> 'Let me reiterate my point Lord Crow.
>
> Nothing in this realm stops the freights. Nothing.'
>
>
>
> -
>
>
> Director Shamil Al-Bagi of South Eplas Trading Company addressing Duke Alistair De Weer the summer of 214 NC during the ‘Grain Dispute’ incident.
>
>
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Arguen Garth
Hardir O’ Fardor
Lord of Morn Taras
Monarch of Wetull
King beyond the Pale Mountains
Aniculo Rokae
Attempt number two
Part I
-Through thick and thin-
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> The celebrated Monarch accepted his prize and traveled the desert road of Dry Sea’s westernmost shores to Ane-Nagar where he rested briefly. Ever mindful of the excitement the majestic Onyx Wyvern brought to the crowds coming to greet him, he didn’t stall and left soon with Hesam and Samak, flying low over the small group but veering deeper into the desert each day. It is unclear what the Monarch looked for into those barren lands as he caught up with the small caravan each night only to rest by the fire. Near the end of ‘Lunde Susu-Lima’ the caravan reached tiny Luzi Hokar port at Mist’s Cries Peninsula and waited for the Monarch there. The locals who were curious by the appearance of a caravan carrying no goods keeping a respectful distance.
>
>
>
>
>
> Age of the Onyx Wyvern
>
> Naram-Sin Nagar (178-212 NC)
>
> Circa 208
>
>
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image [https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0evV7dnO4jWRf6z0DZhlgciWyKkW25CfSIqSeOC_Zx6XB-dvBhgLer_x6OhOFU6JEYPYHrx0x07Zyvqe04AM1ricmS79t2GVg1AXSpXemzeqMy4uNOZkgGQhLFO-6pYr0RgbmxTqthdUBwjPpmo62_svTtZHk9TIrFn4nL9fhmjodWheM2be23m6aBYw/s1344/Uvrycres%20in%20ink%20smirking.jpg]
“There!” A disheveled richly-tanned wild-haired and beardy Glen boomed, bursting out of his hiding place spear in hand. Murder in his amber eyes. “Blast the fucker!”
The goat snapped its timeworn horned head his way and then glanced at the sky where the Wyvern had stopped descending rapidly, rubicund eyes flashing and jaws parted wide, to hover with its wings extended fifty meters over them. Long scaly neck swelling and changing color with glowing cracks appearing.
Glen sprinted three meters, boots thudding on the rock infested sands and then hurled the spear towards the distracted elusive goat with a mighty roar turned into a drawn out growl. He tumbled forward, arms flailing and scrapping at the ground, the spear flying with a scream and striking the boulder behind the animal that had jumped away.
Dodging everything.
Fast as a desert …thing with legs.
Eh.
“Gods darnit! Stay fuckin’ put!” Glen cursed irate using knees and elbows to bounce to his feet again and resume chasing the goat. Then he remembered Uvrycres. Glen’s face contorted in panic, eyes ogling comically and he dived behind the rock instead just as the torrent of fire liquefied everything half-a-dozen meters away from him.
The plan had looked way better that morning he decided, head ducked between his legs as the hot gases and pieces of burning rocks, sand or earth bombarded the standing limestone boulder Glen had found refuse behind. The rock cracked right the middle and the heat penetrated his armour so Glen rolled away into a hail of smoke and falling debris trying to locate with a backwards glance the ten meter high sand dune the goat had rushed up, not a moment earlier.
It wasn’t the best of actions.
Had to turn his sweaty face away from the soaring inferno immediately and cough up as the toxic fumes blasted his eyes almost blinding him. They did momentarily, both eyeballs tearing and swelling, so Glen started twisting about like a headless chicken, head stooped forward, opening and closing the eyelids in a rapid manner to clear them. When this didn’t work and amidst the chaos that had erupted from the liquefied smoking sands –Uvrycres’ blast had leveled the dune completely- Glen looked to find a piece of soft cloth in his worn-out satchel.
It took him a moment to find his footing and use the cloth, the ground swaying about him from all the twirling around like a circus danseuse.
