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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
I hear you make dead gardens sing
Part I
-Good Man-
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1st Norui (Sixth Moon of the year) 3401 IC
Early morning, brief King’s Council meeting
Early summer (first Valimae of the year colloquially) Valimae Lilt festival
Morn Taras Throne Room
East side’s Sixth internal Column conference tables
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> The Monarch came down from his quarters to partake in the morning meeting, before the festivities started at noon. Lord Fikumin was present with Lady Phinariel and Theron Gravelbrow. SETC Admiral Flardryn, Lady Aenymriel, Master Rybel, Master Laius Cinna, Master Luvon, Master Folen, Castellan Rimeros and yours truly Vulreon O’ Kataer, the King’s Scribe. Nothing of import was discussed in the open to the public session, but the Monarch was briefed on Lassel’s progress and the situation unfolding in Scaldingport.
Rimeros was adamant.
“It is the dwarf’s turn.”
Luvon puffed out his chest in exasperation and stared at the scowled Fikumin. The dwarf had climbed on the chair to better see those sitting at the big table, much like Theron.
“I was speaking of mister Theron,” Rimeros said after a prickly, brief exchange of stares between the banker and the Monarch’s Shield.
“I yield my time to Master Fikumin,” Theron rasped, slamming his fist hard on the table, rattling cutlery, overturning glasses and spilling wine on papers, much as dwarves habitually do.
“The other dwarf,” Glen elucidated, lifting his eyes from the reports gathered by their Cofol spies. The latter mostly merchants working for the Sopat.
Fikumin snorted at his intervention, but immediately began to speak, after a quick glance at the panicked Phinariel, who had rushed to save the scrolls from the spill.
“We have two hundred visitors in custody,” Fikumin said. “For failing to find accommodation during the festival days. We have no rooms available. The city is packed! Either open Morn Taras’ dungeon for the city’s prisoners, or build a proper prison in Taras.”
“A prison in Taras?” Rimeros asked to clarify the point, adding in a reasonable manner. “That’s just terrible optics Lord Shield.”
“We have them sardined inside a warehouse,” Fikumin retorted. “They currently enjoy no optics at all, Lord Castellan.”
“Can’t they camp outside the city?” Glen asked not very interested in the matter.
“The ruins and jungle are dangerous, the forest and the east side of Taras Lake closed for the public for some reason. But the biggest obstacle to your suggestion is that even the former places are also forbidden to visitors, since last year’s debacle.”
“Who gave the order?” Glen snapped.
“You did,” Fikumin fired back in his booming voice.
Good grief, the darn boulder-headed dwarf is right!
Damn it.
“Royal sheep had been slain! And Hardir’s decision is very profitable,” Folen defended what was his suggestion originally. “Hence why all the hostels are packed Lord Shield.”
The culprit had been Uvrycres probably.
“Nobody travels here to risk jail time Folen!” Fikumin blasted him.
“Just try to calm down Fiku,” Glen scolded the fiercely fired up dwarf. “It’s an open space this and the sound travels. My daughter is sleeping upstairs.”
Hopefully.
“I’m very calm Garth. These prisoners have families too.”
I return your blasted argument ye cretin. Can’t guilt-trip me!
I raise my child alone!
With help from a few friends.
Servants.
Employees.
Umm. Where were we?
Ah, yes.
“Is there a way to dump the problem on someone else? Priest Voldomir has room to spare right?” Glen offered and clasped his hands together over the pile of scrolls in front of him. The more you learn to read, the more papers people shove in front of your face and not everything written down is interesting most of the times. This wasn’t one of those times.
“The Goddess’ Temple is housing a lot of visitors already you grace,” Rimeros informed him.
“Can we find them rooms inside the city?”
“Hardir’s Port has the marines barracks finished,” Flardryn suggested.
“We don’t want people near the naval yards Hardir,” Rybel warned. “But if Mirthral can use the 13th Marine unit to assist in keeping them in check, I have no problem.”
“The Bank can house some of them, if Hardir’s Port is picked to take up the burden,” Luvon offered and Glen nodded.
