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The Old Realms
~ACT V~
The Wings of Fate
PART III
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>
>
> Remember Traveler;
>
> Calamity awaits those who forget.
>
>
>
> -
>
> Histories volume II
>
> The Old Realms
>
> Chapter IX
>
> -Epilogue-
>
> -
>
> (Proscribed Edition)
>
> Gallio Veturius circa 99 NC
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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
Blood Kin
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Late Spring 193 NC
Year 3399 of the Imperial Calendar
Morn Taras (Tenebrous Castle)
Goras
> Daddy?
“The Merchant’s Guild of the Peninsula would like a meeting to discuss the new opportunities of the sea route great Caliph,” Glen stared at the Castellan with cold unsympathetic eyes. Metu’s face contorted briefly. “Illustrious Monarch, they require but half an hour to offer their ideas in person. They have a letter of introduction from Lord Sopat.”
Glen remained silent sitting slanted on the black granite throne. Eilven had just finished it.
“Voron needs, right…” Metu said seeing his stony expression. “Fikumin has called for a full Council meeting. He also needs a decision on the Bedale matter. Four suggestions have been approved for your eyes. That’ll be the transport that was raided indisputable Sovereign.”
“We’ll raid one of their own,” Glen rustled.
“Great Monarch this isn’t perhaps—”
“Next matter,” Glen cut him off impatiently scratching the polished granite arm-supports with his nails.
Metu stared at his scrolls. “Captain Horton needs a plan for the disturbance—”
“Next,” Glen grunted.
“Lady Jinx would like—”
“Wait, wasn’t she here last night?” Glen asked.
“She’s still here impervious Monarch.”
“She’s using official letters to talk to me?”
“Ehm… that would be affirmative… aye. She learned of the practice recently.”
“What else do you have?” Glen hissed through his teeth.
“Roran’s expedition report, Abarat correspondence. Let’s see, a letter from Lady Olonelis, a letter from Lord Onas, several from Lord Folen, a petition from Lord Elwuin to rebuild the bridge over Serpent’s Canal, also attached in the same letter two proposals. One for the restoration of Quiceran’s Academy and the beautification—”
“Leave Elwuin, move to the next,” Glen cut him off.
“Anfalon signed off on Vulreon’s official report of the Campaign and your ascension. With your permission I’ll insert it into the records.”
“No,” Glen said. “I’ll need to look at it first. How big is it?”
“As in… well it’s a hefty manuscript.”
“We’ll study it together Metu,” Glen said. “Are you finished?”
“The army is due back. Sam Mathews—”
“I’ll see them later. Anything with adventurers is a financial matter. What else?”
“Kilynia and Rimeros, along with Rybel are expected with the next ship. They asked for accommodations.”
“As in housing?” Glen asked.
“Something near the lake.”
“We don’t have anything. And these are very coveted pieces of real estate. Soletha can put them in Sinya Goras port.”
“That’s a week away. They are members of your Council. The Master of Ships and two advisors.”
Glen sighed ruggedly. “The other port then. It’s nearer. You must be finished by now.”
“High Priest Voldomir is outside.”
“Does he have an appointment?”
“I believe his words were… no doors are closed to Nesande’s faithful?”
“These doors are,” Glen grunted not amused.
“He’s not going to leave peacefully superb Monarch,” Metu argued.
“I really don’t want to speak to the priest friend,” Glen said and got up from his throne.
“Well then. Vaelenn has asked in a personal letter if she’s to remain in Abarat.”
“She is for the time being. Now that’s it Metu. Get out,” Glen ordered impatiently. “You need to start working on your presentations they are long and tedious.”
“Apologies Monarch. I’ve left Lo-Minas out, but I’ll see to make a summary of it,” Metu replied and turned to walk outside the long hall. Glen watched him drag his feet towards the double doors. He knocked, Hagen opened the right and Voldomir burst inside. The priest’s feet were covered in mud and some of it was on his robes as well.
He glared at Metu, waved his staff at the scowling Hagen and then continued down the hall towards Glen’s distant throne with the guard following him.
Damn it.
“It’s alright Hagen. I’ll see the Priest of Nesande,” Glen told the frustrated guard and he stopped and walked back outside.
