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 | Almost the old deal

ACT I

-A new trial, same as the old-

"Good," Faramiel said, digging hard in his right ear with the pinky finger. "Used the horse's trough to wake myself," the stable-master explained. "Clogged up the ears. Ayup."

Glen pressed his lips tightly together and gazed at the two thieves positioned next to him outside the 'grand' two-story structure of Larenos. An old lightstone torch flickered above the entrance, and the only other serious illumination in the square emanated from Reliol's workshop. The Blacksmith was already awake, while Cutra had yet to make her return.

"The meeting…" he told Faramiel.

"Yes, I talked to Larenos," the Mori-Zilan replied. "This is what you will do though. You'll rent a room before speaking to him about anything else."

"I don't need a… eh, fine I'll do it," Glen paused and stared at the door. "You'll keep the horse in your stable until I finish?"

"Not gonna happen. I moved the mare's younglings there, but Larenos has a stable for his clients," Faramiel elucidated. "You're covered."

"Uhm. You're not a very hospitable person Faramiel," Glen remarked and turning to the two silent thieves added sternly. "Wait here for Cutra. Anybody seen where Galater disappeared to?"

Orym shrugged his shoulders.

"We had a deal for services rendered mister Garth," Nabesos reminded him.

"I ended up paying for the horse mister Nabesos," Glen retorted. "Just wait for Cutra to return and I may consider it worthy of further compensation."

Glen entered the hostel's first floor restaurant and realized the building was empty of roused customers. A thick-set Mori-Zilan male wearing a nice blue cotton robe was sitting at the last table before the staircase leading upstairs, appreciating a lit pipe of weed. He was in the company of an austere female clad in a dark-green tunic, who stood up the moment Glen stepped inside and immediately approached him.

"Welcome to the Mountain's Shade," the female Mori-Zilan greeted Glen.

Whoa, there's a totally… unoriginal name, Glen thought amused.

"Hello back. I'd like a room," Glen replied with a nod, playing along stiffly.

"The first floor suite is available," she replied without missing a beat.

Glen raised his brows and her partner or boss expounded from his spot.

"It's just a large corner room mister Garth."

Aha.

"Larenos, I presume."

"Who else? It's my place. Sylivir will take care of your baggage," Larenos replied and puffed smoke out of his nostrils.

"Don't have any," Glen said with a half-smile.

"See to the horse Sylivir," Larenos moved on without delay. "How long will your stay be mister Garth?"

"Two days."

Hopefully less.

"It'll be two silver coins for each day. Another for the horse," she told him, before walking outside. Glen glanced at her leaving them and then turned his attention on Larenos.

"Have a seat mister Garth," Larenos offered seeing his stare. "I'd have offered you something, but the kitchen is closed."

There's a marketing strategy, bound to bring ye new clients! Glen thought with a shake of his head.

Not.

"This is one of the oldest buildings in this village along with the mining tower. Thrice fully restored to the foundations," Larenos told Glen, the moment he took a seat in the table across from him. "Renovated eleven times in over twenty centuries. I never missed a day of work for the whole duration," he finished.

It shows in yer attitude, Glen thought, but said instead.

"Tradition and dedication should be commended."

"Nobody here gives a shit," Larenos retorted and sucked at the pipe for a long moment. "People just want free things," he added after exhaling. "And leave taking whatever isn't nailed down, even the pillow covers."

Glen rubbed at his jaw, worked the light stubble growing there with his fingers and waited for the hostel owner to get the rest out of his chest. You don't sit alone in your empty restaurant with most of the lights turned down, if you are in a good mood.

"And yet," Glen pointed out after a quiet moment, in order to speed the dragging conversation along, "you wish to lead this town. Why not give way to Tavril?"

"Ha, you cut to the chase," Larenos replied with a grimace and tapped his bone pipe on the table twice. "Let me turn it around, why approach me instead of Tavril?"

"Could be politeness, a way to land a cheaper room," Glen retorted.

"You don't appear to be short of coin and polite folk carry fewer weapons on their persons," Larenos countered. "Tavril made a big thing of the wyvern's visit, got everyone excited –those already itching for a change that is," he continued and slotted the pipe in his mouth to mull on it for a moment. "I heard the Aniculo Rokae speak of the devastation he witnessed across the reefs, things we suspected, or knew already. Still, when Tavril changed the story, making those words more hopeful everyone was convinced and cheered him on."

"Tavril believes the blast killed everything on Eplas?" Glen asked.

"Not on Eplas, but it devastated Wetull for sure," Larenos replied. "He knows it, and he'll use the search for our elusive lost kin to fuel a campaign across the isles. Secure enough resources to get something going again with him in charge."

"What army will he use?" Glen queried.

"You don't need an army to take over ruins and nomads. All other isles were hit worse than us. I already suspected this not five years after the disaster, when no one appeared."

"Tavril might find serious opposition to his plans," Glen said and Larenos reached for a lightstone to reignite his pipe. The strong smell of weed made Glen's eyes water.

"I learned what you told Faramiel," Larenos remarked, puffing a thick cloud of smoke out. "Whatever they have in Goras isn't a match."

"To his former diggers, barely-motivated worker-soldiers?" Glen taunted.

"To the Aniculo Rokae and his wyvern," Larenos reminded him and Glen smirked unnervingly to show his amusement. "You haven't seen one in your lifetime human."

Glen raised his brows mockingly. "Why not take the same deal? Offer them a return to the empire and weaken Tavril's argument?"

"I know it's not true and I prefer Wetull's problems stay away from our shores."

"People will find you eventually," Glen said and got up. "They may come as friends, or if Tavril wins as enemies."

"You claimed Garth could change that," Larenos noted. "Yet you offer me to lie like Tavril. What happens if the empire's help and resources never arrive? We've seen pirates and the occasional crazy adventurer. Even had some of our very own attempt to traverse the misty reefs or leap across the other isles, and it didn't go well. Ask Cutra about her father Kerbos or that scoundrel Nabesos about Valydra. She was standing where you are now, three years back to the day. Told us to invest in making boats. We're fifty kilometers from the shores to the west without counting the mountain, over thirty to the east and at least seventy to the north. South, well… ask Galater what happened when the giant wave hit Urma Port."

Glen made a gesture. "So what? You'll either offer something new or you lose. Can't count on your charming personality to win them over Larenos. And you're wrong by the way."

"Aye, because Valydra talked to you," Larenos replied with a grimace of disbelief. "You claimed she did that is and maybe you speak the truth in this, else how would you know of her? Eh?"

You sound worried. Maybe you are not as certain then?

"You are wrong and Tavril's lies are the truth strange as that may sound," Glen told him with a look towards the door as he'd heard Sylivir return from the stable. "Auspiciously for you I'm willing to make an effort to help out, but I don't have time to fool around."

"What should I say?" Larenos asked pursing his mouth. "I've met a human who claims the empire has reached out? Oh, the benevolence sounds as unlikely as the fact they'll use a human for the task. Tavril presents the better argument."

"Not if he lies and you are not," Glen retorted and turned around to walk away. "I'll visit Reliol before I retire Larenos. Think about it and we'll talk again in the morning."

"Hoplite armours don't use gold markings Garth. The Supreme Leader of the Phalanx doesn't need gold to make him visible in the field. His legend and weapons are enough. It was meant for the royals. A much more insecure caste of peoples," Larenos said on his back just as he came upon the returning Sylivir on his way towards the hostel's door. Glen paused and turned his head to stare at the standing Larenos. "Bah, this thing with Tavril got me blathering like a bitter old hag. It's a ceremonial design is what I meant. Baltoris used an all-black cuirass to match with her sword and shield. She never touched her father's armour. Which means you either looted one intact from some museum –now at the bottom of the canal alongside the sunk Elauthin, or you had one made for you. It's a god darn thing of beauty what you have on there. I can see my face mirrored on it."

