Lure O' War (The Old Realms)

Kobold Mines

Characters mentioned in general

Master Tavril (Part owner of the 2nd tunnel and the whole of the main Coal shaft. Traditional Mayor/Governor of the Mines during the Imperial years.)

Damiron (Tavril's son with ranger Eloera. A union that made Damiron a Halfling or half-breed by mainland Zilan standards.)

Eloera O' Faelar, (Retired Imperial ranger and one of Master Faelar's many pupils.)

Master Larenos (Wealthy Hostel owner –the only one available- at the center of the Kobold Mines Village, next to the marketplace. An influential local with political ambitions.)

Master Reliol O' Mecatan, (A Mori-Zilan Blacksmith serving the Phalanx that had stayed on Coal Isle to make a family, eventually getting trapped there with the survivors. Unfortunately his partner Merael died inside one of the collapsed due to the earthquakes tunnels during the Fall along many others. Famed Unor 'Moriva', the 7th Hoplite Leader in the Phalanx, Commander and Trainer of the Young Othrim was Reliol's childhood friend.)

Tamra (Reliol's daughter with Merael.)

Cutra, (Tamra's daughter with late Kerbos, a Silivren-Zilan ranger immigrant killed forty years earlier in one of the many failed attempts to explore the nearby islands.)

Iksoer (Tavril's enforcer in the mines.)

Mamaeron (A former digger, now working for Iksoer.)

Normos (A Mori-Zilan former digger, now retired away from the village.)

-

3rd Urma District

Nabesos, (An original Thieves Guild member that had risen in the ranks and in the process of rebuilding his once thriving enterprise. Originally from Mori Osto. The underworld of Coal Isle found themselves without purpose for a while, with many thieves retiring to a civilian life due to absence of any wealth of property or turning to other activities, like politics.)

Orym, (A thief from Mori Osto.)

Ylyndar O' Vengen (A Silivren-Zilan. Originally from Altariel Port. A survivor from Galadriel's Watch Isle. Master Vengen served as Governor of Altariel, but didn't make it out in time. Ylyndar represented the Silivren-Zilan on Coal Isle.)

Master Keenor (A former Merchant from Little Urma. Leader of the Little Urma refugees.)

Runas (A Silivren-Zilan from Altariel city proper. Former Hoplite of the 3rd Othrim. Works for Ylyndar.)

Naeras (Runas' right hand man. Another former Hoplite.)

'Lord' Galater O' Scalanis (A Mori-Zilan 'aristocrat' from Urma, son of the sorceress Scalanis O' Dudrina. A rare survivor from the large south-facing port city, a self-proclaimed 'polymath' and 'Elderblood' –Urma was the hometown of the legendary Sorceress Dudrina and her 'magic school of peculiarities' where his 'mother' Scalanis had studied- Galater tried to navigate a new role in the ever changing landscape. Despite having a Silivren-Zilan name Galater was probably a full-blooded local of lowly origins.)

Alail & Holone (A brothel of sorts near the marketplace and the names of the females owning it.)

-

Former inhabitants (Deceased, exiled or missing)

Dudrina O' Tinyssos. (The longtime deceased, famed native sorceress. Also Curu Nulena, the Black Witch. The locals either adored or hated the controversial witch even many centuries after her assassination.)

Valydra O' Nulanos. (A Kobold-blooded Mori-Zilan, the former attributed to Mori-Zilan birthed or living inside the tunnels for most of their lives. Also a legendary thief leader with the moniker 'Toloth Ama Erea' or 'Eight plus One', a direct reference to the Thieves Guild 'Rules of the Trade' as established by Nulanos, a political activist during Baltoris' reign for the rights of the natives and later an insurgent and a partisan murderer, as she was directly implicated in the assassination of Lord Calamer, the latter Master Taranir's grandfather.)

Unor Moriva aka Unor the Dark. (Ranked Hoplite Leader of the Imperial Phalanx -7th-, also a trainer and a Tetrarch.)

Nulanos aka 'Toloth' or 'Eight'. (Mythical founder of the Thieves Guild and a very ancient native criminal, now missing from the Isle for over a millennia and presumed dead. A close friend of Dudrina in his youth.)

-

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 II

-Shenanigans-

Coal Isle

Kobold Mines (the village)

Third Urma district

(A small town erected at the outer periphery of the main mines buildings, spreading outwards from the center in a semicircle –of the old village/mines in this case- and following the traditional Zilan architecture. The town was in its turn located near the massive mining tower, the latter standing adjoined to the mines entrances themselves, on the east side of Coal Mountain's central peak. 3rd Urma, the name of the new settlement, came from the refugees from Urma Port and Little Urma forming the majority, despite the addition of white Zilan survivors from the nearby port of Altariel that was located on Galadriel's Watch isle. The locals called these light-skin or 'glowing' neighbors, Silivren-Zilan.)

-

"Well," Cutra snapped with a glare at the constipated-looking Galater that now stood silent and stared at Nabesos' dagger with anxious eyes. "Speak. Why did you turn into a mute all of a sudden?"

Galater had been very talkative until Nabesos flaunted the dagger.

"Violence is not in my nature," Galater finally blurted out and stood back disapprovingly. Nabesos smirked and then flipped the dagger to slot it in his leather belt.

"Cutra dear," he told the scowling Cutra. "You know I got my share of problems with your father… and this is supposed to be a hideout."

"Everyone knows you live here Nabesos and my father doesn't care about Tamra's love life anymore. She's a big girl."

Nabesos used a finger to scratch behind his right ear for a moment. "Our disagreements might go a bit further than your lovely mother. How is she by the way? Haven't seen her outside for a while."

Cutra puffed out and glared at the smirking thief, then at his partner Orym. "I know you stole that dagger Nabesos. That chair and the table. Probably everything else in this room. This is more important."

"The painting was a gift," the thief pointed out defensively and then added. "Tavril befriended the Aniculo Rokae," Nabesos paused to look at both of them. "Secured the support and votes of Master Keenor of Little Urma, right along the blessing of Ylyndar. You are afraid he'll have the votes to win the election over Larenos."

"Yes," Cutra hissed.

"Darling, Larenos is an unlikable cretin. He might lose the vote even without this great alliance of the foreigners. And Tavril, well, he's about as local as they come. No offense Lord Galater."

"None taken," Galater assured him, a little livelier now. "Other than my tad darker skin color, I'm barely a local myself."

