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

Better to make amends

The provocative smirk of Valydra trailed after the agile Guild leader, as she edged ever closer to the alert Monarch, who was seemingly preoccupied with watching Damiron and Eloera oversee the extraction of Iksoer's bloody remains from the square.

The square itself was relatively vacant now, following Uvrycres' spectacular arrival and eventual landing, which had taken up all the available space. The wyvern loomed over all those remaining at well over four meters tall –sans its foot-long horns– and stretched to over ten meters in scaly length –with an additional five meters for its fearsome swinging stinger. While the onyx wyvern was not the largest creature the locals had ever encountered -surely, its mean, proud glare was enough to instill plenty of legitimate fear and keep them at bay.

"The evil artist," Valydra explained, now standing close to Glen. "Gimoss, the minor god of some blacksmiths and crafters, was famously an onyx Wyvern himself. Allegedly," she added and the masked face of Glen returned her taunting stare thoroughly unamused.

"I'm aware," Glen told her, with a brief peek at Kumra, who had shadowed his tutor protectively. "Where's Neil?"

"Ha, what's the feel you say? Like generally, my Lord?" Valydra asked nervously, probably because Nabesos and Orym who had stayed at the workshop's entrance well back from the Wyvern, had excellent hearing.

Glen regarded the eyepatch-wearing female in silent censure for the poor attempt at dodging his query. Valydra smelled of leather, her sweat a musk of cinnamon and spicy oil. "Where's…Neil," he repeated and pointed an arm towards Faramiel's stable's front.

And now empty rooftop.

"Ehem," Valydra coughed to clear her throat and stepped closer. She touched a hand clad in a fingerless glove on his armoured sternum, drawing Glen's sober stare. "The good Monarch… knows, we don't talk about him openly."

"We don't?" Glen retorted mockingly and removed her hand from his chest. "Take a step back," he warned the comely thief, "One more, you've a long nasty arm."

"I've long legs also for a Mori-lass. Many find them nasty," Valydra teased hoarsely, making yet another attempt to distract Glen. "Had them shaved on our journey here. The lot," she winked with her good eye and a tick appeared at the corner of Glen's mouth. "Sort of hoped for better weather, but we got a lot of mist instead. This Isles fog makes things go missing the locals say."

All things, was her meaning.

Lots of innuendo in there.

A less cultivated in the wayward ways of the realm or just well-travelled man, would have taken the bait, but Glen stood far beyond simple temptations –hypothetically, and had gazed upon longer legs just recently. Nicer smelling, buttressed by bigger tits and a superior face, so he didn't. "What's the job?" He croaked warningly.

"We need transportation," Valydra explained with a weary sigh.

"Uhm."

"Mules. Horses," she expounded.

"No shit! I thought it's usually what people mean by transportation, but now I'm even more knowledgeable. Ha! What for, sneaky wench?"

"Garth knows how the island is longer towards the south than the north?"

"No, Garth doesn't," Glen rejoined truthfully and went to ask her the significance of that 'needless' tidbit of info, but the beefy Runas came out of the hostel, followed by the like-sized Naeras and he cut their back and forth short. "Yes, Hoplite?"

Never assume the army has left a retired soldier.

Marcus, Anfalon and several others had proved it in the past.

"Larenos waits inside. Naeras will bring Tavril here shortly Hardir," Runas reported stiffly.

"Good," Glen replied. "You two, stay around," he ordered the aloof couple of thieves and rushed inside the hostel to speak with Larenos.

Larenos had lit another good pipe of weed. Glen thought about joining him, but he was sort of on the job still. A Monarch's duties persist after the curtain's fall.

Ayup.

"I still can't believe it," Larenos admitted, puffing the aromatic smoke out. Nowhere near as pleasant an aroma like Redleaf, but this is backward country, Glen thought. "Had Ylyndar not stood up to shout it for all to hear… you fooled us all Garth. Hardir is a human… well," Larenos sucked at his pipe intently. "That's two wyverns visiting us this month. Is this the crown of horns?"

Glen removed the helm from his head and placed it under his armpit.

"It's a custom job. Angrein worked on it."

"Nice touch. Fits with the historic narrative," Larenos pointed out.

"I've told you no untruths Larenos," Glen reminded him.

"Can I speak freely Hardir?"

"It depends," Glen smiled thinly.

"Of course," Larenos shook his head and grimaced. "You didn't have to kill Iksoer and his crew."

"Iksoer challenged me to a duel," Glen replied reasonably. "Mamaeron wanted to either kidnap or murder Cutra. They got this idea, it would be for the best if I didn't reach the village after I saw them. It wasn't for the best fer sure, but they did get what was coming to them."

"They can't speak for themselves now though, eh?" Larenos queried and Glen shrugged his shoulders, just as Tavril entered the hostel's restaurant hall, followed by Runas.

"Garth," Tavril hissed with a glare at the sober Runas. "Hardir… you must understand, it wasn't personal. You could've warned us!"

"I did," Glen replied indifferently. "You chose not to believe my words."

Tavril glanced at the frowned Larenos and then at the Monarch. "I knew Iksoer for as long as I remember. And Mamaeron, you didn't have to kill them, it was you right?"

