The veiled rhymes of midnight
Oh, that strange gloomy delight
Witch’s ghost, a perfumed mist over Vermilion’s caldera
Hey drunken troubadour,
Have another cup,
And sing us the tales of the Third Era
-
Veiled verses of Midnight
(alt title –Tales of the Third Era)
Performed live rare 'Imperial' version
here only the first verses
Roy & the Purser Gang
Circa 208?
----------------------------------------
-
Thou can live in thine glass delight forever,
Have thine threads spread and never sever
Don’t take the trade, let thine dreams fade
-
Nesande’s divination
Probably 2nd Era
Assembled by Lithoniela, of Baltoris
who stood witness to the Hallowed Splendor's visions
(the fabled sorceress Aelrindel, of Edlenn)
here only the first verses
Between 197? -345? NC
In her voluminous
Ode to the Lost
-
(Part of the priceless collection kept in the sealed 'Sorceress Domed Hall' in the distant imperial domain of Neil Dan)
----------------------------------------
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 gardens sing
Part II
-Mating is a risky business-
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image [https://i.postimg.cc/R9YGb2Vq/taras2-low-res.png]
Taras, around 195 NC. The Black Door tavern barely visible here near the sycamore copse, between Folen's brothel and Hulanor's hostel
-
1st Norui (Sixth Moon of the year) 3401 IC
Noon, city of Taras.
Valimae Lilt
Glen led Soft-feet south towards Taras’ center, around the park leading to the Main Square, made the turn before it and followed the road passing the ever-expanding Sopat estate. He cut west there across the small copse and reached his old neighborhood. Hagen followed after him with the other horse, a young pale-gray stallion named Rumel in Imperial, or Secret. They reached the back of the villa, the small path separating its external walls with the neighboring building, less noisy than the city street at the villa’s front.
Still, the large balcony had a group of Zilan enjoying the sun, one of them watching Jinx’s place and the arriving Glen with a pair of binoculars. The masqueraded as Rhu Fareno Monarch, jumped from the saddle lithely with a gesture for Hagen to do the same and then walked to the corner of the tall, stone fence. He peeped through the adjoining greenery for any sign of the carriage and spotted the mounted Hesam waiting in the shade thirty meters away next to the street. Glen whistled to get the Cofol bodyguard’s attention and when he did, Hesam responded with a signal that the carriage had departed already.
Hesam made a sweeping gesture next.
With the girls, Glen translated and quickly walked a little deeper inside the outgrowth. He followed the fence and found a tree sprouting not a foot from it, to use as springboard. Glen climbed the fence with a grunt, as it was a considerably more difficult feat than he remembered, but then again the Monarch hadn’t infiltrated any houses lately.
In years for that matter.
I’m too old for this shite! Glen thought landing inside Jinx’s unkempt garden and navigated a patch of ripe tomatoes with insects buzzing over his head, careful not to dirty his fresh leather outfit. He got out at the back of the villa with a scowl, as he was already sweaty from the effort and cleaned up using his hands.
Glen had to enter from the back, as Jinx’s house sat across the street from Fikumin’s much larger villa that was guarded by Taras’ soldiers and the latter may have perhaps questioned, or even recognized the Monarch sneaking inside, after the Gish’s entourage had departed.
Last thing I want, is getting arrested for breaking into Jinx’s place!
I’ll never hear the end of it from our Lady Lussiel!
With a glare at the nosy Zilan watching him from her balcony whilst enjoying a large piece of watermelon, Glen walked to the back door leading to the kitchen and found it locked. With a grimace of frustration for Jinx’s suddenly prudent behavior, Glen reached inside the satchel hanged from his shoulder for his trusty burglar tools, the latter neatly tied and wrapped with a leather cover. He worked the lock quickly and cracked it open. Glen cast an irked glance at the curious Zilan female watching him and then entered the villa’s kitchen.
Leaving the door open, he walked by the cold stone oven and the packed with vegetables table, past sacks laden with red onions, peppers and hanging garlic, to reach the steps leading to the heart of the villa. Glen knew the place rather well and strolled inside with confidence, but took care not to make any unnecessary noise.
Reaching the hall he paused in alarm hearing a female’s voice speaking in Imperial. At first he thought the idiots had forgotten to take Maeriel with them, leaving the ranger behind, but then the Monarch decided Jinx wouldn’t have left her lover back.
Plus the grumbling female’s accent was pretty uncommon, not the also old military jargon Anfalon, Onas and Saevelos used. Neither it was the refined court Imperial used by Olonelis, or Rimeros’ modern Goras’ variant, but the singing, difficult to understand gibberish, Glen had heard again from Eilven.
Despite starting much later than the more privileged folk of the realm, Glen had discovered he’d an ear for languages and voices. While a bit richer than he remembered it, Moira’s choral voice was easy to discern.
“Alave, ya huna ure!”
Even when she was angry.
Goddess, what (is this) accursed heat! The pretty healer cried and strolled towards him from the front of the building barefooted. Moira had a soft, quality-cotton garment on, a washed-out green tunic that stopped above her knees.
Well into thigh territory.
Them are a long pair of legs fer sure, Glen decided and pursed his mouth rather amused at the stunned expression on Moira’s face that had just spotted him standing next to the staircase at the end of the corridor. This girl looks taller inside the house than what she did outside.
Or not.
“Rhu?” Moira gushed coming to an abrupt halt two meters from the grinning Monarch. On a second glance, she is about as tall as before, Glen decided.
It must be the internal lighting.
“You speak in alien dialects when you are alone?” Glen teased the trying to recover from the shock Moira.
“Ehm,” Moira murmured unsure and Glen stepped forward while she thought about it, to wrap his arms around her waist. Move while she’s confused, strike decidedly and we might not even have to leave this hall. “How… do you know I’m alone?” The healer asked, breathing heavy on Glen’s face, whilst trying to move her trapped on his chest arms, which the Monarch prevented squishing her soft body even more.
“I took a guess,” Glen replied kissing her neck and found himself sliding backwards, as some-fucking-how Moira did manage to push against his chest slowly, in order to free herself from his hold. She almost managed it, showing plenty of strength, but Glen snaked his hand under the short tunic and gave her lower buttocks a pinch.
Moira yelped not expecting it and found herself even more hugged than afore.
“We can use that divan, next to the cupboard,” Glen offered in a lower timbre channeling the late Alix, and tried to find her lower ear amidst all the coming loose curls. He got more of the neck instead with his mouth, as the healer twisted and turned in his arms, making it difficult.
Eh.
“I thought we were going out?” Moira protested huskily and Glen sighed before letting her step back.
“The city is a mess. People are getting wild,” he told the flushed Cofol healer, half-dazed from her scent. “Let’s skip all that and go straight to the main event.”
“The main event?” Moira asked narrowing her eyes.
Correct course captain, you are heading straight for them reefs! Glen advised himself, abandoning the lewd Gish’s direct approach and reached to take her hand that was trying to repair her hairdo. Moira used her other hand to fix her hair with a cute frown. “I have of course rent us a room in a fine hostel.”
“Your friend said we were going to a famous tavern?” the healer noted hesitant.
Hagen meant a completely unknown venue, as everything else was either packed, or too costly.
“And booked us a table at a quiet tavern known to a select few,” Glen added evenly working his fingers up the inside of her forearm and towards her heaving right breast.
“Are we not to savor all the festivities?”
Who cares about all that?
“The place is behind the main square,” Glen informed her. “We can walk there after dinner.”
Moira nodded looking pleased. “I’ll put a pair of shoes on and freshen up,” she said and looked towards the flight of steps leading upstairs.
“You could lose the garbs instead,” Glen suggested. “Save yerself the trouble of having to mend it later.”
“Yeah, it’s a new tunic,” Moira explained not fully grasping his meaning, but then smiled expectantly, as if waiting for… a compliment? “I don’t have a lot of clothes.”
“You don’t need them,” Glen assured her, before forcing himself to comment on her attire. “It’s a lovely dress. Good fabric,” he added placing his right hand on her warm belly and brought the left on the shoulder strap holding everything together.
Moira took another step back and breathed out. “You’re aroused.”
Difficult not to, seeing as them melons move about freely!
“You’re not?” Glen teased her instead with a sly smirk.
“I try to conserve energy for later,” Moira replied, which made little sense and glanced at the stairs again. “It’ll be a minute.”
----------------------------------------
Damn it, Glen thought waiting for her to come down again. I hope Hagen found something not packed with drunken fools. The last thing I need is some official, or merchant, remembering my face and start asking questions, or drop on the floor for a curtsy. She’s not too smart bless her heart, but no one is that stupid.
