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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 III
-While you were away-
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Early third month of Winter 193 of the New Calendar
Year 3399 of the Imperial Calendar (Third Era)
A week into Mighty Saracen’s arrival, two days after the first advanced units of the Army started returning with Fat Libby.
Morn Taras (Tenebrous Castle)
Goras
There were eight very large mirrors adorning two of the side walls of the Lady Sovereign’s bedroom. Those that faced north and south. The east wall being the one with the windows and the west leading to the internal corridor connecting all rooms of the first floor. Made out of bronze and glass they were also covered with thin yellow-gold sheets and Glen had to remove one so he could finish buttoning his tight shirt. The latter was a dark red color and made out of soft leather, reinforced with cotton fabric on the inside.
Glen had abandoned wearing a gambeson and locked the plate black cuirass on top of it with the help of Iskay. The reasons being the added weight that made it cumbersome and the warmer weather –even during winter- in Wetull. He paused to stare at his reflection. The young rascal that had escaped on a sinking boat from Shroudcoast was still visible under the little scars he’d accumulated in the years that followed. Only it was an older, more troubled version of him. Plenty of grey on his trimmed thick wild hair adding to an illusion of wisdom Glen knew was as much as everything else in life, an illusion.
“Master is very handsome,” Iskay praised him and he nodded once. The slave girl retired to have her own breakfast and Glen walked away from the mirror, pausing to look at his wife’s bed. A pale Sen watching him with those exquisite opal eyes in silence.
“They are downstairs,” Glen explained. “I can hear Voron.”
“You could bed her,” Sen said with a small smile. “She’s getting restless in her sleep.”
“I’m not going to fuck yer slave,” Glen retorted and pursed his mouth frustrated. “Nor am I so beset wit lust to have it on my mind constantly.”
“If it’s not me and not her, then you’ll drift elsewhere,” Sen noticed not affected by his outburst. Glen puffed out exasperated.
“You’re still healing.”
“The scars will never disappear unless I visit a tattoo parlor and paint them over, which I shall,” Sen replied and moved to get up. “That’s it, I should be fine with time, yet you treat me like I am not. Does my husband know something that I don’t?”
Dodge.
“That’s not true,” Glen murmured looking away. “And I don’t mind the scars.”
“You don’t show it,” Sen whispered and approached him slowly. “I’d rather you slept with Iskay than one of them.”
Glen clenched his jaw and she put a hand on his shaven cheek. “Why did you sent Bohor away?”
“He killed two citizens,” Glen replied and cupped her hand with his.
“Locked Jinx up,” Sen added with a weary smile. “I can find more like him Glen. Just so you know, I did that.”
“You shouldn’t have,” Glen murmured and kissed her small palm. “She meant well.”
“She must learn to obey orders,” Sen replied. “Treat the King as she must. You know I like her, but worrying you in the middle of a battle could have been fatal to our cause.”
“I wasn’t going to lose,” Glen stooped and scooped her in his arms. He then carried her back to the bed. “I still have the wyvern.”
While she was better, Sen wasn’t gaining any weight back and it was worrying to everyone near her especially the healer.
Sen gasped when he laid her down, then grimaced feeling the hardness of the metal armour on her chest. “You’ll stay?” She asked in a husky voice.
“I won’t risk it. Not yet,” Glen replied and her face fell.
“What is Soletha telling you?” She asked trying to hide her frustration.
I don’t need Soletha to tell me that getting you pregnant again is the last thing we need.
“You should trust the Zilan more, at least those I have told you,” Glen dodged and pulled away to give her some breathing room. “And locking Jinx up was a mistake, but she won’t hold it against you.”
“She wouldn’t have stopped. People were getting hurt,” Sen reminded him. “It was my decision. I should be the one offended.”
“I should have known,” Glen insisted trying to steer the conversation away from an argument.
“You can punish me anytime you want, but don’t behave like she’s above me husband,” Sen countered upset. “It hurts worse than a beating.”
“Ah,” he grunted getting up. “Don’t do this. She is on our side. I need to speak to Voron,” he added with a small hesitation. “You want me to open another window?”
“We have slaves for that,” Sen replied solemnly. The illness had soured her mood.
“Eat something solid,” Glen said not wanting to argue with her about the new group her brother had delivered to their doorstep. It was what it was with the Sopat. Sometimes it felt like they were blind and deaf, their customs finding fertile ground with the Zilan of Goras. It seemed as if the ‘Sisters of the Peninsula’ had never left the empire. “I’ll come back as soon as I finish work.”
“The King’s work,” Sen whispered with a proud smile, her head sunk in her pillows.
“I have a throne getting build for you,” Glen reminded her. “It cost me an arm and a leg,” he teased. “So you better like it my merchant lady. I don’t think I can get a refund in this market.”
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A well-dressed but frustrated Metu went for a deep bow upon seeing him coming down the stairs. He then approached with a bundle of scrolls before Glen had time to seat on his throne. Made of black granite stone, with polished ebony wood armrests adorned with white-gold life-like dragon scales. Its seat layered with lacquered dark-brown cedarwood to be more comfortable. The central throne’s cost was half of the bronze and gold throne that the craftsmen were building next to it, or the marble one on its right side. It stood though twice as big. Three steps elevating it even more to better see the columned space of his hall.
“What is this?” Glen grunted trying to get the crown on his head. “Can’t you give me a couple of minutes to settle and get some fluids in me?” he protested and grabbed the scrolls from Metu. Seeing as they were a fuck ton of them, he returned most of the parchments to his Castellan and kept the first couple only. He perused at the fine print and then checked the next one, the letters here bigger but with a certain flair on them. The calligraphy going overboard at the edges.
Also completely indecipherable.
I’ve read enough shit to know ye don’t do that. Overindulge at the expense of readability. Emerson’s grueling first writing lesson had been space is valued, even when you use the ground as your page.
Even Zilan knew that, those that had served in the court that is.
Glen raised his eyes from the scrolls and looked at the frustrated Metu. Then at the haughty, I’ve much better places to be, look of Voron. Phinariel, dressed in a new clean cream-colored tunic right next to him, large eyes open wide in anticipation. The sound of a chisel interrupting his assessment of the situation coming from his left side. Glen turned his head and stared at Eilven, the master artist working at the gold finishing of the gold throne.
“My good man,” Glen said and the Zilan with the braided in gold thread hair paused his work and looked at him surprised. He was a character easily absorbed in his art.
