Glen

The price of a donkey

"Luthos balls,

caught in a bear trap,

Ripped clean off,

in the attempt to stand ‘n clap"

-

Carved in plain Common on a platinum plaque,

above the vaunted iron gates,

of Onyx Castle

-Zilan name ‘Sinya Goras’

(New Goras)-

Wetull proper

(Circa 245 NC)

Phon-Iv Sopat stilled his eyes on the young man’s face waiting for his reaction and sensing nothing coming, since Glen was left numb by his sister’s answer, he shrugged his shoulders and produced a scroll from an ornate box decorating his table. Opened it in front of him, dipped an ivory quill in an ink vial and signed it.

“Well then,” The gem merchant announced when he finished reading it a final time. “I believe everything is here, all it needs is your signature and Altarin’s seal, Glenavon.”

“It’s Lord Reeves,” Glen pointed getting out of his hazed state. The fact that Sen wasn’t talking again getting on his nerves.

“Of course,” Phon replied, his tone condescending.

Glen stared down at the painted merchant. Was he being fooled?

“I wish to talk to your sister,” The young man said and Phon puckered his mouth, brows meeting in the middle of his forehead. He glanced her way and then at Glen.

“What is there, to talk about?” Phon quizzed, putting the quill down, next to the scroll he’d just signed.

“I want to talk to your sister,” Glen repeated, more sternly.

Bullshit time, is over.

When ye bluff, go big, or shut the fuck up.

Glen’s second most important rule.

Or third, since pilfering as much loot as possible, before skedaddlin’ out of a joint, could be also slotted there. He was flexible like that.

Phon-Iv blinked stunned, his face contorting and the Cofol gem merchant, had to clench his jaw to keep his temper in check. “By all means, Lord Reeves—”

“Alone,” Glen interrupted him. Phon narrowed his eyes. That’s right cowfucker, I’m the one tying the knot here!

I ain’t buying no god darn cow!

“That’s… not the custom. Not before a deal—”

Glen cut him off midsentence again.

He enjoyed doing that, as much as he hated being done to him.

Yeah.

“I won’t sample the goods, Sopat. I give ye my word of honor.”

Cheapest odds he’d ever staked on.

Phon grimaced at the term thrown back at him, his face turning constipated and even unsure. It took him a good minute of silently staring at his rather pointed soft leather boots, to finally give in. “Of course, my Lord. I shall stand outside.”

Just get the fuck out, Glen urged him with a glare.

And take yer stupid pillow wit ye.

Sen-Iv followed her brother’s undignified exit with her expressive eyes, the same ones she turned on a grinning Glen, a fine eyebrow raised in query.

“Everyone, is someone’s slave,” Glen recited her words of last night, returning her stare. Getting no reaction. Might as well, talk to that wall, he thought. “By the way dear, I meant what I said about the slaves.”

Sen-Iv moved at that, a slender hand loosened her cloak and let it fall off her shoulders. It pooled at her sandals, but a taken aback Glen wasn’t looking at her feet. Much... Was that rings she wore on her toes? Good grief! Her inner outfit reached just under the knee and left her midriff exposed, large pink jewel adorning her navel, secured with a web of silver strands that connected to her white provocative top. The cleavage on it, left little to the imagination and offered everything else freely.

The Cofol woman walked towards him a moment later, her whole body coming alive in peculiar places, stopped before a gawking Lord Reeves, reached with an insanely bejeweled arm -from her painted blue and white nails up to her elbow- and tied her fingers behind Glen’s neck. The young former thief grinned silly finding his wits, despite the wild beating of his heart, the woman’s intentions clear as day and stooped to assist her.

Sen-Iv’s plump azure painted lips came at him, the color reminding him of Lith at a nigh inopportune moment, tip of that pink tongue teasing and her breath caressing his unshaven cheek as she dodged his mouth at the last possible second, to whisper in his ear.

The strangest sensual words.

“Sign the contract.”

Huh?

Glen smacked his lips, doubly stunned at the unexpected outcome and glared at the side of Sen-Iv’s face and part of her ring adorned left ear. She made to pull away sensing his intentions, but he grabbed her elbow, the numerous silver and gold bracelets the Cofol woman wore, impossible to count and making the grip difficult.

