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Arguen Garth
Hardir O’ Fardor
Lord of Morn Taras
Monarch of Wetull
King beyond the Pale Mountains
Aniculo Rokae
The Gold Egg
Part I
-It’s alive-
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> King Lucius’ timely intervention in the Khanate-Kaltha long war, ‘or preemptive strike’, crippled Burzin’s Attack Fleet and got Binra-Kot out of action for months. Lord Anker used the opportunity and the moment he got word of the naval battle attacked across Deadman’s Land. He managed to destroy the Khanate’s fortified camp beyond Chinos River but his attack got repelled with heavy casualties. The loss of Lord Rinus Van De Aesst’s son Sir Ton was a blow for the High Regent but also showcased the low-quality troops he could field after years of struggle and repeated setbacks.
>
> Burzin sent Lord Shamar, a Khanate diplomat familiar with Jelin’s courts, to protest Regia’s involvement in the dispute but King Lucius assured him it was all a misunderstanding and his fleet was there looking for pirates. While it was a weak excuse the Khan couldn’t afford to attack Regia directly given the strategic situation as they feared this might drag the Lorians of Lesia into the conflict. This was the second time Lorians had interfered with the Khanate’s plans and Burzin wouldn’t forget it anytime soon. Having received some reinforcements from Rida the Khan decided to wait behind Chinos River and not risk a retaliating attack against Lord Anker.
>
> A race was on with the Issirs and the Horselords trying to rebuild their fleets but it dragged throughout the year. The Khanate turned its attention on the forgotten men of Lord Putra, now much more valuable given that the sea routes were unsafe again, and a plan was devised to reinforce Prince Radin’s force in order to attempt to break out or reconnect the two split armies. In order to ease the Prince’s effort, Havor Dhin-Aval commander of the reserve army was ordered to attack to the southeast between the lakes and knock out the small guard at Eagle’s Nest Castle. Located at the start of Granlake’s marshes, the fort stood isolated on relatively flat fertile terrain just after King’s Forest.
>
> Havor Dhin-Aval moved at the start of summer but a bloody revolt inside Issir’s Eagle delayed the Khanate’s plans with the High Regent’s attack beyond Chinos River forcing the Reserve Army to stick around the capital in case it was needed. Finally with the summer behind them and the first rains of Fall starting the Horselords moved again but they knew that attacking the fort needed good weather for their war machines to be more effective and they didn’t want to fight in winter. Havor asked the Khan to delay the operation for sixth months -at least until spring- but he was ordered to make the attempt as the fort had a garrison of two hundred men ‘that guard hunting grounds and tax merchant caravans.’
>
> The assessment was wrong by a lot as we know from the Quadrumvir’s chapter. While all this was happening on Jelin, beyond the Pale Mountains (the name already deceptive with Wetull occupying Dia and Jadefort) Hardir O’ Fardor, later known as King Garth (which created some interesting coincidences giving it matched the elusive crimelord’s moniker) kept building up his power looking to be more involved in the Realm’s affairs. Already the first Zilan merchants had appeared on Jelin, usually under clever disguises and keeping a low profile. Rumors circulated in Regia’s court about the power this Monarch could wield or whether he could be trusted.
>
> Despite some attempts to communicate with Goras, King Garth and his Zilan remained unreachable and very few managed to get close enough to gauge their intentions. Everyone knew about them by now but few had any idea how to tackle the reemerging old empire. Elsanne had brazenly embraced her ancestor’s enemies but she was desperate and isolated at the time.
>
> The consensus was that they could be a problem down the line but there was also this strange belief that the Zilan of Wetull given they were coming out of a major catastrophe (albeit well in the past by now) wouldn’t really attempt anything nefarious for years. Decades. Some of it was optimism, a part disbelief of the old tales, another the false conviction that the empire had been broken and now stood a shell of its former self, drowning in irrelevance.
>
> Again as with the Khanate’s advisors, nothing was further from the truth. And while the Khan’s strategists couldn’t account for a single officer’s unsanctioned actions and stratagems, the rulers of Jelin should have been more cautious as the Wine Barons were soon to find out.
>
> For in the distant exotic Wetull the Realm’s most dangerous foe lurked, busy preparing for the beast-loving evil empire’s return.
