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Arguen Garth
Hardir O’ Fardor
Lord of Morn Taras
Monarch of Wetull
King beyond the Pale Mountains
Aniculo Rokae
Bunch of Camels
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Part A
-A fool that wears a turban…-
-
‘Lunde Susu-lima’ 3400 IC
-alt. of Sulime (Third). The Cofol-imperial phrase meaning ‘Windy Third Month’.
The border zone between the narrow coastal steppe and the western edge of the Dry Sea.
Eight kilometers after the turn towards the famed Zelka Gulf seaside road and its gem-colored sandy beaches. Seventy kilometers from Lai Zel-ka to the north and 120 Kilometers from Nagar Bazaar directly south. (The month of the New Calendar Tertius of 194)
This parch piece of land was known as the westernmost ‘Desert Caravan Routes’.
-
> A richly-tanned adventurous-looking Arguen Garth Aniculo stepped over the peak of the small dune and paused there briefly, hands on his waist and a determined look on his face. His long shadow cascading down the golden slope as the desert sun shined its light behind him. Well-worn cavalry boots half-sunk in soft sand and handsome heroic face partially hidden under a head dress a local merchant had gifted him and he had reluctantly accepted. One could surely imagine and hear an epic theme playing in the background, carried by the soft breeze. The Monarch’s amber-colored eyes stayed on the small procession of faithful slaves carrying the bulky custom saddle Bar-El Kaba’s workers had put together working hard during the large caravan’s stops. The heavy load easily handled by the eager servants.
-
They are going to drop the whole fucking thing, a snarling Glen thought.
“You’re angling too much!” A Cofol protested to his friends.
“Hey-Ho! Give me some more lift!”
Even so the six beefy men came over the dune and rolled towards the Onyx Wyvern resting under the strong desert sun. The sprawled Uvrycres opened a rubicund dragon eye, nictitating membrane eyelid closing protectively over it and gazed at the approaching group carrying their load.
“Steady there!” Their leader yelled. “Keep the other side level Tobar!”
It’s too narrow on the neck, the wyvern warned him.
No, it isn’t, he retorted.
A fool that wears a turban is naught—
Argh! Glen cut him off not wanting to hear it and went after them with a face-splitting grimace. He slid down the sandy slope and walked as fast as he could towards the small group of Cofol slaves.
Which wasn’t fast at all.
“Secure that rope! Just yank at it harder!” Their leader yelled and the men pulled hard to stabilize the wooden saddle they had lifted up there after placing a fine red cover over Uvrycres scaly nape. It was made out of two expensive blankets sewn together.
“You need to fasten the leather straps!” The arriving heavy-breathing Glen barked and went to fix the mess himself. He heaved to get more give from the trapped strap and then put a boot on Uvrycres sides for purchase.
Want me to get up?
“Stay. Fucking. Put!” Glen growled, sweating profoundly and veins popping out on his neck.
“Use a piece of rope to connect them my Lord,” a Cofol told him and a groaning Glen let go of the straps. He stepped back on shaky legs.
“Will it hold?” He asked unsure.
“Strong rope this. Very sturdy,” the Cofol replied and stooped to make the connection himself.
It won’t hah-hah! The wyvern assured him. You’ll die screaming!
It was this kind of humor that had kept Glen annoyed since morning.
“Maybe loop it around the neck another time?” A concerned Glen probed.
Are you trying…? The wyvern protested and growled menacingly. It feels like a noose!
“Loop the rope another time Tobar!” Their leader barked. “Pull it tight! ARGGH!”
The last words a squeal as the wyvern had used its long tail –and a bit of magic- to hurl him twenty meters away, back near the top of the sand dune. Glen and the others watched in stunned silence the screaming leader’s brief flight and the eventual harsh landing with a mutual flinch. Thankfully the soft desert sands saved the man from the worst.
“Good gods!” a Cofol commented hearing the leader’s pained yelps as the man rolled injured down the slope again. “Think he broke his arm?”
“That’s a leg, the arm is stuck in the sands,” another corrected him. “See how the blood leaves a red line behind?”
Well then.
“Bah,” Glen cut them off dismissively. “I had way worse injuries brushed off easily. This is really nothing to worry about.”
When? Uvrycres asked.
Fuck off! Glen snapped.
Want me to fly away now?
Glen clenched his jaw tightly, teeth grinding together in a comic snarl.
Then he puffed out exasperated.
No, he yielded coyly.
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Glen returned near the caravan tents an hour later, a bandaged, heavily-injured and unresponsive slave leader carried back on a mule. The aged merchants Ibn-Sin Nagar and Bar-El Kaba had come out of their shaded porches to greet them. A younger fancy dressed Cofol sprinted after the two desert merchants and their men just as Glen’s entourage arrived.
