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Arguen Garth
Hardir O’ Fardor
Lord of Morn Taras
Monarch of Sinya Goras
King beyond the Pale Mountains
Aniculo Rokae
A Friend in need
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Wetull is full of blasted life. All them books were packed wit bullshit, Glen thought in his sleep hearing the black-crowned night-heron squawking annoyingly. The thief’s type of sleep this. Half-sunk in stupor but partially awake. Most of your senses alert and on the lookout. The more Glen climbed up the food chain the less relaxed his sleep was. So in a way, this is also the Monarch’s sleep.
Plaguing restless.
Praise be Luthos for drugs and booze, the Monarch prayed and acknowledged this time had been calmer in his rest than usual. Granted he was up while the gods-darn night shift was still running outside. The darkness thick as mud and warm as fuck.
But tis a nice warmth this, he relented, reaching with a hand to trace the outline of a slick but thick hip, the heavy curls resting on the side of his face smelling of familiar scented oils. His hand run over the soft body half-sleeping on his chest, from said hip to under a shaved sweaty armpit. Filled his large fist with tit next. A smaller tit this than he remembered, a tad firmer, but boob-flesh recovers probably like a muscle. You just have to keep working at it.
Sen, he thought smiling and then the illusion shattered in a thousand pieces.
Wait… a god darn minute here! Glen cursed and opened his eyes. The head was colored all wrong at the dim light of the distant wall-torch. Too much fucking red in it!
The details kept adding up and he couldn’t just dismiss them anymore. His fury at the trickery spilling out.
“You!” Glen growled and shoved the sleeping girl away. She yelped, waking up mid-tumble and then screamed dropping from the edge of the bed on the tiled floor with a loud thud and a pained groan. Well, the rest of the floor was covered in lush carpet, but Glen kept the full perimeter of his bed up to three meters around completely bare, so he can hear an assassin approaching on the granite tiles.
Hopefully.
“Master Garth!” Iskay cried out more startled than terrified and crawled around the bed on all fours towards the exit. “Apologies!”
“Halt right there!” Glen barked and got up, swinging his legs over the bed to place both feet on the floor. “What were you doing in my bed?” He asked the shaking arse of the naked slave. “Why are you…? Get some clothes on and turn around!” Glen ordered irate and stared at the mirror across the bed. He had all the machinery hanging out in the open as well.
Shite.
Well, it’s the summer and I can do whatever the fuck I want in my plaguing house!
There.
“Bring me a pair of pants first,” he grunted at the fleeing slave and heard his daughter’s voice and the crack of the inner door opening. Fuck!
Glen jumped on the bed, rolled on a shoulder over it and landed on the other side pulling the silk sheet around him.
“Daddy,” Inis-Mir said walking in. “I can’t sleep alone. Are you up?”
“Where’s Maeriel?” Glen croaked, then cleared his throat and tied the sheet around him. “It’s alright baby girl. I’m always awake,” he assured her in a fatherly voice.
Eh.
“Really? Can I stay here then until the sun comes up?”
Dodge.
“Of course,” Glen replied and grimaced angry with himself. He always failed his daughter’s cleverly worded queries. Inis-Mir squealed, then run and hugged him tight. “There, there. Just hop on it and I’ll get something on.”
“This looks nice,” Inis-Mir assured him and sniffed at the remaining bedsheets like a curious cat. “There’s a… hmm,” she narrowed her eyes and looked at his bathtub.
“Inis what are ye doing?” Glen asked calmly.
“Investigating.”
“Don’t,” Glen ordered and stooped over her crimson-red head. “I do that in here.”
“Who’s keeping an eye on you though?” Inis asked not convinced and Glen pushed her to get up on the bed.
“No one. I run the show,” Glen told her when she did and his daughter pouted. “What? Don’t do that.”
“It doesn’t sound fair,” Inis-Mir replied looking around for pillows. Glen had tossed them on an armchair across the room to free up space on the bed.
To sleep.
“I have friends that do it,” Glen eased her and went to get a couple of them, still trying to figure out how the slave girl had ended up on his bed. Sure, Iskay slept next to it sometimes much as she did with Sen, but that was quite the leap.
Glen had thought about letting her go, but Iskay didn’t want to leave them and she was great at fixing the place up and taking care of Inis-Mir. The Zilan could do it also, but he preferred to involve the Cofols in her care as much as it was possible. Sen distrusted the Zilan and Glen wanted to respect that.
There was a knock at the inner door and Glen turned around to see who it was, after he tossed the pillows on the bed, a giggling Inis gathering them up around her.
“Monarch,” Maeriel greeted and glanced at the playing on his bed girl. “I was checking up on her. My shift is ending.”
“She’s fine Maeriel,” Glen assured her and the ranger’s eyes stayed on his ‘attire’ for a moment afore nodding. Glen wondered if his cock was poking out of the sheet’s folds and brought a hand there to check it out.