"How about a gift?" Glen rejoined tautly.

Cutra was right, people shall eventually notice yer armour and weapons.

"Nah. A trade perhaps. What was the trade for, human with the strange name?"

"I'll tell you what and end it there for now," Glen replied with a smirk. "Twas a god darn fair trade."

Glen walked out of the hostel, paused at the doorway to orientate himself and then marched towards the Blacksmith's Workshop. The lights outside revealing the two thieves had gone there and were talking with Cutra right under the large entrance's lightstone torches.

"How did it go?" Nabesos queried when Glen arrived shuffling his feet. "You don't appear pleased human."

"He'll think about it," Glen replied and paused to peek inside the workshop. He noticed the large smelter working and the beefy Mori-Zilan with the leather apron operating the treadle next to the anvil bench.

"So you talked? Well," Nabesos pulled at his earlobe thoughtfully. "Don't expect much."

"We'll see," Glen murmured and glanced at Cutra. "That yer grandfather?" She nodded. "I'll talk with him for a bit."

"Go ahead. The workshop is open," Cutra replied.

"Yeah? It's almost midnight."

"He's open for morrow already."

Glen smacked his lips and entered the much warmer interior of the workshop. Reliol, Cutra's grandfather, raised his head and glanced at the examining his tools Glen. He said in a colorless voice. "Greetings. Can you fetch me that tong?"

Sure.

"Which one?"

"The open-mouthed not the hollowed out. I need to whack this stubborn rapscallion a couple of times with the straight-peen, but it needs to be kept steady so I don't lose the angle."

Glen picked up the heavy iron tool from the stand and brought it over. "What are you making there Master Reliol?" He asked in a friendly manner.

"Working on an idea for a handle," the Mori-Zilan smith replied and flipped the piece of flattened steel in his hand before grabbing it with the tong. He went to hit it with the special hammer, but paused to stare at the watching Glen. "Perhaps it is not the time to finish this project of mine. Nor polite," the Blacksmith added.

"It's fine, but you may disturb your neighbors," Glen offered with an unforced smile. Reliol had an honest vibe about him, very refreshing. A seriousness also that reminded Glen of the late Sir Emerson Lennox. The thought sobering, it came to him before Glen finished talking.

"Eh. It's a big place but not packed with residents. Most live south of the market," Reliol replied and placed the open-bits tong down next to the hammer. Then he turned on his work stool to examine Glen. "We can sit at my workbench," he told the already sweating Monarch.

"It would be for the better," Glen agreed readily. He had started melting in his boots already.

"You are mister Garth then. I figured as much from the armour," Reliol said after drinking some water from a carafe. He offered it to Glen, but the latter politely refused. "Cutra told me a fascinating tale earlier. Aye. Not the good kind. Though I may have not taken her too seriously."

"How much did she say?" Glen asked not wanting to fall into the old smith's trap.

"I feared there was more to the story," Reliol replied with a sigh and pursed his mouth. "Tamra came home around noon from her evening… excursion, but the lass did anyways, and it made young Cutra's claim very unlikely. Now, I really need to seek out those two nasty scallywags or their thick-headed boss. Get them to back off my girls."

Ah. That's where Cutra stopped, Glen realized and pondered whether to reveal Mamaeron wasn't going to offer any explanations for his mischief due to a serious bout with death.

"Leave it until the morning," he compromised and Reliol kept his black with gold dots eyes on his face for a long moment.

"Humans rarely venture so deep inland or close to the mountain," Reliol finally said and reached for a dirty towel to clean his hands. "Not much to see and the bigger ruins are near the shores. All the other isles have much more to offer."

"Do they?" Glen asked to buy himself some time. He wanted to hear Reliol's input on Larenos, but didn't want to reveal too much right away.

"Surely you made another stop before coming here Garth," Reliol replied.

"I did," Glen said. "But it was very brief. Valydra wanted to check up on you guys."

"I'm not surprised she managed to navigate the reefs in the end. Only if she had gotten a different influence in her life… let's just say, the girl's talents were always impressive," Reliol remarked, his gaze fixed on a sword mold resting on the workbench. It stood empty, yet the outline resembled that of a classic Zilan sword. The blade and handle formed a seamless piece of gently curved steel. Royal Rokae wielded these swords, which were longer than the Kopis favored by the Hoplites and possessed a grace that surpassed the straight-edged Eirkor, an ancient Cofol design known as Katacim.

And was that a dig at good ole Nulanos character?

"I received an order. A substantial one. I haven't committed to it yet, but the thought of working with blades again is quite tempting," Reliol added.

"Who is the client?" Glen inquired, just to confirm his suspicions.

"Master Tavril," Reliol answered slowly, still mulling things over in his head. "You spoke with Larenos."

"I did," Glen confessed, seeing no reason to further beat around the bush.

The ground turned to fucking stone.

"Valydra discovered the empire," Reliol stated, carefully choosing his words. "It's heart beating. Still alive."

Glen all but rolled his eyes in the Zilan's tendency to over-exaggerate some matters.

"Clearly, there are some more intricacies to the tale."

"What did Larenos say?"

"He didn't outright decline," Glen responded.

"Larenos had told me he would."

Everybody knows who's talking with whom it appears.

"News travels swifter than the summer breeze in yer charming city," Glen remarked with a hint of sarcasm.

"It's practically a village Garth, and even now, it barely rises above a hamlet," Reliol countered. "Most people here are familiar with one another, sometimes more than they would have liked to be." Glen gave a slight nod of agreement with his head.

"Tavril hopes to conquer the isles with his diggers?" He asked the Blacksmith.

"He has a group working for him. Iksoer takes care of their food and pay. Like in the old days when the mines were still worked on fully. After the disaster the miners had to venture outside of their shafts and it isn't easy to bring everyone back into the fold, without contracts from the mainland."

"I found Normos fishing at the edge of the marshes," Glen said.

"It was a river once. The clean water cleared out some of the brines and the mud I guess," Reliol replied and pointed at Glen's belt. "Can I see that Kopis? It looks like the swords Du Nord had made in bulk during the war."

"Sure," Glen said and unsheathed the blade to leave it on the table. "You talk of Fergen?"

Reliol smiled at his query whilst examining the forward-curved blade. "Fergen stood a giant. Arms like trunks but he'd a gentle soul. A humble crafter he only wrote his initials on his weapons. This is very-close to his design. An homage almost to the big Nord, of excellent quality certainly. Actually it is much better than the original, but it's these markings stamped on the guard that give it its real value. It's all here really. Sirach… it means created, in the six month of the imperial year 3399, in the district Taras. Right after a psalm to the evil artist." Reliol shook his head with a smile. "Isil never put his name on his weapons and still, this steel weapon bears some of Mehtar's legendary skill. You see, Isil's work did all the speaking for him. His famed pupil on the other hand, while keeping his own name out, just couldn't help himself. This blade screams it was crafted by Angrein 'O Mecatan."

"I'm impressed. You are correct Master Reliol. Angrein made this armour for me as well," Glen said and Reliol returned the Kopis to him.

And the boots in a sense.

More of a collaboration the latter.

"You must have made quite the impression on him," Reliol replied. "Cutra got one more thing right Garth."

"Perhaps I'm telling the truth? Goras reaches out Reliol and Larenos must listen to the call," Glen said and the Blacksmith stood up to return near his anvil.

"Larenos isn't a politician Garth and the locals' last bout with the empire wasn't pleasant," Reliol elucidated. "Tavril uses it not to bring the local folk to him, but to secure the alliance of the refugees. When the isles reveal themselves to be empty of Imperial rule or inhabited by wrathful cannibals with no ties to the throne of Goras, then he'll gain the assistance of the locals to take control of the situation and the reluctant agreement from the Silivren-Zilan crowd –and their bootlickers."

