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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 II
-King of Brawn-
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The White Deceit had ignited the night lamps, pale light illuminating it from bow to stern, its dusky keel and white-painted hull contrasting to the many areas of the ancient docks still engulfed in darkness. The chestnut forest with its tiny fishing port neighboring it few kilometers to the north completely lost in the black of night. The Imperial Marines detachment guarding the docks occupied a single repaired building next to the sloped road leading to the upland and the ruins of Rain Minas. The latter still at the first stages of reconstruction with civilian crews of mostly Cofols living in the first buildings they had repaired and mostly unseen in this mild spring night from the lowland but for the spots where Elwuin’s engineers had fixed the old road lightposts with new and had them lit for the night.
As a treat for the arriving Monarch.
These rows of lights could be seen following a side of the road from the beach to the plateau like a strange glowing and coiled rope.
Glen glared at the cool Horace, the ruffian pirate captain and the nervous Abrix, the sporting a round knob on his head Gish, pausing a little discomforted upon noticing the one-eyed dog watching the scene from across the street sitting upright on its hind legs. Then the King of Wetull smacked his lips and turned to the first mate, the pirate that had come down the ramp.
“Is it a standing contest? They expect a band?” He asked soberly.
“No contest milord,” the stitched across the face at some point in his life pirate replied. “The lass wanted to bathe the kid.”
“Couldn’t she…” Glen stared at his boots frustrated. When he raised his eyes again a muscular man had appeared at the top of the ramp. You could teach anatomy on him with ease. The statuesque specimen paused to eye each and every one of the marines present (standing behind the already deathly bored Glen) then pointed a finger at him specifically as if in a warning, pushed his chest out which made the blonde stranger appear even more swollen than before and strutted down the ramp.
Everyone there paling in front of the man’s musculature and swagger, the specimen the lovechild of an over-trained peacock with a high-rise climbing giant hairless chimpanzee and the looks of an actor.
Those that played gallant knights with none of the skill.
The flaxen god pranced in front of the sour Glen, who was as tall as him and not that far behind in physique given that he’d just come out of the desert, though you wouldn’t know it seeing as the Monarch was in his Hoplite armour and the fair-haired grinning stranger was wearing a loincloth and a pair of old open-toe sandals.
Muscles shining in the light of the torches.
Dripping more like.
For slovenly fuck’s sake!
“Is that oil?” Glen asked forgoing all official greetings and decorum.
Troy raised his left arm, angling it so his bicep could pop out even more. “I could strike a pose for the interested gentlemen.”
“Not what I asked.”
“I’m ready to meet the King beyond the Pale Mountains,” Troy replied and added with a glance at the aloof Horace and the melancholic Abrix. “Old man.”
Glen scratched the underside of his white beard with three fingers returning the gladiator’s taunting stare. His other hand he’d extended in a calming gesture to the Marines leader who had unsheathed his sword.
“You oiled up for the King? Is it a scheme? Ye get paid for that?” He asked, the conversation racing towards the absurd or swift bloody conclusion through no fault of his.
“The king, the palace…” Troy started and stooped near Glen’s blank face to add. “The alien lassies, Princesses or Mademoiselles of station. Coin flows like wine.”
“Common harlots are not a fixture in the palace,” Glen hissed and thanked the Allgods the Zilan present had no knowledge of the Common jargon Troy was using.
“What about good ones?” Troy replied quite undaunted with a meaningful stare.
“Heed him no attention my lord for he is a fool,” a female said in a cultured voice in excellent Imperial. A touch of Sen’s accent in it. The marines chuckled hearing her. “To the Heavens above our greetings, Hardir O’ Fardor,” the woman added and Troy stepped away from Glen’s face looking surprised.
Glen’s eyes went on the coming down the ramp Lorian girl, a petite lissome female with brilliant blond hair and light-green eyes. Wrists and ankles adorned with jewelry, the knee-length teal tunic she had on over her high leather sandals clean and holding a similarly dressed young boy in her arms. The boy’s combed hair black as coal but his eyes were a soft brownish-gold color. The intense curious look the boy cast at the watching King almost threw Glen off.
Damn.
“The locals talked,” Glen told her in the Zilan tongue trying to find his footing, still overcome with emotion seeing that little copy of the old knight approaching him.
“And I listened great Monarch,” Ziba-Ra replied and knelt dutifully in the deepest of genuflections despite her load.
“Because you understand Imperial,” Glen noted and reached with an arm to help her stand.
Ziba-Ra nodded looking in his eyes as if mesmerized. Then Glen remembered she was a trained pleasure slave. Quite famous, Don-Iv had said back in Nagar Bazaar. The Pearl of Ani Ta-Ne.