“Have it fixed afore noon Fiku,” Glen said semi-pleased and noticed Hagen standing near the furthermost of the empty conference tables –there were three of them in a row, but only the closest to the throne was used- next to Samak and Hesam, the two desert Cofol bodyguards. Hagen made a gesture to Glen that everything had been taken care off.
“On the matter of our goods held up at Sabretooth Castle,” Rimeros started and Glen turned his attention on him. “We have been asked to send an envoi to Baron Scylla to take care of the fines first.”
“What fines?” Glen asked.
“We are not allowed to sell goods in bulk inside cities, or use Regia’s road system your grace,” Rimeros explained. “Because Regia doesn’t recognize your rule.”
“Fuck them,” Glen retorted and Phina blinked reading what she had written down. The more experienced Vulreon had navigated the Monarch’s hoarse tongue already in contrast and was looking at Glen now, his quill ready.
“Still, the problem persists Hardir.” Rimeros insisted maintaining his professionalism.
“Mmm. When will South Eplas Trading Company give us a fresh update on the alternate route?”
“There have been some complications,” Luvon informed him. “Handled.”
Right.
“Flardryn can you kick this Scylla out of Sabretooth?” Glen asked the Marine Leader.
“I don’t know this city, but if it’s a port the marines can take it. I’m certain it can be done, Hardir.”
“Sabretooth is a border town, a part of Regia,” Fikumin informed them and the deathly-pale Laius Cinna nodded. “You do that and you’ll have to fight every Lorian in Jelin. Not just part of Lesia. Nobody has ever succeeded to unify the Lorians Garth, don’t be the first to do it.”
Glen breathed out and then pursed his mouth tightly.
“Over this Scylla?”
“He’s a Baron,” Cinna intervened. “A very old, much respected family. Sabretooth houses a legion.”
“Which is not there currently,” Glen retorted.
“True, but the 4th has moved up the shore your grace,” Cinna said.
“How many legions does Regia have?”
“Four.”
“Five,” Fikumin corrected Cinna after an angry gesture by Theron.
“How the fuck does this Lucius can afford so many men?” Glen asked. “That’s almost the size of the Khan’s army and all-together probably nearing fifty thousand personnel involved. Are we not richer than him?”
“We are Hardir, but we don’t have nowhere near the manpower, nor the structure to support such numbers,” Cinna elucidated. “Greater Regia alone controls a population of millions consisting of Lorians, Issirs, dwarves and Northmen through satellite states, vassal duchies and treaties.”
“I have a wyvern,” Glen reminded him.
“They say that well over a hundred artillery pieces were fielded during the battle for the Lorian Plains alone, your grace,” Laius Cinna insisted. “Most of them Scorpios.”
That’s a fuck ton of iron bolts, Glen thought concerned. He glanced at Hagen and the bodyguard gave him a thumbs up. Mmm. Glen rubbed his face with a hand and nodded. “Fine. We’ll wait for your people Luvon. Is Doris dealing with the matter? I didn’t see him at all.”
“Aye, but he took the day off. He’s looking to be presentable for the festival my liege,” Cinna informed him. “Given that he is a widower.”
“Fuck that has to do with anything?” Glen snapped. “I’m a widower. Did I make a big deal out of it? No. Neither am I going to participate in the festivities,” he continued given the opportunity to clear out his schedule. “But remain instead in Morn Taras to work on the Kingdom’s problems!”
“Apologies,” Cinna said and sat down. “I’ll pass your words to Doris.”
“Eh, never mind. Give the former Duke a bit of a time off,” Glen said reasonably and noticed Luvon had received a missive from of one the bank’s employees that had come with him. A Zilan named Riston. “Anything important Luvon?”
“We just had a bit of house cleaning done Hardir,” Luvon replied and nodded to Riston, seemingly relieved with the news. “The news are auspicious.”
“A wedding?” Glen probed.
“A funeral,” Luvon deadpanned and another assistant entered to deliver a missive to Folen, who read it fast and frowned.
“Someone I know?” Glen asked rapping his fingers on the table.
“An associate was just murdered Hardir. Outside the adventurer’s guild,” Folen replied with a suspicious glare at the now sober, unreadable face of the two bankers. “They found his head in a nearby ruin.”