"The empire is under new management," Glen retorted.

"Tavril has befriend an Aniculo Rokae," Reliol countered much as everyone else had and Glen grimaced very annoyed.

"I would rather not be dragged into Tavril's crazy adventure," Reliol revealed. "So I support Larenos because he's conservative and a friend, but my old army heart beats at the prospect of a new campaign. It is wrong and perhaps immoral, but we are who we are deep inside and you can't blame much-less restrained folk if they get seduced by Tavril's promises of a better life. Life was awful under Imperial rule for Coal Isle that much is true and it was bad afore it also, because we are not well-liked even here, in the old isles. We are too dark for the sensitive, beauty-seduced Zilan society. Then again, we themselves keep those living in the mines at arm's length, so we stand as guilty, I suppose."

"Why did Cutra get right?" Glen asked with a frown since he would have preferred to finish dealing with the locals early and return to Goras. It shaped to be a much more convoluted mess than he'd originally anticipated.

Plus everyone was convinced about the other wyvern, which could be his biggest problem yet.

"This is Black Eirkor," Reliol murmured and for the first time he appeared to be troubled. "I felt its essence enter the store before you did. I don't know how you got it Garth, or if this is the thing you keep and what gave you the strange moniker, but be aware that after Isil Mehtar O' Mecatan finished working on the sword, the witches had control of it. Aye, way before it reached Ninthalor's hands. It is not meant for a simple adventurer to hold."

Glen stood up from the workbench with a grimace. He hadn't come to share in the locals love of superstition. He'd held the witches-ordered sword in anger and talked with the Wyvern's Tongue, the gossipy dagger. Made a helm out of the Crown of Horns and a wife out of the Celestial Opal of Lai Zel-Ka. Glen dreamed of owning legendary weapons and ended up doing just that whilst riding on the back of a big arse wyvern!

In the end, he just figured shit out and moved forward.

"Where did Ivasaar said he was heading?" He asked the thoughtful Reliol afore he exited the workshop.

"Across the reefs," the Blacksmith had replied. "He was determined to reach as far as the city of Goras."

Well, fuck you very much. Mysterious, and persistent dragon-rider.

May you hit an early big storm on yer way there, slip and then drown in the deep brines, a worried Glen thought and stepped out of the workshop.

He came face to face with a wiry Mori-Zilan with striped in silver black eyes, weirdly shaped –alike Valydra's and Normos'- and armed with a chopper. Glen halted tensing up, but spotted another newcomer behind the one by the door and a group of about eight waiting in front of the workshop's lit façade.

One of them, with a glistering black, shaved head and broad shoulders, wearing a cuirass of plate and leather, raised a hand in greeting. The other resting on the pommel of a Zilan sword.

"Greetings, Mister Garth," the leader of the armed group said in rough imperial. Voice raspy, as if he'd inhaled plenty of coal dust and his lungs had turned blacker than his skin. "Master Tavril would like a word with our esteemed visitor."

You kill the first two, Glen thought standing back with a fake grin. Some no-name random character stabs ye in the back and collapses your good lung.

Or worse.

Then gets an unlikely achievement out of the plaguing nowhere!

Eh.

Fuck you Nabesos for running away.

Man, thieves suck as lookouts.

"I have a date with Cutra," Glen replied calmly. "I shouldn't be late."

"She went around the back, up to the house to talk with her mother," the Mori-Zilan explained, exonerating the girl but not the two thieves –although perhaps the allure of speaking to Tamra was too-much for Nabesos to resist.

Still, get run over by an oxen wagon ye stupid ruffian!

"Listen, unknown dude…" Glen started.

"Master Iksoer," the Mori-Zilan introduced himself.

Of course. With a face like that you could only be the big dick.

"What are you good at to earn the moniker? I'm asking for a friend," Glen retorted mockingly, since he hated guys that order their goons to take girls… eh, not girls, young women. Oh, for crying out loud! Take non-matured local females out in the country to unalive them.

There.

"I tidy things up," Iksoer replied with a leer that showed his fangs. Plenty of white teeth on that coal-black mug of his.

"Tavril is awake at this ungodly hour?" Glen asked in the same mocking tone. Lackeys rarely take the initiative and Iksoer's goons appeared to be too relaxed in their stances. They hadn't come here to fight.

"The worrying head never rests," Iksoer said poetically.

"The man that rests not, dies early of a heart attack," Glen deadpanned and added, afore the stunned Iksoer could get another word out. "Lead the way friend. I hope it's somewhere close. I've a paid room to return to and done a lot of walking for this month."

"We have horses," Iksoer assured him.

Uhm.

As it happened, Tavril lived inside the mining tower, which was about two kilometers away and nowhere near close to the square. So the horses were needed.

The rectangular mining tower was a built in many stages and times monstrosity. The lower floor had no windows, but three large entrances, the second had eight with two balconies facing the village, and above it ten more floors of thick granite walls with a metal bridge on the last floor connecting the tower with the mountain's side.

It was as if the original architects changed their mind on what the building should be every fifty years or so.

Next to the main entrance, a round pavilion had been added and a couple occupied the table there. They were having a late meal. The Zilan female, wearing an old ranger outfit got up hearing them approach –or seeing them in the dark- and walked down the few steps to wait for their arrival.

Iksoer stopped the horses, quickly jumped down and then paused for everyone to dismount. The moment they did he signed for Glen to follow after him. The female Zilan, or Silivren-Zilan as the locals called her kind, tackled them before they could reach the stocky Mori-Zilan still sitting at the pavilion's table.

"Where did you get this?" The female asked harshly and reached to grab Eirkor's handle, but Glen slapped her hand away. The Zilan snarled angry, went to punch the blank-faced Glen, but the Monarch snapped an arm out, squashed her small left tit over the leather armour and shoved her away. "Vile, human dog!" The humiliated ranger cursed.

"Eloera, please dear," the male said from the table. "He's a guest."

"Not my guest!" Eloera snapped with a grimace. "You start bringing looters home Tavril, we'll find ourselves sleeping on the blasted floors!"

"Damiron is late," Tavril told her in a soothing manner. He had ashen, short-cut hair that made his long Zilan ears appear bigger and a large nose on a square face. Tavril wasn't handsome but he'd an aura of authority about him. "See if you can find the lad at the pleasure house. We had some incidents lately."

"Eah," Eloera snarled with another glare at the unimpressed Glen and walked away towards the Mori-Zilan that had gathered their animals.

"Mister Garth, forgive my wife," Tavril told Glen. "She spent her youth in the army and the sight of the old, officer's outfit rattled her. Please take a seat at my table."

Glen nodded and climbed the three steps to the Pavilion to take the chair Eloera had vacated.

"Something to drink? We have rosewater with Bravnvin. Burnt wine or wine of brawn –ha! Just distilled alcohol from potatoes in reality. It'll knock your teeth out, as we say. In a good way."

"I'll have a glass of water and keep the teeth, if you don't mind. They are hard to come by," Glen retorted with a brief sniff of the colorless brew. It did smell of roses.

"Very true. Help yourself from the carafe. I look to avoid it myself, but I'll have a cup to liven the blood once in a while," Tavril said in a pleasant manner.

Glen poured some water in his glass after he emptied it on the wooden floor and stretched his legs under the table.

"We feared you might depart after your talk with Larenos," Tavril explained.

"I thought about it," Glen replied.

"Eh, not everyone here fears the outside world," Tavril continued and Glen waited to see where he would go with this. He wasn't fooled by the whole theater they'd performed with Eloera to make him appear more sympathetic or reasonable. Iksoer's thugs were taking orders from Tavril and the mine owner had an agenda already in motion. His talk with the Blacksmith Reliol had revealed as much. "I could show you the tower, if you don't mind climbing up a set of stairs or two."