But that did the trick, though it left him with fiercely red and swollen eyes that didn’t much complement his look or they sort of did, depending on what one looked for in a person.
Glen? The unseen in the black fumes that had covered this chunk of the desert Uvrycres asked apprehensively.
Probably thought he’d blasted the King of Wetull to smithereens as Glen was supposed to not engage the goat but only scare it in the open. Glen couldn’t resist the temptation to settle the score with the cursed animal. Not for Don-Iv -fuck him- but for Glen.
No one made a fool of him.
While a lot of people had over the years, Glen had decided to draw a line henceforth and turn a new page, open a fresh chapter where this kind of behavior wouldn’t be tolerated.
Oh shit, you’re dead, the wyvern murmured sadly.
“I’m fine Uvry,” Glen assured him after another fit of cough. “Did ye get him?”
I sort of covered a wider area?
What’s with not answering vital queries timely Glen?
Glen thoughtfully pulled at his maimed left ear with index and thumb finger, both ears ringing.
The eyes we covered already.
It was bad, the Wyvern added.
“You think it escaped?” Glen asked hoarsely again taking his time.
Only a god would.
You don’t say. “Do goats have one?”
All beasts have. It was an expression by the way. Where are you going?
“I can’t breathe,” Glen retorted and walked away from the blasted area. “Come down. I need water. Lots of it.”
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Glen washed his face thoroughly and then glanced at the searching the still fuming leveled dune wyvern about thirty metes away.
“Hey!” He yelled hoarsely. “You’ve seen the city right?”
What city?
“The port? By the sea?”
Ehm. Sure. Why?
Glen raised the flask over his head and poured the rest of their water down without answering. He tried to fix the mess of his white hair using a leather string to tie them back and away from his soaked face. Utilized some of the moisture next to brush his white beard down and after doing that smacked his lips, casting a wider look about them.
“Do you see any part of the goat?” He asked and at least twenty of those darn animals colored white and brown and not black like the one they were hunting, sprouted out from a mound of rocks. The came down jumping disturbingly on four legs but spotting the wyvern roaming the burning field they turned about and dashed away.
Raising a great ruckus with their cries.
Bleh
Blaah
BLEEH!
Glen opened his mouth to speak as well but closed it back down again seeing a goat herder with a long stick appearing amidst the fleeing goats. The aged Cofol, skin worn-out from sun exposure and cracked as much as wrinkled, eyed the wyvern busy sniffing at the smoking ground, sand turned to glass cracking as it walked on its clawed hind legs and then at the mouth-gaping Glen.
“Umm.” The local said surprisingly nonchalant at the spectacle and sat down on a flat rock. He reached for a wooden pipe in a hemp sack and lit it. The goat herder puffed the smoke out and then dug inside the laden old sack. He got a potato out, wiped at the skin some and took a bite out of it. Teeth crunching at the vegetable. Looking about them again curious, he located a brave female goat with swollen milky tits and tossed the rest of the potato to her.
Glen cleared his throat, remembering to close his mouth, still standing not five meters from the aloof newcomer. The Cofol looked at him, slotting the pipe in his mouth again.
“Reckoned the beast is friendly if you’re not spooked,” he told the bewildered Monarch.
“It isn’t.”
The Cofol nodded with his balding head and puffed smoke out.
“Yours?”
“One can only befriend creatures,” Glen retorted, finding his cultured self. “Not own them.”
His answer pleasing the goat herder.
“A wise man comes out of the desert,” he said and Glen chuckled despite still feeling a bit warry. “The fool’s bones stay behind.”
“Aren’t you scared?”
“Of you? Or the beast?”
“It’s a wyvern,” Glen hissed narrowing his eyes.
“Saw it flying over the hill. Shooting fire out of its mouth,” the goat-herder replied and stared at his lit pipe. “Reckoned nothing on legs can escape it. No point in running.”
“A goat did,” Glen replied sourly.
Probably.
Repeatedly.
The Cofol laughed at his expression. “I live with goats. Your wyvern didn’t chase one. Name’s Dudu.”
Glen rubbed a soaked glove on his face. “I’m Garth… what was it then?”