Glen stood back alarmed and glanced at the panting boy that had reached with his small hand to touch his white hair.
“Alright,” Troy said watching from the sides a little miffed. “Assume I’m a little thick amidst all the greatness. Now someone explain in a tongue we all speak what in Tyeus’ steely phallus is going on here!”
“You are welcomed in Rain Minas,” Glen announced taking a big breath disregarding the grimacing well-oiled gladiator. “Consider yourselves citizens of Wetull,” he added and Ziba-Ra raised a trimmed brow noticing his change in demeanor. “There’s a meal waiting and a carriage to bring you to the city. We shall talk more once everyone is settled.”
“Gratitude great Monarch,” Ziba-Ra bowed her head deeply.
Horace cleared his throat. “Milord and members of foreign delegations,” the pirate said politely. “Would it be presumptuous for the brothers present to assume we are invited to the feast?”
Glen eyed him numbly for a short moment.
It wasn’t that meaningful a moment really and barely had any historical significance.
Maybe.
Nevertheless the Monarch’s reply was also very short.
“Yes.”
So the ‘brothers’ of the buccaneers’ guild stayed in the port.
-
3rd of Canatya 3400 IC (Month Quartus of 194 NC)
Rain Minas
The repaired double bed had a hard mattress, the stuffed material under the worked leather packed tightly. Two of them were used with a split down the middle that Glen looked to avoid during his sleep. He didn’t use the pillow but kept it under his arm, the silk fabric soft to the touch and comforting. It was a fine bed, the repaired building roomy and with a window facing to the east. A Marine patrol making the rounds outside for the whole night. Glen slept lightly and had no dreams that he remembered, counting the interims until the three man patrol appeared.
Fifteen minute breaks of absolute silence but for the sounds of the night coming from the second floor open window. The building itself empty of furniture and the other rooms used by his guests that stayed on the first floor. Sometime before dawn the Monarch thought he smelled a beast’s sweaty hide, the faint sound of guttural breathing hidden in the gushes of wind blasting through the Wetull Straits, coming from the southwest. The direction of the West Unknown Ocean. It skirted around the peaks of Galadriel’s Watch, tiptoed over Lake Barieska and Elas Port of Nureria, leaped over the misty canals of the Blasted Lands and reached Rain Minas heading for the Torn Earth.
Glen woke up and reached for Emerson’s blade, the Jackal’s warning growl reverberating inside the darkened room. The Monarch stood up and approached the open window to look outside. He heard the patrol returning a moment later, tapped once the marble rail of the window and turned around to get dressed.
He pulled his soft leather pants up, a fine pair that had taken a beating during the acrobatics deployed to escape death when Uvrycres had crash landed in the desert. Then buttoned up a thin leather gambeson padded at the elbows and used the wall as support to snap the hoplite cuirass on, hearing someone running up the marble staircase of the tall two-storied villa in the center of Rain Minas.
Glen had slept with his boots on.
The Zilan Marine officer’s face familiar, but also a little surprising to see him there.
“Lefyr,” Glen said and the officer stepped inside his provisional quarters. “When did you arrive?”
“During the night Monarch,” the marine replied, helm slotted under his armpit and smelling of the sea. Lefyr was stationed aboard the Fat Libby. Captain Tidus ship had departed Lai Zel-Ka with Glen’s other guests more than forty days back. The many stops journey meant Glen had probably missed the ship crossing the Straits under them when he returned himself. “Not all vessels came with us.”
Ah.
“The reason?”
“Viceroy Metu requested at least one galley to be stationed at Ani Ta-Ne,” Lefyr replied.
Trust the Cofol ex-slave, ex-minister etc. to build on an imaginary title, willing it in existence by repeating it on every chance he got. A survivor’s trait that.
And a talented crook’s for sure.
Four war galleys had survived in Serpent’s Canal and remained there along their marines’ detachment under Flardryn for centuries serving late Lord Rothomir of Abarat initially and now Glen. Rybel was tasked with creating a new fleet back in Goras but that would take years probably. The Zilan naval engineer was a very pessimistic character.
“I see.” He replied simply at the waiting Lefyr. “Any incidents?”
“Nothing of note. Paeris has been quiet.”
“The Elderblood?” Glen had forgotten about him. “Uhm.”
“It’s an old jest for bards that don’t sing,” Lefyr explained.
Glen nodded not really interested in Paeris at this point. He was a funny character and all, good-looking Zilan if one was into dudes, but also useless other than his status in their society, which was important.
He had a vote.
“What about Kelly. Asper, Beskar?” Glen asked.
“They are well, Hardir.”
Glen nodded. “Let’s head to the port,” he decided. “I assume it’s why you came. You brought a horse?”
