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

Female of its species

Part I

-Rikkusa's tail-

the sun peeked out of the clouds, the light flashing over the wooden rooftop of the giant columned shed built on the footprint of the old Greenhouse, some of it chasing the shades away and touching the flowerbeds. Those flowers the light touched, they died instantly, crumpling into a quick rot and then coming apart.

Once the Greenhouse building was finished, the atrium-like rooftop part of it would be made of glass.

A pretty pity, she thought.

The sun killed the Alphirim Lothe flower. What gave life to the nature around it was lethal for the life-giving flower.

'All flowers shall die come morning,' her mother used to say, when the old Greenhouse was still standing. Its glass walls that helped all other fruit trees grow fast, not protecting it at all. 'But once night comes, they shall bloom again.'

'Why kill it, when we can save it?' A young Aelrindel had asked. 'Why have just a little, when we can have so much more of it?'

'It turns less potent the longer it survives,' her mother had explained. 'Sometimes we just need to let go of some of our favorite practices, in order not to lose them completely.'

Aelrindel stared at the piles of flowers she had gathered since the morning in her greed and pouted. More were already inside the wicker baskets that stood full near the shaded part of the rattan wall and were protected from the sun for now. As the sunlight moved it would eventually reach them unless she covered them up. The sorceress stood up and walked barefooted across the large shaded garden she had cultivated for the last couple of months, easily avoiding the small stems that had sprouted out of the moist black earth.

Arranged a good three meters apart like the flowerbeds these trees would take longer to grow, but when they eventually manage it, their fruits would help her reseed the whole Garden. Some of them quite rare and made out of witch's magic. A Kapok and a fig tree. A eucalyptus next to a medicinal Bloodwood tree with its red juices. Then different Cherries and Cinnamons. Papayas, Palms and of course orange trees.

Give them time and much as it pains you, tell them to finish that glass roof, she told herself and sat near her large sacks to wear her sandals.

Sometime after she had finished Ivaraen came at the open west side of the unfinished structure and stood there to watch her returning the tiny sealed vials of finished potions –now in separate oblong boxes- into her large leather backpack.

"Officer, your trip was in vain," Aelrindel acknowledged his presence in a friendly manner. "The working crews have the day off today," she added.

"Lady Soletha left with the big Nord," Ivaraen said. "But Mylael is still at Elas Bridge. She asked me to see whether you changed your mind Sorceress."

Aelrindel breathed out and stood up. She noticed her hands, knees and feet were covered in dirt despite an attempt to clean them up, her expensive sandals looking like cheap flip-flops after several weeks of gardening.

"We talked yesterday about this," she finally said. "I need to speak with these new builders."

"Mylael noted that Master Voron shall personally oversee the project," Ivaraen argued. "He secured permission from the Monarch to spend the winter here."

"Abarat's winters are mild for all as I recall."

"Abarat would love to host Edlenn's daughter again," Ivaraen replied. "Governor Vaelenn has renovated the keep's attic for you."

Hmm.

"Is Lady Olonelis due for a return? That will make me her neighbor."

"Ah… Ani Ta-Ne is quite the distance away," Ivaraen pointed out.

Good.

"What's the occasion for her trip to the Peninsula?" Aelrindel asked evenly.

"It's private. It may be just gossip. Better not to spread it further."

"Not if the Garden's guards know of it Ivaraen. It's already out," the sorceress pointed out and smiled cutely. "And I love gossip."

"Lady Darunia is with child," Ivaraen said lowering his voice. "It's leader Roran's."

"How lovely," Aelrindel commented, the pang of jealously felt in her heart. It hurt her jaw to keep the smile on and not snarl like an old crone at the unsuspecting and nodding along local officer.

Just calm down.

Breathe.

You are above petty jealousy.

A better person.

"I brought the horses," Toutatis told the scowling and fully distracted witch an hour later, appearing out of the blue next to her workbench.

"Ergh," the frightened Aelrindel croaked dropping a glass beaker on the table and breaking it. The startle so great, her heart thudded in her chest for a full minute and her knees weakened so much she had to seize the edge of the workbench to keep herself upright. "Goddess' grace," she managed to mumble. "Don't do this Toutatis."

"I thought you saw me," Toutatis replied. "Came out from behind the wooden post. You looked right at me."

"I was… preoccupied."

"Holding a beaker and staring at nothing?"

"It's called meditating."

"Well, it ain't healthy and for sure it's dangerous," Toutatis noted and then pursed his mouth. "Got any spare coin?"

"In my bag… why?" Aelrindel asked.

"They charge a fee to cross the land bridge," Toutatis explained. "I don't want to use mine."