"Master Tavril," Glen said raising his voice. "You know very well why Mamaeron was there the other day. With Cutra and Galater no less. They shall confirm my words."

"Huh? I've no idea what you're talking about!" Tavril protested. "You… Hardir or not, how I was supposed to… who would, for goodness sake?"

"What were you trying to accomplish?" Larenos intervened staring at the sweaty Tavril. "Blackmail Reliol? Distract him so you could swing the vote to your benefit?"

"Absurdness!" Tavril grunted irate. "I don't need to swing our people Larenos. You are not that popular my friend!"

"And you are?" Larenos snapped.

"I don't have to! They know I can run the village," Tavril fired back and turned to look at the watching them Glen. "Hardir, what is the plan here? The old provinces I presume have new leadership."

Goras, Elauthin, Nesande's Garden and of course the isles of Cydonia Cazan was what Tavril was referring to.

"Goras has a governor," Glen replied. "The rest are still in flux. Abarat is under a governor as well. Lord Suraer rules in Lo-Minas and the military holds Rain Minas. Ah, we have a viceroy running Ani Ta-Ne."

Tavril furrowed his brows. "Where is that? The port in the peninsula?"

"It's a big port now," Glen replied. "Was. We'll get there again."

"So… you'll give something to Cydonia Cazan?" Tavril queried, a little more relaxed now.

"I haven't decided yet," Glen said and added. "You don't have to bother yourself with that though Tavril."

"Why not?" Tavril asked standing back.

"You challenged the Monarch," Glen explained. "Which is not allowed. You understand this could turn ruling very bothersome for me, right?"

Tavril grimaced and stared at the frowned Larenos.

"I loathe being bothered for no reason and you Tavril had no reason to be so argumentative," Glen continued with a glance at Runas. "For this and because I don't believe you weren't behind Iksoer's plot with Mamaeron, you are under arrest."

"Arrest?" Tavril gasped incredulous. "Me?"

"Aye, you. Runas toss him in the dungeon," Glen ordered and the hoplite hesitated.

"Hardir… ehm…"

"What's the problem?" Glen grunted.

"We've got no… dungeon sir," Runas murmured.

Glen thought he was about to question his orders. "Well," Glen glanced at the shocked Larenos –nowhere near as shocked as Tavril obviously. "Have you a cellar my good man?"

Larenos blinked caught unawares. "We… do. Have some barrels of Brawnvin in there, maybe a bit of old wine, I stopped serving years ago…"

Glen stopped him raising his hand. "It'll do."

"Hardir!" Tavril protested and glared at Runas who went to grab his arm. "This is unfair!"

"Is it? Imagine if Iksoer had managed to chop my head off out there," Glen replied harshly. "With my wyvern watching from above and marines marching here from the shore," Tavril's face got distorted hearing the anger rising in Glen's voice. "How about you think about the damage this could have done? I can see it clearly. Would that have been unfair to your people? Argh," Glen crooked his mouth.

"Hardir," Tavril tried again.

"You wish to challenge me again? It'll make this business much easier," Glen asked sternly and Tavril deflated before his eyes.

"They won't take it well," Larenos cautioned when Runas took Tavril away.

"Who is they?" Glen asked.

"His wife, Iksoer's gang," Larenos elucidated.

"They might not be that eager with the wyvern parked inside the square, their leadership and allies removed," Glen replied. "No to mention... I've faced much more formidable foes than them already," he added and it wasn't even a brag.

"Any of them still breathing Hardir?" Larenos asked cautiously.

"Fortunately," Glen told him before stepping outside again, teasing with hope afore yanking it all back. "Most don't.'

The Imperial Navy marine sergeant marched inside the square from the way of the marketplace, followed by a dozen or so marines. Clad in dark-blue leather armour reinforced with scale-mail, harpoons and swords, with the occasional long-shafted axe sprouting from their heavy field-haversacks, the group looked intimidating and the locals emptied the east side of the square quickly. The marines reached Larenos' Hostel –the Mountain's Shade- and stopped at a safe distance from the resting wyvern. They caught Uvrycres cleaning his black teeth with a talon, making faces and grimacing as he also watched the locals navigating this new danger.

One of them, the hobbled with that ankle injury Orym, rushed to cross the square in a southbound direction, just as Glen exited the Hostel to receive the marines' salute, before he could even put the masked helm on his head.

"The Monarch is here! Offer salutations! Hardir!" The sergeant barked raising his arm and every soldier snapped at attention towards Glen, who paused to return the salute of the spread out group -but for one marine that is. The latter had spotted Orym moving away from them and sprinted in full gear, tackled the yelping thief and brought him down on the hard granite tiles.

"Argh!" Orym yelped and tried to get away from the marine, got backhanded in the face and then grabbed by his long ear and elbow –very effectively, before getting half-dragged half-led towards the watching sergeant.

The latter Glen had met in Baltoris' Port, but hadn't learned his name.

"Sergeant Durolon!" The marine barked.

"What you have there, Parlas?" Durolon queried with a tensed glance at the observing their actions Glen.

