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Arguen Garth
Hardir O’ Fardor
Lord of Morn Taras
Monarch of Wetull
King beyond the Pale Mountains
Aniculo Rokae
Cracked
Part I
-The missive-
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The chilly morning breeze wafted at the half-drawn drapes and lowered the temperature inside the large royal bedroom. With the long inner curtains parting some light came through and the dark ceiling the Monarch was staring at came to view gradually. The mural Eilven had painted depicting Arguen Garth’s celebration almost two years earlier and it had taken at least as many months to finish. The elongated throne room’s grand platform having the three thrones still there with their rightful occupants watching the proceedings bathed in a golden hue seemingly frozen in time and the hall filled with a colorfully dressed crowd. A burning city under siege to the north and the ruins of Goras to the south. Rida and Taras.
Eh, fuck it. You ain’t getting no more rest.
Iskay sighed in her sleep and Glen pushed himself upright blinking a couple of times to clear his blurry eyes. The comely palace official sleeping in her birthday suit with her face pressed on a pillow and those copper locks spilled over her shoulders.
Glen swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat there for a moment with the rich brown carpet hiding his maimed foot. The lanky hat-wearing figure of Kilynia watching then with her glowing eyes from the open bedroom door.
Switch her with an ogle-eyed ostrich and no one could tell the difference with any certainty, Glen thought sourly after the initial startle wore off.
“Hardir,” Kilynia whispered from afar. “Are you awake?”
“Unfortunately. You killed any new birds lately Kilynia?” Glen rustled before remembering to lower his voice. The Zilan palace official, her duties not those of Iskay’s obviously, approached briskly the king-sized bed. She quickly searched the large open wardrobe, after nimbly picking up discarded articles of clothing from the floor on the way.
It was good that Glen had flung them out in the open for her to easily find.
“Hardir can praise my feathered hat if it pleases him,” Kilynia replied eyeing Glen’s semi-flaccid cock hanging between his parted thighs. She then dropped a pair of pants to cover it up.
“It doesn’t,” Glen replied curtly and watched her rounding the bed with an acerbic grimace to reach the soundly asleep Iskay’s side. She quickly covered the naked former slave with a crumbled sheet and puffed out, her eyes on the distant door leading to the princess’ bedchamber.
“See you wake Iskay up afore Inis bursts in here,” Glen ordered wearing his soft-leather pants and shoving all the hanging parts inside. “Tell Maeriel to keep her busy for a while.”
“Maeriel has gone hunting,” Kilynia replied. “It’s her leave days.”
Glen didn’t know they had those.
“A Monarch should have the most days off,” he murmured wearing the heavy special boots that helped him walk without a slight limp.
Kilynia wrinkled her hawkish nose but said nothing.
“You don’t agree?” Glen putting a shirt on and then a thick gambeson vest. Where’s the darn mask? Ah, yeah.
“Hardir can do as he pleases and so does the Monarch.”
“Ah, the passive-aggressive disapproval,” Glen remarked and clipped the mask on his face before removing it with a grimace. “I need to eat.”
“Rimeros is here with the day’s agenda,” Kilynia informed him.
“Stall him to buy me some time,” Glen ordered, with a dignified voice coming from the open door before he could finish.
“Your grace…” it was Rimeros. “…If I may—”
“You may not. Anyone else out there peeking at my bed?” Glen grunted a little annoyed.
“Nay sire, but the Council is gathering downstairs.” Rimeros replied stiffly.
“Let them wait,” Glen rustled more annoyed now and grabbed his weapon harness. Pointed at his cuirass with an arm. “Bring it along. Not you Kilynia. You wait here in case Inis sneaks inside the room.”
A young woman entered the bedroom, a mixed-race Cofol with some Lorian in it. Dark-blond hair, honey-colored eyes painted with black pencil and tanned skin. She bowed low and then proceeded to clean up until she found the hoplite cuirass and she picked it up.
“I’ll take the Monarch’s armour Memphes,” Rimeros said from the door. “You help Lady Iskay be presentable. Lady Kilynia has duties to attend to Hardir.”
Glen pursed his mouth. “Fine.”
He walked to the door, recoiled when the armoured Rokae guarding the corridor saluted thunderously and then glared at the nicely-dressed Rimeros. “My daughter is sleeping. Just keep it quiet around here.”