Eh?

"Wait… I'm not leaving," Aelrindel snapped. "Mylael sent you as well? The girl is persistent."

"Who's that?" Toutatis asked and rifled through her bag to find her purse.

"The healer with Soletha?"

"Uhm," Toutatis murmured and got a larger purse out –the size of a small sack- after he found hers, and then poured all her coins inside it. "She didn't."

The boy had a small fortune in that large purse.

"What are you doing?" Aelrindel asked furrowing her brows.

"I'll keep it safe," he replied. "It's prudent."

"It's stealing. Put it back."

"We can argue about it later, but we need to go now," Toutatis said ignoring her order.

"Boy, you are pushing your luck," Aelrindel warned him and went to grab the sack, but Toutatis slipped away lithely. He paused with a silly grin and then sobered up. "Alright, fine. What is it this time?"

"Where is Larn?" Toutatis asked and the sorceress sighed.

"I don't know. It's how he is. You've taken after him a lot actually. It's not healthy."

"Um. Never been healthier."

"Larn is a flawed person."

"Larn says we all are. The King's guards took him by the way," Toutatis insisted.

"Initially. Then they let him go."

"No, they didn't. I have his bags," Toutatis argued.

"His bags."

"His weapons and stuff. Larn left his things with me because he knew what will happen," the kid explained. "They took him."

Aelrindel closed her eyes and rubbed at her forehead with a hand. I need to moisturize tonight, else those wrinkles might creep back in, she thought troubled. "Toutatis, I don't want to hear any more of your theories. The Monarch ordered them to release him. Stop this."

"He didn't order shit," Toutatis grunted. "He told them to leave during the night. And they did. They took Larn with them while he followed you around. The king is a lying crook."

"Says the little thief!" Aelrindel screeched and glared at him. "How would you know?"

"I followed him around. You are weird with him, just saying."

"Toutatis!"

"What? I couldn't get closer, the dude has eyes on his back."

"Well, you are wrong," the annoyed witch hissed. "We talked of this and he was very sincere. I felt it."

"I don't know what you felt, or where," Toutatis retorted knowingly with a grimace. "But the dude lied."

Aelrindel stared at the one-eyed teenager's face irritated. "Toutatis," she started trying not to let his suspicions ruin her mood even more. "Reeves and I," she paused to find a way to express herself in a way the teenager would understand. "Have a certain kind of connection. It needs a bit of time to cultivate and distance shall help. When you grow older, you too shall find—"

"Connection or not," Toutatis cut her off rudely. "Reeves lied. Larn is locked in a box and they took him away. It's time to change this long term strategy or whatever it is you've planned. He might not make it. So pack yer bags sorceress. We are leaving."

-

Larenos Hostel,

Coal Isle

22nd of Netel Linde 3401 IC

(22nd day of the ninth moon)

"I want someone to hold down the fort until a more permanent solution is available," Glen told Larenos and the hostel owner took a moment to reply as Valydra had entered followed by Kumra and Nabesos. Orym, if he was still around, had decided to keep his distance.

Durolon and Parlas also entered followed by Runas and Naeras, the two hoplites probably sent by Ylyndar, who wanted to remain close to the King.

"We were about to choose a local leader," Larenos finally said, but Glen made a gesture not agreeing.

"I don't believe in elections," he told him. "But you can be deputy governor and help run the island."

"Deputy to whom?" Larenos said exchanging a look with Sylivir, his partner.

Glen stared at the small-bodied female Mori-Zilan and Valydra raised her brows surprised.

"Here's your chance," Glen told her.

"Garth…" Valydra grimaced and then breathed out. "Damn it. I didn't expect this. Poor Runas looks sick, give him some water."

"He'll be fine," Glen grunted and the red-faced Hoplite clenched his jaw.

"Hardir, the girl is in the Thieves Guild. The thieves…"

Glen stopped him raising his hand. "I'm aware. She's also in politics of sorts for quite a while, more than Tavril or even you Larenos, and a Mori who fought hard to make the throne aware of your isle. She didn't make plans and plotted to win power, but straight up made the effort to help this island. She cares."

"I don't dispute that," Runas replied stiffly. "There are less controversial candidates readily available Hardir."

Um.

"Perhaps to you. But she's not controversial to me. This is the Mori-Zilan last refuge by the way. I can't give it up to an outsider," Glen argued evenly. "I respect Ylyndar, but he doesn't care about the locals as much they deserve."

"Garth must be aware that I have a bad history with Goras," Valydra noted measuring her words.

