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Arguen Garth
Hardir O’ Fardor
Lord of Morn Taras
Monarch of Wetull
King beyond the Pale Mountains
Aniculo Rokae
Tales of the Peninsula | Aftermath
Part I
-One way, or another-
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The camel rider watched him shuffling his feet towards them apprehensively. Their attention divided between Glen, the large wyvern and the smokes that were rising behind the dunes not even half a kilometer away.
Glen scrunched his jaw trying to think of an opening remark or greeting, decided to forgo all that and simply asked curtly, remembering to do it in common.
“Where’s Phon?”
His hand was hurting, bleeding through the crude bandage and his swollen, veiny eyes were teary. With his disheveled premature white hair and wild expression Glen looked like a madman.
The riders, armed caravan hands with chainmail shirts under their long robes, looked at each other unsure.
“Master Phon-Iv?” One of them asked. A heavy silver pendant hanging from his neck. One could discern the sculpted Capricorn crest on it.
“Him.”
“With the caravan. Who—?”
“I’m family,” Glen cut him off and smacked his right ear once to get rid of the ringing. All that up and down in the air had done a number to his innards. “I’ll go see him. Don’t go over the ridge. There’s lava pooling at its base.”
“A volcano?” One of them asked not really believing it but open to the possibility.
“Family?” The Cofol queried waving for the caravan guard to shut up and then his desert eyes grew. “Garth? Allgods. The Lord of Goras!”
Glen stood back surprised.
“You know me?” He asked gruffly.
“Was with the caravan. You’ve taken my donkey milord.”
Glen narrowed his eyes.
“Twas an accident,” he retorted.
Cost me a plaguing tower.
“Of course Master Garth,” the man agreed eagerly. “I wasn’t trying to offend.”
“I’ll go to Phon now,” Glen warned them and then asked just to be friendly. “Yer name desert dude?”
“Hesam,” the caravan guard replied his tone friendlier now they had gotten all the old stuff out of the way. “What about the wyvern Master Garth?”
Eh.
Glen glanced at the twirling around Uvrycres looking whether any more bolts had stuck on him between his hind legs and cleared his throat, the not so distant glow and clouds of smoke from the Prince’s burned army dimming the light of the sun.
“He’s relatively harmless unless provoked,” Glen replied with an unconvincing grin. “So stay the fuck away. As a matter of fact you should follow me back to the caravan.”
“You need a camel Master Garth?” Hesam asked not eager to debate his words given the opportunity to get away from the wyvern.
“I don’t really like camels,” Glen griped and the ugly animal spat a fat splotch of phlegm his way.
It was a close miss.
“Samak, bring Master Garth a horse,” Hesam ordered one of his men and smiled thinly when Glen protested since he didn’t want to wait. “The camels can return the dislike milord. Better not to take any chances.”
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A pale-faced Phon, helped by a slave and an ivory cane with a lustrous tetragonal platinum pommel, paused at the open door of his carriage seeing him arrive (the larger carriages were at the front of the caravan) but quickly recognized Glen.
“I heard you landed at Fu De-Gar,” Phon-Iv said with a –I should have known better- smile, still looking and sounding the same despite the years since Glen had seen him last and his recent injury. “Did you actually use the Wyvern?”
A bit less makeup on too.
“I did,” Glen replied and climbed down from the horse Hesam’s man had brought him. He walked near the slowly coming down the few steps Sopat patriarch and grabbed his right forearm tight. “Sen called it a throne over the clouds. She loved the experience but did her best not to show it at first.”
“I bet that she had,” her brother agreed hoarsely and stared at the men and women slowly gathering around his large closed carriage. “This is the Lord of Morn Taras,” Phon-Iv declared as loud as he could to the gasping enthused growing audience. “The King of Wetull!” The restless demoralized crowd cheered clamorously at that, some more wholeheartedly than the rest and Uvrycres shrieked thunderously in righteous indignation from afar as he’d found another bolt lodged near his privates.
ERRRRREEH!
Two weeks later
The Sopat Road
Dry Sea Desert
Thirty kilometers from Nasar
Early evening
Glen waved the comely female slave away and stared at one of the fires the caravan had lit at its center. There was a camp built by the army right next to the twice-circled wagons, but the caravan hands felt more secure to perform the ritual every night. This desert while as quiet it felt different than the one on Eplas proper.
“My wife is tired from the road and I find myself unable to entertain her,” Phon said coming to stand next to him. He was looking better, but the lung was bothering him and still used the fancy cane to walk. “I wrote to my brother.”
