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Arguen Garth
Hardir O’ Fardor
Lord of Morn Taras
Monarch of Wetull
King beyond the Pale Mountains
Aniculo Rokae
‘The Girls’
Part II
-A part of her-
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A day earlier,
Goddess’ Wall
The desolate flat area at the top and the fourth kilometer mark of the inactive volcano, named Ovinet’s Nest.
RRRRRRRREEEE
EERRRR
Glen stopped, a boot placed on the dark yellow quartz boulder and glanced at the sky. It had cleared up again after a persistent breeze had pushed some of the clouds away. The tall peak rested among them and now he could spot the large black Wyvern as it circled over his head. The weary King of Wetull crooked his mouth next, reached in his satchel and grabbed a flask of water he had there. He drunk some of it and used the rest to clean his unshaven face. Amber eyes roaming the barren terrain all the way to the lip of the peak where the rock had turned a polished glass and ended with a massive drop.
On a clear day, the view of Jade Lake’s valley and the green jungle spreading to the north is spectacular, he thought.
This was a clear day.
Yet, there was no sign of the creature.
Glen had only seen its massive -thinly covered with wiry long black hairs- head briefly. By the time he’d reached the spot it had disappeared. While a smaller creature could find cover in the rocky terrain, some of the boulders were almost two meters in height, this… Troll seemed to be taller than Soren by a good margin judging from its head.
Uvrycres had called it a mountain Troll.
Ugly motherfucker with a proboscis-like nose drooping down its face and bulbous white eyes.
He’d given him quite the scare.
“Fuck did you go, eh?” Glen wondered aloud. He secured his flask and then climbed over the round boulder. He walked towards the edge of the flattened quartz area, wary of the damp slippery ground. Peaked over it once, saw nothing but the great beyond and pulled back to retreat to safety.
The nest ended at the massive crater at the center of the peak, the rocks there rougher and more a black color than a dark yellow. The smell of sulfur making it difficult to breathe.
“If that son of a goat explodes again,” Glen murmured. “Just pointing out that it’s going to be one hell of a Kaboom buddy.”
EEEERRR
“I didn’t get that,” Glen said and touched the dagger. Sometimes the Wyvern could speak to him without it, but Uvrycres was lazy to put in the effort. “What’s the importance of this plaguing place? Assuming you didn’t just want to show me that ugly thing?”
It’s my mother’s nest.
It holds sentimental value, the Wyvern added.
That which remains. A small part of her.
“Right, of course,” Glen wrinkled his nose and moved away from the crater. “You think it went in there?”
Obviously.
“Hey, maybe it’s friendly? Not all ugly monsters are hostile.”
It’s a Troll Glen. They are hostile as fuck.
He glared at the circling wyvern. “Well, I ain’t climbing down the darn volcano,” Glen grunted. “You go get him, if yer that bothered about it!”
What manner of Ruler of Monsters fears a monster? Uvrycres wondered mockingly.
Glen stopped at the end of a large crack coming from the crater, the elongated chasm about two meters across and stared at the nest area again where at least you could sit sort of and rest.
Well? The wyvern insisted as it made another pass, lower this time. Uvrycres was going to land seeing Glen had given up on the search.
“It’s a crater that might have burning lava at its bottom. Four kilometers deep, in a mountain made out of brimstone!” Glen retorted angrily and turned to find better ground again. “By the way, I fear no plauguin’ Troll!” He grunted and a calloused arm came out of the chasm accompanied by a long-drawn-out cacophonous roar.
MOOOOAAAHH
Oh, for the love… seriously?
A giant ugly head and then the rest of the Troll following after it.
That is it jumped out for the last part, its bloated fat body that of an elephant standing upright but with long trunk-like very hairy arms. All fat muscle and thick dark veins. It landed with a thud next to Glen, the latter’s twisting and snarling face showing his displeasure for getting suckered into the confrontation by the wyvern and if one’s wants to be honest here, plenty of fear.
What? I had nothing to do with it! Uvrycres protested and the Troll swung that beefy arm to squash any expression off of Glen’s face. He twirled nimbly under it, the Troll pretty slow in its movement and went to unsheathe his blade with an indignant hiss, but the giant creature swung the other arm pretty fast considering its size and stopped him.
“AAAAHHHRG!” An airborne Glen cried out, the backhand catching him on the right shoulder and hurling the smaller human five meters away.
Glen tumbled once fully midair and crashed on the flattened area again on his hurt shoulder, either fixing it brutally or causing even more damage to the abused joint. He slid on the humid glassy rock cursing and groaning, revolving twice more on his back afore coming to a stop.
Fuck’s sake, he thought seeing the mountain of flesh coming towards him again with large –very slow- strides. Glen rolled left, landed on shaking knees and got his sword out. The breeze changed direction and brought the clouds that had cleared for a while back onto the peak.
When it rains, it gives ye a pouring!
The ground shaking as the Troll approached well over three meters tall and almost as wide it seemed. Arms that of an overgrown gorilla, far longer and way out of proportion all but touching the ground.
Luthos hairy balls, yer an ugly fucker, he thought and glowered back at the monster absent a better defensive plan. It is one thing to search for a big head, another to fully see the creature said head belonged to, come straight at you.
