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Glen
Arguen Garth
Hardir O’ Fardor
Lord of Morn Taras
Monarch of Wetull
King beyond the Pale Mountains
Aniculo Rokae
Duath Erin I Menel
Malantur O’ Furu
Rhu Fareno
Malantur O’ Furu
Act I
–Rhu Fareno-
Part II
-The man behind the mask-
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image [https://i.postimg.cc/HdwzpxtX/taras2-low-res.png]
“A’ right. That’s ‘Klepto’ Leon and Silent Doyle,” a grimacing Folen explained early the next morning, afore the still closed Lake Taras’ west shores tourist pavilions, Glen had made a key for. “Best I could do in such short notice, to avoid using my standard guys. I pay medic fees to them, your grace.”
Oh boy.
Glen eyed the two low-level crooks intently.
“They worked in Rida and Eikenport,” Folen explained.
“What made you move?” Glen asked the thinner of the two, the one named Doyle, a sad-looking Lorian with drooping eyelids that wore a vest with many pockets over his rugged tunic.
“War milord. We’re Reeve’s loyalists.”
Glen glared at Folen. “Do they know who I am?”
“We haven’t talked about that sire, but no,” Folen admitted and added calmingly. “The man is just nervous.”
“We trust mister Folen,” Klepto Leon assured Glen.
“I wouldn’t,” Glen retorted and the two men smirked at the perceived jest. “Do you know what to do?”
“Aye, unknown milord.” Doyle replied. “Mister Folen will point the girl to us.”
“Ayup,” Klepto agreed, a taller Lorian with a serious case of early baldness and pale-blue eyes. “We grab her inside the alley.”
“I don’t want her harmed in any way is this clear?” Glen probed.
“Rest assured milord,” Klepto replied confidently. “We’ve done this shit several times.”
“Jumped on lonely women inside dark alleys?” Glen asked raising an eyebrow.
“It sounds bad, now that milord said it out loud,” Klepto said defending his lifestyle. “But it really isn’t.”
“Is that so?”
“Aye,” Klepto agreed shaking his head sadly.
“What kind of girl walks the streets after dark? Not a follower of Uher for sure. Right?” Doyle poised a hypothetical query.
“Ayup,” Klepto added with a nod.
“What person lurks in ambush for such a foolish girl?” Glen argued.
“Yeah,” Klepto sadly agreed with his counter and then grimaced thinking it through.
“Right,” Glen grunted with an eye-roll, already feeling dumber from the exchange and glared at Folen, who pursed his mouth frustrated with the way the talk had gone. “You make your move, but I show up and break it up. Who can take a punch and sell it?” Glen asked the nervous duo and Klepto pointed at Doyle, who blinked in shock.
“Doyle can handle it. He was in a play once.”
“Yeah? What did he do?”
“Played a horse?” Klepto replied with a grimace at the attempt to remember more ‘useful’ details. “He was stronger back then.”
Slovenly fuck’s sake!
“I can handle half-a-punch,” Doyle assured Glen. “Or two full slaps. Then I’ll take a dive.”
Glen pressed the tip of his tongue behind his lower lip unsure.
“Easy,” Doyle added confidently. “Milord.”
And that settled it.
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Glen spend an hour watching a much-different Moira working at Vela’s stand in the market, after Folen’s man Almas –he worked as ‘muscle’ at the pleasure house- informed him of her whereabouts.
“Six furrows a slave’s heart has. All hearts,” The former slave Ziba-Ra had told him some time back. “But you can’t see them if you stand firm 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. Each furrow has pleasure running through and filling it. Or discontent. One can savor it, but not all are the same. One can see a glimpse of another’s true self, but one needs to stand back first.”
Naossis’ words to Augusta Lena allegedly, spoken from a well-learned slave girl that had caught Sir Emerson’s attention and saved for all eternity by a loyal bard’s quill that wanted to offer this mundane world a taste of a legendary adventurer’s life.
“Unfold each veil carefully one by one for some flowers have thorns and you’ll reach the truth.”
This version of Moira was carefree and full of confidence, with none of the tension, or distrust, she had demonstrated around him. She worked the different labeled potions effortlessly, rearranging the small vials on the stand and checking each one for any spillage. Occasionally Moira would smile hearteningly at the many male, or female customers that had started circling the pretty Cofol healer’s table caught in her charming web. This included several silver-feathered miniature ducks that had populated the Lake the previous summer and now had landed near her table to nest under it. Occasionally, because most of the times the healer didn’t even notice the effect she had on people. A warm aura, alike a glow that affected those walking past and forced them to stop unwittingly to watch Moira work.