"Reckon this dark knave is a Mori-Zilan thief. Amongst many," Parlas replied and Glen raised his brows impressed.

"That so? What makes you so certain?" Durolon asked to cross his t's and dot his I's, while Parlas delivered a nasty arse kick to Orym to send him sprawling down before the sergeant.

"Eh? His face?" The confused Parlas replied and the grimacing Durolon –who was watching for Glen's reactions- snapped angrily to get his man warned.

"You got to give us more than that Parlas! Stick to procedure!" He roared and backhanded the protesting Orym to his knees abruptly. Durolon then stooped to reach inside the thief's satchel. "Search in here! Spot, verify, and then nullify! What's this then? Barely had my hand in there!" Durolon asked austerely and tossed a keyring with long pins he had dug out -plus various tools of the trade, to a frowned Parlas.

"Why, these look like lockpicks, sarge!" The finally getting the gist of the situation Parlas boomed under the silent urging of Durolon, who nodded finally pleased.

"I didn't do nothing!" A shocked Orym cried out seeing where this was going and then yelped upon receiving yet another blow from a third marine, who stepped forward to crack him once on the shoulder with the shaft of his harpoon.

"What do you do for a living citizen?" Durolon asked him reasonably and the desperate Orym noticed Glen standing four meters away.

"I work at a diner! Mister Garth…ouch, lord's mercy! Hardir!" Orym yelped with a groan of pain when Durolon backhanded him again, splitting his lip. "And fix doors in my spare time!" The thief croaked, probably too-scared to come up with something less suspicious.

"Yeah? What's their problem?" Durolon queried, giving him the benefit of the doubt.

Thinly.

"They… are jammed shut?" The swelling from the blows and bleeding Orym croaked with a pleading glance towards Glen. "Garth… my friend!"

"Hah!" Parlas guffawed tipping his head back, feeling vindicated, while Durolon snapped his arm and grabbed Orym by the throat, used the grip as lever to lift the strangling thief off of the ground.

"Speak… with proper respect… to the Monarch," the marine sergeant grunted in the gawking thief's flushed face.

"We… go way… back," Orym croaked trying to unclasp the sergeant's fingers from pressing down his throat.

A couple of days, Glen thought amused, then noticed Eloera with Damiron approach the scene.

"Expect me to fall for this cheap drivel? Ugh?" Durolon barked, grinding his teeth menacingly. "Parlas find a rope. Hang this scoundrel from the lightpost!"

"Belay that Parlas!" Glen intervened. "Sergeant Durolon, release him."

Durolon glanced at the Monarch perturbed. "Hardir. At the minimum he must lose an arm?"

"Good grief, he's a… craftsman. The poor fucker needs both arms!" Glen retorted with a shiver. "Let him go."

"Aye sir," Durolon replied and dropped the breathless Orym down. The thief went down on his own that is, as his knees were too weak to hold his weight.

"Gratitude…" Orym gasped for breath.

"Just go away," Glen urged him and turned to the frowned Durolon. "We've met at Baltoris' Port sergeant."

"Affirmative Hardir," Durolon replied readily. "Durolon, Sergeant with the 7th Marine Unit out of Rain Minas. Detached on orders by Leader Lefyr and placed in command of a group of thirty to Baltoris' Port in order to guard the facilities there. Split the group sir, so we can relocate a force to Coal Isle on orders from Governor Robiros. Used the Celeste to cross the channel and came here after leaving a force of five marines to guard the shores at Mori Osto."

"Governor?" Glen queried after the detailed report delivered by Durolon.

"You've promoted him verbally Hardir."

Well, I didn't exactly… for fuck's sake.

"Just secure the perimeter," a miffed Glen told the sergeant.

"Crack down on the onlookers' sir?"

Uh?

"Just keep them away from the wyvern Durolon," Glen grunted.

"Right away, Hardir," the sergeant saluted and turned to his men. "I want two grunts on every street with access to the square…"

Glen left the marines to do their job and walked towards Eloera who had paused to watch the scene unfold. He noticed Faramiel exchange a brief word with the old Gish, before being told off his workshop by a sober Reliol. It appears there is a bit of bad blood between them, Glen thought. You'd think a stable master would be the blacksmith's best friend, given that their businesses' stand so close together.

"Hardir," Eloera said crooking her mouth. She had donned her quiver and bow –hanged loosely from her left shoulder, probably the moment she had spotted the wyvern descending. "You put quite the scare in people," she managed, making an effort to stay polite.

"Did I scare you?" Glen queried.

"I just want to talk with Tavril," Eloera rejoined and Glen pursed his lips briefly.

"You can't right now," he told her. "But you will, in time."

"Is my husband alright… Hardir?" Eloera asked soberly.

"For now," Glen retorted and Runas shifted on his feet behind his right shoulder, while Durolon turned his head to watch the exchange between the former Imperial Ranger, her son and the Monarch. "But he has been arrested."

"What?" Damiron gasped in complete shock. "My father?"

"Hu… Hardir," Eloera hissed, almost throwing human at him again, almost a curse around these parts, Glen thought. "Tavril overreacted, but he acted within his rights, given the information available to us. You can't fault him for questioning the story. Blame Ivasaar if you wish for his lies."

