Glen

Trial by fire

Part I

This local alcoholic brew hits ye like a mule’s hind legs, Glen decided, finishing his second cup of Kaki-ju, or Kaju, a favored drink on Eplas made out of fermented rice, honey and the jade leafed Ju flower rumored to be highly poisonous, per Sameer. They bought it from caravans coming from the distant Greenwhale Peninsula, first making the long journey to Rin-An-Pur and then across the Steppe towards Raoz.

Numbs yer limbs right proper.

On an unrelated note and talking about legs…

“Hold it still there, ye cretin!” Marcus barked all riled up, a couple of meters from where Glen had retreated to refill his cup with Kaju.

“He keeps kickin’ me wit it!” Stiles protested, not appreciating being put on the spot like that. His job was to keep Qanuq’s right leg straight, the priest himself tied up on a crude wooden chair, for Marcus to work on the foot with the red hot iron poker.

What the work amounted to, Glen had no idea, but he was about to find out it seemed. Stiles turned and put both hands on the shin holding it between his thighs, all but sitting on Qanuq’s knee, the man cursing him and Marcus found his chance to burn at the priest’s big toe. He applied the hot poker on the exposed part, just as Glen was about to gulp the strong drink down.

Several things happened at once at that very moment.

Qanuq, understandably objecting to it, pushed and pulled with all his might, Stiles slipped back, the foot moved and Marcus already committed to the task missed his mark, but not by a lot.

Fuck, Glen thought spitting out everything.

“GAAH!” Qanuq wailed in mind-numbing agony, kicking desperately with the other leg to dislodge Stiles off of him.

“Darn it!” That was Marcus, seeing the catastrophe coming.

Stiles fell backwards onto Qanuq’s lap, his weight pushing the tied up priest and toppling him over, along with the chair. They all went down, the chair breaking apart, Stiles landing on a thrashing Qanuq and the strong smell of roasted lamb dominated a speechless Sameer’s house.

“ARGH! God’s help me!” Qanuq wails turned desperate.

“Fuck’s wrong wit him?” Stiles protested, getting a knee between the legs from the priest and then abruptly pushed to the side by an onrushing Marcus.

“Lost the darn poker!” The ex-Decanus yelled, stooping to pick it up, but failing for some reason.

“What the hell happened?” Glen blasted, almost getting around to his senses after the shock, a sickening feeling in his stomach. Hells is that smell?

“TAKE IT ‘WAY!” A wildly thrashing Qanuq begged and Marcus glanced to Glen, with a dejected grimace.

“Went between ‘em toes ‘n stuck there,” The ex-legionnaire explained, getting a blank stare from the young thief.

What? Surely he’s jesting.

“Suits him fine!” Stiles spat, still massaging his tender parts. “Let him suffer!”

“Is that his flesh burning?” Glen inquired rhetorically, rushing closer to see for himself, immediately wishing he hadn’t.

“Ayup,” Marcus replied, the damage impossible to put into words.

“ARGH!” Qanuq agreed from the floor, still kicking and trying to untangle himself from the broken up chair.

“Get it off him, for cryin’ out loud!” Glen ordered, a hand on his mouth to keep the puke in.

“It’s fused to the bone, milord.”

Wow.

“Hahaha!” That was Stiles, exploding in malicious joy.

“Good grief,” Sameer managed to say, as Qanuq’s cries turned desperate.

“Do whatever is necessary for fuck’s sake!” An equally distressed Glen ordered him, the flesh dissolving before his eyes, the skin bloating and popping as more of the foot was getting eaten away.

Melting, to be more accurate.

He hadn’t seen anything more horrific in his life.

The whole village had learned what happened inside an hour. Those that didn’t hear it from the Priest’s wails, they sniffed it in the air and found out anyway. Glen stumbled to the door of Sameer’s round homestead and supported himself to its casing, a sickly white color on his face and quite rattled. His stomach turned into a knot.