“What did the other wives say?” Glen asked not wanting to talk about Don-Iv’s concerns.
“They don’t know it yet,” Phon-Iv admitted. “I had to decide fast. It’s good they haven’t given me a son.”
Hmm.
Phon-Iv glanced at him. “I love my daughters Glen. We’re not that different and you know it’s the custom of the land. Is Jelin different?”
Worse probably.
“I’ve been to Jelin once,” Glen replied. “Never thought about any of that crap.”
“You are a strange man,” Phon told him. “How’s Inis-Mir?”
“As good as she can be. Talks circles around me,” Glen replied and worked his wrist, the scar still visible but seemingly healed. He could feel it though lingering, a slight hurting when closing the index and mid finger. “I don’t believe I talked in her age at all.”
“Will the Zilan accept her?”
“We are not there yet,” Glen admitted. “But I’m not leaving it to chance.”
Phon nodded. “Why did you insist on us retreating from Que Ki-La?”
“That place was a trap. You’d have to push further up north since the place will be unlivable for a while. Then what? Attack another city? I won’t be fighting the Khanate for you Phon. I’ve too much to do back in Goras. How many injured do you have?”
“At least forty. But we’ve gotten some of the gladiators back.”
“They are free now. I don’t see them fighting for you as eager as afore,” Glen said. “What did Emerson say?”
“He wanted me to reach out to Nout. Talk.”
“Nout is dead. Who’s next in line?” Glen corrected him.
“You think it’s a good idea?”
“Emerson thought it was. Que Ki-La can be attacked from two big cities at the near and you can’t reinforce as easily. You need to consolidate your troops and recuperate. Can you do it faster than the Khan?” Glen probed.
“The Khan is unreachable. He’s left Rida. I don’t believe he’ll agree on any terms and this matter will probably be delegated to an official.”
“Who would? That Sartak?”
“Nah, he’s just a general. An army school guy. We’ll have to talk to the next heir. It could take a while.”
Glen crossed both arms on his chest. “How long? Why?”
“Sahand had no offspring since three of his wives died at childbirth and the fourth died with him,” Phon-Iv replied.
Glen thought of Gimoss.
“How did it happen?”
“A fire burned the old Duke’s palace.”
Hmm.
“Was it… the scene was it especially gruesome?”
Phon stood back confused. “I suppose? They were burned alive.”
Glen frowned. “So the witch is dead?”
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
He had some unanswered questions still left there.
Glen couldn’t really remember the Prince’s wife. She was covered fully that one time they’d met. But for her feet.
Goodbye toes.
“The witch… yeah, her. So that leaves Nout but he has a daughter Sitamun and no son that I know off,” Phon continued. “It’s on the Khan to decide if he’ll give the mantle to a baby or the next Prince in line. With Nout it was easy because he favored him. The next would be Prince Atpa but he’s not exactly well-liked. But Radin is even more of a weird case.”
“Right. So we talk with a guardian then?”
“Atpa would make darn sure we don’t,” Phon replied.
Whoa, this succession thing is really unhealthy.
Still…
“That’s bad?”
“Not necessarily. Atpa is very friendly with Karit, Lord Tsuparin’s son.”
“Drink buddies?”
“Atpa loves the arena and winning bets,” Phon said with a grimace. “All manner. Hasn’t lost one is the word.”
Glen rolled his eyes. “Sucks Luthos cock I presume?”
“No,” Phon replied shaking his head. “He’s just very careful.”
Or cooks the results.
Another crook.
Fuck’s sake.
“He’ll talk terms?”
“I’ll have to check with Tsuparin,” Phon said with a grimace. “He’ll have advantage here. I don’t really like Atpa.”
“You liked Sahand?”
“No. He was an idiot,” Phon spat.
“Nout?”
“No one could talk to Nout. He hated the whole culture of the Peninsula.”
Glen groaned. “Atpa it is then. What does Tsuparin want?”
“Control of Ani Ta-Ne if Letakin’s bloodline is extinguished.”
“He’ll get a bowl of turds,” Glen retorted curtly. “And whatever you may think, he doesn’t have leverage.”
“Karit has army marching after yours. If they hear the news of Nout’s defeat, they might go for a land grab.”
“Let him march. He can have the Horselords land. Do you have a bird that can reach Ani Ta-Ne’s port?” Glen asked turning to look at him.
“I have two I kept for an emergency.”
“Trust me,” Glen said clasping his shoulder. “This is an emergency. I’ll order Roran to turn around and head back to Ta-Ne. Secure the city.”