Thin as a rail, tall and always difficult to make meaningful conversation with.
“Hmm,” Eilven said and got up to check on the details on Glen’s throne. He used a thin rasp to grind some unseen kink out and paused again to go find another tool from his large bag.
“Mister Eilven,” Glen said diplomatically. The Zilan stopped hearing his voice and turned around.
“Yes?”
“It’s the King, I’m in session,” Glen explained calmly.
“Ah,” Eilven said and nodded.
“Perhaps I can provide transportation for you?” Glen continued. “Have you worked in the Garden this week? We can drop you there.”
Eilven frowned.
“But what about the throne?”
“You can finish it another time?” Glen offered with a strained leer. “So we can finish in turn without flinching every moment?”
The Zilan sculptor breathed in and pursed his mouth, the decision difficult.
“I’ll clean up and head there,” he finally decided, Glen stopping him.
“We have slaves for that,” he assured him. “Just head on right away. Hagen!” He barked loud enough to be heard across the large and badly lit hall to the entrance doors. “Get Eilven a horse posthaste.”
“A small carriage for the tools and material,” Eilven politely corrected him, raising his bejeweled index finger. It was highly unlikely the distracted artist knew he was in the King’s Hall.
“MAKE IT A CARRIAGE!” Glen bellowed and the doors were heard opening. “PUT AN ARMED ESCORT ON IT!”
Eilven habitually carried enough gold and jewelry with him to be a target.
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“Now,” Glen said the moment Eilven was escorted away. “Who wrote this?” He held the second scroll high and Phinariel gasped seeing her handiwork. “It is pleasantly presented,” Glen continued not wanting to berate the young scribe and Voron raised a brow, then glanced at the excited female unsure. “Overly so, for what it is… what is it exactly, Phina?”
“Pfft,” Voron scoffed.
“An account of your adventures in Elauthin Arguen Garth,” Phinariel explained proudly.
“Have you read the army’s report?” Glen sure hadn’t as Vulreon was with Anfalon still en route to Goras. Roran had headed out per his orders with a smaller group to reach Rain-Minas and report on the viability of rebuilding a port there. Glen had informed the worried officials in a letter written more than month back that he was still alive and had returned to the capital.
“I talked with some soldiers yesterday Arguen Garth,” Phina told him. “Why?”
“Why… Gods in heavens! May I enquire as to the reason, is the proper form of addressing the Monarch!” Voron said looking at her with ascetic eyes. “Learn to speak proper Imperial, or at least passable Common!” He added getting all worked up.
Himself one of the most rude officials in existence it came out as a joke to Glen’s ears. Probably the reason for his outburst being he saw Phina beneath him in station.
“That’s enough Voron,” Glen said sternly. He turned to the chastised scribe. “It is a lovely thought Phina. Work at it on your spare time, but try to keep it close to the official version.”
“I will Arguen Garth,” Phinariel blurted out embarrassed. “I’ll go through the reports immediately.”
“Don’t,” Glen stopped her. “They are boring as fuck. They are also a work in progress sort of speak. Just let it breathe first Phina.”
“Let it breathe,” the cute scribe repeated breathlessly and Voron rolled his eyes to the white.
“Celebrated King Garth,” Metu started taking the chance, himself one of the more eloquent speakers in Common and Imperial. “I must offer here a trifling protest on the matter of holding the briefings in Tenebrous Castle, seeing as the Council meets in Taras. It is a two hour trek my lord.”
“I’m here,” Glen retorted. “Seeing as I’m not going to make the journey every day, you get to do it for me. Rejoice Metu, it is a prestigious office you are holding.”
“Of course my lord,” Metu croaked. “As you read in the first report Lord Fikumin had to agree to compensate the Traders Guild—”
Glen had stopped him raising his right hand.
“Lord Garth?” Metu queried unsure.
“First,” Glen said. “I haven’t read the report and second why do we get to pay the traders? We are the ones that got robbed!”
“It was the first report I’ve given—”
“Answer my fucking question!” Glen blasted him.
He had read the first couple of lines before he got distracted with Phina’s scribblings and drawings.
Voron chuckled at Metu’s misery and Glen eyed him frustrated.
“We had agreed on a contract and they expected a delivery. So we have to return the coin we’ve gotten upfront, eat the cost of the journey and the produce lost, finally compensating for the loss of revenue, since they can’t sell what they hoped to originally, given that the wine is gone my Lord.”
“Fuck’s sake,” Glen protested not believing his ears. “What manner of lousy scam is this? Who got in bed with these kind of crooks?”
“It’s standard merchant law,” Metu croaked. “You make a promise on good faith and we need to show we can handle a setback without screwing our clients over. Else we’ll lose the market.”
“Twas no setback!” Glen blasted him not expecting he would have to deal with something like this. “We got robbed blind! Why is Lesia interested on who sells wine for crying out loud?”
“It’s political my lord. The king needs to placate the Barons,” Metu explained. “They are in dispute with Regia over a number—”
“I don’t care!” Glen growled and got up, the crown dropping over his brows. He pushed it back with a finger carefully and glared at Metu. “Don’t you see what’s going on here?”
“My lord?” Metu asked sweating in his fine garbs.
“They are trying to swindle us out of our profits,” an angry Glen explained and walked down the throne’s podium. “Next time they’ll give word again to them crooks out of Flauegran, so they can rob us blind in turn and split the god-darn loot! Don’t you see it for what it is, are you plaguing kidding me?” He roared in Metu’s face covering him in spittle.
“We’re gonna lose the market my lord,” Metu insisted bravely, but he looked all but ready to collapse or piss down his robes. Glen took a precautionary step back to avoid an outburst of urine on his new garbs.
“Write to Fikumin and tell him to halt the next shipment,” Glen decided. “Where’s that drunken wench?”
“Captain Vale is repairing the ship she brought back,” Metu replied.
“Huh? Bullshit she is,” Glen grunted. “Stupid drunkard bitch lost me my darn ship!” he cursed and clenched his teeth in a manic snarl.
“Technically she did bring coin back,” Metu argued in a small voice. “To cover the loss and then some Lord Garth.”
“I had to take her share out of her pocket to make it worth,” Glen retorted. “Not to mention I don’t trust them pirates. They probably kept some of the gold hidden somewhere. You know what? Have everyone under watch. See to find out more Metu. I smell a fucking rat here!”
