read it at Royalroad : https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/46739/touch-o-luck-the-old-realms

& https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/47919/lure-o-war-the-old-realms

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& https://www.scribblehub.com/series/547709/the-old-realms/

Famous opening

to Queen Consort’s Sen-Iv Sopat letter,

addressed to Arguen Garth.

Sinya Goras Royal Archives

Last month of summer 190 NC

Glen

Arguen Garth

Hardir O’ Fardor

Monarch O’ Morn Taras

The Last night of summer

Part II

-I've something to show you-

Fikumin stopped writing and watched him shuffling towards his high-back chair. Glen groaned and stretched his hurting back, afore using a firestone to lit Flix’s pipe. He sucked at it with his eyes closed, until the dwarf’s annoying scrutiny forced him to react.

“What?”

“You’ve been gone for almost a week,” Fikumin grunted, all hair and frowning brows.

“We are not married dwarf,” Glen retorted.

“And yet I’m stuck doing the mundane stuff whilst you’re out and about adventuring!”

Glen opened a blurry eye to look at him. “You don’t like taking risks.”

“Not for stupid reasons, I sure don't!” Fikumin blasted him. “How’s the leg?”

“I’m working on it,” Glen replied. “I had to check on the Temple. Got gold for it.”

“Firing Vaelenn was deemed harsh,” Fikumin said.

“By whom? She was injured, better suited to be in the city council.”

“What city council?”

Glen puffed smoke out and grimaced his shoulder hurting him. “Soletha is in and so is Vaelenn. Voldomir to balance them out. You to speak for the rest—”

“First of all, you didn’t answer and second I can only speak for the Folk.”

“The Folk being?”

“My kin, the Gish… old races.”

“The Zilan are not?” Glen asked.

“The Zilan are what they are,” Fikumin defended his response. “Like the humans.”

“Fikumin everyone must have a voice, you will be in the Council. It’s how it’s done,” Glen insisted. “I can’t run all this by myself.”

“Run what Garth?” Fikumin asked and Glen groaned, pushed himself up. Angrein had done a good job with the prosthetic, he decided.

“Say this is a new territory,” Glen explained to him what he hadn’t really put to words himself yet. “A couple of tools are running it, then a more legitimate option comes along. We don’t go into the details, but in order for this new crew to take over, we must ensure business runs smoothly and appears authentic right? With a Monarch in place, a fuckin’ council, or what have you.”

Fikumin stared at him under heavy brows blankly. “You make us sound like a bunch of criminals Garth.”

“Speak for yerself dwarf, but yeah, if you want my opinion all Kings are crooks and criminals. Murderers even. Taking advantage of people under them.”

“And you’re not?”

“I’m not some fuckin’ monk Fikumin,” Glen explained. “Never aspired to be one, nor do I think this is pleasant. But given the opportunity I would be a fool not to take over.”

“Take over?”

“Fikumin there are nuts out there that would slit my throat for fun, suck the marrow out of yer bones and you know it.”

“I told you we should have gone after the Aken, but you didn’t listen,” Fikumin grunted.

“I couldn’t!” Glen blasted him. “Damn you, I’m being hunted down like a dog for years! Never had the chance, or the time to breathe for more than a couple of days afore a new crisis appeared. Oakenfalls, Altarin, Hellsfort, Rida and even Eikenport!”

Fikumin smacked his lips and glared at Metu watching their exchange silently.

Glen eyed Metu himself angrily and the slave started sweating under their scrutiny. “You,” Glen rustled and Metu blinked in horror all but collapsing on the granite tiles. “What’s the Monarch’s house manager called?”

“The Chief Eunuch sire?” Metu croaked shaking uncontrollably.

“Good grief, the other thing,” Glen blasted him. “What my uncle is.”

“A Chamberlain,” Fikumin said.

“There, you be that,” Glen spat. “You’re also a part of the Council.”

Metu prostrated himself afore his feet panicked. “Please sire, I’ve nothing more, don’t put me under the knife!”

Glen shook his head and then kicked him on the head throwing him to the floor like a rag doll. “WHAT’S THIS SHITE?” He bellowed irate. “Who the fuck does that? You plaguin’ idiot! Get this fool on his feet Fikumin.”