The moment arse-clenching.
Glen body tensed up, heart beating wildly inside his chest and his left hand clasping at the dagger’s handle, just as the approaching Troll disappeared into the silvery mist.
I CAN’T SEE SHIT! The wyvern yelled in his head.
The Troll coming out of the misty haze again, a moaning roar trumpeting its arrival before it reappeared. Glen snapped into action, that large foot coming down and landing a meter before him. A sharp lunge, the sword cackling in deviant delight, the blade opening rough skin and cutting flesh just above the ankle. The Troll’s large calloused hairy hand flying over his head, as Glen danced around it after his strike, black blood splashing the dark yellow and sheer white glassy terrain.
The Troll’s roar turning into a groan when Glen attacked again slashing it across the back of its left thigh. Glen jerked away from a backhand, boots sliding on the polished quartz-like rock as if he was skating on an ice lake.
Fuck it, Uvrycres decided. I’m about to blast the nest clean!
Hells no! Glen cursed and glanced at the sky, but saw nothing. “Don’t you dare send any flames here!”
Just move away! Uvrycres protested. It’s a plaguing mountain!
“We’ve talked of this already! Place is packed wit sulfur!” Glen blasted him. “There’s nowhere to run!”
Plus I can’t see shit, he thought and seeing the Troll’s fist slowly coming for him Glen found his footing and ducked under it like a seasoned professional, then started moving around his massive opponent energetically. He hopped on the tips of his toes, moved back and forth, swaying from on one foot to the other, then faked a left attack to strike from the right, the blade opening bloody gashes on the clumsy monster.
“Hah!” Glen guffawed a surge of cockiness energizing him even more and danced on his feet loose around the injured Troll. “Bet ye didn’t think of that sucker!” he taunted and heard the Wyvern landing near them, its large wings flapping and blowing some of the clouds away.
Where is it? The unseen Uvrycres grunted apparently approaching in the blind.
“Stay back!” Glen snapped glancing that way, but noticing the Troll moving against him again, he twisted out of danger nimbly. He slipped a closing fist, as big as a small wagon’s wheel and opened a cut on the retreating hand, almost severing a fat crooked finger.
Black blood spraying out of the wound.
The Troll groaned in blinding pain and twisted around with a newfound surge of energy to come at him with the other arm. Glen gasped and jerked away, run in a circle and then went to hack another finger off, but saw the bleeding arm returning from the other side and grimacing planted his feet to stop.
His boots skating on the polished terrain and ruining his dodge.
Completely.
Shite!
The Troll got him with the inside flat of its large palm on the chest, wrapping the armour there and send him flying again the other way. Glen lost the grip on the sword, but used the freed arm to sort of stop the momentum when he landed, the smooth wet terrain not much of a help in that effort. So Glen slithered in the blind briefly with arms and legs flaying, made three more bounces on the hard ground and then came to a full stop.
Disheveled head over the lip at the edge of the nest.
Nothing but kilometers of steep side under him.
With a panicked gasp Glen twisted away from the edge and started looking for his sword on all fours. The Troll approaching unbothered by the thick mist as if it could smell him.
With that nose, Glen decided, it comes as no plaguing surprise!
Ah, Uvrycres was heard, sounding pleased for some reason.
There it is. Charge!
Clawed legs heard striking the ground repeatedly as the Wyvern started moving fast towards them.
Glen jumped on his feet with a jagged gasp, the Troll’s bulbous eyes looking at the smaller man struggling to move aside with hatred and the ground shaking, the shriek of the charging winged predator reverberating the top of the volcano.
RRRRRRRRRRREEE!!!
Fuck! Glen panted, just as the Troll paused a meter from him, turned that torso around and punched the coming out of the mist Uvrycres right in the mouth. It snapped the large wyvern’s head back, stopping all momentum and Uvrycres groaned more shocked than hurt, though receiving that kind of smack under the nostrils must have hurt plenty too.
The Wyvern used its opened wings to stop, clacked a gnarly mouth shut, twisting its creaking jaws right and left to see whether something had broken and then hissed irate at the Troll. The tall ugly creature snorted in response and moved against the wyvern unafraid, missing Uvrycres’ sneaking from the sides stinger that skewered it through the neck once. In through the left side, right under the ear and out the right. Black gore splashing out. The Troll gurgled, the gaping wound bubbling and spraying out a frothy mixture of blood and dark green wyvern poison, stumbled backwards towards Glen that used the opportunity to stab it repeatedly right at the right ankle.
He used the dagger to do it, getting some good hits in afore the hurt Troll twisted around with a mighty roar and a flustered Glen had to jump back and away from it.
Remembering he was standing very near the edge mid move, the scowling King of Wetull twisted desperately to the side, using arms and legs to navigate himself but the momentum almost threw him clean off the mountain. He landed on his stomach at the edge and immediately started fighting for purchase. Glen clawed his fingers into the glass rock making little gains, both boots dangling in the air and scrapping at the vertical rock, but even so he slowly started pulling himself to safety again out of sheer will.
Seemingly.
In reality, with the ground slippery and the angle not in his favor, a gawking Glen was losing as many inches as he gained moving forward.
He was going to fall over and Glen quickly realized it.
Lamest death ever left unrecorded.