Her mere presence spreading bliss to those nearby, invisible pleasure threads that slowly expanded outwards, alike warmth from a well-stocked with burning logs fireplace during winter.
You are something special, aren’t you? Glen thought impressed. Where did you really come from lass?
One could immediately feel the female’s attention turn his way, Glen decided after he moved to intervene, out of fear the healer might take the customer up on his offer. Moira’s slightly-slanted painted eyes grew, becoming large pools of warm brown that cracked to let a bit of silver shine through. Her face losing that Cofol oval-shape and turning more angular, longer seemingly. For a moment the woman appeared standing taller, almost to Glen’s height, but then the moment faded and the Monarch felt himself being engulfed into an earnest radiance that danced around him.
The feeling retreated when the flushed healer tried to haggle with the largest purse this side of the Pale Mountains and perhaps beyond. Glen would have paid a case of cold to get that vial. He didn’t need another healing potion, but suddenly felt an overwhelming need to please the comely healer.
Thoroughly and for long.
Whatever the dedicated Inis-Mir’s had done worked its magic for sure and the mesmerized Glen, now caught unawares by Moira’s unexpected allure, left the healer’s stand convinced he’d done a good enough job.
Even if he’d blundered into juvenile banalities after a while, in his attempt to impress her. This wasn’t the right way to sell a character, but Glen counted on the former-slave’s ignorance of the murkier parts of life to pull through.
But the juvenile shenanigans were just about to turn absurd.
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Less than an hour later Goras’ darkness had descended upon Taras. The city’s main streets and rich estate neighborhoods lit up in greeting and chased it away, but not every spot in Taras was well-illuminated and the moons were still not fully out. In fact, most side alleys and the still sparsely-populated neighborhoods hugging the center, or the lake’s shores, up to the massive ruins of the old city walls and beyond, were immersed in the pitch black.
Folen gave him a thumbs up from across the street and the impatient –very bored waiting- Glen walked briskly across the lit up main street as well. It cut Taras in two even portions, starting at the road coming from Tenebrous Castle and ending up at the ever-growing Sopat estate corner, meeting up with the vertical streets coming from the lake’s taverns along the way and passing behind the warehouses surrounding the market.
As well, because Moira had used the straight shortcut to reach Jinx’s and Glen’s old neighborhood that morning, avoiding the busy larger streets and had just done the same. She was coming back again after finishing her work and Glen had caught a glimpse of the healer seconds ago coming down the park, two building blocks away. She then walked across the main street, but made the side turn to head straight for Jinx’s place without following the bigger well-illuminated road, which was always the better option.
Just follow the longer and safer route next time. We’ve placed these pricey light-posts here for a plaguing reason! An amused Glen thought, sprinting to make it to the other end of the alley before the slow-walking Moira. The buildings hugging the fancy neighborhood Jinx now lived, still the abandoned half-ruins of old Goras Glen had encountered when he had first arrived, especially the furthest from the main street one ventured.
Those that were repaired, still mostly unused by Taras arriving civilians, as everyone sought to find a place near the city’s main arteries to live, or to setup a business.
Glen reached the edge of the dark alley, spotting a hooded couple watching him from the pavement across the street, five meters away from the oblivious Folen and Almas that had their attention on the masqueraded Monarch. The latter a misnomer as other than a bit of dark hair dye to cover the grey hairs on his head and some makeup, Glen had just dressed as his older persona. Younger that is. Nevertheless, this ‘Glen’ had more coin, fancier custom-tailored garbs, a new horse and a different name Inis-Mir had suggested to honor his trusty old stallion. The man said something to his female partner, who shook her head in disbelief.
Hmm.
Glen thought they looked extra-shady in a city populated by shady people, but he’d arrived at the alley’s dark entrance in the meantime and decided it wasn’t important enough to deal with at that very moment.
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The still without a fully-fleshed backstory ‘Rhu Fareno’ paused for his eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness and then walked fast inside the three meter in breadth cobblestone alley, already hearing voices up ahead, carried by the nearby tall walls. The building to his left a warehouse and the one to his right the outer wall of a freshly rebuild two-story hostel that hadn’t opened for customers yet, its entrance on the larger street behind him.
