Glen

A realm without them

Perhaps it was the large copper vase, highly polished to mirror his face that was to blame. It made the wound at the lower part of his ear, now mostly healed, hideous and miserable to look at. He’d another scar, this not as bad, a red line running down his cheek that made him appear rather flamboyant. Gallant even. He waggled his eyebrows knowingly, trying to put just enough crook at the corner of his mouth to match, how an adventurer would look.

Hah, I’ve put some muscle on, he thought; flexing said muscles in a number of different poses. Eating three times yesterday, twice already today, probably helped a ton. One thing the Admiralty kitchen provided plenty of, was full meals. An endless stream of them.

Anyways and back on topic, a better mirror is needed, Glen decided. He’d enough coin to get one from the market outright. Something handy, to carry around. Could even use it to look around corners, in a twist.

I should get one, the moment I’m allowed out the premises.

The latter a thorny subject.

Perhaps the pressure of his incarceration, was leading him to haste choices?

On second thought, he decided after mulling it over, it wasn’t wise to spend his hard earned gold on toiletries.

Right? He asked the dashing man in the copper surface.

“What are ye lookin’ at, wit that stupid grin?” Emerson asked gruffly, face red from walking up and down the stairs or excessive blood pressure. Knowing he’d gone by the inn to check on their stuff, caused our young thief some unease, it’s true.

But he was going to lie either way.

“Nothin’. Did something happened at the inn?” He evaded with a question of his own, moving away from the makeshift mirror.

“Like what?”

Someone stealing my coin?

“Ahm, anything…”

“You were gonna ask me, if I saw the girl.” The knight probed always suspicious, but not without reason.

Twas to be my second question.

“Nah, I trust she’ll show up eventually,” Glen shrugged it off, copying the nonchalant manner of Lord Molders.

“Ye do? Well, I didn’t see her either way.”

Damn it.

“Hey, do you think we’re under arrest? Me, that is,” He asked, for what was the tenth time probably, since yesterday.

“For what?”

Glen puffed his cheeks out, the whole truth nigh impossible to divulge.

“Perhaps for being late in the delivery?”

“We’re not dealin’ wit bakery supplies here lad, nor noble babies. Did all we could, no fault lies wit us,” Emerson grunted, seeming dead certain on the matter. “What Lord Bach wants, is keeping a witness alive.”

“That’s not really reassuring,” Glen insisted.

“Hell are ye yappin’ about? Ye preferred him doing the opposite?” The knight retorted, face blank and that was that.

Sir Lennox had retired on a bed near the door; the only bed in the room, kindly provided by his Majesty’s Navy per Lord Faber. A tough wooden construct, its mattress barely softer than the gravel street outside the window. Certainly less spacious. He peeked through it, the glass tainted and oily from the night lamp on its right side, didn’t see much of anything and turned bored out his wits to examine the Spartan room. Perhaps he could finagle the lock on the sturdy big box, at the opposite side of the bed. Lord Faber had left it secured for some fuckin’ reason, he thought.

Mind made up, he started that way, when he caught movement outside the window. Glen snapped his head that way, stared surprised at the bearded man, giving him much the same look, standing just outside.

How?

“Hey,” He started, turning to wake the knight.

“What?” Emerson barked, mad at him for no reason.

Glen pointed to their window. Words coming out breathlessly and with pauses.

“There’s… a dwarf, just outside.”

Emerson raised a wild head, frowning so much he became another person.

“Where?”

“Just told ye… Ah, damn it, he’s gone now,” He run to the window, pulled and pushed resolutely, trying to open it up, managed it on the third try, the door almost clipping his nose off, as he swung it open.

“Lad, have ye lost it?” The knight asked getting up.

“I saw him,” Glen insisted looking down. They were on the second floor. “Back in the market too.”

“You saw a dwarf in the market,” Emerson repeated rubbing his face. The suggestion ludicrous. Then he recalled all that happened, since he found the young man and scrunched his nose troubled. “Was it the same?”

Glen shrugged his shoulders frustrated. “How should I know? I’ve only seen one before.”

“You have?” This, a surprise as well. “Imagine that; most people haven’t in years. Must have been a thing, I reckon.”