“Lord Monarch! We heard the screams,” Bar-El Kaba said genuflecting smartly with Ibn-Sin Nagar bowing deeply at the climbing down from his horse turbaned Glen.
“Work accident,” Glen explained and recoiled when the younger Cofol leaped in front of the two merchants to reach him. The face vaguely familiar.
“Your elegance,” the young man exclaimed cordially which earned him no points as a miffed Glen physically shoved him away before he could finish. “Apologies!” The Cofol croaked twirling about to find his footing. “I’ll wait my turn of course. Dear Ibn that’ll be you I think.”
Ibn-Sin Nagar cleared his throat with a glance at the returning work slaves.
“The saddle was a success?”
“Not afore we try it for real,” Glen retorted and accepted a flask of water from a fully-covered but thinly robed slave girl with expressive coal-painted light-brown eyes.
Hello there you.
“When the Lord says ‘we try it’…” Ibn-Sin started slowly whilst Glen glugged down the flask’s contents thirsty as a man just out of the desert. He glanced at the desolate terrain about them.
Yep. It checks out.
“I’ll try it was my meaning,” he elucidated for the worrying merchant and returned the flask to the prostrated slave girl. The twin round mounts of her arse-cheeks discernable under the yellowish robes given her lithely assumed posture.
“Afrah-Sin is my youngest unmarried daughter,” Ibn-Sin said. Ah. Got to be careful here. Done this dance once before. Great as it was, let us avoid the sad topic. “She’s not supposed to be out of her tent,” the man added.
“Let the girl breathe,” a stern Glen scolded him managing to recover rapidly and the aged merchant bowed his head.
“Of course, oh great Monarch,” he replied respectfully adding in a stricter tone looking at his pretty daughter. “But that is enough breathing Afrah.” She wore a headscarf and that sheer black veil hid her Cofol face but Glen had learned what to look for under it to spot ‘a doe from a donkey’ by now.
“A higher camel-type saddle incorporating the wyvern’s bony knobs seemed the correct idea my Lord,” Bar-El Kaba said next breaking the awkward moment.
“Horns,” Glen managed a grunt at the interruption.
“Of course. I stand corrected,” Bar-El agreed respectfully. “I’ll whip a slave thirty times to satisfy your grace.”
“Don’t,” Glen cautioned him. “Now, I…” he paused as the young man had sprouted forward again with his arms open as if to hug him.
“Brother Garth,” the Cofol said grinning and Glen blinked in utter bewilderment. “Let’s embrace at this opportune moment!”
How about we don’t?
“You take one more step I’m punching ye in the throat. Might even get a knee on the mouth next,” Glen hissed warningly and the man blinked afore quickly recovering.
“Behold the Sopat humor gentlemen!” He declared at the skeptically watching the scene older merchants. “Embraced by the King himself! Never cast a sour gaze upon Don-Iv again.”
Ah, yes. Eh, god damn it, Glen thought sourly. When did this fucker arrive?
Don turned to face him. “Great Garth, we had dinner together naught a month back at the Twelve Spires.”
Glen looked askance, a grimace of disbelief marring his face.
“Phon had the whole family present in your honor?” Don helped with a nervous smile.
“Ah. Well, you made it sound like we went on a date for a moment there,” Glen said through his manically clenched teeth.
“I was sitting across from you, next to Phon’s new wife. Between her actually and lovely Hiba-Sin Nagar,” he glanced at the closely watching him Ibn-Sin Nagar. The woman was his older daughter. “We shared a pipe?”
“I’m pretty sure we didn’t,” Glen cut him off. “And I’ve a notoriously poor eye vision after a certain hour.”
“It was early noon,” Don elucidated and Glen eyed the blinding sun over their heads with a scowl.
“Exactly,” he retorted and went to walk away.
Don stopped him stepping in his path. “I rushed here upon learning you’ll travel with the caravan and not the fleet…” he explained and Glen raised an index finger to stop him. He then reached with his right arm, grabbed Don’s shoulder and pushed him out of his way.
He then resumed his walking.
“Hah-hah,” Don played it down and tried again. “As I was saying, this is an opportune time,” he said hastening after him. Glen gave up trying to get away and stopped, the large crowd following the Monarch coming to an abrupt halt alongside them.
“What’s opportune about it?” Glen asked mostly to get rid of him.
“We share a passion for chance as I recall?” Don grinned toothily. Glen noticed he’d more crayon on his lips than Ibn-Sin’s daughter and as much makeup around his eyes. Under a certain angle he looked like his sister sans the eyes and the figure.
Which was nigh disturbing a thought.
