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Glen
Arguen Garth
Hardir O’ Fardor
Lord of Morn Taras
Monarch of Sinya Goras
King beyond the Pale Mountains
Aniculo Rokae
A shadow over Goras
Part II
-Blackened oily wood-
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Uvrycres landed near the lake, powerful hind legs tearing at the soft ground and the momentum almost throwing a yelping Glen over the wyvern’s head. The king of Wetull wedged himself between the two horns, the left digging in his cuirass and going through metal then cloth to pierce skin. Uvrycres tipped his head back to return him to position while he used the large opened wings to stop, managing it ten meters later next to a Zilan fishing by the lake with a rod. The Taras citizen tossed it away and jumped in the lake with a high pitched shriek.
For a male.
“Fuck’s sake,” Glen griped checking on his wound after he jumped down. His knees weak and rubbery after a day of riding on Uvrycres shoulders barely keeping him upright. The ground feeling strange under his feet, the still dim morning having a chill in it, if one compared it with the weather at Lo-Minas. Glen stared at the fisherman getting out of the lake and then at a couple of late partying Lorians still loitering in nearby taverns that had sprouted in the coveted resort. A new one taking the place of Folen’s destroyed venue. “There’s no need for alarm,” he assured them with half a grimace, half a grin. Uvrycres shrieked gutturally, his own version of a cackle and the citizens decided that it was time to return to their homes.
As fast as they could, given their drunken condition.
“Well, that’s…” Glen sighed shaking his head and glanced at the smirking Wyvern. “I’ll walk to my place. Stay near… ahm, I mean find somewhere that won’t scare the locals.”
I’ll visit the den.
“Right.”
So I’ll be near.
“I can handle this part,” Glen said and checked the blood on his fingers. “So much for good armour, I guess.”
You can find better.
“Yeah,” Glen murmured and started walking towards the main street that led to his villa. He paused a couple of strides in and turned to look at the Wyvern. “I’ll never forget this. It was terrifying but also mind-blowing buddy.”
Glen, Uvrycres replied very calm for his standards. We shall do it again.
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Twenty minutes later Glen reached his villa, the light coming over Taras and the sky still clean of clouds despite the relative chill in the air. A couple of guards posted outside the closed entrance and right across the street Jinx’s place appeared closed as well.
Glen walked to the Goras guards, a solemn look on his face and sporting a slight limp. A Lorian and a half-breed part Lorian and Issir, stopped their talking and yawning when they saw him approach. A moment and then realization set in and they jumped to attention.
Shouting at the same time.
“Milord!”
“Lord Garth!”
“Who is inside?” Glen asked cutting to the chase.
“Ehm, the place is empty Milord,” the half-breed replied.
“Where is my wife gods darnit?” Glen rustled narrowing his eyes fearing the worst.
“At the castle?” the Lorian chanced unsure.
Eh.
Glen had so much tension in him trying to come out all at once that it took a very long moment to process the guard’s words. The half-breed blinked and almost dropped his spear, the seething Glen whipping his eyes on him like a viper.
“Fikumin?” Glen grunted finally still processing the information. Being in the castle wasn’t bad. Perhaps it is ready, though it isn’t, since they had managed to kind of observe it from afar.
“He’s in Sinya Goras dealing with the traders’ guild,” the Lorian replied quickly.
Ugh?
“Why?”
“Dealing with the whole Bedale debacle?” the guard replied squinting his eyes trying to figure out if it was a trick question. “Milord,” he added after a small pause and stood back pleased.
Glen smacked his lips and eyed him numbly. “That a ship name?”
“Aye, the transport Milord. It was raided?”
Bedale, Concorde and ‘Fat Libby’ were the three ships Glen had received from Princess Elsanne as reward. Big transports belonging to the ‘Three Hundred’ mercenary company. The Marquette captained by Leona Vale he’d no idea where it was.
“Pirates raided our ship?” Glen grumbled, not surprised but disappointed.
You shook the hand of a pirate, might as well count yer fingers next for anything missing.
The fingers included.
“No Milord, it was boarded by a Lesia warship and the cargo confiscated outside Scaldingport.”
Might as well have talked to him about knitting a sweater. In court Imperial. Glen had no idea where that had come from.
“What in allgods was a Lesia warship…?” Glen started but paused in frustration. “Why?” he asked.
“The Wine Barons had filed a complaint with King Davenport and they were granted the right to seek compensation for damages done.”
