Grimdux
I. This is the direct sequel to Touch O' Luck
Touch O' Luck
II) It serves as a prologue to the Old Realms series.
It will be a superior reading experience
to start this story from the beginning
Please give it a good rating if you liked it, it will help the story reach a much bigger audience:)
Chapter specific maps of the realms
Maps of the Realms
Glen
The soft Spring of War
-Crack on the walls-
Part II
(Noble or not. Makes no difference.)
There wasn’t enough time to entertain another solution, Glen realized. These ego-driven fools had painted themselves into a corner.
The Duke’s old face –Gideon Winfield was in his sixties- had hardened, since the news his son had been lost reached him, a couple of days back. The grey hairs on his unshaven cheeks the only other difference.
Well, that and the unfriendly welcome, Glen supposed.
“They told me, you all but offered the city to the Prince, on a bloody platter, Lord Reeves!” The Duke spat, shedding with any pleasantries. “Whatever gave you the idea, it was yours to part with?”
Glen blinked, not expecting the personal tone of the accusation and had to rearrange the whole strategy he’d set up on his mind, on the way to the pyramid.
Any way, he could.
Deflect.
“That’s not what happened, Duke Winfield.”
“People heard you. They were standing next to you! You’ll deny it?”
Create division.
“Then you know, what the Cofols want?”
Gideon narrowed his eyes, grey brows meeting in the middle of his forehead.
“What do they want?”
Hah. They didn’t tell him the full story.
Of course.
Keep him on the back foot.
“Only one’s opinion matters, Duke Winfield. That would be the Prince’s wife and she wants you dead,” Glen started. “Have these ruffians, told ye that?”
“I know what she wants. That demon will get what’s coming for her.”
Alright.
“She’s calling the shots, Duke Winfield. She is here,” Glen continued.
“At the meeting?”
“Aye. There will be no agreement, she want’s you dead. She wants everyone killed.”
Duke Gideon got up from his throne and walked towards the large open balcony. The sky red above their heads, the city swallowed in the increasing darkness, despite the first lights that were slowly appearing, one after the other.
“Do you know what she is, Reeves?” Gideon asked him, staring at his city.
“A Zilan, Duke Winfield,” Glen replied without hesitation.
Gideon turned his way.
“How… ah, but you’ve read my letter,” He said, with a glare.
“The High King’s man, hinted at it,” Glen countered, shedding with formalities as well. “After I delivered your letter.”
Risking life and limb in the plaguin’ process!
“Finishing a job, your father had failed at.”
“Died in the attempt is the better term, me thinks. Killed, I believe, walking into a trap,” Glen deadpanned, returning his glare.
Duke Gideon took a deep breath and crossed his arms on his chest.
“Where are you going with this, young man?”
“They knew about the letter, his assassins were pretty forthcoming,” Glen explained, keeping his calm, despite his nervousness. He couldn’t falter now. Someone in the Duke’s circle wanted him buried.
“Bah, people found out. The Cofols expected it,” Gideon argued.
“It’s quite a different matter, knowing a response was coming from you and having the time to intercept and sink a barque. That takes time and resources. They were informed,” Glen insisted. “Probably even before my father set sail.”
“By whom? You think someone in my court is working with that monster?”
Glen shrugged his shoulders.
“I don’t know your court. Even so, I do have a suspect, but I can’t accuse someone without hard evidence.”
“No sane person, whatever his motives, will ever side with a monster, Reeves,” The Duke said, after a moment’s deliberation.
“Assuming they knew what she was. No, I don’t think they would,” Glen agreed. “But how many know of it?”
“No, you’re mistaken. Even… who would willingly, side with the Cofols?” Gideon sighed and pressed at the bridge of his nose with two fingers, to relieve a mounting headache. “I should have killed her, when I had the chance. I regret it now.”
It wouldn’t have made the Prince less likely to invade.
“When will reinforcements be here?” He asked changing the subject.