“I respect Luthos,” Glen grunted reluctantly and the merchants nodded at his words with a couple of scribes writing down furiously. He glanced at Hesam and Samak the two slave-guards that had followed after the caravan when it became obvious Glen would take flight over land and not over Fat Libby and Captain Archibald Tidus. He’d opted for that route as it was easier to land on flat terrain than on a sailing ship, although Uvrycres assured him he could do it with ‘minimum casualties’.
“Get their scrolls,” Glen ordered and Hesam moved swiftly to confiscate the parchments from the panicked scribes.
“My Lord,” Bar-El Kaba protested civilly with Ibn-Sin, the more prominent of the two merchants, watching the exchange thoughtfully. “The caravan details its journey.”
“The journey.” Glen replied looking at the small crowd. “The Monarch’s words are written down by capable men.”
“As in faithful your grace?” Ibn-Sin asked.
“Sure,” Glen replied scrunching his nose although that wasn’t exactly what he was going for.
“There it is then,” Don agreed after clearing his throat. “Problem solved. Now…”
Glen stopped him raising a hand, palm open.
“I thought ye finished.”
“Ehm, I have a little bit more to add?”
“Go ahead,” Glen hissed and spotted another scribe writing down the exchange.
“My son’s slave,” Ibn-Sin explained seeing his stare. “Naram-Sin Nagar never stopped serving the empire great Monarch.”
“How old is he?” Glen asked a little confused.
“He lives in his books my Lord. Lived perhaps is the better word. He’s now serving with your Phalanx and your Viceroy,” Ibn-Sin replied with a smirk and seeing that Glen had furrowed his grey brows unsure, he added quickly. “As a scribe and not a Hoplite.”
Right. With that out of the way…
“Garth I haven’t had the time to finish,” Don protested.
“Yes, bothersome brother in law?” Glen yielded semi-politely.
“As I was saying, given Phon’s inability to fully present the local culture,” Don started and Glen almost immediately dosed off on his feet from utter boredom. “It has fallen upon me to give proper demonstration. That is if Ibn-Sin would allow the men to race again?”
Glen blinked waking up a bit from his stupor. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and turned to stare at the thoughtful merchant lord.
“Very few bets have been put forth Sopat,” the merchant stated switching his tone.
“I brought my camel,” Don-Iv countered. “And a heavy purse.”
“Bar-El?” Ibn-Sin queried. “You’ll set those spare camels up for it?”
“Ten that’s it,” Bar-El replied gruffly. “But you have no extra camels to spare Ibn-Sin Nagar.”
“I have Afrah,” the merchant replied. “She’s worth a hundred at least.”
“Come on old man.” Bar-El protested. “You don’t believe that! Ten with their loads.”
“I do as a matter of fact. Twenty is the lowest I’ll go.”
“That’s right,” Don-Iv agreed and Glen frowned watching the exchange.
“You can have no more dowry from me,” Ibn-Sin admonished him.
“I was given the older daughter…” the old merchant eyed him soberly and Don groaned in frustration. “…I accept partial responsibility given my state at the time, but I was tricked Nagar!”
“A daughter you asked for,” the old merchant replied pitilessly. “A daughter you received in the deal and a score of camels.”
“I was angling for the other,” Don admitted pensively.
“It was dark Don-Iv,” Ibn replied with a shrug of his shoulders. “You went after the wrong girl and got caught like a thief visiting the latrine on his way out. You should have objected or been more truthful about it?”
Hah-hah, Glen thought with a leer at Don’s frustrated groan.
“Fine she can be the first choice.” Bar-El intervened evenly. “What about the second place, assuming the camels come third?” He asked his colleague.
“Gold Dinars will suffice. A part for me, the rest for the winners.”
“First place can just take the girl?” Don-Iv asked through his teeth.
“You’ll never win. Your camel is poorly trained for the road,” Nagar retorted. “But you have yourself a bet Sopat.”
Hmm.
“So what are the prizes here exactly?” Glen asked a little confused. “The winner gets your daughter and a dowry, I presume. The second place takes the pile of gold and the third gets what? Some plaguing camels? Whatever’s left given to the others?”
“Good plaguing camels,” Bar-El said inflexibly afore adding. “Oh, ye great Monarch. Unless the winner looks to void first prize for an assortment of the lesser ones.”
Aha.
“What’s the distance?” Glen asked solemnly.
“The first rider reaching the Bazaar, ties his scarf on the spears at the gates.” Don-Iv explained.
“How many spears?”
“Three. They are right above the gates, but one could reach them if he stands on the camel’s saddle.”
Aha.
“That’s a long race.”
“It is,” Don agreed with a thrilled grin. “But also very exciting Garth.”
“How would you know? You’ll just learn about it at the end of the journey.” Glen retorted a little miffed with the young Sopat scion for getting him involved in this… but he could also see the appeal. Still this is clearly Don’s fault.
“Indeed. Very exciting,” Don agreed sheepishly.