“I’ll change with Sir Nuvian,” the ranger reported. “Eilven is due later to start her language lessons.”
“She talks fine,” Glen told her.
“She needs to be able to write in Common and Court Imperial since we have no one to teach her the Old Tongue. Along the Plebe Human Tongue, Court Common and Folk language given you have a diverse palace,” Maeriel paused to remember if she had left anything out and then continued. “Then its mathematics, engineering, architecture, music, dancing, strategy and governing. The sooner she finishes that the sooner she would be able to focus on her individual calling like we all had. Her core skill takes over for a while so it’s better if she finishes as much as she can early.”
Glen cleared his throat, lips pressed into a thin line.
“Ye see I didn’t stop ye there Maeriel. Now though, having heard all that thingamabob nonsense, I need to step in and put an end to this malarkey.”
“The princess’ education is vital Monarch and not to be taken lightly. She needs to be on par if not better than her peers to garner true respect. She starts diminished—”
Glen extended a chiseled arm and poked her in the chest cutting through the ranger’s verbal diarrhea.
“Inis isn’t diminished in any way,” he grunted.
“Apologies, I worded it wrong perhaps, but she’s human—”
“Let me finish,” Glen warned her mid-sentence but the loose sheet dropped from his hips afore he could. “She shall do what she likes and not bother herself wit what she does not. I’ll make certain people respect her aplenty and for yer information Inis is pretty advanced for her age since she takes after me. She’ll be a genius afore all this is over,” he explained keeping his professionalism despite the wardrobe malfunction and the stoic ranger kept hers, along her eyes on his face seemingly engrossed.
Maeriel could fake at attention with the best of them.
“Oee!” Inis-Mir chuckled from the bed behind them. “Daddy’s buttocks are showing!”
Fuck’s sake!
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“There’s a Council meeting in two hours,” Kilynia informed him the moment he rolled down the stairs to reach his throne room. Glen paused to return Vulreon’s greeting, the scribe handed him a stack of scrolls discreetly and Glen gave them right back less so.
“Have I taken breakfast yet?” Glen asked the scribe knowingly.
“Ahm, no you haven’t Lord Garth.”
“Good, let me bite on something first, else I’ll bite yer hand off,” Glen warned him only half-jesting and sauntered to the table near the west wall of the hall. The scribe went to stand at his spot taking the stack with him. No sooner Glen’s now covered arse had met the chair Sir Delmuth marched inside the hall, followed by Sir Kirk, the maimed Cofol official Kamat-Fin, the advisor Rimeros and the Master of Ships Rybel.
Rimeros sprinted to the front of the line frustrated and bowed afore speaking.
“There are matters that need your ear Monarch before the Council meeting.”
“Anyone else waiting outside?” Glen asked sourly seeing Rimeros nodding and reached for the goblet with some suspicious orange stuff in it. He sipped some and grimaced. “Fuck is this?”
“Orange juice with lemon your highness,” Kilynia replied stooping over his head. Glen flinched as he hadn’t noticed her sneaking up on him.
“Take a step back,” he told the disturbingly tall Zilan female advisor. “Now, why lemon? My teeth turned numb at the blasted taste!”
Rimeros opened his mouth and Glen glared at him. “I heard ye. Take a couple of steps back as well. What is this familiarity? Kirk!”
“Aye Sire,” the knight replied standing behind Rimeros.
“Get everyone in a single file line,” Glen ordered. “Two meters apart at least. We have plenty of fucking room in here! Don’t all bunch up around me for crying out loud!”
He took a deep breath and then puffed out audibly. “Take this sour ‘n bitter shit away Kilynia.”
“It’s healthy—”
“You drink it then. Don’t leave, gulp it down here,” Glen cut her off and gave her the goblet. “That’s it girl, tip it all down. Now order me some fluffy scrambled eggs from the kitchen wit large white cheese pieces in and cover it wit fat strips of bacon or roasted chicken. I swear if I have to take over making food around here as well, I’ll have all of you fired!”
Alright that’s out of the way.
He stared at the line forming some meters from his table. More people entering the hall and the line growing before his very eyes. Glen grimaced, gave a stare at the still dark sky and turned to the Master of Birds.
“Is it urgent?” He asked him and Kamat-Fin bowed.
“It is, oh great Monarch.”
Glen took the missive and nodded. “You expect an answer?”
“At your convenience.”
“Wait outside,” Glen told him and turned to the Master of Ships. “Rybel, the nearest port is thirty kilometers away.”
Why are you still here? Was his meaning.
“Fifty,” Rybel grunted, a challenging Zilan to work with.
“Whatever,” Glen replied an even more difficult Monarch to be around. “Didn’t I say you should work wit Voron?”
“He doesn’t want to allocate resources to Hardir’s Port,” Rybel reported stiffly. “He has promised Soletha to work on Sinya Goras’ Port first.”