By the time someone would think to look for him, the rains would have completely washed out the bloody sludge and pulverized into paste fleshy remains, from the bottom of the mountain.
The Troll seeing Glen was pinned down and helpless gurgled again struggling for air, vomiting blood and foul poison out of its mouth in the process and then came at him determined. Apparently it had a lot still left in it to finish off a maniacally snarling Glen. The large creature reached the edge, towering over the still snaking for safety but mostly sliding towards the chaos Glen and raised a very-dirty hairy, crook-toed foot to squash his head like an egg.
Glen thought of letting go of the ground and jumping to grab at the foot, if it missed, then work on a better plan from there, but while he was pondering what to do and ever-so-slowly slipping beyond the lip of the plateau, something weird happened.
The Troll locked up that leg still raised ominously over Glen’s head, the wrinkled black ball sack of the creature fully visible under its jug-sized paler cock –the Troll had no clothes on- then stumbled forward quietly and went over him.
Dropping in deafening silence towards the distant ground.
Uvrycres snout and gnarly smile appeared though the mist directly over the shocked but still struggling to hold on for dear life Glen.
Took a while, but the poison fucked it up proper hah-hah! The wyvern guffawed that smile growing, all black teeth and glowing pleased rubicund-colored eyes.
A very peeved, heavy-breathing Glen’s reply curt and devoid of any joy or friendliness in comparison.
“Don’t just stand there laughing like an idiot!” He’d roared in righteous indignation. “Quickly lend me a claw ye stupid fuck!”
Why? Uvrycres asked very perturbed and mildly insulted.
“What the fuck? I’m slipping!” Glen croaked hoarsely not believing they were discussing it and grabbed at the Wyvern’s right winged arm with both hands when Uvrycres finally extended it.
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A drenched in sweat, thoroughly exhausted Glen stayed for a while on his back sucking air in with deep rugged intakes whilst staring at the clearing skies. The breeze had driven the clouds away again and the sun was blinding to look at, but Glen was just glad he could still see the sun.
Until he couldn’t that is and turned his hurting bloodshot eyes away with a groan.
“Gods darnit,” Glen griped trying to get up, every part of his body hurting and smelling of a month’s old urine. What in Luthos’ name?
It pissed itself, Uvrycres explained. You got most of it in the face hah-hah! Good for disinfecting wounds though.
So it’s a win-win thing.
“Fuck’s sake!” Glen grunted getting up and coughed, then spat down. Grabbed his flask and poured water over his head and face trying to get the worst of it off. “Ye almost killed me there mister!”
I told you to get away.
“I had no room to maneuver!” Glen blasted him frustrated, then groaned giving up. “Is it dead at least?”
It’s gone for sure.
“How sure?”
Ninety percent. More really.
Glen would take a wager in the arena with such odds.
Good, he thought.
“How did you miss a whole goddarn Troll?” Glen griped, finding some of his wits again. “And if ye didn’t, why didn’t you tell me aforehand?”
I didn’t know.
Glen sighed and wiped his face with a hurting hand, one of his fingers dislocated and his right shoulder a hurting mess. He stared at the large crater, some of the mist still lingering over it. “What’s down there that drew the Troll here?”
Nothing much and it didn’t, Uvrycres replied. I probably brought it here.
“How?”
Our presence heals magic threads. It must have drawn it out of the ground.
“Well, that was a bunch of yer usual gibberish,” Glen retorted and smacked his lips, then grimaced as his jaw hurt. “Let’s not visit Nenderu’s place today,” he decided tiredly. “Let’s go back. See if we can slip inside unannounced, change clothes and have a proper drink.”
A good bath.
We can take her along, Uvrycres offered. Next time.
Glen eyed its beastly face. “She’s fine where she is. Safe.”
Caged.
“Fuck off,” Glen snapped hoarsely. “Not a word about this,” and grunting he added staring at his ruined armour. “I can’t believe I’m covered in actual Troll’s piss for crying out loud!”
What is dis shite?
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“Monarch,” Rimeros said in his Imperial accent a couple of hours later, seeing him coming inside from the open second floor window balcony like a skilled burglar. The cavernous openings Voron had left on the upper floors of the citadel allowing a pleasant breeze in that cooled the interior. Only the hall’s windows had small balconies though. The wyvern had landed on the north one to allow Glen to get inside undetected sort of, given that the bells were ringing throughout the palace announcing his arrival. The Zilan official waiting for him shrunk his nose a couple of times afore adding. “We have clean clothes in your quarters.”
“Umm,” Glen murmured and removed his gloves, then tossed them down. Rimeros picked them up from the floor and walked after him. Glen entered his quarters, a separate bedroom than the one they have used with Sen on the other side of the large floor and started removing pieces of his armour and inner garbs.
“I’ll have Kilynia over,” Rimeros said gathering the discarded garbs in a pile. “There’s food ready.”
“Go away. No, bring me a bottle of that whiskey first,” Glen grunted and stepped inside the bathtub he’d brought over from the other bedroom. The water cold, but soothing to his muscles.
“There’s a Council meeting in an hour,” Rimeros informed him.
“I’m busy,” Glen replied and pushed his white hair back. They were as rich as they were before other than the color, just a bit more rough and wiry. Part of it was probably the Troll’s piss. “Have you ever seen a Troll Rimeros?” He asked, chin touching the fast dirtying surface of the water.