“A criminal?”
“Let us not speak ill of the dead Hardir,” a sad Folen dodged respectfully.
Aha.
“Well then,” Glen said with that piece of news out and stood up. “I have something equally important to deal with friends,” he told them and stretched his back. “After that I’ll be unavailable for the day.”
“It’ll be good for the people to see the King, Garth,” Fikumin suggested.
“My pensive mood will spoil the festivities Fiku. I’ve been mourning yesterday,” Glen replied readily which was half the truth. “Perhaps next year.”
Eh, a third of it.
Plus I can’t be in two places at once.
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Glen retreated in the quasi-hall behind the throne, leaving Rimeros to round up the meeting. He expected Hagen to show up with the details of his ‘mission’, but Aenymriel walked after him instead and paused near the serving himself a piece of orange cake from the plate Monarch.
“I’m famished,” Glen explained after gulping it down. “Early meetings leave little time for a proper breakfast.”
“You could move them later,” Aenymriel said, staring at the pouring himself a glass of white, fruity wine, Glen with her large indigo eyes. She had freshly shorn her blue hair again and it made her Zilan ears pop out more alike a bunny’s.
“I’m busy later,” Glen replied leaving it vague. “You were silent in there.”
“I’ve heard nothing of interest to me.”
“Kingdom matters are boring to you?”
“I can solve your Scylla problem without all the red tape,” Aenymriel replied with a coy smile and reached to take Glen’s goblet to sniff at its contents.
“Have at it,” Glen replied when she went to return it. “I had enough.”
“Scylla won’t be easily corrupted. It’s what they are proposing.”
“I didn’t.”
“They believe you were unserious.”
Glen nodded and glanced behind her back at the nervous Hagen. “How would removing him solve our problem? The next Baron might be stricter, or as big a fanatic.”
“We get rid of him as well,” Aenymriel said with a shrug. “Scylla fought against Lucius in the Civil War, but the general-king spared him. He’ll do what Lucius decides, so you need to convince Lucius to open the borders for us.”
“Or we sneak our products in,” Glen argued.
“They’ll never like you Hardir. The Lorian kings are not like Elsanne, a princess desperate to get her hands on a throne. Would she have asked for your help otherwise? Would her Issirs follow her lead when they come to power? She uses your mercenaries, but words from her are fewer already, the closer she gets to her goal.”
“Let me think about it,” Glen replied with a grimace.
“I have your gift.”
“The weapon?”
Aenymriel nodded. “I can help,” she whispered and glanced back at Hagen. “Ask about Feyras,” Aenymriel added and stooped to leave the untouched goblet on the small table, before turning around and walking away. Hagen followed the plainly-dressed Zilan with his eyes and then turned to the thoughtful Glen.
“Weird lass,” Hagen commented. “Mysterious in a good way was my meaning milord.”
“I don’t know about that,” Glen murmured. “Samak?”
“He went to sneak the horse out of the stables milord,” Hagen replied.
“Good. You gave her the missive?” Glen queried and Hagen nodded that he had.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
“Did she say anything?”
“There was a lot of drama in the market milord. We talked very little. She looks much better in natural light.”
She looks fine under the moonlight also.
“What drama?” Glen asked and sat in the armchair next to the table.
“Someone shot a bard’s hand off.”
“Did he owe people money?”
“Not really. Hulanor did probably,” Hagen replied with a frown.
“What about him?” Glen asked curious.
“He’s dead. That was his head they found in them ruins,” Hagen explained. “Folen was pretty shocked about it.”
“Hmm. Tell Folen I want to talk with him,” Glen said smacking his lips. “What was that about Feyras?”
“He raised a ruckus yesterday to get people to travel to Chimera’s, but I don’t know anything else milord.”
“Rimeros would know, he never misses a report,” Glen decided. “Get him over here. Right, after I finish with him, we need to move smartly out of the castle.”
“Aye, milord. Samak suggested a cheaper solution.”
“Is that so?” Glen retorted. “Don’t turn shy on me Hagen.”