“Stop!” Glen barked. He couldn’t deal with this right now. “Soletha couldn’t handle this? She’s in charge of the port!”
“They wouldn’t talk with a Zilan and Soletha is with your wife, I know no more Milord,” the guard replied.
This was concerning.
“What are your names?” Glen hissed through his teeth.
“Razo and Hagen Musa Milord,” the Lorian said. “We’re brothers from another mother,” he added seeing Glen’s expression. “Our father adventured in his youth, afore he died from hemp fever.”
They had become a crooks haven.
“Follow me,” Glen said.
“What about the villa? The next shift won’t be here in hours,” Razo asked, surprisingly duty-conscious. Fikumin had done a good job picking men for his guards, Glen had to give the dwarf that. He wasn’t shying away from boring work, unless riding and swimming was involved.
Little guy goes straight for the bottom and he has problems with bigger horses.
Medium ones as well.
Eh.
“It’s empty,” Glen retorted after a small thoughtful moment. “Who’s your commander?”
“Captain Valentine Horton, Milord,” Hagen replied.
“Right. Where’s Metu? The Castellan? Or whatever he calls himself now,” Glen queried.
“His place?” Razo guessed. Metu had a villa on a parallel street to the one they were now, very near the lake as well.
“We’ll visit him there,” Glen decided and marched across the street for the alley near Jinx’s place. The two guards coming after him after a small hesitation.
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Glen kept banging on Metu’s door until someone opened it. A comely Cofol female wearing a short kimono and no shoes. Her toes painted a garish red.
“Yes?” the slave said, a mark on her arm revealing the owner to be someone named MT, the tattooed letters inside a crown.
“Where’s Metu?” Glen grunted and she frowned.
“The master is resting.”
“Get him down here right away!” Glen blasted her and instead of answering she slammed the door shut in his face.
Luthos inbred offspring!
“RAZO!” Glen barked irate. “Break the door down!”
“Break the door,” Razo repeated just to be sure afore committing. Glen stared him like one eyes a slow moving bug approaching his foot. “Right away Milord. Get that mace out Hagen,” he told his brother.
“Wait!” Metu yelled anxiously and opened the door a moment later. The disheveled Castellan stepped outside, a pair of open toed leather slippers on his feet and closing his bright green silk robe. “What is the meaning of this…?” He paused, eyes ogled. “Lord Garth?” Metu mumbled in deep shock. “The army is here?”
“I’m here,” Glen grunted.
“Awa didn’t know,” Metu started. “I’ll thoroughly punish her my Lord. Rest assured she’ll never do it again.”
“I don’t a give a rusty copper about her,” Glen snarled. “Why is Sen in Morn Taras?”
Metu stepped back and turned to stare at the two guards. Hagen who still had that mace in his hands hid it behind his back.
“She moved there due to her condition,” the Castellan explained keeping his robe closed in front of him. “It was deemed the safer place.”
“Metu you have a couple of seconds to come clean,” Glen warned him. “Is she well?”
“It is difficult to have news,” Metu replied. “I’m not in her circle.”
“Who is?”
“Bohor, her brother’s people.”
He’d no idea who that was also.
“Maeriel?” Glen asked at the end of his tether.
“With Inis-Mir.”
“Jinx?” Glen hissed. “Metu you are very tight-lipped and I don’t like it. You’re about to be punched on the mouth.”
“Lady Jinx is locked up,” Metu replied with an affronted grimace. “She had a falling out with Lady Sen.”
“And she locked her up?” Glen asked incredulous at the news. “Dress up. We’ll get to the bottom of this…” he paused considering the distance to Morn Taras. “I need a horse. Find us some horses Metu. For everyone. Wait. Razo you do it. Run to the stables and brings some mounts. Say it’s for the King.”
“I’ll have Awa dressed Lord Garth before he returns,” Metu replied.
“Metu,” Glen retorted not amused. “Leave yer slave here.”
“Of course. Though it’s a long ride and she can be helpful when we stop to rest,” Metu said. “I’ll need a moment… to make myself presentable.”
“There’ll be no stops. You have until Razo comes back,” Glen replied curtly. The guard already trotting energetically towards the nearest stables.
“You mentioned King… my Lord?” Metu queried curious still standing in front of Glen. Seeing the murderous look on his face the Cofol former slave nodded once and turned around to get inside.
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“What was the condition?” Glen asked Metu twenty minutes later, their group riding the newly built road leading to the slopes of Morn Taras following the lake’s idyllic shores.
