Lure O' War (The Old Realms)

Glen

Arguen Garth

Hardir O' Fardor

Lord of Morn Taras

Monarch of Wetull

King beyond the Pale Mountains

Aniculo Rokae

Duath Erin I Menel

Malantur O' Furu

Rhu Fareno

King of the Isles

Part I

-A nest of thieves-

Coal Isle before the Fall (1st & 2nd Era)

RRREEEE REE!

Glen winced, irritation flickering across his face as the interruption pulled his focus from Sir Alan's words. He'd trouble paying attention to people traditionally and upon noticing the wyvern beginning to trouble the caravan all his concentration was sucked away from Sir Alan Kirk. The Monarch let out a resigned sigh and gestured for the mounted knight to move away.

"I'm coming!" He growled and rushed near the large wyvern blocking the road. "Stop scaring the animals! Can't you just stay by the side of the road for a couple o' fucking minutes?"

RRREEEEEE!

Oh, fer crying out loud! Glen cursed inwardly.

They had caught up with Sir Alan Kirk's returning to Goras caravan, two days after leaving Abarat behind them, but the wyvern was in a prickly mood since the previous morning, not agreeing with Glen's slow pace and many stops.

The King of Wetull climbed on the wyvern's back, and waved reassuringly at the watching officials and Rokae watching them.

"We'll meet in Morn Taras again friends!" Glen yelled and he paired it with a fierce smile, the mask translated poorly. While the idea of a helm to hold the Crown of Horns and incorporate Zaos mask was solid in theory, in practice the helm was pretty heavy and heated up quickly under the sun.

Fortunately the summer was over, although the weather had remained extremely warm in Wetull's close to tropical climate.

LET'S GO! Uvrycres roared in his head and Glen nodded for the wyvern to leap towards the skies with a protracted shriek that scattered the remaining camels, horses and ostriches underneath them, even forcing two wagons to collide in the middle of the road. There's goes their day, Glen thought, his mind on the witch and the events that had occurred in Abarat.

Since the saddle offered him the opportunity, the Monarch allowed the wyvern to pick a path and relaxed to put his thoughts in order.

An hour of reflection later –most of it just dosing off in the comfy saddle, the now helmless Glen noticed they were heading south towards the sea and stirred forward, his free hand busy shoving unruly hair out of his face.

Not wearing the helm came with a messed head of hair.

Eh.

"Where are you going?" Glen asked looking down perturbed.

I like flying over the shores for the extra moisture! Uvrycres hissed. Plus the wind is keeping your snoring from my ears!

"Fine. Fly lower so I can see Voron's progress," Glen retorted with a yawn.

That Voron is at Elauthin! Uvrycres snapped. Alan just told you that!

"Ah. Make a brief detour?" Glen offered and a frustrated wyvern turned to the west, away from Quiceran's ruins. In no time they flew over Glae-Lin Tul, the Shallow Lakes Lands of Lord Suraer, then soared over the Aqueduct south of Geeze's Feet peaks and approached Baltoris Port from the east.

The scenery and the voyage itself were awe-inspiring. Glen had come to value the experience of flying over time. Although it was a perilous undertaking, hours of practice had enabled him to unwind and observe the landscapes below more clearly, especially when he wasn't distracted by other endeavors –let's say like sleeping.

Still, the rich terrain of Wetull, which had once seemed strange and foreign to the young man and moderately famous ruler, now appeared more recognizable, no longer just a painted map relief within the depths of a ruin.

The towering Crimson Palace, a striking red pyramid temple with a tip made out of gold, emerged into view as the wyvern soared over the harbor and began its descent. Uvrycres touched down gracefully, aided by the spacious, flat square that lay before the pyramid. The stiff from the journey Glen made a leap and landed with a slight bounce, drawing the attention of the group of Zilan officials who had gathered to witness their arrival.

One of them an Eodrass priest, followed by a bland-faced temple attendant he vaguely remembered, quickly approached the stretching King interrupting his gymnastics. Landing had rattled his spine, as Glen had turned heavier with the years despite his efforts all summer to return to a healthier lifestyle and adventuring. The muscles were there to prove it, but the King still felt sluggish.

It's all the armour and weapons, he decided with a nod at the Zilan's deep bow and greeting.

Probably those camel steaks from yesterday. Sturdy meat that, tasting of beef when served with boiled potatoes and bread.

He was a little hungry again truth be told.

"Arguen Garth, the sun shall shine brighter today to stand witness to thy arrival!" The Zilan said in formal archaic Imperial, amidst a bunch of other things Glen missed and then swiftly bowed at the 'whistling' wyvern also. Uvrycres was trying to clean his clogged nostrils and the weird sound was just a byproduct of his efforts.

"Let's hope it does not," Glen retorted, trying to remember the Zilan's name and failing. "Ahm, I noticed ships moored in the port. Is the harbor fully operational?"

Rubbaer? Grubbeir?

"Not fully, Lord Garth," the Zilan replied. "The Palace is mostly restored though, so we can visit it immediately."

Glen wasn't going to climb up all those stairs without a proper reason –like a matter of life and death or above, so he grimaced not pleased with the suggestion. "The floors are stable then? Because I can still see a pretty big crack on the sides? One might even call it a proper hole!"

"Not really, but it's better than what it was before feted Garth," the Zilan assured him. Both he and Glen were distracted for a moment by the Priest's deep chanting and offering prayers towards the wyvern.

"Ummm," the baritone priest went, throwing some words in and probably making no sense even to himself. "Ummm."