“I wrote to the High King again. Est Ravn is dragging his bloody feet,” Gideon griped and walked back inside his throne room. “Perhaps a month. Van Durren is keeping them honest, as long as he doesn’t get himself killed. He can’t help us alone. I fear, we might not have a month.”
“You should evacuate the civilians to Altarin,” Glen proposed.
“Why would I want to do that?”
“It’s easier to defend an empty city,” Glen said.
“Ah, you’re clever, but not ruthless enough lad. I’ve recruited about two thousand militia in a week. There’s roughly three thousand guards inside Rida, half of them decent troops, with those extra two thousand soldiers from the local militia, I have a chance. But they won’t stay and fight, if their families are safe on their way to Altarin.”
Glen stared at his old boots. “I’ll return to my post,” He finally said, after a moment and Gideon nodded.
“There’s about fifty or so guards in the harbor. Pick them up, add them to yours. You hold the bridge and the harbor for me, Reeves,” Duke Gideon ordered him. “If the Cofols make it in, I’ll retreat here and draw them on these walls. It will give you a good chance to hit them in the back.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” Glen commented and with that he turned heel to leave him.
A fine plan, he thought walking down the stairs to meet up with Marcus, who had stayed at the entrance of the pyramid -turned into a citadel. To get me killed, when all those Cofols smash onto those walls, bounce back pissed as all hells and come at me.
Glen walked behind the officer, the stairs leading to the first floor of the Pyramid, made of that same red stone, well-polished and a bit worn out at places and also relatively dark, despite lit torches mounted on the wall every ten steps, or at every turn. He could see the massive open space at the middle, as he descended, administrative buildings and barracks arranged neatly at the open bottom floor, as badly lit as those darn stairs. At the base of the massive staircase that warped around the sides of the ancient structure, two guards stood, clad in their chain and plate armour, the crest of the city of Rida engraved on them.
The officer leading him paused seeing them and then murmuring under his breath, walked straight towards the two.
“What’s this? Is that you Tucker?”
“Aye, captain,” Tucker, the older of the two said and Glen stopped a couple of meters behind the captain apparently, waiting for him to get everything sorted out, while he pondered on his discussion with Duke Gideon and the one he had earlier, with the Prince and his Zilan spouse. There were a number of things Glen needed to straighten out urgently as well. First and foremost, finding a way to get out of the city, without everyone finding out. Jinx had the correct idea on instinct, but on the finer details this needed serious planning and time to find the better solution.
“On who’s order?” The captain asked, sounding frustrated.
“Someone higher up,” Tucker explained.
“I was just with the Duke,” The captain sighed and shook his head. Glen smacked his lips, returning the stare from the older soldier. With another sigh the captain, turned on his heel to face him.
“Lord Reeves, it seems there’s been a change in plans,” He said. “Sergeant Tucker and Evans will escort you, back to your post. Here’s the orders for the men at the Harbor. I’m to report to the Duke.”
Glen took the scroll and secured it under his front plate, with a nod of his head.
“I guess you’re heading up again, captain Hank,” He said remembering his name and the Captain shook his head sadly.
“This stairs will be the death of me,” The officer said and ogled his eyes not in a grimace of frustration, but a genuine death reflex, as a hand’s worth of blade burst out of his neck, the blood splattering the wall of the staircase and Glen’s chest.
Move.
Glen stepped back, his heels meeting the start of the stairs, a hand reaching for his sword. Tucker pushed the hapless Hank forward, the bleeding and thrashing man collapsing on his knees and pulled hard to get his shortblade out.
“Get him!” He barked at the sluggish Evans and the second guard came at Glen unsheathing his longsword.
Oh, that’s just great.
“GUARDS!” Glen yelled, loud as he could, his voice reverberating inside the Pyramid, the vastness of this central area right at its heart, carrying it away and distorting it.