"I don't know that Ivasaar lied or care," Glen replied and sucked at his teeth audibly. "Nor have I arrested Tavril for forcing the duel, although I could have, had I truly wished to."

"It was a misunderstanding," Damiron said and Glen waved his hand dismissively at his words.

"Nothing of the sort. Tavril ordered Iksoer to kidnap and probably murder Cutra in order to influence the election through her grandfather," Glen told them and Damiron paled at the news. "Then turned around and tried to pin their murder on me. You can't murder a murderer. He knew and lied publicly."

"Why would… Lord Garth, this can't be… is Cutra alright?"

"You'll blame Tavril for something Mamaeron tried to do?" Eloera hissed forgoing all politeness. "My husband had no idea about what those two were up to!"

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

"I think he did," Glen argued. "Mamaeron took orders from Iksoer and he answers to Tavril."

"Why would Tavril… he didn't need the votes!" Eloera snapped. "This is a mistake! Iksoer went overboard—"

"How do you know?" Glen cut her off.

Eloera grimaced, her eyes narrowing. "Let my husband go… Hardir."

"I won't," Glen replied in an even voice. "Order me again and face the consequences."

Eloera licked her lips with a glance at Runas, who raised his brows warningly. Durolon reached for his sword. The marine sergeant was standing four meters away, further to Glen's right, and he realized the public talk wasn't cordial.

"I gave the order," Eloera revealed and her son ogled his eyes not expecting her admission.

"Eh. I can't just accept you word," Glen argued. "I understand the sentiment, but it won't help him."

"Won't? What brand of justice is this?" A scowling Eloera dissented.

"Mother?" Damiron asked very puzzled. "Why would you want Cutra hurt?"

A strange wording by the young Halfling. Am I missing something?

Damiron looked more Silivren than Mori-Zilan truth be told.

"Tavril didn't know," Eloera continued with a frustrated glance at her son's face. "I had to do something," she whispered and Glen stood back pretty stunned, as he unexpectedly realized the female ranger was speaking the truth…

Damiron spent the night, Cutra had told him.

Of sorts.

"Do something?" A pale Damiron asked rubbing a hand on his face.

"I told you not to see her again!" Eloera snapped now angry with him and Damiron blinked hurt. She turned to glare at the frowned Glen next. "Mamaeron had a nasty side to him, misunderstood Iksoer's instructions. It was no one's fault Hardir."

Hmm.

"Cutra had done nothing!" Damiron rumbled turning a darker shade of red in his anger. Eloera kept her eyes on the grimacing Glen, who had slowly –and much to his astonishment- finally grasped what was going on with them.

"Darn dark-skinned provincial harlot just couldn't stay away from my son," Eloera elucidated, her face cracking to show the depth of her hatred for Tamra. The disaster had packed several different peoples together under the Mountain's Shade, but there was a reason they had opted to stay on different isles in the first place. Why the Zilan always liked to build at a distance from each other. "The realm knew of her transgressions and took Korbos from her, but she just couldn't be sated! Damiron deserves better!"

Same reason as in the human realm, just in a different land and race.

"MOTHER!" Damiron roared and Uvrycres slowly turned his wedged head towards them as well, as their heated argument was turning to a small spectacle for the few locals that had remained in the square after the wyvern's arrival.

"You married Tavril," Glen pointed out, a tick marring his own tanned face. "Your son is a light-skinned Halfling. Is he slightly tainted as well? A bit, but not enough?"

"Tavril is respectable despite being a Mori-Zilan and Damiron shows it in his character. I'm not bigoted Hardir, but by the Old Gods; that bitch has Kobold-blood in her!" Eloera snapped, getting to the deep-rooted issue at last.

Same reason really, just with a different flavor.

You people.

Glen grimaced, his right temple throbbing as if by an unseen drill and despite making a brief attempt to control his tongue –given they stood in a public square, he just couldn't.

"Nothing more bigoted than this!" Glen roared and took a step forward to stab his finger in her chest. Eloera stepped back with a wince and crooked her mouth.

"Can't believe you stand here and have the audacity to pull that shit with me! Take me for a fool! ME! YOU FUCKING KNEW!" Glen exploded irate, spittle flying out of his mouth. "Nothing more vicious than wanting to hurt someone, destroy a mother's libido by forcing her to mourn for her only daughter! That'll do it! Right? Fuck's sake! Why can't you people just forget and move on?"

"Mother is this true?" Damiron asked sounding devastated.

"You knew they were going to jump at the rare opportunity for some fun," Glen continued bitterly, crackling his numb jaw right and left. "Hurt, rape and then dispose of Cutra and you just let it happen. Bury the poor lass in them clay fields! I bet you knew exactly where Normos found them! You and Iksoer. But you… you are the vilest of all fucking bitches," the Monarch snarled and Eloera bared her fangs at him. "You know what I believe? Seeing as I'm a vile motherfucker as well?" Glen growled in her face. "I think you rangers like them dark, wild or pink, mayhap all that forest air fires up yer loins and open up yer synapses of desire. Perhaps ye even butter the bread from both sides –let it shimmer in its juices to get the flavor out, but Tamra turned you down? Backwards slut went for the meaty rod of Korbos instead, eh? Was his disappearance even an accident? Did he make it out of Coal Isle? Should I send the marines to dig up the old clay field? Good grief. Small village, few opportunities for you cultured gals to fool around when yer married. Gotta keep up them appearances. Am I close?"