Glen glanced at Rimeros and the Zilan gave him a discreet sign with his head.
He had no idea what it meant.
“Can’t she…” He started but Rimeros ogled his eyes warningly, a nervous tick appearing on his face and forced Glen to pause. He went another way. “Can you start without his involvement?”
“Of course,” Rybel scoffed.
“Do it. Speak to Fikumin for guards and building crews. I’ll have Metu release the funds,” Glen ordered and smacked his lips. “Next! Good grief, is this a festival? You have until my eggs arrive people. Then I’ll take a break and I’ll accept the rest of you after the Council meeting,” he added tiredly and pushed back on his chair working the small missive with his fingers worried.
Kamat didn’t have to bring the letter himself.
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Fikumin’s entourage arrived in Morn Taras an hour before the meeting was to start. Lord Onas trotted the whole way from the Phalanx’s headquarters along Lord Anfalon who held the post of War Leader and his hoplites. They were in both the Council of Twenty and the King’s Council. The Master of Secrets Folen was already there, High Priest Voldomir was late since he’d opted to travel on a donkey he used in his fields, the Trade & Agriculture minister Soletha arrived with Lord of Public Works Voron, while the Master of Ships Rybel remained in Morn Taras since the early hours of morning talking with the Lord Treasurer and Castellan Metu. The latter’s entourage of Cofols increasing tenfold after Sen’s funeral.
“Is that Sarya with Folen?” Glen asked Sir Kirk and Hagen Musa the bodyguard turned his head and eyed the conservatively dressed Zilan working in Folen’s House of Pleasure under the stage name ‘the daughter’.
“Aye she is, milord,” he replied confidently instead of the silent under his Rokae mask Sir Alan Kirk.
Glen frowned. “He answered pretty fast there don’t ye think?” he told Sir Kirk and the knight shrugged his shoulders. “Yes, Sir Delmuth?” Glen asked the approaching Rokae Leader.
“The Gish and the Nord want an audience Hardir,” Delmuth informed him.
Glen glanced at Soletha and the healer nodded in greeting. They had distanced themselves the last months and Soren who was living with her rarely visited Morn Taras. You would’ve thought after all Glen had done for her, the Priestess, healer and Council member would be more appreciative, but he could feel a certain distrust lately.
Perhaps it was all him.
“I’ll see them,” Glen replied and turned his attention at the unfolding argument. The large conference table located on the east wall of the expansive hall well-illuminated under the light of the massive lightstone lamps Voron had installed lately on every column.
“We already have to rebuild the part of the road leading to Abarat plus the new Crossroads Fort, Lord Suraer and Lady Olonelis working on expanding the existing road network and reopen the avenue towards Elauthin,” Voron was saying and Rybel shrugged his shoulders. “What I try to highlight here Lord Rybel is I’ve already allocated resources for extensive works in Sinya Goras and Taras. I have none to spare.”
“The Temple must have priority,” Voldomir declared thudding his staff once and glowering at the Lord of Public Works. “Start with picking up the turds your caravans deposit on the paths.”
“The tourists bring in wealth and trade,” Soletha retorted and the Priest scoffed at her words.
“Not these tourists. These are looters and I sense many an infidel amongst them,” he reprimanded her. “You want tourists put the wyvern on display in the den.”
“We won’t do that,” Glen intervened and the priest grunted then went back on munching at his plate of dried dates.
“Monarch, what is the purpose of enlarging a second port when we need roads?” Voron asked.
“Ships are faster,” Glen replied. “And this port is pointing the other way.”
“Goras had three ports originally,” Lord Onas added and then set his eye on Folen’s comely escort. The old one-eyed goat still has it in him, Glen thought and decided to resolve the brewing argument.
“Voron you are overworked. Rybel will handle the work on Hardir’s Port and the Navy,” Glen announced despite the protests coming from Voron’s side. “Rybel see you create what’s necessary and work with Captain Archibald Tidus for crews.”
“I’d like to avoid using ex-pirates Monarch,” Rybel said with a frown.
“Tough luck, it’s all we got available but for Rothomir’s galleys so you’ll do,” Glen replied. “I need readied crews for the ships so make sure you make it work Rybel. Yes Fikumin?”
The dwarf stood up on his chair. “I have an order here from Lord Onas that authorizes all available warships to leave Serpent Canal and moor at Rain-Minas?”
Glen grimaced as he’d expected this to be brought up later. Well, this was a shitty meeting anyways. “Everyone not in the Permanent Council please step outside. You can visit the premises and have some breakfast. Try the eggs, we have many good chickens here.”
Voron cleared his throat. “Excuse me Monarch. The Permanent Council?”
“It’s a new body that deals wit crises,” Glen explained. “You’re not in it Voron.”
“I understand my Lord,” Voron said deeply affronted. “Is Lady Soletha?”