“I run, it’s a nice day Hardir.” Lefyr replied.
Glen had reservations on whether a day should be used for that but kept them to himself.
“Mmm. Let’s find us a horse just the same. That’s four kilometers to the docks. The incline steep on the return,” Glen replied and rushed down the stairs, casting a glance at Ziba-Ra’s closed door afore stepping outside. He looked to the east and the rising sun, then the west across the empty square. The crews already heading to work on their marked projects or buildings and the barely dressed dude sprinting towards the square’s edge. Heading for the road leading to the port under the plateau.
“The gladiator,” Lefyr informed him. “Caught up with him on the way up. Apparently he does this every dawn.”
“Running up and down the cliffs road?”
“Yes, Hardir. Good for the lungs.”
“Aha.”
Glen could point to some other parts of the body that could protest furiously at the practice. Like legs or one’s spine.
“Let’s see to find a horse,” Glen finally said with a scowl and noticed he’d dried up dirt marring his left palm. The Monarch slapped the hand on his pants to remove it, trying to remember if he had touched the ground lately.
No recent tumble got to mind but then he remembered touching the window’s frame. He turned around and barked at the Zilan marines heading around the building to halt.
“Hardir?” One of the Zilan queried stopping immediately. “Leader Lefyr, sir.”
“Myrdor,” Lefyr greeted the soldier.
“Did you see anyone approach the villa?” Glen asked stiffly.
“Negative, Hardir. No one did,” Myrdor replied readily.
Hmm.
“It’s a cleared out ground,” Lefyr noted looking about. The villa one of the few buildings in the large square still standing. “Difficult to approach unseen.”
“It is,” Glen agreed and pursed his mouth. Yet someone had.
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Twenty minutes later Glen waved an arm at Captain Tidus’ figure watching the ship unloading from the quarterdeck. He left Lefyr back some meters to keep an eye on their horses.
“Lord Garth!” Archibald boomed. “A good day milord!”
“Aye,” Glen agreed with a nod and spotted Kelly with Beskar and Asper talking under Fat Libby’s shade. Paeris was nowhere to be seen. “I’ll have a word with you Captain, when you’re available.”
“I’ll come right down milord,” Tidus replied.
“Good,” Glen said and extended an arm to stop a delighted Kelly from hugging him.
“Lord Reeves!”
“Garth,” Glen corrected her.
“The place is a ruin!” Kelly yelled with enthusiasm.
“This isn’t Goras Kelly,” Glen explained looking about them at the bystanders watching the scene.
“Hello Lefyr,” Kelly greeted the Marine leader in passable Imperial looking over Glen’s shoulder.
“Lass,” Lefyr replied. “You need to work on your accent.”
“Pfft,” Kelly dismissed him. “You understand me.”
“Asper, Beskar.” Glen greeted the two gladiators then spotted Asmudius coming down the ramp but opted not to greet him.
“Milord,” Beskar said raspingly. “I’ll prefer a job on land if it’s possible.”
Glen smiled but before he could answer him, Asper narrowed his eyes in surprise.
“Cock in arse,” he grunted in disbelief and pointed with a wiry arm. “HEY! Troy! You fucking cocksucker!” Asper roared, the port workers pausing in shock.
Glen sighed and turned around to see Troy running towards them in the semi-nude, all sweaty muscles and loose loincloth leaving his cock dangling like a pendulum.
“Shitfaced Asper ha-ha!” Troy guffawed and grabbed the shorter gladiator’s arm to bring him closer, then slapped Beskar’s Hoplite cuirass once with an open palm. “Thick Beskar! How the fuck did you two made it out? Lass what are you doing hanging around wit these fools?”
“You were the one trapped in the woods,” Asper reminded him a little peeved and pushed the sweaty Troy away. “Just keep yer distance.”
“You sure?” Troy asked bouncing his pecs one at a time suggestively. “The chance might not be there later. There’s high demand for dis package.”
“Fuck that’s supposed to mean? How’s Ziba-Ra?” Asper grunted and Troy squinted his eyes.
“Fine. Was talking of the local lasses!”
Huh?
Glen heard Lefyr approaching behind him. The Zilan stooped to whisper in his ear.
“Tyl was spotted last night with a human at the beach,” Lefyr said pausing seeing Glen’s expression. He wasn’t sure where the officer was going with this and Glen had slept in the city. He was also an Islander. “A different human sire. They were intimate.”
Glen glanced at the animated Troy not believing his ears.
“Who is Tyl?”
“Ityliel, Flardryn’s daughter. She grew up with the marines’ sir,” Lefyr replied keeping his voice low. “But she’s our scout.”