Moira returned, navigating the stairs with ease on her heeled silver-stranded sandals, an expensive-looking pair of shoes without a doubt, and carrying a heavy leather bag over her shoulder.
Glen caught a glimpse of her scanty loincloth under the short tunic, taking full advantage of his strategic position at the bottom of the stairs.
“We are not going camping,” he teased the Cofol girl and went to take the heavy-looking bag from her. Damn, what you have in here lass? He wondered almost dropping the heavy bag.
“Thank you,” Moira replied with a smile and stooped to land a kiss on his cheek. Nope. Glen turned his head timely to plant his mouth on her lips instead. “My, you’re fast,” the blushing healer purred and moved her face away, despite Glen holding on to her lower lip briefly with his teeth.
“And strong,” Glen added meaningfully, all a charade, as his arm was getting numb from the accursed bag he had to hold away from them. “Let’s get to the horses.”
Afore I lose control of the arm. What in the slovenly fuck? Do you gather bricks in yer spare time? I’m about to get paralysis here!
Moira paused seeing him head towards the front. “Didn’t you enter from the kitchen?” She asked a little confused.
True.
“We need to round the villa’s fence to get to the animals,” Glen explained without replying and used his left hand to guide the female towards the entrance, placing it strategically at her fit hip. A bit lower than he had planned, somehow mistaking Moira’s height again.
“Hmm. But how did you get in?” Moira asked walking next to him without protesting for his wandering hand.
I jumped the fence and forced yer locks.
Yer too pretty to play the detective hon.
“I walked around the house to reach the back garden. The kitchen door was open.”
“Really? I thought I had it locked. Why didn’t you come from the front door? I was waiting there.”
“Remember those villains from the alley? I’m looking to protect you, in case they were following me,” Glen replied as they exited Jinx’s villa and walked around the front towards the corner affixed to the copse.
“But they are all dead silly,” Moira giggled and waved at the two soldiers guarding the entrance to Fikumin’s villa across the street. The city guards greeted the healer with smiles and banging on their shields, which caused many bystanders to glance at them. Hesam didn’t react thankfully. The former slaver had gone to speak with the city guards and was now standing next to them, holding the reins to his steppe horse.
Fuck’s sake, just go away dude!
“You never know when a crook might sneak up on you,” Glen grunted feeling the pressure, and opened his pace to get out of the exposed part of the building. It forced the slow-moving and measuring each stride ‘not to step on monkey shit’ Moira, to hurry up after him with a frustrated oomph.
Once under the shade of the mostly cocoa trees copse, Glen relaxed a bit again and he could now spot the bored Hagen munching on a piece of dried pork at the other edge of it, whilst sipping milk from a bottle in between chomps.
“So, you’re a famous adventurer right?” Moira asked the grimacing from the effort Glen. He was carrying his own satchel, a weapon harness loaded with some blades, on top of the healer’s much larger, ridiculously heavy bag.
“I’ve done my rounds,” Glen murmured, an eye on the nosy neighbors watching his bodyguard from their balcony.
“And you caught the Monarch’s eye, I’m sure,” Moira continued down this strange line of questioning and Glen sucked at his teeth afore replying. He tasted bitter orange and chocolate, which was probably what Moira had darkened her lips with.
“I killed a troll bothering him a couple of winters back. He’s a straight up dude, really solid to his friends. Since we’re being honest here, he is a humanitarian with very deep pockets,” Glen touted his own horn with enthusiasm, but quickly decided that he’d used too much sauce and dudes didn’t praise other dudes lest they were Flix’s friends. “Eh. You know how rulers are sometimes.”
“Yeah,” Moira said guardedly.
“You do?” He asked her, switching arms to her bag and hearing bottles clinging inside.
“You were speaking in general,” Moira said evenly and touched the side of his face.
“No, I was speaking specifically.”
“Let’s talk of something else,” the healer said a little troubled, removing her hand.
“Sure.”
“Mil–” Hagen tried to say seeing them get out of the foliage and Glen barked afore he could finish.
“Get the bag!”
“Goodness me,” Moira gasped holding her heart. “That was violent almost Rhu!”
“Ugh?” Hagen grunted at the name.
“We go way back wit Hagen,” Glen intervened. “Right Hag?”
“Ah,” Hagen snapped remembering his alias and nodded eagerly, gulping down his lunch. “I’ll take that bag Milord Rhu.”
“He’s a fucking joker, ha-ha!” Glen guffawed and slapped Hagen on the back a couple of times, hard enough to snap him out of his stupor. Eating whilst exposed to the sun can turn yer brains to mush, Glen thought maintaining his grin.
“I’ve met a few adventurers these past years,” Moira said examining the horses.
“Yeah?”
“You know Marlo Clinton and Sam Mathews? Ahm, Caruso of course.”
“Eh, Sam and Clinton frequent the guild here,” Glen replied. “Never heard of the other guy.”
“Clinton say they killed a Hydra,” Moira said.
“Don’t believe the hype youngling,” Glen deadpanned and the pretty healer burst out laughing, finding jest where there was none. “Hey, you better listen to yer seniors’ lassie.” Glen warned half-serious. “This is a young horse. A little difficult to handle—” He started pointing at Secret, the ashen-gray horse, but stopped as Moira had clasped the horse’s long snout with both hands and brought it near her face. The licking his black lips Secret bumped his hard head on the healer’s forehead once, which seemed painful, but Moira didn’t even flinch. The horse then snorted loudly and moved his large head up and down.
Glen gave a side-glance to Hagen and the bodyguard returned it a little perturbed.
“Such a good boy. You’re not lonely anymore,” Moira purred in Secret’s ear and it got Glen in the feels also, despite not really liking this particular horse that well. Rama had bought it at a local auction as a ‘racing’ horse, but the horse was too strong-headed to be a safe runner, so Glen had dropped it.
“His name is Secret,” Glen said.
“Mmm.”
“Have you… I guess you’ve ridden a horse before,” an impressed Glen said after pausing once.
“I don’t favor horses, but yes,” Moira replied.
You’ve ridden a lot of horses whilst serving Lord Sol?
“Had I known, I would have brought a… what is it? A mule?” Glen asked opting not to walk down that thorny road, given one could draw a number of meanings from this double entendre equestrian query.
“An Ostrich,” Moira replied with a coy smile. “But it’s not easy to find one.”
Speak for yerself, I’ve all manner of weird shit in my stables, Glen thought and tapped at Secret’s normal saddle once. “You’ll need help Moira?
“I would,” Moira replied batting her eyelashes and turned around so Glen would lift her up on the saddle. “Oi, he-he,” the healer giggled enjoying the heave and sat side-saddle, keeping her legs closed.
“Be careful,” Glen warned her and walked to his horse, snatching the reins from Hagen, who had hold them up for him. “Don’t do that,” Glen hissed under his breath climbing on the saddle and noticing Moira had heard him, grinned broadly afore adding. “He does it to piss me off!”
Moira nodded and they both waited for Hagen to mount his own horse, which wasn’t an easy affair for the heavy-set bodyguard.
“Need to lose a couple of pounds and cut back on Samak’s camel milk,” Hagen commented after managing it on the third try. “We can’t all be as light as milady Moira, right?”
You sneaky, sweet-talker.
“Absolutely,” Glen agreed adamantly with a concealed grimace, as big a lie as he’d sprouted all day and it was a day Glen had lied a lot, since the shorter than him, nowhere near as muscular, or as dressed, healer was the heftiest, fit woman Glen had ever lifted up. Matter of fact, even the pregnant Sen had been less heavy, than the comely, grinning satisfied at his ‘admission’ healer.
Must be them desert bones, Glen decided clicking his tongue to get Storm-feet going. Glugging down all that camel milk and shit.
----------------------------------------
The sound of music had started covering all other noise the closer they came to Taras’ Main Square and the lake’s shores. Lutes and tambourines, lyres and loud singing. For one day and night the old world forgot all about restraint and partied like the gods. Granted, certain people, or Zilan, behaved similarly during the year also, with the silly Gish never really stopping even to breathe, but Valimae Lilt and its human variations coming from the usually sober Lorian, more lewd traditions, topped even that.
Glen blinked at the sight of a Zilan balancing on two peg stilts and flirting with a girl watching the road from her balcony, but quickly got back to business sort of speak.
“What kind of tavern is it?”
“New… eah,” Hagen replied, struggling to maintain the charade. “Rhu.”
Glen sighed in exasperation. “You’re sure about the table?”
“Aye. Met a guy that brought me there and all. A good dude named Ryker. He introduced me to the tavern owner and all. A dark-skinned ‘Lorian’ named Denis. Small place, but clean and quiet as I said.”