“I’ll see to issue an order Hardir,” Rimeros assured him.
“Good.” Glen walked towards the stairs, stretching himself and moving his neck right and left to get everything going. “Where did we find the new girl?”
“Lady Iskay asked for a slave to help her in her duties, also assist Atju I suppose, so Kamat-Fin brought Memphes from Lon-Iv’s villa three days ago. She’s well-trained for a human.”
“I wasn’t informed,” Glen said to justify his query.
“Folen could provide an appropriate companion Hardir,” Rimeros offered and Glen paused mid-stride and turned around to face the tall Zilan official.
“What do you mean?”
“A Zilan. He has… trained personnel,” it was obvious Rimeros didn’t approve of Folen’s extracurricular businesses.
“It won’t be necessary,” a grimacing Glen informed him.
“Of course.”
“I don’t like yer tone friend,” Glen rustled.
“Apologies Hardir.”
Glen pursed his mouth and stared over the guardrails at the throne room below them. The single black throne looking small from above. “What’s in the agenda?”
“Lord Fikumin has several matters brought up…”
“What else?” Glen interrupted him.
“Lord Treasurer—”
“Anything suitable for a cold morning?” Glen snapped.
Rimeros reached for a bag he carried with an arm, the other held Glen’s cuirass. “I have the scrolls in here your Grace.”
“You need a whole bag to carry them?” Glen hissed. “Good grief. Let’s get downstairs to grab a fucking bite!”
“What about the Council?” Rimeros asked running after him as Glen had started down the stairs energetically.
“Have they eaten yet?” Glen yelled over his shoulder.
“It is hours after sunrise Hardir.”
“Huh? No! Are you sure?”
“The day is cloudy,” the hurrying after him Rimeros elucidated.
Damn it, the heavy-breathing Monarch thought as they both run down the long stairs before Glen decided to slow down remembering this was a very dangerous practice.
There was a large wyvern statue near the base of the stairs Voron had brought and it was made out of a solid block of granite.
You run into that and it’s over.
Ayup.
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“Exulted Monarch,” Atju said mockingly pulling the chair for him, still bitter Glen had freed Iskay but kept him under a slave contract as if this was Glen’s fault. Iskay had suggested it and Glen had no interest in getting mixed up with petty palace intricacies to such a degree. “Cold chicken wings lathered with mustard, red berries and an assortment of vegetables. Wine, tea or Kofi with honey sire?”
“Ah, just leave everything.” Glen murmured and reached for a fried wing. He crunched it with his teeth hearing noise from the door leading to the adjoined throne room. “Rimeros buy me some time here for crying out loud!”
“Eh, they saw us getting down Hardir.”
“Um… well…” Glen swallowed everything and reached for a cup of the desert beverage. “Ah… fuck, this is still bitter… Atju.”
“It might move the bowels Monarch if we sweeten it more,” the Cofol slave said perceptively.
Glen got a couple of berries in his mouth and stared at the vegetables. “I’m not pleased with the menu today. Just stick to what works Atju. Eggs, a normal salad with a couple of tomatoes and always have potatoes available. Cheese as well, just toss it in the pan along with the eggs, it’s not that difficult!”
“Yes sire,” Atju said with a bow of the head.
“Hardir, we could move the plates to the council table.” Rimeros tried again.
“Just the chicken and the wine. Ah, the berries too,” Glen yielded getting up. “Rimeros I might start thinking of having a place all of my own, where I can pause for a moment to think and concentrate on other stuff. A man can’t go about living like this for long.”
“Eh, what place would that be sire?”
“Is Folen outside?”
“Folen, Lord Cinna, Duke Alden, Lord Fikumin, Captain Horton, Feyras is expecting an audience, Mylael—”
“Did I ask for anyone else?” Glen interrupted him.
“The alert Monarch did not,” an unhappy to be chastised Rimeros replied.
“Leave the cuirass on the chair,” Glen said after a moment of silently staring at the Zilan. “You might drop the plates trying to be cute and balance everything on the fingers. What else? Ah… Atju, wake up Hagen.”
“He’s already awake, oh thee exulted Monarch,” came the royal servant’s reply.