Rimeros frowned. “A Troll. Ahm, I can’t say I have. Where would one see a Troll Monarch?”
“The top of a mountain?”
“A mountain Troll then. Very rare. Did your highness see it up close?”
“Uhm.”
Could count the hairs on its arse.
“Anything else Monarch?” Rimeros asked.
“Has Inis-Mir being fed?”
“The princess is sleeping sire.”
“She can’t miss her breakfast,” Glen said. “Wake her up. Go tell Maeriel to do it.”
“She’s difficult to handle afterwards my Lord.”
Glen glared at him frustrated. “Bring her downstairs. We shall eat together and I’ll talk to her.”
“Of course Monarch,” Rimeros replied with a bow. “What about the meetings?”
“Are there a lot of them?”
“Forty seven petitions my Lord.”
Suck on a bag of dicks, Glen cursed and grimaced. This part of the deal he hated. The whole plan with him taking over the burden was to keep Sen safe and that had died with her. His face darkened, wrinkles forming in the effort to push the thought of her away. The whole process hurting him more than the Troll’s blows.
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He wished he was back on that mountain again.
Rimeros seeing Glen’s sorrowful expression left his quarters without saying another word.
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Sir Alan Kirk appeared very worried. “Milord, you’ve been gone for two days again,” he started, Glen sitting on his throne with a glass of black whiskey in his hand. “We didn’t know where to look.”
“Wanted to clear my head,” Glen replied.
“We could have arranged for a hunt,” Sir Kirk argued. “Sir Delmuth is all for it.”
“I killed a Troll,” Glen informed him. “So I’m covered on that.”
“The eggs are cold, but I reheated everything else,” Kilynia said approaching with the plates. “I took the liberty of finding a slave to help around the palace oh, Great Monarch,” she placed everything on the conference table at the east corner of the hall, next to one of the massive black columns and stared at him. “The yellow cheese is fresh and I had them cut it in sticks and left it melt over the boiled potatoes.”
“No slaves,” Glen told her and got up to approach with Sir Kirk in tow.
“The Throne can afford them Monarch,” Kilynia insisted.
“I don’t want them around,” Glen replied and sat down. “You’ll join me Kilynia?”
“I shouldn’t,” Kilynia said. “I don’t care for the gossip my Lord. You’re widowed.”
Right.
“Maeriel does it.”
“Her preferences are well known,” Kilynia insisted. “But if it’s your wish, I’ll stay my Lord.”
“I just offered you food and ye made it all weird,” Glen grunted. “Just go away Kilynia.”
“Tensed lady,” Sir Kirk commented seeing the lanky Zilan walking away keeping her head high. “Very mindful of protocol.”
Glen slotted a hot cheese covered potato in his mouth and breathed in to cool it off. Opening and closing his mouth like a fish caught in a hook when that failed.
“Use the drink milord,” Sir Alan Kirk advised and Glen poured the contents in his mouth to bring the temperature down.
“Gods,” he gasped gulping everything down at once with a pained grimace. “It burned my tongue off!”
“At least the tongue is still working milord.”
Glen cleared his throat, refilled his glass and pushed the plate away from him. “Where’s Maeriel? What is taking her so long?” he asked and glancing upwards noticed Sir Qildor’s masked face looking over the rails at him, Iskay’s red hair billowing as she run past him in panic.
Glen furrowed his brow, eyes kept on the silent knight.
“Anything the matter Sir Qildor?” he asked casually, a tang of worry circling him.
“I was… looking whether the princess was with you Hardir,” the knight replied. Glen smacked his lips and sipped some of the whiskey afore placing it on the table.
“Where is she?” He asked calmly.
“She’s not in her bedroom,” Sir Qildor replied.
Glen had that figured out from all the panicky reactions.
“Checked her mother’s room?” Glen asked, trying not to assume the worst.
“We are searching the whole floor sire.”
That was a no.
The rest of it alarming as it implied the girl had gotten out past a lot of guards patrolling the upper floors or awake for the whole night.
“I’ll go look for her,” Kirk said. “She’s probably hiding in a closet or something.”
“She does that?” Glen asked hopefully getting up to follow after him.
“When you’re gone milord.”
“Hmm,” Glen replied sourly climbing up the stairs, his eyes on the worried Maeriel.
“Master,” Iskay said getting out of Sen’s locked bedroom. “She’s not—”
“Maeriel?” Glen asked walking fast towards the ranger. “What’s going on?”
“There’s a rope outside her window,” Maeriel started, Glen passing by her and entering his daughter’s bedroom. The room was adjoined to Sen’s with a small side door, now closed. “And someone had created an effigy of her on the bed, covered in sheets. Used the egg for a head.”
Glen stared at the disheveled bed and then at the open window. Too tall for Inis-Mir to climb out of without assistance.
His mind went on the night they had found that eel in her cradle.
“A rope,” he murmured trying to keep his tempers from flaring. “She climbed down the citadel?”
“Jinx was here last night,” Maeriel replied tensely. “She had done it afore.”
Jinx, Glen thought, a tick appearing at his left temple.
“Taken Inis-Mir?”