Glen sucked at his teeth thoughtfully. They had reached the pleasure houses district, at the south border of the market and east of the taverns. “Why not buy space near the other taverns? The real-estate prices around the festival square must be exorbitant.”
“Rich folk I reckon,” Hagen replied with a shrug and looked at the milk bottle he had in his hand.
“Lay off of that for a while,” Glen cautioned him and turned to speak with Moira, the healer appeared to enjoy riding her horse through the streets and watching the citizens behave like children, but Hagen pointed at a two story building with an arm and forced Glen to concentrate on him.
“There it is,” Hagen said, dropping the bottle in the horse’s saddlebags. “That black door. It’s what they call the venue also. Hah, I could’ve done better!”
Glen frowned spotting a hat-wearing Lorian watching them, resting outside the door that was facing south at a clutch of sycamore trees and not east towards the square, or west towards the taverns like the other brothel buildings. It was as if the tavern owners had gone out of their way to minimize traffic in this very central property.
The hat-wearing Lorian reached with a gloved fist, without moving from his position, and banged twice on the door still watching Glen and his companions approach. With a lot of noisy citizens moving about, some mounted like them, it was the sign of a keen-eyed man spotting them from that far away, at the bare minimum.
Glen led their horses near the black door and dismounted, keeping his eyes on the building and the tavern’s door. Groups of half-drunken citizens strolled past without pausing at the missing a label and outer windows first floor tavern, drawn by the loud singing and harlot calls from the buildings all around them. Folen’s pleasure house stood not even forty meters away for example and was packed. Glen spotted a delirious man walk out of an open window, as if attempting to fly and then drop like a sack laden with rocks on the hard concrete, when of course he didn’t.
He was killed with the snap of one’s fingers.
The Monarch flinched at the gruesome accident, screams erupting from the bystanders, but the music quickly drowned them out, as the day moved on.
“I missed those lit up streets in the night,” a distracted Moira murmured when he approached to help her dismount, whilst Hagen went to talk with the man standing outside the black door tavern. “Such a lovely touch, I can’t get enough of.”
The light posts using lightstones hadn’t started working yet, but they would at first dark, especially in Taras’ center.
Expensive as all fucks, but it had helped draw stray Zilan and people here, Glen thought and extended his arms standing at the left side of Secret. “What city has as much light?” He asked the moved by the promise of another lightshow healer. “I’ve been to the Peninsula. Rin An-Pur?”
“The Khan only lights up his palace, but I was talking of another place,” Moira replied, snapping out of her reverie and then smiled, two small dibbles forming on her tanned cheeks, “Shall I jump Rhu?”
Easiest opening offered ever.
So Glen gave it a flashy coat of paint.
In Imperial no less.
“Thou should without fear, for I shall always catch thee.”
You don’t learn languages for naught.
Moira jumped from the saddle and he caught her.
The girl was heavy, it wasn’t an illusion. Nope. She was also very fit and smelled great.
“Your eyes have the color of cooling gold,” Moira purred, her nostrils expanding and her own light-brown eyes gleamed with silver hues, all other sounds coming now muffled and the noon light dimming around them.
A peculiar warmth slowly engulfed Glen, sipped into his pores, and despite the heat of early summer, he didn’t mind it. The tiredness left his arms and even the maimed foot that bothered him when the weather changed, or after walking on it too much, faded away as if he’d just drank a healing potion.
Or smoked a loaded pipe of good-quality Redleaf.
“Chief,” Hagen said interrupting their moment. “Denis has your table ready.”
“Mmm,” Glen replied and lowered the healer on the ground. “Go ahead Moira of another place,” he said hoarsely and released her.
Glen paused to regain his wits, glanced at the watching him Lorian, Ryker was what Hagen had called him and then to the east and west of the gypsum-coated walls of the building. As his eyes returned to the now open black door, Glen noticed a crude graffiti painted at the west wall of the tavern. Eight lines grouped in two parallel rows, four in each, in harsh black coal.
Glen looked at Ryker again and the man raised a hand to tip his hat, the hint of a smirk forming at the corner of his mouth.
Son of a bitch.
With a grimace the tensed Glen moved, Moira had paused at the door waiting for him, and walked inside the black door tavern prepared to fight his way out, if it came down to it.
----------------------------------------
Denis, the tavern owner, led them to a table at the south corner of the venue, the other corner’s table occupied by a couple that merely glanced at them entering. Six additional tables, two at the west wall, two at the north next to an empty fireplace, several large cupboards and a large counter adorning the east wall, made up the tavern’s furniture. The table nearest to the fireplace was also occupied, by two also dark-skinned men, but only one of them looked like an Issir. A familiar face. Nigel Grim cast a knowing glance towards the other couple without acknowledging Glen. The clad in tight leather garbs of the trade female sported a fancy eyepatch, concealing a probably gruesome injury, and was striking to look at.
“What’s wrong?” Moira asked after sitting down next to him. Glen had left a lot of room between him and the table in order to maneuver in case of an emergency. But the vibes inside the tavern weren’t hostile and he forced himself to relax.
“Nothing,” Glen replied.
“I’ll head to the bar,” Hagen announced with a thumbs up to the watching Denis.
“Don’t you want to eat silly?” Moira teased his conflicted bodyguard.
Of course he does.
“He’s had enough,” Glen intervened and Denis stepped forward holding a large papyrus.
“I’ve prepared a menu,” Denis said sounding very pleased. “It’s an honor…” he paused briefly to correct himself, displaying the competence of a man that had stepped on a turd before, but made it home with a clean pair of shoes. “Having such a handsome couple grace our humble abode with their presence.”
“You are a nifty man Denis,” Moira prattled with a chuckle and touched his hand once, the one holding the menu.
“Appreciate the compliment,” Denis replied readily and gave Glen the menu. “I’ll bring you two clean goblets. Shed your worries friends, for we have wine intended for the Monarch’s cellar.”
Ugh?
“Does the Monarch know his wine went missing?” Glen hissed looking up from the hard papyrus.
“It was a figure of speech mister…?” Denis retorted with a smile.
No it wasn’t you slimy crook!
“Rhu Fareno. Licensed adventurer.”
“Mister Fareno, milady…”
“Moira,” Glen grunted with a glare.
“Take your time to choose, but pick the lamb roast. Kumra will take your order,” Denis replied and bowed his head afore walking to the bar, where Hagen had parked his fat arse already.
“Kumra is an uncommon name,” Moira murmured and stared at Nigel’s partner.
Whoa, our healer is a linguistic expert.
“They are Zilan,” Glen told her. “Just a different race.”
“Ah,” Moira said and raised her trimmed brows. “You are not surprised.”
Why are you?
The skin color.
Uhm.
Yeah, it makes sense.
“It’s a Zilan town,” Glen replied after mulling it over some, once again busy reading the menu and a little concerned by the lack of pricing, or the lack of variety. Matter of fact, the hand-written short list of meals in front of him appeared pretty fresh. As in, it was written that same day, or thereabouts. Glen used a fingernail to scratch at one of the letters and it proved his hypothesis when the ink came off easily.
Is this even a real tavern? He wondered, staring at the rest of the clients suspiciously. No wonder they are ‘empty’ today.
“So you eat meat?” He asked casually the pouting Moira. “What’s the matter dove? Place not to yer liking?”
“Eh. We have no music,” the healer griped. “The other taverns have.”
Who cares?
“I’m sure Denis will sing us a tune if it comes down to it. Right Denis?”
“Ready for the order?” Denis asked from behind the counter.
“You know a tune, or two no?” Glen taunted and the tavern owner stooped to produce a lute from under the counter. For a moment Glen had tensed up thinking the man had gone for a weapon.
Aha.
“Kumra can sing,” Denis explained and thumbed a couple of notes that sounded pretty loud in the enclosed space.
“Not really,” the female Zilan cut in with a smile. “But we can pretend that he does.”
Right.
“I love meat,” Moira replied out of the blue, whilst examining the menu carefully. “Order it rare for me.”
Yes ma’am.
No wonder slave life didn’t work out for you.
“That’s it then,” Glen murmured. He glanced at the menu she was reading once more and then went to reach for the pipe he kept inside his satchel.
“The place has no windows,” Moira said, seeing him getting the silver pipe out and the box with his balls of Redleaf.
“So?” Glen retorted, popping the lid with a finger to reveal its contents.
“You’ll make everyone dizzy,” Moira noted placing her hand on his knee under the table.
“So ye know a lot about drugs, eh healer?” Glen teased her and she bit her lip pretending to think about it.