"Yeah. Because Urma Port wasn't a part of this island since forever and your mother was white as a maiden's sheet. I heard Dudrina wasn't the discriminating kind fer sure, then again she didn't have a sinless bone in her body. I bet those lessons were running late into the night haha," Nabesos chuckled at the end of his tirade.

"Let's not speak ill of the dead," Galater protested civilly.

"I wasn't," Nabesos retorted and glanced at Cutra. "The wyvern and her rider left. Who here gives a shite about them?"

"Tavril got him to promise to return," Cutra argued. "Tell him Galater."

"There's a prophecy," Galater started. "The empire could rebuild itself with the help of a dragon-rider. We have one visiting after two… well, it was more like four centuries, and this time not to burn our homes as you rightly pointed out earlier…"

Nabesos raised his hand to stop Galater. "Remind me why I should give a rat's arse for the empire's return?"

"Progress, better roads, quality goods, obviously betters ships -ships period, and a way to the mainland?" Galater grunted.

Nabesos smacked his lips not convinced. "What's on the mainland? If something is there worth of my time, then fine… that's a positive. Don't get your hopes up though. All the amount of material it rained on us came from somewhere fer sure. Yep… the other thing to consider being that the Imperials were right cunts in the first place, frowning upon the rest of us going about our business. Why, Lord Galater, now that I'm mulling it over in my head, you may still enlist me into your cause. I changed my mind after some further consideration. Uhm. Better the cretin Larenos, than having Tavril drag us into such a bleak future."

"Still… all that Imperial coin," Orym intervened and Nabesos gave his partner a curious side-glance.

"Please… do elucidate, valued colleague."

"They were nice to have and now very hard to come by or useless," Orym continued, keeping it respectful. "Trade with the others, if others are still around, could have its benefits boss."

"Hmm," Nabesos murmured. "I can see the appeal. My mind is like an aroused maiden's, always shifting between mediocre prospects! Ever eager for more! Still, with the wyvern gone, Tavril's argument is not as strong."

"So you'll help us convince the streets?" Cutra asked.

"I'll think about it. You didn't exactly come here with a great bargain lass. Better to have sent your mother is what I'm saying," Cutra furrowed her brows. "Ehem. I'm more concerned with the loss of our own as it comes," Nabesos continued and glanced at Orym's blank face. "Driven by a sense of adventure much like your late father's Korbos, we lost some of our founding… members these past couple of years," Nabesos added sadly and then sighed to sell it better.

"Please, Valydra was out there looting," Cutra hissed. "Her own greed did her in."

Once a thief, always a thief, her grandfather always said.

"Child, you know very little about the real world or what your elders' history truly was. For beyond this little mountain of yours stood a vicious jungle," Nabesos replied calmly. "I wish it was true, what you said, but it isn't. You small-minded, miserable provincials living here, ah… you have no plan and this shit will go nowhere, mark my words."

An irate Cutra pushed Galater on the back when they exited Nabesos' hideout, masqueraded from the outside as meat-joint named Rabbit's Burrow despite having only fried chicken in its menu, served with flatbread with a part of yogurt. The miner's food.

"I wanted you to speak in there!" Cutra snapped at the faltering Galater, who stopped momentarily, before she shoved him again forward and towards the market. "Not stand idle like a coward!"

"All nobles are cowards," Galater protested with a spin over his own axis. "There, I said it and now you know!"

"Bah!" Cutra grunted unladylike, raised her hand to wipe her mouth from the spit and then came face to face sort of speak with the pot belly of Naceros and the untrustworthy smirk of Mamaeron. "What the fuck?" She cursed with a flinch. "Get out of my way Naceros! You stink!"

"Little Cutra," Mamaeron said, dark-skinned shaved head sporting a large scar where a rock had connected with it during an old collapse. "Master Iksoer wants a word."

Ugh?

"Yeah? Well, I don't want to talk with him," Cutra retorted and went to push through the burly Mamaeron to reach the marketplace. Nabesos' joint was inside a side street. She realized Mamaeron wasn't easy to move about. "Step aside or I'll scream rape."

"Iksoer found your mother passed out in Holone's bed," Mamaeron explained.

"So what? Since when is Iksoer the vice police?" Cutra snapped and glared for the silent Galater to say something.

"Mister Mamaeron," Galater started.

"Shut your shithole milord," Mamaeron warned him soberly.

"Absolutely," Galater agreed without any resistance.

"Well, you know what they say," Mamaeron continued now looking at the scowled Cutra. "Those taking drugs walk down a dangerous path."

You son of a bitch.

"Is she alright?" a worried Cutra asked.

"Hear the chief out," Mamaeron assured her. "And we'll sent her back to your grandfather all cleaned up and proper."

"I think they are blackmailing you," Galater noted in a non-threatening voice.

No shit.

"After you," Mamaeron told the seething Cutra. "We'll head for the country to avoid gossip. You are too-young to be seen with my likes youngling. You are not young Galater, so you'll come along as well wit no fear for yer reputation."

-

Coal Isle - present day

-

What in the all-hells is this ungodly structure? Glen wondered, one eye plastered on the lens, the other closed shut per Angrein's instructions.

No wyvern, Uvrycres sighed sadly.

"Alright, what's going on here? This is a concerning behavior friend," Glen hissed lowering the spyglass. He closed it and then tossed it inside the saddlebag. "Well?" He prompted the silent wyvern again.

Just an observation.

"You think the tower is a mining structure?" Glen queried after rolling his eyes. "Why dig so high up the mountain's side when there's a tunnel entrance at the base?"

I'm not a miner. Ask the dwarf.

"I don't see one at the near," Glen retorted a little pissed with the Wyvern's attitude. "So, here is what we will do," he continued, fixing his leather gloves and checking on his armour, weapon harnesses, and his trusted satchel. "You'll hit the skies and check behind the mountain whilst I make contact with the crooked locals. See, if I can glimpse more about the culprit or outright bullshit them on to our side. If they have sides that is."

Our kin… is absent. It's a serious moment.

"Stop being so overly dramatic! Since when do you like your kin this much? And we haven't even confirmed that a wyvern was ever here -in the first fucking place!" Glen argued fervently. "This Tavril… could be lying through his teeth, and Normos… well, he might have easily mistaken us for someone else, right? We've passed through this shithole before Uvry!"

Nah. You're wrong. Again. This has been happening a lot lately. Right Glen?

"Alright. You're in a mood. I just need you to support me."

Do you have a plan, wise Glen?