He might have hurt her a little there.

“What are you doing?” Glen asked, after he let her go and she walked gracefully at the table her brother had vacated, searched for the scroll he’d left there and stared at him again, when she found it; all serious.

“Sign the contract, Glenavon.”

Was this about legitimacy? Fear of gossip? Glen wondered with a frustrated sigh.

“He won’t know a thing. Whatever we do, it won’t matter anyway,” He added quickly, realizing she wanted to interrupt him midsentence, years of brutal conditioning preventing her from calling out his fallacy.

As he was about to find out.

“I can’t speak against my master,” Sen-Iv blurted, a mountain of frustration behind her calm outer veneer. Glen stood back, as if he was slapped in the face.

Fuck.

“What do you want me to do?” He relented.

Sen-Iv closed her eyes in despair. “Sign the contract. Please.”

She had that quill in her hand, used the tip of her tongue to wet it once, dipped it in the ink vial next and offered it to him. Famed opal eyes all but begging.

You’re being played, his instincts warned him, but the opening at the center of the cloth ceiling, was small and the octagonally shaped room, while large for a tent, had three braziers burning aromatic herbs, or incense and it was slowly suffocating him. The scantily dressed young woman, offering a breath of fresh air and a quick way out.

Glen took the quill, his grip on it awkward and stared at the scribblings on the expensive parchment. This wasn’t Common. Sen-Iv sensed his hesitation and placed her warm hand over his and guided it at the right spot. Glen blinked hard trying to make out, what was written on the paper, but he failed.

“I’ve never signed,” My name before. “This manner of contract,” He managed to save it at the last possible moment and Sen bit lightly at her lower lip thoughtfully. Then capped his hand decidedly, thumb and index finger guiding the quill judiciously and Glen went along with it.

Sen-Iv scratched his initials at the bottom of the page and stroke a line over them.

“Your signet ring,” She then said, in her whispery voice.

Glen was convinced everyone in this caravan was spying on everyone else religiously. Was this a Cofol thing? An ear behind every door, or wall and perhaps an upturned cup to go along wit it.

By the time Glen remembered, he in fact had the ring on his finger, too dazed and aroused to think clearly, Sen had gone to a brazier, filled a small bronze cap with hot wax and returned. Seeing he’d figured it out, she let the slightest smile touch her lips and poured its contents next to his simple signature.

Glen stabbed down, the large gold ring secure on his knuckle, with a grin of his own, the Altarin stallion raised on his hind legs depicted on the impression and the letter R, for the Reeves family.

There, he thought and turned to what was apparently his alluring wife.

Wow… that was pretty darn easy, to get the hang of, he realized and not to miss any more time, dragged her closer, Glen’s left arm snaking its way around her narrow waist, effectively trapping the pliable Sen between the table and his body.

“You can say no,” Glen offered, the stillness getting to his nerves. “Outright refuse even, or say what you want.”

Sen-Iv nodded, neither excited, nor accommodating. At least she smells nice, Glen thought gazing in her eyes and her tits are pretty soft to the touch.

“Phon sent a bird to the Khan yesterday,” Sen told him in excellent common, without moving away from his rather wandering hands. “Looking for a better deal. If the Khan find’s out a Reeves still lives, then she will too.”

The witch was her meaning.

Wait… wait, wait.

Glen pulled away abruptly, his fingers getting tangled in the strands hanging from her top and almost tearing the whole flimsy thing off. Sen grabbed his arm to stabilize it, her grip solid for such a slender creature, then carefully untangled each of Glen’s fingers, without damaging the expensive material, her eyes never leaving his face. In the process of doing that, she also rearranged a majestic and fleshly orb that had popped out, without batting an eyelash. Although her voice had turned a tad huskier now and she’d way more natural color on her cheeks, observing first hand Glen’s blatant interest at her exposed tan-powdered and pierced nipple.

What in the slovenly fuck was that?

“Is it covered?” Sen inquired, making it sound casual.

“It is. Regrettably,” Glen deadpanned glumly and his Cofol wife couldn’t keep her chuckle in. It just poured out of her.

