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> Sing O’ Muse, so our heroes in history’s calends be entered
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> The Third Era’s legends thus escape Lethe’s grim embrace
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> -
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> Phinariel, the Boorish Poet*
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> Zilan Psalm, (Song of the Third Era)
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> First verses
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> Around 210 NC (3416 IC)
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> -
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> *Phinariel’s manuscripts and poems were gathered in five hefty tomes named King’s Anabasis, A Monarch’s Solitude, the Moon’s return, Desolation and Apotheosis (known as the King’s Heritors) also contained a long lament inspired by the Song of Dawn, an earlier psalm the shrewd poet favored immensely.
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[https://i.postimg.cc/DzfN9Kdw/Lo-Minas-III.jpg]
Lo-Minas 193 NC
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Glen
Arguen Garth
Hardir O’ Fardor
Lord of Morn Taras
Monarch of Sinya Goras
King beyond the Pale Mountains
The King beyond the Pale Mountains
Part I
-King’s Anabasis-
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Glen paused upon entering the impressive hall to stare at the three thrones and the statues behind them. A couple of females carved in polished white marble and a rider standing between the two, the horse’s head lowered as if grazing.
“Nuala and Rylael,” Lord Suraer said seeing him examining the unrealistically large statues. “From left to right.”
They were both impressive, but Glen could see Nuala was given a more heroic stance by the artist with her bow out, lowered to the ground and an arrow nocked, whilst her sister just stared at the distance with her hands crossed.
“Nuala was fierce and her beauty could stop your heart afore her arrows,” Suraer explained and walked to a nicely carved cupboard to pour some golden-red liquor from a long-necked glass decanter to two tube-like glass goblets. The glass engraved with silver details. The fancy cupboard was the only adornment inside the hall other than the statues and the typical Zilan frescos on the walls. He tasted the liquor and offered the other goblet to him, an old custom reaching across cultures and species.
Glen took it and tasted the flavorful, but strong alcoholic drink, whilst Lord Suraer’s eyes stayed on the statues for a moment. One of them really.
“But you favored Lyrael,” Glen said and gulped down the liquor, the thick fluid burning his throat in a nice way.
“You’re married Hardir?” Suraer asked and smirked at his empty goblet. “It’s raspberry juice with brandy and vanilla extract,” the Lord of Lo-Minas told him and refilled his glass. “Meant to be sipped, but I guess I do that too when on my own,” he added his smile genuine and finished his, to refill it as well.
“I am. My wife is in Goras with our daughter,” Glen replied and this time he sipped from his drink.
Suraer nodded. “You can favor a horse and a female I suppose. The Zilan will only take a partner if the match is fertile. Marriage is for kings, but the concept is the same. You choose for life. I would have stayed with Lyrael even if we couldn’t procreate. I loved her.”
“Is that you on the horse?” Glen asked, respecting his sincerity and wanting to move to a less heavy topic. It reminded him of Emerson but in a different way. He also remembered Maeriel words for Jinx and respected her decision as well.
The rider was wearing a mask and he couldn’t tell.
“Lord Lobros. Which means steed… bizarrely,” Suraer replied with a grimace. “He was Lord here before me.”
“You could have lied,” Glen noticed.
“A father and his daughters,” Suraer said. “It would have been cheap to insert myself in the picture.”
Right. Well there’s obviously a bit of ancient history here as well, Glen thought and accidently gulped down the rest of his liquor. He was used in larger portions and bigger cups so the fault didn’t lie with him.
“A ruler climbs the stairs to his throne alone,” Suraer said looking at the empty central throne. “Ninthalor did it and Baltoris after him.”
“Does it matter?” Glen asked remembering Nym’s words.
“Not to me,” Suraer admitted and gestured for Aelinole that had entered silently to approach.
“How big is Lo-Minas?” It looked huge to his eyes, but he knew Zilan wanted the extra space to feel comfortable.
“I had two thousand working with me here, plus the Knights. Now there are only about two hundred of Rokae left from them, mostly due to Sir Sulynor the old commander leaving after the Queen’s decrees came to force. The city though has grown to almost twenty thousand anyway in the last two centuries. Some refugees continued to Abarat, but enough stayed to change the landscape.”