“It’s Folen’s job to handle…” Metu started, but nodded eagerly tears in his eyes, seeing Glen’s pitiless glare. “I’ll see to it, your outmost excellency.”
“Right,” Glen said and breathed once deeply. “Yer dismissed,” he told the worn out Castellan and then turned to the uninterested Voron. “Now you condescending motherfucker are next,” Glen started getting more fired up with each word. “Don’t look so surprised ye cretin! What in allhells is this shite you dropped on me! I told you not to put the kitchens next to the stables!”
“There are barracks in between,” Voron protested with a frown.
“Bring the stables on the side facing the lake!” Glen blasted him. “Find the space Voron, you’re good at it!”
“The plan is for lush gardens to hug the main road towards the Citadel. A celebration of life to counteract the gloominess,” Voron replied arrogantly as if he was talking to an uncivilized brute. “You’ll build stables in the gardens?”
“It’s either that or a cheap mausoleum. Use the granite leftovers to drive down the cost,” Glen deadpanned somberly. “It’ll be for the Castle’s stubborn architect. I wager he’ll find peace there amidst all them flowers.”
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Glen had just returned from the construction site, which was most of the north and south corners of Morn Taras, his head pounding and covered in mud. The former because hammering at rocks produces insane amounts of noise and the latter due to a sudden downpour that caught him on the saddle. He was in the midst of swallowing a nice cut piece of roasted lamb shank, doused in lemon-based sauce and still in his drying shirt, when Jinx slipped through the guards and entered the throne room. The Gish paused and then spotting Glen eating near the thrones platform run towards him at full sprint.
Allhells what now?
Her dirty boots leaving muddy impressions on the polished black tiles. Glen put his fork down and wiped his mouth with a towel, the Gish plopping her nimble arse on a chair she dragged from the nearby scribe’s desk. The screeching noise maddening to Glen’s already abused ears.
“Luthos cock rots in a fucking jar,” Glen cursed clenching his square jaw. “Can you be a little quieter?” He protested to the rude female, who used his fork to nail a round potato and slotted it in her small mouth. “Sen-Iv might be resting!”
“She’s not and the acoustics aren’t that great in here just so you know,” Jinx argued mid-chomping. She swallowed, then reached for his goblet of wine, but Glen slapped her paw away. Jinx retaliating with an under the table kick at his ankle.
“ARGH!” Glen cried out and pushed back from his chair to grab at his sore foot. “I’ve an old injury there! Have ye gone completely nuts?”
Jinx gulped down as much of his wine as she could, before a furious Glen took it away.
“Not yet,” she replied and jumped away from her chair to avoid his backhand. “Hey!”
“What?” Glen snapped with a scowl and sat back down, as chasing Jinx inside the hall was futile. “You started it ye uncivilized wench!”
“Wow… language mister Garth,” Jinx retorted, her hands resting on her hips. “Ah, tell that Lorian fool that the rain extinguished the fire.”
“What?” Glen asked, but then heard commotion coming from the end of the large hall and he saw a frustrated Razo walking briskly towards them leaving even more mud on his floor. “Yes?” Glen spat through his teeth and the recently upgraded to the palace guard soldier saluted afore reporting.
“There’s a fire started at the kitchens milord,” Glen stopped him afore he could finish and glared at Jinx who was scooping some of the sauce away from his plate with a piece of bread.
“The rain took care of it Razo,” he grunted.
“Ah, I guess Hagen run there for no reason then,” Razo said and nodded.
“The kitchens are not yet fully working,” Glen added. “Nothing to burn but a hovel is my meaning.”
“That’s quite fortunate Lord Garth,” Razo agreed. “I’ll… return outside.”
“See you put a rag by the door to wipe them boots,” Glen cautioned him. “I know the place is not ready, but people are living here.”
“Apologies milord,” Razo replied and saluted. “Lady Jinx.”
A thoroughly stuffed with food Jinx gave him a thumbs up.
“This needs to stop,” Glen told her the moment the soldier was away. “You can’t just do whatever you want here. Show some god darn respect to a king’s place for crying out loud!”
“As in the office?” Jinx asked swallowing. “Yeah, I don’t believe in that shit at all. Do you?”
“I’m the plaguing King of Wetull!” Glen exploded.
“Listen… you want me to treat you differently because of that?” Jinx asked and burped.
“Of course not! But some consideration must be given, other people are watching you!”
“So what? They are not going to rebel, half of them owe you for sleeping under a roof,” Jinx replied. “The other half are either slaves, or of similar mentality.”
“Jinx.”
“Ye can let me leave. I’ll go to Eikenport—”
“Out of the question!” Glen barked and pushed back on his chair.
“I’ll use the roads.”
“No. Jinx I ain’t risking you getting killed over some bullshit, until I figure out a solution to this… whatever it is you are dealing with.”
“You need to kill the Kraken.”
“Can it be done?” Glen asked curious.
“Are you serious? Of course not,” Jinx replied. “You want to fight Abrakas is that it? I’m not worth that much.”
“You are quite valuable, yer selling yourself short,” Glen argued.
“Aww,” Jinx purred and stared at the bottle. “Can I have it?”
“For crying out loud, if you need coin, I can give you some,” Glen protested, leaving it vague on the amount given his situation. “You don’t have to take stuff,” he added.
Coming from him this showcased the young Gish’s problem.
Sort of.
“I’ll have the coin, but I want that bottle,” Jinx countered and he pushed the bottle of wine her way.
“Sen was with Angrein earlier,” she told him after uncorking the Goras product and gulping down half of it. For a small sized person Jinx had quite an appetite.
“What’s that supposed to be?” Glen grunted.
“A trade,” Jinx retorted with a shrug. “You know the natural way of things?”
“How is…” Glen exhaled and reached for his goblet. Found it empty and glared at the Gish. Jinx poured some of her newly acquired wine in his empty goblet and grinned. “You drunk from that bottle,” Glen griped and sipped at the wine.
“I’m clean, just swam in the springs,” the witty Gish assured him. “Plus I got a lot of rain on me coming to warn you.”
“Why would you swim in…?” Glen sighed. “Warn me about Sen and Angrein? I told you that your theory was wrong from the start. It was a difficult period and she was looking for solutions. That’s how she is, no great mystery, or conspiracy, but you being super annoying to people.”
Jinx stooped near him over the table, her feet probably not reaching the floor, but she was nimble like that and stared into his eyes hypnotically.
For a brief moment, then she winced in pain.