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>
>
>
>
>
>
> Lord Sirio Veturius
>
> Circa 206 NC
>
> The Fall of Heroes
>
> Chapter L
>
> Addendum
>
> -Volume IV-
>
> The Onyx Wyvern’s rule
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image [https://i.postimg.cc/mBNDPqMg/Goras-194-NC.jpg]
open image for more detail
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3rd of Neter (Nonus, Ninth Month) 3400 IC (194NC)
Third Era
Old East City, Goras Jungle
With a sinister squeal the creature burst out of the thick foliage, stems breaking and greenish -with a smudge of red- fat leaves blowing outwards. It came towards the utterly serious Glen barring its path, barrel-shaped body and short loaf-shaped head shaking. Its stubby webbed feet digging at the ground. Two ogling eyes and a blunt protruding muzzle with a proboscis-type wrinkled snout raised to show two large square teeth inside the frothy mouth. Behind it Raro leaped out of the bush as well with a snarl, the large Nimra lion sliding on its back feet in the attempt to change direction.
What in the slovenly fuck? The King of Wetull wondered seeing the thick creature coming at him squealing more scared than angry and Maeriel who had gone up the old tree yelled the weirdest of warnings.
“Don’t harm the leaf eater!”
Glen paused unsure, a spear in hand and the jungle Catapir reached him a moment later. Glen swung the butt of the spear instinctively. He scrapped the reddish hide of the rodent-looking creature on a pig’s body but it dodged and managed to slip under his legs. Glen twisted around and reached with a hand to grab it but the creature leaped with its short feet to get away. It landed two meters away. The Catapir let out a strangled cry trying to regain speed and a smirking Uvrycres, who’d waited behind a giant Kapok tree’s monstrous roots, came out of hiding to snatch it in his gnarly jaws.
But the wyvern paused mid-move, scaly head twisting around as it had spotted out of the corner of its rubicund eye the sneaky Raro flying towards it and then swung a winged arm to loudly smack the large black lion on the chest. Raro was violently hurled back moaning like a real cat, tumbling feet over head in the air but managed to land sideways on all four paws finding another wide tree trunk six meters away.
The Nimra lion stood there for a short second and then simply jumped down letting out a pained snarl.
In the meantime the Catapir had rounded up the tree, after narrowly escaping the wyvern’s snapping tail stinger that had exploded on the trunk digging out a good chunk of the rough bark. Maeriel yelled again from the canopy located somewhere behind a hard sprinting and grimacing Glen. The Monarch in his turn was going after the creature.
Darn ugly pig wit a hairy pot belly!
“Hardir it’s harmless!”
Glen rounded the trunk as well, the Kapok tree had a circumference of ten meters at least, hurled the spear at the squealing boar-sized creature -the sound that of an actual pig having its gonads ripped out- but missed spectacularly. For a moment a Luthos-cursing Glen kept running hard now stooped forward dangerously, arms flaying and fingers touching the ground until he found his footing. Even so the creature appeared just about ready to lose the mad dash towards the edge of the jungle to the spry, bursting with energy Monarch but it was a mirage. Gradually the latter started breathing heavy, while the determined grimace turned to one of pain and considerable discomfort. Amber eyes gawking, the left slightly closing in the effort put forth to keep up with the animal and each stride turning shakier.
And coming much slower.
“Fucking… bull… shit!” A hard-gasping for air, frothing at the mouth Glen cursed barely getting the words out in three languages, chest hurting and ears ringing like a ship’s bells from the increased blood pressure. The fleeing Catapir turned its ugly head around sensing Glen had been left behind to let out a triumphant squeal and Soren appeared in its path, large calloused hand coming down like a sledgehammer but in slow motion. He still caught it at the back of the head fully in an open-handed heavy slap.
The smack reverberated inside the jungle, the creature’s front legs gave out and its head hit the ground afore bouncing off. Its run turning into an out of control tumble that ended four meters past the towering Northman. Soren was over seven feet in height now probably due to whatever magical crap Soletha is feeding him, Glen thought arriving a moment later.
A flushed Glen made to speak but doubled over instead, hands clasping at his shaking knees and greedily sucked air inside his hurting lungs, sweat trickling down the chin and his whole face hurting.
“Goddess’ judgement!” Maeriel hissed and jumped down between them landing with a deft roll. She snapped her bow at the Nord like a sword, the arm catching Soren on the shoulder hard but leaving him unfazed. “You killed it, you Orc!”