Marcus came to him a bit later, the young thief looking blankly outside and at the faces of the Cofol women and children that had now appeared and were standing in small groups, at a distance from the men.

“Detached the poker,” Marcus reported, scrunching the left side of his mouth in distaste. “Along wit a couple of toes.”

Luthos helps us.

“Ye cut his toes off?” Glen asked tiredly.

“Milord, there wasn’t anything left,” Marcus explained. “Most of the foot is intact, for what’s worth.”

“Did he ever talk?” Glen inquired, incredulous at the damage.

“Well, does screamin’ count?”

“It’s not funny… Decanus. This was whole thing is distasteful, to say the least.”

“Never said it was, milord,” Marcus replied, combing his greying hair with a hand. “But it was yer order.”

Is this how it’s goin’ to go then?

Glen stared at him for a moment without speaking. Then his face hardened.

“Ask him again. If he doesn’t know, we have to let him go.”

Pay him to keep his mouth closed about this mess.

Why not just kill him? His mind argued.

A voice in it, at least.

What?

Glen frowned at the unexpected alien and vicious thought.

“Milord, that’s not how torturing works,” Marcus explained patiently, not privy to his inner turmoil. But arriving at a similar path. “He talks, or else.”

Glen stood back alarmed.

“Ye can’t be serious.”

“As serious as the plague, milord.”

Well, that’s just bloody great.

That’s what we need right now, another dictum from the fuckin’ Legion!

“I’ll talk to him myself,” Glen decided.

“Ye want me to throw the poker in the fire?” Marcus asked.

Glen glared at him, before realizing the man was serious. The young former thief cleared his throat and with a glance at his own boots replied matter-of-factly.

“That won’t be necessary.”

Qanuq looked more flushed than pale, but whatever his coloring was though, he didn’t look good. His right foot all wrapped up in dirty rags that served as bandages. The stare he threw at him was a mixture of fear and deep hatred.

“I need to know, priest,” Glen said simply, standing a couple of feet away from him.

Out of spitting distance.

“Why?” Qanuq queried through clenched teeth. “Why do you need to know?”

He didn’t. It was all Fikumin’s plan this, and that accursed dwarf had managed to drag him down with it. Right into the gutter.

That’s how infamy is born, Glen thought. It begins, when ye start torturing priests over a couple of missed sheep and a ram ye ate yourself.

Qanuq narrowed his eyes, lips pressed to keep another wail of pain in. Then glanced at his foot stretched on the crude mattress that was Sameer’s bed and his tensed face relaxed.

“Yer goin’ to have me killed.”

You won’t kill me, Zestari had said.

Glen was taken aback at the memory. “Ahem… was fixin’ to let ye go, if you told me,” He managed to mumble.

And perhaps kill you, since my mind is acting up on me again, like that time wit Larn’s woman.

“Who are you, Lord Reeves? Why so much interest in my God?”

“I’ve no interest in yer god. Grogoceq is evil. He deals in necromancy and he must be stopped.”

That’s what the dwarf had told him anyway.

“Pfft, never saw him practice it,” Qanuq dismissed it and added with difficulty. “The man left for Yin Xiyan several weeks back.”

Hmm.

“Where’s that?”

“It’s a big city, milord. Deep in the desert.”

Right.

“Is it far?”

“Quite far from here.”

Glen frowned. “Who killed that dwarf youngling then?”

“How should I know? What does yer dwarf say?” Qanuq replied tensely and Glen didn’t know whether he spoke the truth or not. Which was frustrating, in a day a lot of frustrating things had happened, with more coming on the horizon.

“He’s lying,” Marcus was adamant, when he told him not ten minutes later. They were standing in front of Sameer’s house, the whole population of Refuge Moon gathered to glare at them.

You’d think us trying to find their missing herd and punish the culprits, would mean something to these people!

Other than the fact of course, the culprits could very well be us, Glen thought with a shake of his head at the irony.

“Everybody’s lying, Decanus.”