"I rather die than touch her filthy arse," Eloera hissed in disgust.

"How about her tits? Saw them afore I gazed at her face!" Glen taunted raising his brows, hoping to devolve the situation into an exchange of lewd remarks and leave it there, but Eloera wasn't in the mood to let it go.

"Arrest me, but free Tavril," she offered with a grimace.

Glen in his turn wasn't in a haggling mood unfortunately.

"How could you do this?" Damiron wondered, still unable to stomach the revelation.

"I won't," Glen retorted dismissively. "He'll stay locked up for challenging the Monarch for no reason and you'll live with those people that now know what a rotten cunt you are. Good luck explaining the horrid details to your son," Glen added with a cruel smirk and Eloera blinked slowly, her lips pressed thin.

"Eloera," Runas warned her soberly, as if the darn bitch is going to risk attacking the Monarch in front of his men, Glen thought still leering in her direction.

And of course the seething female ranger did.

Eloera raised her left arm and brought a closed fist to her lips, then dropped her arm. The tiny vial breaking on the granite tiles between them. Glen furrowed his brows, not expecting the ranger to down a potion, glanced down instinctively to see what it was and by the time he raised his gaze again, Eloera had leaped back two meters.

In a quarter of a second, reminiscent of Lithoniela's and Maeriel's speed, Eloera had grasped her bow, slotted an arrow and pulled back the string tautly.

Luthos cock caught the rot, the taken by surprise Glen thought. His first thought of action to hurl the royal helm in Eloera's face to mess up with her aim. By the time the thought arrived in his mind, the second had passed and everything was over.

Uvrycres' stinger had sprouted out of Eloera's chest after penetrating her leather armour from the back. Flesh, gore and shattered bones exploded outwards, and the ranger lost her bow when her arms numbed from the devastating impact. The next moment, a loud exclamation of horror escaped the stunned onlookers' mouths and Uvrycres lifted the skewered Eloera clean of off the ground, legs kicking and arms flaying, with gore spraying out of the ghastly wound. The wyvern brought the fatally injured ranger near its open mouth and shoved her inside legs first.

Not whole, but up to the hips.

Then the gnarly jaws snapped shut, their black, glassy incisors grinding through bones, ripping into muscles and bloody flesh, while the onlookers screamed and wept at the terrifying sight of a still living individual being devoured before their incredulous eyes.

Glen blinked slowly, thought about stopping Uvrycres, but the damage was already done and the wyvern hated being interrupted when eating. So the grimacing Monarch stepped back with a sigh, wiped some of the gore that had splattered his fancy armour and let it happen.

Perceiving the grotesque, systematic destruction of Eloera's cranium as it was crushed beneath the long, jagged teeth of the beast was among the most unsettling experiences Glen had ever witnessed. It wasn't just the visual horror that struck him the most perhaps, but rather the horrific sounds emitted by the gnashing wyvern.

The sounds and screams mixing inside the village's square, until Glen finally discerned the one who screamed the most. The Monarch glanced to his right and spotted Runas keeping the shell-shocked Damiron in a tight hold, an arm over his neck from behind. So strong was the grip that the Halfling lost consciousness. Either that or Damiron collapsed from seeing his mother eaten alive before his very eyes.

Yeah. Not good.

God damn it woman!

Look what you did!

"Hardir," Runas said hoarsely standing above the fainted Damiron. "He knows it wasn't your—"

"Sergeant!" Glen barked and the armed with his sword Durolon approached, sporting a deep frown. "Get him inside. Lock him up, next to his father!"

"Aye sir," Durolon replied stiffly and stooped to grab the unresponsive Damiron by the shoulders in order to drag him inside Larenos' hostel. The latter quickly turning into a proper prison.

"Lord Garth," Runas tried again. "He did nothing wrong."

"I want him to cool off. Get any stupid ideas out of his head," Glen retorted with a glance at Uvrycres. The covered in gore wyvern had pulled back, but paused to sniff at Valydra who had probably rushed near the Monarch during the ruckus. The thief had frozen in her spot while the curious wyvern did its thing. "Rethink everything and mourn for his mother properly. At least he only got to hate on her briefly," he added as consolation, which was lame even by his standards, but the truth nonetheless.

This musky smell, Uvrycres said, when the glowering Glen approached. Makes sense now.

"Leave her alone Uvry. You had yer fill, fer crying out loud!" Glen ordered the thoughtful beast. "Valydra step away," he told the still frozen female thief. The wyvern sniffed her once more from the knees to the top of her braided head and then pulled back.

I was right.

"About what?" A frustrated Glen retorted. "Couldn't you knock her unconscious or something? What a fucking mess. We killed two locals since morning, my friend. That's plaguing four in half-a-week. We might be labeled a pandemic soon!"