"Several," Glen answered with plenty of unjustified assurance, turning to gaze at the sprawling town that surrounded the massive mountain and the hideous tower structure built near the mine's entrance. As if he was making some deep assessment or ironing out the finer strategic details. "That is, the first part of the plan… Nothing critical mind you. Ehem. I'm just not entirely sure about the initial approach at this moment. This moment being the early stages of course. Right then."

So… about fifty? Seventy percent? Uvrycres inquired.

"Ah. Let's not put a number on it just yet," Glen evaded professionally. He checked on his weapons next, opting to leave the heavy royal helm with the wyvern's saddlebags. Most of his coins as well, considering the number of Neil's kin he had noticed wandering around inside the town.

So let's go with the flow? Uvrycres translated sarcastically. The famed 'Glen specialty.'

Glen glanced at the sky, but didn't spot the wyvern –now lost behind the soft clouds gathered over the mountain peak and then set his eyes on the road leaving the last of the suburbs. It continued east, the only serious dirt road, and it was probably part of the older infrastructure of the place, still connecting the mines with the shores.

The bogs had retreated at some point leaving a lot of fertile land behind, but it had been only partially worked on and the rest had turned into a savannah of grass, tall bushes and funny trees with plenty of thorns. Bugs, snakes and water pigs galore at the near. The soil dark, almost black, probably from all the coal that had been mined nearby. The majority of the houses built out of bricks and granite with little of the finer details witnessed in mainland Taras or even in the ruins left behind at the other isles.

Four Mori-Zilan were strolling down the road on foot. Three males and a shorter fit female that reminded him of a younger Valydra. Two of the male locals were armed with clubs, a spear and a long dagger, while the third was dressed in a fancy jacket and red leather pants that had seen better days and had been repaired many a times with different colored patches. This fancier dressed of sorts individual wore a pair of cheap copper earrings and had plastered white powder on his face like a brothel harlot.

No judging, Glen decided and pondered whether to allow them to pass him by, or seize the opportunity to learn some more from these low-intelligence, bucolic folk.

"Just ahead. We'll make the turn through the clay-fields," one of the rougher-looking Mori-Zilan said.

"The clay-fields are closed Mamaeron," the female argued.

"We bought the old warehouse Cutra," the male retorted. "We couldn't bring her to town."

Aha. Glen thought and stepped out swiftly from behind the reeds, minding not to dirty his boots in the soft ground too much afore he reached the road.

"So you dragged her so far away?" Cutra snapped angrily and turned around to face Mamaeron. "What's going on you bastards? What is this?"

Nobody cares girl, Glen thought, a little annoyed with her teenage histrionics. We are dealing wit more serious shite here!

Mamaeron made to reply, but caught sight of the grey-haired Glen appear not three meters away and paused in deep bewilderment. The Monarch parked his hands at his waist –close to his second sword's handle- and greeted the group with the fakest but also widest of friendly grins ever showcased in this side of the blasted pond.

Overwhelming friendliness.

"Hello there! Good citizens of this modest hamlet," the Monarch started in Imperial, but had to pause a little distracted by the unnamed second thug's stupefied stare and the painted poofter's embarrassing yelp of fear.

"A crazy hu-man!" The dressed for the carnival Mori-Zilan cried out and recoiled back two meters.

"Huh?" Cutra gasped and twisted about to see for herself. Mamaeron crooked his mouth, dark eyes assessing Glen's weapons and then taking a side step to place Cutra before him as a shield.

Hmm. Glen thought. You don't do that to yer little sister.

You dirty dog! The girl looks too young for you.

Probably Phina's age or thereabouts.

"Who are you?" The second thug asked finding his courage. A slightly overweight Mori-Zilan, which made him stand out a lot in this 'land of the thin people'.

Right.

"Greetings," Glen tried again diplomatically, suddenly not liking the coherence of the group. Or the lack of it more like. "The name is Garth. I'm here to talk with the manager about business."

"What business?" Mamaeron asked. "You speak with a strange accent."

"It's the court tongue," the fancy-dressed Mori-Zilan croaked regaining some of his composure.

"That's a fine Hoplite officer's armour. In gold markings. Whoa. And that looks to be a named sword Garth. Two, if I'm not mistaken," Cutra pointed out unafraid, surprisingly astute on weaponry given her years and lowly status.

"Looters landed ashore," Mamaeron grunted with a nervous glance behind the Monarch. "We got nothing of value Garth. This is the poorest of all isles. But if you want to speak with someone of note, continue towards the village."

"Garth of what?" The powdered Mori-Zilan asked curious.

"Shut up Galater. Let him move on," Mamaeron cut him off abruptly and exchanged a glance with his partner, the fat thug with the long dagger. Glen knew that look pretty well. He hadn't encountered it much lately, but it was difficult to mistake for something else. When you are on a sensitive job sometimes you happen upon obstacles. Things or people you haven't factored into your plans. And while some jobs allowed you to skirt around these encounters and move on to the finish line, perhaps faster, others…

Let's just say… well, certain jobs won't allow you to leave behind any witnesses due to their disturbing nature.

It was what the two Mori-Zilan had communicated between them.

"Appreciate the directions. I'll head towards the mines gentlemen," Glen assured them in the same friendly manner and cracked his thick neck right and then left once, afore he started moving towards the group with large confident strides.

Galater dived out of the way on instinct –a skill most legitimate cowards possess, the Mori-Zilan with the protruding from his vest jingling pot belly, dropped his hand to his waist to snatch out the long dagger, and Mamaeron shoved Cutra out of the way with one arm, used the other to reach for his spear.

Glen came sauntering between the two thugs, paused with his left hand raised, a finger waggling back and forth in Dante's theatrical manner, afore he pointed it towards Mamaeron censoriously channeling Anfalon.

The Great.

"Allow me to divulge here in brief, and in the spirit of virtuous relations 'n truthful cooperation," Glen started in a sociable manner, raising the other arm non-threateningly in order to comb his hair back, but in reality he was reaching slyly with his better hand for Eirkor's handle. He carried the second sword in its lacquered ebony scabbard now clipped to his back harness. "What you're thinking of doing, is harshly punished under Hardir's law."

Mamaeron frowned but took another step back from Glen to better take advantage of his spear.

"Don't know who you're talking about mister," the Mori-Zilan grunted and his friend took a forward step to close the distance while Glen seemed fully distracted. Glen wasn't obviously, as he'd kept the second thug in his peripheral vision all the time, so he made a tight fist with his left hand, twisted sharply right and violently punched the advancing Mori-Zilan in the throat without further warnings.