“She’s not,” Glen replied.
Metu raised his arm apprehensively and Glen saw him out of the corner of his eye. “You’ll stay Metu,” Glen said without looking his way.
“As you wish, supreme Monarch,” the Cofol replied with a deep bow.
Glen set his eyes on Folen. The Zilan blinked and turned to Sarya. “Get out,” he said simply and the female rolled her painted eyes, bowed elaborately and then sashayed outside after Soletha and Voron. Her robes were conservative but easy to manipulate if one knew what she was doing and Sarya did.
Lord Onas smacked his lips appreciatively.
“Voldomir,” A bemused Glen said seeing the High Priest still working on his plate.
“Whatever it is,” Voldomir replied rudely. “You have brewing, it’ll be best if I hear about it sooner rather than later.”
“It’s a military matter Voldomir.”
“Then you’ll need the Goddess even more.”
Glen knew not to start an argument and sighed pensively. He turned to the rigid, silently watching the proceedings Anfalon.
“Anfalon if you’ll be seated at one of the free chairs, I’ll have Sir Delmuth bring the maps out.”
“I’ll stand Hardir,” Anfalon replied.
“Right. How’s the pregnancy coming along?” Glen asked looking for a bit of small talk while the knights were carrying the stands out from behind the heavy drapes concealing them.
“I’m hopeful they’ll survive it,” Anfalon said dryly.
“Is there a particular reason?”
“I’ve already had two children,” Anfalon replied. “It’s a risk.”
Why? Glen thought but decided not to press the old Zilan on the matter. They were very superstitious people on the matter either by character or design.
“King Garth,” Fikumin grunted, his face red from high blood pressure. “If I can take the opportunity to speak of a personal matter.”
“Yours?”
“Eh, it’s about young Phinariel.”
“She can have her old job back,” Glen replied. “But I won’t be so lenient next time.”
“Well...”
“Anything else?”
“I was thinking of—” Glen stopped him sensing he was going down a thorny path.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“Let us talk of this another time,” he advised him.
Fikumin furrowed his bushy brows. “I’d like it to be soon my Lord.”
I say give it time, Glen thought. They’ll probably fuck it up. Zilan relationships are like that.
“I’ll meet with Jinx later. Stay for a while Fikumin,” Glen told him instead and opened the missive to read it again.
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“Five ships,” Rybel said, Glen looking at the lists Vulreon had brought to him. “Two heavy transports the Concorde and Fat Libby both with human crews. About seventy for each vessel. Three Imperial Galleons with a full crew of four hundred and fifty combined but not the Galleass of Captain Vale.”
“She’s needed elsewhere,” Glen replied without raising his eyes from the scrolls.
Rybel stood back on his chair with a frown. “You’ll never get the Phalanx across. Then it’s the supplies. Can the Sisters provide for them?”
“We’ll provide for the troops,” Lord Onas grunted.
“The order you circulated Lord Onas needs clarification,” Fikumin started and the Zilan turned to look at him.
“The order has been given Lord Shield.”
“It was my order,” Glen intervened. “Lord Onas assumed responsibility as a former general to not burden the new administration with what might be deemed as an offensive war.”
“It isn’t?” Voldomir asked furrowing his brows.
“We have been asked to assist by the late Lady Sovereign’s people,” Glen rustled, already regretting keeping him back for the meeting.
“What’s the difference? Does this change the fact?”
“Lai Zel-Ka and the ports were used by the Empire,” Anfalon cut in soberly. “Most of them were built by us at least partially.”
“The army hasn’t gone to the Peninsula for over a thousand years Anfalon,” Voldomir retorted. “Merchants yes. Bards and adventurers for the festivals. But not your black helms.”
Glen wondered if there was another reason Voldomir didn’t want the army there but couldn’t come up with one.
“The Fleet had patrols reaching Lai Zel-Ka annually,” Rybel reminded the high Priest.
“Pfft, fine. You lads go ahead then. Let’s hear the plan,” Voldomir scoffed at his words and pushed back on his chair with a scowl.
“Roran and his Othrim, along the Young Othrim recruits,” Lord Onas started getting up and trotting energetically at the four large maps opened on the stands the knights had brought. Three depicting large detailed parts of Wetull Straits, Greenwhale Peninsula and the west shores of Wetull, mainly the ruined port city of Rain-Minas. The fourth a complete map of Eplas. “Shall depart from the old port and disembark in Fu De-Gar. We’ll use the facilities of the Chiliad to keep the soldiers away from the local populace and then proceed up the coastal road towards Ani Ta-Ne.”
“Why not go straight for Ani Ta-Ne?” Fikumin asked crossing his stubby arms on his broad chest.
“Too close to the frontline. A very open port,” Anfalon replied. “More importantly though, a very large Sopat caravan is waiting for us in the old Imperial buildings of Fu De-Gar. It arrived from the west desert road. We’ll need a supply train and in order to fit the men inside the ships, the Othrim shall travel without.”