"How tall is it?"

"Just over seventy meters, it looks small compared to the mountain," Tavril informed him.

"Not really. It looks pretty beefy," Glen argued.

"Very true. It is. This lower part was the warehouse for the coal ore and the workers," Tavril explained. "It housed the wagons and the other door to our… your right, was a stable. Then, my father built the second floor as a house. It's not easy living above or near a mine's entrance, so we made it as big as we could."

"What's with the second tunnel? Why dig twenty meters over the main?" Glen queried, sensing that Tavril liked talking about the mine.

"Sometime near the war's end," Tavril reminisced. "We found a vein of Mithril, very rich. It spreads over the upper edge of the coal deposit. We needed to dig higher to reach it for fear we might collapse the lower tunnels, hence the tower grew taller. You see, there are people living inside the mine Garth, plus coal tends to make Mithril or any gem very difficult to find once it covers it. It's better to dig through granite than coal, as strange as it may sound. It turns to dust easily and sticks everywhere."

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"I can smell coal in the air, so I understand what you're saying," Glen agreed and Tavril nodded appearing pleased with the Monarch's sympathetic demeanor. "I understand that Mithril is very valuable and you mentioned gems?"

"Diamonds," Tavril elucidated. "Found in the lower shafts near the quartz veins. As for Mithril, you are correct. You've found plenty, I suppose… in your… ahm, excavations?"

Probably wanted to use looting there, Glen thought. Decided against it for the sake of good manners. Mayhap, even grave-robbing?

Glen had done both.

"Not really. It's pretty sparse in the mainland."

"Perhaps. Not surprising given the demand."

"You didn't understand my words. Other than a couple of cases, I saw no one wearing it," Glen insisted.

"I do. Iksoer has one under his cuirass," Tavril explained and opened his blue robes at the chest to show Glen a sparkling shirt. The thin threads knitted chainmail shirt had a strange gleaming quality about it that resembled glass from a distance. "Due to their value most folk kept them hidden or under another set of clothing. If you dig more into the ruins you'll find plenty of them."

Glen stood back. "It must have made you a very rich man."

"Not really. The upper mine –the whole mountain more like- was considered royal property. Eh, all mountains. The wyverns love landing at high peaks, hence the pyramid shaped temples at Urma and the mainland. Anyways a certain Lord Suraer, an old official of the times, sent one of his wives here to investigate the finding and proposed to keep it closed in order to not to crash the market. I own a third of it but had to go along at the time given the political climate. I met Eloera through Lady Nuala, so I can't complain. She was escorting Lord Suraer's wife during her visit."

Suraer, you old dog you, Glen thought trying to remain nonchalant.

"You did dig a bit though. A pickaxe here, a shovel over there. You owned the guards and had plenty of diggers at hand," Glen said and Tavril shrugged his shoulders.

"The blast killed a profitable endeavor," Tavril added. "It killed the mine business altogether. Without cargo ships and trade routes, working ports and open markets there's no point digging. The locals don't even use the granite. We have clay at the near and they favor their bricks."

You are a local also mate. You just landed a Silivren wife.

"I saw plenty of granite houses at 3rd Urma," Glen noted.

"That's the refugees. Zilan from Altariel and Little Urma. Silivren-Zilan. Ah, and I guess the few Mori-Zilan from Urma Port that made it here. They are the whiter of us, as we say."

"What about those living inside the mines?" Glen asked to fully grasp the different castes existing on the island.

Tavril crooked his mouth and stared at the small crystal glass he held in his hand. "There was a story circulating in my father's time," he finally said. "Before Ninthalor took the throne. The first Mori-Zilan that entered the tunnels found little scaly-skinned creatures living there. Very aggressive and with glowing dragon-eyes. Paps thought he caught sight of one in his garden, eating his dog. The dog died alright that much was true and along with it the tale of the cave-dwelling creatures perished as well. Not dwarves and no bigger than Gnomes, we called them Kobolds. Those Mori-Zilan that managed to find solace in the mountains guts, taking the place of those earlier inhabitants, were a bit changed. A new creature took the place of the old one."

You all look the same god damnit!

"Local folk believe they have Kobold blood in them," Glen noted with a grunt.

"Or on them. Their hands, like a curse," Tavril expounded soberly.

Aha. Um, well… every expansion comes with a bit of murdering, I suppose.

"Goras could use your Mithril Tavril," Glen said to change the subject.

"Humans rule in Goras? They moved in?"

One human, and we had the latter too but…

"Not exactly. I'll say a lot Zilan are thriving there though," Glen replied.

"The Zilan sent you?" Tavril asked a little amused.

"I'm here at their proposal but also to satisfy the guy ruling there."

"What's his name?"

"They call him, Hardir O' Fardor," Glen rejoined with a casual shrug. Tavril's eyes blinked slowly and then he pushed back on his chair with a quick glance at Iksoer, who was listening in to their conversation, standing a couple of meters away from the pavilion's table.

The Mori-Zilan's 'boss of the mines' face turned taunt for a moment and then relaxed in a half-leer. All that hospitality and good manners washed away.

"Who told you that?" Tavril finally queried.

"I've seen him up close," Glen replied readily. "As close as you stand in front of your mirror to shave yer face. I've seen his throne and his Crown of Horns. Stood with the Council of Twenty in session and watched Taras grow."

"You are well-informed for a grave-robber. This Hardir gave you the armour and your weapons?" Tavril asked with a grimace of disbelief.

"In a sense."

"Mister Garth, an Aniculo Rokae landed in our fields," Tavril told him warningly. "Told us of what happened to Nureria and Elauthin. The rest of the Isles. He's headed for Goras now, and he'll discover whether what you're saying is true, or not."

Let's hope he doesn't make it.

Surely, I've jinxed him plenty already!

"When was that?"

"Several weeks. He might be here on the morrow," Tavril replied with a smirk. "It's too tall a tale Mister Garth. Hardir O' Fardor, goodness me, is that what you told Larenos? A boogieman's story? This is Coal Isle, we don't concern ourselves with them crazy Silivren Witches. We had our own."

Glen nodded at his words, then made a face as if something about them didn't feel right to him. "Several weeks is a long time for a wyvern. Ivasaar should have been to Goras and back twice already Master Tavril. Hells, he could have gone to Jelin, visit Asturia and be back again," the Mori-Zilan narrowed his eyes.

"I don't know where that is," Tavril grunted.

"Neither do I," Glen admitted. "But I hear it's a hell of a vacation spot, located far and away, somewhere in Jelin's Canlita Sea. It was a metaphor friend."

"I got it," Tavril hissed, sounding angry now. "A delay doesn't make your tales true Garth. Ivasaar will make quick work of your fantasy ruler."

"Mate, don't wager any coin on that," Glen retorted, taking it personal.

"Coin?" Tavril scoffed and wiped his mouth. "Truth cuts through lies human, like a sharpened blade."

"You better be careful, for some blades cut both ways," Glen cautioned him, which only infuriated Tavril even more.

"Why speak in riddles and innuendos human?" Tavril grunted, using the 'derogative' term for a second time in a row. "Let's ask the gods, and we'll learn the truth immediately."

"Sure, let's do it. You have a god sleeping in your tower Tavril?" Glen deadpanned and soon as the words left his mouth, he noticed Tavril's demeanor change.

'Lord Reeves', Didar, son of Gulian had yelled loud enough for all to hear, a full seven years ago inside another village hundreds of kilometers away called Refuge Moon. 'I want a ruling from the Gods, yers 'n mine!'

Well, shit.

Luthos, you are a little cunt.

'A trial by fire,' the village Elder Sameer had said.

"This is a horrible idea Tavril," a frustrated Glen told the smirking Tavril. "I ain't fighting you here, amongst yer men."