“Climbed down the Citadel that way,” Maeriel elucidated.
“Has she taken Inis-Mir?” Glen asked and glared at her.
“She left last night with that girl,” the ranger explained. “The guards didn’t report anything out of the ordinary.”
Eh, Jinx could slip a wagon under their noses.
“What girl?” Glen growled.
“Assara.”
Glen had no idea who that was. “A new lover?” he chanced and Maeriel’s face distorted. “I’m missing my daughter, to hell wit yer feelings!” Glen growled. “Think fast ranger!”
“I don’t believe they have something going Hardir,” she croaked.
“Where’s Jinx?” Glen asked Sir Kirk and he pursed his mouth unable to answer. “Find Hagen,” Glen ordered and with another scowl he turned around to walk outside the room. “Iskay message Captain Horton. Notify the city guard. Find Jinx.”
“Yes master,” Iskay replied with a deep bow and trotted away in her sheer slave outfit.
“Iskay!” Glen barked at her back and she paused shaking. “Put something on for fuck’s sake!”
The slave nodded and sprinted away as fast as she could.
“Monarch I take full responsibility,” Sir Qildor said standing rigid. “I was outside the door but didn’t suspect a thing.”
Glen grinded his teeth. “They are sneaky,” he hissed.
“Hardir?” Sir Qildor queried not understanding.
“Notify Sir Delmuth,” Glen told him. “Search the premises.”
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Glen stared at Hagen an hour of intense searching later in the yard of a buzzing with frowned guards Morn Taras.
“You found Folen?”
“Hasn’t seen her milord,” Hagen reported. “But a couple of Gish were spotted early last night near the lake’s taverns.”
“Jinx took my daughter to a tavern?” Glen asked and walked to his horse.
“Not according to the witness sire,” Hagen replied hesitating. “But there was another sighting across Lord Fikumin’s place.”
“Speak!” Glen growled spittle flying out of his mouth and Outlaw snorting spooked.
“A small girl might… have been with them.”
“Them?”
“The girls sire,” Hagen replied in visible discomfort. “Lady Jinx, her friend and Lady Phinariel. They all live at the Gish’s place.”
Glen grimaced and jumped on Outlaw with a scowl and a groan, his back and legs stiff from all the bouncing off of rocks wrestling with that Troll.
“Where to sire?” Sir Kirk asked atop his own mount the Rokae silver mask covering his face.
“The Council meeting is in Fikumin’s villa in Taras right?” Glen grunted.
“Aye milord.”
“Let’s take a ride and talk with that smart scribe,” Glen added tensely.
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Twenty fully armed, clad in gleaming armour Rokae, Hagen and Glen rode hard into Taras an hour later, galloped through the streets injuring four citizens and killing a sleeping dog and stopped in front of Fikumin’s villa (that used to be Glen’s afore Morn Taras had been built). The confrontation with the guards at the entrance ending when a furious Glen walked towards them.
“King Garth,” a nervous city guard mumbled.
“Step aside,” Glen hissed and the man did as fast as he could. Glen burst inside the hall of the Villa, half the Council present and glared at them. Fikumin paused, a long stick in hand pointing at a map of the Peninsula, Anfalon standing next to him and an ogling Phinariel on their other side, with a stack of scrolls in her arms.
Seeing Glen’s eyes focusing on her the scribe squealed in panic, tossed her papers and run towards the open window screaming. Reached it in a breath and jumped outside, Glen’s accusing finger pointing at her lithe arse disappearing out of it.
“GET THAT SNEAKY SCRIBE! CEASE HER!”
The Knights reacting with yells for those outside to stop the fleeing young Zilan. Glen running after Sir Delmuth and Hagen back out of the doors. A stunned Fikumin rushing after him.
“Lord Garth,” the surprisingly fast moving dwarf called after him. “What’s the meaning of this?”
Glen got out of the door, just as Phinariel ducked under Sir Kirk, rolled past a cursing Sir Qildor and sprinted across the street with a galloping Sir Nuvian charging straight for her. Phinariel made it halfway through before the warhorse send her crashing down the road with a pained yelp.
“Glenavon!” Fikumin cried seeing him run after the slowly getting up scribe.
“Stop!” Glen yelled at her. “Don’t move a muscle!”
Phinariel did jumping away from Sir Nuvian’s horse and run towards Berthas who came down the stairs of Jinx’s house worried. Sir Nuvian reached the young Zilan again just before the villa but just as he reached to grab her by the hair, a large wooden sheet ripped out of a villa’s window, flashed across in the blink of an eye and smacked him hard off of the saddle breaking apart in the process.
Wow.
The knight went down, his horse galloping away, but ten more angry knights –not all of them on horses- and Glen rushed the screaming scribe just as the sorcerer turned towards them a determined looked on his aged face.
“Berthas,” Glen warned sternly reaching for his sword. “Stand down, else I’ll send yer fucking head back to your mother! In a box!”
“I can’t let you harm her my Lord,” Berthas replied nobly.
“Suit yerself,” Glen retorted and unsheathed his blade. “Cut him down!” He ordered the Rokae, Phinariel’s scream answering before they could move.
“Please don’t!” She begged crying. “I won’t run Lord Garth!”