Glen mumbled under his breath -now extremely annoyed, then puffed his cheeks out, turned around and promptly marched for the throne room without further remarks.
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Everyone at the elongated conference table watched as Glen nailed the greased chicken wing with a fork, dipped it in the yellow creamy dressing and then brought it to his mouth. The Monarch started chewing down vigorously, pausing only to sip from a goblet of unnamed white wine. His eyes going from the impressed –now almost healed from his injuries- Doris Alden, the guarded Laius Cinna and the scowling dwarves Fikumin and Theron Gravelbrow, the latter more focused on the Monarch’s plates than his royal person.
Glen cleared his throat after swallowing and having another sip of the initially sour wine that did leave in the end a pleasant hint of sweetness in his mouth.
“Proceed,” he finally said to the frowning Fikumin. Other than the prominent nose, the dwarf’s face and head was a forest of bristling hairs.
“We haven’t started yet Garth.”
“Here’s yer plaguing chance,” Glen retorted, not missing a beat and sat back on his chair at the top of the table.
Fikumin grimaced and snatched the first parchment from the big stack placed in front of him. “There is increased criminal activity outside Taras and the rest of the peninsula Captain’s Horton’s guards can’t detain.”
“What kind?” Glen asked looking at the rigid Captain of the guards.
“Mostly smugglers your grace,” Horton replied. “Illegal routes are forming left and right, mostly in Hardir’s Port and Mussel. The roads are poorly patrolled due to lack of personnel and the criminals use remote beaches to load and unload goods. Several murders have been committed and there is word of turf wars.”
“Have you investigated?” Glen asked with a glance at Folen that was tuning his lute at the other edge of the table.
“The bodies have been disposed of in most cases. We are dealing with organized crime sire.” Horton replied stiffly.
“Folen?” Glen queried and signed for Sir Delmuth to take the lute from the Master of Silence’s hands. The Zilan royal knight moved swiftly to disarm the protesting council member.
“Great Hardir,” Folen started with a grimace. “We have the usual organized gangs as all big cities but nothing untoward.”
“Taras isn’t a big city,” Glen noticed.
“All of Goras is a city,” Folen countered.
“You say nothing untoward but Horton is telling me folk have been cut down,” Glen insisted not to appear disinterested in the matter.
“Unsavory characters,” Folen replied dismissively. “Cutthroats.”
“Any suspects?” Glen asked in a mocking manner.
“The Thieves Guild, the myth of the elusive Aeson and probably assassins,” Folen said with a shrug. Glen examined the darker spots of his hall for a moment to locate Nym’s man but he didn’t have any success.
Din was missing lately.
“The elusive Aeson,” he murmured in a taunting manner.
“The criminal underworld has its own heroes Hardir, but it’s just tales nothing more.” Folen elucidated. “The situation will normalize soon.”
“Smuggling is hurting our exports,” Fikumin growled clenching his fist over the table. “We have goods detained in ports on Jelin and we face difficulties to sell our wares in many cities there. Taxes, outright bans. This is a coordinated attack to price us out of the markets!”
“Do they smuggle wine?” Glen asked. “Because this is what we face the most problems with.”
“What does it matter?” Fikumin retorted.
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
I’m cornering the market in the smuggling wine business?
“I believe most smugglers are looting the isles Hardir,” Folen noted. “This is mostly an internal problem for the most part.”
“You don’t know that,” Fikumin grunted. “We are relying on pirates for information. The navy is spread out too thin and split between two distant fronts.”
“We are working on fixing that Fikumin,” Glen said and placed both hands on the table to stoop forward. “We need time to increase the numbers so we can have enough of a presence east and west while securing the Reefs. When this is done we’ll see to search the ruins ourselves.”
“This could take years Garth… with all respect, we must act now.” Fikumin grunted.
“Horton how many guards do you have available?”
“About six hundred, but a third are still in training your grace,” Horton replied.
“Mostly humans, Cofols being the majority,” Fikumin elucidated.
“The Zilan are not liking the noble job of a city guard?” Glen asked.
“The Zilan are interested in following their true skills, those wanting to serve as warriors first chance the Phalanx and then Flardryn’s marines. He’s taking everything.”
“We need to secure our shores,” Glen noted. “Can we control Mussel and Hardir’s Port better?”