"I'm not a fighter," Tavril retorted almost insulted. "Iksoer is trained more than enough to beat any human, and I'm not going to waste the opportunity to profit in my campaign with a private trial Garth. Let's do it at the square in front of Larenos' place. What do you say?"

Well, me thinks that I could burn your ugly tower to the ground, but there are probably innocent people inside and Valydra may arrive to the Isle soon. It would look horrible if I resorted to that. I need not her getting ideas about another insurgency!

Uhm, plus word of the massacre might reach Wetull or the witch's big ears and make me look bad!

So… your lackey gets to take the steel rod up the arse and be thankful about it.

Glen puffed his cheeks out whilst pondering on the repercussions and then nodded at the end of it. "Works for me," he replied and got up. He took a moment in order to stare at Iksoer's hardened face –one of the dudes identified as having a Mithril vest under their outfit, he reminded himself, and then added in a sincere voice, employing one of Troy's –a real titan of the arena & a true aficionado of the blood sports- favorite sneaky-intimidating techniques. "Use what's left of this night to bid farewell to yer loved ones, friend," a serious Glen counseled the flabbergasted with his audacity Mori-Zilan. Iksoer opened his mouth to differ but the Monarch stopped him with a royal gesture.

"Now then," Glen said, "with that out of the fucking way, I'll need to borrow your horse to get back to the hostel mate. I ain't trekking back there through the mud!"

-

ACT II

-A new deal, almost like the old… but not quite-

About an hour later

Early night

A tired Glen dismounted before Larenos stable –located at the back of his hostel- and then walked to the front of the establishment inside the village's square. He saw the lights on Reliol's workshop, made to duck inside the hostel but the wiry figure of Cutra popped out and called out to him.

"Mister Garth! Please, can I have a word?"

Oh, fer crying out loud.

"It's late Cutra," Glen said, but strolled across the square towards her. "I need to rest. Things took a turn and I need to be on me best form lass."

"Stuff happened," Cutra fired back excited. "At least two—"

"Wait, you know about the duel?" Glen asked a little confused. "I just came back… how?"

"What duel? Eloera found the bodies!" Cutra snapped –half of it muffled- through Glen's hand. He'd covered her mouth to stop her from yelling to the empty square. You never know who is up working at this time, Glen thought with a nervous glance about them. Sure enough, he caught sight in the distance, of a lone figure navigating Faramiel's roof on his toes.

"A moment," he told the ogling Cutra and slotted mid finger and thumb in his mouth to release a sharp whistle that rang across the flat square. The figure on the roof recoiled, his foot slipped on a loose tile and then went tumbling down towards the edge and the hard granite tiles. He managed to hang on for dear life at the very last moment and several dramatic swings, gained control of his grip to remain hanged from the roof's edge like a buddle of dried garlic, swaying at the soft night breeze. "How did she find them?" Glen calmly probed, returning to their conversation.

"Normos told one of her pupils. Trialis," Cutra explained, after Glen snapped his fingers in front of her face to get her attention. The young female had caught sight of the thief hanging from Faramiel's rooftop as well. "He was coming back to sell his fish on the market tomorrow and hear the debate."

"Normos found them?" Glen frowned. "But did he say anything else?"

"Of course," Cutra said and Glen made another snarling grimace. "The wyvern is back."

"Ah," Glen murmured, keeping it vague far as reactions went. "Eloera was rattled?"

"No, she likes Ivasaar –not to mention she expects him to be back any time now. So she immediately concerned herself with Mamaeron's fate," Cutra explained. "Normos could barely get a word out!"

Should have slapped her. I had the same issues with the bossy bitch!

"Good," Glen blurted out, immediately making a change to his wording in the form of an add-on. "Good grief! Such hot-headed woman! Right? Ehem, well then… nothing to worry about."

"What? Iksoer knew they were coming to speak with me," Cutra retorted. "So Eloera will put two and two together! Not to mention… well, she's looking for Damiron."

Who the fuck…?

Ai… that's Tavril's son with the bossy bitch!

"So what?"

"She has a thing for Tamra. The rich fool," Cutra blurted out. "Mother might have led him on last night between drinks."

The plot thickens but in a different, not-relevant way. Hey, at least it explains how Mamaeron knew where Tamra was. Always good to close them plotholes!

"So… they did the nasty thing?" Glen queried and Cutra furrowed her brows shocked.

"The nasty thing?" Cutra repeated with a blush.

"Well, drunk wayward widow and her aroused young admirer in a village that offers few other distractions worth of note, unless you savor the smell of coal in yer Brawnvin and the taste of muddy fish with yer potatoes," Glen begun, saw Cutra shaking and stopped.

"Forget about it. Blame Galater for the bloody mishap. Nobody likes him, but he likes you and he might take the fall," Glen offered, then paused again with a sigh. "Eh. You panicked and told Reliol what happened in detail."

Cutra pouted. "He is very upset. Tamra might have told him Damiron slept here last night also. So it added up."

Of course he did. Daughters can be trouble, Glen thought soberly.

"Let me talk with him then," Glen resigned and with another glance at the still hanging over the edge thief, he entered the workshop for a second time in the same night.

"Eloera headed out to retrieve the bodies," Reliol told the pacing back and forth Glen. "You appear nervous. Normos told us about the wyvern."

"Where is he?" Glen asked stopping to have some water from the carafe. He was hungry and tired, so the water only helped him so much.

"Sleeps on the upper floor. Left his fish in those baskets."

Yeah. They don't smell too fresh already.

"Listen, they were going to hurt Cutra and Galater," Glen said. "Then foolishly decided to get rid of a potential witness, and it was their undoing. A clear case of self-defense and I've two people to vouch for it. Good riddance."

"Cutra told me what happened," Reliol insisted. "Killing them won't sit well with the locals."

"We'll see about that," Glen retorted. "Eloera would need to explain first why they were dragging Cutra out in them clay fields. Let's see who can work a crowd better. Anyways, tomorrow I'll face Iksoer in a trial by fire and all shall be corrected."

Reliol stood up from his bench with a frown. "Why?"

"Tavril and I came to a disagreement about who's running Wetull and the current state of affairs of the old empire. His version differs from mine, so we'll ask the gods or whatever to give us their input," Glen replied.

"Iksoer is a difficult opponent. Fast and strong," Reliol noted. "An armour can only do so much Garth and the sword is known to behave erratically."

"Uhm. I'm more worried about Runas," Glen revealed. "What would Ylyndar do on the morrow?"

"Listen to Larenos and Tavril's arguments, but he's already committed to a full attempt to navigate the reefs. Living with us has put a strain on Ylyndar's psyche."

"Distance has distorted Ylyndar's memories of his own caste," Glen assured him. "They have their own problems. Tavril is not truthful about reaching out, he only wants to use it as an excuse to conquer what's left of the isles, control the Reefs and open up trade with the humans ruling in Goras."

"Is that what's going on?" Reliol asked intensely.

"I told Tavril his plan will fail, wyvern or not. Hardir rules in Wetull," Glen retorted. "End of story."

"Not if you lose the duel," Reliol noted. "Or Ivasaar returns with a different tale," he added and Glen yielded with a simple nod.

"I need my rest," Glen told the intently staring at him Reliol. "How is Larenos' hostel meals?"

"Same as his own. He eats in the kitchen. One per day, plus fodder for the animals included in the price," Reliol replied.

"Hey, that's not a bad deal," Glen said impressed.

"Larenos is difficult, but not unfair. He made a business people envy, but are too bored to take on themselves, because it needs a full commitment and it's not exciting. Like Blacksmithing in a sense. Valydra knows it," Reliol pointed out.

Glen agreed with a nod and went to exit the workshop going past the aloof Cutra, when Reliol spoke again.