Crafton’s words.

“We fought that darn thing, milord!” Stiles protested. “Twas no lie.”

“Perhaps he’s right,” Fikumin said, with Norec grunting his agreement. The other dwarf of their small company wasn’t talkative at all.

“What’s this?” Glen exploded. “Not everyone can be right! That’s not how it works!”

“A Necromancer can make a construct of himself, milord,” The dwarf explained.

Glen blinked, the detail ludicrous the first time he’d heard it, even more so now, under the sun and the blasted wind!

“Using a youngling,” He said measuring his words.

“Using young bones,” Fikumin corrected him and shrugged his shoulders. “That’s all I know.”

Glen grimaced, the vein started acting up on his temple again and the crowd parted in front of them to let Didar, son of Gulian walk towards them. He’d a determined look on his Cofol face, olive colored eyes enraged and he was clad in old and weathered leather armor.

“Lord Reeves,” The man called loud enough for everyone to hear. “I want a ruling from the gods, yers ‘n mine!”

What in the slovenly fuck is this now?

Glen sighed and glanced towards a frowning Marcus. Then at Stiles, the pirate seeming dumfounded and finally at Fikumin. The dwarf returned his stare without saying a word. Which didn’t help Glen at all.

“What is he talking about?” He asked running out of options and Sameer stepped forward, looking all serious.

“A trial by fire, milord.”

The crowd reacted with a loud murmur at his words.

Were they going to burn them in retaliation? Was this where they were heading?

Glen took a step back, found the wall of Sameer’s homestead blocking further retreat that way and grimaced, his hand dropping to his sword’s handle. Then realizing they were just too many villagers to claw their way out of, he sighed. Even the grandest hero would have paused, facing this livid… provincial crowd, he reasoned. Granted some of them were women, even children. But still, a kid can poke you in the eye wit a stick, when yer not looking. Pluck that darn thing out right proper.

“Can someone explain, please? In plain common?” He asked instead and Marcus after clearing his throat, did exactly that.

“A duel?” Glen snapped angry. "Do these people think we’re on a tour, here at their pleasure, or something? We’re no troupe and this ain’t a plaguin’ fair! Duel for what?”

“It’s common, throughout the lands, milord. In all realms really,” Sameer defended the stupid proposal. “And it’s not optional.”

What?

Is that shit for brains, keep addin’ stuff on the fly?

“What do you mean?”

Besides there was no such thing as ‘not optional’ in Glen’s world.

“Ye can’t refuse.”

“Me?” Glen wondered aghast. I can refuse right now ye dork!

“You,” Didar cut in, still standing further away. “I challenge you!”

Luthos balls squashed in a vise!

“For what?” He spat back.

“Torturing an innocent man!” Didar bellowed, as if they couldn’t hear him. Rehashing what was obviously a miscalculation. Accident even! “Burned his whole foot to the fuckin’ bone!” Didar continued his tirade, frothing at the mouth.

And just like that, the crowd was in on it proper. The angry murmur rising and eyes turning on them right vicious.

God darn it.

“What happens, if I lose?” Glen asked gulping down, a little surprised at the hostility. Especially to his person. It was after all, Fikumin’s idea.

“Means ye were wrong,” Didar replied, adding with a smug smirk. “And ye get to die.”

“Let me see yer armour,” Marcus said, while he soaked at the hatred thrown his way by the decent crowd that had appeared. Refuge Moon had turned out being larger, than he earlier had thought. Glen opened his arms and the veteran checked the bindings on his leather vest, especially the iron shoulder pads attached to it. Marcus paused looking at the spot where Larn’s blade had penetrated the armour and grimaced. “Ye should get this mended.”

“Aye,” Glen replied. “Or find myself a better armour, something akin to what ye have on.”

“Ye have to join the Legion first, lad.”

“You slipped there, Decanus,” Glen noticed with a grin.

Marcus stood back and scratched his short beard for a moment.