“Who’s Roran?” Phon-Iv asked unsure.
“A tall Zilan dude wit meagre sense of humor,” Glen replied. “He takes orders seriously.”
They listened to the caravan guards sing for a while. Some of the gladiators with them and young Kelly.
“Emerson wanted to save her?” Phon-Iv asked seeing where he was looking.
“I’d helped her get out of Rida,” Glen replied. “But I barely remember it now. Too much stuff on my mind. The old man didn’t need reason to provide assistance.”
“The knight’s slave is with his son in Fu De-Gar,” Phon noted. “I don’t believe we should mention them to Tsuparin.”
“Why?”
“Leverage,” Phon replied. “Against you.”
Glen breathed in deeply and then breathed out slowly staring at the gladiators raising a ruckus by the fire. “You will insert Wetull as an interested party in your letter,” Glen rustled.
“How much army can you bring over?”
“I don’t need an army,” Glen replied although he did. “But I can’t resolve conflicts burning shit down Phon. So you need to train men and not leave it to Tsuparin or the wyvern. I can’t control the spillage and the casualties might be excessive.”
“How excessive?” Phon asked in alarm and Glen remembered the firestorm burning through the city center.
“It’s like trying to kill an ant with a sledgehammer. The parquet gets damaged,” he replied a tightness in his chest.
“Where’s the wyvern now?” Phon asked sounding concerned.
“Better not to know,” Glen replied hoarsely.
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Mesi-Nasar, Phon’s wife waved Foreal -the slave Phon had serving him- away. The wife now was a slender Cofol girl of around twenty. A pretty girl with tanned a dark-gold skin, covered in intricate tattoos, light caramel-colored hair and expressive same color eyes, the outline penciled black. Her sheer teal-colored shawl reaching her sandaled feet, but her face and outfit were visible underneath in the light of the fire.
“You won’t be retiring inside Lord Garth?” Mesi-Nasar asked in that whispery tone of the Peninsula.
“I like the desert sky, in the night,” Glen replied staring at her bejeweled fingers pouring some tea in his cup. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I serve my husband’s guests and family,” she replied, leaving it vague whether she considered Glen one or the other. Maybe even both. “May I offer something to ease reflection of the heavens?”
Glen had no idea where she was going with this and he was already feeling a little weird. Mesi reminded him of Sen in her manners. It was as painful as it was enticing. His eyes dropped at her right hand resting open over her thinly covered knee. A small lacquered box in it with silver engraved details at the lid. Mesi-Nasar used the long manicured nail on her index finger to swing the small lid open to reveal the box’s contents.
“Where did ye get that?” Glen croaked.
“I know how to make cubes since I was six,” Mesi-Nasar replied in that sensual Cofol accent. “And recognize those in need of it. This is dried up Redleaf in cubes from Nasar,” she explained. “I could crash it for you if you have a pipe or I could use my own if Lord Garth isn’t offended.”
“I have a pipe,” Glen said hoarsely, the conversation going down some weird paths in his mind and reached for his satchel. “I’ll do it myself.”
Mesi-Nasar nodded, a smile forming on her mouth behind the sheer veil. “I’ve made this myself.”
“How do you keep the shape?” Glen asked crashing a small cube with a thumb inside his pipe.
“You put it in your mouth,” she replied and got up, pausing to clean her legs from the sand. “Coat the right amount with saliva under your tongue and work it back and forth until it’s malleable like soft clay. It’s a slow deliberate process.”
Good fucking grief woman! He thought the ‘machinery’ using her words as fuel to create some wild scenes. Highly inappropriate given the company.
“Thank you,” Glen croaked stopping her abruptly. “I appreciate yer attention to detail. I’m sure it’s a lovely blend Lady Nasar.”
“My husband needs his friends to stay loyal Lord Garth at times like these,” Mesi-Nasar replied. “I’m committed to offer needed relief in any way I can and to ease their worries.”
“We’re thoroughly eased from our worries and elated for the gift,” Glen assured her and lit his pipe with shaking hands. “Damn,” he coughed seeing her walking away slowly towards Phon’s gigantic tent with Foreal shadowing her.
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“That is an expensive pair of…” a bandaged scarred man wearing a slaver’s armour commented pointing at the small-bodied female disappearing inside the tent. He was standing a meter behind their fire and spotting Glen’s head turning his way, he paused unsure.
“Finish yer thought,” Glen urged him solemnly blowing smoke out of his nostrils.
“Eh,” the man had a wound starting under his left eye that had destroyed the pupil and part of his eyebrow. It was healing but the eye had turned milky. “I have missed your presence milord. Too much to drink.”