Glen grunted in response and walked towards the shaking scribe while the knights bodied the young sorcerer roughing him up in the process. They had all drawn their swords seeing the King had drawn his and were all but ready to kill the scowling bloodied Berthas.
Glen reached the retreating inside the house Phinariel, kicked the snarling Nimra lion away when it tried to rush him and grabbed her by the throat afore slamming her on a nearby wall.
“Where is she?” He hissed near her ear, smelling the scribe’s fear.
“In the yard,” a sniffling Phinariel replied breathlessly.
“Glenavon!” Fikumin barked standing behind him. “Let go of her.”
Glen allowed the scribe to collapse on the floor, her legs not holding her.
“They took Inis,” he told the scowling dwarf.
“The Princess is missing?” Fikumin said and stooped to help Phinariel up. Well, the dwarf didn’t have to bend that much truth be told. He offered her a hankie to wipe her face looking at her with worried eyes. “It’ll be alright lass,” Fikumin assured her and Glen all but rolled his eyes at his friend. Phina had a boyfriend on the side or he was blind. Unless Berthas likes getting his shit pushed in for the fun of it. “I’ll make sure you’re not harmed,” Fikumin added in the meantime.
“Where’s that fucking yard?” Glen asked looking about him still frustrated and she pointed at a door at the end of the large hall. Paws snarling at him angry from a safe distance. “Shut up you,” Glen snapped and with a last glare at the sniffling scribe he marched towards the door leading to the back of the villa.
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A familiar face standing just outside, his back on one of the supporting columns. Clever eyes watching the girls and that male Gish playing on the rich green lawn. Glen stopped next to him, staring at his daughter riding the shoulders of a tall black haired girl as if it was a bull and charging at a short male Gish holding a sheet in front of him. He pulled away at the last moment escaping the two girls and Inis-Mir yelled in frustration and ordered her ‘mount’ to turn and charge at the chuckling Gish again.
They did in what looked like it would be a repeat of the previous attempt, but Jinx tackled the Gish sneakily from behind and the charging duo bulldozed through him this time, the smaller male hurled to the ground with a yelp of pain under the thunderous cheering of the girls.
“Few things in life are truly precious my master always says,” Nigel Grim said without looking at him. “They don’t have to be gleaming like gold, or valued by all in the same way. What is precious to thee might not be what I long for. It’s our own minds and hearts that’ll determine if something should be treasured. What its real worth is or isn’t,” the thief added, face hidden under the rim of his raised hood. “Nine times out of ten, family is worth more than gold.”
Glen cleared his throat, his eyes on the happy group wrestling on the lawn of the villa. “You’re here on Guild business mister Grim?” he asked smiling unwittingly at his daughter’s chuckles and faces.
“Indeed I am my lord,” Nigel Grim replied and moved from his spot, managing to stay in the small shade. “But this isn’t the time for it. The Guild provides for its own,” he added meaningfully and tipped his head afore walking inside the villa again.
“Daddy!” Inis-Mir yelled finally spotting them and rushed to hug a moved Glen.
“Thought I lost you too,” Glen said and picked her up, not minding his protesting spine. He buried his face in her dark crimson curls and rocked her gently in his arms. “Don’t ever do it again,” his eyes returning on a gloomy Jinx looking at them.
“I almost fucked up,” she told him and Glen nodded.
“We’ll talk of this later,” he replied sternly.
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Hours later with Inis-Mir safely back in her room and Morn Taras returning to a semblance of normalcy, Glen returned to the central Hall with Fikumin that had come along. The light almost gone and the fading sun marking the end of the stressful day.
Glen sat on the scribe’s table after releasing Vulreon from his duties and cracked open a bottle of Goras wine. He poured a cup, pushed the bottle towards the dwarf and then reached for his pipe and lit it, while Fikumin served himself.
“Hell of a day,” Glen commented blowing smoke from his nostrils, the drug soothing his pained body. “But at least she’s safe now.”
Fikumin scowled, thick brows connecting in the middle of his prominent forehead and glugged down the contents of his cup. He immediately refilled it.
“I’m going to have Voron bar the windows,” Glen continued. “Maybe put a heavy padlock on that door, have few people have a key. Not Jinx for sure. When the final floor is fully finished, I’ll put her there.”
“How about we lock her in the treasury?” Fikumin taunted.
Glen stood back on the chair pursing his mouth. “You have something to say?”
Fikumin grunted his reply. “Phinariel is distraught. I had to send her home. Berthas has a broken arm by the way. There’s an injury list.”
“They’ll heal. As for those two, they conspired to have my daughter kidnapped,” Glen reminded him. “They got off easy.”
“That was Jinx and you know it. Even so, you don’t really believe she wanted her harmed. Yes, our friend is an idiot, but that’s the Gish for you. They don’t follow rules, or etiquette.”
“I’ll deal with her later,” Glen hissed. “You don’t seem worried for what could have happened.”
“I am,” Fikumin replied and comped his wild beard with a stubby hand. “But behaving like this makes everyone nervous.”
“Phina needs a good slapping for not running straight to me with it,” Glen said. “I understand you like her Fiku, but this was a mistake.”
“It’s not about her only,” Fikumin replied uncomfortably. “It’s you.”
“You want me to rejoice at a time like this?” Glen grunted.