“What was it like afore?”
“Horse fields,” Suraer replied. “But I don’t mind the grain, nor the vines. Food is important.”
“It is,” Glen murmured.
“Father,” Aelinole said. “Hardir O’ Fardor,” she took Lord Suraer’s hand and touched it with her forehead.
“You feared Delmuth couldn’t handle our visitor?” Suraer asked, a warm look in his eyes.
“I feared the wyvern might scare the horses and wanted to impress Hardir,” she replied.
“Did she?” Suraer asked and Glen cleared his throat, knowing he needed to remain diplomatic and close the deal for once smoothly.
“She was the best rider I’ve ever seen,” Glen said.
“She is,” Lord Suraer agreed proudly. “Crimson Palace,” he added looking at Glen. “It’s a temple in Baltoris Port. A part of Elauthin.”
Glen nodded. “Where the old kings went.”
He already knew there will be many stairs involved.
“Some of the old court that survived will want to see it,” Suraer said.
“I have my own court,” Glen retorted, but paused to work it through in his head. “Anyone prominent?”
“In their heads they all were. Rybel was the Master of Ships, caught with the transports in Serpent’s Canal and then he retired here, as he couldn’t stand Rothomir.”
“I don’t have a ship guy,” Glen said. “A specialist will come in handy.”
The one in charge now was a former pirate.
“Not sure you will on the morrow,” Suraer replied. “There’s Feyras, the Priest of Eodrass that should have drowned when his ship went down, but survived. I don’t have time for him. Also Kilynia and Rimeros two of her advisors that were probably kicked out of the inner circle.”
“Why?”
Suraer stared at his daughter in a silent query.
“I tend not to overthink a Monarch’s decisions,” Lord Suraer replied, which was vague on whether he went along with the decisions he didn’t agree, or not. “Is this blood?”
The latter he had addressed to his silent daughter. Aelinole had cowered a little after Glen had almost killed her son in the woods. Berthas had tried to attack first, so in his mind it was justified.
“Not mine, but everything is fine,” Aelinole replied.
“Let me finish with Hardir,” Suraer told her not convinced. “I’m sure you want to rest today,” he said turning to Glen. “If you wish to visit the Crimson Palace, I’ll shall take you there. I have a hundred horses that need to get miles under their hooves.”
This sounds like a big journey.
Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
“He knows,” Aelinole said staring at a grimacing Glen.
Oh, for slovenly fuck’s sake.
What do you want me to do about it? Glen wondered a little miffed as he didn’t want to talk about their personal matter. His plate was full and Glen wanted to finish here quickly to return to Goras at some point. Why should I get involved thick-thighs girl? I’m not familiar with yer plaguing customs!
Suraer furrowed his brow, a clench on his jaw forming more lines around his mouth.
“Not all old bloodlines served in the council,” Suraer started, then paused to finish his drink as well, clamping his teeth in another half-grimace -the topic difficult. “Some missed out more due to circumstance and timing. Still lines were drawn. After… the chaos, the old castes lost their coherence. People were more open to look towards a bigger pool of candidates. Goras was already like that, but here and in Cydonia Cazan… eh, I was always proud of Aelinole’s lineage.”
“Father…” she murmured. “He doesn’t need—”
“If he knows,” Suraer countered stopping her. “He knows. If it’s important to him and I’ve read him wrong he can say it himself, I’ve kept the title for far too long anyway. I was difficult afore, but turned very skeptical after the catastrophe. I wanted the best and hoped that would come when the empire stood back on its feet. A lot of prospects were turned down, some new and some that were always there and I even favored.”
Glen sighed and approached the table to refill his goblet.
He had a pretty good idea of what had happened.
“When Berthas came, I knew something was wrong… ahm,” Suraer glanced at Aelinole and she pressed her mouth, a touch of color on her pale cheeks. “Something was different.”
“The hair?” Glen chanced.
“The hair were purple then, so small he was,” Suraer replied. “When they doused him in water, he turned it warmer since it was cold and we realized he might be a mage. Which he couldn’t be.”
“Why?”
“Aelinole is a ranger from her mother, could have been a knight like her father,” Suraer replied. “Elderbloods are like that. There’s no randomness in the skill, it passes down a generation.”