He’d his sword out as well and sidestepped away from the stairs, Evans’ blade slashing at the spot he occupied up until recently with full force, but not too expertly. Not that Glen got that immediately. He was busy, trying to find a way out, before he was cornered completely and killed. Evans turned with a curse and rushed him again, while Tucker at last got his shortsword out of Hank’s neck, the captain miraculously still breathed of sorts and stooping he helped himself to the dying man’s longsword as well.
Glen parried another thrust from Evans to the side, found an opening to cut him down, but missed it, too stunned to act in time. Before Glen could admonish himself proper for fucking it up, the guard came at him again with a high strike, aiming for his head and this time Glen parried the blade back correctly by raising his and cut diagonally in the same move, opening up Evans’ face from right eye, to left ear.
A devastating wound that sliced up the skin, crashed the skull-bones underneath, up to his forehead, split the bridge of his nose, pulverizing an eye and sent blood, skin, flesh and pieces of brain, to rain on the approaching Tucker.
“Ah, ye son of bitch!” Tucker cursed and then recoiled seeing his friend walk a couple of meters blindly, his chest drenched in blood and smash on the staircase wall, before collapsing pretty close to -a now staring blankly at Glen- captain Hank.
Glen gulped down and reached for his dagger, tense face turning into a merciless mask the moment he touched it, the shock of the attack that made his heartbeat erratic, naught but a moment earlier, wearing off. His whole body that had flooded with adrenaline, relaxed now, as he returned his assailant’s hateful stare.
Unworthy challenge.
“Who sent you?” Glen asked him, ignoring the voice in his head.
Tucker blinked, then wiped his mouth, with the back of the hand holding the shortsword and charged him at the tail end of that move, trying to catch him off guard.
Glen blocked the sword cut, with his own long blade and then twisted away to avoid a stab of the short one. Tucker swung wild, turning himself, but the young Lord ducked under it, then beat the equally wild swing of the shortsword, punching his own dagger in Tucker’s exposed thigh. It went in to the hilt.
Wow, he thought impressed, stepping back and stared at the still holding both weapons Tucker, resting his own sword on the swell of his shoulder pad.
“Mmh,” Tucker groaned and stumbled, before catching himself. He dropped his sword and tried to pull the dagger out of his thigh, eyes ogling, and desperate face drenched in sweat, while Glen was watching him patiently and a little curious, feeling like himself again.
Cut him some more!
“Shut the fuck up,” Glen barked, to the voice in his head and Tucker glanced at him, looking desperate himself.
“Ora’s curse ye, what are you?” He growled, the blood pouring from the severed artery in his leg freely and flooding the red floor under his feet.
“Who sent you?” Glen repeated his query, although Tucker had asked a legitimate one of his own. He couldn’t begrudge him that.
“Aye,” Tucker said simply, the shortblade clattering on the red granite-like floor, as his hand had stopped working. “I’m done,” and he collapsed face first on it next.
“They attacked him!” Marcus, drenched in sweat from climbing all those stairs back, growled at the livid Duke. “Milord. I’ve seen the end of it. Yer guards can confirm it.”
“Tucker was yielding Captain Brins sword, my Lord,” The sergeant of the guard repeated, face all tensed up, glancing towards a scowled Glen. That would be Hank, the former thief thought. I need to start remembering people’s full names.
“What was Tucker doing here? He wasn’t on duty,” The Duke asked, clenching the cup in his hand, as if he wasn’t certain whether to break it, or throw it at one of them.
“He was sent to kill me,” Glen replied edgily. “Apparently your court, isn’t very loyal, Duke Winfield.”
The Duke stilled his eyes on him. “Lord Reeves, I don’t particularly enjoy your tone as of late. As a matter of fact, I find interesting your cantor. Taking my charity for weakness, will lead you down an unpleasant path, young man.”
“I want no charity,” Glen retorted, not batting an eyelash. He had enough of beating around the proverbial bush. If he cowered now, next stop was the hangman’s noose. “Tell him, what you told us!” He barked at the sergeant and the man recoiled, not wanting to be put on that spot.