“Almost killed me fer sure,” Glen agreed breathing heavy and trying to get his bearings.
“The leaf-eater?” The ranger hissed irate in disbelief and then grimaced trying to control her emotions. “Hardir, it’s a noble spirit. A Catapir.”
No it’s a pig with a proboscis and a giant rat’s mouth.
Them are some big ole teeth in there.
“He just tapped it once upside the head,” Glen assured her instead and stood upright with a groan holding his hurting back with the right hand.
“It’s dead Glen,” Soren said sadly.
“Was probably already pretty sick,” Glen continued not losing a beat. “On its last legs sort of speak, hair all reddish and dirty.”
Maeriel licked her lips and stared at the still creature. “The Princess will want to see it,” she added. “The Monarch will bring her a carcass?”
Glen wiped his mouth with a sleeve and heard the wyvern coming up behind him, branches snapping and shrubbery getting crashed.
I can eat it. Get rid of the evidence, Uvrycres offered. Step aside friend.
“Is it eatable?” Glen asked staying put whilst the wyvern used its large horned head to shove him out of the way. And despite Glen’s efforts, the Monarch was slowly getting pushed out of the path.
“Of course Hardir,” Maeriel replied stiffly and furrowed her brows seeing a glowering Glen grabbing at Uvrycres’ snout with both arms not to allow the persistent wyvern to fully get him out of its way. “You’ll feed her what she wished to see alive?”
“Ain’t feeding her shite but milk and biscuits,” a peevish Glen rustled, now raised a meter above ground but still grappling with Uvrycres’ snout with both arms, the latter shaking his head right and left to dislodge the thrashing Ruler. “But I’m hungry as all fucks!”
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Inis-Mir was riding on the camel, the ugly animal performing a strange dance going two steps forward and two back the little princess found hilarious. Glen and his entourage walked out of the jungle, Soren carrying the killed Catapir over his shoulder with ease despite the latter weighing about a hundred kilos. Their camping site very near Nesande’s Temple across the road and amidst the ruins of the old shrines surrounding the pyramid grounds. The entrance to the Den at the center of the ancient complex with the Goddess’ lands extending well to the east and reaching the shores of Narrow Gulf.
Glen paused with a glance at the sky to locate the flying wyvern and then stared at the little princess enjoying Titi’s antics. The girl’s claret-colored hair intricately weaved in cornrows just like Maeriel’s and laced with beads and real milky pearls just like her late mother’s. The Monarch clenched his jaw affected by the sight and barely responded to Sir Alan Kirk’s greeting. The Rokae, a knight of Goras basically, coming to stand on his right side whilst Maeriel returned to their animals.
“Milord,” Kirk said. “You found the creature the princess saw?”
“It collapsed,” Glen grunted what they had agreed to say beforehand. “The wyvern scared it to death.”
“Would have scared me too,” Kirk agreed with a grimace. “Let’s hope she forgets all about it.”
“Ayup,” Glen nodded and caught out of the corner of his right eye, a tall black-haired girl standing next to him. She was looking at Inis-Mir playing with her camel –under Iskay’s and Kilynia’s watchful eyes- a strange smile on her exotic face. Something weird about her, in her smell and pale skin. It gave Glen sort of Gish vibes with a twist given the girl’s height and bosom.
She was now looking his way with large black eyes, only turning her neck and head towards him.
“Titi is better mount,” the girl said seriously in her weird accent.
“Go on now,” Kirk intervened. “Don’t bother the Monarch. She’s Phinariel’s friend sire. Jinx’s also.”
“Assara,” the young woman said. Glen guessed she could be from fifteen to twenty easy. A well-developed teenager for sure.
“You work in the palace?” Glen asked.
Assara blinked. “Bad. Stay away,” she said and stepped back.
“What was that?” Glen snapped.
“Lass get your arse away,” Kirk warned and made to step forward but Glen stopped him extending his arm.
“Assara stays away,” she elucidated and pointed at his weapon harness. “Bad.”
Glen touched his weapons. The sword and the ancient dagger. Flix’s peleg hanging from the side of his belt. “You are from Phina’s village?” He asked her thoughtfully listening to the two priests arguing near Soren.
Assara turned to the south. “Mussel,” she said shyly.