“What do you think?” She finally asked in a hoarse voice. “Hallucinogens make me wild.”
“Good,” Glen replied and raised his arm to order. “Time to loosen up Doc.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
-
A couple of hours later
“The mouse said, WOOF! And the cat run away!” Matilda, the drunken Nord adventurer roared, the lame jest somehow compelling her girlfriend Drifa to explode in an uncontrollable laughter that spread inside the half-packed tavern like wildfire.
No tavern stays truly empty during Valimae Lilt.
PLINK PLONG
“WOOF!”
Denis’ lute tried to pick up a sensible tune again -under Hagen’s encouragement, only to realize that in the chaotic atmosphere few things still worked properly, but for the flow of wine.
This is my god darn wine! Glen thought sourly, when Kumra brought another opened bottle out –the eleventh- seeing as Moira had taken the previous one for her personal use and refused to share it. The healer poured it down alike a thirsty man fresh out of the Cofol desert.
“You want me to refill your goblet Mister Rhu?”
“You better!” Glen barked, getting another round of riotous laughter out of the two inebriated female adventurers. The situation slowly deteriorating to the absurd.
“It’s a fine wine,” the flushed Kumra added getting his buttocks massaged by Matilda.
“He’s a cutie this one,” the Northern woman announced drunkenly. “Like a big black cat with standing ears!”
“I love black cats!” Moira agreed with a protracted squeal, as Valydra had pocked her tit with a finger to check if it was real.
“No shit!” A grimacing Glen snapped, referring to his summer wine and then recoiled, when Moira grabbed the grinning Valydra’s face over the table, to drag it closer to him. Valydra showed Glen her tongue with a stupid grin.
“Isn’t she divine? Look at this soft skin,” Moira gushed squeezing the Zilan’s cheeks with both hands. “Oh, your lovely little ears!”
Are you blind? Them ears are huge!
“Leave the ears alone, silly drunken wench!” Valydra warned with a smile and stole Glen’s goblet from under his nose. The next moment she was glugging it all down.
“Rhu is an adventurer, tell him what happened to your eye,” Moira urged the wiping her mouth pleased Valydra.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” the Zilan retorted sobering up.
“Where are you from Rhu?” Drifa asked under heavy eyelids. The thick blonde woman had a pretty face, puffy at spots and full of freckles.
“Lesia,” Glen replied grabbing the bottle out of Kumra’s hand, but Moira took it from him easily placing a hand on his cock under the table.
“Ah. You know what?” Drifa asked conspiratorially.
“What?” Glen grunted.
“Fuck Lesia,” Drifa cursed half-serious half-in-jest and then grinned flirtingly afore adding. “And fuck you.”
“Yeah,” Matilda agreed, a much bigger woman with a common face and almost as muscular as Glen.
“I’ll pass,” Glen retorted and everyone burst out laughing, with Nigel Grin intervening timely in a baritone voice.
“I can take you wild northern girls for a spin.”
To which Drifa furrowed her brows and queried all-serious to the Thieves Guild leader. “Don’t ye need a wheel for that?”
Ah, this has gone over to the deep end, Glen thought, watching Valydra interrogating Moira about the changing color of her eyes, Kumra rushing to bring clean goblets from the kitchen and Denis trying to repair a broken string on his lute with one hand whilst playing it with the other. Glen got up to lit up his pipe outside. The door was now open, which had brought more customers inside the tavern, but it had been opened initially because Glen’s first puff of smoke had caused ‘everyone to go dizzy’ as Moira had predicted.
There was something unnatural about all that, but Glen couldn’t figure out what.
The thread dancing before his eyes elusive and yanked away when he attempted to grab it.
The Monarch reached the open door, the light dimming outside already, but the noise coming from inside the tavern was replaced by the ruckus from the buzzing town, now into full celebratory mood. Music could be heard coming from all directions, screams and wild laughter mixed in together, amidst the wild singing, in at least three different languages.
Glen slotted Flix’s pipe in his mouth and lit it with a custom-made lightstone fastened in a small metal cylinder, he called a lighter. He puffed out resting on one side of the door, trying to get his brain working again, but smiled seeing a naked male Gish sprinting past him, chased by two well-oiled Cofol slave-girls that had not a meter of cloth on –between them.
Ah. To be silly again.
“When Nigel told me,” the elusive Mori-Zilan said startling him. The one that shared the corner table with Valydra and had remained there not participating in the fun. He had taken a spot on the other side of the door next to Glen pretty sneakily. “He’d your ear, I didn’t believe him.”
Glen stared at the tall, smart-faced Zilan with the fancy red-leather shirt raising a quizzing eyebrow.
You need to divulge more pal, the stare told the stranger.
“You greeted him by name,” the stealthy Zilan elucidated.
“A small detail to notice,” Glen replied evenly, puffing smoke out of his nostrils. “Amidst all the bedlam.”
The Zilan nodded in agreement. “Name’s Neil.”
“Rhu,” Glen offered tending his free hand and Neil took it briefly.
“I can keep a secret Rhu,” Neil said with a smirk.
“Not better than me, you can’t,” Glen retorted and the Mori-Zilan laughed shaking his head.
“Touché,” Neil said and glanced inside their tavern.
“Are you a simple customer, or something more Neil?” Glen asked examining the handsome dark-skinned Zilan.
“Something more,” Neil replied and added. “But in the scales, it all equals out.”
“Uhm. Not many of your race around,” Glen noticed. “Yet, I find three of you here tonight.”
“We’re shy,” Neil replied in jest. “Nah, just not too palatable for the majority back in the old days. But some of us have survived.”
“On Coal Isle,” Glen added and the Zilan nodded. “I’ve seen you around.”
“You’re as keen on noticing small details,” Neil replied. “As prone on missing bigger ones. Alas, we are all guilty of that.”
“What did I miss?” Glen asked puffing smoke out. “In my long overdue night out?”
“You want to have your fun,” Neil agreed with a calming gesture. “I don’t want to intrude, but curiosity is just too strong. I’ve met a lot of characters through the years Rhu. Some I came to know better, others not so much, but you are one of the most intriguing. Understandably.”
“Give example,” the unimpressed Glen said through a cloud of smoke.
“Why her?” Neil asked simply. “A pretty face can’t be the only motive for such a historical figure.”
“Historical?”
“You asked me to frame it better and I did.”
Touché.
“She rebuffed my advances,” Glen replied honestly and he followed it with a grimace, as he realized the drugs and mirthful atmosphere had loosened up his tongue.
Neil stood back unsure.
“You’ll risk ridicule, or at the very least serious embarrassment, in order to roam the streets of Taras,” Neil started, lightly tapping at his own chin with an index finger in a thoughtful manner, “Suffer through the indignity of paying to be served with your own misplaced wine and laugh in the company of common folk, you should not really be comfortable with. All this to sway a former slave girl? Supposedly.”
Glen hadn’t considered that.
“What do you think?” He asked a little peeved.
“This isn’t new for you,” Neil replied taking the challenge to offer a reason. “Neither solving a riddle, nor living as one. Somewhere in there perhaps you just wanted to breathe and live alike a normal person, or how you used to. A return to your roots, which in itself is a paradox for a nobleman. A knight no less,” Neil said and extended his arm, whilst opening his palm to reveal a piece of jewelry.
Glen glanced at his gold Tyeus ring. He’d worn it as decoration for his rich adventurer persona and the Zilan had took it from his finger in the earlier brief handshake. He pursed his mouth taking the ring back, more impressed, than angry.
“Aww, this is shiny!” Moira purred stepping outside carrying a bottle she gave to Neil with a wink and then hugged Glen’s waist pressing her body on him. “Who is it for?” She asked mysteriously. “Speak.”
“You don’t need jewelry,” Glen replied and kissed her parted lips. Moira frowned and tried to move back, but it was too late, as Glen had already snaked his arm around her back.
“I deserve treasure adventurer,” Moira griped in his face. “Am I not?”
“This isn’t the day for adventures,” Glen countered despite succumbing to her charms and kissed her plump upper lip, but got a bit of the upturned nose as well, still having trouble negotiating Moira’s true dimensions. Which was the weirdest part of their evening.
“I say it is,” Moira retorted and then turned to the watching Neil. The Zilan are a very rude race for sure, Glen thought. “Hey. You seem familiar,” Moira murmured and Neil raised his brows amused.
“From where lass?” He asked her.
“I’m not telling you. Liar. I’ll keep it a secret!” A visibly inebriated Moira replied loudly and dropped the bottle she was holding on the ground spilling its contents.