“The Monarch of Wetull has the High Priest wait outside the hall!” Voldomir roared approaching. He left dirt on the polished granite tiles and imprints of his muddy sandals. “Two days. For two days I’ve walked from the temple to see you and this is the treatment I receive?”
“You have horses at your disposal Voldomir,” Glen replied and poured wine in a silver goblet. Voldomir grabbed it and drunk it in a go. “There’s some goat cheese in the bowl,” Glen offered filling another goblet for himself.
“Hmm,” Voldomir murmured and reached for it. “Any grapes? Your table is rather poor for a King of Wetull.”
“Voldomir I really don’t have time.”
“What is it you have to do that’s more important than speaking to the High Priest?”
Ah, pretty much everything else?
“On what matter?” Glen asked tiredly and returned to the throne. The distance from the tables at the side walls around twenty meters. Voron’s architecture asked for fit well-trained folk to survive it. Glen climbed up the many stairs and collapsed on the throne.
Voldomir approached and sat on the silver throne next to him. “Well, this seat sucks,” he commented.
“It’s not finished. There’s a leather cushion that will soften it.”
“Hmm. Can you actually see down the corridor?” Voldomir asked squinting his eyes.
“Not really, but we economize on the candles until I bring more lightstones in.”
“Where will you find them?”
“In Quiceran’s road?” Glen looked at him. “What?”
“Didn’t know that.”
“The tunnel collapsed… its ceiling revealed them,” Glen explained.
“Why?”
“Earthquake?” Glen shrugged his shoulders and sipped at the wine, his mind elsewhere. “Arachne digging in.”
“Arachne, in the tunnels?” Voldomir asked.
“You find it strange? I’ve found them in the desert also. At Lebesos.”
“Are you sure? Lebesos was wiped out in a moon, perhaps less… ah, it's centuries old story,” Voldomir replied reminiscing.
“A plague?”
“Nobody knows. The desert claimed everything and people just stopped going there. Like Tarsos it succumbed to the elements when the water turned scarce. There’s probably some detailed explanation somewhere, but this happened… during the First Era Garth.”
“That’s…”
“Twenty… and some change centuries back. Might be much more come to think of it. Hmm.”
“Most normal folk would have said years there, decades…” Glen groaned and smacked his lips. “You wanted something Voldomir?”
“How’s the princess?” The priest asked without hesitation.
“It’s a personal matter,” Glen grunted and glared at him.
Daddy? The girl had asked.
“I’m the High Priest,” Voldomir retorted undaunted. “You put me in charge of matters of the state with the position. I didn’t ask for it, but you did it anyway. I can’t perform my duties when rumors circulate the temple.”
“What rumors?”
“The Lady Sovereign lost a child. Don’t you scowl now, rumors spread,” Voldomir replied. “People fear we might lose another.”
Glen got up frustrated and walked to the edge of the lacquered stand and the stairs descending from the throne. The gigantic dark hall ominous to his eyes, like a deep underground cave.
“You should have forced Voron to open windows,” the priest said. “Wyverns live in caves Garth.”
“Inis-Mir is fine,” Glen told him keeping his voice steady. “If the faithful ask you about her concerned, this is what you should answer priest.”
Voldomir nodded with his aged Zilan head and got up with a grimace of discomfort. He glared at the unfinished silver throne. “A child can be fragile in its infancy. Zilan or human,” Voldomir said compassionately. “A loss is always part of nature, but the Goddess knows better.”
“It was a curse,” Glen spat bitterly. “What killed it… him I guess.”
“By whom?” Voldomir asked, not particularly surprised.
“A Sibyl named Ena.”
“Who let her out of her tomb?”
“Rothomir.”
Voldomir nodded and stooped over, placing both hands on his staff for support. “What of the princess?”
“No curse,” Glen replied and looked at him.
“I’ve kept secrets for many kings and queens. I can keep one for the King beyond the Pale Mountains,” the ancient priest replied.
“Who says that?” Glen asked.
“The Merchants. Cofols, Lorians pfft… this is Wetull. You’re its Monarch. Don’t concern yourself with petty matters.”