"Right. I noticed this part of the road is finished," Glen said with a severe grimace. "So, I wanted to speak to Voron… can you tone it down man? I can't hear myself thinking, for fuck's sake!"

"Ummm. Umm," the priest went in response and walked away from them to continue his chanting.

"Lord Voron's crews are at the bridge Garth. The port gates," the official replied.

The Port Gates were a realm away from the actual port itself. Glen turned his head around to stare at the mist covered shores in the distance. Several Zilan and a few humans walked towards the Crimson Palace, mostly wandering tourists and visiting merchants. The red pyramid cast its shadow over the open square around it and the columned road leading to Baltoris' Port. Beyond it, over what once was a canal, stood the ruins of Elauthin reduced to an island covered in thick mist. The mist hid what the volcanic blast had either destroyed or left shattered behind, like treacherous reefs and a bit further to the south the massive island of Nureria once connected with the city's center with a land bridge.

"Rubbaer, my friend," Glen said –a total guess on the name, the blandishment just sugarcoating- as he'd noticed a shifty fellow standing next to a group of visitors, wearing a raised hood despite the heat.

"Robiros, your grace," Robiros corrected him politely.

"I've a thick accent," Glen retorted unwilling to yield the mistake, and pointed a finger at the human-looking person standing about twenty meters away. "Who is that guy? He seems familiar."

"I wouldn't…" Robiros furrowed his blue brows and the guy upon noticing the King pointing his way turned around to walk away. He started walking slowly at first down the columned road, but Glen's voice made him go faster.

"Hey," Glen roared, half-certain the guy was a crook. "You shifty fucker! Halt right there!"

The guy started sprinting instead of stopping, made a hard left behind one of the columns to cut Glen's line of sight and then bolted it towards the Baltoris' Port buildings as fast as he could. You couldn't really see the port from there due to the mist, but Glen knew the geography of the place by now.

He believed he knew the local terrain perhaps the most accurate wording.

"Damn it! He's trying to get away!" The Monarch bellowed to alert any nearby guards. "He's going for the port!" He added and started after the hooded guy in an attempt to test his own stamina and justify all the summer exercises.

Robiros followed after the running King along with several bystanders, the latter confused on the purpose of the sudden exertion.

Glen turned around whilst running after the fast, suspicious person to roar at the idling Wyvern. "Go after him Uvry! Come on man!"

What for?

"He's getting away?"

From whom?

Glen's legs burned and his thighs screamed from the sudden exertion, as he came to a faltering halt. "Luthos stepped on his plaguing cock!" he cursed, bending over his knees to catch his breath, his pulse thundering in his ears. "Robiros, keep after him!" He urged with a sudden burst of energy, raising his flushed sweaty head. "He's already at the port, Allgods damn it!"

Robiros halted instead of continuing, which caused the rest of the Zilan and humans pursuing the hooded figure to pause in turn, confusion etched on their faces. "The port is far away, Garth," he replied, but Glen snapped back, determination laced with fury soaring in his words.

"Don't be foolish! If I can run, so can you! A healthy Zilan should easily outrun a human!"

"It's over twenty kilometers, my lord—close to thirty, and I was never an athlete," Robiros countered trying to remain respectful.

Glen paused –mouth opening and closing as the Monarch struggled for air, then raised a hand to buy himself a moment before responding, his tone surprising sober.

"I'll need a horse… posthaste," Glen said and sucked a huge mouthful of oxygen, before turning to glare at the yawning wyvern that had stood back near the pyramid.

"A horse for the Monarch!" Robiros ordered those closest to them. "For what purpose, your grace? The good people wish to know, myself included."

Glen licked his dry lips and then puffed out exasperated. He stared at the heavy mist the man had disappeared into and then shook his head in disappointed silence.

"Robiros," he told the confused Zilan official -Glen still couldn't remember what Robiros' official position was in Baltoris Port district of Elauthin. "Mate I'm sorry, but you're doing a piss poor job here. A shady man comes within twenty meters of the Monarch and not one of your guards are near or even react."

"Guards sire?" Robiros asked even more confused. "These are tourists."

"Exactly what I'm talking about," Glen grunted. "We lose time whilst the man gets away! Where are your trusted people policing this city? For crying out loud, you're supposed to be in control!"

"Garth," Robiros retorted with a grimace, making another attempt to remain polite with the excited Monarch out of fear of the sauntering near them large Wyvern. "I'm an archaeologist, not the local mayor. There are no guards here but a navy detachment in the port. This is not a city anymore, it's just a site."

Glen pursed his mouth and heard the priest returning –still humming- right behind the wyvern.

Fuck's sake, the King of Wetull cursed. Not him again!

"Get me that horse," he hissed and Uvrycres intervened.

Let's eat the horse 'n fly back to the port!

Glen paused unsure and cast a suspicious glance at the snarling wyvern.

It was a dragon grin with plenty of onyx-black large teeth.

"Didn't you just say—?"

He's getting away Glen! Uvrycres roared theatrically and the Monarch's face got ravaged by an annoying tick to his eye, a large vein popping in the middle of his tanned forehead.

"Fine," he grunted and waved Robiros away in order to offer space to the wyvern for maneuvering. Glen didn't much care if the chanting priest got hurt, but the bastard didn't, diving for the ground when the wyvern twisted around to leap for the skies.

Uvrycres moved so fast the still seething by the local incompetence Glen, almost vaulted himself off of the saddle and back onto the granite-tiled, nicely columned boulevard that led to the Crimson Palace.

"That's a nimble Sloop!" The still rattled Glen yelled, pointing at the ancient docks. "Land near enough so I don't have to walk!"