“Aren’t the Sisters winning?” Voldomir asked, surprisingly well-informed about the happenings. Then again the soon to receive Feyras –a Priest of Eodrass- had at least two hundred Zilan working at the Temple’s prosperous fields or directly for the very wealthy, despite the high priest’s disheveled appearance, Nesande’s Temple.
“Sir Emerson breached Que Ki-La’s walls,” Glen replied and Lord Onas nodded. “They have taken the port and pushed the defenders out of the east district. They refuse to surrender though,” he continued. “Phon is controlling the desert roads to the west but they need to attack either house to house from the inside or sever the north approach to the city another way.”
“They are reinforcing them?” Fikumin asked.
“Supplies are coming in for sure,” Glen replied and pointed at the bridge over the Small River and then at the Clear Lake. “Or they use the lake. Emerson intents to relocate part of the Chiliad and leave the east front to Thalion’s and Phon’s men. This action might have already happened.”
“Isn’t Thalion fighting near Rohir still?” Fikumin queried thoughtfully.
“He is but he dispatched a force to Emerson at the start of summer as it is much easier for him to receive reinforcements from Ani Ta-Ne and we’re about to help there.”
“Why is the Phalanx ready to march then?” Voldomir intervened. “If Roran is to take the task upon himself?”
“For another reason,” Glen replied stiffly.
“Fixing on opening another front?”
“We need to secure Goras Voldomir.”
“I felt very secure before this meeting started,” the priest admitted. “Now not so much.”
“We need to control the waters,” Lord Onas said soberly. “With the fleet busy at the Straits, a buffer zone is needed to our northeastern borders.”
“Your Permanent Council has a lot of old army lads Hardir,” Voldomir cautioned him.
“You have a problem with my age priest?” Onas grunted and set his feet. “Swing that staff and then I get to punch you in the face. Let’s see who remains standing then!”
“I thought you were half-blind not half-deaf Onas,” Voldomir spat. “I’ve no problem with your old arse but with the army grunt in your head.”
“Decision has been made,” Anfalon intervened. “The Othrim is on the move and the fleet shall support it.”
“I knew I wasn’t going to deal with building ships only,” Rybel griped but nodded at Anfalon’s stern stare.
“We might not have a lot of time,” Glen said and got up. “A man working for the Sopat sent a missive from Shao Na-Lan.”
“Why here to us?” Fikumin asked and took the missive Glen offered over the table.
“It was sent in Ta-Ne as well,” Glen replied pensively. “Sen had arranged to be informed immediately of any changes there.”
“What changed?”
“All ships have left the port,” Glen replied. “The Prince is on the move. Fast motherfucker.”
“Where is the fleet going?” Fikumin asked tossing the missive to Metu.
Glen stared at the maps unsure.
“How many ships?” Rybel asked.
“Sixty three,” Fikumin replied. “Everything that could float basically. But not many transports or warships amongst them.”
“Where are the Khan’s warships?” Rybel queried. “I was led to believe there were quite a number of galleys there.”
“They slipped through the Gulf’s waters earlier this year,” Fikumin said with a frown. “We don’t know where they went but they are not coming here. The Reefs are un-traversable for large vessels.”
Eh, not exactly, but the dwarf isn’t completely wrong here. You don’t risk a fleet in there.
“Merchant fleet or not,” Glen intervened. “That’s a lot of ships still. Filled with troops and supplies.”
“Animals,” Rybel added. “It cuts on the number of troops if you take them with you. Would the Prince do that?”
“That cursed fucker loves his horses,” Glen assured him and the Zilan nodded.
“Then the number of troops isn’t that forbidding,” Rybel noted. “Two thousand?”
“That’s what he had back in Hellfort,” Glen said and Rybel shrugged his shoulders.
“You can’t create troops out of thin air,” he told him. “As I understand this Prince hasn’t had a field assignment for more than a year right?”
“More probably.”
“Can Roran handle the Horselords?” Fikumin asked.
“You assume the locals won’t be around?” Onas retorted.
“I’m a dwarf,” Fikumin replied humbly. “Pessimism is in my blood.”
>
>
> The meeting of the Monarch’s Permanent Council members lasted well over seven hours.
Glen rubbed the white growth on his jaw with the tips of his fingers, the light inside the large central hall tiring his eyes. Atju refilled his goblet with the fruity Goras wine, another problem there he needed to address, and left them after serving Lord Onas who had stayed back to examine the notes taken by Vulreon.
“Have you ever fought Horselords Onas?” Glen asked the one-eyed former Phalanx Leader.
“Not these Horselords,” Onas replied. “Radpour did a great job making a kingdom out of that rubble, but he betrayed the empire and his oath to do it, so I can’t forgive him that. Fuck him.”