Glen pursed his mouth. Then grimaced and glanced at the sober Sir Kirk.
“Where the fuck is that?” He asked unsure.
“I’m not fully familiar with the local geography Milord.”
I don’t believe anyone is.
Glen turned to ask Assara for more directions but the spot she occupied just moments afore was empty. He looked towards the princess and found the weird girl standing there, a good ten meters away.
Well.
Glen scratched his head perturbed, the noise coming from the two older Zilan bothering him. Feyras and Voldomir ready to start swinging their staffs in anger against one another. With another glance at his daughter the Monarch approached the two paragons of faith.
“It’s a noble spirit,” Maeriel insisted a little frustrated.
“The gods delivered sustenance,” Feyras admonished her. “Let this brute skin the animal so we can accept their offering.”
“You can’t accept the Goddess’ offered nourishment you fool!” Voldomir snapped angrily. “You’re standing inside her grounds. This meat must be delivered to her altar!”
“You mean your belly,” Feyras argued with a glare. “And that’s Eodrass Shrine over there!”
“In your dreams. That’s just a ruin I use as a bench,” Voldomir retorted and drew a line on the ground with the butt of his staff. “And its range ended about here. After this point all belongs to the temple.”
“You think I’m blind?” Feyras grunted and used his staff to brush off Voldomir’s line. He made a new one a couple of meters out. “There.”
“So what? It’s still within the Goddess’ domain which I maintain for eleven centuries now. That’s a scratch on the earth, next to an unused ruin. Just get back to your temple you old goat!” Voldomir rustled. “Get that thing skinned,” he ordered Soren who was watching the exchange grinning for some reason.
“Monarch,” Maeriel turned to Glen. “We should return it to the earth—”
“We should share it evenly,” Glen cut her off and assuming a considerate tone he added. “Everyone shall have a good piece and Maeriel you can bury yours under a tree or whatever.”
The ranger sighed and Glen eyed her patiently but also with a bit of understanding. She missed Jinx terribly and probably had trouble sleeping without a good shagging.
Or whatever those two were doing.
It was always a big mystery this part.
“As Hardir wishes,” Maeriel replied with a bow, her eyes narrowing as if she could sense Glen’s thoughts.
What? It’s a fucking legitimate query! Glen’s glare replied and he could hear the ranger’s teeth grinding in frustration.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“There then,” Glen said ending the staring contest and slapped his hands together. “Voldomir, Feyras we have nothing more here I’m sure and even if we had I’ll be returning to Morn Taras since I have urgent business to attend to.”
He hadn’t but still it was better to give some sort of excuse to avoid prolonging a boring conversation.
“Monarch,” Feyras intervened annoyingly. Glen had finished but as mentioned above he didn’t expect to immediately get jumped on with more questions after making his intentions clear. “We need to address the matter of the wyvern.”
Eh.
Right.
Glen pursed his mouth and made a sound when his lips parted. After a moment of silence he laced both hands behind his back.
He had nothing.
“Continue,” Glen finally rustled to figure out where the priest was going with this.
“I talked with Laedan and he’s of the same opinion,” Feyras explained but despite the priest’s effort Glen was now even less certain on what the old Zilan was talking about.
“You mean the saddle?” He chanced.
Feyras furrowed his thick brows. “The saddle,” he repeated unsure and stared at Voldomir.
“Don’t look at me,” Voldomir retorted and pointed at the line Feyras had carved on the ground. “You want this thing running, you put in the effort.”
Glen puffed out and stared at his boots. “Feyras I’ll give you another chance. I don’t want to but I’m being respectful.”
“We need to hatch the egg Hardir,” Feyras said with fervor.
Glen nodded and then used an index finger to scratch at the tip of his nose. “What egg?” He finally asked.
“The princess wyvern,” Feyras explained and stepped forward, zealous eyes gawking in Glen’s face knowingly. The Monarch extended his right arm out and used it to shove the priest back ending the invasion to his personal space.
“Hatch the egg,” Glen murmured keeping his voice low.
“You know how it’s done,” Feyras said eagerly. “You’re Hardir O’ Fardor.”
“Can Laedan do it?” Glen asked not liking where the conversation was going. People start praising your skill at something, back-breaking tasks follow right after. On top of that he didn’t really want to get another wyvern. Sure at some point it would be interesting for Inis-Mir to have one for herself but she was too young now for such an adventure.
