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
(aka Garth)
The Architect & a Wyvern’s egg
Part II
Flix, the crossdressing Gish assassin, now in the process of stirring with a crossbow bolt the mixture inside the iron kettle, hummed an annoying tune and added a couple of more pieces of dried pork. The bubbling stew is smelling rather nice, Glen decided and checked the small long-necked vial the Gish had given him.
“Put this stuff on my nose?” He asked and Flix turned to look at his face.
“Just a bit.”
“Okay. Is it an oil, or something?” Glen probed.
“Or something,” Flix droned, with a reassuring grin. “Though it’s aged somewhat.”
“Aged?”
“Not as potent, it happens all the time,” Flix elucidated, without batting an eyelash.
“What’s in it?” Glen insisted, pouring some on his open hand.
“This and that. Some aloe extract, ginger, jojoba oil, mashed seven-seeds,” Flix counted, scrunching his face to remember. “I have it written somewhere. It’s been a while since I’ve made one.”
“Made?” Glen asked, unfamiliar with the ingredients. “You actually made this?” He put some on his hurting nose and the pain immediately subsided.
So he poured on it some more.
“That’s enough,” Flix said and reached to take the vial away. “Wipe your jaw, or use the rest on your ears. Wow, one of them is pretty damaged.”
“I got that in my first fight,” Glen replied, spreading the oily substance on his face.
“You got a couple of more there,” Flix noticed shaking the vial to gauge its contents and then emptied it in the stew, causing Glen immense bewilderment.
Luthos gives two fucks?
“Hey! What are you doing?” Glen snapped with a scowl.
“What? Ah, hehe. It is like ginger of sorts,” Flix elucidated. “It will liven up the taste.”
“Are you sure?”
“Hehe,” the Gish chuckled again and started mixing the stew some more. “You can always stick to the biscuits, if you want.”
Short pinkish moth’r fucker!
Glen didn’t.
The night had brought a chill to accompany the desert’s silence, but despite the temperature dropping dramatically, it felt rather pleasant for the most part. Glen, having enjoyed the stew enough to have two full portions and the leftovers, walked to the rock where most of their supplies were left in a pile and plopped down with a sigh on the flat rock.
No more than ten feet from him, Flix had prepped a spot next to the firepit, creating a cot with a couple of saddles. The Gish, who’d preferred to dip dry biscuits in the hot stew sauce and then suck on them for the most part, was now smoking his fancy pipe, a faraway look on his aged face. He had placed a lightstone near the burned out coals and the empty kettle, its light enough to illuminate both of them, their long shadows stretching out over the edges of the small oasis.
“Dinner was great,” Glen admitted, touching with a finger his nose to check on his burn. “Darn pork turned into meat again,” he added.
“Not that difficult to make,” Flix replied modestly, blowing smoke out of his nostrils. “And if we had some vegies to throw in, it would have been even better.”
“Yeah,” Glen agreed and stretched his legs out, the sand still warm under his heels. The silence surrounding them eerie; that is, other than the water dribbling weakly down the vertical limestone rock, about ten meters away and the occasional snort coming from their -well-fed by this time- animals. “Or wine.”
The Gish chuckled and turned to look at him. He’d gathered his legs under his body, like a real woman, which was weird, Glen thought.
“I didn’t have the time to look through your supplies back there,” Flix admitted. “A brusque red, or even a bitter white.”
“Yeah,” Glen said, not as well-versed in wines. “How about a Flauegran?”
That thing had cost him an arm and a leg in Rida.
“Too sweet, but sure,” Flix replied, with a curious grin. “You know it’s an imperial recipe right? They use a flower in the juice to make it so sugary.”
“I didn’t know that,” Glen replied. “Is it a secret?”
“I suppose it is now,” Flix said, with another suck on his pipe. “The Barons will kill you to keep it. Humans love their secrets too much.”
“And you don’t?”
Flix chuckled, probably into a euphoric trance already. “You got me there, Garth.”
