Glen

Arguen Garth

Hardir O’ Fardor

Monarch O’ Morn Taras

I gave him a biscuit

Glen watched Jinx talk with Phina and Kirk through the open door, a deep frown on his face. She laughed and teased the young Zilan that darn monkey hanging from her neck. His grimace had deepened the moment she’d turned her back and he didn’t have to pretend.

It had taken a lifetime of petty crime and constant lying for him to be able without pause to lie to his closest friends. Dangers everywhere around, old ‘n new conspiracies and ominous nightmares were keeping him on edge. Robbed him of enjoying the best time of his life. He reached for the goblet and poured himself another cup of Zilan wine. The bottles piled next to the table and under it, as every visitor was bringing Hardir something and everyone knew by now that Glen loved wine and redleaf as much as gold.

None of that mattered if he ended up sleeping alone in the streets again, his friends and family gone. A forest of statues in their place. Do you break the pattern? Deny those gone of a place, for people to remember them? The idea wasn’t bad, it was the fact the place was filled with the dead in his dreams that haunted him, whilst now it had only the half-made bust of Marcus, Glen had commissioned.

“Ottis wouldn’t have written of a possible escalation,” Fikumin said, breaking the heavy silence. “Without consulting Stiles,” Glen grimaced and tasted the wine. “He would know of a potential scheme, if there was one.”

Fikumin walked to his chair and climbed on it, then combed his long beard some with a stubby hand, afore speaking again seeing that Glen wasn’t eager to reply.

There was nothing to add really. The matter was clear to him since the beginning.

“If Stiles is committed and Norec in favor of helping come hell or high water, then Ottis’ let us know because this D’Orsi guy is intent on fighting his way in and they aren’t going to let him,” Fikumin said. “Whatever the cost.”

Glen grunted and eyed the silent Metu.

“We can’t help them in time,” he finally said. “Whisper would go even if it’s too late and would get herself killed for naught by beast, or blade.”

“What if—?” Fikumin tried to say, but Glen stopped him raising his left hand, the one missing a couple of fingernails.

“No,” he hissed glaring at the scowling stubborn dwarf. “Stiles has a plan. Ottis is as solid as they come. Brought these people from Rida, was willing to fight Larn at the gates and die. He won’t lose and Norec is too stubborn to let them through.”

“That’s what worries me,” Fikumin told him and Metu sighed deeply the tension getting to him.

“Get yerself together,” Glen snapped at him. “Wipe that remorseful look off yer fuckin’ face, afore someone sees you!”

“Yes my lord,” a chastised Metu blurted. “I’ll see to the affairs of the Council.”

“You do that,” Glen said sternly, a tick on his left eye bothering him. He put a finger on it, whilst Metu left them alone at a fast trot-like walk.

Pretty impressive.

“She’ll not like it,” Fikumin insisted, ever the annoying pillar of integrity.

“I rather her mad at me, than dead,” Glen hissed and stared at his familiar boulder-sized head.

“What of this mission?” the dwarf grunted.

“Sam has this insane idea these people up and left all together,” Glen replied dismissively. “Some grand mystery force leading them into the jungle some-fuckin-how,” he finished his wine clenching his jaw. “A bunch of bullshit. They’ll run around in circles, Maeriel will make sure of it. Lead them to see the sights and come right back.”

“Who does she think the tracks were from then?”

“Who the fuck cares?” Glen snapped. “It could be anyone! We had five thousand drunken folk stumbling about for a couple of days!”

“I have a meeting with a Regia merchant,” Fikumin said after a tense moment of sulking from both of them.

“Uhm,” Glen said and walked to his large chair at the center of the still empty hall. Sen had furnished the first floor, the girls’ room and their bedroom, but the main floor’s expansive reception area remained relatively barren, with only a small bed for Fikumin added at the room across from the kitchen.

“They want double the amount of timber we currently produce, but they prefer we shoulder the transporting part to Jelin. They are concerned with the pirates raiding the trade route,” Fikumin added and approached, small feet thudding on the tiles.

