Glen

Sen-Iv’s legendary dowry

The moment they stepped inside Sopat’s gigantic tent, Marcus grabbed his elbow and turned him around, deep frown on his face making him look nigh intimidating.

“Whatever ye think yer doin’ lad?”

Much uglier than a bald old mule too.

Glen breathed once deeply, waited for his legs to stop shaking and then rustled deathly serious.

“Let go. Of the arm.”

“Bah! Lording over people got in yer young head,” Marcus snapped and released his steel grip, the elbow hurting and still numb where he’d grabbed him.

“It comes wit the fuckin’ job,” Glen retorted, taking a precautionary step back. He had no intention of fighting it out with the large veteran in close quarters. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Seriously?” Marcus glared at him. “You just agreed to help the Cofols against the High King!”

Glen frowned.

“No. I didn’t.”

“You said it, afore gods and people!”

Oh, boy.

“Listen, friend—”

“For what?” Marcus cut him off livid. “Owning another slave? What’s wrong wit ye?”

“I’ve taken Sen as a wife,” Glen explained patiently, the fact he’d done it, hadn’t really sink in yet. “And saved Stiles skin.”

Literally.

“Gratitude, milord,” Stiles thanked him, still standing near the entrance of the tent and checking on the crowd’s reactions. A wise precaution.

“Bargaining Altarin, to save a cutthroat, nobody likes.”

“Hey!” Stiles protested. “I’m plenty likable.”

“This isn’t a bloody joke!” Marcus snapped at him. “Altarin is a vassal to Kaltha,” He turned to stare at Glen, the young man was sucking the inside of his cheek nervously. “Ye can’t change that with words, Lord Reeves. Not for one Cofol wife, or ten.”

Glen sighed. “I won’t fight the High King, Marcus.”

“Yet you said, yer after his throne.”

“A throne of gold.”

Marcus glanced towards Stiles, but he nodded as if he was agreeing with what Glen was saying, firmly in the young man’s camp.

“What's the fuckin’ difference?” Marcus grunted, turning his eyes on Glen. “The Wyvern’s Seat, is made of gold. Everyone knows that, even that sack of shit!” The latter intended for Stiles, who took it in stride, opting to be the larger man.

Or fearing the larger man more like.

Glen hadn’t thought of that and he could see where a misunderstanding could perhaps derail the whole scheme.

“Never mentioned that though,” He insisted, crossing his arms on his chest. “Phon asked what I wanted and I just gave an answer.”

“That wasn’t any answer, my lad. That darn merchant, thinks he bought Altarin and a claimant. He’ll run to the Khan wit it!”

Glen shook his head right and left, seeing where the old soldier was mistaken. “Phon doesn’t like the Khan. He hates his guts,” He stared at the corpse’s boots, well-worn and traveled by now, for a brief moment, before adding. “Plus the Khan’s son insulted his family.”

“Much like ye did,” Marcus countered. “Didn’t stop him from bargaining away his sister!”

“No. I did not. I would never force myself on a woman,” Glen replied clenching his jaw. Ye just find the coin and pay her, like normal folk do. “And I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.”

“May I interrupt?” Phon-Iv Sopat asked coming through the tent’s opening, cultured voice tired from the talking he’d done to sell, what he’d staged. Glen eyed him not particularly pleased.

“Marcus made his point,” He said and the veteran taking the hint grunted.

“Move outside, Stiles. I’ve trouble breathin’ in here.”

Phon walked past Glen, heavy perfume clogging the young man’s airways and went to find that leather pillow to sit on. He literally collapsed on it. Glen noticed the gem merchant’s eyes were tired and he could spot the dark circles despite the makeup he had on.

“What a night,” Phon said, looking for a clean cup to pour himself some wine. “Followed by an equally rousing morning.”

“You’re not pleased,” Phon said, after an awkward pause. “I would’ve thought you won the bargain.”

“Wasn’t lookin’ for one,” Glen countered.

“Yet you sought her out in the dead of night,” Phon pointed calmly.

“That’s not what happened! I thought she was a slave—”

“Spare me the lewd details, if you please,” Phon stopped him, sipping from the cup. “It carries the same penalty, sampling another man’s slave.”

“Skinning him?” Glen taunted. “That’s pretty civilized.”