“Hardir’s Port is easier to patrol but Mussel is too far away,” Horton replied. “The roads after the Temple an adventure in the wilderness.”
“Is Flardryn still in Ani Ta-Ne?” Glen queried scratching the side of his neck with a finger.
“The commander is busy and in a critical distant port Hardir,” Rimeros informed him. “He also had a difficult year.”
Of course.
A beast killed and then half-ate his daughter.
I hope Lefyr left that last part out!
Glen grimaced and then puffed out. “See to increase your numbers Horton. Folen get in touch with those ‘gangs’ and inform them that there are no freebies here. Unless I get a cut they are playing with fire.”
“Are you serious?” Fikumin blasted him turning an unhealthy red in the face.
Glen pursed his mouth and waited a moment afore replying calmly.
“We can’t stop them and dealing with this will use all our resources for meagre results. We are not here to eradicate crime. I prefer them as partners at this moment. Try it my way Folen and see from there.”
“Hardir,” Folen bowed his head.
“Anything else?” Glen asked looking at them and Rimeros gave him a scroll. Glen returned it with a glare. “What does it say?”
“Commander Lefyr has arrested Voron for assaulting Lord Elwuin,” Rimeros reported.
“Good grief! Did that moron kill him?”
“Blows were exchanged but no fatalities have been reported. Voron is kept in a cell to ‘cool off’ according to Lefyr.’” Rimeros replied.
“The reason for this madness?”
“Voron wanted to move towards Baltoris’ Port after the crews repairing the road, but Elwuin wasn’t impressed by the work done and ordered them back to start anew.”
What? Oh, for crying out loud. Voron should have finished that old fool off!
Glen sighed and glugged down the rest of the wine afore replying.
“Order Lefyr to free Voron. Then lock Lord Elwuin up,” he ordered somberly.
“Lord Elwuin?” Rimeros grimaced in shock.
“Just keep him somewhere to heal up or something until we finish the god darn road!” Glen snapped and then grimaced in the attempt to calm himself down. “What’s the next topic?” He asked hoarsely and after a brief moment of silence Rimeros replied.
“Lord Cinna wants to discuss some interesting finds Hardir.”
Laius stood up pale as a sick ghost. “I won’t use the Monarch’s time,” he offered in a strangled voice.
Good.
Doris Alden stood up the moment the Treasurer collapsed on his chair. Glen eyed the smiling Duke suspiciously.
“I believe the topic must be discussed your grace.” Doris insisted.
“Let’s do it after the meeting,” Glen replied frostily. “Fikumin, do we have anything else?”
“Anfalon is returning with a portion of the Phalanx,” the Monarch’s Shield reported gruffly. “He also had a son in a more auspicious non-official matter.”
“Nice. Some good news at last. Now since usually shite come afterwards, any other problems?” Glen asked perceptively.
“I wrote a memo Garth,” Fikumin grunted and Rimeros gave Glen a furled small scroll. “I suggest you read it in your personal time.”
“I don’t have much of the latter,” Glen retorted mockingly and the dwarf snorted in anger. “I’ve barely have time to eat,” Glen continued and pocketed the scroll, then realized Doris Alden was still standing expectantly.
“I have something…”
“Didn’t I say we’ll talk afterwards friend?” Glen cut him off midsentence.
“I thought your grace wanted to speak with Cinna,” Doris explained.
“You were mistaken,” Glen rejoined with a grimace and pushed back on the chair. “Atju…” He turned around hearing footsteps. It was Hagen. “Ah, Hagen… good. Find a bottle of Taria O’ Mir and bring it here.”
“It’s not even noon Garth,” the standing Fikumin noticed.
“Given the blasted topics I’m dealing with, it might as well be late evening,” Glen deadpanned deathly serious.
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Glen waited for Atju to clear the plates away while Fikumin left with Folen and most of the others leaving the two Lorians behind. He stared at his worried Treasurer that hadn’t touched his cup. Doris on the other hand was enjoying Glen’s wine and was already in his second.
“Mister Cinna I understand the gold is arriving safely to the treasury,” Glen said.
“Your grace is correct.”
“And?”
Laius Cinna wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and then stared at his notes. “Sire you mentioned earlier the worker crews working the Rain Minas to Baltoris Port road connection.”