“Out with it, sergeant!” The Duke snapped, twice as angry as Glen and probably not half-faking it, like the former thief.
“Tucker is in the Chamberlains detail,” The sergeant blurted out. “It’s his man.”
Duke Winfield stood back, his face dark. He glared at Glen, who shrugged his shoulders, the revelation coming as no surprise to him and then with a grunt turned to the unlucky sergeant of the guards again. “Where’s Lord Reeves? The senior one.”
“In his quarters sire,” The man said quickly.
“He didn’t even bother checking out, what all the fuzz was about? Three people are dead inside the palace, for Ora’s sake!” The Duke snarled. “Have him brought here!” He ordered the rest of his guards.
Victor Reeves had probably expected this night to end very differently, Glen thought, returning the older man’s venomous glare.
“Lord Reeves, one of your men, has just cut down captain Brins and tried to assassinate your nephew, what do you know about it?” The Duke asked solemnly, now sitting on his throne and after having a couple of goblets of wine downed back to back. “I’m gravely concerned.”
Victor closed his eyes and after a moment, turned to look at the Duke.
“The boy is lying sire,” He said calmly, despite the sweat drenching his face.
“The boy is the Lord of Altarin and a Knight. Perhaps you want to rephrase your statement, old friend. Sir Glenavon might take offense and I’ll have to oblige him.”
“He’s an impostor!” Victor snapped and glared at Glen. “Sir Glenavon… the real one, had no son! It’s a made up story, my Lord!”
“ENOUGH!” The Duke yelled, slamming a fist on the arm of his throne. “You’re digging a bigger grave for yourself Victor!” He sighed and stared at the worried Chamberlain. “I’ve known you for all your life. You wanted Altarin, it’s not much of a secret, but life won’t always give to us, what we want old friend. Your late brother, Uher rests his soul, has accepted Sir Glenavon, gave him his ring. It’s over, Victor. You just couldn’t let it go.”
“Ask him what happened with my father,” Glen said and the Duke grimaced.
“He wasn’t your father,” Victor hissed, turning towards him. “You may have fooled the old man and even the Duke, but you’re a cutthroat, a parasite—”
“WAS IT YOU?” The Duke growled, standing up. “Answer his question, Victor!”
The Chamberlain grimaced, letting his hatred show clearly, but then his shoulders relaxed and pulling his lips back into what was either half-a-smirk, or half-a-snarl, replied measuring his words.
“The gods shall judge you all soon. I’ve nothing more to say.”
“No Victor, you’re mistaken,” The Duke said, looking at the senior Reeves with solemn eyes and Glen could hear real sorrow in his voice. “I will judge you. Take him to the dudgeon!” He ordered his guards.
“Are you alright there lad?” Marcus asked later, on their return trip towards the harbor. It was in the middle of the night, the coming dawn no more than three hours away, the city of Rida mostly quiet, and the streets almost empty.
“I was fortunate,” Glen replied, not wanting to talk about it.
“Sometimes family can turn on us,” Marcus insisted, erroneously thinking Glen was shook, because Victor had tried to have him killed. While uncomfortable and scary that was then, Glen had moved on, as he had other problems to reflect on and Victor, despite what Marcus believed, wasn’t family.
“Do you think, he was working with the Cofols?” He asked, changing the subject.
“Difficult to believe it, but possible, I guess.”
“Why difficult?” Glen asked.
“He’d a good position and until you’ve shown up, he was set to inherit a title. Why throw it all away?” Marcus wondered.
“Well, if the Prince takes the city, then all you said go poof… unless he’d a contingency plan on the side,” Glen explained.
Marcus turned on the saddle to stare at him.
“Milord, only a crook would think like this. Lord Reeves is a nobleman.”
“Hah, so being a scheming murdering bastard is palatable, but treason… nah, he draws a line?” He shook his head, at the absurdity of it all. “Yeah, he’s a bona fide crook for me and probably a traitor. Noble or not. Makes no difference.”