“Who knows? The desert is full of illusions and spirits,” Dudu replied with a chuckle.
“What’s so funny?”
“I’m thinking of the people in Luzi Hokar,” he replied still grinning, old teeth sporting the leftovers of the potato he’d chewed on earlier. “The desert came alive lately. Now I know the reason for it.”
“In what way?” Glen asked and approached the relaxed Cofol getting Flix’s fancy pipe out. Dudu pointed at a nearby flat rock, nested deep in the sand. Glen walked there and sat down, blinking his red-rimmed eyes at the sun.
“A champion of the arena and a man with a wyvern for a friend,” Dudu replied. “Aye. You don’t see this kind of crowd every day.”
“A gladiator was here?”
“Fought a goat like you,” Dudu replied with another puff of smoke whilst Glen lit the pipe after filling it with Redleaf. “A real one. Betty’s husband,” he added and pointed at the female goat chomping at the potato.
“Was a Cofol slave with him?”
“A Lorian girl and a boy,” Dudu replied.
“Where are they now?”
“Headed for Luzi Hokar. Looking for a ship. It’s about three weeks now. You missed them Garth,” Dudu said and pointed with his pipe. “You have more of that?”
“Yep.”
“Are you a rich man Garth? You have the air of one that is much more. A man that wields immense power needs not reveal it fully,” Dudu noted and Glen frowned unsure at the query but then nodded.
Dudu was right for the most part. This was the long and sort of it.
“Some days I am, others not so much,” he admitted hoarsely sensing no malice from the goat-herder and reached for his box packed with Redleaf cubes. “I can spare some. You gave me useful info.”
Dudu chuckled slapping a hand on his thigh pleased. “Aye. I knew it,” he decided mirthfully. “The desert came alive alright.”
-
> The story goes that a local boy, cheap turban flapping behind his head like a cape, dashed through the rock-littered dirt road screaming at the bystanders working at the small docks. The old mudbrick buildings short in height and unremarkable, probably appearing tiny from above. The boy gesturing wildly at the sky at those standing up to hear his crazy story. Shamil Al-Bagi, the boy in question, would go on to serve in ‘South Eplas Trading Company’ with fanaticism years later, but perhaps the idea had rooted in his head that late morning.
>
> That day the tales insist the Monarch visited briefly Luzi Hokar.
-
Glen climbed down from the saddle-less Uvrycres, the matter still unresolved after the debacle that had all but killed him the previous month, and walked towards the first buildings of the small port wearing the torn turban around his neck carelessly. He paused to eye the few locals that had gathered, with some watching from half-closed wooden windows and cracked doors, then continued towards the dock’s facilities.
The term used loosely.
Barely ten structures badly maintained, rather sparsely spread about and the rest of the infrastructure equally lackluster. Rain Minas had more going for it and it was a ruin. A dozen small fishing boats moored at the docks, the local abundant rocks used in the construction. Glen grimaced at the lukewarm welcome, as most locals either were not working this morning or had ended their shift early due to the heat.
The wyvern, the dagger corrected him with a hiss.
Ah.
Yeah.
This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Wow. Thanks for the fucking help. Shut up now!
“There’s no need for alarm!” Glen announced loudly walking towards a couple of Cofol workers still busy repairing a fishing net. The two locals got up and hoofed it as fast as they could away from him. Right. “The Wyvern is friendly!” Glen yelled with a gnarly toothy smile.
Deciding to not borrow from Uvrycres’ scary expressions he tried again without smiling this time as some of the windows had just closed shut at his revelation.
“I’m looking for the Lorians that were here some weeks back!” Glen said and looked about him for any volunteers. He spotted Hesam and the camels under a palm’s shade. The slaver was already walking towards him and Glen moved towards the shade as well, gesturing for the Cofol to turn around.
“Lord Garth,” Hesam said, still showing the signs of his injuries. He could barely move his bandaged right arm. The race had almost cost the slaver dearly but the man never once complained or lay the blame on Glen, which had elevated him in the Monarch’s eyes.
A solid aide.