Uvrycres managed a tight landing and Glen was off the saddle even before the wyvern came to a full stop, and then quickly run here and there in order to spot the hooded man amidst the few groups of Zilan mostly working on repairing the facilities.

No sign of him was there and the Monarch gave it some more time, trying to calculate the distance they had travelled in less than three minutes. Deciding a horse couldn't have made it, he waited another twenty minutes returning to the Wyvern to dig out a flask of water out of the saddlebags. He noticed Uvrycres appeared distracted and agitated, which was in contrast with his lazy stance when not flying about.

"What's the matter wit you?" The Monarch asked after he glugged down half-a-flask of water to cool himself off.

Interesting… hmm.

"Yes?" Glen prompted him for more details.

Intriguing… scent, the Wyvern murmured sniffing audibly at the port air. It stunk of fish, saltwater and rotting wood from the boats moored there, the modified Sloop once again drawing Glen's attention for a moment.

Not recent… but still arousing.

"Come again?" Glen retorted, fixing his gaze on the Wyvern's striking burgundy eyes. "You're behaving weirdly. Weirder than normal," he continued, taking a moment to observe a cluster of Zilan conversing with a marine while subtly eyeing the Monarch. Glen's armor and the Wyvern were as conspicuous as a sore thumb in the midst of the ancient port.

You are weird! The wyvern shrieked and then glared at their small audience warningly.

"What?" Glyn snapped.

Staying in Abarat. Following the Witch around and pretending you've great interest in restoring the garden. Planting trees and repairing dirt roads! Vines and provincial pavements! I see what's going on here!

"A Monarch has many duties friend. Some of them mundane," Glen defended his actions with a sour grimace and many untruths. "He must also tackle strange problems and be open to commune with—"

Cut the bullshit! Uvrycres growled. She doesn't want it. She's still shook.

"My friend. A woman's subtle rejections, are naught but a secretive yes."

Really? Who says that?

"Glen the Wise has frequently divulged many such words of wisdom."

Sounds like a self-serving idiot to me!

"You are clueless on these matters. It's the sad truth. I was like you in my youth," Glen said stiffly, but in a didactic manner. "The conversation is also purely hypothetical –baseless even! Because I stayed in order to take care of matters of state!"

Be careful not to drown in yer pile of fresh lies. Uvrycres retorted and after a small pause he added sadly. You didn't do that with Sen.

"Didn't do what?" Glen grunted, getting fired up.

You know very well, but I can finally understand. You never got the chance or perhaps you respected her wishes too much. I heard the story many times. You talk a lot when you are drunk and miserable. That deal with the Sopat was a blessing, but you missed out in the little things and a chance to conquer the bigger ones.

The Monarch furrowed his brows. "The little things? Conquer…?" he murmured and then puffed out. "She's an asset, I want to be able to exploit in a non-sexual manner. It's a strategic thing."

Bah, even a toddler can see you're lying! Want to know why?

"Why?"

It's all you do Glen.

"That dude played a disappearing act on us, didn't he?" A frustrated Glen said, changing the subject. The wyvern sniffed at the air once more and then sprawled its long body on the ground.

I saw no man, or a rider, Uvrycres said stiffly and Glen grimaced very annoyed.

"Hey," he told the Imperial Marine who sprung to attention and then saluted slowly. "You know who I am?"

"Hardir O' Fardor," the marine replied matter-of-factly with a glance at the resting on its belly Onyx Wyvern right behind Glen. Uvrycres snorted and then whipped the air with its tail.

"Alright… ah, good. Anyone… ehem, anyone here spotted a short man wearing a hood sneaking into the port? He must have come straight here. Maybe to that ship? Is it local?"

"We arrived just before you did sir. The men are on a lunch break. As for the ship, it came from Goras yesterday," the Zilan soldier reported.

"Merchants?"

"That's a negative. Usually fetches explorers or tourists. It shall take on supplies on the morrow and leave us. It comes and goes very randomly. Hasn't been around for more than a year afore popping out of the mist yesterday. Captained by Rigger Vance," the marine gave a shrug and the other Zilan present nodded agreeing with him. "He's up there."

"Vance?" Glen grunted and eyed a sailor watching from the sailing ship's deck. A custom full rebuild into a nimble sloop from a different, much bigger ship –maybe a brig originally, lower and narrower in profile and carrying extra turning sails. It read Celeste on its sides, but the sculpted rails screamed of a Zilan vessel somehow piloted by humans. The balding human offered him a crooked smile, only a couple of good original teeth still in there. Not much gold either, mostly cheap, tarnished copper and blackened silver. You want to talk to this scallywag from a safe distance. His spit might be toxic! Glen thought and stepped towards the ship to address the watching them sailor. "Mister Vance?"

The sailor sucked at those horrible teeth, moved the material about in his mouth and then spat a fat blob of phlegm over the deck rails. Then he took a long moment to process the straightforward query afore replying. "He's asleep," he told Glen at the end of it.

"It's the middle of the fucking day and not by a lot," Glen grunted in frustration with the man's stalling. "Who are you?"

"Tack. Friends call me 'Nasty'. It's a jest," the sailor replied all serious –or maybe seriously inebriated and then pursed his mouth to keep a burp in. "Who be you? Yer armour is fancy."

"Thank you. It's a special order for the King of Wetull," Glen replied patiently. "My friends call me, the Great Garth."

"Ah. Fer sure you look the part, Great Garth," the man replied, though he didn't sound very convinced. "Right it is then."

"What is?" Glen asked a little confused with the jargon Tack was using. The pirate and sailor version of the Common.