“Of course but we’ll need Angrein. Unless the Monarch wants to do it himself,” Feyras explained.
Glen had no idea how a wyvern’s egg hatched. He didn’t even know how a chicken’s egg worked.
“Let me think about it.”
“We need to make sure the egg is alive,” Feyras insisted.
The egg was a heavy piece of gold.
A golden ball basically that didn’t look like an egg at all.
“You’re pressuring me priest,” Glen warned him. “Just back the fuck off and let me think here!”
“Yes Monarch,” Feyras said and took a step back. Voldomir laughing at his expense very pleased.
Glen exhaled and saw that Soren was still standing there with the carcass on his shoulder. The Northman grinned. “What’s so funny big guy?” Glen asked him not privy on the jest or the reason Soren hadn’t started skinning the Catapir.
“I’ll need yer dagger to cut it up proper and bring it back,” Soren said. “Using the axe ruins the meat.”
Ah.
Glen nodded, his query answered and gave Soren the dagger.
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“Daddy look,” Inis-Mir giggled some time later. “Titi is dancing!”
It almost sounded like she said ‘tities dancing’.
A grinning Glen grabbed her by the waist and lifted the princess off of the camel’s back. “That’s enough dancing miss naughty,” he told her and Inis-Mir wrapped those small arms around Glen’s neck. The Monarch gave the top of her fiercely red head a kiss and carried the princess towards the horses.
“I want to ride her home,” Inis griped.
“You’re sitting in front on me on Outlaw. How does that sound?” Glen replied adamantly and she pulled at his white hair to force him to look down in her face.
“Please,” his daughter pleaded with a cute pout.
Why you little…
“It’s not working,” Glen laughed. “I’m immune Inis. It’s all over.”
“No it’s not,” Inis replied and assumed a pained expression next.
“Now that’s embarrassingly fake,” a smiling Glen counselled and lifted her small body on Outlaw’s saddle. The aging stallion snorting and the small thinly-dressed princess rather heavy for her age. Must be heavy-boned or some shit, Glen mused. At least it doesn’t show considering everything else is on display.
“Iskay,” he grunted turning to the comely former slave woman. “What manner of skirt is this? Is the palace unable to afford another meter of fabric?”
“She ruins long dresses caroused sultan,” Iskay teased forgetting herself and Kilynia, who was standing far away but not far enough, perked her bird-like head towards them.
“Apologies. She’s too lively Monarch,” Iskay added with a deep curtsy.
“You are dismissed,” Inis said from atop Outlaw.
“Yes princess,” Iskay replied.
“Move so I can climb up,” Glen told his daughter and raised his maimed foot to plug it in the stirrup. He turned to look at the staring Kilynia with a sigh. “What do you want?” Glen grunted.
“The princess should ride with the carriage Monarch,” the tall Zilan wearing the gigantic and covered in feathers hat droned.
“I ain’t dropping her and you just allowed her to ride a fucking camel,” Glen hissed and Inis-Mir giggled at the coarse word.
“The Monarch brought the animal as a gift,” the Zilan reminded him.
“To watch from afar,” Glen snapped. He got up on the loyal horse and placed an arm around his daughter to secure her. “Not dance with it.”
“She asked for it Monarch.”
“I don’t care. Just say no,” Glen retorted.
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“I want to dance with Titi tomorrow,” Inis repeated two hours later on the return trip to Taras and Sir Kirk found it charming.
“What did I just say? Hmm?” Glen asked the top of her head. “The camels are tall and tricky animals.”
“I ride a Ticu and I’m fine,” Inis informed him and Glen started laughing loudly, Sir Kirk following the Monarch’s lead to snigger as well. The princess half-turned around and glared at her father. “Ask Jinx or Phina,” she insisted and the mirthful Glen shook his head at the effort his daughter had put in the performance.
She was pretty convincing there for a moment. Glen felt a sense of pride. Takes a crook years to put forward such a good performance.
A pouting Inis pinched his right cheek with two fingers to get his attention. Glen turned his head that way abruptly and made to bite her hand –jaws snapping close and all- so the princess yanked it back with a scared yelp that turned into a giggle.
Titi is a better mount, that strange girl had said back at their camp.
A twist, the dagger hissed.