“Just stay under the shade,” Glen told him quickly and puffed out. Seeing the camel named Nefertiti looking at him with those big –deceptively innocent- eyes and large eyelashes he took a cautionary step back. “Any water? My mouth is drier than a dead dog’s hide.”
Hesam offered him a large leather flask and Glen glugged down its contents under Nefertiti’s uncomfortable scrutiny. “Have ye watered the camels?” He asked Hesam.
“Didn’t have the time milord.”
“Do it now,” Glen ordered and made to give him back the flask but caught himself. He kept it and looked at Hesam intently until the man walked away.
“The locals said a ship took some Lorians some days back,” a cautious Samak informed him.
“What ship?” Glen asked narrowing his yes.
“A pirate ship. The White Deceit out of Far Cove. They moor here often apparently,” Samak replied.
“Where the fuck is that?”
“A forsaken port in Shark Isles sire. Where pirates live.”
As pirates do. Lots of that going around.
“You think they are heading there?”
“Don’t think so milord. Not of their own volition.”
Eh, yer being dramatic Samak.
“More like Rain Minas,” Glen decided. “How far is it from here you think?” He asked and stared at the sunbathed docks, the open sea beyond them. The south sky clear of clouds as if they were already in the summer.
They weren’t.
But it was hot as all fucks despite being out of the desert.
Barely.
Well then, Glen thought and glanced at Samak that had trouble answering. “It’s in Wetull. You don’t know,” he decided austerely.
“Apologies milord,” Samak said and bowed his head deeply.
Glen sighed. I mean it makes sense. I didn’t know last year also. “Fine, yer forgiven.”
“Gratitude Monarch.”
Good lad.
Nefertiti snorted and showed him her gigantic yellow teeth in a camel grin.
Ugliest animal Glen had seen and he’d wrestled with a Troll.
Sort off.
“You’re a pretty girl,” he told the grunting animal soothingly. “Wit yer lovely goofy head and graceful humps! Them long hairy legs and round swollen knees hah-hah. You big beauty you!”
“They can tell if you’re not serious sire,” Samak warned him and Glen furrowed his brows briefly but did not lose a beat.
“Good. I meant every word,” he deadpanned returning Nefertiti’s stare knowingly.
There was no female of any species, Glen couldn’t handle.
Yeah.
“Does sire think we should wait for the fleet to arrive?” A treading carefully Samak asked a long moment later, interrupting the grinning pleased with himself silent Glen.
“Huh?” Glen looked at him and then raised the flask to have some more water. “You will,” he finally said. “I’ll catch up with them.”
“Aye sire.”
“What do you think they trade here?” Glen asked him.
“Caravans stop briefly but most use the sea routes sire. Goat milk? Cheese. Hides for sure.”
Glen nodded and smacked his lips. “Caravans still make the journey?”
“Well they head for Ani Ta-Ne like the ships,” Samak replied. “It’s cheaper and you can avoid port fees if you travel on land some of the way. But a ship will only take you to Shao Na-Lan or Que Ki-La. Rin An-Pur. Those wanting to cross the Great Desert and reach Raoz they need a caravan.”
“Why not take a ship around the continent?” Glen asked.
“The Ice Route?”
“The other way,” Glen retorted.
“Who can cross the reefs sire?”
“I did. Pirates do apparently.”
“There’s only one wyvern and the pirates rarely work well with merchants’ milord,” Samak replied sadly.
“Well they should learn,” Glen decided and scrunched his face deep in thought. “We could map the reefs. Use an old map that shows Cydonia’s Islands and figure it out or something.”
Samak stared him with a blank expression on his tanned Cofol face.
“I mean how long does it take for a caravan leaving the Peninsula to reach Raoz? Eikenport? Leave Jelin out, just the other side.”
“A year? More?” Samak said unsure. “What else could they do?”
Wow, he’s not listening.
“All I’m saying is we could accommodate people needing to move faster, open a shorter route for Jelin. A new market. Phon-Iv says it was the way it was done afore,” Glen explained.
“The captains’ fear approaching Wetull sire.”