“You don’t sound drunk.”
“I’ve a good constitution, but it takes training milord and a bit of acting to conceal it.”
“Are you a comedian?” Glen asked eyeing him. He remembered Bohor from Goras and wasn’t fond of him or slavers in general but Sen and her brother had grown up with these people.
“Many have suggested it,” the man admitted humbly. “Why, it appears real talent is impossible to hide milord.”
“You didn’t finish yer sentence from earlier. For a drunk pretending he’s not, ye are rather sneaky with words. It breaks the act.”
“Eh, just admiring a fantastic pair of gold anklets milord. I appreciate jewelry on a woman,” the slaver said quickly. A lie but a decent one given his inebriated condition. Now if the condition was a lie as well then the man had a career in the theater beckoning for him. “Or a man. I’m not bigoted,” the ‘comedian’ added.
“Ha-ha,” Glen chuckled, the drug helping him relax a bit. “You’re a plaguing slaver mate. Isn’t it part of the job requirement?”
“Retired,” the man replied readily and smiled. “You’re the old man with the wyvern.”
Glen sobered up and lodged the edge of the lit pipe at the corner of his mouth.
“I overstepped,” the slaver said. “It is… a fascinating topic.”
So you knew I was sitting here.
“It was a risky approach,” Glen warned him.
“I can read people milord.”
“Uhm.”
“Can I offer my services?”
“You could.”
“I was thinking of writing about the King beyond the Pale Mountains.”
“Mmm.”
The slaver smacked his lips and stared at the fire. “A play.”
“What would it be about?” Glen asked inhaling smoke slowly. The blend exquisite.
“Your adventures milord. That’s an incredible story I’m sure.”
“It is,” Glen replied and exhaled managing to make one of Flix’s circles dance away from his face. “I have people working on that.”
“Could I help or offer different perspective?”
Glen thought about it for a brief moment in silence. Then the Lord of Morn Taras replied curtly and monosyllabic much as he habitually did.
“No.”
He could have told the slaver to fuck off, but Glen was taking strides to remain diplomatic in this trip.
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Glen slept for a couple of hours in Phon’s tent, the many pillows on his mattress bothering him until he tossed everything away and got some shuteye in his armour. He woke up before dawn to find Phon covered with a soft blanket and watching the desert in contemplating silence.
He approached him taking a place by the extinguished campfire.
“Was it painful?” Phon-Iv asked him after a long moment.
Glen grimaced and rubbed his face with both hands to clear some of the drowsiness away. The aftereffects of good redleaf lingering.
“Some things she kept for herself Phon,” he finally said.
“Bohor told me she could have pulled through.”
“If there was anything… I would have done it twice over,” Glen retorted and licked his dry lips.
It was a bitter truth this.
Unpleasant.
“I wanted to blame you,” Phon admitted. “But she never once gave me a hint that you were responsible. So I have to respect that. Sen-Iv was certain you’ll help the Three Sisters in the end.”
“No throne is without dangers,” Glen grunted hoarsely. “Especially this.”
“I understand.”
“No you don’t,” Glen retorted and then took a deep breath to calm himself down. The caravan was slowly waking up. Some of the returning night patrols seemingly excited about something.
“I wish to see Wetull. Meet a Zilan,” Phon said raspingly changing the subject. “How are they?”
“Absolutely fascinating,” Glen replied truthfully his eyes scanning the desert and its dunes to the west. A long line of lights could be seen approaching. “But less great than they believe they are.”
“Are they…?” Phon paused sensing his words were insensitive and Glen eyed him out of the corner of his eye.
“Stick to yer wife. She’s an equally fascinating soul,” he cautioned him. “Leave Zilans out of yer thoughts Phon-Iv. They are trouble.”
Phon stood back surprised. “You’ve grown Glen and I don’t mean physically. Though you’ve done plenty of that.”
“Wasn’t my intention. There’s another caravan approaching.”
“I know,” Phon replied. “It comes from Nasar but I think they are friendly.”
“How can you tell?” Glen asked unsure.
“It’s the desert,” Phon-Iv replied evenly. “Night patrols can see and hear very far,” he added revealing to Glen why he had been up so early.
“We’ll find a way to stop this calamity from hurting more people. It would never touch yer city,” Glen reassured him and grabbed his shoulder. “One way or another we’ll fix this my friend.”
Glen would use the sledgehammer again if it came down it.
That insane freak Gimoss had taught him that a brutal resolution while distasteful, is nonetheless still a solution.
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