“Shite,” Jinx groaned and pulled back rubbing at her stomach. “I don’t have the abs for dis. Fuck me tits!”
Glen rubbed at his forehead wearily. “Listen ehm, I’ll catch some rest. I have a long day and tomorrow is even worse.”
“Your fear of the unknown worst case, is blinding you at the obvious,” Jinx said.
Which sounded like Nym’s gibberish.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Glen grunted and stood up. “If yer implying my wife is sleeping around then you’re an idiot!”
“That’s your fear, but it crossed my mind. I told you what I suspect happened,” Jinx replied. “How do you explain the stories?”
“What stories?”
“People say Soletha had to burn the baby because it wouldn’t die,” Jinx said and Glen groaned in frustration and walked away. He turned around and walked back towards her.
“The drunkards and lowlifes ye hang around can say whatever they want,” Glen told her. “But this goes beyond the pale! How could would listen to this shite and even worse repeat them here? She might hear you!”
“She doesn’t know?” Jinx asked.
Glen gulped down nervously. “No baby was burned. Yer talking about my son Jinx, Gods darnit. Show a bit of compassion!”
“Hey, fuck off!” Jinx protested. “News travel and stories are birthed, but there’s always a root cause. Sen hasn’t been seen in public for almost a year!”
“You know it was difficult,” Glen started, but she cut him off, grabbed her bottle and turned to leave. “Seriously?” Glen grunted.
“I’m on yer corner, since the bloody beginning!” Jinx hissed really angry. “Not wit words, or fancy gifts. I’ve lost friends for yer arse and expect to not be lied to like some stupid guard!”
Glen puffed out and then glanced at the empty hall thoughtfully.
“First of all that was uncalled for,” he started. “Also these two are good lads and thirdly, forget me what does Maeriel say?”
“We don’t talk, I’m angry with her,” Jinx replied and walked back to the table. “You got much better at dodging wit age.”
“Thank you. Is this Assara a new lover?”
“Abrakas smelly toes! Of course not!” She spat. It looked genuine to him.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“Then what? Maeriel couldn’t leave her post. Sen was in charge!” He probed derailing the conversation completely.
“She can’t be more loyal to you than me. It’s not that much to ask,” Jinx replied bitterly. “Then the trade isn’t equal.”
“She came to save you,” Glen reminded her. “You can’t expect everyone to support your theories without evidence.”
“Have you looked?” Jinx asked him, never one to allow someone else to have the final word. “For evidence?”
Gods darnit Pretty!
> Glen had spent the night at the foot of the bed not wanting to disturb her sleep. He slept very little, the nights of Goras quieter at the top of the plateau and inside the castle. At times voices reached him from the open windows, animals from the forest, a bird, or a late-night arriving caravan going the long way. Glen would wake with first light, the sun pushing through the drapes when the clouds were missing. He walked the quiet lavish bedroom, as Sen had started decorating from that room and worked her way out and then downstairs.
>
> The amount of stuff she had brought in herself, bought in the local markets, or specially delivered through the desert staggering. Sen’s wealth could have kept the city’s economy afloat without any other trade routes. It turned into expensive oval bronze mirrors, enough pillows to accommodate an Othrim or two, rolls of satin sheets and drapes, wool carpets and rugs, fine but thicker cotton curtains for the summer. Again pillows of all sizes, a year’s worth of shoes and all types of dresses, undergarments, five small boxes of jewelry, a strongbox of bracelets and anklets, dress ornaments, fine engraved glasses and simple diamonds in fine leather purses. The stuff filling cupboards, dressers and cabinets. A wall of fancy closets and two multi-level nightstands.
>
> Glen stopped before the latter and stared at Sen’s fragrances. Her perfumes and expensive colognes. The many different little bottles of scented oils. Some of the bottles probably worth more than the product they carried. Though Glen wouldn’t wage on that. Gold little bottles, silver adorned vials, small wooden squares encrusted with gems, one having so many rubies on it Glen couldn’t decide what the original material had been. One of the vials simple. A thin tube really with a wax cork on it. The glass stained and darkened with time. It stood out and his experienced eyes that had missed it the first three agonizing days and nights after his return, had spotted it on the fourth morning.
>
> “Angrein called it the Saereg,” a groggy Sen murmured seeing him examining it. “Dragon’s blood.”
>
> Fuck’s sake.
>
> “What does it do?” Glen asked returning it on the nightstand.
>
> “If it works, some of the wyvern’s skills are passed on to you,” Sen whispered and approached him barefooted, her small feet sinking on the blue carpet.
>
> “What’s the catch?” Glen queried and hugged her from the side looking to avoid the large cuts that run her belly in a crisscross manner. Soletha had used potions and two hundred forty six stitches, both internal and external to put her back together. Three Cofol nurses that had worked with her had disappeared after the procedure was over and one mercenary guard. Probably the one Bohor suspected he’d leaked the details of the night to the two citizens. The horselord not sparing his own from the Lethe’s blade.
>
> “If it doesn’t work you die,” Sen had replied in his ear. “If it does, you know Angrein. His skill is beyond reproach. Some of the jewelry in here are his.”
>
> “I don’t really know him,” Glen rustled and seeing her face, he sighed. “I like him. This is not Jinx talking. This is me saying the man… what is he exactly?”
>
> “A mere human lasting as long as them. The biggest gift, but on the scales the trade was daunting,” Sen said wearily. Glen helped her back to bed without answering. “I couldn’t do it,” his wife whispered and he had to stoop over her pale lips to listen. “I thought… I did it once on my own. I can do it again. No reason to risk it,” Glen grimaced and made to stand up, almost missing her next words. “We don’t need their magic. We can succeed, if we but try hard enough.”
>
> Not with this you couldn’t, he thought looking at her sleeping peacefully.
Berthas looked just about to collapse. The young Zilan had taken the first ship, his mother following Roran the other way. The latter an attempt from Lord Suraer to fix a mistake he’d made in the past. Glen thought it very optimistic. Whatever Roran have felt for his daughter and she for him, a lot of stuff had happened to make it difficult for them to find common ground. The worst of it was Olonelis had sent Darunia with them, mostly to separate her from the adventurers, who had returned to Goras with the same ship.
Glen wanted the healer in Goras, but Olonelis would rebel if he pressed the issue and he couldn’t explain the reasons in a letter.