Glen kept twisting and turning on his pivot leg, unsheathed Eirkor in the process and used the longer sword to block Mamaeron's spear thrust. The spear angled down, but Glen jumped away after the faltering and struggling to breathe second thug, and the spear point hit the buried in dirt old cobblestone with an impotent clang.

"Gah!" The second thug growled in pain, while his partner Mamaeron stumbled back with a curse and a bleeding cut to his ribs Glen hadn't administered -which was bizarre, but helpful just the same.

It had given the Monarch enough time to maneuver.

The punched in the throat thug finally stopped faltering backwards and swung the wood club at the advancing Glen, who parried with the left arm, taking the club on the vambrace –a needless act of braggartry that rattled his arm bones from forearm to shoulder, and then hacked with the right, separating the thug's dagger-wielding hand from his arm at the wrist.

You can fer sure count on ole Nym to keep her blades well-sharpened, Glen thought spinning to avoid the arterial spray.

"AARRRGH!" The thug bellowed in blinding pain, hot blood gushing out of the wound and the now seriously rankled Glen, who couldn't feel his left arm, released an even angrier roar afore he could control himself and Hoplite-kicked the thug between the legs like it was going out of fashion. So savage was the kick, the wincing Glen heard something valuable crunch at the tip of his metal-reinforced boot. It lifted the devastated thug off of the ground a good meter and induced a savage spasm that forced him to bit his own tongue clean off.

Immediately after the mumbling muffled groans of misery thug dropped into a heap before the Monarch's legs.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

"Ergh," Glen grunted and turned around with a sidestep to throw Mamaeron off, but the shocked at the violence inflicted upon his partner Mori-Zilan had maintained his composure, even bleeding from a cut to his ribs and had the spear already raised to chuck it on the Monarch from four meters away.

A blind man couldn't miss. Fucking idiot, Glen thought irate with himself, not expecting the unfortunate development. Then he spotted with a gawking eye young Cutra sneaking up on Mamaeron with a hefty rock in her hand.

Hah! Luthos reaches from the mud with stubby fingers and pinches the hog's hairy balls!

Glen thought about warning her, since if Cutra failed to knock down Mamaeron, then the reacting thug's spear would run her through pretty easily, but decided against it. A seasoned lass like her knows the dangers, Glen reasoned self-servingly. Probably.

So he prepared for a forward roll to confuse Mamaeron and cut the distance between them while he was preoccupied.

"How the fuck?" Mamaeron asked just before he chucked the spear, his action and words stopped when the determined Cutra delivered a blow with the rock at his temple.

Glen heard the sickening sound of stone crushing bone, and as the thug's skull caved in, one of his gawking eyeballs – the right one – burst forth from the shattered cranium, soaring the short distance between them to squash itself on the Monarch's finely sculpted muscles of his metal sternum. Moments later, the spear clanged down, and then Mamaeron followed suit, face-planting himself on the cobblestone road with his head crashed.

"Ah," Cutra gasped seeing the damage she'd inflicted and Galater was heard vomiting a few meters away in between noisy gurgles.

Glen sucked a deep breath in, eyed the shocked and very flushed young female impressed with her heavy-handed delivery, and then turned around to approach the still groaning with muffled cries second thug, who was in the process of attempting to snake away on all fours.

Threes? Three and something?

Eh.

Regardless, Glen after a brief hesitation over the struggling Mori-Zilan, exhaled loudly, and then plunged Eirkor into the Mori-Zilan's back to put an end to him.

"You don't need to kill Naceros," Cutra rasped rather late, now completely overwhelmed by the consequences of her earlier actions. Glen knitted his brows in confusion, gazed at the bloodied corpse of the formerly unnamed thug -now identified, and then gradually wrestled the sword free from the still warm, fresh corpse.

"Finish them off!" Galater insisted instead, wiping the remnants of vomit from his lips. "Those bastards were plotting to murder us! May the Old Gods and some of the new assist us! The level of criminality has spiraled out of control!"

Glen grimaced a little annoyed at his theatrics. "Listen up. Here's what we will do," he told his two accomplishes. It was either that or he had to keep butchering the locals at a steady pace even before entering the Kobold Mines. Some jobs, as previously mentioned, force yer hand and doom potential bystanders or potential witnesses to an early grave.

The realm stands cruel, Glen thought and stared soberly at the two survivors of the encounter.

"Cutra shall grab the fat guy by the shoulders and Galater by the legs. We'll drag them into the tall grass so they aren't visible from the road. I'll do the other one," he paused seeing Galater opening his mouth to protest and added casually. "You'll either help out or I'm hiding four bodies. I've the muscles to pull the job off myself and plenty of time."

"Help me out Cutra," Galater said immediately and went to pick up Naceros. Glen puffed out his cheeks, glanced at the sky for any sign of Uvrycres and then went to deal with Mamaeron's bloody corpse.

Ten minutes later

"Who were they?" Glen asked the silent local couple on their way back towards the first of 3rd Urma's houses. He wasn't fond of walking… any distances, but he couldn't see an alternative at this point, considering he hadn't spotted many horses running about earlier.

"Mamaeron and Naceros worked as guards in the mines," Cutra murmured. With her medium length dark hair and gold-spotted black eyes, she looked like a copy of Valydra with a thinner nose from afar, but up close her lighter-skin and thicker fingers, partnered with the slightly longer ears made it clear they weren't related at all. "Both under Iksoer."

"You are Mori-Zilan, but not the same," Glen noted with a glance at Galater.

"Galater is from Urma Port, but my mother married a Silivren-Zilan ranger. A white-skinned Zilan from Nureria," Cutra replied. "His mother Scalanis was a Mori-Zilan of the shores and a pupil of Dudrina."

"We are the same," Galater intervened with blatantly fake humility. "Noble-blooded and poor cretins of the mines face the same fate in this realm."

"Dudrina was a witch," Glen murmured remembering the name thrown about by Nulanos.

"She was. My late mother also," Galater said sadly. "Taken too soon."

"Inherited any skills?" Glen probed, always on the lookout for useful allies.

"Just their looks alas," Galater replied, looking ready to cry in the attempt to sell whatever tale he was concocting. "Their intelligence and a strong sense of morality."

