Slew mothers in their sleep, cut till their bellies burst ‘n opened.

Burned the crops and blinded the young

When the Wyvern woke up

Of treachery the faithful had spoken

An ancient Zilan Elegy

Glen

Reveal of sorts

Marcus Saunio’s shirt could barely fit the hale man, despite leaving it half-unbuttoned at the front, the cold not bothering him at all; the former Decanus of the Lorian Legion appearing as intimidating dressed, as when he was not.

He patted a well-used leather cuirass with the flat of his palm a couple of times, seeing him approach, his muscles taunt on that shirt and thinning grey hair revealing a rugged scar on the top of his head.

“Ah, young lord Reeves,” The man said with a booming voice. Probably a requirement for serving in the bloody Legion, Glen thought. “I have something for ye.”

“Is this the armour?” Glen asked sitting down across from him, in one of the many four legged crude tables the men had built, in what they called the mess hall, but was in reality just a large pavilion with unfinished half walls made of wood.

“Hardened leather cuirass,” Marcus explained. “You’ll need shoulder armor with that and another harness other than the one ye have on. I counsel ye use plate armor on ‘em pads.”

“Where can I find plate?”

“You make it, young lord,” Marcus pointed at the smoke coming from the refurbished blacksmith’s forge. “Or ye repair a broken one.”

Glen scrunched his nose looking at the poorly conditioned leather cuirass. It may stop a knife Lith had told him. He wasn’t as optimistic.

“You have any?” He asked and Marcus let out a roaring laugh, a hand reaching low to grab a couple of rusty and mangled pieces of plate, he’d kept hidden under the table.

“As much as you want. Enough to make a profit even, if ye know how to work the hammer,” Marcus said and seeing his frown added, big smile on his rugged face. “Twas a joke. Tis still a silver, ye can keep the shoulder pads either way.”

Glen paid him from his pouch and gathered the armor parts to walk away, a little unsure where everything went, or even if they fitted him. Not even a couple strides later, he paused and turned his head back. “Don’t I need a helm, or something?”

Marcus frowned and looked up, silver coin between his teeth to test it. “What for?”

“What else?” Glen retorted. “Fight.”

Hopefully staying alive, while doing it.

“Yer committed in fightin’?” The notion appeared ludicrous to the former Legion man.

Committed was a far stronger word than what he’d use, but he also couldn’t leave everything to chance and Luthos.

Glen sighed. “Any reason why I shouldn’t have a helm, just the same?” His eyes wandered on the man’s balding spot unwittingly and Marcus caught him staring, before he’d time to look away.

“You’ll need a helm,” He said after a moment’s thought. “I’ll look around.”

“Gratitude,” Glen thanked him, a little embarrassed.

“No need for any of that, young lord,” Marcus replied and pointing at his head, he added that wicked grin back on his lips. “As I’ve said many a times to the lads wonderin’, tis a trade. What I’m losing in bloody hair, I’m gainin’ in face.”

The young man working the forge, wasn’t there and Glen had to cross the Castle’s yard to reach the kitchen, now partly occupied by the Gallant Dogs company, who had spilled out from their assigned barrack next to it, and into that building as well.

Victor Hook, hands painted in blood to the elbow, dirty apron in similar condition, was busy cutting up the large stag Jinx had brought back with a cleaver, the giant head set on another table next to him. The mercenary spared him a glance, as he walked by still carrying his armour and went back to work.

Glen entered the kitchen and almost bumped on Liko. The thief was sitting on a large table, with a big pile of muddy potatoes on one side and a bucket of peeled ones on the other. He’d paused peeling off one and gawked instead further inside, where a prone on a hay mattress Jinx, fit backside naked as the day she was born, was receiving treatment on her injured leg by a pissed Zola. Glen stopped beside the youngster and pretended he was searching for a spot to set his stuff down.

The arse on that girl, he thought approvingly, repeating Soren’s words, while listening in to their heated exchange.

He could sort out two jobs at the same time.

Glen was talented like that.

“…at the very least, ye can be gentler, is all I’m sayin’,” Jinx was droning.

“I had to pull it out, my hand slipped you idiot!” Zola snapped all furious.