"Valydra must be aware that this King broke bread with her and doesn't discriminate. This you are fully aware. I can't see a better scenario for you with another Monarch or even an elected official. You won't get a better offer than this," Glen retorted. "As long as I rule, Mori won't be pariahs, but if you want to change the way others truly perceive you, then you'll have to work for it. Make it happen. Start small and keep building."

God damn it mate, Glen applauded himself. You nailed this delivery.

Respect.

Valydra glanced at Larenos. "You don't object to this?" She asked him.

"Reliol always preached you are talented," Larenos replied pursing his mouth. "This is your chance I suppose. If I can help, I will, but you lot need to cut down on the shenanigans."

Valydra sighed. "I didn't expect to be offered a position."

"What's your answer?" Glen asked calmly, although he was eager to wrap this up.

"Eh. I need to do something. It might take a month, maybe more," Valydra said after a brief internal fight and Larenos shook his head disappointed.

"You're making me look bad lass," Glen warned. "How important is this job? Leave it to the others."

Larenos frowned hearing their back and forth but said nothing.

"It might give the answer to a very old riddle," Valydra finally said.

I thought it involved copious amount of loot.

Speaking of involvements.

"Does it pertain to my person?" Glen asked with a roll of his eyes.

"I don't see how, but in truth, I don't know where it will lead us."

Right.

"Is she talking about planning a crime?" Runas grunted.

Glen wasn't certain what she was talking about. He was intrigued, but Glen also needed to hop on Uvrycres and return to Goras afore another wyvern made a mess of his own backyard. He missed Inis and his own bed. Yearned to have another crack on the sorceress -because he could. Obviously, stopping Rybel before he bankrupted the Kingdom. Priorities.

Valydra's sole eye returned the troubled King's questioning stare.

"Solving a crime," she finally said meaningfully. Hmm. Here comes the eager lass, dabbling in thievery whilst playing the constabulary! "Can I have until the end of the year?"

Scratch eager.

Glen puffed out and turned to the thoughtful Larenos. "Can you work with Durolon's marines until then? I'll have a ship come here as soon as I return to Taras, or as soon as one becomes available. It's a bit vague this last part. Also specialized working crews, I suppose. We're spread thin, but this is your chance to get involved. Work and be part of the Empire again. You have the mines to use. Use them."

"Who's going to run the mines? Tavril is still imprisoned." Larenos asked.

"The Governor. Or his deputy. I hope Sylivir can run the hostel without your presence. It is time to try your hand on something else Larenos, but you'll work with her."

"I'll do it," Larenos said with a sigh. "It'll be high hypocrisy if I backed off now."

"Good," Glen retorted. "Durolon gather as many locals without a job as you can, see to clear the road and start working on the ruins in Mori Osto. Not you personally, find someone to lead the effort. Pick Normos, he knows the place better than us and knows his way around a shovel."

Uvrycres soared over Cyran Isle early that afternoon. The wyvern leaped over the channel and skirted Rock Isle with its barren landscape. They flew high over the misty waters of the Reefs, with Nuala's Quiver Isle to their north and the hidden in vapors Isildor Isle's forests to their south. Straight for the 2nd Finger over South Watch on Chimera's Leg peninsula, where they angled to the northeast. Nesande's Temple greeted them after a lonely journey over dark rocks and angry brines, the ruins of the Den and the Avenue of Legends with its giants, those sober granite columns and the adjoined Garden of Statues. Glen spotted the colossal twin towers of the old city gates early the next morning. The lit up city of Taras materialized out of the mist like something out of a fairytale and higher up, over the vapors-covered lake and the sheer cliffs of the plateau stood the sinister dark walls of Tenebrous Castle.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Glen kept searching for the mysterious wyvern and Ivasaar, but couldn't see anything out of the order. No damaged buildings or panic in the streets. Nothing pointing to a state of alarm. Uvrycres landed on the top of the central keep, talons sliding on moist black granite tiles for several meters, before the wyvern's sprightly wings –curled forward to be used as drag sails or reverse parachutes- brought them to a gradual stop.

The Monarch jumped from Uvrycres' scaly shoulder blade with some panache, but landed with a wince of pain, numb knees crackling and tired spine rattling. He let out a grunt much to the wyvern's mirth and appreciated the lack of an audience.

"Did you see them?" Glen snapped, a hand pushed against his spine to bring the vertebrae back into the right position. Argh.

It's impossible to track anything here! The enthralling odors…. I'm overwhelmed!