“What about the father?”
“Everyone wanted to know where she was,” Suraer said. “Some even tried to press the issue, until I stepped in.”
“It was my idea,” Aelinole explained. “We told them I mated with a refugee of prominent lineage that had survived to squash the rumors.”
“Roran wasn’t convinced,” Glen guessed.
Aelinole opened her eyes not expecting his words. “He knew me very well. It caused friction with the other interested Zilan in court and even in Abarat,” she finally said. “So I had to remind him that we were never something more than friends, very publicly.”
“To stop the gossip,” Glen guessed. “Did it stop?”
“It birthed more lies,” Suraer said bitterly. “The mysterious ‘father’ was lost to an accident and the child disappeared from public view.”
“Will they accept him as a stray? A bastard?” Glen asked them.
“I can’t do that. Renounce him?” Aelinole replied nervously. “He’s my son.”
“I’m guessing he’s not happy being treated like a leper right?”
“He’s not… Berthas is having a much better life than others of his… it’s not so bad,” Suraer glanced at his daughter.
“You live on,” Glen repeated his earlier words and the Lord of Lo-Minas nodded, his face relaxing.
“When you’re old as I am, you realize few things matter. Pride isn’t one of them,” he added. “No one expected Hardir to be human, feared what his stance on the Zilan would be.”
“Less austere than yer laws for sure,” Glen replied and stared at Aelinole. “You fear bringing him forward, because what you did or said then… wait, when did this happen?”
“More than a hundred—” Suraer started, but she cut him off.
“Summer of 3272,” she blurted out and seeing Glen narrowing his eyes having no idea what this meant, she added. “As I understand your calendar started in 3206 of the Imperial Calendar, so summer of 66 in yours. Berthas came in the summer of 67.”
“That was a long pregnancy…” Glen commented with a blink of his eyes, the ‘kid’ was almost a hundred and thirty years old, then seeing Aelinole standing back unsure, he added. “But of course Zilan take a bit longer in that as well, or am I completely wrong here?”
“Each month must be experienced in the womb,” Aelinole recited. “But this won’t guarantee the baby will survive birth.”
“Was it a surprise?”
“Not for me,” Suraer admitted. “I didn’t suspect it, then I realized she had taken a huge risk bringing him full term.”
Glen sighed and felt a burning sensation in his stomach, the third goblet of liquor probably too much for the time of day.
“What is Hardir’s suggestion?” Suraer asked looking at him.
Ugh? Eh, am I supposed to advice on these matters now?
“Your idea was right,” Glen replied. “If he’s part of your life, then it’s better to bring him forward. It’s been over a century, good grief. Goras has gone completely the other way. We literally brought the jungle strays into the fold.”
Though I had no idea it was as big a thing then.
Aelinole hanged her head. Yeah, Glen thought. It will be awkward to admit it and apologize, but it can’t be helped.
Folen had in a sense. Took him a week to fix that nose and the rib is still bothering him, but hey Roran didn’t like him in the first place.
Not to mention he’s nowhere near as appealing as you.
In your very-fit womanly stature.
Eh.
“Bring him forward, when you take the throne,” Suraer added just to be sure, his words measured.
You old steed… nicely played.
“I don’t mind if he was introduced there,” Glen assured him with a restrained smile of his own. People would be too preoccupied to be stunned by a bastard half-breed with funny hair. If they are, they’d be less inclined to make a scene in front of him.
“Thank you Hardir,” Lord Suraer said and they heard the wyvern landing outside in the palace’s large yard at the top of the Mastaba. Uvrycres didn’t need to take the stairs. Could he fit through the doors?
“I’ll go see to him,” Glen said and paused to elucidate. “My guess is he left Laedan a kilometer behind at least. He’s playful like that.”
Unless he killed him. The Denmaster always said it’s the flip of a coin whether you’ll survive the next visit to a wyvern’s lair, or not, due to their capricious characters and short fuse.
Triggered by the wrong word, or a simple matter of yester’s dyspepsia.
Which come to think of it, puts Laedan’s persistent queries about Uvrycres diet into the proper context.
Shit.