“Up my arse?” Jinx wondered, not appearing too bothered over the incident, but in a teasing mood. “Although I can understand, it isn’t easy to resist—”

“What? I had to hold on to something! Who gets undressed to have her foot looked up?” Zola defended herself exasperated.

Glen glanced towards Liko and the kid shrugged his shoulders, brought a half-peeled potato to his mouth and took a big chunk out of it. He started chewing at it slowly, while pretending to work on the rest.

Glen sighed and asked, what everyone in there wanted to know.

“Pull what out?”

Zola turned a frustrated head his way.

“She had a broken piece of antler in her calf. Only half was sticking out!”

Luthos cock rotting in jar, Glen recoiled at the unnecessary detail.

“Is that Glen?” Jinx asked curious.

“Hey Whisper,” Glen said, making some room on the table to leave his stuff. “I bought some armour from Marcus.”

“Ye did?” Jinx asked. She turned her body around and got up, a rising leg almost smacking her colleague on the head, while giving them a good view between her thighs. Zola hissed and pushed her away.

“You’ll need more stitches there,” She advised her. “And for fucks sake put some pants on!”

“Glen wanted to see,” Jinx replied and looked around for her leather pants.

“I saw nothing,” Glen replied readily and Zola shook her head.

“You two are cut from the same cloth, milord,” The Issir said. “Trust me. It ain’t a fucking compliment.”

Glen narrowed his eyes and his stare followed her going out of the kitchen, for a moment greatly impressed at the view offered, up until he caught Liko looking equally engrossed, mouth hang open and cuffed him once upside the head to nip it in the bud.

“What was that for?” The young thief protested, pieces of food flying out of his mouth.

“I want none o’ that,” Glen replied in his best Emerson imitation.

“Ye were—”

Glen glared at him, hand raised menacingly and Liko stopped.

“Finish yer job,” He advised him, then looking at the pile left he added. “I want this table cleared before I leave here.”

A dressed Jinx, offered him a cup of wine on a corner of the kitchen building, soon after. With the large oven being outside, the crude wooden structure was largely empty inside, but for the mattresses, she and Zola probably used to sleep on, a couple of tables with chairs Victor had pulled outside to work on the Stag and a large half-barrel doubtless for washing up next to their sleeping spots.

“Ye plan on wearing that?” Jinx asked, when he showed her his ‘new’ armour.

“Aye, though I wish I could mend it first.”

“You? Better ask the blue cunt.”

“Fuck’s sake Pretty!” Glen snapped. “Can you be a little more discreet?”

The annoying Gish puffed a pink curl out of her eye, thinking about it.

“Sure.”

“It’s dangerous… you know, people finding out,” Glen explained, not trusting her word.

“Ye have a plan, for when they do?”

“What? No, do you?”

Jinx puffed her cheeks out. She appeared troubled and it caught Glen by surprise.

“No.” She finally said.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothin’.”

Bullshit.

“Are you hurt?” Glen asked, taking a sip from the wine she’d offered him. He spat it right out. “The fuck? That’s like cold piss!”

“Yer point being?” Jinx asked, gulping down hers with gusto. “Is yer gullet too refined? Tis bloody good wine this!”

“Trust me,” Glen replied. “It isn’t.”

“Got anythin’ better hidden in yer bags?” She asked defensively.

“Nope.”

Jinx poured him another cup. Glen stared at the mixture for a moment, before trying it again. He grimaced, jaw clenching this way and that, as he gulped it down. It burned all the way to his stomach.

“Bah, I guess one can get used to the taste,” He relented.

“Guess one can,” Jinx agreed, with the hint of a smile. “Cheers on yer new armour, milord.”

A couple of cups later, Glen’s opinion on the local wine had greatly improved. Feeling all warmed up inside, he pulled the dagger out of his sword harness and showed it to a rosy cheeked Gish.

“You know what this is?” Glen asked.

“A fancy dagger? Where did ye find it?”

“Back in Oakenfalls. Look at it closely.”

“I like the handle. Could fetch ye good coin in the market,” Jinx agreed with a naughty wink.

“No. Well, yes it would,” Glen sighed at the distraction. “Look at the blade.”

“Is that some kind of rock? How do ye sharpen it?”

“I don’t,” Glen sighed in frustration. “Lith says it’s a wyvern’s talon.”