“The matter was brought to the city council my Lord,” Metu said carefully. “But eventually the Sovereign’s spouse had the final say.”
Glen unsheathed his sword with a sigh. He kept it in his right hand, his body rocking on the saddle and listened to the clopping sound of hooves for a moment. Metu cleared his throat realizing Glen was going to run him through with another delay and blurted out nervously.
“Lady Sen was with child.”
Which is why she didn’t want to travel before the summer. Ah sweetheart, you can’t shield us by staying away. Nobody could.
“What happened?” Glen croaked staring at the horse’s head.
“Very few people know. They shut everyone out after they relocated to the castle my lord,” Metu replied. “Fikumin was probably aware and Voron who is in charge of the site, but no more news came out. We were not allowed to visit.”
“She’s alright though?”
“Aye. That’s what my sources say.”
“Soletha?”
“With her, since she returned,” Metu replied nervously. Glen cast him a sideways glance.
“Yer not lying to me?”
Metu shivered. “I can’t possibly bother you with rumors my Lord. I just don’t have the willpower to go through with it.”
“What were the rumors?” Glen hissed, his sword still in hand.
“Bohor killed two people that were caught speaking of it. Cut out their tongues and ears first,” Metu whispered scared. “He’s a slavemaster leader working for the Sopat’s guards. He’s pitiless my lord.”
“Damn it Metu yer not a slave still!” Glen admonished him. “And Bohor isn’t running Goras! Killing people needs a reason!”
“Your wife’s orders were followed my lord,” Metu replied shaking. “You can’t expect someone to stand up against them if it means angering you. Who will you give right to? She’s your wife. Qanuq’s fate is something no one wants to face again.”
“Qanuq tried to kill my daughter!” Glen bellowed.
“Bohor had a reason as well,” Metu replied.
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Glen stopped his horse outside the large castle’s finished west gates. They created a triangle around the black mass of the citadel at its center, three towers on each point, the two at its base facing west unfinished, but the third at the top looking to the east already standing. The ringed tube had battlements on each of its eight floors, it was tall enough to clear the walls easily, dwarf the citadel and overlook Lake Taras and the city sprawling under the plateau. A large part of the Yew Forest had been cleared, the extremely valuable wood used to construct bows already sent to the workshops.
He eyed the city guards stationed there solemnly.
“They are about to fall asleep,” he commented and Metu nodded.
“Bohor’s soldiers guard the Citadel,” the Castellan explained.
“Mmm,” Glen murmured and swung his leg to climb down his horse. He heard a high-pitched yelp, turned around just in time to catch a black blur rushing him and then the large lion jumped in his arms.
“Oh, shit!” One of the guards gasped. “It’s that Nimra lion again. Quick get me a javelin!”
“Wait!” Glen barked struggling to keep on his feet, the large cat weighting half a ton and clasping at his shoulders, a hind leg mashing his groin, hard nails digging in, large tongue lapping at Glen’s face, nose and eyes. “Gods darnit! Calm down Paws!” he admonished the excited predator trying to avoid further lubrication. The large lion’s fangs protruding from its mouth almost as big as its late mother’s dangerously close to his face.
“We call him Raro,” a girl said stepping out of the bushes by the road, where the Nimra had been hiding.
“Down Raro,” Glen ordered and the black lion jumped down and snarled at the approaching cautiously gate guards. Razo and Hagen were returning with Metu as the predator’s charge had scared the horses away. “Stand back, that’s my cat!” Glen barked at the soldiers who nodded and retreated in the same cautious pace towards their spot.
“I heard the wyvern returned,” Phinariel told him approaching clenching her fists nervously. “So I rushed here to see if you’ll appear.”
“Phina,” Glen said petting the purring Nimra’s hairy head. “It’s nice to see a friendly face,” he added with a smile and she jumped towards him excited. Glen accepted her hug, the young Zilan smelling of flowers and the forest. She is going to be a tall girl, Glen thought touching her shaking shoulder.
“I’m alright,” Phina sniffled and let go of him. She wiped her large eyes with the back of her hand and grinned. “Your absence was felt keenly Arguen Garth,” she added trying to collect herself. Raro returned to her and rubbed on the scribe’s long legs purring.
“You’re my favorite Zilan,” Glen told her with a wink and she blushed. “Why Raro? Is it because he’ll roar eventually?”
“Both words mean lion,” she explained and stooped to hug the black Nimra. They bumped foreheads once very at ease with each other and Glen grinned, the smile freezing on his lips seeing the pale-faced girl watching them hidden in the bushes. A cold beauty, with straight and long black hair dressed in a simple tunic. “That’s Assara,” Phina explained. “She’s shy with strangers.”