“How was he? The first Khan?”
“A talented Rokae that loved war chariots and was transferred there eventually,” Onas rustled reminiscing.
“Their Cataphracts are pretty close,” Glen noted.
“So they say,” Onas replied. “That’s a very big kingdom to keep together. This is an opportunity, but it will be a short-lived one. Unless he gets bogged down across the Shallow Sea.”
“You think he’ll land on Jelin?”
“He wouldn’t have moved otherwise. There’s pride fueling their planning,” Onas replied. “The old unwritten laws of the Great Steppe. A leader can’t appear indecisive or weak. So he’ll attack on Jelin to do what Radpour hadn’t done back then.”
Kalac’s warband had the same problems.
“Which was?”
“Reinut would have lost even with Baltoris mucking up the campaign had the Horselords not turned on the army.”
“She had lost the wyverns, the empire had been ravaged by calamity,” Glen said sipping at his wine and hearing Jinx’s voice coming from the gates.
“She had enough of a force to remain at Eikenport,” Onas replied. “Regroup and work out from there. The mountains had stopped the waves and she had the best force at the time available. The Lazuli Peninsula was a meaningless strategic target. Too far away, too close to Jelin.”
“The Horselords would have rebelled either way,” Glen pointed.
“Perhaps. I could be harsh on her,” Onas said finishing his wine. “Then again the Sisters wouldn’t have capitulated with the Queen still breathing. Too many what ifs. She needed to kill Reinut, it was a good idea I reckon.”
“Where would the Prince land?”
“He needs a port to keep his supplies flowing in. Rihtur seems the obvious place. Thalion has split his force to reinforce them, but his failure to finish off the Rohir is ominous. It keeps part of the east coastal road contested. A desert cat can slip through the slimmest of openings.”
“Would he come closer to us?” Glen asked.
“If he knows we’re coming,” Onas replied and gave him the old three-fingered Imperial salute.
“Is that an aye he will or a nay he won’t?” Glen queried on his back and the Zilan paused to think about it.
“Either I suppose,” he decided. “Depending on his character.”
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Jinx had a new leather outfit on. She had discarded the pants for a short leather skirt and high boots. A leather vest over a red silk tunic shirt.
“What do ye think?” She asked executing a fancy dancer’s pirouette on the tips of her feet with too many twirls that left her a bit dizzy and unstable. “Shit,” Jinx said.
“Are ye gonna puke in my hall?” Glen jested and kicked a nearby chair her way.
Jinx grabbed it and sat down with a yelp, but she was too far away from the table and had to approach dragging the chair on the polished tiles using her legs.
Glen tried to remember if the Gish was always this foolish and decided she was.
“I made friends waiting outside,” Jinx said and took Lord Onas goblet to help herself to his wine.
“I saw you going upstairs,” Glen reminded her.
“I did that too,” Jinx settled.
“Is my daughter still in her quarters?”
“She is. Have you thought of allowing her to go outside more?” Jinx countered annoyingly.
“I have. The answer is still no.”
“Uhm. You have news of Emerson then?”
Glen grimaced at her changing subjects constantly. “Some news arrived. He needs assistance. I’m sending Roran there to sort everything out.”
The situation was way more complicated than that.
“Hmm,” Jinx said probably sensing it and sipped at her wine. The cup too big for her face. She licked her lips and then glugged the rest of it down. Burped at the end of it. “Damn.”
“Speak fast,” Glen urged to get something out afore the Gish became too drunk to communicate.
“What I fear, you fear,” Jinx replied dramatically. “You are getting smarter every year,” she added then furrowed two pink eyebrows confused. “Also old as fuck.”
“I’m not old as fuck,” Glen protested a little flushed in the face.
“Ye look like it, a fit old sure, but still,” the Gish insisted.
“I have a lot on my shoulders.”
“You wouldn’t have any worries at all had Emerson not stayed back at Hellfort to allow you to escape,” Jinx argued and Glen grimaced in considerable annoyance.
“I know that.”
“Ye don’t show it.”
“Whisper, I have a whole kingdom depending on me,” Glen grunted. “I can’t attack the Khanate all out. We’re still rebuilding what was broken.”
“So you’re attacking it a little? You’re not a gang leader Glen. You’re a king.”
“Gods darnit, you’ve no idea of strategy,” Glen snapped. “I’ve spent a day going through logistics. We have a finite amount of troops available. Supplying them across the Pale Mountains is a problem. Doing the same across the sea with the few ships we have, especially beyond the west shores of Wetull, is insanity.”
“What do you need the troops for?”
Eh.
“They’ll not make it in time aren’t they?” Jinx asked perceptively.
There’s no way to move so many people that fast.
It’s a token gesture unless something changes and Phon knows it.
“There’s another way,” the Gish said carefully.
Glen puffed his cheeks out and stared at his goblet. “I’ve thought about it. There are two reasons why it’s not such a good idea.”