He remembered the gipsy dwarf, large cock in hand, pissing into the bucket; from across the street.

“Yeah,” Glen murmured, the memory disturbing.

There was a knock on their door. Emerson sighed, the chance at resting slipping through his fingers and went to answer it.

Lord Nard Molders paused at the entrance and raised his brows looking around the room.

“I caught you in a bad time,” He said after a moment’s pause.

“Nah, been huntin’ for dwarves is all,” Emerson deadpanned, walking back towards the bed and plopping down tiredly.

“Hah! That’s a good one,” Lord Molders replied and snapping his head back, he cried out. “Lieutenant Bock!”

“Sir,” Came the lieutenant’s voice from outside their door, much closer than Glen expected him, given Nard’s manner.

“Ah. Do come in please, my good man.”

Lord Molders quickly found the only chair in the room, next to a small table and sat there, leaving Glen the only one standing. He slapped a hand on the table and lieutenant Bock brought a number of scrolls inside, a bottle of expensive-looking wine and silver goblets. He carried the scrolls under an armpit, the bottle and the goblets on a tray, he placed on the table carefully, before turning and exiting without another word.

Glen found it impressing.

“Have a goblet lad,” Nard offered and he eagerly made to accept one, but Emerson stopped him with a brusque order.

“Why?” Glen protested.

“Ye can’t handle it.”

Bullshit.

Glen glared at him long and hard, to carry his message across.

He was unsuccessful.

“Well, Sir Lennox, you can help yourself,” Lord Molders said, after the uncomfortable short interval played out. “I must apologize for the accommodation, Lord Faber provided. I expected something more…” He waved his hand in the air, before pouring both himself and Sir Emerson a cup. “Nevertheless, you’re big boys and can handle it, I’m assured. It was a busy couple of days for me as well, not without developments in certain fronts. The tourney at Riverdor ended, for starters.”

“When can the lad leave?” Emerson asked, cutting to the chase.

Nard clicked his tongue and finished his goblet before answering.

“You’re hurrying, my friend.”

“You’re stalling.”

Nard sighed pretentiously.

Here goes, Glen thought nervous.

“The boy is safe here. He won’t be here long either way, fear not.” Lord Molders started, after refilling his goblet expertly. “I must say in advance, I went ahead and notified his family. It was in an official correspondence, apprising Lord Reeves, on the passing of his son. A reply arrived, but before I go into that, I’d like to inform both of you that the King made use of your information.”

“It wasn’t ours,” Sir Lennox noted sourly.

“True enough, still events took a turn for the worse.”

“How so?”

“The Princess of Kaltha, is at the hands of the Khanate,” Nard explained.

Them scoundrels got to a Princess? Glen wondered in astonishment. Wow, that’s some bold shit right there.

“Who won the tournament?” Emerson asked, more privy on the finer details.

“Prince Radin.”

Ah.

“Unfortunate. But since he was allowed to participate, all seems fair.” Emerson replied with a shrug. “What’s that got to do with him?”

“The King was forced to give his sister, having refused compensation for an insult upon the Heir of the Khanate. His wife, to be more specific. The culprit allegedly, the Duke of Raoz.”

“What did the Khan want?”

“The Duchy.”

Glen watched their exchange, head snapping back and forth, trying to keep up, most of the details obscure to him. Finding the chance, after Lord Molder’s answer, he probed.

“Why give up his sister? Seems a waste, since he didn’t want to make nice with them.”

Emerson grunted.

Nard smiled, tapping his fingers on the table.

“The demand was outrageous,” He explained leering. “Easily refuted publicly. The Prince had won the games though and refusing him a prize, would have had to be explained. Sensitive details, thus becoming... public knowledge.”

“What did the Duke find Nard?” Emerson asked.

“I really can’t tell you, my friend. You may know, or figure it out on your own. The throne will move to protect its interests, officially.”

“What does this mean?” Glen asked, lost in their cryptic answers.

Emerson frowned, his face dark.

“A war with the Khanate, is a huge decision.”

“Aye,” Lord Molders agreed, finishing his second goblet. “It is.”