The fierce smile on Glen’s face melted away and his eyes bored holes at the back of Inis’ head. His chuckling daughter stopped as well, her perception and senses rivaling those of the Zilan and then swung her comely but flushed face around.
“Are you freaking serious?” Glen roared irate and the mirthful Sir Kirk sobered up immediately as well sensing that something was amiss. “Where is that darn scribe?” The Monarch roared as Jinx was Allgods knew where by now. The last sighting of the willowy Gish at Eikenport months back.
Hours later, Morn Taras
Early evening.
A fuming Glen marched inside the grand Hall, as despite the lightstones beaming from their posts next to each large black column the tall ceiling absorbed most of the light. The two dwarves talking with Troy near the conference table turning to watch him approach.
“The dwarf says one can climb the waterfall east from here—”
“Not now Troy,” Glen snapped and glared at Fikumin. The dwarf returning his glare with a scowl of his own, all thick brows and bristling beard. “Where is the sneaky scribe?”
“Monarch,” Vulreon’s voice was heard from a dark corner, followed by the sound of papers and inkpots moving about. “I’m right here.”
“Not you,” Glen spat frustrated. “Phina.”
“Phinariel’s shift ended,” Fikumin rustled. “I gave her use of my quarters in the castle since it’s late.”
“Argh,” Glen griped and went to climb the stairs to reach the second floor but paused to look at Fikumin’s bearded face. “Did you know that Jinx brought a blasted Ticu here?”
Fikumin blinked in shock but Theron Gravelbrow started roaring after a brief pause. He also managed to land a punch on a stunned Troy’s shoulder that almost send the former gladiator to the floor.
“He’s serious,” Fikumin informed his short in stature but plentiful in head and hairs friend. Not to mention the big nose. Theron’s was as large as a potato stuck in the middle of his face.
“Listen up dwarf,” Troy said aggressively but Glen was already running up the stairs two at a time and missed the rest.
A heavy kick and the door swung open, banging hard on the wall. Phina leaped from the bed with a panicked yelp and gripped the mosquito net covering its ceiling using hands and feet, naked fit bottom fully visible, toes and fingers cramping already in her best imitation of a cat. Berthas rolled nimbly from the bed to the floor a heavy-breathing and loud-creaking moment later.
The next, most of the transparent net that was the bed’s canopy got torn and a screaming Phinariel landed on the crumbled sheets with an oomph.
“Hands before cock,” Glen cautioned Berthas that made to approach him with his phallus dangling and the young but white-haired –like the Monarch- Zilan ‘sorcerer’ placed both hands before his genitals with a glance at Phina that stood on the sheets to look at the Monarch apprehensively. Glen decided not to also comment on the fast-maturing scribe’s nudity as it didn’t really bother him that much.
Or at all.
“Lord Fikumin gave permission,” Phina blurted out quickly.
“To fuck Berthas on his bed?” Glen asked a little surprised the dwarf hadn’t her figured out yet.
“To use his quarters.” Phinariel explained blushing and stooped to use a sheet to cover herself up.
“Assara is a Ticu,” Glen grunted hoarsely.
“Uhm,” Phina said wrapping the green sheet around her chest like a chiton. “Hardir saw her at Valimae Lilt, yes?”
What?
“No I didn’t,” Glen snapped his anger returning. “And I wouldn’t have known even if I had seen her darn it! She’s around my daughter!”
“Jinx is very fond of her?”
Eh?
“What are these lame arse excuses…?”
“Monarch if I may,” Berthas intervened and Glen cast a side glance his way.
“Is it relevant?” Glen asked through his teeth.
“Phinariel is a pure soul,” the ‘young’ sorcerer started, Lord Suraer’s grandson no to mention for all intents and purposes Ebenezer-fuckin’-Framtond’s kid, but Glen stopped him tipping his wild head back and letting out a roaring chuckle.
Then he turned serious again.
“She’s not. Actually Phina is very naughty and tends to keep secrets from me,” Glen continued and turned to glare at the female Zilan that had climbed down the bed in the meantime. Phinariel’s long ears got plastered on the sides of her messy head feeling Glen’s stare on her.
“Jinx asked us to leave the explaining to her Hardir.” Phina murmured.
“Whisper Jinx is away for months now. Might be almost a blasted year,” Glen grunted.