“Didn’t know Flardryn had a daughter.”
“She came as a bright sunray of hope after years of gloom and doom,” Lefyr explained. “I’ll have to address this afore the commander finds out.”
Glen grimaced at this new problem. “How old is she? Fuck’s sake,” he grunted glancing at young Kelly feeling up the gladiator with interest.
“Young. She just turned sixty,” Lefyr replied solemnly.
Glen scrunched his nose a couple of times in silence. “Let me handle this. Was it her first time?”
“I presume it was,” Lefyr said standing back.
Yeah, you presume wrong. Bet she has gone through the barracks a couple of times already while ye older heads were snoring. No virgin grabs the first cock she finds upon touching land.
“Let’s run up the cliff road,” Troy, the probable culprit or accomplice, suggested to an explosion of groaning protests. “What? Seriously? Get all that excess lard out of yer system Aspen!”
“I like the lard staying where it is.” Asper retorted. “How about… you fuck off Troy?”
Troy shrugged his shoulders and turned to look at the scowling Glen. “Lord Wyvern? I like the hair job. How about it? First man gets a bottle of local wine.”
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“I’ll pass. With prejudice.”
“Ballard’s squire,” Troy taunted. “Won’t take the challenge?”
“You want me to race you up the cliffs? For a bottle of wine? I own the fucking vineyard!” Glen snapped. “Are you an actual idiot or is this part of the act?”
“Insults are pointless mate. We could escalate it though. I see what you’re doing there,” Troy laughed and then gave him a wink.
“I don’t believe you are capable of seeing anything. Get on wit your running,” Glen hissed through his teeth. Why in this realm or any other would Emerson ever pick this inflated dork to protect his son and woman, he just couldn’t for the life of him understand.
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Captain Tidus furrowed his brows hearing Glen’s suggestion. “Milord wants to run merchant ships through the Reefs?”
“You did it. Flardryn made it also with his galleys,” Glen argued glancing at the goods piled up on the docks. It would take months for them to reach Goras.
“I got Libby through empty. Kept an eye open all the time and followed after the Zilan for the last part of the way. Difficult to find the old canal. Even they had trouble recognizing the place. But sure once there it’s wide enough for any vessel,” Tidus explained.
“Good then, we could draw a detailed map for Captains to use.” Glen agreed.
“How do you map the area?”
“We’ll travel through them again and again.”
“These Zilan ships are narrow keeled milord and can navigate into the unknown. But not suited for trade.”
“We’ll use them to map the area. I believe the old route is mostly there just different and hidden in the mist. I have Rybel working on the matter of naval infrastructure. He wants warships build, but I’ll switch him to merchant ships for a while.”
Threaten him if need be.
“If merchants learn of the waterways,” Tidus said thoughtfully. “All manner of people might slip near yer shores. They’ll want to look about for riches and you can’t control the old lands with five ships.”
“So we keep the route hidden, patrol the exits,” Glen started. “Guard the straits and station marines where it’s possible. Where do you think we should put them?”
“I’ll need a map, but on the west entry point through ‘Suicide Reefs’ ye need to control either Scylla’s Corner or the tip of the Witch’s Dagger Peninsula. The east side I guess needs you to open Mussel Port and control Gish Lament at the turn of the Lower Talon.”
“How many ships?” Glen asked him.
“At least twenty transports so they can take turns to load and unload. Ten to use for Greenwhale Peninsula, the others to make the trip to Jelin,” Tidus replied. “At least half that amount of warships to escort them. All ships must be narrow keeled and long, focusing on height but lesser in width.”
Hmm.
“That sounds extremely expensive,” Glen murmured thinking it through. “Could the merchant ships protect themselves? Employed in both roles?”
“What ship do you have in mind milord?” Tidus asked curious.
“Mighty Saracen,” Glen retorted.
“Can Rybel built such a ship?”
“He better be for all his bragging,” Glen grunted. “I’ll need to run this through Fikumin. It’s a big project. Rybel will need manpower on top of recourses. I might have to pull all the marines back and double their size which isn’t the easiest thing to do. The Zilan have a rigid education system and won’t work outside their fields.”
Most Zilan.
“Or you could employ humans,” Tidus offered. “Sounds like a merchant enterprise this milord. I believe you have merchants in your immediate family.”
Glen nodded deep in thought but he’d a plan already forming in his head. Fikumin had suggested forming a trading company to help with the newly created Bank of Goras’ interests. The other Banks employed mercenaries to protect their business. He could do the same but base it around a fleet of large, stay-the-fuck-away ships.
Use gold to make even more gold.