“Samak said they could go grab the girl for some reason, or another. He’s done that for a living with Hesam. Slap her a collar on and it’s a done deal. Nobody would bat an eyelash milord.”
“Hagen, we don’t do that my friend, plus I’ve got this covered,” Glen argued with a soft smile. “Not to mention everyone would know I’ve had the girl enslaved, when they spot those two dragging her back to Morn Taras in chains. If I wanted a slave I could just buy one in the market, or ask Lon-Iv for a special delivery. But I’m not. Why?”
“You have too many slave girls already?” Hagen asked a little confused.
“No,” a mildly peeved Glen corrected him. “I’m just too enticing for a simple wench to escape. It’s a talent I have, since I was very young actually.”
“Of course milord,” Hagen agreed. “The Zilan seemed pretty interested also. She’s no slouch in the looks department.”
“Eh. What is this obsession with her? Just stay away from… am I missing something here?” Glen paused to think about it. Nah, Nym appeared too boyish up close. Not to mention all the other baggage. The wench is an assassin for pity’s sake! “Of all the Zilan in this palace she’s the most dangerous anyways, trust me Hagen. Stay clear of her. Plus she has a thing for Clinton.”
“Marlo? No way,” Hagen gasped not believing it. “He’s as old as last year’s shit milord. Are ye certain?”
Well, Nym is a very old turd also.
“Ayup,” Glen insisted and ushered the bodyguard away with a lordly hand wave.
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Rimeros found Glen in front of the hallway’s mirror checking on his gold tooth, lip curled upwards and left eye gawking at his image.
“Your grace,” the Zilan official said with a constipated expression, “the thick-headed manservant claimed you wanted to see me?”
“I know Hagen has taken some fat on his face Rimeros, but you’re overreacting here,” Glen scolded him. “Not to mention the man is my bodyguard.”
“I agree he’s gotten bigger your grace, but the thickness was there all along and a bodyguard can be a manservant,” Rimeros argued stiffly.
“Ha-ha,” Glen guffawed with the palace official’s expression, afore sobering up abruptly. “What’s going on with Feyras?”
Rimeros blinked and checked at the pack of scrolls he had in his hands. “Eh, nothing today Arguen Garth. He has a pending petition standing for a private meeting with the Monarch.”
Fuck him.
“What about yesterday?”
“Ahm, he sustained a small injury. I believe it was either right after the meeting with the princess, or during?”
“He met with Lithoniela?” Glen asked tightening his lips and reached to grab the scroll from Rimeros’ lap. He glanced at the thickly scripted text detailing the event in Imperial and then returned it immediately.
Good grief, I ain’t reading that!
“Both princesses. The mutilation happened after he met with princess Inis-Mir Aniculo.”
Glen furrowed his thick brows. “My daughter is alright?”
“Yes, great Monarch.”
“Small injury, or mutilation?” Glen probed a little confused. “What the hell happened?”
“Small mutilation,” Rimeros elucidated calmly. “The priest refused to disclose more details Arguen Garth, but it is rumored the princess might have assaulted him.”
Glen shook his head in disbelief. “Put a stop to these baseless rumors Rimeros,” he ordered the official. “I want no bullshit o’ this kind spreading out of the blasted palace gods damn it!”
“Aye, Arguen Garth,” Rimeros agreed with a curt bow.
“Wait,” Glen said afore the Zilan could take his leave. “What does Feyras want with the princesses?”
“Per his petition Lord Garth, the priest looks to extract funds from the throne in order to rebuild Eodrass Temple,” Rimeros paused to find the specific scroll referring to the subject they were discussing, read did it briefly and then cleared his throat, afore continuing. “In order, and I’m quoting Feyras now, to have the next festival to the Lady Sovereign held at the temple’s grounds, seeing that Valimae Lilt is now held in Taras, near Nesande’s Temple.”
Glen interrupted his report raising an open palm. “Let me stop ye right there. Isn’t Naossis, the old broad’s daughter supposedly? People visit her temple given the opportunity, which sounds normal to my ears Rimeros.”
“Traditionally Nesande’s Temple hosted some of the activities great Garth. Naossis has a place in her mother’s temple.”