"Exactly," Tack agreed with a slow blink of the eyes and Glen wondered whether the man was a full-blown idiot –not uncommon in this realm, a drunk –also quite common, or was just doing it on purpose.

"Did a strange man look for shelter on your ship in the last half hour?" Glen asked again warningly, as he was certain Tack had heard their conversation.

"Didn't see no one."

"That's a double negative Tack. You saw him then?" Glen grunted. "Listen, I'm coming up."

"Nah. You ain't," Tack retorted and burped again. "The ship is full at this time. We've paying passengers and they want their peace 'n quietness. Ayup. It's not that big a vessel, my Lord. Most of the brothers sleep on the deck or in the cargo hall."

Fuck's sake.

"Are you making fun of me? Are you an idiot?" Glen blasted him.

"He's drunk. Always is, when he's on duty to make it through and so it happens, the first supplies we took on were two big cases of rum –now fully empty," a female voice said and then a familiar figure landed near the blinking Tack. Glen was certain the sailor was about to deny he had anything to drink or perhaps that he was on duty at all. Ha-ha. "This is Arguen Garth, Tack," Valydra explained. The Mori-Zilan female smiled at the watching them with mirthful suspicion Monarch, her ornate eye-patch gleaming in the strong sun. "The Monarch himself… with his wyvern?"

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

"How do I know that? Never seen him afore," Tack asked with a grimace. "He looks a hundred years old and there's plenty of talk about wyverns around these parts."

Really? News travel fast, I suppose, Glen thought with a scowl directed at Tack.

"Luthos help us. He doesn't mean it Garth," Valydra intervened and then turned to the sailor. "I just told you. Now go take a nap," Valydra said, this time soothingly. "I'll speak with the kind Monarch."

"Vance said to not allow anyone to board the ship," Tack argued defensively.

"The client is in command, yes?" Valydra insisted and she'd a huskiness in her voice Glen appreciated. A killer pair of hips also. Very fit… for them tight pants, he noted trying to appear disinterested. Valydra, bowed once and added, after she pirouetted to look down at the stiff Monarch. "Your grace, please. You can board the ship."

"Um," Glen murmured and walked towards the plank to climb aboard.

"Lord Garth," the exotic Mori-Zilan thief greeted Glen after he'd navigated the plank bridge to get onboard. "We meet again so soon… and in such an unexpected manner! I'll try to keep your secret safe," she added conspiratorially.

"You don't have to," Glen retorted keeping his distance from the famed 'long-armed' thief. "It's been handled."

"Oh." Valydra said standing back. "How is she?"

"How is… who?" Glen asked, not expecting to be the one under questioning. "I'm looking for a man wearing a hooded cloak. Auburn hair, maybe reddish, short as fuck and probably yer colleague, now that I think about it."

"Sounds like Ryker," Valydra said looking at him intently.

"Aha. He was trying to be sneaky about the whole thing but I spotted him. Is he here?" Glen asked with a flinch when Tack, who walked slowly towards the ship's stern, tripped over a coiled rope and crashed badly on two large crates, breaking apart one of them.

For a drunk as a skunk idiot, Tack can sure pull off a convincing sober person for a while, Glen thought. But nothing lasts, I suppose.

Rest in pieces you dumb fuck.

"I'm alright!" Tack yelled raising his arm from the packed with debris deck.

Ha-ha.

"Damn it," Valydra cursed. "You'll wake him up Tack!"

"Vance? Ryker?" Glen asked to steer the conversation back to his earlier query.

"Nulanos," Valydra murmured sounding worried and unsure. "Eight. Eh. Shit," he cursed staring at Glen's blank face.

The King grinned reassuringly, figuring out the reason for her discomfort.

"I know who Neil is," he told her. "Is he here?"

"Right. What did Ryker do?" Valydra dodged. "Considering his moniker, it's pretty humiliating you picked him out of a crowd so easily."

"What's his moniker?" Glen queried with a smile at the slippery female thief trying to steer their discussion to many places so they would go nowhere.

"Phantom. He was just out to visit the temple. He's pretty devout Garth," Valydra replied with an appetizing smirk.

The cock-stirring variant.

"Sure. I like to visit old temples as well. Search for the divine amidst the riches of their ruins. Relocate valued objects of faith in order to protect them from wear and tear," Glen deadpanned before he could catch himself and Valydra raised a thin blue eyebrow tauntingly. Oh, you tricky wench, trying to buy without selling, he thought and got serious. "Two things you've said sounded intriguing."

"Phantom Ryker is a good man," Valydra defended the thief.

"Fuck Ryker. Where's Neil?" Glen retorted. "What are you lads be doing here?"

"It's an excursion," Valydra replied and moved her braided hair over a long ear to show off a large diamond earring and a nice neck. "I wanted to visit Elauthin."

"Not much left of it, I hear," Glen replied mockingly with a glance south at the misty waters of the canal. "Difficult to sightsee, if you stay aboard yer ship and most of the city is blown to pieces."

"We're tired," Valydra breathed out. "Neil is out from the journey."

"Really? It's been a day since you've arrived, I was told. Did you guys rock the boat for the duration?" Glen taunted. "That was a long arse fucking!"

"Can you keep your voice down? Please your grace?" Valydra asked anxiously.

Glen stood back and stared in the Mori-Zilan's dark face. "Why are you here Valydra? Looting afore the King has a chance to do it first is prohibited. Speak or I shall yell loud enough to wake the dead."

"You just made that rule up," Valydra protested with a frown and Glen sighed deeply.

Then tipped his head back and roared with a hoarse voice.

"Neil! Buddy! Where are you mate?"

"Stop it," Valydra hissed.