“What makes a diplomatic solution, so abhorrent to his Majesty?” Sir Lennox asked. “Send envoys, talk it out. Opt for the middle ground. Why would Antoon push the three kingdoms into a war? What does Lesia have to gain from this? Regia? It will affect everyone. This is an abuse of the old treaties, their spirit and the source of his considerable power. He has everything on a platter, signed by all and agreed upon.”

Nard stared at the still open window for a time, the moment dragging before answering.

“Fear…” He said finally, sounding worn out.

“Of what?” Sir Emerson snapped, not getting it.

So Lord Molders added pensively.

“A realm without them.”

The treaties was his meaning.

It was the Knight that broke the silence that’d followed Lord Molders words. Glen had used the chance to glance out the window again, hoping to catch a glimpse of the little eavesdropper.

“When can he go?”

“Lord Reeves has a man waiting for him in Westport. A captain,” He pulled one of the scrolls out and offered it to a frowning Emerson. “He wants him on a boat to Raoz, first thing.”

Glen turned his head to read what was in the scroll, but couldn’t make heads or tails from it. He sighed, the development troubling and caught sight of the dwarf popping his head to check inside their room again, somehow hanging upside down as if someone was holding him by the legs, out the corner of his eye.

“What for?” The knight asked.

The young man opened his mouth to draw attention to the little creature, but the dwarf seeing him, pressed a stubby finger on his lips, tip of it touching his roundish nose, to stop him.

“Who knows?” Lord Molders replied, with a shrug. “He wants the Duke’s Shield back probably. See his grandson, afore he passes. I believe his only other child, is an older daughter.”

Glen squinted his eyes surprised and the dwarf gave him a wink in response. He then left a small object on the lip of the window and moving deftly, vanished from sight again.

“It’s decided then,” Sir Emerson said, the conversation persistent in the background, as he walked towards the window to pick up the metal object.

An arrowhead.

“Not for you, Sir Lennox. You can move along, to another quest,” Nard said, a hint of affection in his voice. “There’s trouble brewing on the horizon, and soon a sore need of swords might arise.”

He recognized it immediately, having being pierced by one, not that far back.

“I reckon, this quest not finished,” Emerson replied. “We will need room for our horses and myself.”

“Lord Reeves owns the Marquette, I believe,” Nard replied with a smile.

“We need another spot.” Glen intervened hastily.

“Is that so? Another member, I’m not aware of?”

Glen opened his mouth to explain about Lith, before realizing he perhaps shouldn’t.

“Mercenaries,” Sir Emerson cut in, to save him from a lethal blunder. “We’ve hired… a couple of hands and their contract hasn’t run out.”

Lord Molders smacked his lips, eyeing them both, with a good measure of suspicion.

“Well, I do have other matters to attend to,” He decided after a moment, shrugging the matter of, adding as he turned to take his leave. “It’s a big ship, Sir Lennox. Unless you intent to ferry an army across, it will suffice.”

“Gratitude Lord Molders,” Emerson said, shaking his offered hand.

“Ah, I just envy ye is all,” The man complained, a gleam in his eyes. “Off to an adventure, while I have go see a Mclean & Merck man.”

“The Bank? What for?” Emerson asked, Glen not paying much attention, as he was elated at having secured a place in the ship for Lith.

Nard wiped the bald spot on his head with a hand, before answering.

“One of their employees, took off with an insane amount of gold from their vaults.” Glen’s ears perked up. “Got his head chopped off, for murder, but the coin is still missing. The Bank is understandably upset, so I get to hear all about it.”

Luthos cock caught in a vice.

Glen glanced at the second story window, still open. A drop could be fatal from that height, but if a dwarf could make it, perhaps a poor thief could also. Especially if said thief, had done it before.

“I wish you good fortune then,” Sir Emerson said simply, his face blank, wrapping up their conversation; saving him and his legs from the attempt.

“Same, Sir Lennox. May Luthos guide you, through the pending struggles, my friend,” Lord Nard glanced at Glen's sweating face, brow slightly raised quizzical. “The young lad too. We will meet again hopefully.”

Which turned out true, for one of them.