“Right,” Glen said with a tick distorting the left side of his face. “Well, I’ll… I’m going to see my wife Phina. Come inside, you shouldn’t stay by the road.”
“We were not allowed,” she replied and waved Assara off, which was weird.
“Why?”
“I helped Jinx steal a bird,” Phina replied and stared at her sandaled feet. Glen noticed she had painted them a light blue, which she never did, but live enough time in the city and the jungle habits are beaten out of you.
“Yer forgiven,” Glen said and reached for his horse. He climbed up and then offered his arm at the comely Zilan.
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“Ride with you?” She panted inhaling deeply and blushing so much her long ears turned pink.
“It’s a five minute trip,” Glen retorted not seeing the big deal. “Tell yer creepy-eyed friend to keep the cat.”
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The Cofol soldier coming down the twin external staircase leading to the elevated main hall of Morn Taras stopped a couple of steps from the end and stared at the approaching small group of riders. The two brothers of the Goras Guard, Metu and Glen with Phinariel. Glen pulled at the reins to stop the horse, the brown destrier protesting at the abuse and then helped the flushed female riding behind him dismount, the Zilan dress code and thus short loose tunic giving the frowning Cofol guard quite the spectacle.
Thankfully Phina’s earlier no-undergarments days were over.
“Stand aside and bow,” Metu announced in his manlier voice. “Before the Lord Morn Taras!” He glanced at the climbing down the saddle Glen nervously and added sort of improvising, or so he thought. “The heralded King…”
“Of Wetull,” Glen added to help him out and the clad in creamy hard-leather and mail Cofol with a Capricorn crest engraved on it, pursed his mouth.
“Who’s this?” The guard standing next to the double doors at the top of the stairs asked.
“Call Bohor,” the first Cofol ordered gruffly and then bowed once towards Glen. “Lord Garth you’re welcome.”
“Uhm,” Glen retorted and worked his way up the stairs followed by Metu, Phina and the two guards.
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He entered his citadel’s dark main hall and paused seeing the curtains covering much of the back of the elongated room and the lighter drapes hiding the stairs leading to the second floor at the north side of the Hall. Another two soldiers approaching him sharply. The older Cofol, a medium height wiry warrior with a pointy chin and golden-green slanted eyes. Not a peninsula lad this, but a Steppe’s warrior gone astray, or following the money.
“Lord Garth,” Bohor presumably said, “We weren’t notified of the army’s return.”
“The army is close to Elauthin,” Glen retorted and wiped some of the sweat from his wild beard. “Where is my wife?”
“Lady Sovereign is resting,” Bohor replied and waved for the soldiers to return to their spots. “I take it you’re familiar with the situation.”
“I’m not seeing as I wasn’t informed,” Glen grunted. “Is Soletha here?”
“The healer is resting as well. She was up all night,” Bohor replied.
“Iskay?”
“Hartor,” Bohor ordered the guard near the internal staircase. “Wake the slave.”
He disappeared behind the drapes and was heard running at the double quick up the stairs.
“We did our best to contain the situation Lord Garth,” Bohor continued with a grimace. He was closer to forty than thirty years of age, Glen guessed.
“You killed Goras citizens,” Glen hissed.
“Running their mouths,” Bohor rejoined.
“What were they saying?”
“That you’ll trade anything for more power,” Bohor replied clenching his jaw. “Even if it’s true, it’s your prerogative Lord Garth.”
Glen stood back not expecting the answer.
“What did I trade?” He asked hoarsely.
Bohor stared at the two guards that had escorted him and then Metu. His eyes pausing on Phinariel with a hint of recognition. “You trust the soldiers?” He asked a scowling Glen, but before he could answer the redhead Iskay came out from behind the drapes, her anklets and bracelets jingling, the sheer red skirt with the side openings matching her top and her painted a darker shade of red hair.
Iskay prostrated herself effortlessly before Glen ignoring the others present.
“Master, I shall rouse the Mistress,” she whispered holding the position.
“Let her rest,” Glen replied suddenly uncomfortable with the amount of people surrounding him. “Bohor take your men and empty the hall. I’ll have these two guard the doors.”
Bohor licked his lips, but nodded. “As you wish Lord Garth. We shall remain near the East Tower.”