Whoa, that's zero truths out of two fer sure there mate, plus a 'to be determined'. How are you still alive with that average? Glen wondered with a grimace and flinched hearing a soft childish giggle carried by the breeze reach his sensitive ears. He snapped his head right and left to check both sides of the road, but saw nothing but a lot of grass.

"So, Iksoer is working for whom?" A suspicious Glen asked as they walked down the dirt-covered road cutting through the tall reeds.

"Iksoer is friends with Damiron, Tavril's son. He'll be looking for those two," Cutra replied and the Monarch pursed his mouth, still rattled from the sound.

Wait… I know that name.

"Damn it. I wanted to make contact with this Tavril dude," Glen cursed and stopped to readjust his plan.

"What for?" Cutra asked and lowering to her knees tried to wipe the blood from her hands on the grass. Glen's eyes stayed on the young female's arse for a brief moment, but then he caught out of the corner of his eye Galater doing the same and snapped his fingers to get his attention.

"Are you a creep?" Glen hissed and Galater blinked taken by surprise. "Old guy like you. Have you no shame?"

"I was—"

"Don't," Glen cut him off and turned to speak with Cutra, who had stood up in the meantime. "I'm looking for the Aniculo Rokae."

"He left the island," Cutra replied.

"Aha. But you've seen him up close?"

"Not really. Tavril spoke with him," Cutra replied.

"What about the Wyvern?"

"I've seen both of them," Galater replied.

"Me too. I saw the wyvern on the sky briefly before he left," Cutra said.

"Where did he come from?" Glen inquired, finding the whole story mysterious to say the least.

"Cyran, I believe."

"Cyran," Galater agreed. "I heard him tell the story to Tavril."

"Don't stop now. This is the best part," Glen urged him tauntingly. "I'm all ears."

"Well," Galater started with a brief pause to gather his thoughts. "Ivasaar claimed he'd come from Mistland. Landed in Cyran initially, probably some of the other Islands, before he flew towards Altariel. He noticed lights and decided to stop here instead. They landed in the potato fields north of the market. The wyvern killed Bilaer and his dog or something, but the matter was quickly resolved."

"Right. It was Bilaer's fault? Mayhap the dog's?"

"Nobody asked," Galater replied. "Tavril took over the conversation and Ivasaar appeared remorseful."

"Shit happens out in them potato fields."

"Yeah, so… ahm, he told us what we knew basically," Galater continued. "The blast had leveled most of Cyran and there was no sign of Elauthin. Nureria stood separate from the mainland."

"Surely he said more," Glen probed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Look, he was difficult to understand. Spoke with a crude accent and looked worse for wear," Galater replied. "Not a very happy person and the locals were scared to approach him. The last time the Aniculo Rokae came here they burned Mori Osto. Tavril told us afterwards that Ivasaar had travelled with Captain Nevarth sometime before the catastrophe to find alternative routes to Mistland. They landed away from Galith, but things went bad and they were left behind. Probably on a secret mission. Else why sent a wyvern rider to escort a ship?"

"There was no spare wyvern to send. No other Aniculo Rokae flying about," Glen retorted. "Ivasaar is lying. Or this Tavril made this shite up. How do you get stranded if you can fly a wyvern anyways?"

Galater shrugged his shoulders.

"How do you know there were no more wyverns? The Queen had at least three. My father knew of this," Cutra argued.

"Did he mention this Ivasaar?"

"Not really. I was too young to remember."

"It's not some great mystery," Glen sighed. "Aniculo Rokae don't grow on trees. They are well-known. Elenaril flew with Nenderu and the Queen on Ovinet. Ninthalor with Turlas, until he was murdered and then several tried to ride his wyvern, but they failed. Turlas was too old to change his ways. The rest like Shaelor and old Gilvaris, or Edor with Qaitess had been lost in the war much earlier. Eggs were there, but no more wyverns hatched."

"How does a human know so much about the Wyverns?" Cutra asked curious and Glen thought about telling her the truth, but didn't see the benefit. Plus Galater seemed the type to betray his own mother and didn't trust him at all.

"I'm a learned man, intimate in the history of the realm," Glen replied. "Which is why I must speak with Tavril, to clear out some of this bullshit."

The marketplace's stands were half-empty when they reached the first buildings of 3rd Urma. The sprawling hamlet hugged the Kobold Mines and the original village, everything now shaded from the imposing Coal Mountain and the twenty-story high monstrous granite and metal edifice that was the mining tower.

It had bridges connecting it with the sharp mountain side, and across its base the master shaft could be seen even from two kilometers away, a black mouth leading in the guts of the mountain were most of the tunnels coming from underground ended.

"That's the coal tunnels entrance," Cutra explained. "Half the village is built inside, but only those with Kobold blood can live in there for long. It's not easy."

"No dwarfs?"

"Dwarves hate digging in coal. You can't breathe in it. If you do for long, you get sick," Cutra replied.

No shit!

"What else is in there?" Glen asked eyeing the locals moving about in the market. They had stayed in a side alley, next to an eatery of sorts, no one seemed to prefer and probably for good reason. A Mori-Zilan popped his dark head out of the eatery's side window –the one used to throw stuff out of the kitchen- and squinted his eyes seeing them waiting there. Then he dived back inside and closed the window with a bang.

"Diamonds, gems," Cutra said keeping her cool. "Not all tunnels are open. There are stories of precious metals, only the Imperials know about," Glen stared at her numbly. "Mithril," the girl whispered in a conspiratorial manner.

Hmm.

"Tavril was the director during Baltoris' reign?" Glen asked and she nodded. "So, as I understand it he wants to become mayor or something similar. Get back on the saddle sort of speak, after the mine operations stopped due to the disaster?"

"Ylyndar and Keenor are pressuring him," Galater replied this time. "The first is an aristocrat from Altariel, a city on Galadriel's Watch and the other a merchant from Little Urma. A port facing Altariel. They came here after the calamity."

"Like you did," Cutra added. "Precious few from Urma proper made it out."

"Luck comes at a premium," Galater admitted modestly and Glen perked up remembering the child's chuckle on the road.

"Define this noble shite for me," Glen asked a little confused, but determined to put the conversation back on track.

"Ylyndar is a Silivren-Zilan whose father Lord Vengen, held an official position. He was the governor of Altariel. Lady Scalanis held a similar post in Urma Port. Her father was Lord Ayas, the imperial ranger commander of the Isles."

"So you're a descendant of both?" Glen asked curious. "Why was your mother named after Dudrina?"

"She was her pupil. Witches were of a superior caste here."