“She does?” Glen queried curious and Rimeros answered with an unamused nod of his well-combed head. “Right. Eodrass’ shrine is a bit of a ruin anyway and too small to take on Sen’s days of remembrance, not to mention Sen wasn’t fond of the creepy wyvern god at all. I’ve seen him in a dream trust me.”
“Feyras counts on the Monarch’s favor and support in this claim, given that you are an Aniculo Rokae returned.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, just put a small crew on it, give it a fresh coat of paint and get him off my back Rimeros!”
“Laius Cinna fell sick upon hearing the true cost of the rebuild Garth,” Rimeros informed a grimacing Glen. “We had to call a healer to revive him.”
Glen tried to remember Eodrass shrine outside the Den’s grounds. “Laius is a frugal man doing his job. Tell him it is fine.”
“You’ll stop construction of Rybel’s ships?” Rimeros queried, looking for a fresh scroll and a quill to write his order down. An alarmed Glen reached and took the quill out of the official’s hand.
“What does this have to do, with Rybel’s ships?”
“The available working crews must travel to Chimera’s Mouth your grace,” Rimeros explained and walked to a map of Wetull freshly painted on the nearby wall, removed one of Sen’s portraits to reveal more of it -under Glen’s intense scrutiny, placed everything on the table, and then pointed at a spot across Goras’ old city ruins. Over the gulf’s waters. “It is part of Chimera’s Leg Peninsula.”
Glen blinked and took a step forward to better see the unreadable scribblings. “The fuck does it say that?”
“It’s hieroglyphic script. Cydonia used this type of script as decoration, but it is readable. Eilven is a Cydonia Cazan native Garth.”
“Can you read it?” Glen asked trying to discern the turned into drawings Imperial words, with flowers and roots sprouting from them, birds nesting at the tops and waters pooling under some letters.
“Not really. I know where Eodrass Temple is though,” Rimeros elucidated and pointed at the map. “It starts here, but the old docks are destroyed now. Around the mouth—”
Ugh?
“What the fuck is this gigantic shite!” Glen exploded not believing his goggled eyes. “Is he plaguing serious?” He bellowed, spittle flying in Rimeros’ stoic face.
“Eh, it is almost the biggest temple in Wetull Garth, and was lovely before the catastrophe,” the Zilan replied, whilst wiping the side of his face with a sleeve.
“Almost?” a disbelieving Glen growled clenching his jaw maniacally. “That thing looks as big as Taras!”
“Abrakas’ Temple grounds on Barmont Isle are bigger. The whole isle basically,” Rimeros elucidated maintaining his composure, despite the red-faced Glen’s outburst.
“I ain’t building Feyras a new fucking city! FUCK!” Glen roared at the top of his lungs, tipping his head back. He sucked in a deep breath and then stooped to grab Sen’s portrait from the table to place it over that part of the wall-map.
“The little princess assured him that you will, I believe. Feyras left quite pleased for a person missing a finger and bleeding all over the floor tiles,” Rimeros informed the busy trying to hang the portrait in its place Monarch.
Our daughter is a handful sweetheart.
Sen’s expertly depicted opal eyes stared at him in a cautionary manner, as if this was all his fault.
Glen smacked his lips, reached with a hand to rub at the base of his neck to alleviate some of the pressure building up there, and then grunted, a nervous tick marring the right side of his face.
“Is Iskay upstairs?” He asked in a rasping voice a long moment later. “Memphes?”
“They are with the princess,” Rimeros replied and knelt to pick the quill from the floor. “Your grace knows how hectic this day can be.”
“What does this have to do with my daughter?” Glen growled getting all fired up again and the Zilan stepped back alarmed.
“A princess must look her best...” Rimeros started and then paused upon witnessing Glen’s murderous expression. “Lady Kilynia has the final say—”
“Move aside,” a furious Glen cut him off abruptly and moved past the grimacing official, to head for the stairs leading to the royal quarters. Hagen came after the walking fast Glen but missed the Monarch’s abrupt right turn to run up the stairs and the bodyguard continued for a bit heading straight towards the side door leading outside, afore he recovered with a loud curse. A flushed Hagen then rushed after the climbing the stairs two-at-a-time Monarch.