The rest of the army waiting at Serpent Canal would return on the next trip, but for those that would stay behind. Either way Glen had already ordered the Zilan ships to work the route, making as many trips per month as it was possible. The water was the faster route and he intended to use it, until the roads were rebuilt fully. Even then it would be faster.
“Soletha is a healer,” Glen explained. “She’s very open-minded.”
Berthas nodded and removed his hood slowly. He had cut his hair very short to sort of blend in, but Soletha gasped and looked at Glen in shock.
“Aelinole’s son?” She asked.
“A Mage,” Glen explained.
“I haven’t really,” Berthas tried to say, but Soletha approached him and touched his ears. Long fingers running the length of them and stopping at the straight tips.
Berthas had turned a nice tomato-red at the healer’s ministrations. Soletha hummed and then caressed his blond head, worked her hands down his chest and arms. She turned his palms so she can examine them carefully, her thumbs pressing on his wrists. Glen feared Berthas would have an orgasm in front of her and then it would be impossible to introduce him as a serious person. I should have taken him to Luthoris and Sarya first, Glen thought nervously. Folen’s partners would have gotten this shite out of the way.
“Fascinating,” Soletha murmured.
“Right?” Glen laughed anxiously. “He’s a good lad.”
“Mmm. How did you meet?”
“Near the lake—” Berthas blurted, but Glen intervened cutting him off mid-sentence.
“Lord Suraer arranged it,” he told her. “He thought you would have a better understanding on his plight.”
“I didn’t know Lord Suraer valued my skill, or opinion,” Soletha noted not convinced. “I helped exiles. He’s a half-breed. Although Aelinole might have been tricked in the act.”
“She wasn’t tricked—” A flushed Berthas tried to say, but Glen cut him off again.
“What do you mean?”
“I ask Hardir to defend my mother’s honor,” Berthas protested and Glen stared at him coolly for a moment afore replying.
“Request denied. Go on Soletha.”
“There’s a lot of… Zilan in him,” Soletha replied with a motherly smile. The kind that had Soren turn into a fool. On a second thought, Soren wasn’t the best example to use perhaps.
“Continue,” Glen croaked, Berthas tearing up at her words.
“But if he’s skilled as a mage, then somewhere in his lineage there is one,” Soletha said thoughtfully. “To be able to overwrite Lord Suraer and his mother’s genetics… it’s impressive.”
“He’s skilled,” Glen said.
“I wouldn’t know that,” Soletha replied. “Has he apprenticed with someone in Lo-Minas?”
“Didn’t you just say, his lineage is like all fine and shit?” Glen grunted and Soletha reached with her arm to grab his wrist. Glen snatched his hand away.
“You were getting angry,” Soletha explained.
“Because I wanted to?” Glen rustled. “You don’t calm down people like that! What is this shite with you healers?”
“I respect your skill Lady Soletha,” Berthas said to the frowned healer.
“Shut up you,” Glen snapped. “Sneaky little shit!”
“The Monarch is frustrated,” Soletha said calmly. “Perhaps if he explained the reason for bringing him here, I could alleviate his frustration another way?”
There was a hint of dirty in those words, but Glen pretended he didn’t notice it.
“He can kill the thing,” he told her and Soletha stood back.
“The thing?” Berthas asked.
“No. It’s too dangerous,” she finally said.
“What thing?” Berthas queried unsure. “I have a sword.”
“You can undone a spell can’t you?” Glen asked him.
“Sure,” Berthas said with the eagerness of youth and fools.
“He has no idea what you’re talking about,” Soletha hissed.
“You’re eager though,” Glen said. “Are you not a good citizen? I think you are.”
“Hardir O’ Fardor!” Soletha admonished him. “Don’t even think about it.”
“I already have,” Glen replied sternly.
The healer walked up to him frustrated, but paused with a grimace of pain and pursed her lips tight thoughtfully.
“Have you seen your threads?” She asked him.
“I have,” Berthas replied with Glen nodding him along, although he’d no idea what it meant.
“Can you make a connection to more than one point and then sever it on your side?”
Berthas frowned. “Where would the other… that’s alteration.”
“Something living, of flesh. An animal,” Soletha replied.
“That’s…” Berthas gasped turning pale. He gulped down. “Why?” He croaked.
Soletha stared at Glen intently. “Goddess helps us.”
“Answer him,” Glen hissed.
“So we can kill it,” Soletha replied her face paling. “But how we would do it? What if it escapes?”
“It won’t,” Glen replied and crossed his arms on his chest. “I’ll use the wyvern.”
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Whoo.
Whoo.
The night owl called over the silent Taras Lake. Normally at its northeast side and under the rocks of the plateau where the Eternal Springs Falls poured inside the lake you wouldn’t find citizens wandering about. The district had been built on the south side of the lake and the road coming from Morn Taras was next to its west banks. Here the jungle and vegetation still creeped near the clear waters, but Glen couldn’t hear anything else above the sounds of Eternal Springs, but for that bird.
He stared at the two guards carrying the metallic box and then at a nervous Berthas, before settling his eyes on the Healer.
“Is this a good spot?” Glen asked Soletha, his boots stabbing at the rocky damp terrain. It had rained earlier on top of everything else, but while the mud was unpleasant on their way here, the sky had cleared of clouds and it made it easier to sneak out of town. The two moons illuminating the lake and the waterfalls nicely being an extra bonus.
“I have no idea,” Soletha admitted. “Will the Wyvern find it?”
“Oh, he will,” Glen replied and stared at the lake’s surface, then at the sky. “Does the boy know what to do?”
“I explained what I remember,” Soletha griped. “That’s not how things are done Hardir.”
“I get it,” Berthas assured him. “I go in, tether the thing to the goat and then I jump out.”
There that’s the plaguing spirit!
“Razo!” Glen barked. “Get that goat here!”
“Aye milord,” the soldier replied and returned to their horses.
“Bring the box,” Glen ordered Hagen. “Place it on that flat opening, away from the water.”
MAA
MAAA
The goat cried out whilst Razo carried it to the opening. Hagen placed the hefty box down and then tied a hemp rope first on the small goat’s neck and then around the base of the box. The opening had slates of cracked limestone going out for about ten meters totally clear of any vegetation, before the first trees and bushes started. Thirty meters to their front the frothy waters of the waterfalls falling down from the overhang and into the lake kept everyone’s clothes moist. A shine covering the polished rocks and large stones, the terrain slippery and the air damp.