The dwarf helped a sobbing Metu up and kept him upright. Glen sighed deeply and all but rolled his eyes at the man’s antics. “Listen up ye stupid turd,” Glen rustled. “You are a free man henceforth. Provided you take the job I’ve just offered you.”

“You get to keep yer jewels as well,” Fikumin elucidated, what should have been bloody obvious.

Metu stopped sniffling and wiped his face with an expensive small towel he produced out of thin air.

“Can I think about it, as a free person Lord Garth?” He asked surprisingly calm.

Glen stared at him for a long drawn out moment afore replying.

“No.”

“No as in,” Metu haggled shamelessly. “Phinariel keeping the cub over your objection?”

Glen’s stare turned right mean.

“No as in, there’s a long road back to civilization on foot, through a jungle and a dark tunnel—”

“I’ll take the job Lord Garth,” Chamberlain Metu blurted cutting him off and set his shoulders back, assuming a haughty expression on his face in the blink of an eye. He turned that proud head to the side and barked with a mighty voice.

“SEEYU!”

A young man popped out of the shadows and run towards them fast. He stopped behind Metu and bowed deeply dropping on his knees hard.

Uh?

“Fuck is he?” Glen asked taken aback.

“Your household’s new slave Lord Garth,” Metu explained and turning kicked the slave hard on the shoulder sending him sprawling backwards with a yelp. “That’s for being late,” he told him and then glanced towards a stupefied Glen. “I had him bought at an excellent prize for you my lord. The slave master had nothing better left unfortunately.”

Ugh.

“Would there be anything else my Lord?” Metu asked him an awkward minute later.

“Not at this moment,” Glen replied and his new Chamberlain bowed his head and left walking confidently. Metu stooped when he reached the slowly getting up Seeyu, snatched his right ear and used it to lead him out of the hall.

Glen glanced at Fikumin, the dwarf had grabbed his big head with both hands in despair.

“I need a Shield dwarf, someone with experience in these matters,” he explained evenly, moving on to more pressing matters. “We need a sane person inside the Council.”

“You need an army as well,” Fikumin hissed. “What about the strays?”

“Let’s not use the term,” Glen admonished him. “Lymsiel?”

“They listen to Maeriel more. Lymsiel has her eyes set on Anfalon, cares little of anything else. How about Sylvar?”

“I don’t trust her and Sylvar won’t cut it.”

“Jinx will want Maeriel in your Council. More voices, you know her,” Fikumin insisted. “Plus a person trusted by their people should take the position for optics.”

“Yeah-yeah fine. Don’t worry about the army. I intent to bring the Dogs here,” Glen yielded. “We’ll use Anfalon as well. He’s solid.”

“That’s a big group Garth,” Fikumin pointed out.

“I need a lot of help. Everyone contributes,” Glen explained and frowned seeing his pipe had gone out.

“You intent to listen to them?”

“Uh? What are you even talking about? You know we can’t have a bunch of fools running this,” Glen grunted and reached for the firestone. “Cut all this democracy bullshit! What are we the plaguin’ Gish?”

“Gods forbid. You’ll need a better house by the way,” Fikumin retorted with a grin. He walked towards his desk and climbed up the chair, the furniture protesting under his weight. “The Castle isn’t finished.”

“Hmm. There’s a trader in Sinya Goras importing stuff, but I think we need to find a way to bring more in.”

“A trade company,” Fikumin murmured. “So you can import what you want in bulk. Or export them for bigger profits.”

“Elucidate dwarf,” Glen said blowing smoke out of his nostrils.

Fikumin nodded as if expecting it and reached to pick up a stack of papers he’d placed next to him. He filtered through them found a parchment and pulled it out of the pile.

“What’s this?” Glen asked him immediately distrusting the sneaky dwarf.

“Petitions Garth,” Fikumin explained. “Merchants, surprisingly not only from the Peninsula, want to know who runs things and befriend him, so they can corner the market.”

“What market?”

“Well apparently this is from a rich merchant from Regia, the man has sent us his captain along with a ship,” Fikumin replied and reached for another scroll. “And this is from a Dokamna merchant company. Apparently they own a small fleet. I have even a letter of introduction from both major banks. The Bank of Trust and the Bank of Dinar want to offer their services Garth.”

