----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
Glen
A throne over the clouds
Part I
-Come fly with me-
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
> “Can you do it?” he had asked and the Wyvern closed and opened its translucent eyelids one after the other, its dragon eyes that fierce burgundy color a tad darker now.
>
> ‘Her thread was much longer than yours. Not anymore,’ Uvrycres finally said in his guttural voice that matched Glen’s when he was angry. An acoustic illusion, the Wyvern used to say. All in the Realm are affected by magic.
>
> Fate and fortune.
>
> Dreams and nightmares.
>
> Life and death.
>
> Better or worse health.
>
> ‘If the foul essence is gathered in one place I can cut it out and bury it like the boy,’ Uvrycres had added. ‘It doesn’t affect me.’
>
> “One place,” Glen had murmured trying to wrap his mind around what the Wyvern was suggesting.
>
> ‘An arm or a leg would be the easiest part. But it will be brief the opportunity and the shock could do more harm than good.’
>
> “The shock.”
>
> ‘I’ll inject poison in her. The curse will try to save itself like with the goat running away from it. It chooses an arm—’
>
> “At random?” Glen croaked. “What do you mean cut it, say… it does behave how we want?” he asked with a deep frown.
>
> Uvrycres snorted, rapped his talons on the granite tiles of the yard and eyed the Hoplites looking at them from afar, forked tongue licking at his black lips. ‘You can use one of them, if you can’t do it yourself.’
>
> Glen’s face dropped and stood back horrified. “Are you insane? I can’t do that… allgods curse ye! What are you saying? Keep carving her up until we get it all? This is your cure?”
>
> ‘There is no cure. But she might live a full life with fewer body parts—’
>
> “Stop it!” Glen cried out and walked to the edge of the tiled part of the yard they were standing on. He glanced up toward the mass of the citadel and its few lit windows in the second floor. “I can’t do that,” Glen finally whispered tonelessly, but the Wyvern heard him anyway and clacked his black teeth. “I can’t hurt her Uvry.”
>
> ‘Then the witch wins and hurts what she couldn’t at first,’ Uvrycres replied and approached surprisingly light on its feet for such a big creature.
>
> “I can’t do it,” Glen repeated tonelessly feeling despair flooding his senses. “How long?”
>
> ‘I don’t want to see some things,’ Uvrycres admitted sadly. ‘I can’t do it. Living life like you experience it is much more interesting.’
>
> “What of Inis-Mir?”
>
> ‘She’s much tougher than you,’ Uvrycres replied with a snort. ‘Blood kin.’
>
> “Bullshit she is. You’re lying,” Glen grunted.
>
> ‘Frequently,’ Uvrycres admitted. ‘But rarely to you.’
“We’ll place the more prominent castes at the front,” Kilynia was saying under the approving slow head nods from Rimeros. “So we’ll need to leave space between the chairs. Further to the sides we’ll place officials and other prominent Folk, humans. Behind them the visitors and further to the back the strays.”
“I think using nicely divided wings will be better,” Fikumin argued.
There’s another way, the dagger whispered in his ear while the dwarf continued. “Place the Zilan on the left, the officials in the middle and other citizens on the right.”
“You’ll have Lord Anfalon shoulder to shoulder with a stray?”
“Lord Anfalon has impregnated and living with a stray,” Fikumin retorted glaring at her. “He’ll be fine.”
He’s keeping it from you, the dagger continued. We can make it whole.
How? Glen asked losing track of the conversation. It’s not that he could arrange stuff better than those he had installed to do the job. It didn’t really matter to him where everyone would sit. Didn’t care. All he wanted was for Sen to enjoy the festivities.
Built it anew.
Her. You mean her, Glen grimaced.
Same as before, the dagger agreed.
With magic? An illusion?
Sturdier than that. Flesh and blood. Human almost.
You talk of mancer bullshit?
I didn’t talk out of my own volition, the dagger replied. You asked.
“I didn’t,” Glen grunted from the throne and Fikumin furrowed his brows. He turned to look at him.
“You don’t agree Lord Garth?” the dwarf asked. “Everyone should be able to see the royal family.”
Yes you did.
Glen nodded clenching his jaw tight. “Just go ahead with your plan Lord Shield,” he rustled.
“Celebrated Monarch,” Kilynia protested. “You’ll have citizens mixing up in front of the throne?”
“They do it at Bacchanalia,” Glen grunted. “Plenty of mixing it up then.”
“What’s that? Oh, Great Monarch,” Rimeros asked taken aback.
“Valimae Lilt,” Fikumin explained. “If that’s alright with Lord Garth I’d like to talk of some matters of state Lady Kilynia. Lord Rimeros.”