“Buying the used property out,” Phon replied with a frown. “I just didn’t think you could,” He sighed. “I wanted to silence the guard, but eventually he would’ve talked. Spread the gossip and lead to the same result.”

“Only then, I would’ve been long gone,” Glen added, what the merchant had left out.

“No way to restore the family’s honor, or get something out of it. A bad deal, all around,” He explained and Glen returned his knowing stare blankly.

“So what do you want?”

“Not Altarin, as your friend fears,” He shrugged his shoulders. “But I expect the Sopat family to control all business at its port. A trade route to Jelin, reserved solely for our goods. First choice, if that’s not possible. A private port, not controlled by the Khan.”

Wait, Glen thought, a little surprised. That’s not that unreasonable. Something was tying the savvy merchant’s hands.

Something, or someone.

Unless…

“What if he wins the war?”

“I’ll support your claim on the titles,” Phon smiled smugly. “Having my sister at your side, no one will ever question it and the Khan will go along with it.”

“The Horselords came for her,” Glen pointed, still searching for that elusive detail Phon was holding back. “Not everyone appears to like yer family.”

Phon sat up straighter on that pillow, a dangerous move he pulled off with the grace of a man that has spent hours apparently sitting on fluffy, overstuffed cushions and lived to tell the tale. Glen could respect that.

“They told you that,” He said, the slight pout on his mouth reminding Glen of his sister. San the eyes, the symmetry and the ripe breasts the size of small melons. “It doesn’t come as a surprise.”

“It doesn’t?”

“The caravan is on the road for two years,” Phon explained with a shrug. “News travel fast, even in the Steppe, Glenavon.”

“Why not going after you then?” Glen asked not buying whatever the man was selling.

“Sometimes I wonder. Are you pretending ignorance?” He stared at the silver cup for a moment. There were garnets on it, shaped like a Capricorn and it had a gold finish at the rim. A nigh lootable item. “Sen-Iv’s dowry is immense, Glenavon. Taking her would be a huge boon for the Rebels.”

Glen perked up at the mention of a dowry. Poor folk usually got nothing, other than perhaps a couple of starved chicken, more bones on them than meat, or an old goat way past his prime, when they tied the knot. That was their norm.

“How big… is immense?” He probed, playing it cool, but probably failing.

“Haha, I almost wish this is an act,” Phon grinned. “Mountainous. As in a literal mountain of gems, where the Livai River has its source. They call it the opal mountain for a reason…”

“I got the picture,” Glen stopped him, gulping down nervously.

“I don’t believe you do,” Phon insisted. “Sen’s price as an asset is worthy of a king, Glenavon. She can fuel, a man’s bigger ambitions, if he has them,” He looked at him strangely. “You said you do.”

Ah.

Here it is.

“You want to help the Khan fight the High King?” He turned the question on him.

“I don’t have two pennies to spare on the Khan. The question is, do you?” Phon raised a brow. “Will my sister sit on a gold throne, Glenavon?”

“It may not be the High King’s,” Glen replied, just as a covered Sen entered the room from a hidden side opening. Was she listening in? Is this a plaguin’ culture thing? “But your sister, will have her throne.”

The fact he left the gold part out, not an omission.

There were no other gold thrones, or thusly constructed chairs of any kind on the market that he knew of.

Phon nodded pleased and glanced at an aloof Sen that went to stand next to him. She had that cloak tied up to her neck, Glen noticed, a little disappointed.

“I’ll prepare the papers,” The merchant announced. “Cross the T’s and dot the I’s, care not to miss any important detail.”

Wait.

Phon looked up.

“Something amiss?” He probed, noticing his hesitation.

Aye.

“You didn’t really fear a mere rumor, didn’t ye?” Glen inquired, avoiding to look towards the striking female. Which of course really means, the young man kept her greedily in his peripheral vision all the time, a skill most thieves acquire early on in their careers, else they find themselves at the end of a noose. Pissing and defecating at the same time, while they wait to die miserably.

“There’s a mind in there, dear,” Phon told his sister. “Not just brawns.”

The latter part could be easily contested, Glen thought.

“Well?” He probed the stalling merchant.

