole started as Glen had messed up some of the words there, but paused unsure. “As I said, while my father is inspecting livestock today, we can head straight for the palace.”
“Let’s make a stop near the stables, rest the animals,” Glen decided and turned around to spot how far away the marching columns of the Hoplites were. “Give Roran time to arrive,” he added.
“As you wish,” Aelinole replied and clicked her tongue to get her horse going towards the Zilan knights cordoning the head of their procession.
“Where to milord?” Kirk asked approaching.
“They actually use Mastabas for stables,” Glen said not bothering to answer. “Or warehouses.”
“You did that in Eikenport in a sense,” Kirk replied, talking of Glen locking Uvrycres there afore turning the building into a warehouse. Locked him sort of, since Eikenport’s Mastaba lacked a ceiling initially.
“Right? Haha, I fucking did,” Glen agreed nodding as they trotted down the large boulevard suited for horse races, or tourneys and with a last glance at the distant palace, he turned his mount left and the east, just as Lord Suraer’s entourage rode out of the mid Mastaba’s massive square west side opening (each half-pyramid on the ‘stables row’ had two, one facing the central boulevard –west- and one facing the city to the east) the two heavy wooden flaps of the gates closing with the help of bovines and pulleys.
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Lord Suraer stood straight on the ivory adorned saddle of his magnificent cinnamon-color stallion, clad in a timeworn studded leather armor with a long grey cloak over it, dark leather pants, vambraces, rough-hide gloves and fine-leather but dirty high boots with steel spurs. His prominent forehead sweaty, thinning long white hair with touches of purple caught loosely at the back of his head.
A stocky Zilan with a lined square jaw that resembled his daughter and piercing gray-blue eyes.
“Lord Suraer,” Glen said after raising his arm in a traditional greeting. “Your city is impressive.”
“Hardir O’ Fardor,” Suraer rustled after he repeated the words and returned the gesture, glancing at his daughter. “It started as a stable, but city folk tend to turn open land into labyrinths to palate their anxiousness. At least we’ve kept the worst of the offenders out of the center.”
Glen glanced at a group of stable workers leading a large herd of thoroughbreds down the roomy boulevard and towards the fields. “I intended to leave the animals in the shade,” he started. “But you know the place better.”
“Let us ride to the palace, there’s room for them there and they can be as cultured as any one of us, unless you favor walking,” Suraer offered pressing his mouth. “We haven’t had a wyvern visit us for centuries and Baltoris landed on the West Lake when she was in a good mood. Or where we’re standing right now if she wasn’t. Many a good animals have perished.”
“Difficult landings?” Glen jested and Lord Suraer chuckled.
“Ovinet knew to pick her spots to be nutrition rich. When you get to eat the spoils, you’re inclined to create more of them,” he replied and waved at Delmuth’s Rokae. “Get them to the stables Sir Delmuth we don’t need an escort. Plus they are shitting all over my street and I can’t have people pulled out of feeding this week to clean it up again. I see you lingered at the grass fields on your way back. See to give them some hay and seeds afore you leave the stables to balance their diet and lots of clean water.”
“Right away Lord Suraer,” Delmuth replied in his muffled voice.
“I’ll order Uvrycres to stay away from the animals,” Glen assured him. “But sometimes he may cheat.”
I want to land on the boulevard! Uvrycres boomed in his head, but made a pass over them and headed west towards the rest of the city not to put Glen on the spot immediately.
Suraer stared at him thoughtfully. “That he sometimes listens is impressive Hardir. Let’s hope he does. Laedan if I catch you killing livestock to feed him we’ll have words,” he added spotting the disfigured Denmaster amongst Glen’s group. “Race you to the palace Hardir?”
Glen didn’t want to do it, but he didn’t want to lose also and galloped after the Lord of Lo-Minas. In the end and despite a valiant effort from Outlaw, Suraer’s rested and probably of excellent stock stallion won by a body.
Glen was disappointed, but he clenched his teeth in a gnarly smile and pretended he was a good sport, which brought another bout of laughter out of the brusque, but candid Lord Suraer.
“A man shouldn’t like losing,” he told him. “But being a gentleman about it is important. Knightly even. You’re a knight perchance Hardir?”
“I was knighted in Rida by the Duke of Raoz,” Glen said relaxing and wiped the sweat from his face, the palace’s fat shade cooling on his skin.
“The Gods heard the old Rokae and brought a knight to his threshold,” the Zilan replied cryptically.
Lord Suraer jumped from his horse lithely and waited for him to climb down, the rest of their escort still galloping towards them down the boulevard. The ancient Zilan tended his right arm and took Glen’s in an elbow grasp, the two males standing at the same height.
“Welcome to Lo-Minas Hardir O’ Fardor,” he said candidly. “I told Onas the man who tames a wyvern and rules over either Goras, or Elauthin should have the throne. I didn’t, the old geese didn’t, Rothomir ruled over what the Queen had given him and you did both. That you came here yourself and didn’t sent another emissary showcases you don’t fear rejection and want to cut to the meat of the matter.”
“I do,” Glen said. “What’s beyond Lo-Minas Lord Suraer?”
The old Zilan stood back and stared at the gates of the grey Mastaba and the many external stairs leading to his palace. “Whatever, whomever, made it out… ugh. They did it in the first two-three years, if they were still able to breathe, or think. Those that stayed behind, were either trapped, or too damaged to move. You may find trinkets Hardir, but the real treasures of Wetull are under the waters or have turned to dust. If you wish to judge the rest of us, then start at the top and leave the rest untouched. All mistakes lie with those that rule.”
“I didn’t come to bring judgement and the seers that spoke of it without knowing me were probably crazy,” Glen replied. “Since I’ve met one, then I’m almost convinced about it. As a matter of fact, if I don’t see another one in my lifetime I’ll be a happy man.”
Suraer glanced at him a little surprised, Glen returned his stare apprehensively cursing himself for letting his mouth blurt out nonsense that could trigger an avalanche of bad luck against him.
Luthos, ye twisted toed ape, I misspoke!
“Sometimes it’s humorous,” Suraer said encouragingly and Glen groaned not liking where this was going. “Their response. Other times the humor is painful, or bitter to palate. But you have to.”
“What was it in yer case?” Glen asked, a bit stunned that Lord Suraer was nothing like the other Zilan had described him. Or perhaps it was their arrogance that angered the old Lord and admittedly some were very difficult to stand.
“Pride,” Suraer admitted his face darkening. “For saving the people here, the animals. For saving my daughter and the possibility of my line continuing even after an event that ended much more important Zilan than myself. I’m just the Queen’s stable master Hardir.”
“What did the gods do?” Glen asked remembering the boy at the lake. Almost a mage, but not quite.
Lord Suraer crunched his face, creating even more wrinkles on his tanned weather-beaten skin. It made him look like a humble hard-working provincial noble more than an important Imperial official.
“Tried to rob me of a future,” Suraer replied. “Cruelly hurt me through what I value most in this realm. But as I said Hardir, difficult to palate, but you have to. Take the loss and live on. You learn to love it and look to the future. Not everyone does though.”
“So you stayed home, since going anywhere without yer daughter all of a sudden, would have been nigh awkward and uncharacteristic of you,” Glen said and Suraer narrowed his eyes alarmed. Glen offered him a reassuring smile and pointed at the long way to the top of the Mastaba. “I’m ready to climb up those stairs now Lord Suraer. Allgods there are many. Let’s make stops, let the view sink in. No reason to do them all at once.”
And they didn’t.
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