“It’s a repair as much as an expansion of the old road network. Twenty crews with ten engineers under Lord Elwuin… now under Voron that is,” Glen replied.
“The Sopat have taken the contract.” Laius started. “There is… the compensation isn’t apparent in the books.”
“They’ll get to use it for free afterwards. As in, no taxes for their caravans,” Glen said. “It’s an agreement.”
“Do we have a time-frame on the duration of this agreement your grace?”
“I’ll sign a contract for you and talk to Phon-Iv about it. Fifty years lets say,” Glen grimaced at the minutiae.
“Taras has employed four firms from Lai Zel-ka to complete work on the town’s center,” Laius continued. “The main square and the lake’s shores. Paving the Morn Taras roads. We paid them around five thousand gold doubloons.”
“We don’t have enough Zilan for the demand,” Glen replied stiffly. “That’s a worrying amount Cinna.”
“The work took them sixteen months sire. It’s actually cheap.”
“Not from where I’m sitting,” Glen retorted.
“Your grace, the materials were included in the price,” Laius insisted. “Over half the sum was returned to the throne’s coffers which means the four Cofol firms paid their skilled workers… around a hundred of them, from whatever they had left. I understand individual merchant families shouldered the expense in exchange for market spots in the city per Lord Fikumin.”
“They can do as they please,” Glen said unsure where Cinna was going with this. “It’s their problem.”
“Sire, with a rate of thirty silver per month for each worker, each gold doubloon being twelve silver… that’s two point half gold or forty gold doubloons for each worker for the task. Four thousand gold in total. They came up short. They basically took a huge loss.”
Glen blinked, teeth clenched and head hurting. “Why do we care?” He finally asked and Doris stood up a little annoyed with his hesitant friend.
“For Uher’s sake just tell him Laius.” Doris urged evocatively. “My Lord, this is a slave economy!” The Duke of Aegium declared to a stunned Glen. “This is Eplas but you and I sire are noble Lorians.”
Glen grimaced and worked on the underside of his nicely trimmed beard with his fingers. “I’m an islander actually,” he finally said. “The Cofols have their style and it’s not on me to change it Mister Doris.”
Doris ogled his eyes. “I’m the Duke of Aegium my Lord.”
“Exiled in Goras, where distant titles mean little,” Glen continued warningly.
“Your grace, a slave economy can’t be sustained without the influx of new slaves at a steady rate,” Laius said treading carefully. “It creates an imbalance as another firm can’t compete with them and might charge… in this case twice the sum you paid. As a matter of fact and after going through the books, your grace has built a town for a third of what was expected and a… very large castle, for no cost at all?”
“Zilan took care of that. Morn Taras paid them in land. We allowed the exiles and former strays to live here and in exchange they work at the throne’s projects. All citizens are required to contribute to the throne, the army, the navy or other projects. You speak of Eplas. This is Wetull.”
“So the slaves are slaves and the citizens are slaves with benefits?” Doris asked and Glen stared at him soberly.
“Taras has Lorians living in it. From Raoz, Regia and Lesia. It has Issirs and it has pirates. It has Cofols from Greenwhale and even Horselords. Each culture has something different or exotic going for it, but living here comes with a set of rules. I didn’t make the rules… not all of them but I have no interest in stopping something that works to build something that might not. You do what you are comfortable with as long as you don’t interfere with my business. That was the contract. Those wanting more… like full citizenship must abide by the rules. Doesn’t Regia charge a tithe each season?”
“Ten percent.” A flushed Doris replied.
“Is that so? What if there is a war? Don’t citizens get drafted?”
“They are compensated for it your grace.”
“By not paying the tithe for a year or two. That’s a scam dear Duke what criminals call a clever racket,” Glen replied. “Wetull runs on coin but also on outright trades between people. You produce something and trade it for something you value. It’s an old system.”
Laius stared at his notes. “Your grace, this creates a complicated system the other kingdoms will find very difficult to accept. A Cofol product is always cheaper in such a market and a Zilan can take less for a superior product if it’s in the mood. There is no uniformity and the market hates imbalance.”
“The human market.” Glen said. “What about the Black Market?”
“Criminals are not part of the economy.” Doris pointed out.