Glen spotted a man half-hidden in the shades, with his back resting on the right wall just after the entrance –or exit- to the alley, and hesitated noticing that the startled at Glen’s appearance man had reacted nervously. Apparently not taking a nap, but guarding the entrance. Glen had an eye looking up ahead to the other end of this unassuming backstreet, the other on the man he’d just passed by. A sturdy dude’s back blocked his view, but parts of a conversation reached Rhu Fareno’s trained ears.
“I was heading home,” Moira’s voice said, sounding amused.
Clearly not-fully grasping the gravity of the situation.
“Well, you say that bosomy mademoiselle,” a man’s gruff voice said in cultured thuggish jargon. “But all this tumult made me fretful as a free-given fuck, seeing as this here thoroughfare is closed tonight and all me other good girls be working elsewhere.”
That’s not that doofus Doyle, an alarmed Glen thought and came to a stop, the guy guarding the alley’s south end, shaking his head and stepping out of the shades to come after him.
“Hey, I worked in the market and I’m pretty tired boys,” Moira explained rationally, but used a bit of tongue-in-cheek at the end that was surprising and dangerous with street cretins. They take it as encouragement. Nothing better than a semi-eager bird as the saying went. Glen caught a glimpse of another figure standing on the bulky ruffian’s right side and a taller thug smirking behind the pouting Moira.
Fuck Folen and his cut-rate, useless cretins!
“Hah. I bet you were,” the bigger thug that blocked Glen’s view guffawed, afore turning serious. “Bet you made a bit of pretty coin too. I’ll wager some more, it matches the issued standard fine for disturbing our business lass.”
“Yeah. Got to pay up lassie,” the man standing on his right shoulder agreed with a toothless grin.
“Hey. Street is closed mister,” the guy standing behind the tensely watching Glen grunted and the Monarch raised his hand in a non-threatening acknowledgement, before turning around to face the scarred thug.
“By whose orders?” Glen asked calmly with a slight nod of the head, as if it made perfect sense and the thug frowned.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“Aeson runs this here corner,” the thug replied a little defensively.
“Right. Is he around? We go way back,” Glen deadpanned without missing a beat and when the startled thug went to answer him, Glen’s heavy, metal-reinforced right boot, caught the shocked ruffian between the legs doubling him over. Glen planted his maimed leg down and raised the other, meeting the thug’s plunging chin with a devastating knee that drove the lower part of his jaw into the upper, but not afore it smashed most of the teeth, severed the tongue and popped one of the ruffian’s eyes out of its socket.
The unconscious man toppled backwards, spraying blood from his mauled face and a scowling Glen turned around reaching over his right shoulder for his sword’s handle. He started walking determined towards the larger group of thugs and Moira. They had missed the brief, but vicious confrontation and continued with their phony negotiation.
It was pretty clear the gang had decided to grab the lonely woman, the moment they had spotted her. The fact that Glen had planned roughly something of a similar nature not escaping him.
“You wish to take my coin?” Moira asked evenly and the larger thug glanced at his friends amused before returning the healer’s taunting stare.
“Aye, but ye changed me mind, see? So I’ll give ye a good arse-prodding instead,” he told her nastily and raised his hand to gesture for the toothless man standing to his right, to go help their other taller friend grab her.
The briskly walking Glen was four meters away and opened his next stride to eat the distance between them faster, already planning how to tackle the three additional low-skilled opponents.
It must be noted here that there’s nothing worse than chancing an estimate of a crowd’s true size in the semi-darkness, while under stress.
That said, several things happened in quick succession just as Glen took that first step and the thug moved to get his hands on Moira. The ground jumped underneath Glen’s feet once, as if the earth had hiccupped after hit by a brief quake, the violent tremor traveling to the walls right and left of the alley, forcing them to shake back and forth. Deep cracks opened up on the brick and mortar surfaces and fractures disturbed the cobblestone under foot. A scowling Glen halted, flaying his arms to keep his balance, the men in front of him doing the same and the majority of the latter releasing loud curses, after short loud gasps of surprise.
With plenty of variety.
“ROTTED GONADS!”
“HOSER DEVILS!”
“SHIT HIT THE PAN!”
“DA BLOODY SHAG!”