Glen snorted. “Ever won the darn thing?”
“Eventually I will. But Ibn’s riders hold advantage since they work the road the rest of us race.”
A thoughtful Glen glanced at the silent Hesam. The slaver/slave guard and caravan hand shrugged his shoulders.
“How do I enter the competition?” Glen asked the merchants pursing his mouth.
“You need camels and riders, everlasting Monarch.” Bar-El Kaba replied respectfully. “And cover the entry fee either in laden animals, gold or slaves.”
“Laden animals?”
“The prize camels come with their load,” Don explained. “Whatever that may be. We get to pick them without knowing beforehand.”
Mmm.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“Pick any camel?”
“Any of the good bunch on offer my Lord. A score if getting in the three top spots, one if you don’t but finish the race.” Bar-El Kaba elucidated.
“What do yours carry?”
“Bits and bobs. Silk, jewels and dates,” the merchant replied vaguely.
“Hesam?” Glen asked the slave-guard.
“I’ll need a fresh camel my lord,” the hardened man said. “But I know the road.”
“How much to rent a good one?” Glen asked the merchants and waited patiently for the fake price-increasing expressions of discomfort to subside.
Another thing he learned in the Peninsula.
“Difficult to find at such a short notice,” Ibn-Sin said with a weary sigh.
“What is a good animal really?” Bar-El asked the crowd sadly.
“A young strong one?” Glen offered and the merchants recoiled as if stabbed in the kidneys.
“What if it gets lame on the road?” Nagar asked with a frown of concern.
“Pfft. ‘Road’ is just a euphemism really,” Kaba explained. “Sharp rocks and sneaky boulders amidst the treacherous sands. Sudden winds and sandstorms that can turn an animal blind.”
Glen stared at his dirty boots for a moment.
“How much to buy one?” He grunted.
“Eh, I wouldn’t charge the Monarch much but I just can’t spare one,” Bar-El replied faking devastation.
“Twenty gold Dinars,” Ibn-Sin said taking another route.
Luthos stepped on his fucking balls! An enraged Glen thought.
“Five,” Glen blurted out not believing he’d got swindled like that.
“Ten,” Ibn Sin countered quickly.
Turds you shall find in your bowl.
Glen eyed him frostily to get his message across.
“Five and half a dozen silvers. I’ll eat half the cost,” Bar-El offered reading Glen’s expression.
“Show me yer camel,” Glen told the leering Kaba and Ibn-Sin raised his thick greying black brows. “How much is the entry fee?” He asked them still unsure whether they had played him.
“A score of Camels valued ten gold Dinars per, a nice maiden,” Glen scoffed at the term given her shenanigans. “And a coin sum of two hundred gold Dinars,” Ibn-Sin replied readily. “Each prize is the same Monarch, but the winner gets to choose first what he values the most. The Lords obviously pay the bulk of it.”
And while an eloquent way of giving out prizes a scowling Glen was nowhere near pleased with his answer. So Don-Iv footed two thirds of the bill and he was to get an equal part of the prize in the case Glen’s animal and rider won.
-
> Heralded Garth Aniculo took his time upon landing near the Ane Nagar caravan to tend to his noble Wyvern and intrigued at the talk of a ‘race to the Bazaar’s gates’ asked to enter the competition himself. While the Monarch was a widower and one of the prizes was a lovely desert maiden the prudent magnanimous leader probably took part in the affair for the pure sport of it. Despite fanciful rumors to the contrary, this was a camel race and no wild goats were involved.
-
“Listen up you two,” a committed Glen growled minutes afore the race started. The desert road lost in the distance, mingling with the desolate horizon. “I got forty pieces of coin poured into this shite. We get in the prizes whatever it takes to make some of it back. Samak you’ll bring up the supplies and help out Hesam. Now, they have larger groups but at the end we just want our camel coming first right?”
“Lord Don badly wants to win great Monarch.”
“I don’t give an old shit about Don,” Glen admitted freely given that Don was out of earshot. He would have probably been as candid had Don been near.
Don can take an insult and telling it like it is, is in my character.
While Don was flexible like that, nothing was further from the truth as far as the latter part went. Glen could be truthful in the rare occasion but only if it suited him.
“Seems sturdy and fit,” Hesam said and the tall ugly camel sucked mucus out of its clogged nostrils, gurgled it next once in its long throat like a drunken man, afore spitting the disgusting material towards Glen. The alert Monarch ducked nimbly out of the way and pointed a warning finger at the grunting incoherently animal.
Ugh-ugh.
Grugl.
Ulgh.
“Fuck’s sake,” the turbaned Glen griped and the camel pulled its upper black lip back to show a row of massive square teeth, mostly yellow with some grey plague formed near the molars, then made a wet fart-like noise.