“Fuck the banks,” Glen said remembering the mercenary at Eikenport. “Dokamna you say. Where the fuck is that?”

“Lesia,” Fikumin replied with a smirk.

“What do they want? We can only export timber at this point, we’re not exactly running at full capacity.”

“Well strange as it may sound, only Kaltha has access to quality timber,” Fikumin replied thoughtfully. “It seems the North has gone under new management. Even Sovya has stopped exporting.”

“Why would they do that?” Glen asked and sucked at his pipe.

“They are at war,” Fikumin said. “The whole North is torn apart.”

“Who are they fighting with?”

“Most reports mention a rogue Legion,” Fikumin elucidated and Glen nodded not really believing the rumors. Everyone knew, there was only one Legion.

Then again…

Glen remembered the dreams and got up. “Refrain from answering to them,” he ordered Fikumin. “See to sign all the crews working the woods. I mean everyone that can hold an axe dwarf. All the timber is gathered in our warehouses and then we’ll decide who buys it, or not.”

“There are at least ten Zilan carpenters that have created working crews Garth,” Fikumin explained. “Six Cofols on top of them and two Lorians that arrived the previous week.”

“Employ them all,” Glen said with a grimace. “Force them to sign a contract and work for you. Everyone Fikumin. No one cuts grass in Goras without your say so. Metu!” He barked at the end of it.

“You’ll need an ungodly amount of coin Garth,” Fikumin said. “The cover of a Guild.”

“Fuck the Guilds. Make a Trade Guild of our own. Make one for adventurers as well. I have coin,” Glen rustled eyeing the fast moving Metu approaching. “I’ll find more. Secure the crews Fikumin, whatever the cost. You’ll act as the Monarch’s Shield.”

“The Monarch Garth?”

“Of Morn Taras,” Glen replied and stared at the smirking Metu. “You have the strongboxes I’ve brought back taken care off?”

“All six of them lord Garth,” Metu replied readily.

“Bring one up and hand it to Fikumin,” Glen ordered him. “Work out the details and count every gold piece Metu.”

“Your will be done milord,” his Chamberlain replied with a bow.

A baby cackled in the dark of night. Its laughter rang down the massive but empty hall and disturbed his sleep.

‘Come and see’, the nameless dead crooned in the night, many different mouths, only one voice.

‘Rivers flow against the current beyond the Haze Sea.’

‘What thou lost shall be returned to thee.’

Insanity. Fear. Desperation.

Grass and mud on the field, the iron hooves digging it.

The battle’s clamor reaching for him vehemently, rattling the walls and furniture alike an earthquake.

“AAAH!” Glen cried waking up, arms flailing and his bed shuddering. This was a real earthquake. He stumbled to his feet, tripped missing the edge of his bed and went down on a smarting knee, the whole place moving like a ship in a storm, but just as he started panicking, it stopped shaking.

Glen glared at the invisible ceiling, breathing heavy and sweating profusely.

Seeyu who was sleeping on a smaller bed in his first floor bedroom stood up as well looking spooked and a moment later Metu walked in a bit disheveled, but clad in expensive night robes.

“Breakfast is getting ready milord,” Metu said calmly, combing his hair backwards with skillful fingers. “Seeyu will bring it to you.”

“I’ll… come down,” Glen replied and got up from the floor. “But I’ll need a moment before I climb down those stairs. You put a foot wrong and that’s a big fucking drop. I ain’t doing that shite again so soon.”

“Excellent plan my lord,” Metu agreed. “I will deal with mister Fikumin, but there’s a large caravan arriving from Goras Port later today.”

“When you say later?”

“Before noon sire,” Metu replied.

“Good-good. Ahm, hey Metu…” Glen probed. “Did we have an earthquake just now?”

“We did Lord Garth.”

“You’re not surprised at all?”

Metu frowned and thought about it for a moment. “Not really,” he finally replied. “This whole area is basically rich volcanic soil. Good for crops, plentiful in metals, but also very dangerous.”

Glen narrowed his eyes. “Dangerous?”

“I used a strong word. Might I suggest a pair of pants milord?” Metu played it down.