“Criminals were always part of the economy,” Glen countered. “No law will ever stop them from trying to make a living.”
“My Lord, if Horton increases his guards… say to twice their number to give example, then Taras’ finances will take a hit. The majority are getting paid in coin. A number of Zilan are charging for services as well. Anyway, this means that the throne must at some point step in and foot the wages bill. Will the throne do it for Abarat? Lo Minas? Dia? Rain Minas? Are they all run by Zilan?”
“Not all,” Glen said looking at him annoyed.
“Gold might stop arriving to the throne’s coffers very fast my liege,” Laius warned. “The more humans you employ.”
Glen stood back and let out a deep breath. “We are working on a plan to secure revenue. One way or another.”
“Brute forcing exports on Jelin while there are decrees signed against our products might be frowned upon,” Laius argued. “It might lead to a violent response. You opened the door to Cofol merchants and they bend over backwards to please you but they are also going to hit Jelin’s markets with everything they have utilizing your network and ports. Something to consider here is that some of our products are toxic for human economies. Sire we don’t burn oil to illuminate this hall, the castle’s yard or this city. There’s a whole market in danger of extinction to give you one example.”
Glen rapped his fingers on the table, scrunching his jaw this way and that thinking on Cinna’s words. Several tensed moments later he gave a nod with his head. “I’ll see to regulate what needs to remain within our borders Laius. Make me a list.”
“Yes sire,” Laius croaked in relief and bowed. He gathered his papers to depart but Doris remained behind, a thoughtful expression on his now healed and better-colored face.
“Duke Doris?” Glen probed. “Something the matter?”
“My Lord,” Doris started with a strange uncomfortable grimace. “If I can enquire on the etiquette of cross-species intimate affairs?”
A tick appeared on Glen’s left eyebrow. “I’m not sure I understand yer meaning,” he told the sheepish Doris.
“I find myself in awe of several Zilan maidens—”
“It’s a charming spell,” Glen cut him off. “They are adept to it and you’ll be hard-pressed to find any maidens in their ranks.”
“Be that as it may,” Doris continued a determined look on his face. “Are you opposed to it? I’ve seen couples around.”
“Are we only talking about Zilan?” Glen asked in a mocking tone.
“I found the Gish disturbing and very short.” Doris admitted. “I have never seen a dwarf lass but a Zilan… well, they stand out in… their exotic weirdness.”
“What about Ticu? They are pretty… exotic.”
“A Ticu? Ha-ha… I see what you did there milord.”
Glen was serious and found the Duke’s loud outburst and annoying chuckle confusing.
“The Duke fancies this part of the meeting,” Laius explained to the bemused Glen. “A chance for noble persons to talk freely on baser matters.”
“Right,” Glen pursed his mouth. “I’m not against them.” He started with Doris nodding him along. “But, I must warn you dear Doris that Zilan are extremely treacherous to associate with.”
He stared at Rimeros and then Vulreon –they were both sitting at the scribe’s separate table some meters away- the latter had stopped scribbling down on his papers shocked.
“You are surrounded by Zilan,” Doris noticed. “My Lord.”
“Bring your papers here,” Glen ordered Vulreon. “Put that quill down, the meeting is over. You can leave us Rimeros.”
“Yes Monarch,” Vulreon replied and hurried to gather everything.
A somber Glen waited for the Zilan to depart patiently, his eyes on a statue of himself wearing the Crown of Horns. He remembered Fikumin’s missive –originally from Anfalon- and grimaced feeling a sense of unease, then glanced at the two Lorians. Laius wanted to be anywhere but inside the Monarch’s Hall that much was obvious. As for Doris, he was probably semi-drunk from the strong Goras wine he had glugged down carelessly.
Glen sighed and clasped his hands together. “A young-looking Zilan might be twice yer age Duke,” he finally started. “Five times that. Ten even. They eat all meat without sentimentality. Flesh included, for they are predators at their core.” He stared at his left hand for a moment. “They have access to at least simple charms or magic and will bend the rules when dealing with humans. I will caution against getting into an intimate relationship with one if you can avoid it.”
“What if you can’t?” Doris asked curious.