“It won’t change on the morrow, or the day after it,” Fikumin insisted. “You need to move on.”
“Says the most pensive person I know. You’re constantly unhappy Fiku!” Glen retorted and placed the pipe down to have some of the wine.
“I have plenty on my mind,” Fikumin rustled scowling some more.
“And I don’t?” Glen argued and sighed. He stared at Metu entering the Hall accompanied by Hagen that carried a bunch of maps with him. “Is that for the report?”
Fikumin nodded deep in thought.
“Fiku, I just need a bit more time,” Glen told him. “I’m in the right about today.”
“Not in the way you believe Glenavon,” Fikumin replied.
“Right. Well then, mister Metu is that a map of the Peninsula?”
“It is, eminent Tsar,” Metu replied.
“The fuck is that?”
“An archaic term for Khan my Lord,” Metu elucidated with a deep bow.
“Go on then,” Glen said with half a smile.
“I have the latest reports marked on the map to make it more pleasant visually,” Metu continued. “Lord Phon is still near Nasar.”
“He hasn’t moved?”
“He’s besieging the town exulted Monarch,” Metu replied.
“Thalion?”
“He sent reinforcements, but he’s still at Rohir,” Fikumin said. “Emerson has moved in Dor O’ Cof-Ol and approaching Que Ki-La. He’s probably closer than what it shows on the map already knowing him.”
“They’ll have the old man fight alone?” Glen asked and got up.
“With Thalion’s troops, unless Phon moves faster.”
“Order him to do it,” Glen grunted. “How long for a missive to reach there?”
“Two days to Fu De-Gar if we use their birds. Four for Phon to read it,” Fikumin replied.
“What does Anfalon think? Or Lord Onas?”
“He wants to move the Phalanx in Ani Ta-Ne.”
Glen grimaced. “How long will it take?”
“Too long to help Emerson if things go awry,” Fikumin admitted. “We could use all of the fleet. Right now we have two transports sent already with supplies and war materiel, but we can’t fully take on the task at this point Glenavon. Wars are expensive.”
“We need to help Emerson, I hadn’t realized things were so critical,” Glen murmured and rubbed his face. “I’ll look over all this Fikumin. Speak to you again in the morning.”
“As you wish my lord,” Fikumin said his face relaxing. “We are helping them, but they need to act for themselves.”
“What is this figure?” Glen pointed at the map.
“That would be the crest of Prince Nout sacred Ruler,” Metu elucidated. “The Gold Leopard.”
And here you are Lord Reeves, the Gold Leopard had told a young Glen in that narrow canyon-like passage almost five years back.
“That’s his last position?” An alarmed Glen asked staring at the map.
“We don’t know his last position Monarch,” Metu replied. “Other than that he’s moving towards Shao Na-Lan. We assume to reinforce Que Ki-La.”
That slant-eyed motherfucker will try to corner us again, Glen thought remembering the Cofol Prince riding that fancy horse and his gold smiling mask.
Here you are you are again yerself, always sneaking up.
“He won’t land in Que Ki-La,” Glen said worried fingers digging in his left cheek. He pointed at the smaller port with the rebels flag on it right across Shao Na-Lan. “The Prince shall strike here. Like he did in Rida. That’ll be his Esterlam’s Crevice allover again, right between the Three Sisters forces.”
“He’ll chance a landing at Rihtur?” Fikumin asked and Glen nodded solemnly.
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Glen walked out of the Room of Paintings an hour later and returned to the Great Hall of Morn Taras alone. He reached the raised platform and the sole black granite throne there but didn’t climb on it. Glen stalled near the end of the stairs, his eyes on the familiar polished floor and the sound of a golden crown rolling to his feet in his ears.
The massive hall dark despite all the lightstones installed on the columns and on its walls. The predominant black color of the room not helping. The memories making the place even more sinister and oppressing.
“I’m sorry,” Jinx said snapping him out of his sullen reverie. The small-bodied Gish had approached without him noticing it. Sir Kirk following after her. Glen waved the knight away.
“What were you thinking?” He asked in a harsh tone the depressed-looking Jinx. “Taking her outside the castle without an escort! You know how dangerous the world is Whisper.”
“I wanted to free her,” Jinx murmured. “Seeing her like that breaks my heart.”
“She’s in her home!” Glen grunted. “Free her? She’s not in a blasted prison Whisper!”
Jinx furrowed her pink brows at his outburst. “It’s been more than a month Glen. Almost two. That’s a lot of time, she hasn’t stepped outside the palace.”
Since Sen died was her meaning.
“She doesn’t need to!” A hurting Glen blasted her. “She’s a young girl gods darnit! Inis-Mir isn’t ready to walk about the city, or roam the streets at night and she shouldn’t… she won’t do it. It’s too soon.”
“She’ll never be old enough in yer eyes,” Jinx replied. “Ever. You’ll have her locked in here like a precious trinket and she’s a living thing Glen.”
“She is precious!” Glen growled and glared at her. “To me she is.”
“That’s not what I meant damn you,” Jinx snapped angry. “Open your eyes. She needs a father and not a warden!”
“What do you know of family?”
“More than you apparently,” Jinx retorted.
“Hah, says the Gish that abandoned her siblings to run away wit a sailor!”