“You do that,” Glen agreed curtly and turned to Iskay to help her upright. She took his hand and pressed it on her forehead, something he’d seen Zilan do. “Enough,” Glen stopped it and asked with a glance at the silent Phinariel. “Since Soletha is resting as well, I shall go to her briefly to make sure she’s alright.”
“Of course master Garth,” Iskay said and waited for him to usher her along.
So Glen did with a brief word to Phina and Metu to wait for him downstairs.
“Did the baby make it?” Glen asked on the long climb to the second floor, as Voron had given the maximum height possible to each floor of the Citadel, which resulted in the well over six stories high structure to have only three out of all that real estate, effectively halving the initial estimates. Granted they were roomy and offered a certain mystique to it, but this meant that most of the other necessary buildings had to be built at the back of the Citadel towards the East Tower. Since that was also the narrowest part of the yard, the front reserved for gardens and the fresh water ponds, it meant everything from the Kitchens to the stables were a bit crammed.
He knew the answer to the question, but try as he did to avoid hearing it, Glen had and he stopped his climb for a moment to gather his thoughts.
Ashamed he felt relieved that the spell had missed its target and horrified at the loss.
Or had it?
“How bad was it?” He asked hoarsely.
“I’ve never seen anything more horrible in my life,” Iskay replied and clasped her mouth dismayed. Probably also fearful she had said too much.
Glen nodded. “Was Soletha here?”
“She was. She did all she could, but it was impossible to save…”
“Yes?” Glen croaked his eyes urging her to continue.
“It’s a miracle she’s alive,” Iskay whispered glancing at the lightly lit corridor outside the royal quarters. The two massive bedrooms interconnected, but having different entrances. Another four smaller rooms/bedrooms on this floor, for slaves, children, or bodyguards.
Centuries old experienced Healers, Glen thought seeing light on a third room next to his wife’s. Another light next to his, probably for Maeriel and Inis-Mir.
“I won’t wake her,” he murmured and the long-serving slave nodded. Glen paused and touched her face. “Thank you Iskay,” he told her raspingly. “For being there.”
The redhead pressed her lips on the back of his wrist above his glove and then backed away with another deep bow to leave him alone.
It dawned to Glen that Iskay would have been there whether she wanted to, or not. She had no say in the matter. It was a strange thought this to have, afore he entered Sen’s quarters.
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While the four meters high rectangular windows were open at the back of the bedroom, four of them in what was the east side facing the tower, heavy drapes kept the light at the minimum and only two oil lamps were lit, one on each of the other walls. Sen slept on the massive square bed, four ivory columns keeping the white thin mesh curtain steady over it, the blue satin sheets leaving her torso and face uncovered.
Glen approached the bed, pulled the mosquito net away carefully and stared in her sleeping face, one hand under the large white pillow and the other loose in front of her chest. There was a sheen of sweat on her forehead and he removed his gloves to wipe it away softly, not wanting to rouse her.
You should have let me know sweetheart, he thought. How many times do I have to explain it? You’re not a burden. Never have been. You’re not a slave, or another Cofol wife. You’re my girl. My treasure. Mine. If I win nothing more, I’ll be happy with you two. Nothing beyond that darn river was worth the fucking risk, as long as I have the wyvern. Push came to shove, Uvrycres could have won this by himself and we could have left those that survived concoct whatever story they wanted.
In this realm, monsters are everywhere.
So it doesn’t matter, he thought. In the grand scheme of things. We are not heroes. Never pretended to be, no one here believes it in their hearts and for this sin no one could ever accuse us.
Glen sighed and stood up carefully closing the mesh again. He grimaced and then walked slowly towards the window to look outside. The sound of work starting from the other side of the castle livening the otherwise barren yard of Morn Taras.
No one breathing will ever attack this, he thought staring at the granite parapets and stone corridors running behind them. The soldiers gathering at the base of the tower, naught but small caricatures and the sun hidden behind it creating a halo at its edges.
With a puff he turned around and walked slowly towards the door of the bedroom, Sen’s weak voice stopping him not three strides later.
“Glen?” she murmured groggily.
Then more excited as she recognized his dark figure.
“My Glen,” Sen gasped and made to get up, with Glen rushing to her.
“Have yer rest,” he told her, but she put her feet down and stood up from the bed. Stumbled towards him and Glen realized how thin she was. The white tunic she wore not hiding it. Her face had lost its vitality and big dark circles covered her striking eyes. Seeing his reaction, Sen paused apprehensive and tried to fix her hair. “Stop it,” Glen grunted, a lump in his throat and hugged her tight to block her flaying arms. “Everything will be fine now,” he whispered in her bejeweled ear and she started shaking in his tight embrace.