"Oh, for fuck's sake. Stay put," Glen grunted hoarsely and rolled down the stairs through the Keep's rooftop door using his key. He went fast at first, but his wet from their hours-long flight boots were slippery and after a couple of near tumbles the Monarch slowed down his descend. Once inside the Keep he headed for the Royal Quarters, reached the internal semi-floor over the throne room, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Two Hoplites of the morning shift that headed for the stairs came to a stop and saluted energetically via banging their spears on their Aspis -the large round shields with the twin half-circle spear openings- upon noticing the helmed Monarch. The sound reverberating inside the tall halls like a war gong.

"Hardir O' Fardor!"

"Get up there," Glen croaked, his ears ringing already abused during their flight and still soaked from boots to collar in brines. He walked gingerly on the carpeted floor, leaving moist impressions behind him and entered his personal quarters.

He proceeded to change clothes, discarding his dirty outfit –already worn for almost two months- and finding the bronze bathtub filled with lukewarm water, he lowered himself inside. Glen took a good ten minutes in the tub to loosen up the stiff muscles and rest his eyes and ears, and then got out, found a towel and wiped his body hard. Five minutes later dressed in a fresh shirt, leather pants and his still relatively dirty cuirass, Glen went to the open window to clean his boots. His eyes scanned the yard and Morn Taras' visible towers, noticing the soldiers patrolling behind the parapets and Rama –the stable master- hunting an Ostrich about holding a leather mating harness in his hand. The huge bird turned around abruptly with a stunning pirouette and landed a devastating stab with its beak on top of Rama's head, but the latter had the presence of mind to drop the harness and slot a conned helm on, right before the beak connected.

Fantastic reflexes mate! Glen thought appreciating the dangerous job Rama had taken on. Mating the Ostriches had turned very problematic as their female disliked the available male population.

Reflexes aside, Glen heard the loud clang despite the distance and the difference in height and grimaced upon seeing the unresponsive Rama collapse on the ground bleeding under the mangled helmet. Several guards immediately rushed to assist him.

Shite. He might be dead.

Glen stood back from the window and almost stepped on the golden foot of Qodras, who hissed at the startled Monarch. Glen kicked a foot out to catapult the small wyvern out of the window, but Qodras leaped on a nearby armchair and the Monarch howled in pain when he hurt his maimed toes hitting all wood and no wyvern.

"GAARH! Ye little cretin!" Glen roared and hobbled after the running away with shrieks small wyvern –the size of a very large chicken, Qodras awkward hind legs tip-tapping on the carpet as he zigzagged behind tables and chairs to escape the furious Glen.

Qodras found the door leading to Inis-Mir's quarters half-open and slipped inside with the hobbling Glen after him. The door cracked fully open and his daughter emerged clad in a silk red outfit with gold details.

"Daddy!" Inis squealed happy and tackled the sweaty Glen bringing them both down. "You are here!"

"Argh," Glen mumbled and forced himself up with Inis clenched from his neck. "Baby girl, you're taller already!" He managed to say with a fierce smile and used his arm to alleviate some of her weight. Inis seemed to be twice as heavy as before and nowhere near taller, but you got to know which things to point out, Glen thought and kissed the top of her head. "You smell nice."

"You don't… why?"

"It's the journey."

"You walked? I didn't hear Uvry," Inis asked curious.

"At some point I did alas. Had to visit the isles. What they drink for water isn't suitable even for washing clothes honey," Glen explained with a wince of pain. "Let me get you down. Uvrycres is here. Brines hurt his vocal cords, so he's keeping quiet."

"We should go to see Feyras!" Inis squealed when he dropped her down. Qodras' golden head popped out of the lower doorframe and checked inside the room. Glen snarled at the small wyvern and Qodras immediately ducked behind cover again.

"Good grief!" Glen responded to Inis' excited utterance. "I… have business to attend to darling. The kingdom… well. Atju!" Glen barked tipping his head back. Inis gasped and he heard plates shatter near the servants' staircase. Then a curse and more silverware clattering about.

Sir Qildor was heard entering the princess' adjoined bedchamber, Qodras hurried out of the knight's way with a nervous shriek, as the latter marched across the room to reach the open door leading to the Monarch's quarters.

"King Garth," Qildor announced directing a brief glance on the flushed princess. "You returned sire."

"I did. Just now," Glen replied and signaled for a bit of time to put on his boots. His maimed toes throbbing from the earlier failed kick. Damn it. "Where's everyone?"

"The Council won't meet today Hardir," Qildor reported. "They did yesterday."

Good.

"Lord Fikumin was here," Qildor continued. Aha. "Rimeros talked with your grace at all?"

No?