“Explain what you meant,” Glen grunted and caught Seeyu staring at his dangling cock.

It was a hot night.

“As I said milord,” Metu clarified his earlier point, whilst Glen found his torn pants and put them on. “It’s volcanic,” he paused cleared his throat looking at him and added. “I’ll have someone bring your clothes from Vycaris.”

“They’re ready?” Glen probed not expecting it.

“He worked all night milord,” Metu deadpanned. “I insisted.”

Glen spotted Jinx carrying a large chest on her head, keeping it straight with both arms and frowned missing part of Voron’s explanation.

“Come again?” He asked the busy architect.

“A pyramid is the strongest shape Arguen Garth,” Voron repeated reading the notes on his drawings. “But you want a castle built over its base?”

“I don’t like stairs,” Glen explained.

“What’s wrong with stairs?”

“Voron I need this thing finished afore my hair ‘n teeth fall,” Glen grunted.

“I’ll have quarters built on west side, a hall at the center and rooms for personnel on the east,” Voron murmured. “That will leave a garden on the south side.”

“Where will the tower be built?”

“Above the main hall,” Voron replied.

“I want a throne placed there,” Glen said. “What do we have far as materials go?”

“Plenty of granite from the old city walls. You want marble, import it from Regia. They put it in their toilets there.”

“Right well, is there enough granite for the whole construction?” Glen asked wanting to economize on the costs.

“That was a lot walls Arguen Garth,” Voron explained. “What we’re building here is small in comparison. Tiny. But you’ll built everything out of black granite? That’s one gloomy structure.”

Glen stared at the massive footprint of the castle not bothered about aesthetics.

“I like black. Helps on the job,” Voron blinked not getting his meaning. “Anything you need I must know?” Glen asked wanting to wrap this up and Voron puffed his cheeks out mimicking Glen afore answering.

“Guards. We need guards Arguen Garth. There are a lot of foreigners flooding the market. Yesterday’s caravan brought over four hundred people here.”

Shit.

“Cofols?”

“Lorians from Raoz as well,” Voron said and rubbed his tired eyes. He was overworking himself, Glen thought. “Dwarfs of all things, even a couple of Gish.”

“Gish?” Glen asked and glanced at the unstable Jinx heading for the narrow path down the plateau.

“Yeah, plus an adventurers party,” Voron added. “Monster hunters. Loons, crooks and fools have come out of the woodwork the moment the port opened for business.”

“Hey,” Glen called running after the Gish carrying the heavy load. “You need help?”

“Are ye offering to help?” Jinx asked huffing and puffing.

“Would if I could, but I’m injured,” Glen lied with a grin. “But I can find someone.”

“Don’t bother,” Jinx hissed. “I’ll have it brought down myself.”

“Is it empty?”

“Glen I’m strong, not a cyclops,” Jinx snapped. “Of course it’s empty!”

“What do you need it for?”

“I’m not tellin’ ye.”

“Found a place to live yet?” Glen asked going another way.

“We don’t want to stay wit you Glen,” Jinx said patiently.

“I have the room.”

“You have Fikumin there and Metu, the other poor thing. Phina and a small lion. Plus a Wyvern. I need my own place.”

“Fine, but still…” Glen insisted. “We can all stay together.”

“Ask Soren, or Sam Mathews.”

“Eh, Soren snores and I have Fikumin already, but sure if that’s what it takes—”

“Soren lives with Soletha at the port,” Jinx cut him off. “But you haven’t even thought where he was sleeping until now didn’t ye?”

“Whisper I’m busy trying to get us going here,” Glen defended himself, while walking behind her down the path. “I have meetings here and there, also have to navigate a ton of crap and solve problems.”

It was as vague a response ever delivered.

“Didn’t we just come back from an adventuring trip?”

“Sure, but it was profitable,” Glen replied. “And you got all them hides. What did you do with that?”

Jinx stopped to rest and stared at him. “I got a house.”

“Where?”

“Across from yours. Metu has the whole area cordoned as ‘Royal Neighborhood’, but I bought him off,” Jinx explained with a smirk. “Your Chamberlain is corrupt.”

Of course he is.

“I know,” Glen replied. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You knew?”