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The warm weather allowed for a feast to be thrown in Rain Minas’ central square. Most buildings had come down with few villas still standing but one could gaze at the under-repair Lighthouse not half a kilometer away and enjoy the breeze coming over the lip of the plateau. Catch a glimpse of the sea. As the night returned shortly before the feast started, lights appeared in Rain Minas’ cleared out central area. Lightstones were placed in front of villas on erected posts and at regular intervals illuminating some of the streets. The port bellow them glowing inside the mist.
It reminded Glen of Taras during the festival and Elwuin insisted the old empire’s cities were always lit in the night. Its temples and high rises glowing like jewels and he could envision that despite the cost involved to make it happen.
Two long tables were set and groups of marines secured the place standing guard at the roads leading to the staging area. Glen had appointed Lefyr as military commander of Rain Minas, his men now stationed in the city. Elwuin was to stay as well and bring the city into a useable state again starting with the port.
Glen ate little but had a couple of goblets of wine watching his guests enjoying themselves and listening for the wyvern that had left to ‘take care of some business’ as he declared. Probably in search of food. He glanced at Ziba-Ra that was sitting next to him picking carefully at the foodstuff to feed the young Emerson.
“Was it his idea to name him thus?” Glen asked politely stooping near the comely female.
“I knew Mista Savar as Ballard great Monarch. Never called him by another name,” Ziba replied placing a piece of bread soaked in sauce inside the boy’s mouth. It reminded him of Sen feeding Inis-Mir and the wave of emotion forced him to look away.
Glen had some wine to regain his composure and placed the silver goblet on the table.
“Sir Emerson Lennox,” he told her hoarsely. “Former Baron of Ballard in Lesia. A big lord in his country. An important family. They control Cediorum also.”
Ziba nodded and wiped little Emerson’s mouth with a white towel. “Is Ballard like this?”
“This is a ruined city,” Glen replied guardedly. “I aim to rebuild fully. Ballard I have never been but Emerson’s lands are near a river. All green pasture and lemon trees. Placed between the flats of the Lesia Desert and the Four Sisters Mounts. Lilatum, Basila, Asselin and Cidina.”
“Your lordship is well-learned,” Ziba noticed keeping her eyes on the table.
“He forced me to memorize the darn stuff,” Glen admitted and cleared his throat. “Never thought the abstemious prick would take a slave for his own.”
“Ballard never saw me as a slave,” Ziba corrected him and raised her eyes to look into Glen’s face.
“You were a prize won in the games,” Glen pointed rapping his fingers on the table. “Heard the story a dozen times at least.”
“The story served its purpose. The truth is Ballard promised me freedom and he delivered. I would have done whatever he asked of me. The boy is the fruit of our union.”
“I understand,” Glen murmured and reached for his goblet. “My wife hailed from the Peninsula.”
“I don’t believe his lordship understands,” Ziba said lowering her voice. “I wasn’t forced.”
“Would you have said no?”
“I didn’t want to.”
“It’s what I’m saying lass.”
“No it is not, with all respect my lord,” Ziba insisted. “Pleasure I gave from my heart,” she paused seeing the confused look on Glen’s face. “I thought your wife was from the Peninsula. I knew of this before you revealed it by the way.”
Glen pursed his mouth.
“I loved my wife but I had her affections from the beginning.”
“Pleasure can be given from many points. Six furrows a slave’s heart has. But you can’t see them if you stand on your feet and look straight ahead. You need to rise above your comfort zone and watch them forming on the ground alike arching folds,” Ziba said in her agreeable voice. “Each furrow has pleasure running through and filling it. One can savor it but not all are the same.”
Glen looked in her face amused.
“Why would you do that?”
“To guard yourself. Hide your true emotions and survive,” Ziba explained casually. “Perform when you wish not to and fool those ruling over you each hour of every day. Since you opened your eyes really and had a glimpse of this world. Your wife saw the world with the same eyes, despite her station. To go through her layers and touch her heart wouldn’t have been possible, if she didn’t allow it.”
Glen gulped down and then pushed back on his chair, caught sight of Troy staring at him intently and frowned. What does this idiot want?
“I don’t condone slavery,” he told her averting his eyes from the gladiator.
“Ballard thought you wouldn’t,” Ziba said vaguely. “Are there no slaves in Goras?”
“You know the answer to that,” Glen said hoarsely. “You’ve been asking around.”
“I listen when people talk,” Ziba replied. “I rarely ask directly.”
“You don’t believe I’m truthful,” Glen hissed crooking his mouth.
“The King of Wetull flies on his wyvern over the realm,” Ziba said changing the position of the boy in her arms. Little Emerson had been lulled to sleep. “All are beneath him. These are the Imperial mandates I was taught.”
“It is not the same,” Glen retorted.