“Soaring blue fucks!” A heavy-breathing Glen cursed as well –not missing that a fourth voice had joined the swearing concert- then came to an abrupt stop next to the bulky thug-leader, just as the toothless man blinked to combat his shock from the sudden earth jolt, afore moving again to grab the unseen healer. A three-kilo angular, Zilan stone-brick, detached from the hostel’s wall and smacked the thug at the right temple stopping him dead. The man with the now-misshapen skull was tossed a meter to the side and then collapsed, an abrupt headfirst dive for the cobblestone, under Glen’s and the bulky cretin’s disbelieving eyes.
The already dead thug’s cranium exploded on the cobblestone, a bucket of brains turned to bloody mush splattered Glen’s boots and the bulky leader raised his gawking eyes to perceive the also numb Glen standing next to him.
What the actual…? Glen started thinking, instinctively snapping back to fight mode, but hesitated spotting the now fully-visible Moira looking his way with her mouth open alike a confused chicken. Another man standing between them, a short in height, weasel-faced Cofol –Glen had missed in his count- and the tall dude that had recovered and was now right behind the stunned healer.
Girl... Move! A snarling Glen thought and then ducked down adroitly to avoid the thug-leader’s heavy punch, his disheveled head diving for the boot of the short crafty Cofol that took a quick step forward and attempted a mighty kick aimed at Glen’s unprotected head, with enough power to send it alike a ball to orbit.
Attempted, because the Cofol kept turning in the kick, torso twisting and leg following, until the boot zipped past the spastically recoiling the other way Glen’s right ear and connected with the cracked wall full-force. Boot and foot inside it had turned sideways with a disturbing crunching sound.
The Cofol started screaming in pure-undiluted agony, and the relieved at the near miss Glen sported a taunting grin standing up, just afore the thug leader’s return punch landed on the left side of his head. Glen rolled with the punch to avoid the worst, but it scrapped him good at his maimed ear, splitting the skin and rang his brains something fierce.
“Motherfucker!” Glen cursed stumbling back to put his back on the wall, whilst swinging his sword in a vertical arc –starting low and rising- in order to cut open the dumbfounded bulky leader from left hip to left tit. The man grunted in horrible pain and stunned horror feeling his innards emptying on the street, as he’d missed that Glen was armed, which was in retrospect as huge a blunder as Glen missing the short Cofol earlier. The latter, was still hobbling about holding his foot and crying miserably about the life’s injustices.
The still dazed Glen turned to help Moira, pushing aside the bulky thug leader that had slowly sunk to his knees in a disgusting pool of blood, guts and parts of a gory spleen. Might have been the kidneys also. The bleeding down his ear Glen paused in alarm, boots slipping on the bloody ground, upon seeing the tall dude coming at him with large uncertain strides and eyes looking straight ahead, well over Glen’s head.
Luthos cock jammed in the plaugin’ jar!
Emerson’s blade cackled with a jackal’s delight, the unnerving sound reverberating inside the bombarded alley’s dark walls, accompanied by a melodic humming Glen barely heard with his ears ringing.
Glen glanced back, raising the sword to put it between himself and the carelessly advancing man, saw nothing but the dark empty street, so he snapped his gaze forward again, just as the tall thug impaled himself on Glen’s protruding blade.
Just kept going until he couldn’t and Glen was pushed back a meter afore planting both feet firmly on the ground. The thug was bleeding from the mouth, his ogling eyes staring in Glen’s equally surprised, sweaty face, in utter bewilderment.
“Ah,” Glen said and yanked the sword this way and that to widen the wound, until the tall thug’s legs gave up completely and he plummeted lifeless to his knees.
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“Rhu?” Moira’s husky voice asked, snapping Glen out of his numbness, mostly at the way the whole fight had unfolded. He stared at her unsure. “What are you doing here, mister Fareno?” The grinning healer asked.
Who the all-fuck…?
Ah.
Damn it.
“Came to help you,” Glen replied, remembering he was running a well-meaning scam, but still very confused on what the all-hells had just transpired. “Are you well?” He asked struggling to get the cocky voice right.
Son of a horny bitch!
“Are you?” Moira teased cutely.
Had she used that flirty act inside Morn Taras, Glen would have showed her all the mysteries of the realm inside a minute.
Ten.
Let’s give it an hour, that’s a lot of woman.
“Eh, we better get out of here.” Glen said instead, all-business and pure professionalism.