"Ylyndar is a man of letters Garth. His family was always very close with the White Sorceress through his late father Lord Vengen. The 2nd Sybil was in turn Sintoriela's first pupil and knew of her tutor's prophecies by heart."

Glen returned the Blacksmith's stare undaunted. "You speak of Galadriel."

"I do. Ylyndar won't be easy to fool with a story about Hardir O' Fardor. It's a clever ploy, masterful for a human, but you run out of luck it appears Garth. These are the Isles, where the prophecies were birthed."

"Luthos has a way of defying our expectations Master Reliol," Glen replied coolly. "Be it for the better, or for worse."

-

The next morning

19th of Netel Linde 3401 IC

(19th day of the ninth moon)

It seems we've drawn quite the crowd. A bit of a surprise given the short notice, Glen thought whilst drying up his wet face with a towel. Then again this could be a local holiday, or a concert day for all I care.

The local Mori-Zilan had indeed gathered en masse in the village's square before Mountain's Shade hostel and Reliol's workshop. Many normal Zilan were there also sitting in tables brought out by Larenos. A small stage had been setup for the speakers and the few 'high-ranking' elites. Glen easily spotted Ylyndar and Master Keenor there, next to the hoplites Runas and Naeras. Also the two whores Alail and Holone –looking all fresh despite the early morning hours.

Obviously Tavril and Larenos, right behind him Eloera and their 'Halfling' son Damiron, a lighter-skinned Mori-Zilan with dark blue hair and the square jaw of an adventurer. Reliol and Normos stood outside his workshop. His statuesque, bosomy daughter Tamra was there also, right next to Tirilix, who had slept there for the night. Faramiel joined them at the front of the workshop, just as Glen got outside the hostel's entrance followed by Sylivir, Larenos' sober female partner. Cutra, Nabesos and Orym –the latter had his left ankle heavily bandaged- also waited for him by the crowded entrance.

"Bad fall?" Glen asked Orym, who shrugged his shoulders as if it wasn't a big deal.

"Tried to repair the roof," Orym expounded, leaving it vague whose roof it had been.

"Them roof-tiles can be tricky come nighttime," Glen commented with a shit-eating grin.

"Have you ever done this before?" Nabesos cut in, pulling at his earing nervously.

He wasn't talking about roof-climbing night gymnastics, but the upcoming duel.

"Yeah," Glen replied –an affirmative for both counts- with a glance at the taller Iksoer, who was getting ready in front of the 'elites' stand. "How good is Iksoer?"

"I wouldn't want to fight him," Nabesos replied. "That blade weights a ton."

That 'blade' was the large chopper. Basically over a meter of cleaver-type, elongated rectangular blade, one-sided and three times fatter at the grain than the edge. It connected to a simple, but sturdy two-handed handle, since being so heavy meant Iksoer's chopper was a two-handed weapon.

"I bet it makes him slow," Glen noted and removed his Kopis to give it to Cutra for safekeeping, just as Tavril went at the edge of the stand to address the colorful crowd. Some of them had dressed up for the occasion despite not knowing the debate was going to have further attractions. Larenos should have charged a ticket, make himself some pretty coin, Glen thought and saw Sylivir visiting the hostel's tables –now parked inside the square- one after the other. Perhaps he does.

"Fellow peoples, Folk and residents of our colorful community," Tavril said with a gesture for the crowd to quiet down. They did, though some of the more unruly onlookers could now be heard more clearly.

"Wasn't today Larenos' chance to speak?" A tired Mori-Zilan with a red shirt and dirty yellow trousers asked a Silivren-Zilan that didn't look much better, but did have a fancier old redingote on. Glen blinked once and realized the heavily powdered Zilan was in fact Galater.

"Can you stand further away Kaeliol?" Galater protested. "Folk might think we're together. Aristocrats mingling with the gutter trash of Urma."

"Eh, don't be so uptight Gil," Kaeliol dismissed his concerns. "Nobody believes yer shite."

True.

Gil?

"This human," Tavril continued in the meantime pointing at the now left on his own Glen. Everyone turned to look at the smirking human. Easily the person with the finest-looking armour in the whole square that now had well-over two thousand locals present. "Appeared a couple of days ago with a tale similar to Ivasaar's but much less gravitas. He offered a different version of it anyways. Where Ivasaar claimed our kin of the mainland reached out, Mister Garth says Hardir O' Fardor rules the kingdom and has chosen… no surprise there, Garth as his representative," Ylyndar furrowed his blue brows and stared at Glen curious. "I've told you my plan. We wrestle control of the Six Peaks Isles back from the crazies roaming the lands, restore Cydonia Cazan's sovereignty and then we'll talk with our kin in Wetull from a position of strength, fueled by our wyvern friend. It won't be Hardir and Ivasaar will be able to confirm all this very soon. The wyvern has been spotted."

"Is that a hu-man then?" An onlooker was heard to Glen's right. "What's wrong with his ears?"

"They are practically deaf," another replied.

"That so?" The first guffawed. "Makes sense. What's with the ashen hair?"

"Probably a half-breed," a third one intervened and Glen grimaced a little annoyed.

"While I've shown him great hospitality, Mister Garth insisted on his version of the truth and wished to present it to a bigger audience. Well, here's his chance with the time-tested trial by fire. The Gods shall give us the answer in an honest bout. Brave Iksoer shall represent our village."

"That's ridiculous," Larenos protested and stood up to approach the podium. "What's this fresh stunt Tavril? I was to speak today!"

"You shall my friend," Tavril replied with a smile. "The duel won't affect your argument. We all know what you're going to say. The seas are dangerous. Enemies all roaming about and we should stay in our own shores to be safe."

"I can speak for myself Tavril!" Larenos grunted.

"Iksoer will fight this human?" A female onlooker to his left queried.

"Look at his weapons," another replied sitting right next to her. "He's probably a seasoned fighter."

"Yep," a male Mori-Zilan agreed stepping between the two females. "That's an officer's outfit, so he's probably plenty-skilled."

"He is," Galater told him.

"I like his eyes," one of the dark-skinned big-eared females said and flashed the staring Glen a toothy smile. Both shiver-inducing and cock-stirring.

"Milord Galater," a Silivren-Zilan queried all serious. He was standing next to the officials stand. "You know of this human?"

"Yes. Tavril is full of shit," Galater replied and several others murmured.

"Master Tavril," Ylyndar said interrupting the two local candidates' ongoing argument. "Perhaps we should take pause and review the matter further? Hardir O' Fardor isn't a name thrown about without thought."

"Ylyndar," Tavril grunted, trying desperately to control the narrative. "He's a human. Look at him! That's a crook's face if I ever saw one, for pity's sake! Plus there's nothing sacred for them! They'll lie about everything!"

"In the first king's garbs and weapons, adorning the horned crown and riding an onyx wyvern," Ylyndar recited part of Sintoriela's Revelation not fully convinced. "But for the different markings, this looks like the royal armour Tavril."

"Goodness me! Ha! All old texts are vague, but this takes the cake, right? Please," Tavril scoffed nervously and stared at the murmuring crowd. "Even Garth himself didn't dare make such a wild claim! Where's his beast? Eh? As if Hardir would ever pick a human as his mouthpiece! Listen Ylyndar, the truth shall be revealed easily. You wish to give a vile looter such a credence? Moreover, everyone should know," Tavril continued as more murmurs erupted from the crowd and Master Keenor along with most of the Zilan from Altariel and Little Urma sitting with Ylyndar appeared a little concerned with the proceedings. Ylyndar glanced at the abstemious, wiry former hoplite Runas, who had his eyes set firmly on the relaxed Glen. "We have lost two of our own!" Tavril roared to get the crowd's attention. "Found murdered near the clay fields! Butchered like pigs and then hidden to be picked apart by the vultures! On the road coming from the ruins of Mori-Osto, the same road Mister Garth traversed in order to reach us!"