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The huffing and puffing Glen waltzed briskly down the corridor, pointed a warning finger at the snapping to attention Sir Qildor and Sir Nuvian, the two Zilan Rokae stood guard outside the princess’ quarters, then heard giggling from the lavish bedchamber and kicked the half-opened door in to burst inside.
A yelping Iskay toppled backwards from the startle -right behind a short divan, feet over head and leather flip-flops hitting the ceiling, to land on her back. Memphes screamed in panic, lost control of the scared small wyvern she had nested on her half-bare bosom and the clad in a dancer’s sparkling gold-chain attire Inis-Mir gasped audibly at the intrusion, bringing both her ring-adorned hands over her painted mouth. The sun bathed the princess’ scandalously dressed form and forced her garlanded with a large ruby navel sparkle an angry bright red.
What is this malarkey!
The little princess stood a head taller than usual with the help of a pair of fancy red heeled sandals and stumbled back seeing her angry father march on her. Glen grabbed her arm and pulled the yelping princess towards him, then loaded her small body with a heave on his shoulder. He turned around to snarl at the standing up behind the divan disheveled Iskay and grunted warningly towards Memphes that had rushed to help the princess. Glen reached the bed and ripped a satin cover off with his free hand, twirled the yelping Inis-Mir around to remove the sandals and then covered her with the sheet from braided head to painted toenails.
“Garth please,” Iskay pleaded with him and Glen turned to look at her, but caught out of the corner of his eye Qodras leaping towards him and swung a punch to intercept the small wyvern. Qodras flew the other way knocked out cold by the heavy blow and Inis-Mir started crying murder at the top of her lungs.
Luthos’ scorned side-piece told the gnome to smile while he still had teeth,
Then broke the gifted urn on his beaming face, messing up the flower wreath!
Glen whipped his head towards the door and the two Rokae that had rushed inside halted, assessing the situation with concerned eyes behind their silver masks.
“Turn around and walk out of the room,” Glen ordered them hoarsely and snapping his head backwards pointed a warning finger at the sniffling Inis-Mir. “Not another word.”
“Great Garth,” Iskay tried again in a soothing manner. “This is the princess’ first Valimae Lilt.”
“No it isn’t,” Glen growled. “That’s not your darn call to make! I’ll say when it is woman!”
A couple of decades down the line at least!
“She has danced diligently for months,” Iskay insisted. “Let her show—”
“I don’t care!” Glen blasted her furious. “That’s the end of it! Argh! Enough with this shite!”
He breathed in to calm himself down, whilst Inis-Mir sobbed hugging at her knees, the pale-faced Iskay kept her head bowed low and Memphes remained on the floor in an even more subservient posture. Glen grunted, clenched his jaw in a grimace of discomfort, bones crackling from the tension and then eyed the unconscious golden wyvern perturbed.
“First wyvern I know about that doesn’t learn a lesson the first time,” Glen noted hoarsely after an uncomfortable long moment. “While stubbornness can be a good thing, it can also be darn right stupid.” The last thing he leveled at his crying daughter. “You are too young to participate in a grown-ups festival. Especially this one. This isn’t your uncle’s slave training stables. This is the royal palace of god darn Wetull and you’re the realm’s princess!”
“Lithoniela wants to be present,” Inis sniffled.
“Lith is a couple of centuries old at least and I doubt she’ll dance in the square,” Glen retorted and sighed. “This isn’t a competition sweetheart. You are the princess.”
“A princess unseen and unmentioned,” Inis griped sadly and Glen grimaced before approaching her. He knelt next to the curled up girl and hugged her shaking shoulders.
“Everyone knows who you are,” Glen reassured her. “You’ll never be challenged. In a few years the whole realm will talk of Wetull’s princess. Her pretty face and fiery temperament. Her skills and intellect.”
“I can dance too,” Inis said in a small voice.
“I’m sure you can. There’s nothing you’re not good at sweetheart,” Glen rubbed her warm back over the satin sheet and eyed the two former slave girls soberly. “Inis can wear whatever she wants inside her quarters. But when inside the palace’s public halls, or outside of it, she’ll dress like a proper lady.”