“She talked to you first though? Left hints and the Monarch was sympathetic?” Phina insisted.
“Whisper told ye that?” Glen asked with a grimace and she nodded. “Where is Assara now? We lost her on the return trip.”
“She’ll naturally conceal herself when we are not looking,” Phina explained as if this was something non-alarming. “Sometimes as a game, others out of caution. They shapeshift.”
“They what now?”
“It’s very interesting to witness.”
“Academically?” Glen asked mockingly. “Who would know where she is?”
Phinariel sighed out cutely and then raised her large moist eyes to look in Glen’s scowling face. “Apologies for the attempt,” the female blurted out quickly seeing her charms hadn’t worked. “The princess will know. She knows everything and all work for her.”
Ah, for crying out loud, Glen thought not believing a word and marched out of Fikumin’s quarters in Morn Taras. Just so he could test Phina’s theory, the Monarch opted to visit his daughter’s opulent quarters next.
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Inis-Mir was whispering to her gold egg, laying on a velvet red divan when he entered. The color almost matching that of her now unbraided long hair. Everything inside the bedroom had variations of red and gold.
“She’s not here father,” the Princess said in her authoritative voice not looking his way.
“Daughter,” Glen rustled and approached but she snaked away. She rushed to her bed and tried to move across it but he followed after her and grabbed a small ankle before she could escape. Glen dragged her back, the little princess screaming and giggling at the same time. Inis-Mir turned around and pushed Glen away with a foot to the face. “God’s darnit,” he cursed. “This is a serious matter.”
“Assara is young and a friend,” his daughter explained and Glen hated this grown-up part of her character. It was unnatural. “Not a danger to us, but an ally for she’s Nerisea’s daughter.”
“Who the allhells is she?” Glen grunted slapping the small foot away from his face.
“It means ‘from the sea’, the old word is Nerissa.” Inis-Mir explained and jumped from the bed landing with grace on the thick carpet. “The south seas Ticu Matriarch.”
“You can’t possibly know that,” Glen protested.
“I do father for I asked and she told me. Do you want to know why?” Inis-Mir said and raised her arms for him to pick her up. Glen stooped to gather her and smelled Sen’s oils on the little girl.
“Why?”
“I’ve dragon’s blood,” Inis-Mir whispered conspiratorially in his face, opaque irises filled with red and orange dots that sparkled like gold. More red than gold. Rubicund. “All is beneath me.”
“Who told you that?” Glen asked furrowing his brows and the princess pointed at her gold egg that had rolled up next to the pillows at the head of the large divan.
“Qodras,” Inis-Mir replied and smiled, a tooth missing in her mouth ruining it some but Glen loved that childish smile. The meaning in her words though ominous.
“The egg talks?” He asked and walked back to the bed to sit at the edge with the girl in his arms.
“Only in the dreams,” Inis-Mir murmured. “But he can listen. He wants out. The fires lit.”
Glen licked his dry lips and eyed the gold ball on top of the red divan four meters away, noticed the patterns carved on the gleaming surface and the triangular scales that had formed there he didn’t remember before the summer.
“The wyvern needs more heat,” his daughter explained. “You need to free Angrein daddy.”
The motherfucking egg is alive, Glen thought a wave of unease flooding his senses. He stared in his daughter’s face and Inis-Mir smiled and reached with her hands to touch Glen’s face. Gold bracelets jingling, those soft fingers tracing the details.
“It’s too dangerous,” Glen rustled.
“People fear you and Uvrycres. They will for as long as you’re around daddy. You are my power,” Inis-Mir explained soothingly. “But Qodras shall ensure that in this realm and until the end of time everyone is my servant.”
“Is this what you want?” Glen asked her.
“A wyvern stands above all,” Inis-Mir had replied nonchalantly. “It’s in our blood.”
“I’ll have to take the egg with me,” a solemn Glen said with a slight purse of his mouth and she nodded with a childish grin.
4th of Neter 3400 IC
Morn Taras throne room
“Hardir O’ Fardor,” Laedan rustled mockingly, the Denmaster limping his way, the deformed side of his face sagging and giving Laedan a crooked smirk. “I see you’ve spared no expenses decorating.”
Glen was standing in front of a relief Eilven had painted on the polished black granite wall. The scene depicting Hardir O’ Fardor fighting the Hydra with Uvrycres releasing a stream of fire that had boiled the lake’s waters. The striking colors and details breathtaking.