We got a few more kills afore that and I was hungry.

Plus, you were in danger.

Um. Yep, it was a good kill!

"Yer logic… I can't," Glen grimaced and stared at Valydra, who gulped nervously after she retreated several meters away from the wyvern.

"He smelled blood on me," Valydra explained with a blush and seeing Glen's stupefied frown given she hadn't a speck of blood on her, she added. "It's my time… of the year."

Zilan reproductive circles are slow as all fucks.

Not always a bad thing, Glen thought trying to remain courteous.

He nodded once.

Very similar, female kin's blood, the Wyvern added after returning to his spot to lie down.

Right. Glen crooked his mouth, breathed in puffing his cheeks out and then let it all out at once. Valydra went to speak but he cut her off. "I need to put someone in charge here," Glen told her.

"Larenos—"

"He's anti-imperial, anti-monarch…" Glen cut her off.

"Well, I don't like this style of government too," Valydra admitted.

"Jinx will love yer company," Glen mocked her. "What happened wasn't the wyvern's fault."

"I'm a big girl… am I right?" Valydra said in passable Common. "Saw this kind of shit before."

"Is everyone here as tough as you?" Glen taunted.

"Nah. Just ole me," Valydra deadpanned with a grin.

"Aha. Now we got this out of the way, how about ye stop lying to yerself with this non-monarchic crap. In fact, you like it very much now that the Monarch is a person not looking down on your lot."

Dreamed of joining the Guild as a kid matter of plaguing fact!

"True, King Garth," Valydra yielded with a coy smile and took a step closer to Glen. It alarmed Parlas –the marine- but Glen waved at him that everything was fine. "I kind of heard all the dark-skinned lewd talk. Perhaps the sympathetic Monarch is considering wetting his palate with something different? Now that the whole old witch experiment went nowhere? Hmm? I can hook you up with a local gal. Two. They work together."

Ha!

Glen grinned at her decent attempt to extract gossip from him or another cheap favor. "Neil must pay for the horses," he told her instead. "I don't want more problems for a while. Not until this blows over."

Valydra knitted her dark-blue brows troubled. Her sole eye stayed on Glen's face, now covered with a light grey stubble. Golden dots, and a ring of red inside the black, because she has Kobold-blood in her, he thought, feeling the raw vitality of the dark-skinned Mori-Zilan. Valydra's long ears –shorter than the ears on the Silivren but thicker, now that Glen had the time to examine them up close- moved independently from each other. One keeping track of the people in the square, the other on the wyvern resting behind her.

"With coin," she finally said and Glen nodded.

"I can provide the funds for up to six mounts," Glen offered, although he didn't want to.

"Neil is on it," Valydra reassured him. "He has his own system… of sorts. Toloth isn't a common thief, dear Garth. He calls it a trade for a reason. An art."

"Only art I know is painting. And what manner of 'system' can compensate Faramiel for the loss of six valuable animals? Not many of them around!" Glen grunted not buying her bullshit, even if she had delivered it convincingly. "He needs at least a couple of gold coins, or twenty five silvers, given the prizes I encountered!"

"Nah," Valydra argued with another wink. "Just an honest trade."

Get the fuck out o' here! Glen thought not convinced with a glance towards the stables.

-

Nulanos

Several hours later

Evening of the 20th

The fire burning in the smelter compensated for the flickering lightstone torches that needed a change or enough time to recharge under direct sunlight. Nulanos tip-toed inside and ducked in the shade of a weapon stand, now empty, but recently cleaned from the accumulated dirt. The banging of the hammer coming from the anvil, hurt his ears, but there was also a music in it.

A rhythm.

It mingled with the dancing shades and the flickering lights, the warmth emanating from the fire. The smell of iron and coal, the hissing of melting steel and honest sweat.

Bang.

The hammer went and it rang inside the workshop. The latter a different one, but parts of it were familiar, even if most of the tools in it were new. Most, but not all.

Nulanos' fingers traced the worn surface of the old dagger's handle and his eyes stayed on the lonesome figure of Reliol working to shape up the blade. A sword, he thought, hesitant to reveal himself. Not surprising with Garth in town.

Don't you ever rest old friend?

Reliol paused and put his blacksmith hammer down. He turned on his stool and glanced inside his empty workshop.

"You smell of horse," Reliol said and Nulanos grinned. "Why stand in the shadows?"

"Didn't want to bother you," he told the old Blacksmith, who looked towards the weapon stand with a frown.

"Do I know you?" Reliol asked. "Your voice sounds familiar, but you stand shy alike a stranger. What do you seek? I'm plenty busy."

"How come Merael isn't here to help you out?" Nulanos queried still smiling and Reliol's face fell. "I hoped to see the old gal."

"You are too late for that," Reliol retorted with a crook of his mouth. "Merael we lost a long time ago. Eh. But I got Tamra and her girl to keep me company. Nothing of hers, other than fading memories, but it is what it is. Where she went, we all shall go and then we'll see each other again."

"Apologies," a moved Nulanos replied and Reliol made a gesture it was fine.

Although it wasn't.

"Come out of there. I can see the hood and your voice reminds of another now long lost soul," the Blacksmith urged.