"I haven't seen anyone yet," Glen revealed and allowed Inis to tie up his boots. "Listen something big came up. We need to be prepared—"

"Is this coal? Pieces of… brain?" Inis asked with a grimace cutting him off, showing remarkable perception and a tad disturbing familiarity with gore.

Oops.

"Ha! Of course not. Why would you even? Well, there's some coal among other things," Glen commented and his daughter caught his lie with a frown.

You clever mouse. Yes… brain matter included probably.

"The Monarch is aware about Sir Ivasaar then?" The Rokae asked and Glen narrowed his eyes trying to remember the name. Then he did and a tick appeared on his face. Very severe, it forced his left eye to blink repeatedly. "Your grace," the Knight inquired sounding worried. He feared Glen just had a stroke.

"Ivasaar…" Glen mumbled hoarsely and stood up. "Where?"

"Ehm," the knight's sober mask couldn't hide Qildor's bafflement at the Monarch's flash of anger. "With Memphes, I suppose?"

Glen crooked his mouth, trying to figure out what the all-hells his knight was talking about. "As in her room?"

Is she in danger?

Held hostage?

What in Luthos wet fart is going on here?

"I believe they used one of the field tents last night, sire," Qildor replied readily. "Rimeros offered the Aniculo Rokae better lodgings but he settled for rations and a tent. There's a chance of rain. At any rate, Memphes is well accustomed as a desert lass."

"They up and camped out… in the woods?" Glen asked in a reasonable manner despite his blood boiling. "For a moment I thought you meant this knave took my tent, ate my food and fucked my former slave, Sir Qildor," he grunted with a half-leer, very forced.

"Why… my Lord," Qildor replied a little confused. "That's exactly what happened. He's a special guest."

Glen pursed his mouth, heard Inis' giggle and stared at the distant wall blankly. Then what his daughter was murmuring excited finally registered.

"You should see Rikkusa daddy!" Inis was saying whilst pulling at his left arm, simultaneously jumping up and down. Qodras peeked from the door again to see if everything had blown over, caught sight of Glen's rage boiling and let out a scared scream.

EAARRUUU

Uvrycres responding –not that he could possibly have heard Qodras squeal- from outside with a booming shriek of his own.

RRRRRREEEEEE?

Getting a different but equally loud, indignant response from Morn Taras' yard.

LEEARRR!

Fuck, Glen thought, eyes gawking and apparently the only alarmed person inside the room, other than the scared little wyvern.

Glen rushed down the corridor, bulldozing past the yelping Atju who was bringing up his breakfast. Pieces of caramel cake, orange juice and other tonic beverages splattered on the walls of the corridor. Glen delivered a thunderous slap on the trying to get up Atju -right on the left ear- for not paying attention –unjustifiably- and the blow send the Cofol sprawling on the floor amidst the dropped plates. The Monarch then leaped over the dazed slave, reached the top of the stairs and rolled down like an avalanche.

Sir Delmuth heard the King running towards him, the Leader of the Royal Rokae stood by the double doors leading towards the main corridor out of the Throne Hall, and turned his masked head around to perceive perturbed the sweaty and still wet from his bath Monarch approach as if the place was on fire.

We might be seconds away from that!

"Great Garth," Sir Delmuth rustled, as Glen halted next to him breathing heavy –Morn Taras was a notoriously lengthy to walk about castle, and likewise time-consuming to enter or to get out of.

Even at a trot.

Unless your name was Troy.

"Ergh," Glen gasped ineligibly trying to draw breath and speak at the same time, just as the nice-smelling Iskay carrying a fortune in jewelry jingled inside as well, her painted eyes smiling upon noticing the King. "The wyverns…" Glen croaked, stupefied on the inaction of those around him. "Memphes."

"She's here," Iskay explained and used her thin shawl to wipe the sweat from his face. "I shall prepare a bath for the handsome Caliph."

"I just had one," Glen grunted. "Now… Memphes."

"Ivasaar brought her back," Iskay explained looking in his face unsure. "On his wyvern."

God damn it!

"What?" Glen snapped and before he could reprimand Iskay for just flinging bad news on him alike turds, already incensed by her indifference on whatever was happening inside the yard, Memphes arrived through the doors dancing on her toes before a rough-looking, scarred Zilan, donning a sleeveless custom armour. The Zilan arms veined and as wiry as Troy's.

Memphes took one glance on Glen's manic expression and genuflected on the polished black tiles, spreading both arms forward in submission.

"Mercy great Monarch!" Memphes pleaded at least aware of the mountain of fuckery they had caused.

"Eh," the unknown male exhaled a little surprised at her reaction, Ivasaar probably, and looked at the grinding his teeth Glen unsure.