“What you know of the Saereg?” Glen asked deciding to ask for an outsider’s opinion.
Voldomir furrowed his thick washed out blue brows and then returned to the silver throne. He sat on it keeping the old staff between his legs.
“Who gave it to her?” He asked evenly.
“Does it matter?”
“You had it laying about?” Voldomir asked. “It’s a potion.”
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“It came from Angrein.”
“Mehtar O’ Mecatan,” Voldomir said. “The ‘Swordsman’s arms-maker’. Cim-tan they used to call them. Blade-makers, but then old Isil came along and made the metal sing. Fergen was at that time more popular for he was cheap and quick to produce all manners of tools. Like your peleg.”
“It belonged to a friend,” Glen said.
“Isil took few pupils to teach his secrets, but his best one was Angrein. By then the name of the artisans had been paraphrased to mean Imperial Blacksmith. The boy turned to a man aging fast -for he was a human from the Split Isles brought over the divide and Isil sought to salvage his skills from perish.”
“Is that what it does?” Glen asked trying to process the information.
“It wasn’t supposed to. A mage and alchemist working for Kallister looked to create an elixir to boost the magic in Zilan blood. Make it more potent and stop it from aging its caster if he delved into the forbidden paths. Tinyssos aye… a bit before my time though I heard it when I was young. Master Tinyssos tried everything and finally used a Wyvern’s blood in the mixture. Don’t ask for the ingredients for I don’t know them. I heard many things over the centuries. Pulverized Chimera bones, liquid gold, a basilisk’s glans, a baby dwarf’s toe and a live blue frog among others.”
“How did they find Wyvern’s blood?”
“Tinyssos turned to the Imperial Blacksmiths and your friend Laedan. They handled the young Wyverns. They provided a young one, a baby. It didn’t survive the procedure. They couldn’t have taken blood from a mature Wyvern of course.”
“Did it work?”
“Tinyssos tried it on himself and died soon after from it,” Voldomir replied. “The mixture he created was lethal for a Zilan. His student Dudrina the black witch, took over from him and kept working on the potion herself.”
“Why black?”
“She was… dark skinned and dark haired. Both she and Tinyssos were from the Coal Isle in Cydonia. Nasty people. Luthos lovers. They’ll attempt anything just in case they luck out.”
Glen’s face remained calm.
“Not all favor Nesande priest.”
“Few with brains don’t. That rebellious Soletha prays to the Moon’s Daughter. Hah-ha! But the ‘Moon’ which was that airhead’s mother was the illustrious Goddess’ priestess. Named after Her moon that stays over our heads. The other choices are either a cruel Dragon, or the vile Kraken. You tell me who is best to work with.”
“What about the new Gods?”
“You’ll bow to the children and scorn their parents?”
Glen sighed.
“It worked on humans’ right?” He asked abandoning the talk on religion.
“Well, she went to the King with it for funding. Ninthalor a person of great curiosity and equal measures of vanity, decided to use it on his slaves. Killed four in a row with the potion afore one survived. I’m forgetting his name. I believe he was killed by the Queen consort some time later in a hunting excursion. She shot him through the mouth, when the inebriated King praised his oral-pleasuring skills in front of her.”
“Go on,” Glen said over his shoulder going to refill his goblet. It was a trek and a half. “I’ll bring the leftover cheese for you priest.”
“Ask for some mature grapes as well for the road back, or salted nuts well dried and dipped in honey. Surely you have a slave or two around.”
“The temple has run out?”
“The temple feeds everyone bringing gifts. They lick their plates clean to get their money’s worth back.”
“Gifts which you collect,” Glen said returning to the thrones.
“Yes, but I can’t eat the trinkets Garth. My teeth aren’t what they were.”
“You are very uncourtly in yer manners unlike the others.”
“If you wanted a courtly priest, you would have kept Vaelenn, or put Soletha in my place,” Voldomir replied.
“I met a friend of yours called Feyras, a priest of Eodrass in Lo-Minas.”
“Bah, stay well away from him,” Voldomir advised. “He’s lost it aye. Never was that well to begin with.”
“Why keep him on the job?”