Moira walked towards him, circled around the pool of gore holding up her long tunic not to stain it, or blemish her now visible fancy sandals and making it near Glen –who had appreciated the brief sight of her shapely legs very much- pointed a long finger at the still hopping about short thug that had reached the alley’s other end, in his panicked attempt to escape.
“Leave him,” Glen said and reached to grab her hand. “There might be more nearby.”
“What about the dead bodies?” Moira asked rushing after him with a chuckle, as Glen all but dragged her out of the alley and back into the well-illuminated boulevard. Folen waved an arm at him from across the road, which the Zilan abruptly lowered, upon spotting Moira and turned around to pretend he was discussing dog-races with the amused Almas.
“There’s… the city has a special service for that,” Glen explained with a grimace of pain and stopped to touch his bleeding ear, but Moira’s hand beat him to the punch. Her fingers traced the wound and the pain turned to a tingling numbness.
“Apologies,” the comely healer gushed near his face, her warm breath smelling of chicken meat, olive oil and oregano, with a touch of fresh orange. Not a good blend, but it made little difference. A severe tick appeared on Glen’s left eye and the ringing in his ears died down.
“It’s just a cut,” he grunted hoarsely, a tad light-headed.
“Must be an old one,” Moira noticed with a coy smile and stood back. “It’s all gone now.”
Glen frowned, an eye on Folen that discreetly walked away towards the park where they had left their horses, and the other on Moira’s flushed Cofol face.
“Are you hurt?” He asked her and Moira opened her eyes surprised.
“Of course not,” she started and then smiled, which was a wonderful thing to witness up close. “You stopped them. Did you not?”
“Yeah,” Glen agreed, although he wasn’t sure how much of it was him. Luthos had played a huge part back there. Now, the reason that had made the capricious god decide to give Glen a helping-hand after all this time, quite the mystery. “I happened to have business around here, spotted them inside the alley and decided to check on what was going on.”
Lame.
Horrible delivery.
The whole semi-decent plan scuffed.
“Fate,” Moira said dreamily and grinned. Glen blinked unsure, but then nodded.
“Sure… yeah,” he agreed and gestured for her to follow him across the large street.
“Somehow unseen, unrotten paths and mysterious futures,” Moira murmured and rushed to walk next to him.
What?
Glen glanced at her comely profile, his eyes straying to her bouncy breasts underneath the modest, but pretty thin old tunic and caught sight of her fancy sandals again. A pricey pair fer sure.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he told her and touched his ear to find the cut that had stopped bleeding in the meantime. Whoa, whatever it had been, it’s gone now. Hah. Fucking great dodge there mate!
“It takes a brave man to face a group of lowly thugs,” Moira said in a semi-praising manner escorted by a deep blush.
“To yer untrained eyes aye. But they were pretty skilled,” Glen argued, wanting a bit more praise than that, even if it was undeserved. Because, fuck them cunts. Last man standing motherfuckers!
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Huro-Tal, which meant Storm-feet, Lord Suraer’s gift to the Monarch from his private stables, snorted seeing them approach and shook its luscious, beads-covered mane. The black stallion’s powerful legs were covered with silver-colored hairs that reached his hooves.
“He’s beautiful,” Moira gushed running her fingers on the horse’s back.
She knows about horses, Glen decided, with a glance to check whether the stallion’s almost half-a-meter long girthy phallus was showing.
“Hooves in the blizzard,” Moira murmured hugging the rather difficult horse’s neck tight and Storm-feet neighed shaking his large head excited at her friendly presence.
Or aroused.
“You were pretty close. Name’s Storm-feet.”
“Uhm.”
Glen furrowed his thick brows, glanced to the right and then to the left down the park’s edges, caught sight of the hidden Folen peeking at them behind a sycamore tree and waved for the Zilan official to stay out of sight. Then he cleared his throat and asked in Rhu Fareno’s deep voice.
“Can you ride with a partner?”
Used a lot of double-meaning words in the query.
She’s a well-traveled woman, despite her youthful appearance. She gets it.
Moira stopped petting the aroused horse and stared at the sly-smirking Glen, through her fluttering long eyelashes. Mother of big-titted maidens! “Sometimes. Can I hold on to you perhaps?”
Definitely.
Having said that this wasn’t the position Glen had in mind.
Oh, well.
“Great,” he said through his teeth. “It’s a large saddle. Let me get up there and I’ll take you home.”