“Well we need the timber for the castle,” Glen murmured and rubbed his face with both hands, the wood rough on his naked back. He stared at his maimed foot, the wound healed, but grotesque and frowned.

“We could increase production,” Fikumin argued. “But you are giving Anfalon all the able-bodied strays and several humans have petitioned to join.”

“Why?”

“You signed a decree that anyone wanting to buy land, or a house in Sinya Goras must be a citizen. In order for one to be a citizen he must serve the city and its Monarch. Serving in Anfalon’s ‘unit’ seems like the easiest and cheapest way.”

“I did?”

“The Council did, you agreed,” Fikumin explained. “I may have signed it.”

“Right,” Glen said and smacked his lips. “I need the soldiers Fiku,” he finally said. “Tell them we can’t help with their problem.”

“The Guild could create a couple of crews with lumberjacks, give them housing in return,” Fikumin insisted, set on finding allies in another continent.

Glen didn't want anyone having a say in his business.

“We’ll pay them instead, I want them committed afore I allow them to stay Fiku,” Glen argued. “How are we going to transport the extra loads of timber? We have one bargue wit an unwilling, wayward, habitually drunk Captain dreaming of plunder. We need bigger ships for that.”

“Would the pirates help?”

“It’s one thing to make a deal allowing us a free, un-harassed trade route for me and mine,” Glen reminded him. “Another to make them partners in the business of wood, goods and valuables. They’ll rob us blind and I won’t begrudge them for doing it.”

Glen was smoking, still sitting by himself on his throne, the old Gish’s pipe in hand. His mind pulled in many directions. The strange voice lurking in the dagger, the ever missing Uvrycres and the enigmatic Zilan named Aenymriel. He glanced in the empty hall trying to find Din, but the Zilan assassin was nowhere to be seen.

He almost missed his wife’s approach. Sen-Iv moved his arm away and sat sideways on his lap, crossing her legs to the left of him unhurriedly.

“You didn’t come,” Sen whispered looking in his gloomy face.

Glen allowed his free hand to caress the soft skin up her thighs, fingers playing with the finishing of her loose tunic. A hint of fragrance reached his nostrils when she moved closer.

“Is she with the girls?” He asked her and Sen touched his chest above his heart, long nails teasing.

“She is sleeping,” his wife reassured him. “What did you decide?”

“I can’t help them,” Glen told her and set his pipe down to free his other hand. “I sent Whisper with Maeriel and Sam on that mission.”

“Is that wise?”

“Can’t keep her locked in here,” Glen replied. “For now.”

“Mmm,” Sen murmured. “You always worry about her. She’s a big girl. Soren hehe. He’s fine. All of them are.”

“They believed in me when things looked dire, I feel responsible,” Glen replied uncomfortable.

“They believed in Lord Reeves and rode on your coattails. They followed you on their own volition,” Sen told him. “Yes they are friends and I like them all. The boys in Eikenport as well. They helped me bring our daughter to this world, but you’re not responsible for them being here, or for some princess with ambitions.”

“That mercenary company came to Eikenport for me,” Glen told her, a nimble hand snaking under her silk tunic.

“Why?” Sen asked huskily, sensing his interest peaking under the towel.

Fuck, Glen thought. I shouldn’t have said that.

“I owe the bank money,” he blurted out as Sen-Iv’s face loomed over his, her breath hot on his face.

“Pay them back. You’re not the first lord in debt, nor will you be the last,” Sen purred absentmindedly and kissed him.

It wasn’t a loan dear, Glen thought and then his mind switched off completely.

“Hardir,” Lyceron greeted him a day later, the Zilan clad in his hoplite armour. “Are you joining us in training tomorrow?”

Glen stared at the open field surrounding the barracks Anfalon had constructed near the road to Morn Taras. “I had a tooth loosened the other day Lyceron,” he told him with a grimace, seeing Anfalon flooring a human cadet with a stick right at the solar plexus. “How are the new recruits?”

“Very slow.”

“They’ll get up to speed,” Glen assured him.

“I meant very slow in their reactions,” Lyceron elucidated with a toothy grin.