“The priest of Eodrass,” Voldomir said looking at him sternly. “You don’t just remove Garth.”
Ah.
“He’s rather fond of you.”
“Was he drunk? On mushrooms?”
“He was I believe. The first, but I wouldn’t outright dismiss the latter.”
“That explains it.”
“What happened after the potion worked on Ninthalor’s slave?” Glen asked changing the subject.
“The King forgot all about it, but Dudrina kept looking for funding for her research, as she was not well-accepted by the Witches of the Coven it was difficult for her. Rich Zilan started using it to preserve their most beloved slaves and also for economic reasons as retraining a new one was deemed a waste of the previous investment in time and coin.”
“Get to the point Voldomir.”
“The point King Garth is,” Voldomir retorted chewing on the cheese and washing his mouth with wine. “Good slaves died right and left, with few successes so the potion was set aside and soon it was all but forgotten.”
“But for those that had taken it,” Glen said.
“Aye. It brought longevity. Angrein is proof of that, but little improvement in the other skills that I know of. Of course since most were slaves, they kept the details for themselves.”
“Any of them around other than Angrein?”
“Baltoris released them from their long service. One of her first acts. Some had continued far beyond their natural living capacity. There was a Gish that lived over six centuries as a slave afore being released. He was found dead in the streets some weeks later. A suicide.”
“They lasted that long, the others?”
“Nobody knows. Some drop dead without warning, others like Angrein are still standing. It remains a mystery really why it reacts differently.”
He stared at him and Glen returned his stare.
They both were thinking of Luthos probably.
“What was the difference you believe?” Glen probed a bit further as he couldn’t rely on luck. “Was it perhaps the degradation of the potency after the first couple of batches?”
“Sure a lack of materials or ingredients played a role, especially after Baltoris banned ‘risqué practices’ and the Wyverns stopped reproducing.”
“Inis-Mir seems healthy and it is some time now,” Glen said his stomach not favoring the wine all of a sudden.
“Anything out of the ordinary?” Voldomir asked.
Daddy? His daughter called in his sleep. Look what I found.
“Nothing that I’ve noticed,” Glen replied with a nervous twitch on his left eye.
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Glen climbed the stairs to the royal chambers of the castle some time later and nodded at Maeriel standing outside his daughter’s bedroom.
“Jinx?” He asked.
“She stayed for a bit and then left.”
“Out of a window?”
“Aye, Arguen Garth. I gathered the rope she used. She hates reporting to your guards.”
It’s called palace security for crying out loud.
“Where did she find so much rope?”
“She jumped the final portion.”
“Is she breathing still?”
“Aye, but your lemon tree perished.”
Glen saw Iskay appear at the door of Sen’s quarters. The redhead bowed her head once and Glen pressed his mouth tight.
“I’ll see to her in a moment,” he told Maeriel and walked to the slave. Iskay moved away from him and Glen paused to glare at her. “Is she awake?”
“Yes master Garth.”
“See to have a meal in the kitchens now.”
“Aye master Garth.”
“I’m not angry at you Iskay.”
“I can understand master Garth,” she replied in a low voice. “If you are.”
“Well, I’m not,” Glen retorted and walked inside to see Sen.
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Sen had gradually improved, but it was always one bad day away for all the progress to be lost in a cruel setback. Soletha thought that as long as she kept fighting the poison could slowly be expelled and she kept administering healing potions and elixirs to fortify her constitution.
His wife was fighting harder than anyone Glen had ever met that was for certain.
“I knew you’ll come,” Sen-Iv told him and got up. Even in her weakened state his wife’s face was beautiful, eyes bright and opaque irises filled with different colors depending on the reflections of the light on them. The only difference being in the harder lines on her cheek bones and black circles covered by makeup.
“I always do,” Glen replied and hugged her thin waist. “Whatever happens, I always will.”
“Mmm. If I wasn’t sick you’d have me cast away,” Sen murmured.
“I wouldn’t have,” Glen grunted and kissed her braided head. “Don’t waste your time with thoughts like these.”
“How is she?”
“You see her every day.”
“I have to go to her.”
“Maeriel can bring her here.”
“I won’t invite a Zilan in our bed,” Sen retorted. “You’ll have to do it husband.”