“You need to feel it without touch and sight,” Soletha explained to a heavy breathing Berthas. He nodded anxiously.
“What’s in the box milord?” Razo asked in a casual manner.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” Glen assured him and unsheathed his sword. “Arm yourselves.”
Razo blinked, pressed his mouth taut, but then reached for his blade as well. Hagen getting his spear out, whilst Soletha went over the details with the nervous mage. Technically he wasn’t a mage yet, but Glen didn’t have anything else at the near. He wanted to kill the stillborn and hopefully break the spell to free Sen-Iv. With the witch dead something kept the woman from healing fully and the culprit should be that thing in that box. Soletha didn’t believe it, but he wasn’t going to wait around for the situation to deteriorate.
“Open the box Razo,” Glen rustled and stepped forward to see inside. Everyone had lightstones hanging from their necks and with the plentiful moonlight of the evening this remote part of the lake was lit up adequately. The colors coming in variants of grey, white and washed brown.
“Don’t linger,” Soletha hissed as Razo opened the heavy lid after releasing the iron chain and jumped back comically. “Tether it to the animal and let go.”
Glen looked over the lip of the box and into the black interior.
“I can’t see shit,” he grunted through his teeth.
“What is it we’re supposed—” Hagen probed a little confused, his brother who was standing much closer to the box cutting him off sounding overly tensed.
“Shut up Hagen. Don’t say another word!”
Whoo, the owl called from a nearby tree branch.
The goat tried to walk away from the box and while it stirred it some, the small animal failed to drag it along.
“Razo,” Glen ordered hoarsely. “Get yer hand in there and pull it out.”
“No,” a haunted Soletha intervened, Berthas humming next to her. “Nobody touches it! We talked of this!”
Ugh?
“He’s wearing gloves!” Glen grunted and she turned to glare at him, large emerald eyes glowing with their own light, when a black thorny root came out of the box. It hovered in the air for a moment and then dived down to meet the rock. Bounced off the hard surface, split in two, the tearing raising Glen’s hairs, sounding more like flesh than wood. One new thinner thorny root heading for the nervous jumping around goat and the other straight for Razo. There was a blackish smoke-like substance coming out of the sinister moving root that dripped off of it. It painted what the shade touched an oily black color.
What in the slovenly fuck, Glen thought and made to attack the swaying roots with his sword. Soletha’s extended arm stopping him.
“I feel it,” Berthas murmured his eyes closed.
“Don’t linger,” Soletha hissed, her face turned into a tense mask. “Find the goat and let go!”
MAA!
“What is this thing?” Hagen said half-awed half-freaked out.
“Ah,” Berthas said, just as the goat started shaking. “It cries.”
“LET IT GO!” Soletha yelled her voice ringing over the opening and the tree branches thrashing with a sudden breeze. The box clanged then vibrated, the root that was heading for Razo stopping. An oily black slab of wood carved like an effigy of a baby started rising from the box, standing on many insect-like thorny branches. They moved splitting and then reconnecting again, tearing sounds reverberating and mixing with the ruckus of the waterfalls, the terrain blackening around the box. Where it painted, the wooden effigy went.
“It got out!” Hagen yelled scared shitless, Glen watching with ogling eyes and his jaw clenched, a hand on his dagger.
Now? Uvrycres asked from above.
We need to get it inside the fucking goat fully!
It’s in the goat already! You fools are watching a replay! Uvrycres blasted him.
Shit.
“BACK AWAY!” Glen bellowed and grabbed Soletha’s arm to pull her away. Hagen cursed and jumped away as well, the black effigy dissolving in front of their eyes, but that dark shade spreading in an ever growing circle. “NOW GODS DARNIT!”
Your mage is holding the wrong spirit thread, Uvrycres cautioned him. It’s not his, but this tube shall suck him dry.
A worried Glen turned around and rushed the humming Berthas. He reached him in a breath, grimaced unsure on what to do and then clenching his fist tight punched him between left eye and base of the nose, breaking the bone there. Berthas bloody face snapped back and a black line appeared painted on the ground between his legs and reaching all the way to the goat. The small animal busy dragging the box away towards the forest with ease.
You piece of sneaky turd! Glen cursed.
“Hagen stop the goat!” Glen barked irate and shoved the staggering Berthas back. Hagen frowned in shock, then took a step forwards hefting his spear and hurled it to the moving animal from four meters away. The heavy spear skewering the body of the goat, the sound weird as if the blade didn’t go through flesh and bones, but solid wood.
Fuck!
The goat stopped abruptly. Thin roots started coming out of its hide, the thorny rhizomes extending outwards and the main body of the small animal bloating grotesquely.
“Wake up!” Soletha yelled at the collapsed unresponsive and quivering young mage, trying to open his frothing mouth to pour a potion in it. Hagen reached for his mace with a curse, the spear cracking as the goat doubled its size and Razo who was approaching from the other side paused and turned to leave but realized he couldn’t. “IT FOUND ANOTHER TARGET!” The healer screamed snapping Glen out of his trance.
Razo turned to look at them, thin black vines coming out of his eyes and mouth. The skin blackening and turning oily like that of the wooden effigy. With a voiceless hiss the mutating soldier jumped over the flaying goat –the black mass resembling nothing of the hapless animal- and landed in front of the King of Wetull. He raised an arm to grab him, many thin tendrils extending out of its palm and fingers, but Glen stepped away. When the arm followed him redoubling its length, bone heard shattering and flesh tearing at the joints, the jackal cackled maniacally and chopped it away.
Razo lost an arm to Glen’s vicious sword, but he tried again with the other one. The infected soldier turned trying to follow a dodging Glen, but the former thief dived for the ground, rolled on a shoulder and when Razo twisted his crackling torso that way to face him, Glen hacked his left leg away below the knee.
“NOOO!” Hagen cried seeing his brother getting hacked to pieces by a furious Glen. “Don’t hurt him!”
Razo didn’t feel a thing is the biggest problem, Glen realized, when the mutilated soldier kept coming at him doggedly replacing limbs with sprouting thorny roots. He glanced back with a gnarly grimace, eyed a devastated Hagen standing next to the lake and then at a desperately dragging away a thrashing Berthas Soletha, much further and nearer their horses. “Run,” Glen rustled raspingly at Hagen and stood up to glare at the slow moving creature. Behind it the still mutating cockroach-resembling goat was still trying to reach the forest whilst he was distracted pulling that heavy box behind it.
Fire in the bowl? Uvrycres asked.