“I lost little Glen,” she cried with heavy sobs. “I couldn’t keep him alive.”
Glen had trouble understanding her at first, heavily affected by her outburst, but when he did, his face darkened. “It’s alright,” he croaked although it wasn’t. The words coming out hollow. “The important thing is that you’re alive. It wasn’t yer fault.”
“Of course it was,” Sen sniffled and pulled away. “You don't mean it. I’m not stupid.”
“Never said you were.”
“Then what… we tried everything, but I just couldn’t bring him out safe!” Sen wailed and stumbled backwards and almost back on her bed again.
The witch…
Wait, you can’t tell her that! Glen admonished himself.
“It’s always a risk,” he croaked and took her hands in his to kiss them. Sen felt his beard curious, her swollen eyes staring in his face. “Nobody’s fault,” Glen finished through his teeth.
Sen reached back and sat down on the edge of her bed, collapsed more like. “I’m too weak,” she whispered.
“No you’re not,” Glen argued and sat next to her. He clasped her hands with his again, her silent sniffling cutting into his soul.
“You look older,” Sen whispered and touched her head on his shoulder. “But your scent is the same. You’ve camped recently? I smell of smoke.”
“That’s the wyvern,” Glen replied hoarsely. “Some of it natural, the rest from real fires. He likes spraying death from above.”
“It’s a wyvern Glen,” Sen murmured her eyes closing, the small exertion draining her already.
“You should rest,” Glen decided trying to keep the worry from his voice. “I’ll be right here.”
“Promise?” Sen asked as he lowered her slowly over her pillow infested bed.
“Aye,” Glen murmured emotionally and watched her strained face drifting to sleep. He checked the frail female’s breathing for a while, then wiped his eyes and stood up carefully.
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He reached his daughter’s bedroom and paused at the open door, Iskay returning near her mistress behind him. She walked lightly and there was a heavy carpet covering the corridor’s floor, but Iskay was too loaded with jewelry to approach anyone unnoticed.
Glen wasn’t and he could be twice as silent, but Maeriel’s face turned right after her perked up ears heard him stepping inside his daughter’s not much smaller bedroom.
“Hardir,” the ranger greeted the solemn-faced Glen. “I take it you went to see Sen first?”
“Where’s Jinx?” Glen grunted, in a much worse mood now than what he had been initially upon learning his wife had survived.
“In the tower,” Maeriel retorted tensely.
“With the guards?” Glen asked.
“In the cellar,” Maeriel hissed.
Glen licked his dry lips in silence. “You’ve let them lock Jinx in a dungeon.”
“It’s a cellar for your wine,” Maeriel replied through her teeth. “And I couldn’t do much. I have orders to stay with your daughter.”
Glen looked at the small girl sleeping peacefully next to the golden ball Uvrycres had brought her.
A wyvern’s egg, Angrein had told him many months back.
“How long?” he finally asked tiredly his head hurting.
“Months,” Maeriel spat bitterly. “How was the campaign?”
“You’re talking to the King of Wetull,” he retorted curtly.
The Ranger gasped and took a step back, then bowed her blue head deeply. “I apologize to the Monarch,” Maeriel managed to say clenching her teeth.
“You know what?” Glen decided with a weary sigh. “Yer forgiven as well.”
If there was someone to blame here it was him. He should have found that ranger and killed her. Negotiations be damned. Onas would have caved anyway and Roran would have gotten mauled either by Anfalon, or Uvrycres.
The body count probably horrific in that case.
But worth it.
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Glen stayed with the little girl and its guardian for a while and then left wanting to get Jinx out of her prison. The moment he stepped out of the bedroom though, a heavy bout of sorrow overcame him. Glen stumbled near Sen’s door, but he couldn’t face her in this condition, so he collapsed on a chair outside the healer’s room instead.
Soletha discovered him a bit later, head in hands and staring at a point on the carpeted floor, without really seeing anything. The healer placed her hand softly on the side of his neck under the wild hair, long fingers lacing around his nape and a calmness flooding Glen’s senses, until he put a stop to it getting up.
“Hardir O’ Fardor,” Soletha said serenely. “Apologies.”
“Umm,” Glen grunted and grimaced looking at the dimly lit corridor.
“I was going to visit Lady Sovereign,” she said in her singing Imperial accent.