“I love my sister, Glenavon,” Phon declared, smiling at her mocking eyebrow. Sen hadn’t said a word since coming in. “Not enough to bed her, alas.” Glen thought it a good thing, apparently the merchant wasn’t of the same opinion. “She told me you saved her life. Empire law dictated upon a time, her life is yours. But we’re not living under their laws anymore.”

Hinting the Lorians and the Issirs still did.

Each continent had kept something of the Zilans they liked it seemed, dismissing the rest.

Glen was an islander, so he moved on.

“She told the truth,” Glen said, no modesty behind his words.

“Slain three warriors,” The merchant continued, as if he didn’t hear him and Glen focused on Sen-Iv’s exquisite eyes, the gleam in them containing half the colors of the rainbow; turning ravenous, the creature living underneath her tame lavish exterior, a savage beast. “The last with a dagger…” Phon sighed and glanced at his sister. “Moving with the speed of an arrow. Your shadow as large as a beast of the ancient myths. She’s impressed obviously and perhaps exaggerating.”

Huh?

Glen narrowed his eyes.

“What else did she say?” It was weird talking in front of her, as if she wasn’t there. But when in a strange land, ye follow the crowd, he decided.

Phon asked her something in Cofol, Glen missed and he quickly clasped his fingers around the ancient dagger secured at his waistband. A move the alert woman caught.

“Don’t you want him to know? He’s practically family,” Phon said and now Glen could understand him.

“He’s not family, brother. Men can be unforgiving. Men like him,” Sen replied, her opal eyes set on Glen’s listening face. A tick appeared at the corner of his eye, the effort to pretend he didn’t understand their words enormous and taking a toll on him. “Are avaricious and cruel masters,” The woman finished.

“Two of the Prince’s wives are dead, Sen,” Her brother insisted. “Within a month. Rumor is that witch is behind it, despite it appearing to be natural!”

Glen’s left eye had almost closed, the tick too severe and he felt it tearing up.

“He can understand our tongue,” Sen warned him, in her whispering tone. “Speak it, like a native.”

Her brother pulled back and turned to stare at Glen alarmed.

“What witch?” Glen asked him and Phon’s face paled under all that makeup.

“Where did you learn our dialect, Lord of Altarin?” The merchant asked. “This wasn’t common Cofol, this isn’t… you can understand me. Do you?”

Glen sighed, realizing that even if he hadn’t slipped up just now, the jig was up. The woman knew.

“Aye. I can, master Sopat.”

Phon whistled, extremely impressed. Then a smile formed on his painted a garish mauve lips and glanced at his sister. “How in Luthos name… you are right.”

“Right about what?” Glen intervened.

“My first thought was to have you and the guard killed, quietly,” Phon explained, not looking too embarrassed about it. “And since, I would’ve never used a lash on the Celestial Opal, I’d have sold your slaves to the pits of ‘Fu De-Gar’ and have my problems solved.”

There’s your something, Glen thought.

Also, what in Luthos fart, are these ‘pits of fudegar’ everyone keeps mentioning?

“She talked me out of it,” Phon admitted. “I council against harming her for her spirit, Glenavon. Sen was always a little unruly, but knows her place, when it matters.”

Glen blinked at the callousness of the man’s logic. The Cofol had a bad reputation. A backwards society clinging to the ancient ways of a dead Empire and the brutality of the vaunted Horselords of the past, but this was too much.

“I would never harm a woman,” Glen said simply. “Or keep a slave.”

Although he had in fact killed one, with his own hand.

In his mind, this wasn’t the same thing.

Phon burst out laughing at his absurd declaration initially, then frowned greatly worried, stopped laughing outright and glanced at his sister. Sen rolled her eyes and taking a small step forward put a small well shaped hand on her brother’s shoulder.

“Sweet Phon-Iv,” She sang in her subdued, extremely alluring tone. “Lord Glenavon, is jesting,” Sen-Iv turned her famed eyes on the frowning Glen next and added. “He knows, we’ll keep thousands working at my mines,” The young man stood back in shock, Sen pouted under her thin veil not expecting it, lowered her eyes and added. “But he’ll keep me first amongst all of them. His most precious possession. The foremost of his treasures.”

First amongst his slaves was her meaning.

Glen wished then, he’d let them skin Stiles alive and be done with it.