"NEIL! I BROUGHT THE WYVERN!" Glen yelled even louder and caught the attention of the marine's group, the ones he was talking to earlier.

On the seemingly quiet ship itself, a disheveled pirate-looking sailor -hidden behind a water barrel to their right- stood up abruptly and blinked his eyes a couple of times startled. At the same time, the door of the captain's quarters opened also and another human stepped out.

"Who was that? Be barking during nap time!" The bearded man yapped looking about the deck for the culprit. Then he spotted the smirking Glen with the furious Valydra, opened his mouth to admonish both of them, but caught out of the corner of his right eye the snoring Wyvern sprawled at the docks near his ship and recoiled in horror. "Fat-titted Ticu be dancing on Chevalier Burton's grave! Shite!" The man grunted and then grimaced trying to navigate the unexpected development. "Damned Safford! What in the salted-fuck you be doing standing there? Don't gaze me way all ogle-eyed like a horny ostrich! There's a… wyvern, next to the plaguing ship!" He snapped at the other sailor, the one who had been sleeping behind the water barrel.

"Captain… I stand innocent," Safford protested and stood up. A scarred man in his late forties. "I reject the insinuation since I had nothin' to do with any of this weird hullabaloo. It was Tack's shift!"

"I hurt me arm," Tack said from where he'd crashed on the empty cases. "This is the King of Wetull be visiting us!"

"Ah, the misery," Captain Vance recoiled with a shiver and a fierce forced grin –surely it was him, Glen deduced. "I mean… but of course. Milord King… ehm, welcome aboard," Vance managed to say after a couple of false starts and saved it with an elaborate deep bow, a hand holding his large hat.

Right behind him a groggy, half-naked Neil appeared coming out of the cabin's door. The Thieves Guild leader looked at Glen confused at first, then even more confused at the port's facilities, before finally settling his eyes on the nervous Valydra. She had managed to slip behind Glen in the meantime and looked much like Ryker had earlier.

Ready to bolt for the boarding plank.

"Sweet Milva," Nulanos said in a raspy, sleeping voice and yawned. "This doesn't look like the port of Mussel."

"Haha. Just go back to sleep Neil. You are too tired and very confused right now," Valydra assured him all sugary. "I'll join you?"

"Enticing," a smirking Nulanos admitted and then stared in Glen's sober face. "Lord Garth unmasked. I take it with the presence of the wyvern, you're not here incognito?"

"Nope," Glen replied. "Are you?"

"Give me a moment to get my bearings," a tired Neil said looking around him. "The last thing I remember is eating a meal in Mussel."

"Do you know where you are?" Glen asked cracking up a smile, as he'd sort of figured out what had happened. Not everything, but enough.

"Is that shining thing on the sky the top of Crimson Palace? Because the sun is on the other side," Neil asked and went to help Tack on his feet, walking past Captain Vance.

"Yep," Glen replied.

"Damn it Milva," Neil protested in a civil manner and gestured for his love-partner to approach. "How much of the hunter's drug did you use? I'm a big boy honey, but not an elephant."

Ten minutes later

Vance's Captain's quarters

Glen walked past Tack, the bruised sailor was squeezing his eyes comically –as if still not fully convinced Glen was who he claimed he was, but the Monarch could now smell the rum on his clothes and breath, so there was no doubt the man was completely drunk out of his wits.

"You got some very functioning alcoholics in yer crew mister Vance," Glen told the accommodating Captain with the fierce black beard and brick red hat.

"Aye milord King, we do auspiciously. They are hard to come by," the captain agreed with a creepy smirk and moved out of the doorway to allow Glen to go after the couple. Valydra and Neil stopped talking when Glen walked inside the small cabin.

"Am I going to be jumped when I walk out?" Glen asked the two thieves. "Knifed in the kidneys?"

"Vance is laying low for his own reasons and making some coin for it," Neil replied with a reassuring gesture. "He won't cross us, but keep your guard up just in case. There are worse characters than just thieves in this crew."

"Couldn't you find a more… respectable crew?"

"I just learned about the journey," Neil replied. "SETC has commandeered all vessels out of Mussel, imposed curfew and those still making the rounds are sailors of opportunity. It's a risky journey through the Reefs, so most folk prefer to use Hardir's roads."

"What's so important in these parts?" Glen asked. "I flew over Cydonia Cazan. Not much to see through the mist, but sunken land, peaks and abandoned islands that are difficult to reach."

"What about people?" Valydra asked and Neil grimaced.

"Let me handle this part Milva," he told his lover.

"I haven't seen anyone. Wasn't really looking that closely," Glen admitted. "I signed an order for an expedition to the isles, but I'm told more resources are needed and the navy has matters of state to care about first. Like rebuilding and supplying Ani Ta-Ne. Secure the trade route to Jelin and other stuff."

"What about SETC?" Neil asked and uncorked a bottle of rum to sniff at its contents. "A whiff of orange, nice. Was it the blue vial Milva?" He asked Valydra, as Glen was pondering whether to divulge the company's plans to the Thieves Guild. What he knew about their plans that is, since Glen didn't have any letters from Goras for a couple of weeks now and people have a tendency not to be forthcoming fully.

"Uhm," she replied with a pout and Nulanos frowned.

"This might not mix up well with spirit," he murmured but took a sip from the bottle just the same. "I had agreed to think about it," the Guild's legendary leader told her. "Couldn't you wait? Drugging and then kidnaping me across the Reefs, is a tad harsh Milva."

"Your usual 'wait' can last ten to twelve centuries. More if you get distracted," Valydra retorted and Neil sighed, surprisingly cool about the whole thing. This dude is working to repay a big blunder in his past, Glen decided and cleared his throat to get their attention.