Ah.

The handsome Zilan was the talk of the unattached ladies. A fast learner, according to Anfalon, for a plebe former gatherer and a half-idiot.

Glen didn’t trust him since the festival, when he popped up in front of his wife, wearing a skirt, all oiled up and with his meaty cock dangling underneath. You can’t want that kind of shite around yer girls, he thought.

“As I said,” Glen repeated through his teeth. “Give ‘em time. Is Laedan inside?”

“He is.”

“What’s his mood?”

“Still paralyzed and drooling down his mouth.”

“That bad?”

“It’s his act, can’t change it now,” Lyceron retorted wittily.

“Kirk will guard the door, if that’s what yer doing,” Glen told him. “You’re free to rejoin the others.”

“If that is alright with you Hardir,” Lyceron deadpanned ever the smartarse. “I’ll keep him company.”

Glen nodded with another glance at the trainees carrying the unresponsive human out of the field. Anfalon crooked his mouth in disgust, turned to the others, long stick in hand and barked.

“NEXT!”

Laedan, the former Denmaster, saw him entering and groaned.

“The crook has returned,” he griped, using a hemp cloth to wipe the side of his face still paralyzed from Soren’s punch. “Where’s the murdering cunt?”

“Ye weren’t as brave in front of her last time,” Glen noticed and the thin wiry Zilan grunted.

“You need me and she needs you, didn’t know it then.”

“Uhm, so why?” Glen asked him.

“We are not friends, what is it today? Arguen Garth?”

“We could be,” Glen said.

“That’s what Vaelenn thought and lost an arm and her position,” Laedan accused him. “You have that old brute keep me in here.”

“You did try to kill me and ate one of my men and a bit of another.”

“Eh, he was dead already and a man can lose more body parts sharpening a knife in his kitchen. You’ll chain a man for that?”

“You can walk outside and I see no chains,” Glen told him, keeping his composure. “Word is you like free food and doing no work at all.”

“Pfft, I was speaking in jest. You really expect me to grab a shovel and slave away for you?”

“I want to know, if I can trust Aenymriel,” Glen grunted. “You were in the court, so you know things others don’t.”

Laedan walked to the door and glanced outside.

“She’ll have trouble with you haha,” he chuckled, saliva running down his mouth. “You don’t give a shit about nothing am I right?”

“I can keep a secret,” Glen told him.

“Hmm, I bet you have plenty of those, but her you should be careful around,” Laedan said and walked back into the room he used inside the large barracks. Judging by the boxes, the weapon stands and the shields, it was the armory. “She’s insane you know. Or that was the rumor and she used it to make everyone keep their distance.”

“So she could run her business undisturbed,” Glen added and Laedan eyed him for a moment afore nodding.

“That’s right.”

“Who knows about her?” Glen asked.

“Anfalon, he’s ancient, probably watched her growing up. Those in the palace I suppose and the Elderbloods. No one else here,” he gave him a knowing look. “She’ll keep it that way, whether you keep your mouth shut or not.”

Glen licked his lips disturbed at the implication.

“Any of these older bloodlines around?”

“No. Elderbloods, Elderborns they got wiped out, much as the rest of us,” Laedan said. “Where’s the Wyvern?”

Nah, Glen knew a couple of ladies that weren’t.

Lith that is. The sorceress he had barely caught a glimpse off.

“Don’t know,” Glen replied.

“He’ll come back,” Laedan said thoughtfully. “You have to prepare the den for him, else he’ll roam about in the city. You don’t want that.”

Glen wasn’t sure he could convince Uvrycres to live under the temple.

“How did you keep them inside before?” Glen asked curious.

“They were born there,” Laedan looked at him. “Where did you hatch it? The egg.”

“In the desert. It’s almost a year now,” Glen replied and Laedan stood back shocked.

“He’s that young?”

“Sure. Why?”

“Why didn’t he fly away?” He asked avoiding his query sounding bewildered, whilst cleaning the side of his mouth with the cloth.

“I gave him a biscuit,” Glen deadpanned.

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

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