Grimdux
I. This is the direct sequel to Touch O' Luck
Touch O' Luck
II) It serves as a prologue to the Old Realms series.
It will be a superior reading experience
to start this story from the beginning
Please give it a good rating if you liked it, it will help the story reach a much bigger audience:)
Chapter specific maps of the realms
Maps of the Realms
Glen
The soft Spring of War
-Crack on the walls-
Part II
(Noble or not. Makes no difference.)
There wasn’t enough time to entertain another solution, Glen realized. These ego-driven fools had painted themselves into a corner.
The Duke’s old face –Gideon Winfield was in his sixties- had hardened, since the news his son had been lost reached him, a couple of days back. The grey hairs on his unshaven cheeks the only other difference.
Well, that and the unfriendly welcome, Glen supposed.
“They told me, you all but offered the city to the Prince, on a bloody platter, Lord Reeves!” The Duke spat, shedding with any pleasantries. “Whatever gave you the idea, it was yours to part with?”
Glen blinked, not expecting the personal tone of the accusation and had to rearrange the whole strategy he’d set up on his mind, on the way to the pyramid.
Any way, he could.
Deflect.
“That’s not what happened, Duke Winfield.”
“People heard you. They were standing next to you! You’ll deny it?”
Create division.
“Then you know, what the Cofols want?”
Gideon narrowed his eyes, grey brows meeting in the middle of his forehead.
“What do they want?”
Hah. They didn’t tell him the full story.
Of course.
Keep him on the back foot.
“Only one’s opinion matters, Duke Winfield. That would be the Prince’s wife and she wants you dead,” Glen started. “Have these ruffians, told ye that?”
“I know what she wants. That demon will get what’s coming for her.”
Alright.
“She’s calling the shots, Duke Winfield. She is here,” Glen continued.
“At the meeting?”
“Aye. There will be no agreement, she want’s you dead. She wants everyone killed.”
Duke Gideon got up from his throne and walked towards the large open balcony. The sky red above their heads, the city swallowed in the increasing darkness, despite the first lights that were slowly appearing, one after the other.
“Do you know what she is, Reeves?” Gideon asked him, staring at his city.
“A Zilan, Duke Winfield,” Glen replied without hesitation.
Gideon turned his way.
“How… ah, but you’ve read my letter,” He said, with a glare.
“The High King’s man, hinted at it,” Glen countered, shedding with formalities as well. “After I delivered your letter.”
Risking life and limb in the plaguin’ process!
“Finishing a job, your father had failed at.”
“Died in the attempt is the better term, me thinks. Killed, I believe, walking into a trap,” Glen deadpanned, returning his glare.
Duke Gideon took a deep breath and crossed his arms on his chest.
“Where are you going with this, young man?”
“They knew about the letter, his assassins were pretty forthcoming,” Glen explained, keeping his calm, despite his nervousness. He couldn’t falter now. Someone in the Duke’s circle wanted him buried.
“Bah, people found out. The Cofols expected it,” Gideon argued.
“It’s quite a different matter, knowing a response was coming from you and having the time to intercept and sink a barque. That takes time and resources. They were informed,” Glen insisted. “Probably even before my father set sail.”
“By whom? You think someone in my court is working with that monster?”
Glen shrugged his shoulders.
“I don’t know your court. Even so, I do have a suspect, but I can’t accuse someone without hard evidence.”
“No sane person, whatever his motives, will ever side with a monster, Reeves,” The Duke said, after a moment’s deliberation.
“Assuming they knew what she was. No, I don’t think they would,” Glen agreed. “But how many know of it?”
“No, you’re mistaken. Even… who would willingly, side with the Cofols?” Gideon sighed and pressed at the bridge of his nose with two fingers, to relieve a mounting headache. “I should have killed her, when I had the chance. I regret it now.”
It wouldn’t have made the Prince less likely to invade.
“When will reinforcements be here?” He asked changing the subject.