Her laughter, a marvel in its own right.

Luthos balls,

caught in a bear trap.

He couldn’t remember how the famous saying went, such was his bewilderment.

Ah, yes.

And then he did.

Marcus looked as if he’d eaten something foul, the cats had fooled around for days and then abandoned to rot in the desert sun. Aged face all tensed up, jaw scrunching this way and that, trying to keep from yelling at a gloomy faced and troubled Lord Reeves.

“What happened?”

Glen puffed his cheeks out as he habitually did, then checked to see, if the Sopats’ were still inside their tent, the rest of the caravan starting preparations to resume their journey first thing in the morning. Scratched his forehead with a dirty middle finger, gold ring gleaming in the afternoon sun and tried to put his unruly hair in some semblance of order, failing spectacularly in the latter.

“I got myself a Cofol wife,” He started and Marcus stood back and narrowed his eyes, not missing Glen had specified needlessly what they both knew.

“A girl bred in the Peninsula,” The aged veteran commented.

“What was that?” Glen asked.

“Gossip, from the poorer caravan folk,” Marcus elucidated. “Ye don’t seem particularly upbeat about it.”

Right.

“There might have been… some unforeseen complications,” Glen said, wiping his hands at the sides of his well-traveled coat.

“If Stiles got the chop, don’t worry about it. He shan’t be missed.”

“What? No, god darn it!” Glen snapped. “Phon wanted privileged rights on Altarinport,” He explained and Marcus crossed his muscled arms, before his chest.

“Ye don’t control the port, milord.”

“Yet. The old man named me heir.”

“True. Also true, is that people contest claims all the time. Even getting nasty about ‘em,” Marcus countered. “And ye ain’t there to defend yours.”

Glen frowned. He hadn’t thought of that possibility.

“Anyways,” He continued. “That’s not the problem.”

“It’s not?” Marcus queried, a little surprised. “Ye know Cofol girls are like horses for these people, right? Hope yer not expecting this perfumed one, to be any different.”

Glen sighed and stared at the old soldier dejectedly. “You’ve a very bigoted view of people, friend.”

“Perhaps, but I’m also right on this one.”

“You’re not. That’s not the problem,” Glen patiently corrected him and spotted Fikumin’s large head spying on them behind a wagon’s wheel. “Get the horses ready. Find a couple of more, if possible. We might have to leave in a hurry.”

“Huh? Whatever you mean lad? When?”

“I mean this night,” Glen looked at him sternly. “Grab Stiles and get on wit it, Decanus.”

I need to speak to a dwarf.

“How’s the stratagem going, Lord Reeves?” Fikumin mocked him. “The Aken is gaining more and more ground each day.”

“Forget about the Aken, dwarf,” Glen admonished him, stooped over the wheel, as if he was checking on it. “The Khan knows I’m here.”

“It comes as no surprise. How did he found out?”

“Phon, he might… are there birds here?”

“Every second carriage has them at the back,” The dwarf pointed with a stubby finger. “See? Easy to spot.”

Glen grimaced. “Can we send one to Altarin?”

“Not for free, milord. Do you have the coin?”

Glen didn’t, after he’d paid for everyone’s ‘saddles’. “Hoped to see if Jinx made it there, or Emerson and the others.”

Fikumin shook his head. “Not gonna happen. Do you think the Khan might try something?”

“Phon wants a better deal,” Glen said. “If he can find one. The problem is the ‘better’ deal for the Khan, might be to have me killed.”

“So, your plan is?” Fikumin probed.

There was only one plan.

“Make a run for it.”

“What happened with the raiders?” Fikumin asked him, instead of nodding in agreement.

“Huh? Haven’t ye heard what I just said?” Glen snapped.

“I reckoned, it’ll come to that,” The dwarf replied not fazed. “How did you kill those raiders, Lord Reeves?”

I’m a fabulous fighter?

Wait, was he accusing him of something?

Glen frowned. “I don’t like yer tone, friend,” He warned him.

“You’ve used magic again,” Fikumin pressed on, sharp like the skinning knife, Phon wanted to use on Stiles. The annoying dwarf narrowed his eyes, oozing suspicion, small eyes lost behind his bushy brows.