“Far from me to judge. Can a citizen leave Wetull great Monarch?” Ziba asked calmly but Glen was annoyed with her tone by now. “I offended you,” Ziba said. “Apologies.”
“Why would you want to leave? You are safe here and will be well-provided for in Morn Taras. The boy will want for nothing,” Glen said stiffly.
“I see,” Ziba replied and bowed her head.
“Hey!” Troy yelled and stood up from his seat. “How about a contest?”
Lefyr raised his head to stare at the gladiator. “What contest?”
“I ask the Lord’s permission to return to my quarters. The boy is tired,” Ziba whispered and Glen waved his hand.
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“I say no one can run to the port and back faster than me,” Troy suggested probably in his cups.
“Don’t be a fool human,” Lefyr admonished him. “Any of my marines can beat you.”
“You don’t sound too sure,” Troy retorted although Lefyr had been quite adamant.
“You want to race after a meal?” Lefyr chuckled and shook his head. “You’re drunk. A kid can beat you.”
“Wanna put that theory to a proper test?” Troy taunted puffing his chest out.
“There will be no test Troy!” Glen barked and stood up from his seat as well. “Sit down and shut your mouth!”
“What if I didn’t?”
What?
“Are you insane?” Glen blasted him. “They’ll murder you if I don’t stop them.”
Troy set his jaw. “Ballard’s squire,” he said and grimaced. “Shouldn’t rely on his minions.”
Lefyr stood up abruptly, glasses clattering down, plates upturning as the gladiators jumped up as well and armed Marines reacted rushing to the table.
“What are you doing?” Glen growled looking at the smirking gladiator and then at Beskar. An older man missing his arm sitting with Asper shook his grey head and then nudged the other gladiator up as well. Asmudius just stood back amused, turning his chair a bit to better watch the spectacle.
“He insulted the Monarch,” Lefyr spat angrily. “Have this human arrested! Get him out of my face!”
“Mate you start something you got to finish it yourself,” Troy warned him and Lefyr blinked then reached for his blade.
What in Luthos name?
“Hey, you puffed up idiot,” Glen said raspingly grinding his teeth. “Everyone stand down!” He barked. “There will be no fight here!”
“You draw that blade,” Troy said still smiling at the seething Zilan officer disregarding Glen’s outburst. “Things might get messy.”
Troy was looking for a fight.
“Lefyr stand down,” Glen ordered.
“Monarch!” Lefyr protested clenching his jaw. “He asks for it!”
Troy opened his arms wide. “I need no blade to win this.”
“You want a contest,” Glen rustled glaring at the gladiator. “Why?”
“Some people need to be taught a lesson. Ballard’s words. The man that gives orders should offer proper example,” Troy replied and stared at him intently.
You fucking moron.
“You want to teach me a lesson?” Glen spat a tick appearing on his face. The table had turned really quiet.
“Oh, you shouldn’t have asked this,” Troy said. “But since ye did. Aye. How about it?”
“You’ll cross blades with the King?” Lefyr asked not believing his ears.
“Need no blades. Let’s have a contest as I said,” Troy replied with a shrug of his shoulders.
The guests turned to look at the scowling Monarch. Elwuin who seemed to wake up at that very moment stood up and declared in an excited manner.
“The King of Brawn! Hah-hah! What a great idea!” Glen eyed the academic sourly. “What? It will liven the place up!” Elwuin countered with a chuckle.
“Epic!” Asmudius declared with a shrug of his shoulders.
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Glen removed his cuirass and placed on the table. He glanced at the crowd gathered around them and then at the bare-chested Troy warming up energetically on the cleared out space near one of the tables.
“Might be a good idea to have him arrested,” Tidus suggested seeing him placing his harness next to the plate armour. “Killed even.”
Glen looked at Ziba that had stayed back and was now with the older gladiator, still holding the little Emerson in her hands. The boy had woken up from the ruckus caused by Troy’s outburst and was staring with interest at the gathered crowd.
“I can’t order that,” Glen replied soberly. “I think it’s what he wants.”
“Why?”
“To prove a point.”
To her.
“What point be that?”
“I have no idea but these are Emerson’s people.”
Old man you’re still causing me pain.
“You might want to keep yer face away from his fists,” Tidus commented as if reading his mind, adding with a small pause. “Milord.”
-
>
>
> The Titan of Novesium fought the King beyond the Pale Mountains in a bare-knuckled brawl inside the lit-up ruins of Rain Minas. They twisted and twirled about, exchanged blows and grappled under the night sky with the crowd cheering them on greatly enjoying the noble spectacle. There was great respect shared between the two magnificent warriors.