The Gish bit the inside of her cheek thoughtfully.

“You found it in the ruins.”

“Aye.”

Whisper Jinx blinked once. Her eyes were all focused after she did.

“It don’t look like a talon.” She countered, sounding subdued.

“Well… aye, it doesn’t,” Glen had to begrudgingly admit. Not that he had any idea how a proper talon would look. Which probably was what bothered Jinx.

Or not.

“How would she know?” Jinx asked tiredly going another way and Glen thought she looked paler all of a sudden.

“I didn’t ask.” He admitted.

“Put it away,” Jinx said.

“Why?”

“I don’t like it,” She replied and set her cup down. “I need some air.”

A perturbed Glen watched her walking away for a moment.

“The fuck was that?” He asked no one in particular and Liko answered, cheeks full to the point of bursting, from where he was still sitting. Glen had forgotten about him completely.

“The what?” Glen inquired, not getting what the young thief had just said.

“I said, she’s like that,” Liko repeated gulping down. “Ever since she brought that egg back.”

Which of course made absolutely no sense to him.

He had to dodge Emerson on the way out of the castle.

“You want to ride Val over the bridge?” The Knight grunted, not convinced. He had to start upping his game soon, Glen decided. He’d gotten complacent around these people. On the other hand he couldn’t help it really. He went from having no family, or friends, to traveling with a large group of rather colorful characters, he’d now gotten used to.

Glen admired the old Knight. His sturdiness, sense of honor and duty. A man easy to look up to. Not enough to tell him the truth, but it was good knowing he had him in his corner. He’d helped him, kept him alive, through a difficult stretch. Glen had learned next to him. He’d learned from everybody truth be told. Every day. The flamboyant well-traveled Dante and the big-boned lustful Northman. Even the strange and oft annoying Jinx, after he got to know her some, was someone he could talk to for hours. Maybe Zola was right, they were cut from the same cloth.

Did he have to lie about everything?

These were his friends, such as one could find in this world.

“I didn’t want to stay idle afore the meal is ready,” He explained. “Lith went that way earlier. I want to escort her back, before the sun sets.”

Emerson stared him for a moment. His rugged face, a familiar one by now. “She ain’t exactly a lass in need,” The Knight said thoughtfully. “But she shouldn’t stay out late, I agree.”

“Ye do?” Glen gasped in surprise, not expecting his answer.

“Aye, she’s one of us,” Emerson replied. “You be careful crossing and don’t stay in ‘em woods too late. Bring her right back.”

“I will,” Glen said with a grin and kicked his legs to send Val into a trot.

Glen pushed the mare hard reaching the bridge in no time, went over it at a slower pace, a little self-aware of the angry waters rushing underneath the sturdy beams and opened up again when Val’s hooves touched the ground, following the narrow path leading inside the forest. The giant redwood trees were thicker next to the river bank, creating a canopy over his head, where their branches intertwined to stop the fading afternoon light from reaching all the way down.

He searched for tracks on the trail for a while, but found nothing that could help him. Half an hour later Glen reached the end of the path and turned back, the river on his left side, but hidden behind trunks the size of Hellfort’s kitchen.

Oh boy, he thought. I should have thought this through.

“We ain’t gonna find her,” He told Val and the mare snorted without stopping her grazing. He listened for a while to the sounds of the forest and then jumped from the saddle, to head towards the sound of the river. Glen walked carefully, hobnailed jackboots sinking in the soft ground, moving branches and bushes out of the way. Insects buzzed over his head, birds chirping loud and the light dancing between the leaves barely illuminating his path.

Glen stubbornly rounded a large moss-covered trunk, and had to literary climb on a fallen one right after, only to stop and sit down on top of it, when he realized he could see the river again. He sighed tiredly, reached for his flask of water, and cursed loudly when he realized he’d left it back with Val.

Thanks Luthos.

A horse was staring at him from the river bank’s edge. It moved its ears one way, then the other and then returned on doing whatever it was horses were doing, when by themselves.

“Lith?” Glen said, searching around him. Then towards the darkening canopy over his head. He stood up on the fallen trunk and tried to reach the branch of another tree right next to it, but it was too tall for him. Cursing, since he wanted to make it higher up to a better vantage point and that thick branch would have been excellent, Glen looked about him for a way to climb up the tree, but came up empty.