“Ah,” Neil said and stooped to get the bottle, whilst Glen worked his mouth down Moira’s neck, sort of in a field-measuring exercise, but also aiming to dive between her heaving breasts through the tunic’s opening. “I might have a little mystery for you.”
“You do?” Moira giggled moving this way and that. Glen raised his head from her half-exposed chest to search for another target.
“Yep. Two rumors are making the rounds in Taras these last couple of days,” Neil continued with a sniff at the bottle’s neck. “Who had Hulanor killed, or whether that is true.”
“A mystery,” a flushed Moira rustled sounding less-drunk –but not by much- and stopped the aroused Glen that had attempted to munch on her earlobe, with a palm on his face. “Rhu is a famous mystery-solving adventurer!”
Who cares about him?
Luthos curse ye! That’s me!
Eh, just don’t scream in me ear girl!
“Ugh? Ah,” Glen grunted ineligibly, coming about a little startled he had completely lost control of his faculties for a moment. He glanced at the watching him closely Neil and then at the smiling eagerly Moira. For a moment Glen didn’t remember who they were. A brief moment. Fucking potent batch of Redleaf this!
“Fine.” He rustled and Moira squealed and went to plant her forehead on his, or she tried to, since Glen stopped her with his mouth, again intercepting the young woman’s move.
“I’ll get the others,” Moira said rubbing at her moist forehead a bit sad and then galloped inside, leaving a half-dazed Glen behind.
----------------------------------------
“Well, she’s something for sure,” Neil commented, watching Moira rousing the others with promises of an adventure in the streets of Taras. “This might take a weird turn Rhu.”
“Mmm,” Glen murmured without looking his way and worked the ring back on his finger. “You said two rumors, Mister Neil.”
“People in the market say,” Neil replied with a half-smirk, emptying the expensive wine on the cobblestone, but keeping the bottle. “Your healer makes dead gardens sing.”
“Fuck does that mean?” Glen retorted pursing his mouth.
“She can make shrunken flowers bloom anew,” Neil elucidated. “Or revitalize old potions. Vela sold out faster than ever. She even unloaded last years spoiled stuff.”
“Is that uncommon?” Glen queried giving a nod to the sweaty Hagen that came out of the tavern to join them.
“Not back in the day,” Neil replied, leaving it vague. “It wasn’t.”
“Right. What about Hulanor?”
“You know what happened, no?” Neil asked touching his forehead on Valydra’s in a very intimate gesture. “A head was found.”
“I’ve been briefed,” Glen replied less interested now. “Why should I bother myself with this matter, especially tonight friend?”
“You shouldn’t,” Valydra told him with a slap on Neil’s buttocks. “Neil is always searching for a new rabbit hole to go down to. Just take the win lover.”
“Thus says the scheming little Milva,” Neil countered affectionately. “Who always gets me into trouble?”
“Ah, what was wrong with the head?” Glen probed with a glance at Moira that tried to lift Matilda from the tavern’s floor with the help of Nigel and Kumra. Moira actually did most of the heavy lifting much to the two males’ bafflement.
“It wasn’t Hulanor’s I bet you. A half-breed he wasn’t,” Neil replied with a wink and gave the making faces Valydra a pinch on her cheek as retaliation. “We would know.”
“Aha,” Glen said. “Who would know even more?”
“We could ask at his hostel,” Neil replied and turning around walked towards the corner of the tavern followed by his protesting partner in crime.
“Seriously Neil? Tonight you’ll drag us into this?” Valydra was heard griping.
“Milord,” the heavy-breathing Hagen started, but Glen stopped him with a smack on the chest. “Argh.”
“Get the horses. We need to keep this brief. I’m losing the night,” Glen ordered him, not really wanting to go look for answers, but then again Rhu would probably want to look into the matter, even in passing.
Glen groaned in frustration.
“We can walk to the square,” Hagen suggested seeing him puffing his cheeks out unsure. “Too big a crowd for horses.”
What?
Rhu was an idiot and Glen hated walking for no reason.
“Adventure!” Moira screamed coming out with the rest of the tavern’s occupants and Glen grimaced, painfully forcing his lips to split up to reveal two rows of teeth in a forced grin. “Let’s march right there!” The healer declared passionately bless her heart and everyone followed after her as if caught in a spell, forcing the reluctant Glen to stroll after their group as well.
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“SHOW RESTRAINT! PLEASE!” A frustrated Captain Esau Fane bellowed at the huge boisterous crowd that tried to break through his thin line of guards and into the enclosed with a rope area, to reach the high-ranking members of Taras’ society and foreign dignitaries. The royal stand erected there was filled with members of the King’s Council, Elderbloods, palace officials and rich merchants. Both Zilan and humans.
A yelling Jinx was up there standing on one of the reserved for dignitaries’ high back chairs, next to a discomforted Lithoniela. Whisper urged the crowd to riot and tear down the barriers, despite the efforts of Rimeros and Saevelos to restrain her.
“WE ARE ALL EQUAL!” A drunk out of her mind Jinx screamed at the top of her lungs. “SCREW ALL RULES! LET’S ALL GET TOGETHER!”
Fuck’s sake Whisper, an alarmed Glen thought, pausing eighty meters away at the edge of the crowded square, worried this might get out of hand. You’re part of the god darn establishment you fool!
“Lady Lussiel,” Rimeros barked ogling his eyes at the already teetering on the verge of mutiny crowd, “you were asked to signal the beginning of the music festival, not incite a rebellion! This is unbecoming to a Lady of the royal palace!”
“Lady this into yer posh rectum!” the struggling against the guards Jinx cursed giving him the middle finger, and then swung a punch at the Hoplite, who used his helm to deflect the blow, much to the Gish’s chagrin. “AH! OUCH! GAH!” Jinx yelped, just before Maeriel managed to take her away from Saevelos’ steel clutches.
Rimeros had to rush to the edge of the large stand with a huge fake smile on his face to douse the fires.
“CITIZENS AND VISITORS!” The Castellan boomed with an impressive voice that managed to calm down the unruly crowd. “LET US NOT FIGHT THIS NIGHT! DANCE,” Rimeros offered instead navigating the difficult moment with impressive skill given the audience. “TO YOUR HEART’S DELIGHT!”
The tambourines started banging the moment his words faded, in their primordial rhythm. The action initiated by the thirty musicians that had been paid to begin at the just given prompt, no matter the circumstances.
BAM
TA-DA-DUM
BUM-BUM
A flurry of lutes and trumpets joining in.
The whole square of about four-five thousand participants jumping up and down frenzied.
“There’s Folmon,” Neil said in his ear and moved after the exiting the lit-up hostel Zilan, with a tap at Valydra’s shoulder, she was dancing with Moira, to follow after him. Glen did the same reluctantly, mostly thrust into action by the waves of people moving back and forth to the rhythm and spilling at the front of the hostel.
Folmon, a wiry Zilan with a scarred face, glanced backwards as he was moving away, somehow realized that Neil and Valydra were coming after him and flinched in alarm. Then he started sprinting through the crowd as fast as the hare that had its fluffy tail set on fire by Luthos.
“A race it is,” Neil declared and leaped on the top of a parked carriage in order to cut through the crowd, showing exceptional athleticism, followed by a protesting Valydra and then they both disappeared from sight.
Shite.
Glen moved after them with less grace and urgency. He did duck under a huge Lorian yelling an army song, whilst dragging Moira after him by the hand. Then came a fancy-dressed Cofol dancing by moving his index finger to bar their way… correction, directing a pair of slave girls, who were dancing in front of him sensually and to a different tune, than whatever anthem the big drunken Lorian crooned with enthusiasm.
“Hey!” Glen barked at the Cofol not wanting to slow down and the man seeing the masqueraded Monarch marching his way, reached with his maestro’s arm to stop him. Glen jerked out of the arm’s way, dodging him, but Moira didn’t and the Cofol grabbed the healer’s left tit semi-innocently at first, afore he gave it the good ole sneaky squeeze next.
Moira snapped her right arm out and gave the startled Cofol a shove in retaliation that catapulted him backwards and send him to crash under the carriage’s wheels.
What do you know? Them camel milk drinking lasses of the desert, are plenty muscular!
“Girl,” Glen gasped turning to glance at the perturbed Moira, who smiled innocently and pointed further up ahead of them.
“He’s getting away?”
Glen shook his head and twisted around, still walking fast. He opened his stride to cut the distance from Neil, who had reached the hostel’s corner in the meantime, still going after the now unseen Folmon.