“What is proper Garth?” Iskay queried evenly. “These are her late mother’s ceremonial clothes, re-fashioned so she can put them on. Yesterday we gathered to sing Mistress Sen-Iv’s praises without you, but today the King returns and we can’t? Ziba-Ra scorned our newly-found free status openly and claimed no one is truly free inside Morn Taras, but just slaves given another title. Was she correct?”
Oh, fer crying out loud.
“When I want to speak to Sen, I do it in private,” Glen hissed at the dig.
“Apologies. I wasn’t trying to insult Arguen Garth.”
Glen pursed his mouth not liking the conversation’s turn. “Ziba-Ra isn’t your king. She’s a guest with her own issues. And Inis-Mir shall do as her father commands. Sen grew up as a Cofol woman, same as you and Memphes did. Inis won’t. This isn’t a scorn against her mother, nor me favoring my own upbringing as I had none. This is reality. Inis would be all of the above and carve her own path, but she’ll forever be a Princess and future Queen of Wetull. The Zilan culture and peoples are part of her world and she needs to win them over. It won’t be easy at all. Making a fool of herself behaving alike a slave girl in front of a Zilan audience, just won’t cut it, nor can she afford too many mistakes. Don’t mistake the Zilan working for the palace with what roams out there. She’s not ready to face the public, much less the Elderblood Council.”
“Will Garth attend?” Iskay asked.
“Garth will do whatever the fuck he wants,” Glen retorted. “You will stay with the princess. Is the job too difficult for you to handle? I could ask Kilynia to take over and I much rather that I didn’t.”
“I shall stay with the princess,” Iskay said keeping her head bowed low. “I swore an oath to the Mistress.”
Damn it Sen. Inis can’t be you. She’s too brass a character not to make mistakes and she doesn’t have your patience.
“Feyras can’t have his temple at this time,” Glen told Inis-Mir getting up. “Don’t promise things to people, especially influential Zilan. Your words carry weight in their culture, but you’ll be judged if you fail to deliver. Your actions shall dictate future policy. It isn’t easy for me to navigate their habits and it won’t be easy for you.”
“They’ll obey, or face the wyvern’s wrath,” Inis said with a pout.
“Another tried it. Her daughter sleeps in your south tower,” Glen reminded her. “There’s no single solution to all problems. You want them on your side, not working against you sweetheart. A touch of honey with the vinegar, can get you further and in that beautiful head of yours, you know it.”
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Hagen jumped to his feet the moment Glen exited the princess’ quarters and followed after him. Glen was in a sober mood and considered staying back with Inis-Mir, but he didn’t want to oppress the little girl more. He wished Inis was older sort off, so they can explore the kingdom together, but exposing her to danger scared the crap out of him also.
“We lost a bit of time,” Hagen explained walking fast to keep up with the silent Glen across the castle’s yard.
“Where is she waiting for me?” Glen asked as they approached the stables. Samak and Hesam were standing outside with a pair of horses and Huro-Tal, the young stallion. Storm-feet was restless as noise came out of the stables, but using the older, much calmer Outlaw wasn’t an option given that the king’s horse was well-known.
“The villa?” Hagen replied unsure.
Glen stopped near the horses and glanced at the open doors from where the ruckus was coming from. Samak got up from the base of the wall he rested upon and Hesam stopped feeding the horses to return the Monarch’s glance with a bow of his turbaned head.
“What villa… wait,” the distracted Glen said. The squeals coming from the stable disturbing. “I can’t take her from Jinx’s place. Whisper won’t be fooled by a bit of paint Hagen. She’ll sniff me out like a hunting dog.”
“Eh. Maybe she won’t be there?”
“Maeriel has taken the week off, she’ll be there for sure,” Glen replied and furrowed his brows. “What’s going on Samak?”
“We were waiting for the Caliph,” the Cofol explained and then glanced back at the stables. “Rama is at it since the morning.”
The lanky figure of Kilynia exited the stables at that point, blinked her eyes seeing Glen standing outside, assumed a stiff posture and approached them walking like an awkward two legged bird.