“Milord?” Hagen sniffled and turned to look at him, his gawking scared eyes seeing the King of Wetull sprinting his way sword in hand, teeth clenched in a schizophrenic sneer. Glen dived for the lake, left shoulder smacking Hagen in the chest and shoving him back and above their heads a blistering column of fire coming down on the small opening. Glen and a screaming Hagen hit the waters, behind them the rocks engulfed in an inferno.
The water muffling the sounds of the tremendous explosion that rattled the bottom of the lake, destroyed the opening and set the forest on fire. Three meters under the surface Glen swam desperately away from the falling boulders and debris, as part of the waterfalls of this ancient picturesque part of Taras collapsed inside the lake as well.
They would have drowned for sure, but Uvrycres dived inside the lake and scooped them up. Well, he picked up Glen really. Hagen he just dragged by a leg with his tail, the soldier’s head half-in half-out the surface of the water and then hurled him ashore next to the horses.
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A covered in soot, thoroughly soaked and disheveled Glen stood up, a scowl on his tensed face and eyed the catastrophe Uvrycres had caused to the landscape.
“Did you get it?” he asked hoarsely and stooped to help a half-drown Hagen stand up. The soldier started retching and vomiting, so Glen just left him drop down again and walked towards the shaken healer that was still trying to revive Berthas.
I turned everything to glass, Uvrycres replied.
The thing?
The spell is lingering, but it can’t touch the outside again.
I had to try buddy, Glen replied not liking the jab.
I understand.
“How is he?” Glen asked and knelt next to Soletha to check on the young mage. “What the fuck happened to his hair?” Berthas head had but a few white strands of hair left on it, the skin wrinkled and droopy.
“The blowback from the spell almost sucked him dry,” Soletha replied caressing the young Zilan’s face.
“Will he make it?” Glen asked with a grimace. He had sort of promised Lord Suraer to take care of his grandson. While he hadn’t committed definitely and the Lord of Lo-Minas had acted a little hastily there, Glen couldn’t use that excuse if the young mage perished.
“He won’t live as long as he would have,” Soletha murmured sadly.
“He has plenty left in the cistern. What about the hair?” Glen probed.
“The hair?” Soletha scrunched her face.
“I mean white is a color you lads are sporting right?”
“If we are very old,” Soletha hissed, some white strands on her blue hair. “Purple also.”
“Nice,” Glen decided and stood up to stare at the burning forest. “You think we got it dottore?”
“Hardir,” Soletha griped through her teeth. “I don’t know, nor do I understand what you were trying to do here.”
“I tried to fix what you said couldn’t be fixed,” Glen retorted and wiped his dirty face with a hand. His gloves ruined. “I’m not much of a resign to yer fate guy believe it or not.”
Girl, the wyvern warned him.
What?
A girl is watching. A couple really.
The Wyvern had taken to the sky again.
Where?
South part of the forest. I think they are returning to Taras.
“Hagen!” Glen barked coming alive immediately.
“Milord me poor brother. Ye cut his leg off,” Hagen cried miserably shaking all over and Glen grabbed his shoulder to stabilize him.
“Snap out of it my good man. Show some backbone for cryin’ out loud!” he admonished him. “He died a hero. Don’t foul his memory!”
“How am I doin’ it?” the mourning soldier protested.
“Get on that horse,” Glen said changing the subject. “And follow me.”
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They galloped after the escaping witnesses and caught the girl, a god darn Cofol of all things, at the edge of the forest. Glen run her over with his horse, shoving her to the ground with a scream and whipped his head around to glare at the following Hagen.
“Find the guy!” He barked and jumped from his horse. Glen reached the thrashing young woman that tried to limp away and grabbed her by the hair.
“Please!” she screamed desperately. “I didn’t see anything!”
“Calm down,” Glen hissed looking at her broken ankle. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Ye broke me ankle milord!” she cried out. “Yer pulling my hair out!”
“What were you doing in the forest?” Glen asked hoarsely and let go of her hair.
“Nothing!”
Lie.
Glen checked on her slave markings. “Who’s yer owner?”
“Perhar, he’s a merchant!” the slave girl sniffled.
“How is a slave roaming about in the dark? Hmm?” He queried. “What’s yer name?”
“Silica my lord,” she replied, her teeth rattling.
“What were you doing out at this hour?”
Silica shook her head, clenching her mouth tight. Her black hair plastered on her wet face, leaves and dirt covering her tunic. She had lost a sandal in the attempt to get away from him.
“Where is the man going?” Glen asked puffing out and eyed Soletha approaching bringing up the horses and a pale-faced Berthas. The mage actually looked half-dead.
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Glen growled and glared at her. “I can tell, when you do.”
“Goddess help me,” Silica cried. “Please, it wasn’t my fault!”
“Whose fault was it?” Glen queried tiredly. “Speak gods darnit!”
Cut her eye out, the dagger advised.
“SHUT UP!” Glen bellowed and Silica started pissing herself, tremors rattling her body. “For fuck’s sake!” he cursed in frustration.
“Hardir,” Soletha said serenely. “What did she do?”
“I don’t know,” Glen replied feeling worn out.
“I didn’t… we just watched,” Silica mumbled her tunic darkening with warm urine and her ankle ballooning where the bone had snapped.
Eh.
“On whose orders?” Glen croaked.
“Perhar, my master,” Silica admitted her teeth rattling. “It hurts my lord please.”
“Watch for me?”
“The Healer,” Silica said and Soletha furrowed her brow in worry. “It’s been going on for months.”
“Why?” Glen grunted.
“He wants to know.”
Luthos cock dipped in the vipers jar.
“Where’s your master from?” A haunted Glen asked although he knew.
“The Amethyst Lake, of Lai Zel-Ka,” Silica had replied.
Ah, sweetheart, Glen thought his mouth dry. Why can’t you just give it up?
“Hardir,” Soletha asked gruffly. “What do we do?”
Glen stared at Hagen returning empty-handed and sighed.
“Return to Taras,” he decided. “Lock the girl up and see to help Berthas.”
He then turned to Hagen. “You ride to Captain Horton,” he told him. “Raise the alarm and lock the city down. Send a patrol of guards at Morn Taras. I’ll head to the Castle immediately.”
“Voron has guards at the wall gates,” a grim-faced Hagen informed him.
“Do they rotate?” Glen asked and reached for the reins of his horse.
“I think so. Why milord?” Hagen asked.