"So, where are you guys and Ryker going?" He asked.

Nulanos stared at Valydra knowingly.

"The people of Mori Osto and Little Urma rushed towards Coal Mountain and the Kobold Mines when the earthquakes struck. They had nothing to lose," Valydra told Glen, who nodded. "Urma Port lay on the flat and fertile lowlands. It had the army and the richer folk. Their tall towers and their estates. All their trinkets and belongings dragging them down. They stayed put and when the waves came, it was too late for most of them."

Glen licked his lips. "You are talking of the big Fall," he said. "How many were saved?"

"More than seven thousand souls," Valydra replied. "They stayed inside the mines surrounded by treacherous brines and meters of mud, when the waters retreated."

"Nobody made it out?"

"Many tried immediately. Still do but we had no infrastructure so deep inland," Valydra continued. "We reached Galadriel's Watch and Cyran Isle."

"Are there any survivors on Cyran, or the other place?" Glen asked, a little stunned as he didn't expect so many of them to still be alive.

"Certainly, but not as many. The tidal wave was directed at Cyran, and Galadriel's Watch. We stood protected by the island of Nureria and escaped the worst."

"The worst?" Glen queried and accepted a cup of rum Neil offered him.

"The toxic fumes and the poisonous ash that fell from the sky. Turned the air foul," Valydra elucidated and wrapped her arms around over her torso as if she felt cold. "It made people turn crazy."

"Which is why I'm being cautious about it," Nulanos told her.

"You don't trust me? Our people are still breathing Toloth!" Valydra snapped sounding hurt.

"I was never very friendly with 'our' people," Neil replied soothingly. "I understand you bonded with them through adversity—"

"I knew you weren't serious about helping them!" She snapped at him.

"Milva, I meant it," Nulanos argued. "I'm a different man."

"Alright," Glen intervened. "Coal Isle is the one with the big ole black mountain?"

"It's a mountain range," Valydra replied. "The tallest peak is Galadriel's Watch to the west, a different isle."

"Who was this Galadriel?" Glen asked. "I presume she's long dead, what with her name plastered on a mountain and given to a whole fucking island!"

"The 2nd Sibyl of the Coven," Neil replied, keeping his eyes on the emotional Valydra. "What happened to her Milva?"

"The Queen's killers got her is my guess. But some say she escaped," Valydra replied hoarsely. "A dying Zilan out of Cyran washed ashore a couple of years after the disaster," she continued. "Told us the story of the Mori Korka. A Galleass full of survivors that had escaped the tsunami, returned to pick up as many citizens as it could and then bring them all across the sea to Jelin."

"Why Jelin?" Glen asked curious.

Valydra shrugged her shoulders. "She might have gone there."

"No large Imperial ship with that name made it to Jelin's ports," Nulanos said. "I would have known. The few that did, headed for the friendlier Lesia ports and the Mclean holdings."

"What happened to them?" Glen asked as he'd no idea Zilan had made it out or even reached that far.

Neil grimaced and then finished his rum. The Mori-Zilan took a moment to reminisce on events now two hundred years old and then he replied. "He sold them out to Lord Davidson. The Lorian noble got something to bargain with Reinut and Caesar Lucius, then in the process of carving out the continent, and that soulless banker got a permit to build himself the only thing he really cared about. A new bank, just like the old one."

"What did Reinut do?"

"Have you ever visited Kaltha's treasury chamber in Issir's Eagle Garth? You look like a man who would find interest in perusing its contents."

Why, you are truly very perceptive my friend, Glen thought.

"I haven't and I don't believe you can even get close, unless your name is Eikenaar," Glen retorted.

"Eh, officially it's forbidden, but if you find yourself inside there," Neil replied. "Look for the Golden Skulls Room. Some famed people are there also, those the Issir had drawn and quartered over the years, but most of those skulls belong to Zilan. I suppose the Khan might have pillaged everything out of there by now though."

Glen grimaced. He'd enough problems since his teens with the Bank of Trust, and even now years later, the Mclean were a thorn to his sides. "They tried to overthrow me, attack Taras," he told the two silent thieves. "Mclean's heritors are as rotten as he was."

"Federico is still around," Nulanos told him.

"In spirit?"

"And in flesh," Nulanos replied. "I've seen him in Cediorum seventy years back now, and he would have been already close to two centuries old by then. He's a human half-breed. Of Lorian and Nord descent, but had a lot of knowledge and power in his hands for a long time. A man that worships coin shall never leave his treasure to a heritor, if he can help it. Family is just a word for him." He turned silent for a moment as if pondering on something. "Ah, I may have judged him harshly," Nulanos added.

Glen agreed with a nod. "I made a deal with them. The Bank of Goras did," he informed them, but then smacked his lips sounding unsure. "Now, I don't feel as happy about the whole ordeal," the King of Wetull finished and looked about him for a long moment, whilst tasting the rum. The first sip burned his tongue something fierce and the taste turned out far from pleasant. The next one wasn't much better. Eh. Best to drink yer piss. "Ryker?"

"He's with Kumra," Valydra replied. Nigel Grim's singing partner from the Guild's tavern. "Will you send ships to Coal Isle? Larenos or Tavril are in charge now. They know me and Kumra. The local community is very welcoming."

"Pfft. Miners with Kobold blood and thieving refugees turned farmers, mingling with penniless city aristocrats that paint their skin lighter and secretly worship the Old Gods of the Witches they ratted out to the Queen who hated their guts," Neil grunted.