“Hardir O’ Fardor, heavenly greetings,” the Zilan palace official said, ignoring the humans present.
“What’s going on in there?” Glen asked. “It sounds like a brawl.”
“The Ostriches are mating,” Kilynia explained with an austere glare at the two chuckling former slavers. “It is very exciting.”
“Exciting?” Glen asked scrunching his nose.
“Informative, but I was asked to wait outside rudely,” Kilynia corrected her previous answer sounding uncomfortable. “You like birds Hardir?”
“Sure, but not the kind of birds you favor,” Glen deadpanned regaining his form and grinned, but you couldn’t maintain a grin under Kilynia’s acerbic stare, or a bird erection for that matter apparently, so the Monarch cleared his throat and turned to his men having already hatched a new plan of action. “A ‘right, listen up. Samak and Hesam are going to take the royal carriage to Taras. Pick up Lith first from her tower to make it look official and then drive it to Whisper’s. I decided to make Whisper a Lady of Morn Taras, so proper transportation for the festivities will be afforded.”
“The Gish might not be cooperative great Caliph,” Samak warned. “Might even get suspicious.”
“Who is this Whisper?” Kilynia asked as she had stayed instead of returning inside the stables. Rama had probably threatened the Zilan Chamberlain.
“Jinx,” Hagen told her.
“Ah. Lady Whisper should be honored and not question the Monarch’s decrees.”
“Right. Samak give our Gish ten gold coins to go along with the plan. She’s more greedy than smart,” Glen said. “Tell her the title is ceremonial, but has monetary value attached to it.”
“Lady Whisper has a funny ring to it milord,” Hagen noted and Glen grimaced in annoyance as valuable time was wasted in small talk.
“Just do what I tell you. Samak you’ll take the girls to the Taras’ center and unload them there. Lith, this Caruso dude, Whisper and Maeriel for sure, maybe Assara. I have no idea what kind of crowd she has gathered there.”
“What about Moira?” Hesam probed and Glen glared at him for mentioning the healer in front of Kilynia.
“This is a royal carriage friend. The former slave isn’t invited,” Glen told his lackey meaningfully with a glance at the thoughtful Kilynia.
“Isn’t Assara a Ticu?” Hagen argued not grasping the Monarch’s tone and Glen whipped his head sideways to glare at the overweight bodyguard. “What I meant milord…”
“Just drop it,” Glen snapped and Kilynia croaked in Imperial startling everyone.
“Lady Lussiel,” the Zilan female said and then added upon witnessing the humans stare at her perplexed. “She should have a Zilan name as the Gish of old. It means a soft whisper.”
Ah.
That’s a good idea, bird woman.
The Ostriches loud excited squeals coming from the open doors of the stables making the exact opposite sound, which was funny in a sense.
“So I take the carriage to Lady Jinx,” Samak recapped to iron out the details. “Then stay with them?”
“Yeah,” Glen started but stopped abruptly as a disheveled Ostrich soared out of the stables. It hit the ground with a screeching angry squeal and then sprinted across the castle’s yard as fast as a two-legged gazelle, or a very tall, ugly and bald chicken, working its long awkward legs hard. Not a moment after that a bloody, scowling Rama burst out of the open doors as well. The Morn Taras stables master faltered on his feet for a couple of strides, but found his balance soon after and bringing thumb and mid-finger to his mouth, whistled loudly towards the adjoined building. Basically another stable.
With a protracted snarl, Raro –the Nimra lion Glen had orphaned, but also saved inside the Den- leaped out of the stables in all its feline glory, stared at the small crowd watching the scene in deep bewilderment and then following Rama’s sharp command galloped after the heading away Ostrich.
“She killed the male with a kick to the groin. Fucking foot punched right in his gut. Mating is a risky business for certain exotic species,” the bloody, heavy breathing Rama explained to the Monarch’s entourage and then smiled reassuringly at their nods of concern. “I’ve purchased two more males from the bazaar. We’ll nail her, oh great Sheik.”
Glen curled his upper in an awkward stiff grimace, one eye half-closed, the other gawking wide open, then replied modestly, per his well-documented habit.
“Good man.”