“Then you must remain guarded at all times,” Glen replied raspingly. “But not everyone can do that. As a matter of fact Laius, one should remain guarded around them especially in trades or any other dealings. Never underestimate their ability to outthink you. There are good folk and souls amongst them sure but the bad ones are beyond evil.”
“Your grace. There are many humans that are beyond evil as well,” Laius noticed in a low voice and Glen nodded.
“Aye, there are.” He agreed after a thoughtful moment. “But humans I can read more easily.” Glen stared at Lord Doris next. “Visit Folen’s venue,” he suggested somberly and pushed back on his chair afore adding. “Fuck his ‘mother’ and get it out of yer system.”
An ogle-eyed Doris Alden stared at him in deep befuddlement.
“Doris,” a pale Laius said snapping the Duke out of his stupor. “The Monarch has ended the meeting.”
Of the two, Glen thought with a slight smirk. He is the sharper one.
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That evening Glen finished training in the yard with Hagen and Sir Alan Kirk and returned to his quarters. Sir Nuvian was standing guard out of Inis-Mir’s bedchamber. He saluted seeing the Monarch returning.
“Is she sleeping?” Glen asked.
“Memphes was there earlier and Lady Kilynia,” Sir Nuvian replied. “I believe she is Hardir.”
“Iskay?”
“In her quarters with Memphes.”
Glen nodded then opened the door to enter the princess’ room.
The lights were covered and it took a moment for him to adjust. He walked near one of the torches and exposed the lightstone. Glen found the scroll and opened it with a glance at the bed where his daughter was silently sleeping under her sheets.
The older Princess is coming to Goras, Anfalon reported in Imperial as Fikumin hadn’t bothered translating the text. Jinx and the adventurers are with her. No other Zilan. Lyceron is escorting them. They’ll stop at Oldport and Jungle Fort if the Monarch wishes their journey interrupted.
Lith’s search has been unsuccessful it appears, Glen thought numbly and loosened the collar of his shirt before finding an armchair to sit down. His armour making a lot of noise. Damn it. Trust Whisper to bring me trouble.
He tried to remember Lith from before that summer of 188 NC, but Glen was a completely different person back then and too much time had gone by.
When the time comes Glenavon, Lith had offered a much younger very-naïve Glen. We will make new agreement. I will help you get your heart’s desire and you’ll help me in turn, bring back hope for my people.
Your people are fine.
Glen had restored Wetull to a degree but he had done it for himself and wasn’t partial to make any new deal with Lith. You reach a certain point and sacrifice enough shit, he thought with a scowl forming on his face. No trade seems fair.
Because no trade is.
Here come the vile usurpers and their guileful ruffians to greedily slurp at your rightfully gained power, the dagger hissed waking up after months of silence. Suck the marrow out of your bones and steal the crown from your daughter’s head.
Shut the fuck up, Glen snapped and got up frustrated with everything to still his eyes on the large barred window.
The light footsteps on the thick carpet approaching. Smelling of jasmine oils and citrus. Inis-Mir touched his hand and pried the crumbled scroll away. She unfurled it under Glen’s thoughtful stare and tended her other arm his way, the small still bandaged fist closed, while she read the script.
Glen grabbed her tiny silk-dressed fist and Inis-Mir opened it depositing a piece of gold-colored porcelain in his palm. The Monarch furrowed his white brows beholding the broken piece and Inis-Mir queried in a clear melodic voice.
“Who is this old Princess?”
“The previous Queen’s daughter,” Glen replied hoarsely impressed at Inis-Mir’s ability to read Imperial script with ease so early. “We traveled together for a while.”
“Before you were a noble Monarch?” His daughter asked casually.
“I was more of a semi-noble back then,” Glen jested.
Inis-Mir crumbled the scroll in his her small hands. “Does she know about the Wyvern?”
“Uvrycres?” Glen asked a little surprised her young mind had gone there. “I reckon she does.”
Ah.
Glen stared at the broken golden eggshell piece inside his palm. When?
“Don’t tell her about Qodras,” Inis-Mir advised.
“Is the wyvern out?” Glen asked instead worried.
“Soon,” Inis-Mir replied vaguely gazing towards the now empty canvass’s stand and then she assumed an uncertain expression that was almost comical despite the seriousness of the query. “Daddy… I know the missive says differently but are you certain she comes alone?”
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