“They could unload in Rain Minas,” Glen decided and crossed both arms on his chest. “Our ships will then pick up the goods and transport them to Eikenport or Jelin for a modest fee.”
He could already see in his mind the mighty merchant fleet crossing the reefs heading for the Scalding Sea and Jelin. Riches pouring into Glen’s coffers… the throne’s coffers that is.
“What about the caravans sire?” Samak asked and Glen glanced at him unsure. “What will happen to them?” The slaver asked. Samak had family working the desert routes.
Ah.
“Well they could come to Goras,” Glen decided to ease the man’s worries. “I’ll see to sign a decree that will give them passage through Wetull.”
“Is it traversable sire? Wetull?” Samak asked and the Monarch replied readily much as people of his station habitually do, his conviction absolute.
“Of course. Best roads you’ve ever seen. Safe as fuck as well. Ayup.”
While passable roads were indeed being opened in the reborn kingdom, Glen’s latter quip was as close to the truth as poor Nefertiti was handsome.
Bless her heart.
-
First day of month Canatya 3400 IC
-Loosely translated (Fourth month) alt. Virresae (fourth of year. From archaic Imperial word Viryel –Fresh or youth. Used in Cydonia)
The ancient port of Rain Minas
West Wetull
RRRRREEEE
Uvrycres screamed soaring through clouds gathering over Wetull’s shores before diving towards the white outlines of the ruins of Rain Minas. The wind blowing on Glen’s soaked face drying him up from all the dipping in and out of the waves the wyvern had indulged itself with earlier. The sun behind them a big orange disk but it was bright enough for Glen to see the port approaching.
“SLOW DOWN!” He roared, cheeks ballooning and teeth rattling from the chill. “FUCK’S SAKE!”
Going down?
“SLOWLY!” Glen snapped blinking his still hurting eyes and clasping at the rope, the blanket that was left on the wyvern from the attempt at making a saddle rough and wet under his arse.
Uvrycres extended those leathery reddish wings out alike sails, the wind screaming in his ears and the rocky walls of the sheer cliffs under the plateau rising underneath them. The ruined buildings and temples ever growing. Glen saw the main port’s repaired dock facilities under the city built on the highlands and the road leading there from the beach.
“Land on the plateau! Slower for crying out loud!” Glen yelled and the wyvern skirted over the trees and found a cleared out square next to an old lighthouse overlooking the port. Uvrycres managed a decent landing, rushing with large strides for twenty meters afore stopping. It was a nerve-wrecking affair per usual, meant for folk that could control their bladder and all their other faculties with a steely resolve.
Glen found himself suspended from the ‘reins’ and dangling back and forth two meters from the ground as the wyvern came to a full stop. He let go of the rope seeing Zilan pausing to watch him land and somersaulted forward touching down on two feet, the shock rattling his spine, all but costing him his tongue.
A grimacing Glen stood up straighter with a fake grin, left hand returning the wayward sword in its scabbard as it had popped out and the right pushing his wild, freshly dried curls away from his face.
Great landing, Uvrycres decided touting his own horn and let out a thunderous screech that scattered the Zilan and humans that had come out of their buildings to watch the King land.
RRREEEHH!
ERR?
Eh? He asked Glen that had turned his head around to glare at him. Hearing the tapping of feet on the paved ground Glen decided not to answer.
The Zilan approaching wearing a long robe and carrying a bag of tools. A measuring stick in his hand. Elwuin seemed to be in a hurry.
“Monarch,” the academic said and paused dropping his bag down, the tools rattling inside. He stooped to search in it furiously, found a map and got it out. Elwuin unfurled the map, slotting the stick in his mouth to free the other hand.
“Ahm. Hey Elwuin,” Glen said stiffly and stepped back as the Zilan thrusted the opened map in his face. Penciled in great detail architectural drawings on it, of streets and buildings far as Glen could see. “Luthos balls hanging!”
“We can use the north part of the city,” a thoughtful Elwuin explained bringing the map to him again despite Glen’s efforts to escape. Uvrycres chuckled greatly enjoying the scene. “Bring the material down the incline and speed up the repairs,” the Zilan explained probably continuing a discussion he already had in his head or with some other person.