I could attempt a leap, he thought, stabbing with his foot the fallen trunk he stood on. Run on this and jump to the tree. But then I’d have to grab on to something, or find some purchase, or I would slide all the way down.

It was at least three meters the drop.

People have been maimed falling from lesser heights.

A rope would have been useful, he decided, patting himself for anything useful. Found the dagger and unsheathed it. Used it to stab at the trunk for a while, but Glen quickly realized, he wasn’t going to cut any steps on it anytime soon.

Where is she? He wondered, frustration boiling inside him.

Lith was probably chuckling hidden somewhere near him.

Do Zilan even chuckle? He thought, deciding that they did, before focusing his attention on the dagger again.

Where is she? Glen asked it again. Show me.

“Show me.” He said aloud in common, but it came out way differently, without him becoming conscious of it. The dagger struggled to materialize his desire, realized it couldn’t, so it used a long forgotten spell instead.

Cenaeda.

A Wyvern stirred.

His left hand went completely numb. A dense ray of light separated from all the others, bounced on a fresh cone, slipped through needle shaped leaves and reached the thick branch he’d wanted to climb onto before giving up. The empty space above the branch got disturbed alike the surface of a quiet lake, when a tossed pebble touches it and even the air felt like liquid for a brief second.

The next, Lith appeared on that branch, unblemished naked skin glowing like the morning sun, a look of wonder on her beautiful face and that elusive dwarf sitting right next to her, equally surprised, a large piece of what looked like cheese in his hand.

“Damn,” Glen thought, before everything turned black. He collapsed on the big trunk, its girth the only thing that saved him from a potentially lethal drop to the ground below.

He dreamed of a fortress. It wasn’t any he’d seen before and it was different than the one he’d hallucinated that first time. Four flat top pyramids were fortifying its flanks, another twice as big in mass and height right at its heart made of gold and red stone. It shown brilliantly in the light of the morning sun, so much his eyes hurt and he had to look away. Walls wide enough for a carriage to move on enclosing everything, as tall as the pyramid-towers on each of its sides.

Glen stood at the top of the biggest one, breath caught in his chest and stared in awe at the sprawling red road, looking thin as a quill’s line on paper from above, leading from the gold pyramid to the giant twin gates over five kilometers away. The floor danced under his feet, a mighty roar tearing at his eardrums and a sinister shadow descended from the skies on him. Glen gasped in fear, something foul grabbing him by the neck and cold bony fingers pressing viciously, until he felt his windpipes crash and blood clogging in his mouth.

Bring her here.

He coughed and just like that it all oozed out, a putrid mix of black blood and gluey lime-colored poison, his eyes burning and the grand fortress crumbling slowly into nothingness all around him. Gone were the walls and the towers. Everything around melting away and dissolving. The giant doors swung open, just as he collapsed to his knees and a woman walked in, long blue hair blowing in the violent gush of the fortress coming down, face hidden behind a silver mask, her hands and royal dress splattered in blood.

She turned his way, horror in her familiar eyes and screamed a series of orders in a foreign tongue. Only she wasn’t talking to him. A delirious Glen felt the heat rising behind his back, the shadow towering over him, his clothes burning, skin and bones falling away and realized he didn’t belong there. Not in that place, or at that time. He had to get out.

Now for the love of the Goddess.

The blackness returned and he welcomed it this time. Anything was better than returning to that nightmare.

Anything…

Glenavon please.

Yes, he thought.

That’s my name.

“Glenavon!” Lith yelled standing over him when he woke up, coughing his lungs out and feeling like he’d just eaten a rotten rat whole.

“I’m fine,” He croaked, although he wasn’t.

He’d trouble moving his hand for starters. Although sense was slowly returning. Glen looked around them and realized they were still inside the forest as far as he could tell.

Because he couldn’t see much in the pitch black.

Luthos mouldy balls!

“How long was I out?” He asked and a short creature stepped forward to answer. Glen thought, his head was disproportionate to his body. Like way bigger.

“Five hours,” Fikumin said, large eyes examining his face.

“You,” Glen croaked.

“Greetings, lord Glenavon,” The dwarf replied, with a deft bow of that gigantic head. “It is nice to meet you finally.”