“I wrote to the High King again. Est Ravn is dragging his bloody feet,” Gideon griped and walked back inside his throne room. “Perhaps a month. Van Durren is keeping them honest, as long as he doesn’t get himself killed. He can’t help us alone. I fear, we might not have a month.”
“You should evacuate the civilians to Altarin,” Glen proposed.
“Why would I want to do that?”
“It’s easier to defend an empty city,” Glen said.
“Ah, you’re clever, but not ruthless enough lad. I’ve recruited about two thousand militia in a week. There’s roughly three thousand guards inside Rida, half of them decent troops, with those extra two thousand soldiers from the local militia, I have a chance. But they won’t stay and fight, if their families are safe on their way to Altarin.”
Glen stared at his old boots. “I’ll return to my post,” He finally said, after a moment and Gideon nodded.
“There’s about fifty or so guards in the harbor. Pick them up, add them to yours. You hold the bridge and the harbor for me, Reeves,” Duke Gideon ordered him. “If the Cofols make it in, I’ll retreat here and draw them on these walls. It will give you a good chance to hit them in the back.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” Glen commented and with that he turned heel to leave him.
A fine plan, he thought walking down the stairs to meet up with Marcus, who had stayed at the entrance of the pyramid -turned into a citadel. To get me killed, when all those Cofols smash onto those walls, bounce back pissed as all hells and come at me.
Glen walked behind the officer, the stairs leading to the first floor of the Pyramid, made of that same red stone, well-polished and a bit worn out at places and also relatively dark, despite lit torches mounted on the wall every ten steps, or at every turn. He could see the massive open space at the middle, as he descended, administrative buildings and barracks arranged neatly at the open bottom floor, as badly lit as those darn stairs. At the base of the massive staircase that warped around the sides of the ancient structure, two guards stood, clad in their chain and plate armour, the crest of the city of Rida engraved on them.
The officer leading him paused seeing them and then murmuring under his breath, walked straight towards the two.
“What’s this? Is that you Tucker?”
“Aye, captain,” Tucker, the older of the two said and Glen stopped a couple of meters behind the captain apparently, waiting for him to get everything sorted out, while he pondered on his discussion with Duke Gideon and the one he had earlier, with the Prince and his Zilan spouse. There were a number of things Glen needed to straighten out urgently as well. First and foremost, finding a way to get out of the city, without everyone finding out. Jinx had the correct idea on instinct, but on the finer details this needed serious planning and time to find the better solution.
“On who’s order?” The captain asked, sounding frustrated.
“Someone higher up,” Tucker explained.
“I was just with the Duke,” The captain sighed and shook his head. Glen smacked his lips, returning the stare from the older soldier. With another sigh the captain, turned on his heel to face him.
“Lord Reeves, it seems there’s been a change in plans,” He said. “Sergeant Tucker and Evans will escort you, back to your post. Here’s the orders for the men at the Harbor. I’m to report to the Duke.”
Glen took the scroll and secured it under his front plate, with a nod of his head.
“I guess you’re heading up again, captain Hank,” He said remembering his name and the Captain shook his head sadly.
“This stairs will be the death of me,” The officer said and ogled his eyes not in a grimace of frustration, but a genuine death reflex, as a hand’s worth of blade burst out of his neck, the blood splattering the wall of the staircase and Glen’s chest.
Move.
Glen stepped back, his heels meeting the start of the stairs, a hand reaching for his sword. Tucker pushed the hapless Hank forward, the bleeding and thrashing man collapsing on his knees and pulled hard to get his shortblade out.
“Get him!” He barked at the sluggish Evans and the second guard came at Glen unsheathing his longsword.
Oh, that’s just great.
“GUARDS!” Glen yelled, loud as he could, his voice reverberating inside the Pyramid, the vastness of this central area right at its heart, carrying it away and distorting it.