There was a lot of hair on that face.

Glen showed him his hands with a triumphant smirk. “I didn’t.”

The dwarf shook his head saddened, far from convinced. “So you went there. Ah, Glenavon, you’re on a dangerous path, young man.”

Glen wasn’t of the same opinion.

“I did what I had to do, friend.”

“How? Lithoniela said you couldn’t.”

“I used the Wyvern’s Tongue,” Glen deadpanned. “The same one ye wise older guys said, it wouldn’t work.”

Fikumin took a step back. “The Caravan Master,” He said after a moment’s thought. “That’s the dark arts you’re dabbling with, Glenavon.”

“I thought he died of a heart attack,” Glen evaded, not likening the dwarf’s preaching tone.

“Luthos help us,” Fikumin exclaimed, looking him all strange. “How many?”

Huh?

“How many has the dagger killed, Lord Reeves?” Fikumin insisted.

How should I know?

Zestari, he thought. Does she count?

“You used it in the duel,” Fikumin said, doing some counting of his own. “In the fort, to escape Larn’s blade. Ostruki died, before you got better—”

“Hey,” Glen cut him off. “You’re way off there!”

Although the dwarf wasn’t.

“Give me the dagger,” Fikumin ordered him.

Glen drew a deep breath and set his jaw.

“No.”

“Every time you use it, something bad happens,” Fikumin insisted. “Can’t you see this?”

“I’m still alive,” Glen replied, the dwarf’s words disconcerting. “What?” He asked seeing the anger in the small creature’s eyes.

“Did she die because of it?” Fikumin snarled through his teeth.

“Who?”

“Lorfouna,” It almost killed the dwarf to say her name and Glen took a step back, not expecting it.

“That was not me, Fikumin.”

“How do you know?”

Glen didn’t, but he couldn’t tell him that. Feeling guilty, or unsure is better than getting killed for revenge.

So he lied instead.

Instinctively.

“I know how the dagger works,” He declared, after taking a big breath. “But now is neither the time, nor the place to explain it to you.”

“Is that a baby mule?” Glen asked, the moons had ducked behind a cloud and you could cut the darkness with a knife, or your hand. It was almost pitch black.

“Nay, milord,” Stiles replied, pulling hard at the reins to get the stubborn animal through the opening they’d created between two smaller wagons. If possible, before the patrol made their rounds and returned. “It’s a donkey.”

Ye don't say.

“Where did ye found a donkey?” Glen guffawed and attempted to pet it, almost losing an arm in the process. “What the fuck?” The donkey showed him two rows of enormous teeth and then threw its large head back and let out the loudest bray ever heard in the Cofol steppe.

HEE-HAW!

“Good grief!” Glen cried jumping away. “Stop this thing!”

HEE-HAW!

“What in Uher’s arse are ye doing?” Marcus protested looking back. “He’ll wake up the whole camp!”

HEE-HAW!

Went the donkey, giving Glen the stinging eye.

Ye four-legged sack of shit!

“Leave it! Let’s get the hells out of here!”

“What about the girls?” Stiles protested, still trying to dislodge the braying donkey.

Glen stared at him incredulous. “What girls?” He snapped and then pulled back horrified and glared further ahead, where Sen-Iv waited for them atop her mare. Looking nigh uncomfortable.

“Iskay and Ninan,” She said looking at the head of her horse troubled about something and Glen could barely understand her over the sounds coming from the excited donkey.

HEE-HAW!

“Fuck are they?”

“My servants, husband,” Sen replied, even more subdued than before.

“What did she say?” Glen snarled at Fikumin, who was riding the same horse with Norec, right next to her.

“Your slaves, Lord Reeves,” Fikumin said, his tone mocking. “You might want to get that donkey moving fast.”

Let’s get something straight about donkeys. They are not fast animals. They can trot, but they won’t. They’ll pick their own rhythm, infuriating mules and horses alike and keep at it until they decide to stop, for any number of reasons.

Without permission.

When they stop, you get to stop with them and pretend you like it.