Master Keenor stood up as well. "Tavril, this is a serious matter of course, but you need proof to cast such an accusation," he reproached the former mines Governor.

Tavril crooked his mouth and stared at Eloera. "My wife found proof near the murder site," he told Keenor. "Still, I won't press on the matter until Mister Garth's claim is put to the test. He shouldn't fear the truth."

"I don't," Glen said in a clear voice and pretty passable Imperial capturing the crowd's attention. "But you're stalling Tavril. Whatever it is you expect to appear won't help you."

"What is he talking about?" Ylyndar asked Tavril.

"You heard him Ylyndar," Tavril retorted. "In the attempt to be fair and explain everything, I'm risking my reputation."

Ylyndar pursed his mouth to show displeasure and went back to his seat. Runas approached the Zilan, the former Hoplite wore a cuirass similar to Glen's and whispered something to Ylyndar's ear. The latter nodded as if aware of what Runas was talking about.

"With that out of the way," Tavril said gesturing for the crowd to calm down. "Let us proceed. Mister Garth, in my effort to give you all the help I can, you can pick a weapon to exclude from the duel."

"Shields," Glen said readily and a collective gasp was heard.

"Are you certain?" Tavril asked with a leer. "Iksoer might pick his favorite weapon."

"Trust me. Your man needs all the help he can get," Glen deadpanned tauntingly and Iksoer pressed his lips into a thin line at the affront.

Heh.

"Iksoer shall use his war-cleaver and trust Master Reliol's skill," Tavril announced with a glance of pity at the smirking Glen, who tapped at Eirkor's grip raising an arm over his shoulder. "No tricks, or other shenanigans. You should surrender the dagger Garth in the spirit of fairness."

"I won't use it. In the spirit of fairness Iksoer has the reach on me."

Not by much, but the chopper was four-times heavier than his Katacim.

"Iksoer shall have one as well. You have better armour on," Tavril decided to play it safe and probably counting on Iksoer's hidden Mithril shirt, the crowd wasn't aware of, to level the playing field there. "You may begin at your convenience."

Iksoer warmed up swinging the chopper right and left with one arm, while the more energetic Glen did his usual stretches. He finished his warm up with a bit of flair, opening his legs stance and then lowering to his knees as if to squat, stretching both arms out to keep his balance. Glen made a mysterious circle with his hands in a facsimile of the Segun of Tull Cautara-Major pre-battle rituals which greatly affected the most gullible of the crowd.

He then stood up slowly, cracked his neck right and then left, reached over his shoulder and unsheathed Eirkor. The black blade barely reflected any light on its mirror surface, but it casted another shadow on top of Glen's, the footprint behind the Monarch doubling in size. The shape turning misshapen on the ground, now sporting two more arms and legs, a different torso that appeared ready to detach from the standing still Glen. A phenomenon missed by everyone including himself, as everyone seemed to stare at the exotic weapon in deep awe.

"Have you ever…?" Kaeliol asked Galater impressed.

"Yep," Galater replied calmly. "It's what comes next my stomach can't take."

Without further warnings Iksoer attacked. He rushed the five meters separating him from Glen and slashed wide in a one-armed swing. Glen stepped back, the heavy blade whooshing half a foot from his chest and then sidestepped, when Iksoer grabbed the chopper with both hands to deliver a devastating downward hack.

The chopper struck the ground missing Glen completely, he had gotten all-tensed up by the speed and strength Iksoer had put into his opening swings, and exploded broken tiles, earth and a thin dust cloud upwards.

Give the man a proper axe 'n send him into the woods to fell some trees, fer crying out loud! Glen thought and hopped away from another blasphemous slash that screamed as it raped the air. The crowd collectively gasped in shock of the near miss and Iksoer let out a guttural snarl whilst advancing on the retreating Monarch.

Iksoer closed the distance again and hacked violently trying to split Glen in half. Glen snapped the blade up to block the chopper, got hurled back from the blowback when the two weapons collided, fat sparks erupting at the contact point and the clang reverberating inside the packed square.

Glen felt the blow ride up his numb arm and then hit his back molars, as both his ears popped in painful chorus. He faltered backwards, the sweaty Iksoer growled in fierce excitement and the crowd screamed either in horror or orgasmic bliss.

People loved their blood games in this realm.

The Mori-Zilan advanced on the seemingly stunned Glen and went for another combination just as before. A one-armed initial sideways slash, followed by a brief gather and a two-handed brutal hack. Iksoer for all his strength had a limited repertoire of moves.

The chopper screamed, slashing at the air but Glen came alive with a two-handed block of his own. Eirkor intercepted the heavier blade angled and then guided it down towards Glen's legs, who danced away from it. Iksoer's chopper hit the square's ground again, bounced off of the granite tiles and the Mori-Zilan reached with both hands to redirect it on the grimacing Monarch.

Glen's lighter blade recovered first, now in a one-armed grip, and before Iksoer could master a defense, the Monarch slashed him across the face. Ha! Iksoer whipped his head sideways to avoid the worst, but lost his nose and part of the upper lip in the process. The blood erupted from the ghastly wound, Iksoer stepped back with a pained growl and put his left hand on his face to stop the spraying gore that run down his chin and neck.

A loud gasp of shock accompanied the sudden mutilation and the sight of blood. The square kept their eyes mesmerized on the stepping back Glen, who flickered his wrist to clean the blood from Eirkor, and the wounded Iksoer, who faltered on his feet unsteadily.

No one noticed the shadow detaching from the heavy-breathing Monarch and the sound of boots hitting the tiles as they circled the groaning Iksoer was lost in the unfolding chaos.

Glen glanced at the stands and saw the ogling Ylyndar grab the armrests with his hands to stand up, but the sound of the crowd changed to a deathly silence all about him. The worried Glen snapped his eyes back on Iksoer, found him still where he was a moment afore, but now the Mori-Zilan had a foot of black blade sprouting out of his mangled mouth. The blade retreated, people vomiting inside the square, breaking teeth and carving up Iksoer's palate. Then it was gone and a shaken Glen glanced at the sword in his right hand perturbed.

"Oh, sweet goddess," Alail croaked from the stands, probably Iksoer's favorite whore, and then the Mori-Zilan enforcer collapsed to his knees, spraying gore in spurts from his face and the back of his head. The chopper clanged down and rolled on the tiles two meters away from the numb Glen.

"Well… shit lodged in me toes," Kaeliol was heard, next to Galater. "Better keep them eyes closed Gil, it turned plenty gory."

"Trickery!" Tavril roared from the stands amidst the now erupting in protests crowd, a seasoned politician grasping at the opportunity to turn the tides and wrestle public perception in his favor with a touch of theatrics. "The human cheats blatantly. There the vilest of lies are fully exposed for all to see! Runas, you should cease this murderer!"

Glen grimaced, a little rattled from the duel's unexpected ending. He fully wanted to win and humiliate Iksoer, but wasn't planning on outright killing him if he had the chance. Glen had the chance, but then something weird had happened.

What in the actual fuck is this fresh malarkey? Nym, you dumb cunt! He thought furious. When ye present a dangerous gift, bring along the blasted manual!

"The duel is over," Larenos declared standing up himself on the crowded stand.

"Garth used magic! You think us blind on top of a bunch of clueless fools?" Tavril roared and several onlookers nodded glaring at the grimacing Glen with hostility. "Cheated his way to an undeserved win! Iksoer died for this!"

"Iksoer died from Eirkor's wrath. Once unleashed, it can't be contained," the blacksmith Reliol boomed from across the square. "Garth picked his weapon with no objection afore the duel's start!"

"You call this fair Reliol?" Tavril growled irate. "The human came here to trick us all after looting our ancestors' graves and corpses!"