Hesam grimaced and stepped away from the camel’s rear.
Scratch that, the fucker actually farted!
Might even launched a turd in the blasted process!
“If the weather holds milord,” the unfazed Samak said giving the camel a corn to chew on. “Then we’ll be there in three days.”
“What if it doesn’t? How will we know?”
“The sky turns a golden hue and rather dark,” Samak explained and Glen’s brows met in the middle of his forehead. “So your grace will know.”
Fantastic!
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Twenty minutes later the twelve (with six companions) riders had disappeared into the horizon. Don who had started drinking early approached the smoking his pipe Glen and stood next to him.
“That’s it. Let’s hope no shenanigans occur,” the Sopat scion commented sipping at his spicy wine. Glen blew smoke out of his nostrils and ogled his way.
“What shenanigans?” He grunted.
“Well, few finish the race usually this time of year.”
“What happens to the rest of them?”
Don glanced at the sky. “If it is winter time everything is straightforward, but when the weather turns hotter the desert breathes as they say.”
Glen blinked.
“They get…”
“Lost. Nothing nefarious. But one can’t survive in the desert for long.”
“They don’t look for them?”
“Well, they are compensated. Each rider gets a camel out of this. Hesam got paid in advance from Phon,” Don explained and burped. “Damn this is pretty strong. Might bring indigestion.”
“How does a dead man enjoy his camel?” Glen asked.
“The men have family my lord and it is not a hundred percent certainty that they’ll be unlucky. As for looking for them. Well, the caravan doesn’t stop.”
“What’s the deal with the camels?”
“Well, Nagar had trouble bringing as many as he wanted in Lai Zel-Ka, so Kaba will corner the market for the summer,” Don explained. “We don’t care since we have our spot bought but they rent their places in the market well in advance. An empty stand burns through the pockets of the man renting it and the clients move on to the next. If he opts to leave it another might claim it for the next season and the spot lost for a very long time.”
“So Nagar wants to take the camels from Kaba? And he’ll use his daughter to do it?”
“It’s a good deal. Now if Kaba wins then he’ll go for the gold for sure and something else to balance the scales. So in a sense a second place after him is also good as he’ll probably look to save as many camels as he can.”
“Gold in pocket or merchandise,” Glen said thoughtfully. “What does the third guy get?”
“Whatever is left? Probably a bunch of camels.”
“Anything good on them?” Glen grunted narrowing his eyes.
“Not if Kaba picks first Garth. He knows where the good stuff are on his animals. The caravan will move in the morning again,” Don added with a sigh finishing off his goblet. “Might as well check on the products. Gems tend to get lost during the night.”
A silent Glen slotted the pipe in his mouth and sucked deeply, his eyes watering. The next moment the aromatic fumes hid his livid expression.
Not ten minutes later the late afternoon sky took on a golden hue, Luthos probably having a bloody field day with this malarkey and darkness came sooner in the desert.
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Part B
-Is naught but a turbaned fool…-
Uvrycres perked up hearing Glen’s horse approach. The wyvern was resting at the shade of a big dune about half a kilometer from the caravan camp’s tents since its presence spooked the many animals.
“We’re leaving,” Glen informed him walking briskly, feet raising a ton of sand as he neared the sleeping monster still wearing the untested custom saddle.
Better wait for the morning. There is a sandstorm gathering.
“We can’t,” Glen explained and climbed nimbly on its neck using the tied ropes. He parked his arse on the soft cautions of the seat with a surprised sigh. “That’s actually pretty good!”
What’s the darn hurry?
“We are about to lose a race.”
What race? Who would race against…? To where?
“Nagar Bazaar. A big fucking wager,” Glen replied and reached forward to find the reins.
They actually agreed to race you to the town? Hah-hah!
“It’s a camel race.”
You actually agreed to use camels? Buah-hah-hah! Uvrycres guffawed even more and stood up shaking its elongated scaly body.
“Don’t even think about it!” Glen roared. “Let me grab the reins—”
What reins? It’s a rope!
“Eh, just go for a smooth take off,” a grimacing Glen grunted.
Tie it to yer arm.
“Why?”
This thing won’t hold.
“Right. Alright then,” Glen agreed just as the wyvern took two leaping steps, large leathery black and red wings extending more than five meters out and flapping slowly up and down.
Once.
Twice.
Wait… Glen thought alarmed.
But by then they were airborne.
“WHAT FUCKING THING?”
-
“THE SADDLE IS FINE!” The turbaned Glen roared, cheeks and scarf ballooning, the latter pulling his head back hard as they flew high over the desert sands.
Sure, but the short rope will snap soon.
“What?” Glen cried out as they leveled and he tried to look down to spot the connections, the end of the long rope looped on his arm going around the wyvern’s neck.