"I could open a safe route for those wishing to return," Glen replied and Nulanos snorted again.

"You won't find a lot of support in your own council," he told the frowned Monarch.

"Neil!" Valydra exploded angrily and Nulanos shrugged his shoulders. "He'll find support from those left out since forever."

It was an interesting thought. Opening another avenue to a certain stubborn wench's heart.

"You see now," Glen replied measuring his words. "I don't really do this council thing…" he sucked on his teeth and then added. "Nor do I listen to their advice on all matters."

"Garth, they really don't like Mori-Zilan. Especially those from Mori Osto, the twin cities of Long River."

"Never heard of the place," Glen deadpanned. "And I have no problem with dark-skinned people. I even warmed up to the Zilan lately," he added and Valydra's lips formed a smile of surprise.

"What about old witches?" She asked innocently in a passive aggressive manner, finally clarifying what she had been sniffing about earlier with Tack.

"Milva," Neil intervened warningly. "You are being unfair."

"I'm interested in her well-being, just don't want her single?" Valydra countered cutely.

"The witch is in Abarat," Glen retorted –his tone guarded, as he didn't like people prying into his personal affairs. "She's safe and fine."

In her health was his meaning, but his tongue had used an ambiguous word there.

"Now that," Nulanos agreed with a taunting pause directed at his partner. "Goes without saying," he added and when the furious Valydra attacked him with a hiss, the agile thief leader easily dodged, then trapped the female in his arms despite her violently kicking about. "I forgive you," he told his struggling to free herself lover and planted a noisy kiss on her forehead.

Glen shook his head at the display of affection and then left them to their thing. He did mind his step upon exiting the captain's quarters for a random stray dagger tossed his way, but Vance's crew, now gathered on the deck to watch the wyvern sleeping–alongside a modest crowd of locals, behaved and stayed out of the Monarch's way.

"You know," Glen continued the conversation they had, when he reached near the snoring and coiled into a small mountain of black scaly flesh wyvern. "How about we make another detour? See to the Kingdom's affairs some more?"

Uvrycres cracked a burgundy eye open and stared at Glen. The Wyvern's head, now resting on the ground, was almost as tall as the Monarch. Still, while the wyvern formerly known as Biscuit had gained a lot those first years, he had stopped growing or slowed down considerably that summer.

Did you find the thief?

"A nest of them. Forget about that," Glen retorted. "We should visit the Isles, before we return to Goras. A brief tour, to see what's going on over there."

There's something going on, Uvrycres agreed.

"Argh, we already talked about this damn it! Just fucking stop," Glen cursed and glared at the nameless marine, his eyes wandering to the crews returning to work on repairing the docks, after their break. Voron could work on this next, the Monarch thought. But he needs to finish the road first. At least bring it to Lo-Minas.

I wasn't talking… not everything is about you Glen.

"Great. We can move on then," Glen replied and stepped on Uvrycres' forearm to reach the angular shoulder, then grabbed at the large saddle's horn in order to finish climbing up the wyvern's back. He parked himself in the comfy seat nicely, reached into the bag of supplies with his left hand for a packet of dried, honeyed figs –a gift from the good people of Abarat and popped one in his mouth. "Let's make it there afore noon," the King said munching on the sweet treat to wash away the rum's taste from his palate. "Be on our way back on the morrow. I want to see my daughter again."

Less than two hours later

Urma Narrows northeastern approach

The bog land that was Fruitwood forest and the protruding peak named Bird's Watch

Coal Isle

'Sunken Lands', or the island chain of Cydonia Cazan

Back in Baltoris Port, the locals and the crews working there had told Glen that the volcano was still burning under the canals. The steam bubbled out of the depths. It made the natural mist thicker. The latter gathered between the waterways and the many reefs, then spread over the Isles' shores.

The giant that was Nureria, once connected with Elauthin's island center via a natural land bridge and to the north with a massive, kilometers long, fully Zilan built stone bridge –now completely collapsed- that split Baltoris' Port in two distinct harbors, and the six Peak Isles of Cydonia Cazan, now called the Sunken Lands from the survivors of the catastrophe.

Their names though were still well known.

In the words of Vulreon O' Kataer –the Royal Scribe, now busy reconstructing the old maps from memory for the Monarch; 'to the furthest west stands Galadriel's Watch Isle with its jewels, the marble-adorned city of Tir –brilliantly looking like white ice from afar and the vibrant port of Altariel. A breath away stands the sinister Coal Isle. Next in line is Mystic Cyran –where the Sibyls had their council and right next to it, famed Cazan itself or Rock Isle, standing watch to the distant Nuala's Quiver Islet, the latter near Wetull's shores. Isildor Isle with its famed cinnamon forest and finally Calamer's Isle to the east that soberly gazes at the Ticu-infested naughty islets of Ilithar and Lyari, directly north of it. The latter two not in the island chain itself Hardir, but they do stand across the 3rd Finger and the port of Mussel for reference.'

"Nureria's shores are fully covered in mist!" Glen yelled, face and garbs drenched, and pointed an arm down over the boggy lands of Coal Isle. "But directly south of here it clears out some, the further we fly over the water!"

Something weird is in the air, if only I could concentrate without some lunatic yelling in my ears! Uvrycres roared in response and released a trumpeting shriek over the salt water swamps underneath. They literally zipped across the flooded shores before the wyvern finally slowed down in order to fly lower, not even twenty meters over the bogged terrain.

"Eh? Luthos empty purse!" The gawking for any land mark Glen howled. "What the… it fucking stinks like wet farts!"

Then the Monarch spotted something that looked like a road under the watery mud. "There! Follow it. That's a river, where the water is deeper! Watch out for birds!"