"A friend?" Nulanos queried and took a step forward.

"I wouldn't go as far," Reliol replied narrowing his eyes. "He was a dastardly thief. He run with the same crowd as you appear to be running stranger."

Nulanos nodded and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his palm. "I've been to Mori Osto on my way here. Down the old street by the river," he paused to clear his throat. "Found your old workshop Reliol. What is left of it that is. The walls… not much else."

"Nothing else you mean. I know," Reliol said. "It's been ten years since the waters retreated."

"Why didn't Merael follow you here?"

"She came every winter, but loved the port and the old place," Reliol replied still examining the hooded figure standing about seven meters away. "We both did and our Tamra loved it. The city, the venues. All the music. Perhaps a bit too much."

"Yeah. It had its charms," Nulanos agreed and pursed his mouth undecided. "Listen… I thought of coming here to make a trade, but I realize… ahm. It's not the right thing."

Reliol stood up and walked to the workbench by the wall, halving the distance between them.

"It can't be," the Blacksmith murmured and crossed his muscular arms over his broad chest. "You lost the hair is that it?"

"The hair is all there, turned white at some point," Nulanos admitted. Reliol had recognized him. Probably as soon as he'd opened his mouth and other than the fact that Nulanos was presumed dead for twelve-thirteen centuries it wasn't that difficult a guess. They had grown up together in a sense. Frequently shared the same lunch and all.

Yeah. These were the years of innocence and lofty midday dreams.

The late nights when Dudrina came to visit us bringing all that fine pot.

Ehm, usually it was Reliol's lunch sure, but the gist of it remained.

Reliol breathed out and rubbed at his chin as if in disbelief. "How did you survive the wreck?"

"Dudrina's gnome helped me out," Nulanos revealed. "Haven't seen the short bastard since."

"You couldn't help anyone else for all that's holy? Three hundred people got drown in that wreck!" Reliol queried still incredulous.

"There was a wyvern over our heads," Nulanos explained.

"Ah. Never believed that part. Hmm. Did you bring Hardir here?" Reliol asked and then shook his head. "I can't believe you are still breathing. You bloody rascal, of all the good souls lost, it was you that made it?"

"Jelin saved me Reliol," Nulanos said and grimaced before unsheathing the dagger.

"You're going to rob me for old time's sake?" Reliol queried only half-joking. "What do you have there?"

"I found… Merael's favorite dagger in the ruins," Nulanos lied and offered the dagger to a stunned Reliol. The Blacksmith took it with a shaking hand. He checked the worn-out blade and then the cracked ivory handle. All the engravings now melted away from time and use.

"Used a sea-lion's tusks for the handle," Reliol explained hoarsely, a deep grimace of sorrow marring his wrinkled face at the memory. "Hunted the darn thing myself. It almost took my left foot right off! Ha! Ah," he gasped trying to control his emotions. "You son of a bitch," he grunted in a rasping voice. "Accursed knave. You didn't find this in any ruins."

Yep.

"Hey now, let's keep it civil for old times' sake," Nulanos urged him extending both arms out to calm the emotional blacksmith down.

"This is the dagger you stole, no sooner than I've made it for her! I told Unor all about it!" Reliol growled and wiped the tears from his face.

"I badly needed a good knife Reliol," Nulanos said in a soothing reasonable voice. "To force open your Mithril tunnel padlock."

"Ruined the tip of the blade you did," Reliol grunted further examining the dagger. "On top of stealing it! I had to make her a new one, just like this, but the surprise had been spoiled!"

"What happened to it?" Nulanos queried to take the blacksmith's mind off the bad memories.

"It was lost."

"Not anymore," Nulanos retorted with a friendly grin. "The moment I saw the workshop, I told myself. Neil, you have to return the dagger. Almost did once. I gave it to Unor, but I had to take it back."

"Steal it," Reliol corrected him hoarsely and Nulanos shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, but is it stealing though, if I return it?" Nulanos added knowingly and Reliol rolled his eyes.

A bit late and slightly used?

"You expect me to believe your crap? After all this blasted time. I can't even fathom how the old me got all sad -when I heard of your fate!"

"Rejoice then for I'm still alive and well my old friend," Nulanos exclaimed and went to hug him but Reliol stopped him with a scowl.

"Eah," he grunted and walked back to the anvil to take his hammer. He returned to the workbench and worked on the dagger's blade for a bit. Reliol lightly tapped it softly with the heavy tool before stopping.

"You can fix it?" Nulanos probed standing over his head. Reliol turned to look at him and there was sadness in his eyes. "I'm sorry. At least Tamra found a mate. You have a granddaughter even! How nice is that? Eh?"

"Her husband went missing," Reliol grunted with a grimace. "Darn fool, trying to be the first to visit Cazan. It was a bad decision from the start. He wanted away, I suppose."

"Why is that?"

"Tamra never got over Mori Osto. I told Merael, all those visits to Urma Port were a bad idea. Eh," Reliol murmured and wiped his eyes again. "It's something," he told the sober Nulanos. "What you did. Not going to lie. It's good that you made it Neil. I hope living in Jelin helped you change your ways."