Glen stopped him abruptly, shoving the map away but Elwuin caught it and brought it back with a frown.
“Stop you lunatic!” Glen barked in his face.
“Oh no. We have an hour of light at least,” Elwuin argued. “I pay them by the day.”
“I don’t mean the workers. Let me finish!” Glen snapped in frustration. “What are you doing here?”
“I left Akkar in Ani Ta-Ne,” Elwuin explained. “With the Viceroy.”
Glen blinked.
“Who the fuck is he?”
“Lord Metu?” Elwuin said and stood back.
Glen rubbed his forehead with mid and ring finger. “Akkar is with Metu,” Glen started slowly to get everything in the proper order.
“Yes Monarch. Now—”
Glen stopped him placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. He had to move the map away for that. “Elwuin. First, shut yer traphole for a moment. Who. Is. This. Viceroy? I know it’s not you,” Glen asked pausing on each word for extra emphasis.
Elwuin grinned thinking Glen was making a jest. “Me-tu?”
You greedy slanted eyed cretin.
Fucking blood-sucking ruffian.
“Why are you here?” Glen asked through his teeth.
“Speed up the repairs?” Elwuin said and made to show him the plans again.
“Later. I just landed fer pity’s sake!” Glen snapped and sucked air in through the nose, let it all out the mouth with a warning glare at the academic that attempted to show him the plans of Rain Minas again. “Is Onas with him?”
“Of course,” Elwuin replied sadly and looked about him. “We had some visitors.”
Good, Onas will sort him out, Glen thought then blinked. “Where are they?”
“Eh. Some building. The docks?”
A frowned Glen looked about them. “Can you be more specific?”
Elwuin couldn’t.
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“That the ship?” Glen asked the marine guarding the docks. The Zilan saluted.
“Monarch. This is the pirate vessel,” he said and Glen stared at the unsavory characters watching from the deck. Some rolling barrels to load them up the ramp. Others talking with some Cofols that appeared to be merchants. A man wearing a red scarf, a badly stitched leather coat and sporting a bad leg moving behind a half-collapsed wall looking for shelter.
Looking really hard.
A dog following after him. The dog stopped and raised its leg to piss at the base of the wall, a kid wearing a ridiculously large hat cursing and jumping over the spillage.
“Anyone came down from it?” Glen asked glancing at the ship again. “You learned the name?”
“The Mermaid one of them said, Monarch. On account of the figurehead, I guess.”
Glen looked at the bare-chested monstrosity sculpted at the bow of the ship. Then at the white-painted keel and deck. Even the masts were plastered making it look like a giant insect. He caught the pirate watching him from behind the wall and snapped his head that way, the man stooping to search the ground immediately and the kid griping about the lack of rum.
A black-faced Gish, not a kid. The dog barked at him and Glen marched that way, the pirate seeing him approach leaping to his feet and limping away as fast as he could. The dog baring its teeth at Glen as he neared. One of its eyes milky in color.
“That’s enough Twelve,” the Gish hissed. “Cut it out!”
“You!” Glen barked at the quickly moving away pirate and the man ducked inside an alley to get away. “Cease him!” Glen ordered a couple of marines loitering about and the Zilan rushed inside the alley to apprehend the pirate.
Glen jumped over a pile of debris, reached the edge of the ruined building, the next block the last before the Chestnut Forest and the ravine leading towards the plateau from the north. He took a guess the man wouldn’t turn south and head deeper inside the docks. You could hide in a city sure, but you could hide better inside a forest if people are after you.
The pirate popped out of the other corner and hurried stooped towards the forest looking to take advantage of the increasing dark. Glen cut him off stepping in front of him and the pirate cursed, then gave Glen a subservient bow with his head. Then turned around casually and headed towards the docks again.
You fucking rascal.
“HALT!” Glen barked irate and the man stopped. He turned to look at the seething Monarch, surprise on his ruffian’s face.
“Milord you’re not meaning me surely,” the man said with a smirk. Plenty of gold teeth in there but also a gap with a tooth missing.