“Sen this needs to stop.”
“You didn’t answer,” she whispered. “Why?”
“Inis-Mir is fine. She escaped it,” Glen assured her grabbing at her shoulders tight with both hands to force Sen to look at him. “It was a rotten situation, you did what you believed was right. The Gods spared us more anguish. Take the win. Don’t let her understand that something is wrong. Please darling, I need you to be smart here.”
“Is there something wrong?”
“No there isn’t.”
“Her hair turned red.”
“Kids hair change color all the time,” Glen replied and sighed. “I’ll take it. It means nothing.”
“You hate me inside, I can sense it.”
“You can’t sense shit,” Glen snapped in frustration, then regretting it. He stepped back and looked at his boots. There was mud on them as Voldomir had left a mess behind that needed thorough cleaning by a crew. “Apologies for that. I have something made for you. A week from now, you Lady Sovereign will sit on your golden throne. Just as I’d promised your brother.”
“Not my dream.”
“Just say thank you lover,” Glen grunted.
“Thank you lover,” Sen whispered with a smile.
“We are among friends,” Glen told her. “Our foes defeated. Dead and buried. We shall endure and rule together darling. The worst is behind us.”
“You’re tempting Luthos,” Sen warned him.
“The Gods fucked me plenty,” Glen said hoarsely. “I don’t owe them shit.”
“There’s that anger.”
“Not for you. You need to understand that.”
“Phon has a problem,” Sen said her tone changing.
“Are you seriously going to switch to business now?”
“You want me to live as a sick, slowly dying person?” Sen-Iv asked him pointedly.
“Of course not,” Glen croaked. “You’re not dying.”
“Can I see little Glen?”
“Out of the question,” Glen grimaced. “Phon wants me to hear out the merchants he sent.”
“They are not merchants,” Sen replied and walked to her boudoir to retrieve a hefty leather satchel. Glen went to help and he brought it back to their bed. He went to drop it on the silk sheets but Sen pointed at a small round table next to it.
“Seriously?”
“It’s dirty,” Sen explained in her non-negotiable tone.
Glen sighed and placed the heavy large satchel on the table. “What is it?”
“Contracts, maps and letters. Contacts, the Merchant Guild’s dirty secrets and routes to recourses from surveyors I’ve been sending out for almost two years now.”
“On Greenwhale?”
“In Wetull. Greater Goras peninsula mostly,” Sen corrected him with a smile. “But what you need is that bundle of scrolls wrapped in the blue silk cloth.”
Glen took the large package out and undid its bindings slowly. It had a map of the Peninsula in it, very detailed and letters with numbers addressed to Sen-Iv.
“What is this wife?”
“The Sisters of the Peninsula decided to fight each other and the Khan for he wouldn’t listen to reason,” Sen explained in her soothing voice. “One Sister stands with the Khan against the others, but my brother believes they can win over her.”
“To what end?” Glen asked. “Is that what Phon wanted to talk about?”
“Yes Glen. But he couldn’t announce it openly. You are trading with the Khan in Eikenport and Dia.”
“I am?”
“We are,” Sen replied. “For years.”
Glen stared at the papers. “What does Phon want?”
“Weapons, men and resources to wage war. Soldiers ultimately.”
“Not a trading route.”
“Eventually it will be one, but right now, in this very moment the Sisters ask for our help,” Sen explained.
“If we intervene the Khan will fight us,” Glen said trying to think of a way out. “For real.”
“The Khan can’t fight your Wyvern,” Sen-Iv said hoarsely and then found the bed to sit on. “Sir Emerson is already fighting on Phon’s side.”
“Emerson is fighting for your brother? You freed him yes?”
“Of course. He had won it himself anyway. Mista Savar is a hero of the Peninsula.”
“Sounds like the old man alright,” Glen replied and licked his lips. “I’ll talk with Anfalon for a viable plan to assist them.”
“We might need to act more decisively than that. You have Princess of Kaltha’s ear,” Sen told him.
“That’s a much bigger war. The Khan might give in to some concessions for the cities, but the fight for Raoz has spilled over both continents. Especially if he crosses over.”