Quite the contrary.

"It was illuminating," Nulanos replied, leaving it vague.

"Valydra came back from Goras changed," Reliol told him. "Almost burned herself going against the Queen."

Nulanos nodded and then breathed out. "She's different now."

"Are you?" Reliol asked and then shook his head.

"What do you think?" Nulanos probed with a grin.

Reliol furrowed his bushy brows, now almost as white as Nulanos', but said nothing.

"You think I came here for a favor?" Nulanos continued and made a face. "Come on. I just wanted to make things right. Turn a new leaf."

Reliol sucked on his teeth, cleaned his right hand on his dirty apron and then extended it. Nulanos shook his calloused hand. "You did. More I guess, since it's not easy to find something you think lost. It's not how the Realm works. I feel I owe you even and you know what they say. When you feel something in your chest, better believe it's true."

"Aye," Nulanos agreed shaking his head and grimaced. "So, if I was… let's say, to ask for that favor, I didn't come here to ask…" Reliol stared at him numbly, even disappointed in a sense. "Nothing for me mind you."

"Alright, what do you want Neil?" Reliol asked raspingly.

"We settled the past, how about you make amends with Faramiel?" Nulanos blurted out quickly. Reliol stood back not expecting his proposal.

"Are you serious? He tried to steal Merael from me with his stupid horses!" Reliol growled but Nulanos stopped him placing both hands on his chest, which he swiftly removed when the blacksmith glared his way.

"He didn't though," Nulanos explained. "You got her love, you got her heart, and now you have her dagger back as well. He got nothing," Reliol grunted and made a gesture. He walked to the open entrance to check whether Garth's wyvern was still snoring in the middle of the square and then came back looking troubled.

"This might bring trade down. Kill the market even. Ivasaar kept his wyvern in the fields at least," the blacksmith murmured. "What kind of a man is Hardir?"

Secretive.

"He's one of us in a sense," Nulanos replied and Reliol stood back with a frown. "Simple was my meaning," the thief elucidated.

"His wyvern killed and ate Eloera in front of her own son," Reliol said and Nulanos pursed his mouth. He'd missed the incident looking for a horse sort of speak. Ah. "It puts some things in perspective I suppose."

"Never too late to make amends?" Nulanos offered.

Better even?

"Aniculo Rokae are fucking unpredictable and the wyvern god a cruel bastard," Reliol retorted with a grimace. "We barely talk with Faramiel by the way. I talk to his Gish, but he's not long for this world. He fixes his horses at Plaros, a smith working near the marketplace. A former thief and a crook of a smith. Bah, as if I care!"

"What if you made horseshoes for him again?" Nulanos asked with a smile.

"Why would I… is this your favor? To convince me to shoe Faramiel's horses?"

"You're the best."

"Half a dozen. No mules," Reliol retorted. "One time deal for bringing me the dagger."

"A dozen, so he has something left and you'll give him a full year to redeem himself," Nulanos haggled and Reliol narrowed his eyes unsure on his meaning. "Plus a good word every morning since you two are neighbors and decent folk at heart."

"Fine," Reliol yielded. "But I'll think about greeting him. Tell Faramiel if he questions my ideas I'll nail the leftover horseshoes on his darn big forehead."

"The hair is gone and all that's left is that long horse face," Nulanos noted and for the first time since he'd seen him again, Reliol stood back and a smile appeared on his tired face.

"Aye," the blacksmith agreed with a nod.

"The old Gish is back Toloth. It took him half an hour to climb up the stairs, another hour to return," Ryker told him the moment he exited the workshop, falling in step behind the Thieves Guild leader. He had gone to keep an eye on the stables while Neil sought an alternative solution. "We might have to knock him out proper with the ole blackjack, in order to pry open the stable's back doors, which is scary in his frail condition. Not to mention the blasted owner might still hear us from upstairs—"

Good grief. No violence is needed.

Nulanos had halted him by placing a hand on his shoulder. The human regarded him with curiosity. "We'll talk to Faramiel and bring the horses out into the open," he informed the thief, casting a glance at the slumbering wyvern. An ominous dark shape obstructing the center of the square.

"Ah… okay, now I'm a bit lost," Ryker confessed with a yawn. "But, I suppose you know what you're doing, chief."

"Uhm," Nulanos replied quietly, recalling Reliol's earlier comments about Eloera's gruesome fate. "I need to catch up on the local rumors," he said to Ryker. "Where's Valydra?"

"With Orym and Nabesos, perhaps?" Ryker responded. "Honestly, I'm feeling a bit worn out from all the climbing, and considering how the sight of the wyvern makes me uneasy, I was pondering—"

"We're going directly to Alail's," Nulanos cut in.

"You know, I preferred the shorter girl. She had more meat on her bones," Ryker said quietly. "But in the spirit of broadening our horizons, I'm open to trying out the scary tall one."

"Worry not friend for Holone will be there as well," Nulanos replied with a smile upon seeing the other thief's serious face. "Alike us cultured men of the trade, the working girls of Mori Osto," the famed Toloth told the listening 'Phantom' Ryker, "take no off days."