Jinx stepped back, her face paling as his words had cut her deeply. “I was young,” she said bitterly. “And I regret it.”
“Huh,” Glen grunted and sat down on the stairs before his throne. “Yet you come to offer advice.”
“I don’t regret the journey or the friends I made,” Jinx murmured crossing her arms over her chest. “But not seeing my brothers and sisters growing up. That’s on me. Not knowing what they become and if they are happy. I was an orphan trying to learn about the world like you, but Inis isn’t… not completely.”
Glen grimaced and stared at his hands. The ring finger on his right still swollen at the knuckle and a deep red color.
“I can’t have her exposed to all them nasty things out there,” he said in a measured tone. “It’s too dangerous.”
“It is. But you have people to protect her.”
“Yeah, like you did? You almost had her killed!” Glen grunted pursing his mouth. “Climbing down the citadel with a rope!”
“Not dangerous. That part at least.”
“Whisper!” Glen snapped at her.
“Tis the truth. But we almost got kidnapped for real,” she added thoughtfully.
“What? In the city?”
“Near Sen’s Lake.”
“What in Naossis tits were ye doing there?” Glen blasted her and got up.
“Shit. It’s not important,” Jinx said. “I apologized for that!”
“Wasn’t aware of the whole incident! So it doesn’t count!” Glen argued irate. “Who were they?”
“Slavers,” Jinx replied and seeing him ogling his eyes on the verge of apoplexy, she added. “They are dead. Eight took care of them.”
“Eight?” Glen croaked and stood back.
“Nigel’s friend?”
Glen licked his lips slowly. Jinx was either on to something or speaking out of her arse again. “Anything else I need to know?” He asked her narrowing his eyes.
“Probably,” Jinx replied. “But I sense yer not in the mood to hear it, so I’ll leave it for another time?” she grinned at that, then ducked under his hand. Glen kicked a leg out and caught her twirling, the Gish going down with a loud shriek that ended abruptly when she banged her head on the tiles.
Fuck, Glen thought worried and rushed to see if she was still breathing.
He turned her around and Jinx kneed him between the legs doubling him over. Glen groaned and grabbed her fleeing foot, as Jinx had jumped up after pretending she was hurt and attempted to run away. A heave and the Gish went down again with a pained yelp.
“Stupid beefy cunt,” she croaked when he approached her again holding her pink head with both hands. “I’m hurt.”
“Thought ye were faking it,” Glen said through a pained grimace rubbing at his groin.
“I was. I pretended I was unhurt dumbass,” Jinx admitted and stood up blinking in the attempt to clear her blurring eyes. “How did ye get that strong?” she protested sourly.
“I fight wit Trolls in me spare time,” Glen replied with a sigh. “And ride a plaguing wyvern.”
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Inis-Mir was sleeping in her bed. The furniture huge for her small body, the long silk chemise she had on leaving only her pale tiny feet uncovered. The small painted toes covered in rings, as she loved sleeping in her jewelry. Glen pulled the expensive rosy-colored sheet over them and sat next to her at the edge of the bed.
He stared at the poorly lit room and at Maeriel’s shadow coming through the open door. His eyes roamed the nightstand and then returned to the redwood bed again. Twelve pillows arranged on it, the numbers of the months written on them. Her dolls and figurines. Glen placed a hand on the large gold egg Inis-Mir always kept near her and felt its lukewarm surface.
A Wyvern’s gift, he thought. What will you be when you get out? What creature you’ll become when you grow up?
Will you take care of my daughter?
You better do.
A small part of her, the Wyvern had told him up on that mountain.
“I love sitting near you too much,” he admitted to his sleeping daughter. “I like your smell and the sound of your voice. You’re my girl. The way you walk and all your little gestures. I don’t want to share you and it’s not healthy. I fear the day you’ll walk away to write your own story and love someone else. I loathe those that will try to hurt you and make you sad. You’re my treasure, a part of her I can’t lose. I can’t…” Glen paused and made to raise his hurt hand to wipe his eyes but realized Inis-Mir was holding it with hers. The tiny fingers grip strong on his, gold bracelets clinging when she raised it to touch his wet face softly.
“I’ll never leave you,” she assured him with that atypical for her age tone.
“Yeah?” Glen asked raspingly and scooped her up with one arm. He raised her high towards the ceiling, the girl chuckling at the brief flight and then let her drop some freely, only to catch her immediately again. “Why go out then?” Glen asked her flushed face.
“I wanted to see the Den. The wyvern asked for it,” Inis-Mir had replied sobering up. “You shouldn’t punish Jinx.”
“It’s too late now,” Glen replied and her face fell. “I had her arse executed,” he added with a smirk.
“You’re lying!” she squealed still scared and then slapped his shoulder. “Also you shouldn’t use that word in public.”
“I won’t, but only if you stop climbing out of tower windows,” Glen haggled with a smile.
Inis-Mir considered it for some time then added with a firm pout just like her mother would have. “That’s not a fair trade. You need to offer me something more daddy.”
And obviously a much moved Glen had.
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read it at Royalroad : https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/46739/touch-o-luck-the-old-realms
& https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/47919/lure-o-war-the-old-realms
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The chapters are re-edited and re-posted regularly at both places