I'm not blind like you! Cut it out with the directions! And these are incoming bugs!

"Shit!" The Monarch cursed and closed his mouth just in time.

A covered in bug juices Glen spotted the ruins of buildings buried in the sludge some moments later. The ruins were slowly rotting in the retreating sea waters on both sides of the river. Clean water mixed with brines and strange vegetation sprouted out of meters deep layers of mud.

"If these two are Mori and Osto, the twin towns Neil mentioned," Glen yelled, whilst cleaning his face with a towel, he then just tossed away as it was too dirty to keep around. "Where the Thieves Guild old headquarters was located, then directly to the west… that distant peak must be Coal Mountain! The road seems to head there, right?"

How about we ask that guy and you stop being our tour guide? Uvrycres retorted as if Glen's constant yelling had gotten to his nerves. He seems to be local! Might even know stuff firsthand unlike you!

"Where? How do you know?" A blinking Glen grunted and twisted on the saddle as the wyvern dived down abruptly.

He's black as tar?

The Monarch let out a manly yelp instead of answering. His body went left to right alike a ragdoll, but even under heavy duress Glen caught sight for a brief moment of the lanky dark-skinned fisherman standing up by the side of the road –now almost overrun with vegetation, and then became unable to see or do anything other than bobbing up and down on the saddle –as if on springs, the moment Uvrycres' hind legs touched the cobblestone.

The wyvern's extended wings covered the width of the old road and as they moved back and forth expelled hefty quantities of mud, small rocks and dug-out grass before the large beast came to a full stop overshooting the perturbed local by about twenty meters.

"Whoa!" The Zilan gasped looking at them.

The Mori-Zilan.

"Any quicksand nearby?" A coughing, thoroughly soaked Glen asked the wyvern before jumping down.

We're standing on an old road, barely a finger of water over it? Ye might get more mud on your boots though. Haha-ha-hah!

"Right," Glen grunted and jumped down with a big splash, but found sturdy ground under his boots. He grimaced, stood up straighter and walked towards the standing still Mori-Zilan, remembering to clean up his armour best he could with his gloved hands en route. "Citizen," Glen greeted the poorly dressed, or in work clothes unknown local, "To the heavens above thy prayers! Rejoice for you are in the presence of Arguen Garth!"

The Mori-Zilan -he'd a fishing rod in his hands, swallowed and then bowed his head once. "Uhm. You are an Aniculo Rokae."

"Yes?" Glen agreed slowly, giving the probably very emotional in his presence local, the time to find his wits.

The Mori-Zilan crooked his mouth, his short hair a very dark blue -almost black, over dark skin and a pair of ashen eyes, and then shook his head right and left. "I'll tell you what I told Tavril afore the moon changed," he said in a very-thick Imperial accent, laced with ancient words and uncommon phrases. "I don't support your lot. Coming here after centuries to stir up people's minds and cause trouble."

"I come here to offer you a way out of this prison. A return to happiness," Glen replied a little stunned at the less than enthusiastic reception.

"I ain't in prison and never been happier up until now," the Mori-Zilan replied with a worried glance at the Onyx Wyvern approaching behind Glen on all fours. "Normos worked the coal mines all his life. Never complained for he had Kobold blood in him. When the tremors ended we stopped digging in the tunnels and our village turned into a small city. First the thieves came from Mori Osto and then the Silivren-Zilan of Little Urma with the refugees from Altariel. Finally those that made it out from Urma Port itself. They changed things, so Normos left the village and came here. I'm not coming back to vote. Just leave me alone."

"Normos, Goras thrives again under new management. We don't do voting or other disturbing shite, for we have a great king," Glen said -tutting his own horn as noble people often do, but Normos shook his head in disbelief.

"Heard a different a story from Tavril," Normos argued.

"What story?"

"That Goras is no more."

"How would this Tavril know? He never left the fucking island? Am I wrong?"

"The Aniculo Rokae did. He flew over Nureria and Elauthin, saw nothing but destruction—"

"We've just met friend," Glen cut him off with a grunt. "This Tavril dude lied. I'm the first dragon-rider to visit the island since forever! I also happen to be the King of fucking Wetull! Good grief! What is this bullshit I'm hearing?"

Normos smacked his lips once and with another glance at the watching them Wyvern, he added bravely.

"Seen the other wyvern with my own two eyes," Normos told the stunned Glen. "Striped white on red and yellow. It floated almost and it had a lad riding on its back alike you. Tavril had always been a crooked man, but he wasn't lying this time Garth."

Ah, the mystery thickens, the vindicated Uvrycres hissed in Glen's ear. The stench hid it and I fell into despair!

Shut it with your crazy theories Uvry! Glen snapped.

"Where's the village?"

"It's close to the mines," Normos answered, casting one final look at the smirking wyvern before turning to resume his fishing in the murky waters of the swamp, positioned at the edge of the vast, ancient road.

"Where are the mines?" Glen grumbled on the Mori-Zilan's back. "All I've discovered here are ruins, insects, and stinking mud!"

He was already loathing this place.

"Locate the mountain, and you'll discover the village," Normos responded calmly.

"I've seen the mountain already from the air!" Glen growled.

"Good for you Garth," Normos replied and with a pause he added. "Then you know where the village is."

Luthos eyed his neighbor's doe from afar, Glen thought mulling the encounter in his mind as he turned around to climb on Uvrycres again. But upon sneaking inside the stable overcome with lust, he realized the nimble doe was a horned goat.

This might lead to shenanigans, Uvrycres added, as if he could read the Monarch's mind.