“Eh, everyone is a crook,” Glen said chuckling. “We’re human Whisper.”

“Do you want to carry the chest some?” Jinx asked hopefully and Glen laughed even harder afore getting serious, even a little disappointed with her.

His reply by now quite renowned.

“No, I don’t.”

Construction crews had started setting up a horseshoe-shaped pavilion at the banks of the Taras Lake, complete with stands and a flattened area at the curve of the road coming from Sinya Goras Exiles District (or Port City as Glen called it) and the Waifs Locality (either Taras City, or Mid City according to Glen) that stood where the Morn Taras Castle road coming down from the Eternal Springs Plateau met the third main road converging there coming from the old Guard Towers and the old Favored District.

Glen paused to watch the Zilan setting up a long balance beam, the type he’d seen in the Circus and bringing in branches and thatch to cover the roof of the many-columned pavilion.

“Nice pants,” Phina said stopping next to him, the cub climbed on her shoulder finding the chance to jump on Glen. He glanced at the teen and noticed she had a pair made as well, probably out of Jinx’s treasure trove of stuff.

“Vycaris said whale skin was much sought after,” Glen said and lowered the whining cub down. “But I always thought what works is always the better option.”

That being said, the snuggly fit black soft-leather pants were fantastic.

“What works,” Phina repeated thoughtfully. “How can you tell Arguen Garth?”

“You just know, like for instance these pants fit you better than they ever did me,” Glen replied with a wicked grin and Phina blushed, her hands fidgeting with her own worked-leather pants, under her simple yellow tunic.

“Hey it’s true,” he insisted.

“Oii Goddess,” the young Zilan gasped suddenly very nervous.

Glen shook his head and eyed Soren carrying a large beam next to a workers crew, Sam Mathews trying to explain something to a disbelieving Kalac, Vaelenn leading a judging group of well-dressed Zilan to a tour of the facilities built near the lake and the market. A nervous Lymsiel waiting to talk with a returning Anfalon leading his trainees back from a ‘tour of the premises’ at full sprint and the noisy crowd gathered around a scowling Fikumin and Metu that were overseeing what was apparently a big holiday back in the day.

“Jinx said the lines around you aren’t visible,” Phina said treading carefully. “What’s real and not, or even proper? Soletha believes you are putting up a benevolent façade and Vaelenn’s story and fate proves it.”

“What do you think?”

“You took me into your home,” Phina replied.

“It’s a big place,” Glen explained. “I know it may seem intimate to your culture, but it isn’t for me. I like you. Soletha wants the Queen’s bans lifted, but she won’t get what she wants. Vaelenn pissed the Wyvern off somehow and she wasn’t fit to be a religious head due to her intolerance. She can be a politician though. And Jinx might give you shitty advice from time to time, but has no malice in her heart. Once you get to know her better you’ll get her thinking.”

“That wasn’t an answer Arguen Garth,” Phina countered. “But I appreciate your words.”

“Call me Glen,” he replied. “You’re a smart kid Phina and you know it was. People have ulterior motives.”

Phina blushed furiously and stooped to pick up a snarling Cat, the cub desperately trying to get away but failing. “That’s even more intimate Garth,” she replied with a pout. “And I’m not a kid.”

“This is from Stiles?” Glen asked Fikumin an hour later, the sun slowly reaching its peak over their heads, the temperature rising despite the humidity of the lake.

“Not all birds make it over the mountains,” the dwarf replied, eyeing the crowd keeping a wide birth around their group, the moment Glen had approached. “So he kept sending reports, adding on the previous ones, until we got to answer him.”

Right, Glen thought, checking on the scroll and then moving to the next one. He paused with a smile recognizing the wax seals of the Reeves and Sopat houses. Glen carefully cracked them open and unfurled the white expensive vellum.

“Ottis has finished the wall, but needs funding to house the refugees flocking to the city,” Fikumin reported what was in Stiles mail, but Glen’s eyes stayed on the intricately written script of the smaller message. My Glen, sweet rogue o' mine, it started and each word flowed into the next, the letters twisting and turning like a painting, impossible to comprehend fully even with his increased understanding of the language. Sen was writing in Common, but her calligraphy kept the heavy influence of the Austere Cofol, a language closer to the Imperial especially in its written form.