“Voron wants to start building the west tower,” Rimeros said.
“Not during the festivities,” Glen spat. “I see a building crew walking in the yard I’ll punch him in the face.”
Rimeros blinked in shock.
“Punish,” Fikumin translated.
“Of course,” Rimeros blurted out. “I’ll speak to the Master Architect.”
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
“Lesia is besieging Cartagen, the whole of the Lorian coast is engulfed in civil war also,” Fikumin explained. Glen was doing superhuman efforts to keep his attention in his words. Sweat rivulets were running down his face and a strained expression had creeped up to the surface. “The Khan is in Rida and he might move down towards the Lazuli Peninsula. Or attempt a landing across the Shallow Sea now that Kaltha has removed the Fleet from Rida.”
“Why did they do it?”
“Pirates hit a convoy with gold,” Fikumin explained. “The word got out and the crews demanded to get paid what they were owed, so the Admiralty returned them to base.”
“Can they pay them?”
“Not everything I guess. I don’t know. Kaltha is at war for years now,” Fikumin replied. “That’s a lot of wages Glenavon.”
“Elsanne’s cause is in trouble though with Colle in the hands of her nephew’s armies.”
“That’s mostly Lord Anker of Midlanor that is in charge there and the navy out of Caspo O’ Bor.”
“Only the navy might be in trouble,” Glen murmured, not believing Leona’s failed raid could mess up a whole kingdom. Failed, because he hadn’t seen much of that coin and Elsanne hadn’t received much more than him. A lot of gold was missing. Nobody knew how much exactly as they had to unload the ship to save it.
Allegedly.
Glen hadn’t believed Leona’s story from the first moment, but he was too concerned with personal matters to go about looking for hidden pirate treasurers. A younger Glen would have. This Glen couldn’t sleep at night fearing the worst.
Inis-Mir came near them walking in front of Maeriel. She paused near Eilven’s paintings of Sen-Iv. A new canvas already set up for her to pose later. The young girl stared at them silently and then turned her pretty head to look at him.
“I wanted to talk to you about the North,” Fikumin said seeing he was distracted. “But I’ll… leave it for later.”
“Thank you Fiku,” Glen told him. “What is happening in the North?”
“The dwarfs hear the world outside move and believe things change. That they miss out. So they look to peek out themselves, join in the fun.”
“Brightos did and we have no problem with them here,” Glen reminded him.
“Because of you.”
“They saved… you saved my life. You think I’ll forget that?”
“That’s the thing Glenavon. The Folk up north don’t have that. They talk with humans about agreements, but a human that needs you today might not need you tomorrow. He might even turn against you.”
“Why?”
“Dwarfs dig metal out of the earth. We find stuff and get it out. More than metals really,” Fikumin explained. “Humans always come to take what we find. Sometimes they are polite about it. Others, when they feel strong, they take it by force.”
“Those dwarfs don’t know that?” Glen asked and watched Inis-Mir stopping near Fikumin, the dwarf not much taller than her, but thrice wider and much more hairy. She stared at him curious and even sniffed him a couple of times until Maeriel hissed for her to behave.
“The Guild looks for contracts, new mines and profit. War brings profit. A deal with a warlord brought them profit, lands and legitimacy. But wars end, or take a turn for the worse. Then what?”
“Like gambling.”
“A vice.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I want Wetull to assure them that Blunthorn will have a friendly ear here.”
“Don’t know him,” Glen replied and took Inis-Mir in his arms on the throne.
“I made my hair,” she told him all serious.
“I see. They are lovely,” Glen smiled at her face. “You don’t believe your father?”
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“I don’t know,” she admitted with a pout. “Should I?”
“Listen to her,” Glen chuckled. “Well Fiku? I’m all for backing this Blunthorn, but can he find the support he needs? What does he have to offer that the Guild doesn’t already give your people?”
“Not much,” Fikumin murmured.
“Just bring me your suggestion. I’ll look into it, but Emerson is a priority for now,” Glen reminded him.
“A transport ship would be the easiest way to help them at this point,” Fikumin told him.
“Make a draft, I’ll discuss it with Anfalon after the festivities.”
“What do you need the ring for?”
“I’m going to Knight Alan Kirk,” Glen replied and returned Inis-Mir to Maeriel.
“I want to be a knight,” she told him.
“You are a princess,” Fikumin reminded her. “That’s way above a knight.”
The princess stared at him warningly from Maeriel’s arms afore replying curtly.
“I don’t care.”
Which a stressed Glen found hilarious but no one else had shared his enthusiasm.