Surely Lord Ayas didn't just accept that. What about your grandmother?

"What's with all the paint and makeup? Does it stop there or do you wear dresses after hours?" Glen taunted.

"Not all Mori-Zilan are thieves and diggers Garth," Galater retorted. "We'd like to have it known."

"Oh, fuck off Galater!" Cutra snapped and gave him a kick. It caught Galater on the left shin and the noble local grabbed it with a yelp.

"How is he still alive?" Glen queried, watching Galater hobble about in the side alley amused.

"People fear Dudrina's wrath or a bout of very bad luck," Cutra replied and seeing Glen's bewilderment she added cutely. "It's just superstition."

"Birthed out of what? The witch is dead for a billion fucking years!" Glen snapped irate, as you don't fool around with luck. It can seriously fuck you up.

Cutra shrugged her broad shoulders. She was plenty fit for her age. "Some claim they saw him speaking with the witch's Gnome."

The what?

Ah.

God damn it! Glen thought stunned and eyed the hopping about Galater with renewed interest.

The window opened again at this time, a different Mori-Zilan's head appeared and asked calmly with a crook's smirk.

"Cutra dear. The door is on the other side," the unknown local said staring at Glen with curious eyes. "But I can understand if your friends want to make use of the venue's window."

-

3rd Urma (a district of the Kobold Mines)

Rabbit's Burrow Eatery

Also the local Thieves Guild 'Hideout'

Half an hour later

"Alas, you can't blend in properly when living in a big village," Nabesos admitted with a glance at his silent partner Orym, another shifty Mori-Zilan. "It's been a rough couple of centuries and most of the lads went their own ways. Are things better out there in the… human realm?"

"Not by much," Glen replied staring at the cup of berry juice Cutra had brought them. Stuff floated in there in the Zilan manner and Glen liked his juices without all the extra bits. "I want to speak with Tavril."

"Better to talk with Larenos," Cutra insisted.

"He might not enjoy the conversation," Nabesos warned. "But I can arrange a meeting after hours. Are there more humans on the island?"

"This is not an invasion Nabesos or a raid," Glen assured him.

"Well, I haven't seen as much weapons on a person in a while," Nabesos argued. "Even Runas is less armed Garth."

"Runas?"

"Runas and Naeras came with Ylyndar's people from Altariel. He was a former Hoplite in the Phalanx, Naeras too. Sober bunch of brutes."

Great.

"What unit?"

"I don't associate myself with Runas Garth."

"Huh? Is it because he's a Silivren?"

"Thieves are not bigots," Nabesos replied all serious. "But Runas carries a very big spear and an unfortunate attitude."

"Larenos is favored to win?" Glen asked with a grimace.

"He should have been with the support of the locals, but nobody likes him," Nabesos replied.

"So Tavril has more coin, better backing, befriended an Aniculo Rokae for crying out loud and is looking to establish contact with the outside world," Glen summed it up. "Why in All-hells would I speak with Larenos instead of him?"

"My grandfather supports Larenos," Cutra said. "Reliol knows what's right."

"The Blacksmith?" Glen sighed not wanting to insult her kin. He pursed his mouth and after he sniffed at the mixture in the cup Glen stood up from the uncomfortable chair. "You don't serve food here?"

"Not lately. Barely enough for us," Nabesos replied.

"Right. Rabbits are sparse?"

"No rabbits. Difficult to catch. Chickens," Nabesos smiled.

"Aha. So?"

"Reliol installed new padlocks and cages at Faramiel's place," the thief and restaurant owner elucidated. "It's not as easy to get in now. We're working on solutions."

"Of course. Faramiel?"

"He was in charge of the animals. Still is. Works for Larenos," Nabesos replied and Orym made a sound of disagreement. Could have been a burp due to the lousy berry juice they are serving! This crap looks like old diarrhea! "They are partners of sorts," Nabesos amended his description.

So it wasn't a burp.

"Horses?" Glen probed.

"Mostly mules. Some horses, not of a great breed. Any breed," Cutra replied.

"Fuck it. How quickly can you set up a meeting with this Larenos?" Glen inquired, giving up with a shake of his head. "And can someone find me a saddled horse to get around like a regular decent folk? My feet are killing me! Why… we must have walked five kilometers to get here for all that's holy!"

"I can find a horse," Orym suggested hopefully, and Glen reached into his cuirass from the sides, paused to give the thieves a warning stare, and then retrieved his small purse. He fished out a coin, a shiny new imperial piece of twelve. Holding it up, he tossed it to Orym, but Nabesos swiftly extended his arm and snatched it before Orym could catch it.

"That's a… lovely coin," the thief remarked, giving the coin a thorough lick, the craving palpable as if he was a kid polishing a caramel-coated apple.

The need is real.

"It truly is," Orym agreed, beaming with a newfound bliss.

"You'll earn two more if the horse can walk and isn't traceable back to its owner," Glen shot back, tucking the purse back under his armor.

"Garth is a true man of culture," Nabesos said with a smirk of appreciation as he stood up. "Any other secrets?"

"In my humble village, sharing only happens once trust is firmly established," Glen replied in his deadpan manner, a similar leer playing on his lips.

Sometimes.

"All your blades are of excellent quality," Cutra commented whilst they waited for the thieves to return. She took a moment to gulp down the rest of the juice Glen had passed on with the thirst of youth and then added. "Mm. It's pretty good. All the leftover bits are thrown in the juice so nothing gets wasted. It gives it a dark creamy feel."

"Some might call it a sludge. It also explains why the place stands empty of customers," Glen retorted and she furrowed her brows unsure.

"So?" She probed again. "Those swords aren't made by someone unskilled," Cutra insisted and Glen watched her closely, his fingers rapping at the table. "The black sword, where did you get it?"

"It was a gift curious girl," Glen replied.

"My grandfather is a Blacksmith. He told me about weapons," Cutra continued with a glance at Galater who had dosed off near the open window. "You can't hide such a blade Garth. People will notice."

"No one did smart mouth, but for you," Glen said. "You worked near your grandfather then? It explains the strength in those arms."

"My mother hated the workshop, but I like staying with Reliol," Cutra replied with a pout. "He knew a lot of important people from his army days. Knew my father from before."

Ah. I get it girl. He went missing and the old guy filled the role better than your mum. It happens to all species and some of us had no one growing up but a wayward old thief that worked us like dogs!

Eh. Rest in peace Crafton.

You had a better life than what you deserved.