The other rope. Hey look! There are your riders!
“Where?” A troubled Glen asked trying to see in the semi-darkness, whilst the strong wind brought sand in his eyes and face. “SHITE! GAAH!”
Close yer mouth. It’s gonna be tight!
A scowling Glen raised the white scarf over his mouth and then squinted both eyes tight which impaired his vision even more. Catastrophically that is. I need some type of protective goggles for this bullshit, he griped while the wyvern dived inside the raging sandstorm.
Ah, Uvrycres said. There! Some already stopped, but a couple of fools still go at it. Hah-hah!
“Our guys?” Glen asked as he couldn’t see anything but shades of red, brown and black. The material in his teeth crunchy and tasting salty.
EEEERRRR?
“Don’t do that!”
Hesam is second.
That was better than he expected. “Who is in the lead?”
Don’s camel.
“How do you know that’s his camel?” Glen roared, but it turned into a drawn out screech as they abruptly catapulted higher over the dust clouds. “FUCK ARE YE DOING?”
I’m going to stop the storm.
“Ah. Good then.” A dizzy Glen grunted trying to keep his body on the saddle. His ears were ringing like Rida’s bells. “Wait. How are you going to do that?”
The adroit wyvern turned its black horned head around completely and winked with its left eye, the side of its mouth raising into a half-smirk.
He’d learned that from Glen.
“Answer my fucking question!” A less calm Glen snapped and raised his left gloved fist threateningly into an empty gesture.
I’ll just blast it away, the wyvern replied chuckling.
And it did.
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Well, that was… fucking crazy for the most part, but on par with what you’ve done recently, Glen thought after the fierce tornado had swept the sandstorm away into the distance in less than a minute. It had scrapped some of the desert’s surface as well, the men that had stopped to protect themselves blown several meters away along with their camels, but other than that everything appeared much clearer now, a shaking from the ordeal Glen concluded.
Other than the light still dimming with the sun trying to hide to the west.
“That’s a camel! Hesam!” He roared spotting the small rider hoofing it hard south to gain on his opponents that had scattered and were now slowly trying to recover their buried in the sands mounts.
Or save himself but still going the right way.
That’s Don’s camel weak-eyed fool, the wyvern scoffed.
“There’s no way to tell—”
The blanket has a Capricorn sewn in gold?
“FUUCK!” Glen bellowed a curse tipping back his turbaned head hard. Almost toppled himself backwards and off of the saddle but for the rope yanking his arm to stop him. “Allgods darn it! Where is that idiot Hesam?”
Then he spotted him not a hundred meters behind the leading rider and gaining.
“Go after them!” A suddenly enthusiastic Glen roared stooping dangerously to watch the race as they flew over the racing duo. “Lower! Ha-ha! We are still in it baby!”
Huh? Uvrycres snorted at the endearment but dived closer, banging left to approach at an arc the leading rider.
The large wyvern flew a hundred meters over the two riders, slowing down continuously and losing height with every passing second.
Ninety.
Eighty.
“What’s that?” The stooped over its left side Glen yelled pointing with his free arm. Something had catapulted down a sandy slope, moving with bursts of uncanny speed and before Glen could figure out what the dark small figure was, the animal of sorts had stricken the leading camel.
“Whoa!” Glen grunted seeing the leaping more than running thing bouncing off of the larger animal after causing considerable damage to its front right leg. The hairy limb folded the wrong way, the screaming camel lost its footing, large neck plunging for the ground and snapping violently. Don’s jockey flung over the saddle with arms and legs flaying manically, before stopping ten meters away.
“Luthos stepped on a fresh turd!” Glen cursed trying to figure out what the mysterious creature was. “Is that a rare desert puma? With horns?”
What manner of horrors live here?
He shivered at the thought.
That’s a wild goat, Uvrycres replied raspingly. Very dangerous territorial creatures.
Flesh eaters.
Wah? Glen thought incoherently.
But his attention was drawn at the small goat again that charged at Hesam this time. The slaver turned to avoid it in the open terrain, but the Camel panicked and threw him from the saddle. It then proceeded to run wildly east and towards the deep desert.
Ah, Uvrycres commented numbly. Hesam found a spot where the sand had cleared down to bedrock. Them basalt rocks did a number on him.
Glen’s attention was on the galloping away camel.
The wrong way.
“We need to retrieve that blasted camel!” He roared at the top of his lungs. “Go after that stupid hunchback for fuck’s sake!”
The Wyvern responded immediately. It banged violently east, gaining speed rapidly whilst turning, a wing pointing towards the ground and the momentum shoved the snarling Glen back and to the side.
The rope slipped from his arm, tearing away his right sleeve and the next moment the Monarch was airborne, the whole custom apparatus dislodged from the turning wyvern’s back.