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
“Let’s use the golden drapes,” Eilven suggested. “This is beautiful white lace Lady Sovereign. I love the Peninsula designs. They are so First Era classics,” he said fixing the cream-colored intricate carved wooden couch, to get more natural light in through the window.
“What do you think husband?” Sen asked her feet resting on the velvet pillow.
I just love the low cuts and the sheer fabrics.
“I liked the red tunic best,” Glen told her sipping wine from his goblet.
“Like your daughter,” she commented. “Red is too garish a color.”
“Of course,” Glen retorted. “We’re garish people. It’s how we roll.”
“The Reeves household,” Sen said with a smile posing for a judiciously painting Eilven.
“What if I was just a lowly rogue roaming the caravan that night?” Glen asked thinking to light his pipe, but deciding against it.
“I thought you were,” Sen replied making a surprised face. “You weren’t?”
“Would you have gone through with it?”
“Phon-Iv would have had you skinned. I had no choice,” she said. “You had just saved me.”
“He meant it?”
Sen-Iv stared at him sideways, her profile extraordinary according to Eilven who had worked on every angle for his bigger project.
“You know he did. I couldn’t risk it.”
“You did in a sense.”
“I did,” she replied mischievously. “You were easy on the eyes back then.”
“Too late now.”
“Stop it, you are my rogue. My rogue is forever agreeable with me,” Sen replied huskily. “Plus I trusted my instincts.”
Maybe you shouldn’t have, he thought and stared at his goblet.
“Isn’t it early for that?” Sen commented.
“Early meeting,” Glen replied and walked to the cupboard to leave the goblet there. “I’ll help your brother.”
“I know.”
Glen nodded. “Eilven tell her about the throne.”
“It’s not finished,” Eilven retorted. “Lady Sovereign,” he added raising his eyes.
“He means it’s done, but for small details, right Eilven?” Glen insisted glaring at him.
Eilven grunted, but gave a half-hearted nod.
“Why three?” She asked.
“Voron had a reason for it, but I guess for Inis-Mir.”
“It’s too big for her.”
“Maybe, it’s too early for her perhaps,” Glen murmured and sighed.
“I feel better today,” Sen told him.
“I was thinking,” Glen started. “This is tiring for you.”
“Posing? Not really,” she replied. “What will you do with them? Never favored paintings. There’s no market for them really.”
“We’ll make a room for it. We have a lot of empty walls about. Just slap one on every ugly corner. You are the best decoration we have in Morn Taras.”
“Ah, an elaborate compliment. Is my bed to be warmed tonight?” she teased.
“I had something else in mind,” Glen admitted and approached to kiss her bejeweled toes. “Perhaps later Lady Sopat.”
“Mister Eilven is he lying?” Sen asked with a warm smile.
“They usually do Lady Sovereign.”
“What?” Glen grunted.
“He-he,” Sen chuckled.
Eilven raised his head to look at them unsure. “What was the query your highness?”
“Is the Monarch lying to me?” Sen asked him between chuckles, her eyes serious.
“Rarely have I seen someone love so much,” the Zilan said looking at him. “It’s really unhealthy.”
“Is it love or fear though?” Sen probed and moved her feet away from Glen’s mouth. “I’m tired Eilven. Let’s finish tomorrow.”
“Of course Lady Sovereign.”
----------------------------------------
“You can smoke that horrid pipe,” she told him. “Stand near the window.”
“It’s fine,” Glen grimaced, his eyes on the painting. “That stone is another color.”
“Sunstones are too dark, so he went for a topaz for the brightness,” Sen explained coming to see the unfinished painting. “Why so many?”
“They are not for me,” Glen replied. A half-lie.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“You are in about ten minutes,” he told her with a mischievous smile of his own.
Glen didn’t use the brows this time.
“Do I need to dress up?”
“I’d say dress down probably,” Glen replied. “Find something warmer than this.”
“It’s hot outside,” Sen argued.
“Where we are yes,” Glen agreed and reached to take her hand. “Tell me you can make it to the yard.”
His wife narrowed her eyes. “What if I can’t?”
“Those stairs are a killer,” Glen admitted. “But I’ll get you there.”
“Mmm. This sounds strangely erotic?”
“More like hard labor,” Glen jested and Sen tapped his nose once with her index finger warningly.
“I can walk just fine,” she said and then turned around to head for her bedroom door.
“You are walking too slow wife,” Glen said following her measured deliberate strides.
“I’m doing it on purpose,” Sen-Iv chuckled with a backwards glance.