“Aye, reckon I did, milord.”

“It’s fine,” Glen placated him, not wanting to appear like a vain noble prick. “Ye knew me, before I was one.”

Marcus nodded and glanced at the Cofol getting ready across from them. The crowd had cleared out the dirt road, giving them enough room to kill each other at their leisure, but kept watch at the edge of the large circle, so Glen couldn’t make a late run for it.

“Pick the sword,” The veteran advised. “Run him through. Don’t joke around.”

“What else there’s to p—”

“Lord Reeves,” Sameer interrupted him. “Will you come forward, if ye please?”

“Sure,” Glen said and rearranged the sheath of his sword on his waistband. The Cofol noticed it and added a little apprehensively. “Didar asked the duel to preclude swords, milord.”

Glen narrowed his eyes at his words.

Preclude?

“Why is that?” He asked, keeping emotion from his face, not to appear an utter fool.

“Milord, is probably excellent wit it,” The Cofol explained.

Well, I’m not exactly sure I would go that far, Glen thought. Although he was in a sense, top of his class.

Of one.

“So what’s yer problem then?” He asked instead, genuinely curious.

Sameer frowned, not expecting the question. “Yer opponent isn’t, milord.”

Glen didn’t have a problem wit that.

Although apparently, everyone thought he should have.

“I understand yer a squire,” Sameer continued. “I wouldn’t want ye to break yer vows, winning wit no honor.”

Glen blinked, deep in shock. It took a superhuman effort on his part not to explode in rage and call shenanigans on the whole thing.

“Thank you, for considering it,” He croaked with difficulty and the oblivious Cofol elder nodded in respect.

“I tried to talk him out of it,” Sameer said, sounding embarrassed. “Obviously yer lordship is not at fault here.”

“The gods shall decide that Sameer!” Didar barked. “Not some foreign Lord!”

Right.

Let Luthos have fun and see what comes out of it.

Glen smacked his lips eyeing the dagger Didar had on his waist. A typical straight blade on it, though smaller than the Wyvern’s Tongue.

“Are ye any good wit the dagger?” He asked him and the enraged man frowned taken aback.

“Ahm… I’m decent I suppose,” Didar stared at the war hammer he held in his hand. “Ye can either bar a weapon, or choose one, milord.”

“I got no war hammer at the ready, but I have a dagger,” Glen explained and a murmur came from the crowd listening to their exchange. “It’s a ceremonial thing really, a family heirloom.”

Didar nodded and stared towards Sameer.

“Surely, yer lordship can borrow a weapon from yer people,” Sameer said. “Ye don’t have to fight him wit a knife, milord.”

The knife, is a cutthroat’s weapon, Sir Emerson always told him.

Glen puffed his cheeks out and reaching got the black-bladed dagger out.

“My lord, what are ye doing?” Marcus protested from his back. “Norec has a mace.”

Sameer smiled, a little unsure. “Fighting Didar wit a knife, puts you at a disadvantage, milord.”

“That so?” Glen asked him. Because the way the young thief saw it, he had way better armour on and he was younger than his opponent.

“Well, while yer noble self, trained in swords and shields, Didar played wit his knives, all his life,” Sameer explained.

Well… friend, Glen thought, looking at him unimpressed. Ye got the whole thing wrong.

Sorry.

“I hereby choose this rather unfamiliar weapon, to preserve my honor,” He announced loudly instead, managing to avoid chuckling and ruining his performance. The crowd listening in, gasped nigh impressed at the show of gallantry, some of the slanted-eyed ladies giving him some very naughty stares, full of promise. A couple of them, of excellent stock as Dante would say and Sir Emerson would cuff Glen upside the head about.

Even Marcus and most of all Fikumin, stood back silent as if left utterly speechless. Didar frowned, thin brows making his eyes ogle a little funny, then tossed the war hammer away and reached for his own dagger.

“Ye noble bloods, are right stupid,” The Cofol said and came at him, blade swinging.