He’d his sword out as well and sidestepped away from the stairs, Evans’ blade slashing at the spot he occupied up until recently with full force, but not too expertly. Not that Glen got that immediately. He was busy, trying to find a way out, before he was cornered completely and killed. Evans turned with a curse and rushed him again, while Tucker at last got his shortsword out of Hank’s neck, the captain miraculously still breathed of sorts and stooping he helped himself to the dying man’s longsword as well.
Glen parried another thrust from Evans to the side, found an opening to cut him down, but missed it, too stunned to act in time. Before Glen could admonish himself proper for fucking it up, the guard came at him again with a high strike, aiming for his head and this time Glen parried the blade back correctly by raising his and cut diagonally in the same move, opening up Evans’ face from right eye, to left ear.
A devastating wound that sliced up the skin, crashed the skull-bones underneath, up to his forehead, split the bridge of his nose, pulverizing an eye and sent blood, skin, flesh and pieces of brain, to rain on the approaching Tucker.
“Ah, ye son of bitch!” Tucker cursed and then recoiled seeing his friend walk a couple of meters blindly, his chest drenched in blood and smash on the staircase wall, before collapsing pretty close to -a now staring blankly at Glen- captain Hank.
Glen gulped down and reached for his dagger, tense face turning into a merciless mask the moment he touched it, the shock of the attack that made his heartbeat erratic, naught but a moment earlier, wearing off. His whole body that had flooded with adrenaline, relaxed now, as he returned his assailant’s hateful stare.
Unworthy challenge.
“Who sent you?” Glen asked him, ignoring the voice in his head.
Tucker blinked, then wiped his mouth, with the back of the hand holding the shortsword and charged him at the tail end of that move, trying to catch him off guard.
Glen blocked the sword cut, with his own long blade and then twisted away to avoid a stab of the short one. Tucker swung wild, turning himself, but the young Lord ducked under it, then beat the equally wild swing of the shortsword, punching his own dagger in Tucker’s exposed thigh. It went in to the hilt.
Wow, he thought impressed, stepping back and stared at the still holding both weapons Tucker, resting his own sword on the swell of his shoulder pad.
“Mmh,” Tucker groaned and stumbled, before catching himself. He dropped his sword and tried to pull the dagger out of his thigh, eyes ogling, and desperate face drenched in sweat, while Glen was watching him patiently and a little curious, feeling like himself again.
Cut him some more!
“Shut the fuck up,” Glen barked, to the voice in his head and Tucker glanced at him, looking desperate himself.
“Ora’s curse ye, what are you?” He growled, the blood pouring from the severed artery in his leg freely and flooding the red floor under his feet.
“Who sent you?” Glen repeated his query, although Tucker had asked a legitimate one of his own. He couldn’t begrudge him that.
“Aye,” Tucker said simply, the shortblade clattering on the red granite-like floor, as his hand had stopped working. “I’m done,” and he collapsed face first on it next.
“They attacked him!” Marcus, drenched in sweat from climbing all those stairs back, growled at the livid Duke. “Milord. I’ve seen the end of it. Yer guards can confirm it.”
“Tucker was yielding Captain Brins sword, my Lord,” The sergeant of the guard repeated, face all tensed up, glancing towards a scowled Glen. That would be Hank, the former thief thought. I need to start remembering people’s full names.
“What was Tucker doing here? He wasn’t on duty,” The Duke asked, clenching the cup in his hand, as if he wasn’t certain whether to break it, or throw it at one of them.
“He was sent to kill me,” Glen replied edgily. “Apparently your court, isn’t very loyal, Duke Winfield.”
The Duke stilled his eyes on him. “Lord Reeves, I don’t particularly enjoy your tone as of late. As a matter of fact, I find interesting your cantor. Taking my charity for weakness, will lead you down an unpleasant path, young man.”
“I want no charity,” Glen retorted, not batting an eyelash. He had enough of beating around the proverbial bush. If he cowered now, next stop was the hangman’s noose. “Tell him, what you told us!” He barked at the sergeant and the man recoiled, not wanting to be put on that spot.