"No you fool," Iskay intervened. "Lord Garth is not mad at you!"

I most certainly am?

With you too wench!

Glen glared at his paramour.

"Hardir, this is Sir Ivasaar," the muffled voice of Sir Delmuth said.

Ivasaar slightly bowed his head and smiled confidently. "The Gods finally rewarded my patience! Thus, I stand respectful before a living legend after years in exile and I applaud Hardir's small efforts in restoring the empire. I salute a fellow Aniculo Rokae."

He'd a deep voice with a weird accent –not unpleasant. Glen stared at the offered hand perturbed. He took it and squeezed hard, because Ivasaar's rough and calloused hand tried to break his fingers, whilst trying to return the stranger's smile but failing.

So he snarled his way, all teeth, instead.

Small efforts?

"Lady Kilynia suggested we offer Sir Ivasaar the honors reserved for all Aniculo Rokae," Iskay said carefully, as she had finally sensed Glen's mood. "Shelter, food and a willing mate."

Are you fucking kidding me?

What is this fresh bullshit!

"Is that so?" Glen grunted grimacing in response to Ivasaar's friendly grin and naughty gaze on the still prostrated on all fours Memphes' round buttocks. Glen's stare noticed he could appreciate the silk panties cord splitting the arse-cheeks through the sheer material. All-Gods damn it! No wonder Ylyndar was eager to leave Coal Isle! You can only thin the woolen local outfits so much! "Did I get the same consideration?"

"Of course," Iskay replied with a frown. "Lady Sen had to reject several offers herself, on top of all the direct proposals? You know surely…"

Glen narrowed his eyes trying to swallow whatever she was selling him and not make a scene about it, given that everyone appeared to judge his reaction in a critical manner.

"I don't want to impose," Ivasaar stated, a smarter dude than what he'd first appeared to be, "so I took the lesser of the offers."

Hence imposing on me person… none the-fucking-less!

Glen blinked once and then swallowed slowly. "Um."

"As I said," Ivasaar continued in a friendly manner, despite Glen's halfhearted reaction. "This decent restorations you've accomplished -in all this time, is something I'm also interested to help grow."

Why are ye standing here then?

Grab a pickaxe and join a crew in plaguing Taras!

We are lacking manpower like a fella wandering in the desert lacks water!

"We are doing the best we can," Glen grunted diplomatically, despite being very annoyed. "You can't rebuild in half a decade, what took nature two blasted centuries to ruin!"

"Apologies. I wasn't aware your reign was this short," Ivasaar replied. "You appear, rather… timeworn Hardir. A man of many miles."

Said the man picking his outfit in a museum!

You penniless troglodyte…

"Looks can be deceiving," a miffed Glen countered.

"True. Then again, I'm not intimately accustomed to humans."

"Ha! And here I thought last night offered you that more intimate perspective ye craved!" Glen mocked with a manic snarl.

"Why, it certainly did, Lord Garth. A revelation even! By the way, since lissome Memphes is a freedwoman, I wish for her to stay with me," Ivasaar said crooking his mouth.

Yeah? Where?

Even the tent isn't yours, ye blood-sucking cretin!

So go and fuck yourself.

"We should ask Memphes about it," Iskay intervened.

She's right there. Go ahead. Wait, I'll do it.

"Well then. Memphes?"

"Hardir is celebrated for being quite generous to his friends," Iskay added knowingly, when Memphes opted to remain silent.

Glen furrowed his gray brows.

"Ah, then perhaps I should have started with that," Ivasaar admitted with a grin. His character reminding him of the late Dante. A lot of bravado, surely equal amounts of pure bullshit and a hefty dose of the theatrics. "Great Hardir, you might be a lonely Monarch, but you're also a fellow Aniculo Rokae. We should stand on the same podium. One plinth, two peoples!"

Ahm, how about we don't?

"Lord Garth is very generous to his friends," Iskay repeated as if to warn Glen there was no other option. Have these fools talked behind my back and reached decisions? Glen wondered suddenly suspicious.

"Within reason," Glen tried to say and a distant shriek echoed inside the hall. He paused and stared at the unperturbed Ivasaar. "The wyverns."

"There's no need for concern. Rikkusa is quite well-mannered," Ivasaar reassured him, but then they were all startled by the unmistakable sound of an explosion echoing from beyond the Keep's walls. "Your wyvern..." Ivasaar began, his confidence suddenly wavering compared to just moments before. "Isn't, perchance, a young male?"

Glen suddenly recalled all of Uvrycres' strange behavior in the last couple of weeks, and everything began to click into place.