-
“AAAARGGRH!” A plummeting for the ground Glen screamed maniacally, kicking with both legs to get away from the heavy saddle. He tumbled in the air, feet over head, the wind blasting from all sides and the sky becoming the darkening desert -now fast approaching.
Everything growing bigger.
That’s such a fucking rotten bullshit! Luthos you piece of shite. FUCKING CRIMINAL! A wildly grimacing Glen cursed and used the large turban to slow down his drop holding it with both arms over his head. Unsuccessfully. The fabric ballooned and for a moment Glen did slow down his drop but then it got torn in two pieces, ending his brief relief.
“EARRRGGHAH!” Glen groaned and reached for the dagger in his panic but afore he could use it –it must be noted here that Glen had no idea whether a spell for soft landings existed or not- the wyvern’s massive scaly body materialized under him. Glen bounced off Uvrycres’ blanketed back mid-air and a moment later they both hit the ground just over the peak of a sand dune.
The Wyvern had reached under the screaming Monarch -diving very fast- with only about five meters left from the surface. Glen was flung off of the cursing Uvrycres, gathered both legs to his chest mid-air to turn the plunge into a controlled roll and hit the sand with enough momentum to get catapulted again towards the base of the slope, with the wyvern plunging down clumsily into a monstrous ball that tunneled at the sandy ground alongside him.
-
“Gah!” Glen coughed out a mouthful of bitter sand and shards of gravel rolling on the ground. One had lodged in a gap between his teeth –cracking one- and despite using his tongue, he just couldn’t dig it out. He tried to stand up but stepped on his sword that had come out of its sheath and landed on his arse again with an angry groan. Glen had a terrible pain starting at his left hip and knifing him in the groin but the latter was the dagger that had turned the wrong way.
Cursing he tried again to get up with the wyvern –in a similar mood- slowly unfurling four meters away, looking rattled and disheveled which is something one rarely witness on monsters of its size.
A fool that wears a turban, Uvrycres grunted with a guttural growl reciting his previous thesis, is naught but a turbaned fool!
“Fuck… ugh,” a grimacing Glen coughed trying to get up, heard something galloping towards him from behind and then someone kicked his hind-sides with an iron boot. The blow heaved him once more towards the base of the dune until he dived with his head into the sand. A half-blinded dizzy Glen got his head out of the sand, white hair turned a shade of dark covered in dirt, with more pouring down and then turned around wearing a murderous scowl on his face.
The small goat eyed him snobbishly, hit a hoof down and charged at him again. Glen dived out of the way but got nailed in the injured hip and got spun around, arms and legs pirouetting, until he planted the right hand down and somersaulted onto his feet again.
Sort of.
“Ouch. Fuck, leg turned numb,” Glen cursed limping away from the approaching creature. “Stay put you son of a goat!” He warned the goat. Eh. Never a more fitting warning had been hurled at an opponent but the goat in question moved just the same.
Just not in the manner the small creature might had envisioned.
A loud snap was heard followed by a squelching sound for starters.
Then a large piece of the goat was flung ten meters aside, with gleaming red entrails spilling out of its torn in half body and the other piece Uvrycres brought slowly near his cavernous mouth -still nailed on the stinger- with bloody pieces of flesh and guts spilling out of the shattered ribcage’s bones. The Wyvern took a large bite at the mauled goat, black glassy teeth crunching on the fresh corpse in silence.
“Eh,” a disgusted Glen groaned and tried to stand upright, sand still pouring down his face. “Where’s the fucking camel?”
Behind you.
Glen turned around and there the camel stood watching them with disapproving bulbous eyes under long eyelashes. About a hundred meters away another goat had appeared, this one probably the one that had attacked Hesam earlier. The black goat grimaced at the sight of Uvrycres eating its mate and then with a warning croaking guttural sound leaped out of sight.
“Right,” an ugly-grimacing in pain Glen decided and turned to eye the still staring annoyingly camel. “You are heading back that way,” he told the apparently female animal. He then glanced at the noisily chewing wyvern. “Help me out. I need a healing potion.”
Good luck finding it. The bags where on the saddle! Uvrycres grunted and hurled what was left of the killed goat away snapping its tail.
“We’ll walk there,” Glen hissed and took a tentative step forward. Paused immediately with a scowl and added in an irritated hoarse voice. “I’ll use the camel for a bit.”
Suit yourself, Uvrycres replied with a snort and brought his hind leg forward to clean an ear with a claw. Welp. I swallowed enough sand to make a glass saddle out of it!
Oh crap, it’s under the fucking scales!