"Worked with some of the best during those years," Cutra continued. "The 'Hulking' Fergen O' Mecatan du Nord, the 'Immortal' Angrein O' Mecatan and of course Isil Mehtar O' Mecatan, the 'Swordmaker'. The latter's blades are famous, especially the one he made for the Coven of Witches."

Glen pursed his mouth and glanced at the sleeping Galater, caught him with an eye half-open listening in to their talk and reached to grab the cup out of Cutra's hands. Flipped it once and then hurled at Galater who ducked to avoid it swiftly coming about. The chair's legs skidded on the floor and the Mori-Zilan or whatever the fuck Galater thought he was, slipped and went down taking the table with him.

"Hey!" Cutra yelled but Glen gestured for her to calm down.

"He's fine," he told her. "You do know a lot about weapons girl."

"I'm a female," Cutra hissed.

"How old are you? Not even twenty?" Glen asked.

"Forty seven!" Cutra snapped angrily.

"Whoa. You're old as fuck," Glen blurted out, but then seeing her stunned expression, he added. "You look younger that is. It explains your lewd behavior with Mamaeron."

"What? I'm young!" Cutra shouted enraged. "What behavior? I did nothing!"

"Barely a teenager truth be told," the standing up Galater agreed, as if Glen valued his opinion.

"Calm down," Glen warned her again. "It was an honest mistake. But you should wear bigger pants. Yer arse belongs to a bigger woman."

Cutra's mouth hanged open hearing his words of advice.

"She's sensitive on these matters," Galater explained. "Given Tamra's history."

"Just shut up Galater!" Cutra yelled at him.

"A'right," Glen intervened not in the mood for gossip, but glad the conversation had been derailed completely. "That's enough talking. Galater check the window for these two scumbags returning, while Cutra runs out to get me something eatable from the market. It needs to be meat. I want it fully dead and properly roasted. Hurry up, they are about to close shop. Ah, and one more thing. When I say meat, I mean it to be from an animal that eats grass."

You don't want to find yerself blissfully chewing on late Mamaeron's foot fer crying out loud!

"I'm not your slave human," Cutra hissed and stood up from her chair.

"I could go to the market," Galater offered and Glen realized he was attempting to shield Cutra in his own way.

"What will it cost me?" He asked with a deep sigh and reached for his purse again.

-

Larenos Hostel Square

Main Kobold Mines settlement

An hour later

Oh boy, Glen thought, rubbing his thigh with a fist to loosen up the tightened muscles. He'd found himself walking across 3rd Urma's lit up streets to reach the old center of the village. At least Glen could now see the mining tower in full detail and the cracks and wear on the massive structure from centuries of use. Faramiel's stables, chicken coop and pigsty dominated a quarter of the square, with Larenos' two story Hostel and Reliol's Workshop directly south of his property. There were no official buildings or any fancy attempts at erecting a villa in this old part of the village as was the case with 3rd Urma. Just brick houses built one next to the other, which wasn't much Zilan-like. The two districts were completely different.

"We couldn't find a horse so we turned to Faramiel –who has plenty, but he was busy with a pregnant mare and refused to discuss it further," Nabesos explained for the second time. "Then he got nervous and pulled all the animals in."

"I can see him being present presenting a problem," the tired from walking Glen agreed. They hadn't encountered many of the locals as the absence of other entertainment meant most of the town gathered at the border between the districts, south from where they were, at the venue of Alail & Holone.

A pleasure house dabbling as a small theater of plays.

No judging, Glen reminded himself –it's not that Folen is reinventing the wheel back in Taras and waited for Nabesos to approach the closed side door of the stables building, the main entrance was closed shut also, and call for Faramiel to appear to discuss a deal in a more direct manner.

Nabesos knocked on the door while Glen waited with Orym and Cutra crossed the square to ask her grandfather whether Tamra had returned or not. It wasn't too late, but the setting sun and heavy shade of the nearby mountain had brought plenty of darkness over the Kobold Mines village early.

"Master Faramiel!" Nabesos tried again giving the door a modest kick.

Glen cast a side-glance at the silent Orym with the low-ranking thief doing the same. They both cleared their throats tentatively, whilst Nabesos redoubled his efforts to rouse the stable-master.

"Faramiel!"

"What's this ungodly ruckus?" A gruff sleepy voice was heard from the first floor window and a mangle-faced Mori-Zilan peeked down at the street. Faramiel had suffered an injury –a horse kick to the head- and part of his skull was a little deformed with the right eye double the size of the left one. "There's a plaguing sign saying do not disturb after hours! An illiterate Zilan is an utter disgrace to our whole species!"

"It's me Faramiel. You cheap bastard have no lights over this door!" Nabesos waved an arm to be seen. "Open it so we can talk business."

"Nabesos you cretin. Playing the blind!" Faramiel grunted. "Tirilix is rushing down probably, stop banging on my door!"

"Apologies," Nabesos moved away from the door. "I brought a paying customer!"

"A what?" Faramiel gasped. "Is that knave Orym trying to sneak up the back door whilst you distract me? I swear if this is another one of your shenanigans Nabesos!"

"Absurd! Of course not!" Nabesos protested and pointed at the numbly watching the exchange unlikely couple of the frowned Monarch and Orym. "He's right there!"

"I'm coming down!"

"We are good," Nabesos told Glen turning around. "The old Gish will open the door."

They waited for a full minute in uncomfortable silence for the door to open, Orym checking about the relatively empty square, Nabesos whistling a song of the First Era and the scowled Glen tapping at his boot nervously.

"He's an old Gish. Short legs, slow-moving… ehem. Yep," Nabesos explained when the minute passed with the door still closed and just then it swung open and a bald, much wrinkled Gish appeared wearing a short robe. "Hah, there he is! Looking fresh as a spring flower!" Nabesos exclaimed and went to enter the stables but the Gish stopped him raising his hand.

"What do you want?" Tirilix asked in perfect imperial.

"Faramiel expects me. Just talked with the man," Nabesos elucidated. "Faramiel! Tell your Gish to get out of my way!"

"What? Why?" The distant voice of Faramiel was heard from inside the door. "Stay where you are!"

"Oh, come on… this is ridiculous!" Nabesos protested. "I brought a customer… thank you," he paused when Tirilix stepped aside for him to enter. The thief went in and the old Gish scrutinized Glen and Orym that still stood outside, not that far from the door.

Whoa, Tirilix looks way older than Flix, Glen thought.