“His fleet would lose on the approach to Ripel Island, they’ll never make it to Ri Yue-Tu. He can’t defeat Kaltha’s navy in the sea.”
“Maybe, but things can change and while everyone talks of the navy, I keep remembering that the two continents are this close at Krakentrap Straits.”
“Across Lazuli Peninsula?” Sen breathed in and out to collect her strength. “Can it be done?”
“I did it. There’s a path through the Burning Crests according to Zilan lore.”
“Kaltha controls Shavemont Plateau via Devil’s Cove,” Sen pointed out.
“For now they do,” Glen agreed and sighed. “Get your rest. That’s enough politics for you pretty lady. Does Phon realize he shouldn’t task you with his problems?”
“Lai Zel-Ka’s problems are my problems Glen,” Sen-Iv had replied simply but steady despite her tired state. “You married a daughter of the Peninsula, but she’s not worth much if we allow the Khan to wipe it out of the map. And he shall. Cruel is the old Horselord’s heart.”
Glen disagreed vehemently with her logic about her worth, but he understood what Sen’s worrying heart was saying to him. In a sense he knew that all along.
> ‘Daddy?’ Inis-Mir had told him a month back, when they had finally discovered her inside the unfinished Morn Taras’ gardens. ‘Look what I found!’
>
> A pool of blood around her small naked feet. Tiny toes sinking in the soft sludge. A fox’s carcass laid next to her, the fluffy hide torn and opened at the belly. The guts spilled out and the internal organs snatched out one by one. Some he could still see discarded all about the roots of the Cinnamon tree. The smell of its fruits unable to mask the stench of gore.
>
> The bloody heart Inis-Mir still held in her small hands. She was covered in blood to her elbows and at the front of her short yellow tunic. Those opaque irises that used to resemble her mother’s now filled with reddish dots. Like touches of blood on milk with some orange and green hugging them. Spectacular to look at and terrifying if one could see through their beauty. Glen had seen enough such creatures to know one.
>
> The eyes of a familiar monster.
A daughter thou shall have, the Seer had said years back. But she shall only be half-yours.
Inis-Mir was awake and was standing near her open window. She stood unnaturally straight for such a young girl. Shoulders pushed out and her small arms crossed over her chest. His daughter had started talking soon after that night and was learning more words with each day. Only one creature matured so fast that he was aware of. Or was as smart.
She turned her small pretty head around sensing him and smiled broadly at his silent figure. Rich straight dark crimson hair reaching the small of her back.
“Where are your clothes?” Glen asked raspingly and walked near her.
“What need have I of clothes father?” Inis-Mir asked him all serious, but Glen found her sleeping tunic on the bed and picked it up.
“You put this on, afore your mother sees you,” he told her gruffly.
“She’s not well,” Inis-Mir said sadly. “What are you doing about it?”
Glen felt tears coming to his eyes and he turned his head away.
“Put your tunic on,” he told her gruffly. “Now.”
“I’ll never leave you,” his daughter said dressing up. “I can do what my brother would have done for you. I can. I shall rule this land.”
“Let’s not talk about stuff like that,” Glen grunted. “Not before other people. You hear me? You don’t talk about it with other people.”
Inis-Mir approached and he knelt to hug her small frame. “She listens with her big ears and sees with her big eyes,” his daughter whispered creepily in his ear. “But she won’t talk for she is loyal. Not all of them are.”
“Shush now, just be quiet for a little while,” Glen murmured and lifted her up with ease. “You should be sleeping and not evaluating palace personnel. That’s your mother’s blood in you.”
“In my dreams I fly high above the clouds,” she whispered hanging from his neck. “It’s scary. I don’t want to be alone. But another part of me isn’t scared at all. There’s something in my blood. It roars when it breathes and it craves of flesh.”
“There’s nothing… stop talking nonsense. That’s just your imagination. You won’t be alone,” Glen said hoarsely and carried her to the curtained bed. “We are all going to stay together. You and your mother. All those people, friends that worry about you and love you. You’ll never be alone. Never.”
Inis-Mir sighed and rested her face in the crook of his neck.
Her answer haunting.
“All your friends are dead in the dream daddy and you’re gone.”
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