“They’ll back away from the wyvern Glen,” Jinx said. “I would.”
Yeah, the humans aren’t like the Gish. They’ll regroup and unite to find a way to defeat a stronger opponent. They’ve done it afore.
“They would for a bit, but that won’t be a win unless I burn the whole continent,” Glen replied. “I was just talking about something similar with Onas. You want me to start burning people right and left Whisper?”
“Do you?”
“Fuck off,” Glen retorted. “Don’t play this game with me!”
“Why? It’s a legitimate question. You either want it or not. My endorsement is an excuse ye seek,” Jinx insisted. “I know you. You’ll do what’s necessary like you always have done in the past, if you feel threatened.”
Glen rapped his fingers on the table nervously. “I can’t leave Inis.”
“That the second reason?”
Glen nodded.
“I can understand that. It also sort of answers the first dilemma,” Jinx said. “Can I drink from the bottle?”
“No you can’t. Use the goblet like a normal person.”
“Anyways,” the Gish continued with a pout and went to refill her goblet. “She’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, I don’t know about that.”
“This war could grow out of hand,” Jinx said.
“It could.”
“But Emerson would’ve risked it in yer place.”
“I know that also.”
“There’s a saying,” Jinx paused and blinked a bit unsteady.
Is that the third goblet she glugged down?
“Are you about to pass out?” He asked a bit concerned. “It’s a strong wine. You’re bucketing it down like it’s beer and about to go out of fashion!”
“A friend in need,” the Gish said vaguely with another burp.
Ah.
Yeah, he thought.
Glen sighed and pushed back on the chair. “I’ll think about it. It is not an easy decision.”
“It is. I’m going to Eikenport,” Jinx said quickly and put the goblet on the table with difficulty to leave.
“Wait. What?” Glen grunted and stood up straighter. “Where did this come from?”
“I want to see the Dogs,” Jinx replied defensively. “You know it.”
“They are fine!”
“There is talk the Khan might send army at the Devil’s Cove.”
“They could refuse the contract,” Glen argued and shook his head.
“I want to be there. I owe it to Dante and I need a break from here,” Jinx insisted.
“Because of Maeriel?”
“That’s not… it’s a burden sure but no. I feel trapped here.”
“Whisper you are free to do whatever ye want!” Glen blasted her. “Everyone says it. What more do you want?”
“Freedom. What did Emerson say? You asked him to get out of the Peninsula didn’t you?”
“You…” Glen paused very frustrated. “Stop throwing a ton of subjects my way to confuse me. You can’t use a ship that’s yer own darn words! Answer me that first!”
“I’ll travel ahead of the army.”
“The army is going to Dia!”
“For a while,” Jinx added.
Fuck. I shouldn’t have revealed that.
“Whisper!” Glen snapped and jumped up irate. He rubbed his face with both hands to calm down and then let out a pained groan. “Fine. Go ahead. But you need to be careful,” he relented.
“I’ll be back Glen,” Jinx assured him.
“You better,” Glen puffed out and stared at the lit up throne over his left shoulder. “Emerson won’t leave. I offered to get him out. He hasn’t replied, but it is my gut feeling that stubborn relic will refuse.”
“He has family on the Peninsula.”
“I can buy that slave from Phon,” Glen replied tiredly. “It’s not it.”
Jinx nodded in understanding. “It’s his decision. The old man never abandons an errant he has taken on.”
“Freeing the cities?”
“Freeing the people under him.”
“He might kill them all,” Glen argued although he could see how that could very well be Emerson’s core reasoning.
“Those that survive would be free,” the pale Gish had replied. “Much nobler shit than whatever we’re doing here.”
Glen stood back stunned and a little hurt. “You don’t believe that. Not after all we’ve sacrificed!”
“I didn’t set out to rule the realm Glen or follow its ruler. I’m here for a young guy I met on the road. A friend,” the small-bodied female reminded him all-serious and then puked all over Glen’s polished black granite tiles.
----------------------------------------
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Sir Nuvian the Rokae Knight nodded with that polished sober metallic mask at him an hour later. Glen returned the greeting and glanced inside his daughter’s bedroom.
“She’s asleep?”
“Collapsed on her pillows my Lord,” the Zilan replied. “The Gish tired her plenty.”
“What were they doing?” Glen queried.
“Silly things.”
Yeah.
“I won’t disturb her,” he told the knight and Nuvian nodded.
Glen returned to his bedroom and realized that the day had almost gone as it was late afternoon. He hadn’t stepped out of Morn Taras since leaving his bedroom very early that same morning.
He eyed the closed door to Sen’s bedroom, the large chamber connecting with Inis-Mir’s through another inner door always kept unlocked. The little girl spent a good part of her day there. Glen as well.
I got to leave her briefly, he told his deceased wife. Else I’ll blame myself for Emerson. I trust yer people to help keep her safe, because you trusted them.