"What if he is?" Glen growled, but instead of an answer, Ivasaar spun on his heels and dashed down the long, shadowy corridor. Oh, damn it, Glen thought with a scowl, always dreading this next segment. Exiting the main entrance of Morn Taras was a trek and a half. Fuck you very much Voron, he thought, cursing the tasked with helping the sorceress in his vacation days architect. Voron had taken it surprisingly well. A true workaholic on top of a moron. That being said, Glen inhaled deeply, crooked his mouth and began to chase after the fleet-footed Ivasaar.

The heavy-breathing Monarch got out the Keep's gates and ran into Morn Taras' expansive yard, now covered in smoke and shattered burning debris. A building was missing, one of the two stables next to the smith workshops and the barracks. Well, some of the building was there, but the roof and most of its walls had exploded outwards and what was left burned brightly with heavy smoke rising towards the partially clouded sky.

The bandaged Rama was there holding a large pole with meat attached at its end, next to Laedan the Denmaster who danced between the two circling wyverns, moving arms and feet in peculiar patterns –in between whistles and cries- as if to communicate with them. Guards, officials and other castle personnel tried to douse the fires to prevent them from spreading to the nearby buildings. The horns sounding from the towers mixed with the sound of the irritated beasts and the shrieks of pain of the burning Ostrich that broke through the throng of onlookers, just as Glen approached.

The Monarch ducked out of the Ostrich's way, sword in hand, and hacked at its leg in the twirl. He missed, landed on the grass with a curse and the Ostrich zipped past him. It made three more steps, while Glen rolled on the ground and then collapsed in a burning heap, its severed head –a foot of the long neck still attached to it- landing a couple of meters away.

"This shite again!" Glen grunted standing up with a perturbed glance at Eirkor and then tipping his head back roared hoarsely. "UVRY! HALT THIS MALARKEY!"

What? The Wyvern queried still trying to get himself behind the larger Rikkusa, who zig-zagged in circles as if toying with the male wyvern.

"Harp…Um… Boom… Varhum!" Laedan kept mumbling ineligible words and making strange sounds, looking like a crazy person who had too much to drink, after smoking a bad bunch of mushrooms.

Having said that, the ever-disheveled, badly maimed Laedan habitually looked insane ever since Glen had first met him.

"Get away girl!" Ivasaar urged Rikkusa shoving away some bystanders, just as the sweaty Glen approached as well.

Uvrycres turned his scaly head towards the Zilan confused.

RRRREEEE! He blasted him and the grimacing Ivasaar took a precautionary backwards step. Glen went past him and signaled for the hoping about like a spastic grasshopper Laedan to stop.

"It's a mating ritual great Caliph," the bandaged Rama explained trying to entice the still moving Rikkusa with the twenty-kilo piece of meat. The Cofol stable master had trouble keeping still while holding on to the long pole, so he moved back and forth trying not to drop the bloody treat.

TELL THIS BOTHERSOME IDIOT TO SHUT UP! A livid Uvrycres, who had stopped upon seeing Glen, shrieked and Laedan snapped his fingers excited, then pointed an arm towards the male wyvern, releasing a sharp meaningful whistle directed at the intently watching Rama.

"He responded my lord!" Rama cried out. "Stand aside sire, so we can distract the female!"

As a matter of fact Rikkusa had stopped circling around Uvrycres or vice-versa and was now sauntering towards them, as they had created a smaller group inside the crowd of bystanders that had rushed to douse the fires, but stayed to watch the wyverns instead.

Whole fucking building is lost mate, Glen thought pensively.

The determined to put a stop to this predicament Monarch reached for his dagger, while the large colorful three-horned wyvern approached fast on all fours. Uvrycres lashed out against Laedan in the meantime, but the half-humming half-grunting Denmaster rolled on the ground lithely and avoided the male wyvern's closing jaws.

Rikkusa kept her dragon-eyes on Glen curious.

"Rikkusa," Ivasaar was heard behind him. "This is Hardir O' Fardor!"

Let him prove it. Stop being so polite, the wyvern replied with a trumpeting shriek and Glen crooked his mouth surprised.

"Why destroy my home?" He asked her and two different sheer membranes opened and closed in Rikkusa's ginger and yellow irises.

Twas a blink of surprise.

He did. Rikkusa told Glen with an amused hiss. I called him little boy.

"And?"

"That was not polite," Ivasaar scolded her and Glen grimaced.

He liked it. Hardir eh? What do you have there? Rikkusa queried.

"You'll get as much info as you give," Glen retorted and the female wyvern stood back impressed. "Do not harm my friend."