“She’s resting. Leave her be,” Glen rejoined and cleared his throat, as it had come out stronger than he had intended.
“There was nothing anyone could have done…” Soletha hesitated and Glen turned his amber eyes on her, then following her stare down he noticed his well-worn satchel had opened, probably when Glen had plunged himself on the chair. The corpse’s belongings weathering away gradually. The Crown of Horns protruding out of it. “You reached the Crimson Palace,” Soletha whispered. “Hardir actually climbed the stairs.”
“Rejoice for you’re part of the Empire again,” Glen said bitterly.
“It won’t be easy keeping everything together,” Soletha noticed. “Monarch.”
“I just want Sen to be well again.”
“As I said nothing—”
“I know,” Glen cut her off frustrated.
“How could you know Hardir?” Soletha probed perceptively. Older women, gone through tragedy, are not easy to lose focus, he thought.
Fuck.
“It was an expression,” Glen spat scrunching his jaw.
Too soon. You should have played the confused card.
The Healer stood back furrowing her brow. “At first I thought something had been set wrong,” she started thoughtfully, Glen’s expression heavy. “The baby turned… but then I realized that each time I worked on its position, it changed shape. Either softer, or harder. It refused to come out.”
“Eah!” Glen rumbled not wanting to hear about it.
“Time and again I tried,” Soletha continued. “I used charms and potions,” Glen groaned angry and stepped away from her. He could feel her eyes on him. “But in the end I had to cut it out.”
“What?” Glen croaked in disbelief.
“She was refusing to let go and it was killing her,” Soletha said and crossed her arms on her chest, eyes gleaming in the dim light of the corridor. “It can happen, if the baby is dead, but this wasn’t natural. It had roots in her, thin black living needles out of strange wood. Dripping black oil and foul poison.”
“Enough!” Glen barked irate, trying to breathe but failing. “I respect what you did,” he croaked, his mouth numb and a throbbing hammering at his temples.
“I couldn’t do anything, but try to save her Hardir,” Soletha retorted. “What I got out of her womb was no human. It wasn’t a Zilan as well, or any other living species. Whatever it had been at some point, magic had consumed it. A dark spell cast, ebony silky threads severed, but still living on their own. A construct birthed out of a powerful caster’s curse, no healer could ever hope to mend.”
It reminded him of his hand, but he pushed the thought away.
“Soletha,” Glen grunted clenching his fists. “I don’t hold you responsible.”
“Yet you sent me in advance, as if you knew something was wrong.”
“It was a hunch, nothing more,” Glen rustled.
Soletha nodded after staring at him silently for long. “She thinks your son died. Wanted to see the body and mourn it, but there was no body to show to her. What I had cut out, I placed in a box and locked it shut. She needs to know it wasn’t her fault.”
No.
“So she can live in fear?” He asked her instead sobering up.
“I’m no magic expert, but I’ve lived near the Moon’s daughter for a time. She could make things linger and appear living, but she was young then and her creations never lasted. That thing is still scratching at the iron box Hardir. Trying to get out. A very old witch cast this spell and if I was you, or her, I would be living in fear. She, or he has something and can reach you—”
“No, she hasn’t,” Glen growled and turned to glare her way. “She’s dead.”
“Hardir knows,” Soletha noted not really surprised.
Oh, fuck off old lady.
“He does.”
“She must learn about it as well. It will help her,” Soletha insisted.
Glen breathed out slowly and stepped near the tall priestess. “I’ve helped you avenge yer daughter Soletha,” he said austerely and she nodded. “Brought you to Goras and allowed yer exiles to stay in the new port.”
“And I supported every decision you’ve made,” Soletha replied a little surprised that he had gone there.
“Then you’ll support this one as well,” Glen countered.
“A Monarch can’t enforce his will on a Healer. My duty is to my patient first,” Soletha protested hurt.
“This Monarch can and he will,” Glen rustled warningly. “She doesn’t need to know. It will freak her out. It is for the best to let the matter end here.”
Soletha opened her eyes wide and stepped away from him horrified. “Best for whom though really? For you Hardir? Was the attack directed at you? Is that what you fear coming out?”
“Nothing will come out,” Glen hissed. “For you won’t say anything. If I suffer your people will suffer priestess, worse than what they did with Baltoris.”
Kill her now, the dagger advised him. It hadn’t spoken in months, but it seemed to think this was an opportune moment to offer its two cents. The place is almost empty.
“Is this your wish?” Soletha asked tiredly.
“It is.”