“Sen would have bought them off,” he explained and jumped on the saddle with a weary sigh. He glanced at Soletha. “She was going to find out about the baby. You should have showed her a normal dead one and close the fucking deal. Bohor, everyone trying to hide it, myself included are just trying to plug a rotten pipe.”
Soletha stood back. “Make the lie bigger?”
Glen clenched his teeth. “Healer there’s no small, or big lie. The moment you took it away, we all started lying for different reasons. The amount is irrelevant. It’s only the good lies that survive scrutiny.”
But not always.
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A sour-faced Glen burst inside the Citadel with two guards, the distant horns of Taras reaching the castle and the fire still burning bright underneath its slopes to their east. A disheveled Voron, the architect was sleeping in the third floor, but was working in the main hall until late in the evening, raised his head alarmed seeing him.
“Lord Garth,” Voron said perturbed. “This is a lively night.”
“Who else is here?” Glen enquired. He had already questioned the guards about it.
“In the citadel?” Voron asked and Glen grimaced. He turned just as one of the guards was going for his sword and run him through. The blade punching through his armour savagely and blasting out of his back. The guard gurgled, blood in his mouth and he kicked him back to face his lying friend.
The Lorian licked his lips, a hand on his sword.
“You unsheathe that, you’ll die screaming and in many pieces,” Glen warned him and stooped to retrieve his sword from his dying friend.
“We were told to keep it quiet,” the guard grunted.
“Who? Bohor?”
The guard nodded.
“Voron?” Glen asked his eyes on the nervous guard. “Who came earlier?”
“Angrein,” a confused Voron replied and brushed his blue and purple hair off his face. “What is the reason for this ungodly tumult?” he added glancing at the bleeding out on the tiles soldier. “The man will soon perish Hardir.”
“Where is he?” Glen asked not caring about that and Voron turned to point back towards the table he was working on. The Imperial Blacksmith’s burly figure appearing out of the badly lit place.
“I’m here,” Angrein replied gutturally. “What does Hardir O’ Fardor need?”
“Cut the plaguin’ crap!” Glen growled and advanced on him. “You’ve talked with Sen! What did you say to her?”
“I answered her queries truthfully,” Angrein replied. “I have always treated the Lady Sovereign and yourself with respect Hardir.”
“You told her about the woods ye son of a bitch?” Glen grunted, a throbbing on his head flaring out.
“She knew. Her people run the birds,” Angrein replied not affronted and crossed his huge arms over his broad chest. The blacksmith was as brawny as they came. “Was overly concerned you were present.”
Glen closed his eyes briefly and then stared at the frowning Voron.
“I told no one else,” Angrein explained. “Never had. I also never lied Hardir.”
Glen licked his lips.
“What did she ask?” he croaked.
“If Saereg can burn the poison.”
Glen’s mouth turned numb. “Can it?”
Was Jinx’s instinct wrong?
“That’s not how it works Hardir,” Angrein replied and stared at a pretending not to listen Voron.
“Voron,” Glen rustled. “Get that piece of shit locked in the tower,” he ordered and pointed at the soldier.
“My Lord!” the man protested.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Voron admonished him. “Take the win and come with me.”
“Speak,” Glen spat after they left them alone inside the throne room.
“It will bond with pure, fresh blood,” Angrein explained calmly. “Like a good metal, it will flush out the impurities with fire. If the blood is foul, then a connection can’t be made.”
“What about poison?”
“If the blood is fouled, then a connection can’t be made,” Angrein repeated and seeing his despair, he added. “But if the union is successful, the witch’s curse wouldn’t have worked.”
Glen nodded. “So there was nothing she could have done… anyone really. She should have gotten it aforehand,” he murmured and rubbed his face, feeling just about ready to collapse from the exertion.
Angrein stood back and stared at his calloused, cracked thick fingers.
“Your spouse came to the same conclusion Hardir,” the Imperial Blacksmith replied.
Glen nodded and puffed out wearily. His eyes roamed the silent hall, then at the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. They returned to the black granite throne and the two flanking it. A pure gold one and another made of white-gold and marble. A night owl’s call reached his ears, perhaps the same from back in the burning forest. A soft breeze bringing it through the upper floors open windows. The breeze dancing over the stairs and the walls of the massive citadel. Carrying words and songs with it. The songs wild and sad. Scrapping off the polished granite walls like blades on armour. Tapping lightly like a skilled dancer’s heeled feet on the tiles and the ceiling. A familiar baby’s cackle turning into a grown woman’s laugh of ecstasy. A lute’s strings and a golden wyvern’s wings crackling. The dream’s words those of an ancient goddess, now repeating.
Behold what thou asked for, Nesande’s Seer shushed crowing like a hag.
No.
> “The truth shall hurt you traveler,” the aged seer opened her right hand, fingers stretched. “It is not what you seek.”
>
> “Do you know me? What you say, makes little sense. I’ve a woman already.”
>
> The seer tended her left hand, clenched in a fist.
>
> “She’ll birth a queen, but the girl shall be only half yours. Do you want to know her name?”
Inis-Mir, a horrified Glen thought and turned around to run up the stairs two at a time. No gods darnit, he thought stumbling halfway there and hurting his knee. Glen stood up with a groan and hobbled the rest of the way all the time pleading for the gods to protect his child.
He reached the first floor breathing heavy and stumbled over the lip of the stairs, through the corridor towards the young girl’s bedroom. Maeriel standing outside the door turning her braided head to watch him approach surprised.
“Where’s… she?” a shaking Glen grumbled almost going down again. Maeriel furrowed her brows, a wrinkle of worry splitting the perfect skin on her forehead.
“With her mother. She took her while you were away,” the Ranger replied confused. It quickly turned into alarm seeing Glen’s devastated expression. “Garth… she wouldn’t,” Maeriel whispered and Glen growled like a wounded beast and turned to burst into Sen-Iv’s room.
Iskay appeared at the door, but he shoved her away so violently the slave’s head hit the side of the door and she collapsed unconscious to the carpeted floor. A pale, but blank-faced Sen-Iv watched the scene unfolding without commenting. She stood with difficulty from the edge of the bed and tossed the small vial at the feet of a dumfounded Glen.
“What did you do?” The King of Wetull asked hoarsely, although he knew.
“I’m not weak. Won’t be prey to their vile magic,” Sen replied gravely, her voice barely above a whisper. “Neither will my daughter.”
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