Glen turned his head on one of the mirrors and examined his face. Yeah, it’s the hair and the mileage, he decided and spotted Iskay sneaking inside the bedroom. The slave stopped the moment his eyes focused on her through the mirror. Glen heard the anklets jingling and he turned around.
“Will the master retire?” The slave girl asked.
“It’s too early for that,” Glen retorted and walked to the weapon stand to prepare a second traveling bag. He found his harness and put in on. Glen hefted Flix’s steel peleg next and then clipped it on his harness. A quality light-weight small throwing axe made by Fergen O’ Mecatan.
Iskay was sitting next to the bed in silence. She was wearing a thin long ‘curtain’ type robe, but Glen knew that those garbs were deceptive.
“I’m of the mind to set you free,” he told her and Iskay squinted his way in panic. A rare redhead Cofol, probably a half-breed and Phon’s gift to his sister on her sixth birthday. “You don’t want it?” Glen queried a little surprised. “You could walk out of here before sundown.”
Iskay was shaking.
“Or stay until the morning, have breakfast,” Glen continued uncomfortably. He puffed his cheeks out and stared at the bed. “I’m not in a good place right now,” Glen told her. “You are helping but some things I don’t want to do in this manner. I don’t like this trade, maybe because it’s one-sided and wrong. Since I can’t offer coin to make it better, I’m left without options girl.”
“I want to stay in Morn-Taras master Garth,” Iskay whispered and hanged her head low. “I only know to serve.”
“You can serve without being a slave or in my bed,” Glen replied. “Take care of my daughter and I shall reward you. You could work for Metu.”
“Better throw me out in the street master,” Iskay gasped.
Glen narrowed his eyes. “Is he that bad?”
“I can’t say.”
Glen smacked his lips. “You can work here. You’ll deal with my wife’s people and be the ruler of my private quarters,” he paused seeing her smile. “This came out wrong. But you know what I mean.”
“Master Garth is wise,” Iskay replied and bowed folding in two lithely, her red curls touching the carpet. Allgods darnit, Glen thought at the athletic display.
“You take the spare bedroom on this floor,” Glen offered. “See to make it how ye like. You’ll be working for me directly.”
“The one next to the Master’s?” She asked without looking at him.
Not that she could.
Glen stared at the other inner door across the room. “Sure,” he said simply. “Have Atju come in.”
“You’ll free him as well Master?” Iskay asked keeping her tone the same but with a hint of something different.
“I shouldn’t?”
“Better that you didn’t,” Iskay replied soberly unfolding herself and grinning to soften it. “I could use him and he can be mean if he’s given too much freedom.”
The statement made as much sense as it didn’t to him, so Glen furrowed his white brows, scrunched his face and then nodded.
Iskay left to check on the sleeping Inis and Glen walked at the open window of his bedroom to stare outside dragging the large bag with him. His mind on the departing Jinx and Emerson’s curt reply.
He had sort of lied to Jinx earlier.
>
>
> “Because he’s dead,” Dante added. “Obviously.”
>
> “We don’t know that,” she argued, but not with the same conviction.
>
> “My Lady accept a win, when one is offered,” Dante tried again. “You did more than enough.”
>
> Emerson gave Glen a side glance. It was quick, but the woman caught it. “You killed Reeves?” He asked calmly, turning his attention on her.
>
> Don’t answer.
>
> “Sent his ship down the bottom I did,” she admitted thoughtfully, her eyes staying on the progressively more nervous Glen. “But I never saw a body. Trust me, I looked hard.”
>
> “Reckon you had a reason for it,” Emerson replied reasonably and unsheathed his longsword. Everyone drew a sharp intake and Glen felt his right arm shake involuntarily.
>
> “Sir Lennox,” Dante said. “You’ve nothing to gain here.”
>
> But the knight wasn’t of the same opinion.
>
> His reasoning much simpler and mysterious to Glen at the time. It will be many years afore he realized what had driven the knight that day.
If a knight’s word means nothing, Sir Lennox had written to Glen five years later. The letter dated over two weeks old. Then my lad we’re naught but frauds. I can survive without freedom and no lofty titles, but the man that won’t honor his word is no man at all, even if he calls himself a king.
RRRRRREEE
EERRRRR?
Manipulative and stubborn old cretin, Glen thought angrily grasping at the window’s granite stool. Damn you for forcing me into this position. Shoving yer plaguing missions down my throat. The wyvern appearing like a dot backlit by the afternoon sun across Morn Taras’ west side. A black growing circle that soon lost its shape as it descended towards him.
Glen didn’t want to fight beyond the Pale Mountains was the truth of it, but he carried enough past guilt on his shoulders to add another burden.
> So the King of all Wetull put a boot on the lip of the large window, pushed himself out of it and then flew away on the back of his wyvern.