-
“You piece of shite!” Glen growled touching his split lip and then ducked under a right cross, catching Troy’s jaw with a left uppercut that barely stunned him. So Glen gave him a right hook snapping the gladiator’s head back. Troy twisted on his feet and backhanded Glen.
He stumbled backwards three meters, hips hitting the table and rattling it.
“God darnit!” Glen snapped and watched Troy sprinting towards him. He rolled over the table and landed on the other side spitting a blotch of blood down in the time he’d gained with a table between them.
Then realized Troy hadn’t stopped running. The gladiator reached the large table and jumped over it flying briefly with both arms extended wide. Fuck’s sake! Glen cursed a moment before Troy crashed on him, sending both of them on the hard tiles.
Glen elbowed Troy in the face cracking his nose and got punched right at the left maimed ear hard enough to see blinking lights appear in his vision. Groaning they rolled on the ground trying to get the upper hand, Troy’s shaved skin slippery and difficult to pin down. Glen had the sense he was wrestling with a lion. The man’s strength and vitality immeasurable.
The worst part of it being the idiot seemed to enjoy the punishment Glen delivered on him as they both managed to stand up whilst still exchanging blows. And Glen gave him the business but for that ill-advised head-butt he attempted which almost knocked the Monarch out. Hitting Troy’s head was like trying to knock down a brickwall. A split on Glen’s forehead bleeding down his eyes. Cursing he grabbed Troy’s arm and twisted it around but the gladiator pulled at him hard breaking his grip. Glen found himself losing the ground under his feet the next moment and landed on his back with a pained grunt.
Glen hadn’t really brawled properly in years and his whole body felt bruised.
He raised an arm and Troy paused while Glen slowly got up, shook his head pretending he was trying to suck air in his burning lungs –which he was- and delivered a sneaky kick on Troy’s knee which the gladiator half-dodged but left his sides exposed for a moment.
Glen stepped forward for a vicious right jab in the kidneys just as Troy rotated on a leg and punched him under the right eye, rough callused knuckles opening the skin and knocking Glen’s head back violently.
He felt it down his spine.
Luthos low-hanging balls snatched in a beartrap.
“Argh!” A grimacing Troy grunted grabbing at his sides where Glen’s blow had landed probably sporting a cracked rib and knelt down, blood covering his face. Glen had collapsed on his arse as well, barely seeing through the swollen right eye and bleeding as much from several spots.
“Give me a moment,” Glen growled through his teeth. “Blood is in my eye.”
“Nah, yer a cheater,” Troy rustled and tried to get up with a grimace. “Fuck.”
“You aren’t? It’s a fight,” Glen spat and worked his bloody fingers on a loosened tooth in his mouth. For crying out loud, he had just fixed this.
“True,” Troy agreed. “Round two?”
“I’m game if you are,” Glen rustled nonchalantly though nothing was further from the truth.
A scream interrupting their moment. The silent crowd turning restless when a disheveled Paeris appeared and quickly run behind a group of Marines watching the duel with interest.
A groaning Glen stood up and beheld with his good eye Lefyr listening to Paeris words intently. The officer then rushed down an alley towards one of the villas with several armed marines following after him.
“The fuck happened?” A heavy breathing Glen asked and limped to the table for purchase. Troy followed soon after and sat on the table as well after finding an upturned bottle of wine, he shook once to check on its contents.
“Everyone was busy with the contest. Someone got naughty probably,” Troy replied with a grunt and poured wine in his open mouth. He spat it out immediately along a copious amount of blood.
Hmm.
“Anymore left in there?” Glen asked and Troy gave him the bottle.
“Caught me good there with that jab,” Troy said with a pained grin. “Must be all the wyvern riding.”
More like dangling from the ropes for dear life.
“Yeah,” Glen agreed cracking his hurting jaw to get it in place. “I think we’ll need a healing potion to fix this.”
“For real? Do they work?”
“Yeah they do,” Glen said and stumbled to his satchel he’d placed under a leg of the table to get one. “The taste is horrible though. Want one?”
“If you can handle it, I can,” Troy taunted.
Glen nodded and got two vials out. Tossed him one. “Don’t savor it. It only gets worse.”
“I had beer in Fu De-Gar,” Troy reassured him and uncorked the vial.
The potion burned his larynx and set his stomach on fire. Glen coughed miserably, opening and closing his bloody mouth, his teeth hurting and feeling the ground moving under his feet.
“Could have saved Ballard with one of these,” a grimacing Troy murmured and rolled the empty vial on the table towards him.
“I was too late,” Glen replied soberly.
“Yeah. Me too,” Troy agreed with a solemn sigh.
“That’s his woman then,” Glen said after a moment of silent contemplation, whilst watching the marines coming out of the villa facing the square.