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
Sen looked at Glen’s outstretched arm unsure, then at the smirking Wyvern.
Well, Uvrycres’ version of a gnarly smirk anyway, he thought.
You’re scaring her, Glen warned the lowered to the ground Wyvern, an inviting smile plastered on his own tanned sweaty face.
Fool it’s working! Uvrycres replied. Look! She’s clearly aroused.
More like scared, Glen retorted the moment dragging. It has the same effect!
“What is this husband?” Sen-Iv finally asked keeping her voice remarkably calm and casual under their intense scrutiny, as if they were out in Taras’ market to pick up groceries. Which of course they never did. Glen because he ate whatever there was available from other people who favored the practice and Sen-Iv had slaves for that.
For bathing and dressing.
Cooking and embroidery.
Hairdressers and calligraphers.
Dancers.
She could do all of the above and Sen frequently did.
Better than anyone else.
Never had she lost control of her life.
> “You’re not allowed outside,” He had elucidated to her calmly that night years ago. “You’re someone’s slave,” although he couldn’t see a collar on her. Maybe they take it off, Glen had mused. Maybe she’s ‘that kind’ of slave. His young mind drifting, imagining the young woman taking that collar off, then her top; down her naked bejeweled navel his eyes had drifted, following the route of his lewd thoughts, her frustrated hiss stopping him.
>
> “Everyone is someone’s slave, Lorian,” his wife to be had told him.
>
>
> “And I’m not just another slave you picked up in the market,” she had replied a week later, Sen-Iv’s whispery voice clear and now that Glen could hear her so near his ear, extremely soothing. “I can be your wife. I can be your friend and I will be your lover, but if it’s honesty you most want, then I would like that as well, from you.”
It was the only thing he feared to do with her. Glen had fought to give her everything else.
A real home and a title.
A country and a throne of gold.
Servants to not have need of slaves.
> “Sign the contract, Glenavon,” she had insisted and Nigel Grim who worked for the Thieves Guild smiled as if he knew something Glen didn’t and they both watched a man named Brock who didn’t work for the Guild turn to his wife.
>
> “Give me your hand Lady of the Isthmus,” Brock had told her.
>
>
>
> Tick and tock the old scales went.
>
> The clacking of the beads was heard.
>
> And the elder sitting by the fire in a faraway forest,
>
> stopped working on his bones.
> “I my dream I was flying on top of a Wyvern,” a drowsy Sen-Iv had told him in Eikenport months into their future. Glen could see her eyes shining like gems in the dark. “In the dream I was pregnant.”
“An invitation,” Glen said in the present putting all the charm he could muster in his stance and voice. From the leering smile, to his set shoulders and even the slight teasing movement of his fingers.
This time he used the brows.
Sen-Iv stared in his amber eyes nervously, but Glen reached for her even more from atop the Wyvern and took her small hand in his. The former thief’s voice warm and emotional. “You’ve dreamt of it back in Eikenport sweetheart,” he told his uncertain wife.
“You mean it?”
“I do,” Glen assured her. “Now come fly with me daughter of the Peninsula.”
And she did.
> No one knows where Arguen Garth flew with the Lady Sovereign. They were missing for a whole day and returned the next morning with the Wyvern. The Monarch never talked about it in public in the years that followed. The celebration for his ascension in Morn Taras had to be moved a day later, which helped Lady Kilynia to prepare for it better.
>
> It helped everyone really.
>
> Those closest to him always say this was the day the King reached the end of his personal Anabasis, but I’m not of the same opinion.
>
>
>
> -
>
>
>
> Events recorded on the Third month of spring,
>
> the year of the Imperial Calendar 3399
>
> (Third Era)
>
> Six months into Arguen Garth’s reign
>
> by
>
> Phinariel, the Boorish Poet,
>
> Royal Scribe,
>
> Member of the Queen’s Council
>
> In
>
> A Monarch’s Solitude
>
> -Addressed in Zilan Court Script as ‘Palan-Hinnen (fêted) Arguen Garth, O’ Nielek Aniculo’-
>
> Celebrated in the Austere Cofol of the Four Old Sisters as,
>
> Noble Ruler, of Onyx Wyvern.
>
> Referred to as,
>
> Ruthless Lord of Tenebrous Castle (Morn Taras) in both Jelin & Eplas,
>
> But commonly known as the King beyond the Pale Mountains.)
>
> Chapter I
>
> (A royal flight & a rancorous celebration)
>
> -Prologue-
>
> -
>
> Entered into the Royal Library,
>
> In 210 NC,
>
> Circa 3416 IC –consolidated- (3rd Era)
>
>
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
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/