Fikumin realizing Glen wasn’t paying him any attention grunted angry, pulled at his long beard, then grabbed at Metu’s long robes and ordered him to get the rest of the correspondence back to his house.

Glen stopped reading the letter, folded it and had it placed inside his satchel carefully. He had spotted -always vaguely aware of his surroundings- the large caravan stopping near the market and effectively blocking the road. Carriages and camels, mules and horses. Almost forty wagons and a row of heavily-armed guards protecting it. The soldiers fanned out creating a cordon around the leading bigger wagons, nervous eyes glaring at the fearful Zilan and bystanders.

He started walking towards the soldiers nervously and the larger crowd around him started following Glen away from the pavilion, whilst keeping their respectful distance. An officer barked an order, a soldier run to the second closed carriage in the line and opened the door for its passengers. A girl jumped down, her red hair caught at the nape.

Ah, Glen thought and stopped dead in his tracks. A stunned Iskay turned her head around not expecting the huge gathering crowd and the soldier rushed to help her set the three-step side ladder on the carriage. Glen scanned the rest of the caravan, merchants and servants pouring out of it and stretching out from the long journey, a painted hobbling man amongst them, he immediately recognized with a frown.

Then the crowd gasped audibly at the white veil covered woman that stepped carefully down the stairs moving at her own pace. Sen-Iv paused to acknowledge the soldier, the man snapping at attention and waved with a small hand Iskay forward, her stare lingering on the waiting Glen. She started walking, taking small cautious steps, her total serenity and regal posture in absolute contrast with the rising restless murmurs of the curious crowd and the nervousness Glen was feeling.

Damn it woman, the ‘former’ thief sulked, sweat running down his scarred face and his stomach tied into a knot. But gradually as Sen approached him slowly, his face relaxed, a wicked smile creeping up on his lips and Glen shook his head right and left at her antics.

Sen-Iv paused a couple of meters from him on purpose and now he could see her famous eyes laughing under the thin veil she’d covered herself with.

“Stories say this is biggest city ever build husband,” Sen’s tranquil voice explained her reasoning.

“I was going to notice you either way,” Glen told her hoarsely. “No city, or crowd will ever be big enough to hide ye from me.”

“Nor you from me. Shall I approach?” Sen-Iv asked teasingly.

“You better,” Glen retorted and she made the rest of the journey to stand in front of him. “Hello there,” he greeted his smiling wife, looking down at her voluptuous form. Sen could appear enticing wrapped in a woolen blanket and her sparkling jewel-laden sheer clothing was made for the exact opposite reason.

“I have something to show you husband,” Sen started sounding unsure, but Glen stopped her impatiently.

“It can wait. I’ve seen enough.”

“It wouldn’t be proper,” Sen-Iv argued, but whether she was serious or not Glen didn’t give a rusted copper. The Monarch of Morn Taras told her as much in fact, afore he swept her off her feet under the incredulous reaction of the large crowd of bystanders.

“I don’t care.”

He turned around and walked towards his villa that was a good hundred meters away. This part Glen hadn’t factored in his spontaneous plan.

“You’ve gotten heavy Sen,” he murmured half-teasing half-serious and she brushed her lips on his neck, her voice a whisper.

“I can walk.”

“We’re way past that,” Glen grunted and soldiered on that huge crowd following behind him the biggest reason.

Ye don’t want to appear a weakling and a cunt afore yer minions.

“You smell pretty nice for a girl that’s been in a carriage for a day,” he noticed casually fifty strides later, his arms by now used to her weight.

“I bathed,” Sen replied and run her finger on the edge of his jaw. “You smell of wet cat.”

“We may have a new pet around,” Glen rustled and eyed the entrance of the house. Seeyu jumped on his feet seeing them approach, followed by half the city. The Zilans one of the most impudently curious races ever created were simply unwilling to leave them alone.

“Never thought you for a kitten person Glen,” Sen giggled as they crossed inside and he carefully set her down huffing and puffing. Glen inhaled once more deep and then abruptly turned to close the doors behind them, shoving a gawking Seeyu outside first.

“It’s a big fuckin’ cat,” he deadpanned and there wasn’t much talking after that.