“For slovenly fuck’s sake,” Glen blurted, eyes red from the lack of sleep and looked back over his shoulder. “What now?”

“It stopped again, milord,” Stiles assigned to look after the girls, reported.

“What for?”

“Getting all that grass out, milord.”

“Huh?”

“It’s crapping the lawn,” Marcus elucidated, smacking his lips, looking even worse than Glen. “It might take a while.”

And it did. Enough time for Phon and his small team of riders to catch up with them. The gem merchant looked absolutely livid, but managed to greet them pushing his horse forward, quite diplomatically.

“Lord Reeves,” He said, looking towards his sister briefly. “I could’ve offered a comfortable carriage for Sen-Iv.”

“She likes riding,” Glen deadpanned, although Sen obviously didn’t. “So given the opportunity, I respectfully decline yer offer.”

“What the reason for this?” Phon asked through his teeth.

“You,” Glen replied, glaring at him. Phon had brought six guards with him, which was a lot, but he didn’t believe the merchant had the stomach to fight them. “The Khan might decide to finish what he started, Sopat.”

“Glenavon, I promised to back your claims, speak on your behalf—”

Glen stopped him with a wave of his hand.

“What if you fail?”

He had to look up as Phon was mounted and not on his pillow. The change a little confusing for Glen. Although, the saddle on his horse was a garish gem-covered thing that must have worth a fortune in gems. Painted yellow, blue and white.

Phon-Iv couldn’t hide a grimace of frustration.

“It’s why ye wrote to him,” Glen pressed on. “To gauge his reaction, in case this goes tits up,” Phon blinked, at Jinx’s favorite expression. “Only that would be pretty final for me, friend. We made our deal, but I never promised you to stay with the caravan.”

“Bah!” Phon exclaimed, looking at their group for a while. “You’ve appropriated animals from the Caravan, Glenavon. How am I supposed to explain that?”

Glen was right about him. He wasn’t looking for a fight.

“We will pay for the horses and the mules.”

“What about the donkey?” Phon probed and Glen almost rolled his eyes.

“Sure.”

“You have the coin?” The merchant asked.

He didn’t.

“You can have the castle,” Sen-Iv murmured. Glen whipped his head her way.

What castle?

“What was that dear?” Phon perked up.

“You can have the castle,” Sen repeated, barely louder than before.

For the donkey?

“That sounds reasonable,” Her brother commented.

Are ye fuckin’ kidding me?

“Wait,” Glen stepped in. “You’re not getting a castle for a couple of animals.”

“Animals you took, Lord Reeves. I’m being rather generous with the word here.”

“Take them back,” Glen retorted.

“Let him have it,” Sen said, coming to stand next to him, all wrapped up in her cloak. “You don’t want him as an enemy, husband.”

Glen sighed. Sen had absolutely no idea how to bargain for stuff.

“Listen, dear… we’re not givin’ him a castle,” He started, but Phon interrupted him, ogling his eyes.

“Are these dwarfs?” The gem merchant asked, sounding incredulous.

Right, they kept themselves hidden with the caravan.

“Yes, they are. Master Fikumin and Master Norec,” Glen introduced them, having forgotten their full names already.

“Are they with the guild?” The gem merchant asked, extremely interested.

Glen had absolutely no idea.

“I am,” Norec replied stepping forward, looking unhappy per usual.

“Hah, nice to meet you, both of you,” Phon-Iv said, his demeanor changing. “I’m a long standing member of the Merchant’s Guild myself. I would love the opportunity to talk business with your… friends, if you have the time, Lord Reeves.”

Glen scrunched his nose right and left, returning his stare blankly. Then glanced towards Stiles and the two slave girls watching the donkey relieving itself, taking its bloody time and already too tired to even stand upright, he rubbed his eyes hard to fight drowsiness and then stared silently at his dirty boots.

“Lord Reeves?” Phon probed him annoyingly again.

“Fine,” Glen replied with a sigh that turned into a yawn. “But yer not getting a castle, for a plaguin’ donkey.”

Especially this one.

The way that thing traveled, by the time they reached Rida, Glen would probably be an old man with no teeth and a back problem.

And that was Glen being frugal on the consequences.