“He’s heading for the copse behind the hostel!” Glen yelled and turned around, dragging the yelping Moira with him. They jumped over the standing up disheveled Cofol, shoved the slave girls out of their way and squeezed through the fat Lorian again going the opposite way. “Folmon is trying to double back!” He told the chuckling healer. “What’s so funny?”
“Neil is a thief,” the mirthful Moira said running next to him with ease, despite wearing her fancy heels. “I’m certain!”
“You’re right, ha-ha,” Glen laughed and jumped over the trimmed bushes to enter the sycamore copse that extended as far back as the main street’s junction, but also hugged the hostel’s south wall.
Moments after they had entered the dark trees, a figure leaped out of the foliage, banged on a tree trunk, found his footing and then came running right for them.
“HALT!” Glen boomed authoritatively and the sweaty Folmon paused coming to a stop with a grimace.
“Who do you think you are? The sheriff?” Folmon asked hoarsely and glanced behind his back. “Murderers are after me.”
“I’m a concerned adventurer,” Glen started, a bit unprepared to talk with this person and Folmon nodded as if it made sense. He reached over his shoulder to unsheathe a Kopis and attacked Glen with it.
You son of an uncultured mule! Glen cursed Folmon for choosing violence and smacked Moira one way, while he dived for the other. He landed with the hip on a hard root, tearing his new leather pants –plaguing hells- and stood up armed with a similar blade, looking furious.
“Hah,” Folmon guffawed seeing Glen advance and swung his sword to cut him down. The Monarch parried the blade away with his, lithely sidestepped into a fist… he barely dodged and landed a left punch of his own in Folmon’s sides that rattled the Zilan’s ribcage.
Eat gravel, ye fucking plebe! Glen roared inwardly and got a kick on the wrist from the twirling on his axis Folmon that hurled his blade three meters away.
Luthos took the day off to have fun
Wit the village’s comeliest wench,
But stepped under a ladder afore the good times begun
And got his skull cracked open by a rusted wrench!
“Stop,” Moira said getting up and the moving to hack at the scowling Monarch Folmon froze on his feet, probably because the previous tumble had popped one of the healer’s heavy breasts out of her tunic.
Goodness me! Glen thought impressed, an eye on the meaty tit and the other aiming to land a heavy punch at the numb Folmon’s jaw that send the unwilling to dodge Zilan, to crash senseless to the ground.
“Whoa,” Neil guffawed a moment later upon arriving at the scene. “Rhu, I stand impressed mate! Folmon is a professional fighter. The man can take a punch!”
“Not from me,” Glen retorted smugly, rubbing at his hurting hand and then stared at the groaning Folmon a little amused. “This fool can’t dodge to save himself!”
----------------------------------------
The heavy-breathing from the exertion Glen glanced at the sullen Moira fixing her dirty tunic, now tended by Valydra and then turned around to watch Neil slap Folmon awake, stooping over him. The girls’ words reaching his ears from behind inside the relatively quiet copse, considering the ruckus that came from Taras’ lively Hardir’s Square.
“You can clean it,” Valydra consoled Moira. “How did you run on these heels fool?”
“I couldn’t on this ground,” Moira replied sullenly. “My feet hurt.”
“I’ll see to find you a pair of proper boots, if you are going to join us,” Valydra chuckled and Glen focused on Folmon, taking one step to get closer.
“Get the purse. I’ve seven gold coins in there. A dozen silver,” Folmon told the smirking Neil with a groan and grabbed at his hurting jaw. “You punch like a mule human,” he grunted looking at Glen. “You should join the games.”
“Which games?” Glen asked.
“You know, damn it. Don’t play virgin Naossis with me! What do you want?” Folmon cursed and glared at Neil. “Get your black mug out of my face!”
Neil poked him with a finger on the forehead. “Be polite. It’s a festival tonight.”
“How about you go and fuck yourself with that stick?” Folmon countered instead, trying to avoid Neil’s finger from tapping him on the forehead but failing.
Once.
Twice.
“Stop!” Folmon growled. “What’s this nonsense? What do you want?”
“Hulanor,” Glen told him, not sure what was Neil’s play here.
“The Chief is dead. Ruffians cut him down a couple of days back,” Folmon grunted. “If it is bet money you seek, come like normal folk during working hours!”
“Who’s running the place now?” Glen asked.
“Me.”
“He’s lying,” Neil intervened. “The man playing Hulanor’s role the last couple of weeks wasn’t him,” he added.
“How the fuck do you know?” Folmon barked. “I worked for him every day for years!”
“Fat guy sort of, right?” Neil asked.
“Yeah. Boss was big, he had a condition,” Folmon replied with a grimace, when he tried to move his jaw right and left. “Dude you can make solid coin fighting, trust me,” he told the watching Glen.
“The man killed was a big dude,” Glen told Neil. “A man working for me vouched for that. A half-breed. A Mori-Zilan half-breed.”
“There,” Folmon grunted.
“Hulanor wasn’t a half-breed. I met him a couple of months back,” Neil argued and stood up.
“Folen saw his head,” Glen told Neil with a glance at Moira that used a handful of grass to clean her dirty feet, after removing her sandals. “It looked like him, considering the abuse the head had suffered. They had kicked it around. Missing the nose and an ear?”
“Fucking bastards,” Folmon cursed. “Savages.”
“It wasn’t him Rhu,” Neil insisted. “This is a ruse. He learned there was a contract on him and took measures to protect himself.”
Glen nodded. “Who died in his place?”
“A relative. Someone close to him. He knows,” Neil said and Folmon pursed his mouth.
“I know nothing. This lying dog can’t be trusted! You know who this is?” He grunted staring at Glen with feverish eyes.
“Do you know, who this is?” Neil asked before Folmon could continue and Glen glared at the thief warningly.
“He’s Rhu Fareno,” Moira said coming to stand next to Glen and wrapped her arm around his waist. “You are out of luck lowly cretin.”
“Who?” Folmon grunted in bewilderment. “Never heard of him!”
“Let me handle this dove,” Glen said. “Rest your legs for a bit while we get to the bottom of this.”
“I’m fine silly,” Moira replied bravely. “I can take up adventuring with no problem.”
I’m sort of retired dear, Glen thought amused and then remembered a detail from the Council meeting. “What was Hulanor’s problem with South Eplas Trading Company?”
“Never had a problem,” Folmon argued and spat down.
“There’s an officer working there that might want to see the head for himself,” Glen told him. “We have it in a jar to keep it well-preserved. Will he recognize your Hulanor, eh? What do you think Folmon?” He probed the now looking nervous Zilan.
“Who the fuck are you? The hit came from the bank.” Folmon asked oozing suspicion and Moira intervened sounding exasperated.
“Rhu Fareno you doofus! Boy, are you slow!”
“Well, he did get punched on the head,” Valydra chuckled, stooping to pick up Folmon’s sword from the ground and returning Glen’s blade to him.
“Are you sure it was the bank? Maybe I have better sources than you mate,” Glen asked, sheathing the sword on his back.
“You better stay away from the dead’s affairs,” Folmon warned them. “Else the Nigurug might come looking for you.”
“What?” Glen snorted and went to laugh in the Zilan’s face, but noticed Neil’s deep frown, so he didn’t. Valydra murmured sounding disturbed and even Moira shivered by his side, for some fucking reason!
“You heard me,” Folmon said with a grimace and went to grab his blade from Valydra’s hands. “I’m going back to the hostel. You fucked up my evening, darn creeps.”
----------------------------------------
“A ’right,” Glen said a moment after Folmon had disappeared inside the trees. “I need a bit of context here.”
“It’s such an old story,” Valydra started and Neil grimaced looking at the dark trees and low-hanging branches about them.
“Yeah,” Moira murmured and Glen looked at her confused.
“You know what they are talking about?” He asked the shaking her comely head healer.
“Ah? No? How could I?” Moira replied with a pout at the perceived attack. “I’m just being supportive!”
Good grief.
“When Ninthalor was murdered… alongside Braeniriel,” Neil picked up the thread, working on his chin with a couple of fingers. “People were baffled at the killer escaping unscathed, or even getting inside the royal quarters. Several theories surfaced almost immediately.”
Moira’s fingers dug inside Glen’s bicep and he could feel the healer shivering in the coolness of the dark copse.
“Baltoris blamed the Coven,” Glen said, as he’d gathered some info about the ancient unsolved murder that had ushered in Lith’s, now also long-deceased, mother’s era.
“Magic,” Neil agreed with a nod. “Seemed the likely culprit. A single killer could perhaps get the better of Ninthalor without Turlas at the near, Paeris was always a man of culture and senses, but Braeniriel was a master ranger in her own right, trained by Faelar and an excellent hunter. The Queen would have hurt the assassin badly.”