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The two Zilan knights at the entrance had wisely kept their distance from the resting Onyx Wyvern. They turned their eyes on Glen exiting Suraer’s Hall and then followed him as he made his way to the large creature. Uvrycres lay on his stomach, hind legs gathered, winged front legs creating a shade for his wedge-shaped horned head. His long neck coiled and staring at the guards and him. Glen waved Kirk away, the bodyguard had made it up the Mastaba and was talking with the adventurers at the stairs.
He kept his back straight and his strides confident, despite the discomfort on his legs and thought of using something for his hair that had grown considerably the past months. Uvrycres breathed deeply, a heavy smell of brimstone reaching him and sort of blinked with its strange reptile eyes once. The leathery outer eyelid not closing, but the three different clear ones did, closing and opening one after the other, changing the clarity on the large vertical pupil. That familiar burgundy color appearing lightly lit from the inside.
It’s annoying they have so few tall buildings here, the wyvern said gutturally. The dagger translated the beast’s loud shriek in his head and Glen sighed, found a spot on the hard warm and scaly body to put his back on. Right next to the wyvern’s head that now stood higher than his hips.
They stared at the masked guards thirty meters away and the guards stared at them. Then at Sam, Kirk and the adventurers, plus a heavy breathing arriving Folen. Uvrycres eyes turning mimicking Glen’s.
“They have this one and the stables,” Glen murmured. “Solid height.”
The stables are better, much bigger roof, but I sense they don’t want me near their livestock, Uvrycres replied.
Yeah, they don’t.
“It comes as no surprise Suraer keeps the stables better than his Hall,” Glen chuckled, but he quickly sobered up. “Where have you been?”
Looked for the witch.
“Did you find her?”
I won’t be looking for her anymore.
Glen nodded and breathed out relieved. He patted the wyvern with his left hand between the horns and rubbed its slick scales to its ears. He noticed Uvrycres kept an eye on him.
“What is it?” Glen asked sensing his mood. “You’re awfully quiet.”
Want me to scare these fancy guards off the edge? It’s a twenty meter drop. Bet ye a biscuit they’ll scream like girls afore they get splattered all over the granite tiles!
“No,” Glen decided. “You dodged. When did you turn so sneaky?”
Mmm. It’s the company. When did you?
Glen nodded seeing his point. “We might have to make another journey to this Crimson Palace. This is taking far longer than I had originally anticipated.”
Assuming the throne?
“No, I didn’t count on that, the journey was my meaning.”
Who else should rule other than us? I’ve figured out where this was going years ago!
Glen crooked his mouth, looked in his satchel for his pipe and then remembered, he was out of the good stuff. Fucking Gish should have given me something easier to find, he griped, a strange feeling creeping up on him. A sense of gloom and solitude. He gulped down, as it was a feeling Glen remembered very well from his youth. It didn’t use to bother him as much back then. His thoughts mostly on getting the next small score and secure food.
Then again he didn’t really have any company worth missing back then, other than the old thief he had left with the Galant Dogs and frankly didn’t miss at all. Liko and Crafton were better off there anyway.
Anabasis, the Wyvern said still looking at him intently.
“What’s that?” Glen asked hoarsely and rubbed his face to drive the strange uneasiness away.
A king’s ascension on the throne is never easy, even when no foes, or menaces are visible.
“Who am I missing?”
We could find out, but we need a Seer for that and I prefer not to approach another one soon. It is not pleasant.
“This is the most mature I have ever heard you speak,” Glen told him proudly. “Right?”
Hmm.
“What else?”
The king makes it alone and remains solitary after that.
“They don’t have friends, family?” Glen asked not liking this pessimistic outlook on future.
Everyone but the gods stand under the Monarch Glen. Those you mentioned as well. For good, or bad, the Wyvern replied, then stared at Folen ducking behind the corner of the entrance upon seeing Lord Suraer and Aelinole exiting. At the far edge of the building, where the guest quarters were, a lone figure stood and watched them all in curious silence, the face vaguely familiar. Berthas, ye poor kid, Glen thought and the wyvern interrupted his reverie with a solemn hiss.
It is sadness Glen.
And not maturity was his meaning.
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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/