“You don’t know where I sleep, silly.” Moira noticed and Glen sighed afore climbing on Storm-feet’s back. He turned to offer her a helping hand.
“True, but you are going to show me much more than that, yes?” He probed in a mischievous manner, deciding to stop beating around the bush. Moira bit her lip, reached to grab his hand and climb on the saddle, leaving her guilty silence speak volumes on her future intentions.
A spectacular triumph! Glen all but declared loudly, afore reining himself in, not to appear an easily stirred fool.
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Glen pretended he didn’t know the road, or the neighborhood, heavily distracted by Moira’s breathing in his ear and sporting a serious erection for the duration of the ride. A very painful ordeal for an equestrian to attempt.
Upon reaching Jinx’s villa, right across the street from Fikumin’s -the latter Glen’s first home in Taras, it was well after midnight. The streets truly empty now, but for the occasional patrol, especially in this central and very rich neighborhood.
“It’s not my place,” Moira explained jumping down. “But I can use it,” she added knowingly, whilst Glen dismounted as well and walked Storm-feet out of the street, leaving the horse to chomp down on the vegetation that sprouted at the base of Jinx’s yard wall.
Might have been some flowers in the mix.
Glen walked to the small yard’s entrance, where the excited Moira waited for him.
“I don’t know anything about you,” she said huskily, as Glen closed the distance. “I could learn if you allow me.”
Hah. Sure baby. In yer dreams.
“How about we leave the boring personal stuff for the morrow?” Glen offered waggling his eyebrows, and used the distraction to snake his left arm around the small of Moira’s back to draw her closer. She offered almost no resistance.
“Goddess, Rhu is the opposite of boring,” she purred in his face and now Moira was too close to escape him. Glen used his right hand to cup her nape, all that previous arousal returning tenfold and chasing his tiredness away.
“You’re god darn right,” Glen rustled hoarsely and dived for her plump, half-open mouth intending to start his assault in the street and then work his way inside the empty Jinx’s apartment.
“Oi! LOOK!”
Oh, fer crying out loud, an exasperated Monarch thought, hearing the Gish’s high-pitched voice ringing down the well-lit street.
“That’s Moira! HEY!”
Fuck’s sake, Glen cursed and tried to extricate himself from the healer that resisted clasping at him, one of Moira’s legs raising to lock behind his back.
“Come meet Maeriel!” Jinx’s voice continued, now sounding even closer and Glen was sure the Gish was hurrying towards them already.
“Shit, I better go,” he hastily told the misty-eyed Moira. “Yer friends are here.”
“Ugh? So what? The villa has many rooms,” the confused healer murmured.
I fucking know that!
“Remembered that I have to see a man about a dog for real,” the anxious Glen insisted, altering his approach.
“In the middle of the night?”
“Aye. It’s a rare, racing breed this. Is why, I was out. A last minute thing.”
Moira pouted seductively. “Rhu wouldn’t take advantage of a poor healer, no?”
“Read my lips. Never. This is as real as it gets honey,” Rhu lied confidently, despite being on pins and needles to get the hell out of there.
Rhu is just another mask.
A more polished, old act, to fool a stubborn mark.
The man under the mask, few ever meet.
“Who’s that?” Jinx asked curious, ever drawing closer. “Oi! Stop right there you!”
Fuck off Whisper!
Gods and Fiends!
Glen had managed to push the hurt-looking Moira away and pull back, just as the Gish started sprinting down the street towards them. She was still thirty meters away, but Jinx was a fast little tart, so Glen twisted around to head for Storm-feet with a last glance at the baffled, ruggedly-breathing and red-faced healer.
“Keep those lewd thoughts babe,” Glen teased her and walked to his horse, hearing Whisper’s feet hitting the stone tiles as she approached rapidly.
Gods damn it Whisper! Glen roared inwardly wanting to punch something, but running out of time. This whole thing could blow up in his face, after putting so much effort to salvage it.
The fearing he’ll be exposed Monarch, jumped on the large warhorse lithely, turned it around and away from the running hard Gish with a yank of the reins, whilst keeping his chin plastered low to his chest, not to show his face. The moment the well-trained horse finished spinning on its hooves, Glen clicked his tongue to get the excited Storm-feet going.
The large horse took the message and bolted away, galloping wild south, down the large boulevard towards the junction that led to the two old towers and Glen heard the cursing like a drunken sailor, small Gish, arrive at the gates of the villa just a short moment later.
Eh.