Rikkusa pulled her dark lips back in a smirk and stepping sideways allowed the back portion of her body to move forward with the help of her large hind legs. The long scaly tail whipped out, over the grimacing Glen's sweaty head as it stood twice the length of Uvrycres' and upon reaching the male wyvern -still distracted with the dancing via hoping on one foot and then the other Laedan- Rikkusa smacked the side of Uvrycres' head right below the pointy ear.

RRRRREEE! Uvrycres snarled twisting his elongated neck about to glare at the smirking Rikkusa. Glen realized they were standing between too-many to count large teeth and two very large pairs of monster jaws.

What was that for? Uvrycres snapped in Wyvern tongue, just as Ivasaar came to stand next to the tensed Monarch, now visibly more relaxed than a moment afore.

Fly with me baby boy, Rikkusa taunted and turned around. She moved fast on all fours, her leathery wings the white-underside scrapping at the grass and then leaped off of the ground. Her seemingly changing-colors body twisted in a perfect ring almost as she turned her scaly head around to stare at the watching crowd and then she let out a piercing shriek that almost blew their eardrums out.

Whoa, Uvrycres was heard impressed. Look at that tail moving!

Yeah. She's a tease, the Monarch thought.

"Go get her boy," Glen taunted with a grin and shrugged at Ivasaar's shocked reaction. "She had it coming," the Monarch added, stumbling a couple of meters to the side when Uvrycres blew past them, the wyvern moving fast for a couple of breaths to gather momentum and then leaping in his turn after the already flying away female wyvern.

RRRRRRREEE! Uvrycres roared and Rikkusa's sexually-charged provocative shriek responded like an otherworldly trumpet held by a god living in the skies.

LEEEEARRR?

Ha! Glen guffawed and then breathed out relieved, just as the tired Laedan finally stopped his crazy dance and ordered Rama to stand down as well. The latter toppled forward from the weight of the meat but managed not to hurt himself this time.

"It worked," Laedan decided and wiped his dirty distorted face. Half of it drooping, still paralyzed and much uglier than Glen remembered him. "Right Hardir?"

Glen had no idea if Laedan was an expert or a crook, but his methods sort-of-delivered. He stared briefly at the burning and destroyed stable, then at the decapitated still smoking Ostrich. Shit, it's the one we took from Aelrindel, he thought. Better to find another female of its species just in case she asks.

"Uhm," Glen mumbled and with a glance at the gazing at the two wyverns –very moved- Ivasaar, the two beasts were circling and dancing around each other in the sky, he turned around to walk back inside the castle.

Not three tired strides later, the sweaty Glen halted and sheathed Eirkor with a curse –the sword had yet again acted on its own, which was a matter needing some looking into- smacked his lips and then glanced at the Ostrich again. "Rama," he asked loud enough to be heard. "Is this bird eatable?"

"Indeed Caliph. Other than its meat is a little hard for the uninitiated or the toothless," Rama replied to the numbly listening Monarch. "Ehem… we do have this piece of butchered cow also. It's only slightly covered in mud and shit…"

"Leave it for the wyverns," Glen interjected. "Get the Ostrich ready. Gentlemen," he said, turning to face the spectators. "Let's host a feast in the yard to honor Sir Ivasaar's arrival." He grinned at the overly enthusiastic responses and cheers from the officials of Morn Taras. Keep the same energy whilst gnawing on Ostrich meat darn freeloaders, he thought caustically. We need to get rid of the carcass. You never know who might pop out of the woodwork uninvited! "Excellent. Now, could someone fetch me a chair to sit on and a flask of water?"

Glen had decided to eat and wait for Uvrycres to return. Use the wyvern to directly go to his quarters via the castle's easier to reach roof entrance.

Assuming Wyverns don't eat each other after coupling, the Monarch thought a little worried on the possibility, whilst he stiffly watched the excited crowd finally moving to douse the flames.

Ivasaar approached the thoughtful Monarch sometime later and stood next to him –which was annoying- crossing his arms over his chest.

"A feast then Hardir?" Ivasaar asked and the always suspicious of benign queries Monarch cast a side-glance at the fellow Aniculo Rokae.

"So? What's the problem?"

"It's already mid-day," Ivasaar replied with a shrug. "From sunrise to sunset the tradition is. Given we've missed it, I guess it's a two-day event then," the Zilan added in his archaic jargon. "I missed this level of indulgence greatly, Lord Garth."

"Um," the grimacing Glen mumbled. "Maybe it'll rain and we'll cut it short?"

"Ha!" Ivasaar chuckled and then sobered up to deliver this next phrase. "Nah. You can't stop a feast."

It almost sounded like a warning.