“Out with it, sergeant!” The Duke snapped, twice as angry as Glen and probably not half-faking it, like the former thief.
“Tucker is in the Chamberlains detail,” The sergeant blurted out. “It’s his man.”
Duke Winfield stood back, his face dark. He glared at Glen, who shrugged his shoulders, the revelation coming as no surprise to him and then with a grunt turned to the unlucky sergeant of the guards again. “Where’s Lord Reeves? The senior one.”
“In his quarters sire,” The man said quickly.
“He didn’t even bother checking out, what all the fuzz was about? Three people are dead inside the palace, for Ora’s sake!” The Duke snarled. “Have him brought here!” He ordered the rest of his guards.
Victor Reeves had probably expected this night to end very differently, Glen thought, returning the older man’s venomous glare.
“Lord Reeves, one of your men, has just cut down captain Brins and tried to assassinate your nephew, what do you know about it?” The Duke asked solemnly, now sitting on his throne and after having a couple of goblets of wine downed back to back. “I’m gravely concerned.”
Victor closed his eyes and after a moment, turned to look at the Duke.
“The boy is lying sire,” He said calmly, despite the sweat drenching his face.
“The boy is the Lord of Altarin and a Knight. Perhaps you want to rephrase your statement, old friend. Sir Glenavon might take offense and I’ll have to oblige him.”
“He’s an impostor!” Victor snapped and glared at Glen. “Sir Glenavon… the real one, had no son! It’s a made up story, my Lord!”
“ENOUGH!” The Duke yelled, slamming a fist on the arm of his throne. “You’re digging a bigger grave for yourself Victor!” He sighed and stared at the worried Chamberlain. “I’ve known you for all your life. You wanted Altarin, it’s not much of a secret, but life won’t always give to us, what we want old friend. Your late brother, Uher rests his soul, has accepted Sir Glenavon, gave him his ring. It’s over, Victor. You just couldn’t let it go.”
“Ask him what happened with my father,” Glen said and the Duke grimaced.
“He wasn’t your father,” Victor hissed, turning towards him. “You may have fooled the old man and even the Duke, but you’re a cutthroat, a parasite—”
“WAS IT YOU?” The Duke growled, standing up. “Answer his question, Victor!”
The Chamberlain grimaced, letting his hatred show clearly, but then his shoulders relaxed and pulling his lips back into what was either half-a-smirk, or half-a-snarl, replied measuring his words.
“The gods shall judge you all soon. I’ve nothing more to say.”
“No Victor, you’re mistaken,” The Duke said, looking at the senior Reeves with solemn eyes and Glen could hear real sorrow in his voice. “I will judge you. Take him to the dudgeon!” He ordered his guards.
“Are you alright there lad?” Marcus asked later, on their return trip towards the harbor. It was in the middle of the night, the coming dawn no more than three hours away, the city of Rida mostly quiet, and the streets almost empty.
“I was fortunate,” Glen replied, not wanting to talk about it.
“Sometimes family can turn on us,” Marcus insisted, erroneously thinking Glen was shook, because Victor had tried to have him killed. While uncomfortable and scary that was then, Glen had moved on, as he had other problems to reflect on and Victor, despite what Marcus believed, wasn’t family.
“Do you think, he was working with the Cofols?” He asked, changing the subject.
“Difficult to believe it, but possible, I guess.”
“Why difficult?” Glen asked.
“He’d a good position and until you’ve shown up, he was set to inherit a title. Why throw it all away?” Marcus wondered.
“Well, if the Prince takes the city, then all you said go poof… unless he’d a contingency plan on the side,” Glen explained.
Marcus turned on the saddle to stare at him.
“Milord, only a crook would think like this. Lord Reeves is a nobleman.”
“Hah, so being a scheming murdering bastard is palatable, but treason… nah, he draws a line?” He shook his head, at the absurdity of it all. “Yeah, he’s a bona fide crook for me and probably a traitor. Noble or not. Makes no difference.”