> The illustrious Monarch saved a man named Hesam. He tied him on a camel named Nefertiti (or Titi as the young Princess used to call her) and guided the animal back to Nagar Bazaar riding on his wyvern. While the King finished the race second, with Bar-El Kaba winning first place and taking most of the gold and some of the best camels -Ibn-Sin Nagar was third, he opted to accept a meager number of camels as a prize. He could have taken a bride right then and there but allowed Afrah-Sin Nagar to return to her father’s embrace showing great strength of character. A Noble ruler with a noble heart indeed. The camels Arguen Garth brought to Wetull as gift for Princess Inis-Mir and some of their descendants can be seen today still roaming the Queen’s gardens.
> Age of the Onyx Wyvern
>
> Chapter II
>
> -Race to the Bazaar. Spring of 3400 IC-
>
> Naram-Sin Nagar (178-212 NC)
>
> Entered the Royal Library circa 208
-
Ah, what plaguing nonsense is this! Glen thought desperately trying to maintain a politician’s grin on his face, face muscles hurting and feeling a little dizzy from severe dehydration under the blinding desert sun. The crowd assembled to see the Monarch of Wetull visiting Nagar Bazaar still congregating from the now mostly abandoned market town near its northern gates numbering in the thousands.
He glanced at the miserable Don-Iv, the man was mourning not for the loss of his rider that had succumbed to his injuries but the missed opportunity to win the race after Glen had told him what happened.
“I need to get that fucking goat somehow,” a sullen Don murmured waving at the crowd. Ibn-Sin Nagar had emptied a wagon and created a sort of crude stand to give them some elevation. “Make a foot rug out of its skin.”
“Explain again,” Glen hissed not bothering himself with the Sopat scion’s mundane problems. “Why I turned down the girl?”
“Political reasons,” Don-Iv repeated his previous argument. “Optics. You need Lai Zel-Ka more than you need Nagar’s Bazaar.”
“Right,” Glen murmured, a nervous tick appearing on his right eye. “It also gives you the chance to try again.”
“I lost two bags of rubies with that camel,” Don-Iv explained with a grimace. “I had to give one to Ibn-Sin since these are the rules. Bastard picked the best of the bunch load-wise. Since I’m in the hole I paid the loss from my own pocket. I need to lay off gambling for a while. What a blasted disaster!”
“That’s a ‘you’ problem,” Glen retorted and smiled at a cheering local with a big nose under his long braided beard. “Fuck do I care? Phon should look into that by the way.”
“Did he tell you anything?” Don asked nervously sobering up.
Ah, family. Can’t pick them for sure.
“Friend, I’m unsatisfied with the prize,” Glen grunted out of the corner of his mouth returning to the previous topic. “How is a bunch of camels more useful to me than Ibn’s lissome daughter?”
He glanced at the old merchant standing on his other side at that but Ibn-Sin was happy with the turnout and enjoyed the limelight. Truth be told, most people had come to watch the wyvern flying over their heads with screams of joy and fear, because that’s what folk do these days with fewer paying attention at the group of Lords standing on the wagon. Few of thousands of course were a lot of eyeballs. The whole situation a little bit ridiculous but important for public relations.
It was a difficult job but somebody had to do it.
“You can’t take her without marrying her,” Don explained. “It would be rude and a bad look. Would you have made a Sovereign out of her Lord Garth?”
No.
But I wouldn’t mind a roll in the hay with her.
Neither would you apparently.
Glen thought about it some more but came to the same conclusion.
“I don’t need a Queen to rule,” he replied and breathed in deeply, a maddening rash formed at his collar impossible to reach without making a fool of himself. Darn sweat reached the nut sack for crying out loud! We’re dying here! “Or a random Cofol to replace your sister. It’s not how I operate on these matters,” he croaked with difficulty through clenched teeth.
That grin had turned into a vicious snarl and he could be saddled with a permanent face injury if this goes on for a while longer!
That blasted Rokae mask had just elevated its usefulness far as he was concerned.
Don-Iv blinked his painted orange eyes and turned to gaze at him unsure.
“What?” Glen growled a little peeved at the scrutiny and the crowd turned quiet seeing his expression.
Oh, that’s just great.
“Eh,” Don murmured and made a curtsy. “A noble ruler with a noble heart. Let the desert songs speak of it and the desert winds carry it throughout the whole Peninsula!” he added in a louder voice and the crowd cheered raucously at that.
“You completely lost my meaning,” a flushed Glen hissed out of the corner of his mouth.
“I know,” Don replied in the same manner, winking at a hollering female slave and then tossed one of his expensive rings at her causing a bit of a riot. Fool can’t help himself. “Even if you deny it I won’t believe you. You’ll use the throne to get what you want. We’re very much alike Lord Garth,” the Sopat scion added smartly and jumped from the wagon, which was a good thing for Glen was about to shove him down anyway.
While most of what Don said wasn’t that accurate this was mostly a matter of magnitude since Glen was way more cunning than that.