May the Old Gods and the New, ever be kind to the old Gish's soul.

"Stay under the light," Faramiel was heard saying to Nabesos. "Know that I suspect you for over a hundred missing hens you lowly cretin!"

"A hundred…? Are you serious?" Nabesos protested pretty convincingly. "We sell rabbit delicacies mister!"

"Per year!" The stable-master exploded. "Your den of hyenas sucked the marrow out of my bones since you appeared—"

"You have no proof! But still you attack the fellow Mori-Zilan that never lifted a finger to harm you!" Nabesos retorted trying to keep it civil. "I brought you a customer with coin. Read my fucking lips! Coin. He wants a horse."

"I just dealt with a difficult pregnancy," Faramiel said tiredly. "Where is that customer?"

"Just outside. Your Gish took an age to come down," Nabesos protested.

"Well, he has a foot in the grave, so show some plaguing compassion!" Faramiel grunted. "Tirilix bring them in! Hurry up, will you?"

"I'm not going faster for you!" Tirilix shouted back and gestured for Glen to come inside. "What about the other thief?"

"This is outright character assassination Faramiel!" Nabesos objected.

"Shut up you cretin," Faramiel retorted. "Bring that knave Orym inside so we can keep our eyes on his stealing arse!"

Faramiel ogled his eyes, the right one the size of a large egg, upon seeing Glen enter into the illuminated interior of the stables.

"Our human friend—" Nabesos started but Faramiel cut him off.

"No shit, maybe tell me sooner? Where did he come from? Is he alone?"

"He's an explorer—"

"Who told you that? The man carries enough weapons to fully arm a patrol!" Faramiel blasted him with an apologetic smile to Glen. "Apologies mister. Nothing personal."

"You do have a legitimate point," Glen agreed in a friendly manner. "The name's Garth."

"Ah." Faramiel looked behind Glen expectantly. "Uhm."

"It's just a name."

Faramiel pursed his mouth and eyed the grinning Nabesos. "Is this a ruse? Have you stooped so low?"

"I'm interested in a horse to move about," Glen intervened.

"If you came as far there's nothing more to see," Faramiel replied. "You are perchance interested in tunnel architecture? You missed the carnival, not that it was anything special, but titties were shown and we had a bit of fun."

"I want to talk with Larenos and I need fast transportation," Glen insisted.

"You are in a hurry? What's the rush?"

"Time is coin," Glen retorted. "Do you want mine?" He got his purse out under Faramiel's scrutiny.

"Is that silver I hear jingling?" Faramiel probed.

"Four pieces of twelve," Glen answered with a half-smirk.

"Freshly minted," Nabesos added.

"Is that so? Who minted them fresh coins?" Faramiel asked. "Humans?"

"They are still in circulation," Glen replied and showed him the coins. "Can I see the horses?"

"I have two, but you'll be interested in Darky," Faramiel said and waved for him to approach. "Is that a peleg? A Kopis? The other thing I don't even recognize. You packed a lot of steel on that harness mister Garth, eh?"

"It's a crazy realm out there," Glen replied walking after him towards the stalls. "Dangerous days and nights plagued with horrors."

"I wouldn't know. Worked the stables all my life," Faramiel noted and opened the door for him. "Darky I use for breeding. He's a good horse."

"How old?" Glen asked examining the stallion. Not the best horse he'd seen by far.

"Ten summers," Faramiel replied. "Young still."

Sure buddy. Put tits on me and call me Darunia!

"Not for a horse," Glen murmured.

"You can pick a mule."

Suck a bug of dicks.

"I'll take it."

"Four silvers is a small prize mister Garth," Faramiel haggled.

No silvers is even smaller!

"Perhaps in the distant past when Darky was much younger, but right here, right now, it's the best deal you'll get," Glen countered with a grimace. Then again. "I'll give you a gold piece if you arrange a meeting with Larenos tonight."

"A gold piece? Imperial?"

"Only gold I have," Glen replied calmly.

Faramiel stared at Nabesos. "What's going on here?"

"Mister Garth brings news from the realm beyond," Nabesos explained. "Riches."

"What news? Did he tell you anything worth of note?" Faramiel insisted.

"Not really… ahm, come on. Just sell him the bloody horse Faramiel," a frustrated Nabesos argued. "Can't you see the opportunity here?"

"The empire found you again Master Faramiel," Glen said and Faramiel stood back with a frown.

"Is that a threat?" He queried.

In a sense it is.

"Listen, I was tasked with finding out whether you guys are still breathing," Glen told them instead.

"By whom?"

"Valydra," Glen retorted and Nabesos' eyes grew up to twice their size.

Faramiel grimaced. "Didn't she steal Normos' boat?"

"She's alive? What about Kumra?" An excited Nabesos asked and Orym started crying overwhelmed with the news.

"She is. Let me speak with Larenos," Glen told Faramiel. "Whatever you have here is bound to fail, but I can make a difference."

"He's selling us a tall tale Nabesos," the stable-master warned the moved thief and glanced at the sniffling Orym. "Tirilix get him out. The empire is dead mister Garth. All deals are off. Tavril knows it and the Aniculo Rokae all but confirmed it."

"If that is true," Tirilix said in a sober manner, wiping his wrinkled mouth. "Then I want out of my service Faramiel."

"What? Are you out of your mind? You're a barely-walking corpse, Tirilix. Where do you think you're going, you old fool?" Faramiel scolded him.

"That's for me to know," Tirilix shot back, slowly turning away and making his way to the door. It took him a full minute to reach it.

"He does this regularly," an uncomfortable Faramiel clarified. "He'll return by morrow, mid-noon tops."

"Are we in agreement?" Glen inquired, unfazed by the old Gish's shenanigans.

"You'll never persuade Larenos to do your bidding, no matter what your plan is, Garth," Faramiel cautioned. "He opposes change and outsiders. It's much wiser to talk to Tavril. He aspires to be the next King of the Isles. Is that your goal? We're not all fools, you know."

"I don't need to, and no fool truly knows himself."

"Ha! A man of clever words. Yet you're not denying it. I'll have a word with Larenos as soon as we finalize our agreement," Faramiel resolved. "But don't expect your little game to conclude in a way that satisfies you."

Good, because Tavril's brand of ruling is too murderous for my likes.

"Ah, but I don't play games, Master Faramiel," Glen retorted confidently. "If I don't hold all the blasted cards."

Alright, twas a boast, but not far from the truth.