“Ayup,” Troy said and spat down to clean his mouth. “That shit tastes like arse.”
“I want her to stay in Goras,” Glen continued looking at him. “She’ll be safe.”
“That the reason?”
“Yes. What’s yours?”
“Old man told me to look after her. See her home,” Troy replied hoarsely. “Would have done it anyway I reckon.”
“Where’s home?” Glen asked curious and Troy looked at him.
Aha. Yeah. You had to drop another task in my arms didn’t you? He griped at the dead knight.
“The boy is too young to travel safely,” Glen decided. “She stays for now.”
“You are the King here,” Troy replied and tended a dirty muscular arm.
“The King of Brawn?” Glen asked grabbing his forearm whilst raising a brow. The one that worked that is.
“Wanna try this again?” Troy taunted with a shit-eating bloody grin.
“Not really,” Glen admitted and started walking towards the solemn-faced Lefyr.
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Glen’s expression changing mid-stride as well to a more sober one. This is gonna be another problem, he thought and halted to point a finger at the Elderblood. “Paeris, come here.”
“I’m safe where I am illustrious Monarch,” Paeris replied and bowed retreating another step.
“It’s a clear order Lord Paeris. I loathe to repeat it after all that happened earlier, but I’m still warmed up.” Glen deadpanned meaningfully. “Want to make a second attempt at the title?”
“Attempt number two!” Asmudius boomed but no one seemed enthused with his suggestion.
“Rather I didn’t Hardir,” Paeris readily confessed with a misplaced grin.
Fantastic.
Glen shook his head and turned to face the Marine leader. “What in the allhells is going on Lefyr?” He asked brusquely glancing nervously behind the Zilan at the entrance of the villa. “Is that blood on the side jamb?”
“Aye sire. Lord Paeris saw it and turned around. We found more inside and this,” Lefyr added and grabbed what looked like a pretty realistic severed at the elbow bloody arm from a silent marine to show him.
It was a real arm. The bone and flesh at the wound torn and compacted, the skin loose.
Good grief.
Luthos I don’t get where you are going wit this.
“Is that an animal bite?” Glen asked, the shock making him forget the pain on his battered body. A little. “Where is the beast?”
“The trail leads out of a window at the back of the building. We rushed there first to cut it off but we were late,” Lefyr explained and walked aside for Glen to examine the site of the presumptive crime. “It must have looped around the corner and stopped behind that undergrowth. Then the track vanish with no footprints leading out.”
Glen pushed the wildflowers aside to examine the unpaved terrain for himself. Walked over the thin stems and stooped over a faint imprint. That’s a claw.
“Had Lord Paeris not turned around the other way and walked back out,” Lefyr elucidated what Glen hadn’t figured out yet since the Monarch was busy running a hand over one of the footprints. He then sniffed at his soiled fingers curious. A trick Jinx had taught him back in Oakenfalls. Son of a bitch. “It would have fallen on him sire. The Elderblood was lucky in his weirdness.”
“Why weirdness?” Glen queried and got up, every bone on his spine crackling as they snapped in place.
Allgods damnit.
“Any Zilan worth his salt would have investigated further Hardir. Not leg it. Praise the gods for ‘quiet bards’ sire, right?” Lefyr murmured in a lower voice since Paeris had reached them walking casually followed by two armed marines.
Yeah, Glen thought not really bothered with the bard. He glanced at Troy, the gladiator appearing to be in a much better condition than him, or just more used to heavy beating and bruising.
“Where did it go?” Glen asked Troy and he shrugged his shoulders after examining the terrain.
“Not walked away for sure,” Troy replied pursing his mouth and then stared at the two story building’s illuminated façade. “Reckoned it went up milord.”
Glen felt everyone looking at his back intently. It made him very uncomfortable. “This wasn’t the wyvern,” he grunted hoarsely, although Glen wasn’t a hundred percent sure of what that thing had been. And seeing the uncertain looks on everyone’s face he casted a side-glance at Lefyr and whispered. “Put a lid on it, cordon the blasted place and keep everyone away. Find out who is missing and stop waving that fucking arm around for crying out loud!”
“Yes sire,” the marine officer replied and tossed the arm to one of his soldiers to hide it.
“I expect the arm to remain as is Lefyr,” Glen added just to cover his base.
“Myrdor the arm is not a snack in case you lads had a craving,” Lefyr elucidated evenly.
“Yes sir!”
Great.
“They is no need for alarm or needless panic. It was but a minor accident,” a manically grinning Glen assured those that had gathered for a feast in the company of the King, witnessed a good old brawl with a touch of murder in the finale.
Potentially.
One can still survive missing an arm.
Eh.
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