Glen searched the crowd for friendly faces, sported several undecided –but plenty shocked- locals, noticed the Silivren-Zilan group waiting for Ylyndar's words up on the stands, and locked eyes through the crowd with Kumra's penetrating gaze standing right next to a distracted Cutra. A foot to his left, the braided head of the eyepatch-wearing Valydra stood out, as the lithe female navigated those in front of her to reach the front rows.

Hello there.

"You can justify the duel's outcome, but not its truth for it is tainted," the ranger Eloera said in a clear voice. "Garth's weapon of choice was used to cut down Mamaeron yesterday, alongside Naceros. Normos found them feasted upon by vultures and Normos never sided with Tavril to concoct a favorable tale. You know he won't lie! I've seen the boot prints all over the ground. Measured them. Let us compare my findings in the open. Let us see what your own eyes will say?"

"You want us to compare a stray footprint found near a commonly used road with a traveler's boots?" Larenos intervened, probably realizing he had to defend Glen or allow Tavril to win the argument outright.

"I want to compare his boots to the prints found near the two blasted corpses Larenos!" Eloera snarled angrily. "And then look for his accomplishes!"

Glen crooked his mouth, glanced at Tavril, then at the thoughtful Ylyndar and finally saw Valydra standing outside the crowd gathered before Reliol's workshop grinning his way.

"Mister Fareno. Fancy meeting you here. Perhaps it's time to put on the mask?" The comely thief leader teased and then tossed the helm she held towards the numbly watching her Glen. Nabesos caught the exchange, standing some rows behind and ogled his eyes recognizing Valydra.

I left this with Uvrycres, Glen thought snatching the masked helm from the air and then slotted it on his sweaty head. Where in the slovenly fuck…?

Burn the square? The still unseen wyvern queried in his head. They are nicely bunched up together! LET'S DO IT!

HALT YE IMPECILE! Do nothing! A panicked Glen thought, mainly because dodging a fireball landing in the middle of an open flat surface could turn tricky for everyone present. Plus it was a bit of an overkill at this point.

Ahem. Yep.

"We gathered here to solve an argument," Larenos protested. "Now we are presented with a murder case?"

"Garth's argument is mute!" Tavril snarled, and got in his face to physically shove him off the stand. However, the murmurs of shock from the crowd made him turn around, his glare landing on Glen, who now wore the masked helm. The silver mask bore a sinister grin, and though it appeared to be carved permanently on metal, it quickly warped into something grotesque. "Good heavens! What kind of trickery is this? Garth is a sorcerer!"

The crowd erupted, a mix of fear and curiosity, just as Ylyndar pushed past the two contenders to reach the podium. Glen noticed Naeras leaping from the stands, and then spotted Runas several meters ahead of his old comrade, forcefully clearing a path through the onlookers to get to Glen.

"Ylyndar, let me handle this!" Tavril roared, the situation turning chaotic as no one knew what was going on and why the human 'sorcerer', murderer and recent duel victor, was now wearing a mockery of a Royal Rokae helm on his head.

"In the first king's garbs and the first king's weapons, adorned with a horned crown and riding an onyx wyvern," Ylyndar declared in his dignified, old Imperial tongue, pointing a hand at the nervous Glen. "Thus Hardir O' Fardor shall stand over this realm's rulers and their subjects, to pass judgement over the righteous and the dishonest alike!"

Well then. It works for me!

"Have you lost your god darn mind Ylyndar? Him?" came Tavril's incensed roar at his surprise declaration to the dumbfounded crowd. "Where's the god darn wyvern? How about we start with something this cretin can't steal?"

An eerie hush enveloped the crowd assembled in the ancient central square of the Kobold Mines. At that moment, Normos, who had opted to remain out of it until now, descended from the workshop's raised facade, leaving a mouth-gaping Tirilix behind in stunned silence. He then extended a finger, worn and calloused from years of heavy toil in the mines, and pointed it towards the late noon sky, which was only partially obscured by light clouds.

Fireball? Uvrycres queried hopefully as he appeared out of a slow-moving cloud. A black dot ever-growing in the azure and white background.

"Just give us a plaguing good ole shriek," Glen hissed puffing his cheeks out.

And the wyvern did.

RRRRRRRRRREEE!

-

A few moments later…

Runas stood rigidly before the grinning Glen, indifferent to the crowd's chaotic uproar following the wyvern's appearance. The shriek released by the bragging Uvrycres and his low-altitude swoop over the frenzied audience had sparked a full stampede. Amidst the pandemonium, wild Zilan vaulted over their howling companions, darted lithely into side streets, or raced at full blast towards the nearby market, their screams of fear echoing deafeningly.

Apparently, black was an easy color to discern from whatever Ivasaar's wyvern had adorned in their visit.

Amidst those running away, plus the few standing by to gaze at Hardir O' Fardor, Glen spotted the crying Orym hugging Valydra, a moved Nabesos watching them right next to Kumra, with young Cutra talking with the bosomy Tamra not that far way making big gestures.

Now, much further away, to the southwest where Faramiel's stable complex buildings stood, a lone figure could be seen climbing up the roof drainpipes to gain entry without being spotted from those standing at the front of the building. Despite the distance the keen-eyed Glen recognized the hooded person as 'Phantom' Ryker. The elusive thief he'd lost at Baltoris' Port and had sparked this whole adventure. The nimble Ryker reached the roof at last, but he received help from another familiar figure –unseen up until then, who had already navigated the daring task, just in time to lend his fellow thief a hand.

The standing up Neil, sent a brief three-finger salute to the watching from a hundred meters away Monarch and the smiling Glen shook his head before turning his attention on the happenings in front of the local officials stand.

Well, he got briefly distracted first with Orym's attempt to plant a noisy kiss on Valydra's mouth and the flushed female's frantic reaction to this 'unwanted' advance.

She had shoved her eager colleague away with both arms.

A solid push this.

Almost desperate.

"I can't," she explained, suddenly at a loss for words. "This was a mistake," Valydra told the stunned Orym.

"Oh, come on," Nabesos protested with a smile. "He's been miserable in your absence Valydra."

"In my absence," Valydra expounded, trying to keep her voice low. "I've found my Toloth."

"Damn. His grave you mean?" A courteous Nabesos probed, before he caught sight as well of the movement on Faramiel's rooftop and furrowed his brows doubly intrigued.

Running a job in broad daylight and before a full –but emptying- square was dastardly devious fer sure, but also too risky, Glen thought appraisingly. Then again, everyone was looking either at him or for Uvrycres.

So it was the perfect time in a sense.

"Himself," Valydra explained with an apologetic glance at the crashed Orym. "Say nothing of this please."

Ah. Well, you've been gone for far too long Neil. I'm sure you guys will work it out, Glen thought with a shake of his head and realized Runas was still standing near him. The Hoplite had been rooted to the ground.

"Runas," he told the beefy, retired Hoplite and looking just behind Runas' wide body, Glen spotted the stocky figure of his colleague. "Naeras."

"Hardir O' Fardor," Runas returned the greeting stiffly. "Ylyndar O' Vengen asks whether the Council of Twenty still exists."

"It does," Glen replied with a glance at the despondent Tavril and the troubled Larenos watching their exchange. "I rule as King Arguen Garth Aniculo," he added and the Hoplite nodded visibly relaxed at his revelation. "Goras is rebuilt and the Isles shall join the old kingdom also."

"What is the agreement, Hardir? A deal was struck surely," Runas inquired trying to remain respectful and Glen stared in Ylyndar's worried face. The masked Monarch remembered the talks he had with Anfalon and Olonelis about the dual nature of Hardir's rule, and how it always balanced on the edge between destruction and rebirth. He replied in a steady voice still holding Ylyndar's gaze with his, as it was the Zilan official's question the old hoplite had delivered.

"Same as the old," the Monarch assured Ylyndar.

Almost.