“Can a wyvern be controlled?” Glen asked disregarding the old Zilan’s taunt. Laedan had remained low-key antagonistic since they had met. The Denmaster had tried to kill and then eat Glen on that occasion.
“You would have known that had you not been a crook,” Laedan deadpanned.
“This crook can have you killed,” Glen reminded him coldly. “The moment you stop being useful.”
“I shall strive to be a good servant.” Laedan replied with a curtsy. “Hardir was more thick-skinned as I recall.”
“I don’t mind your banter,” Glen said and pursed his mouth. “In private.” He walked towards the hunched Denmaster and stopped in front of him. “The egg is alive.” Glen said simply.
Laedan nodded a little apprehensively. “Feyras will be pleased.”
“Have you hatched one like it afore?” Glen asked not enthused at the experienced official’s reaction.
“I have. Turlas, the Gold. Ninthalor’s wyvern.”
“You think the one inside the egg is like him?” Glen asked.
“I don’t know. Each wyvern is different. The gold ones are very vain. Turlas had Ninthalor made a saddle out of Mithril for him. Lord Suraer thought it outrageous given the scarcity of the material and the Monarch sent Lord Sulynor to order a set of armor for the Queen instead. Lord Sulynor bribed the craftsman and forced his way into the mine, left with a wagon of precious ingots.”
“Turlas got his fancy saddle,” Glen said.
“Lord Suraer never visited the palace again nor trusted the throne blindly,” Laedan replied. “But you found a way around that already.”
“I just took his grandson with me and washed the shame off of his daughter’s back.”
“Where I was going Hardir. You also have him living in the palace.”
Glen didn’t but Fikumin had a soft spot for Phina and she had brought her young lover along.
“Where is the saddle now?”
“Gone, I suppose,” Laedan replied and wiped the sagging part of his mouth.
“I’ll need one made,” Glen said. They had talked about that matter a couple of times already.
“Out of Mithril?”
“Would Lord Suraer agree to that?”
“I don’t know what he has available but it’ll take more than a free bed for Berthas for that.”
“How about something cheaper but sturdy?” Glen countered. “Surely someone remembers how to fashion the bloody things! It’s very risky riding without one.”
“Have you ever fallen from the wyvern?”
“Many times,” Glen retorted.
Laedan whistled seemingly impressed. “Are ye bones made out of steel Hardir?”
“It’s a matter of skill Laedan,” Glen grunted. “You know I have plenty of that.”
A touch of luck also.
“Honoring that impressive skill,” Laedan started with a crooked smirk. “You’ll have your saddle Hardir.”
“How soon?”
“Tomorrow. I have a couple inside the Den. Old but sturdy,” Laedan deadpanned. “They’ll do just fine.”
“You fucking lying ruffian!” Glen snapped angrily spittle flying out of his mouth. “Didn’t I ask you months back and you denied it?”
“You asked me to make you a new saddle and I told you I couldn’t.”
Glen puffed out, then pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers to avoid an aneurysm.
“Can the… procedure fail?” He asked looking at the wall relief changing the subject.
“Hardir wants to kill the wyvern?”
Yes.
“Did I say that?”
“Angrein can make it happen. You have the blacksmith locked up for over a year now Hardir.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Laedan stood back and shook his head. “Does the princess know?”
“The princess is not running the kingdom Laedan,” Glen warned him.
“The princess is the Monarch’s daughter. She’ll rule in Wetull unless she’s challenged and you don’t want that. Most of the sycophants that follow you don’t want it also but they know they’ll be around for long after you are dead Hardir.”
“What about Uvrycres?”
“Not all wyverns will bond again after they lose their Aniculo Rokae. You want to risk it?”
He didn’t want to risk a crazy flying beast living with his daughter. What if he turned out like Gimoss? He shivered at the thought of that freak. Plus she already has that fucking Ticu.
Some would say Raro the friendly Nimra lion and Nefertiti were pretty dangerous companions as well for a small girl.
Glen clenched his jaw tightly, teeth grinding and lips turning white in a grimace of wrath. “I don’t want nothing bad happening to my daughter Laedan.”
“I’m on your side Hardir. Just tell me what you decide and it shall be done,” the Denmaster replied all serious now and bowed his dilapidated head.
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