“You’ll need a witch to cleanse the poison out of her,” Soletha advised her expression grave. “I tried with scalpel but something might have hidden in the flesh.”
“Won’t it wash away?” Glen asked, his mouth bitter.
“I don’t know what it could do, or if it can spread again,” Soletha replied. “I don’t think it will, but I’m not an expert.”
“Who would be?”
“The Sibyls,” Soletha replied.
“It was one of them,” Glen snapped and grinded his teeth. “The rest are also dead is the consensus.”
“There is another one,” Soletha started.
Ah.
“Do you take me for a fool?” He asked hoarsely. “I’m not bringing another goddarn witch here priestess!”
Soletha gulped down and nodded. “I’ll do what I can Hardir.”
Glen thought of Berthas and grimaced. “I’m sure you will,” he replied and allowed her to leave his presence.
She’ll talk, the dagger hissed in his ear.
You’re either lying, or yer lacking brains, Glen scoffed. She’ll never risk it. Her community is a family to replace the one she lost to Pelleas.
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An hour later Glen stood outside the East Tower, the sun directly above his head and the throbbing in his head maddening. Bohor who didn’t appear much happier than him waited for the guards to bring Jinx out, pressing his lips so tight they had turned white.
You’re gone on the next ship, back to her brother, Glen thought eyeing him.
Jinx’s wild pink head interrupting his thoughts. The Gish sauntered casually outside the gate, glanced at Glen once to make sure it was him and then turned abruptly and kicked one of the Cofol guards between the legs doubling him over. One of his friends tried to grab her by the shoulder, but she sidestepped and tripped him to the ground. Sprinted the small distance and kicked him with both legs in the arse sending him sprawling onto his friend.
Bohor made to move against her, but saw Glen’s expression and thought it through, deciding to drop the matter in the end.
“Shit,” Jinx said getting up from the gravel and rubbed her behind with both hands. “I had something better in mind.”
She turned to look at Glen and her face fell. “What happened?”
“Sen survived,” Glen murmured and opened his arms to hug her. Jinx smelled of mould and wine. “What in Luthos…?”
“Thank Abrakas for that. She’s tough but also a bit of a cunt. Ah, I’ve partaken to some of your wine and some of yer clothes are at my place. I don’t know how they found their way there,” Jinx explained shoving everything in the same sentence to confuse him and sniffed his clothes, then slipped a hand inside his satchel to riffle through its contents. “Ouch, what is dis…?”
“A crown,” Glen replied. “Why steal a bird and kill it?”
“To warn you and I didn’t kill it that freak Din did. You should have him flogged. Where did ye get a crown?” Jinx replied taking the crown out to look at it. “Hmm. Hey about Sen. I’m glad it worked out. I guess it wasn’t so…” she looked at him and sighed. “How bad?”
“We lost the baby and she’s not that well,” Glen admitted sadly, trying to keep the tears in. Jinx hugged him and started sniffling as well, which didn’t help him at all. She was also shoving the horns of the crown low on his back where the plate ended and he could feel them piercing the top of his hips. “Jinx, give me the fucking crown,” he rustled. “Or raise yer hands higher. What are you ten?”
“Ugh?” Jinx mumbled and looked up with red-rimmed ogling eyes. “Ye think I want to hug yer arse? You’re just too tall for a human! Admit it!”
“Phina is here,” Glen said with a groan of despair to change the subject. “She brought a… weird friend along.”
“Assara?” Jinx asked sniveling afore cleaning her nose with her free hand, she then cleaned in turn on his pants absentmindedly.
“I think so,” Glen grunted and reached to take the crown from her.
“She’s a Ticu,” Jinx said nonchalantly.
“You don’t take the King’s crown…” Glen griped, but paused as the Gish’s words had just registered.
“She’s a what?”
“Who?” Jinx asked pretending she didn’t know.
“Didn’t you just say she’s a Ticu?”
“Said she grew, ye misheard me silly. You’re in shock,” Jinx corrected him, a huge grin on her rosy face. “Have ye seen her boobs?” she showed him with her hands. “What?” the Gish protested seeing his scowl. “She was in my bath, but there was plenty of room so I stepped in it as well. Girls do that! Lose the beard by the way, it adds years and ye look old as fuck already.”
Why you…
The best thing about Jinx was that if she realized you were in a bad mood, she could yank you out of it in an instance and steer you another way. So for the first time since that morning Glen managed to breathe freely and release some of the tension. Some of the accumulated anger and bitterness.
Most of it out of guilt.
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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/