“Unless a spell was involved,” Glen said.
“Not with such a talented bard present,” Neil argued. “Paeris song could crack any spell, or disrupt it. Bards are attuned to good, or evil approaching. Ninthalor’s wayward manners were a great shield against danger, until they weren’t.”
“We know what Baltoris thought happened. What are the other theories?” Glen asked and signaled for them to get out of the woods, in order to spare Moira from the cold.
“You know a Zilan named Aenymriel?” Neil asked and Glen had to pause for Moira to reach them, as she was walking barefooted now. She had her dirty sandals clutched in her hand tightly.
“I heard of her,” Glen replied vaguely. “She serves the palace.”
“Lord Elas sister runs a guild of assassins,” Neil continued not wanting to force Glen to reveal himself to his sullen date.
“It makes sense,” Glen said. “But a simple assassin would have faced the same problems, just without that much magic involved, right?”
“I had stood by this theory for… a very long time,” Neil, who was also someone else high up the thieves’ guild ranks, replied thoughtfully. “But the criminal underworld opted to favor another theory in my… absence. Mostly forced by the centuries ticking by and a populace’s pure superstition, even fear of the unknown.”
“The Nigurug,” Glen said.
“The pallid fiend,” Neil replied with a solemn nod. “Half a boogieman story and half the remnants of magic used in a disturbing manner. The Nigurug could have done it perhaps, given the carnage left behind.”
“A demon?”
“Not exactly. A fiend walking amongst the living.”
Glen thought of Gimoss. “Could a wyvern be one?”
“Wyverns naturally live in this realm. Fiends live… ah, in the Silent Desert. A place, somewhere inside the in-between realms. They can’t… survive here.”
“Unless dark magic is involved. Like Bone magic?” Glen queried not liking where the conversation was going.
“Something different even. Dark for sure. I wish old Dudrina was here to give us a better explanation,” Neil reminisced sadly. “She would have loved Hardir’s Valimae Lilt.”
“What does this have to do with Folmon, or this Hulanor?” Glen asked not wanting to lose the thread talking about old dead witches.
“Ah. Valydra?” Neil asked his partner and Valydra paused, forcing them to stop just after the edge of the dark copse, and with the lights, the music and singing of the celebrating Taras returning tenfold. The lissome Mori-Zilan female unbuttoned her leather shirt, popping one button after the other, dug inside her sweat-covered breasts and pulled a gold chain out. A glimmering silver-colored circlet was hanging from the chain.
“Goddess,” Moira gasped and Neil who had received the circlet from Valydra, paused to examine her face carefully.
“Hmm,” the Mori-Zilan thief hummed, as if something had become apparent at that point. “Interesting… development.”
“What is?” Glen grunted not liking being left in the dark, or look the fool.
“Sigel O’ Nyel,” Valydra said, pointing at the piece of ornament apprehensively for some reason. “Revealed Ninthalor’s killer to me.”
“I want to take a piss, but I’m holding it in to hear more,” Glen warned her through his teeth. “Don’t take yer plaguing time to get the words out!”
“You know what? Fuck right off, Mister Fareno,” Valydra retorted narrowing her eyes, as if she was the one being insulted, or wasting valuable lewd time on a bunch of malarkey-birthed superstitions! Ah, the gal on this wench is out of this realm!
“Rhu,” Moira said softly rubbing at his arm. “Let her speak,” Glen felt his anger dissipating and nodded with a grimace.
Neil answered instead of the scowling Valydra.
This girl has issues, Glen decided.
“The Sigel O’ Nyel revealed that the slain King had two killers. One that died, but is still around. One that lives, but is already dead. Dar Nalta added another tidbit sometime after,’ Neil continued in his soothing voice and Glen caught out of the corner of his right eye Moira watching the handsome Zilan mesmerized. “In metal it whispers an ever-weaving thread. If left its influence shall spread and come for his daughter’s head.”
The last part chilled Glen’s blood and he stood back glowering at the thief.
“I didn’t hear a name,” the Monarch rustled hoarsely.
“There isn’t one,” Valydra replied and pointed at the lit up corner of the hostel. “We’ll go and celebrate now, Rhu Fareno. Cast the lying fiends away,” she added meaningfully.
Suck a bug of caramel dicks honey!
“You owe me more than that,” Glen warned Neil, who raised his brows in surprise.
“An uneven trade is a sin Rhu.”
“A thief will know,” Glen retorted.
“Indeed,” Neil agreed with a nod and the hint of a smile. “When Folmon brought up the Nigurug he confirmed two things for me,” the Mori-Zilan replied. “His patron needed help to survive his pursuers and Imperial Law, but who would have offered assistance to such a vile criminal? Only a fiend. Still around to guard his secrets.”
“What’s the second thing?” Glen grunted.
“A Fiend helps only itself, or its master. Seeing as loyal Folmon’s mysterious employer was never a man of the dark arts, then he had been useful to the Fiend another way. Perhaps being a criminal scumbag helped. He once told me that one must do vile things to survive. Now it makes a little more sense.”
“Meaning?” Glen queried pursing his mouth.
“If the Fiend survived it had help, in order to blend in. Either before, or after, it can’t change its character, but a vile creature such as that could stand out like a sore thumb. It would stalk and it will kill to feed, or for the pleasure of it, just like it always had. Without reason. Messily, alike a crazed animal, but a Fiend isn’t stupid to get caught. That is the difference.”
“What does it look like?” Moira asked evenly.
“If it had help crossing over,” Neil replied. “We might never know, unless we force it to act.”
“Finding Hulanor,” Glen said.
“Finding Aeson,” Neil replied and saluted the listening Moira touching his forehead with three fingers. Then taking Valydra’s arm they marched away towards the dancing crowd, stepped behind a loudly singing and dancing in a circle trio of Zilan and disappeared.
“What?” Glen asked the thoughtful Moira and she brushed a couple of black curls of hair back.
“Nothing. Adventuring is fun,” she said in a whisper.
“This wasn’t adventuring per se,” Glen teased her and then they went to walk towards the hostel themselves, but paused a couple of strides in to look at each other.
“I don’t feel like dancing,” Moira admitted and the nailed in place Glen, felt at least one part of him growing uncontrollably.
This drug fucked me up. I need to have a word with Folen’s dealer.
“It’s a twenty minute walk to Jinx’s,” he offered hoarsely. “You want to put them heels on?”
“What if I don’t?” a blushing Moira queried with a mischievous grin.
“You’ll walk barefooted?”
“You loveable cretin,” Moira chuckled and stooped to wear her sandals again. “You’re supposed to carry me?”
“Not in my book, I’m not,” Glen deadpanned, a risky retort with a high-probability of failure, but it worked.
-
As a matter of fact, it worked so darn well that instead of walking back to Jinx’s, he found himself wrestling with Moira at the edge of the Copse, just behind the hostel for a while. Amidst the rotting leaves and the cool earth, the chirping birds and the blasting noise coming from the nearby dancing crowd. Dancing, much like wrestling, a misnomer, as the general lewdness had already begun across the buzzing Taras.
-
Praise be the Allgods for plain short tunics! Glen chortled, when the whole darn garment went off and flew neatly to rest on a lonely, low-hanging, branch. His hands found a sweat-covered round breast next, slippery to grab, but easy to work on vigorously.
He used his snarling mouth to search for Moira’s moist tongue, cut himself on her teeth and backed away, decided it was a rare occurrence, but shit fucking happens! Got a sneaky hand between her parting very-long legs, missed the darn spot twice and she had to guide him there, which was embarrassing, but not enough to turn off the aroused Glen. He heaved mightily with a manly oomph, scoring dead center and boom, the battering ram resounded on the maiden’s flooding gates.
Hah.
Ye thought you’ll get away!
Boom and boom.
Moira gasped ecstatic and Glen felt her grow in his sweaty arms, a point here, an inch down there, but it was noticeable. He searched for her mouth in the dark, dead leaves plastered on his thighs, and found it under the glow of her large, wide-open, silver eyes… what? Which was a tad creepy, but ye don’t get too-spooked halfway into a good shag alike a cunt, as he always preached himself and Emerson had to beat it out of him for a while.
Boom and Glen found the healer’s mouth. He dived on it with gusto, as Moira knew how to kiss using a lot of tongue and teeth… those are dangerous, stay away dude. Poor thing must have cracked one growing up and which slave has time to fix her teeth, right?
Right.
Nope.
Wrong.