“I’m meaning you. What’s yer name?” Glen asked.
“Lame Zaine,” the man said with another curtsy.
“Horace what in the fat ants’ bollocks are ye doing?” The painted Gish cursed rushing towards them and Glen narrowed his eyes.
“Horace ‘Lame’ Zaine,” Horace explained seeing Glen’s glare. “This is ‘Old Nose’ Abrix.”
“You came with the White Deceit?” Glen asked pursing his mouth.
“Never heard of the moniker. Is it a ship perchance?” Horace asked pretty convincingly.
“Aye,” Glen retorted. “Moored in the docks. Only ship there currently.”
“Ye don’t say,” Horace gasped shaking his head. “Difficult to see shapes in the dark,” he added looking at the listening Gish meaningfully. Glen dropped a hand on the pommel of his dagger.
“He came on the wyvern Horace,” Abrix reminded the pirate.
“Was thinking of us all moving to the docks? Find friendly conference under the light?” Horace deadpanned with a shrug. “After ye milord,” he added and Glen let out a chuckle, his face turning serious the next moment.
“Start walking,” he warned the pirate and Horace nodded eagerly, smiled a disconcerting smile and then started limping very slowly towards the docks again. “Faster,” Glen added and started after him. “You too Abrix. Keep yer hands where I can see them.”
“Just met him,” Abrix said immediately. “He’s a bad man!”
“You ruffian!” Horace cursed the Gish and Abrix jumped away from him.
“He’s wanted in Fu De-Gar!” Abrix yelled deathly scared.
“Ungrateful bastard!” Horace snarled and rushed after him. Glen groaned in frustration and walked between them, the Gish slyly diving for Glen’s knees to trip him up. Glen raised his knee and caught Abrix on the side of his head snapping it back, the hat flying the other way. He sidestepped twisting his torso, right arm reaching for the Kopis over his shoulder. Glen got the sword out and slapped the dagger away from Horace’s hand using the flat of the blade.
“Was going for the Gish,” a grimacing in pain pirate said and jumped out of Glen’s reach.
“I don’t believe you,” Glen retorted with a hiss and pointed the sword on the pirate’s face. “Want to try this bullshit again?”
“What is the problem milord?” Horace asked still stalling. “You’re mistaken I believe.”
“I’m not looking for you,” Glen grunted. “Is Troy with you?”
Horace pursed his mouth surprised. “The gladiator?”
“Him.”
“Say I know a thing or two, what would that benefit me good sir?” Horace asked courteously.
“You get to keep your head,” Glen haggled with equal civility.
Horace nodded. “That be a pretty good bargain me thinks.”
“Yep. Me thinks that too.”
“Troy is on the ship.”
“Why not come down?” Glen asked standing back.
“The girl got spooked seeing the Zilan,” Horace explained. “The crew is also pretty tensed.”
“You are not?”
“I’ve had dealings with Imperials afore,” Horace explained and seeing Glen’s suspicious expression he added with a toothy conman’s grin. “I’m a friend of Darunia.”
What in the slovenly fuck?
“You…” Glen paused to lick his lips numbly and eyed first the pirate, then the holding his painted black head and groaning way too much Abrix. “…actually know Darunia?”
“The pretty Healer. We go ways back us two. Ayup. Been through thick and thin together.”
“Right. Might have poured the sauce too thick there mate. What are you going to do now?” Glen asked him casually.
“Ahm,” Horace started pursing his mouth and then catching Glen’s subtle meaning he added. “Head for the docks?”
“That’s right,” Glen retorted and gestured with the sword for him to get moving. Deftly switched hands on the Kopis mid-stride to use the right to snatch the moaning Gish by the ear and drag him along towards the light.
“The name milord?” Horace asked limping in front of him.
“Garth,” Glen retorted and shoved Abrix forward letting go of his ear. “Nice trick ye tried to pull on me back there.”
“Much obliged Garth,” Horace replied politely. “Most people can’t handle their blades properly. Frequently get themselves stabbed wit them.”
“True. But they can handle them plenty well here,” Glen assured him. “See to remember that.”
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