Moira grabbed his head and moved it upwards, Glen still trying to touch her lips with his, whilst working the lower part of his body with the fitness of an arena gladiator. Her sweaty forehead touched his, which was lovely a gesture, used by Raro to show he was friendly and all, but also boring, so Glen fought using his strong neck muscles to lower his head to the better parts.
“Fuck, girl you’re… god darn strong,” he grunted unable to move his head away and Moira chuckled throatily, a lovely singing sound. The dark copse changing all about him, light pouring down from the black canopy, waters splashing on rocks from a nearby waterfall and birds singing so loud, Glen couldn’t hear the crowd celebrating not a hundred meters away.
The music had been replaced completely and the sycamore copse had turned into a luscious garden. I’m dreaming. I fucking fainted amidst orgasm and I’m having a nightmare… eh, a vision of sorts. Ahm.
Glen stood up and stared at his deflating cock. He couldn’t see Moira anywhere, but the garden opened some meters to his right. Well, that’s a strange roll in the hay fer sure! Glen walked there whilst calling the healer’s name, in case they shared a dream, or something and came out into an open area. At the distance, in the center of the flattened green grassy area, a pyramid structure made out of glass stood. Glen rolled down the small incline, looking to the north and a distant mountain range.
I know these mountains, Glen thought approaching the gleaming in the bright sun greenhouse. Partially a greenhouse, but also a lavish atrium. Almost twenty meters tall, it towered over the field magnificently. He could see behind the clear glass, almond and fig trees, bright citrus and flashy apricot fruits hanging from laden branches inside the massive greenhouse and the water pouring out from a marble spring at its center.
For no reason.
Lirue ni o linn, the garden sang and Glen faltered to a stop alarmed.
Not a happy dream.
Hardir O’ Fardor, the voices sang.
You promised.
Fuck, the shivering Glen thought feeling the hairs stand upright like nails on his nape.
There you are old girl, the dagger had said back then, in the ruins of Nesande’s Garden. Inside the witch’s resting place. The dagger wasn’t here now, as Glen had left it back at Morn Taras not to give him away, but even so, the Monarch had found himself back inside the garden.
Somehow.
Careless Luthos had his low-hanging balls caught in a vise.
Laced with magic.
A piercing scream almost ripped his eardrums off and Glen felt himself violently hurled rearward. The garden disappeared and he traveled backwards through crackling moist sticks, thick moss-covered branches, with arms flaying, legs kicking and a powerfully erect cock knifing at the air.
The impact on a distant tree trunk, almost crushed his back, but for the rich foliage breaking his momentum and Luthos probably giving him a merciful hand. The rolling on the ground with a protracted groan Glen, had absolutely no idea what had just happened. He just lay there at the end of the roll, half-aroused, half-bruised and seriously befuddled. Glen stared at the copse’s black canopy, cool water trickling down on his burning face and breathing heavy from the exertion.
“What in the slovenly fuck is going on?” Glen bellowed with righteous indignation for having his evening take such a bizarre turn. “Where is she?”
“I heard something,” Maeriel said alarmed from somewhere close.
Damn it.
“The fuck was that? Was that… could it be?” Jinx queried. “Find them Assara. Go girl.”
Run. You fool!
You’ll risk embarrassment for her, Neil had said.
Darn jinxing motherfucker, doing him dirty.
With a grunt and a surge of adrenaline born out of pure despair, Glen jumped to his feet and stumbled towards the center of the copse, trying to orientate himself and lose his pursuers. They are not pursuing, they are just looking for you. They spotted Hagen in the square, the drunken fool got the wrong word out. It reached Sir Alan Kirk, or Saevelos and they ordered a search party to guard your arse. Jinx was sitting right there, because you wanted to make a lady of the court out of her and heard it all.
ARE YOU SERIOUS?
Fuck! Idiot!
Glen cursed himself whilst running inside the dark Copse, tripping over fallen branches and boots slipping on rotten leaves and animal turds. He had the presence of mine to button up his breaches, so when he finally burst out in the main street, about two hundred meters from the Sopat Corner, a private couple watching the two moons, sitting at the pavement by themselves in romantic silence, didn’t have a heart attack.
“You’re… Goddess! Your grace,” Vycaris the royal tailor gasped, ogling his eyes in shock and Oelinael, his longtime soulmate and business partner, bowed her washed-out blue head as well.
“Your blessings great Arguen Garth,” Oelinael added respectfully and Glen realized that most of the paint had washed away from his own head and face during his bucolic shenanigans.
“Have a prodigious Valimae Lilt,” the fast-recovering Monarch wished the couple, after clearing his hoarse from all the running throat, in a steady, cultured official’s voice. “Please, stay as you were friends. I’m just making the rounds.”
----------------------------------------
> The crowd was suffocating. Smelly and very sweaty. Aroused and dirty. Over-perfumed, although some smells were pleasant.
>
> Count to ten. Relax. Smile.
>
> “You’re so pretty,” the Cofol slave said with a shy smile. “My master wishes to pay for your services.”
>
> He stared at the well-dressed Cofol waiting at the bar, but felt nothing of the old craving. It had faded away with all other memories, held by this body.
>
> “I’m tired,” he told the pretty slave girl. “Maybe another time.”
>
> “Gratitude for your time,” she said bowing her nicely-braided head and walked away, her oiled legs scissoring to keep her balance. Too public a place, he cautioned himself. Too many eyes, not yet drunk enough.
>
> He walked away from his reserved table, leaving his wine for some lucky bystander and exited the expensive tavern. The heat wasn’t as noticeable outside, but even so, it didn’t bother him. Warm, or cold.
>
> Mmm.
>
> The Fiend walked amidst the dancing groups heading for the buzzing square, reacting to the calls addressed towards him naturally. Even the most bizarre reaction, now second nature. A flushed Zilan, a Hoplite for that matter, out of uniform her body looked like a tanned statue, almost jumped him in the middle of the street.
>
> “I made a bet,” she whispered in his ear drunkenly. “You’ll sleep with me tonight.”
>
> “Tell them you won it, but pick another night to see me in private,” he replied enjoying her lips pressing on his for a moment, his eyes on her beefy friends watching the scene from afar. “My head is in a dark place now. You’ll lose yourself inside child.”
>
> “Just sing me a song, oh, great one,” the Zilan yelled as he walked away and he twirled around lithely, a bad dancer can learn to dance good enough to pass for a great one, and even make his voice hum for a brief moment. The membranes inside his skull protesting, the flesh tearing at the vibrations, as the song burst out like vomit.
>
> What good is a bard than never sings? He’d asked his maker.
>
> “All words the night birds have stolen, children picked up, ate them, and now they all lay dead, puffy and swollen. Hah… ah,” the Fiend crooned with sickening passion, barely controlling himself from bursting out cackling.
>
> “Goddess. That cut me right to the bone… good grief. Gratitude, just the same,” the Zilan retorted with a shiver, her face looking stunned.
>
> Rejoice, for you are saved.
>
> To break a sturdy shield, you need to remove each layer first, or the most important.
>
> And let it unravel in defeat.
>
> The Fiend kept walking, down the empty streets and leaving the taverns behind. He walked for hours away from the celebrating city, looking to avoid temptation. Hours later, now in the old city ruins and the ancient forests surrounding it, he paused and loosened up his fancy redingote.
>
> He allowed his naked torso to breathe the night air and listened for sounds nearby. One sound in particular, the Fiend could discern very easy. A wolf’s breathing, the beast lurking amidst a throng of plum trees about fifty meters away. It had caught his scent, but stood unsure whether to approach, or not.
>
> A youngling, he thought once again allowing himself to rhyme.
>
> The pack grows in the King’s forest.
>
> Big and wild.
>
> Trapped with the allegorist.
>
> Flesh torn, not yet properly defiled.
>
> You, the old King had said.
>
> Me.
>
> The Fiend rose from the trunk he had sat on and walked to the edge, making himself visible. Amidst the plum trees, the beefy, hairy, figure of the Varg slowly appeared, breathing heavy.
>
> “Stay away,” the Fiend warned the werewolf that had once again gotten involved in his business. “Next time, I’ll hunt you down and steal your prey. Eat your heart perhaps. I’ll pick the time and the date, so as not to be interrupted.”
>
> The Varg sniffed at the air and growled in warning, but after a moment it decided to move on to something easier and less deadly.
>
> If you sing, they’ll know and your time here will end, the master had warned afore that same time had taken him away.
>
> So he hadn’t after that.
>
> The Fiend’s mouth opened wide, dislocating its jaw and after an agonizing pause, finally released a shockingly protracted and hoarse, primordial scream that reverberated over the ancient ruins.
>
> “EAAAHHHRRG… AAAHGHRRH!”
>
> And still, he walked free.