Glen rolled his eyes and stared at the dark sky over their heads, the two moons were up somewhere in the East, almost full.
So is it the dagger? He thought, not really expecting Gimoss to answer. The ‘voice’ in his head had kept silent during their dinner. Are you… trapped in it?
The mere thought is insulting.
Why? It’s a magical dagger, Glen insisted, glancing at the Gish smoking, his back on a saddle.
That’s true, for the most part.
Only weaker creatures are laced on items though.
Unwillingly.
I use the dagger to understand languages, Glen explained. It also has helped me in battle, a couple of times. The last part, he added a little annoyed.
That’s the sorceress’ spell at work.
The first part.
Huh? What about the other part? Glen probed, unwilling to let go of the opportunity to learn more.
The bones are magic unto themselves, kid. That may… be what’s happening.
So she combined the two, to make more? Glen asked, trying to grasp the procedure.
The magic she used, wasn’t her own.
Although there’s some talent there, I suppose.
Where do you come in then? Glen insisted, blinking once surprised, seeing the Gish producing perfect alternating square shapes and round rings of smoke that stayed over his head for a time, before dissolving.
I don’t.
But that’s a part of me you’re carrying around.
I took an interest.
Why? Glen asked. You should be dead.
I was bored.
Wait, how could you know about the latter?
Eh… the Gish whore isn’t to be trusted.
His brain has probably turned into mush a very long time ago.
No, he’s telling the truth. That other man told me the same thing, Glen replied and gathered his legs near the rock, trying to find a better spot on it, as his arse had started hurting. The man in my dreams.
You are not making any sense.
Magic, dreams. It’s the mushrooms.
What? Glen frowned.
You didn’t actually think it was just tobacco…
Ah, you did. It doesn’t come as much of a surprise, seeing as you are pretty stupid.
A drugged whore and a fool, crossing the Great Desert.
Ahahaha!
I’m telling the truth darn it! If I’m stupid, then yer a useless turd! Glen growled inwardly and the annoying voice snorted and added almost vindictively.
There’s a cobra near your legs.
Hah!
Haha!
AHAHAHA!
The desert cobra, scaly skin a perfect gleaming black, coiled back and then slowly raised its large head, its hood extended and hissed angrily, when it realized Glen had spotted it.
Shit.
Glen, felt sweat running down his forehead and without drawing breath tried to pull his legs back, the large snake not even a foot away. It raised its elongated body even more and let out another growl-like slow hiss, forked tongue dancing out of his freakish mouth.
Don’t, Glen warned it and pulled his shaking legs back, heels scraping the large rock he was sitting on.
The cobra snapped its head and got his retreating boot, teeth failing to penetrate hard dry leather and the poison bubbling, spraying on it, as it retreated to strike again. Glen kicked it hard, just below the raised head, felt solid flesh snap back and rolled backwards, over the flat surface and to the other side. Heart beating wild, he landed on his back and rolled again to the side away from the rock, the snake hissing in righteous indignation and flying over the rock, long body whipping the air, to land where Glen was a moment ago.
Luthos balls caught in a bear trap.
Glen made to draw his longsword, remembered he’d discarded his armour earlier, the silk tunic Flix had given him, soaked in sweat and opted to jump away. The black cobra’s head –pale yellow hood fully extended- rose up again, reaching more than a meter in height and came after him, moving faster on the soft sand, than Glen thought it was possible.
His mind told him stop fooling around and just run, but his legs refused to budge, as if they were bolted in place. The desert cobra let out another indignant drawn out hiss and coiled back reaching him, to attack him again.
Time slowed down for a moment, Glen ogling the venomous snake, the cobra’s jaws extending impossibly wide, pink flesh viscous inside and large white fangs dripping, when a large amorphous cloth flew between them, breaking the spell. The cloth covered the snake and it immediately stopped hissing and dropped down, though still stirring under it.
A flushed Flix walked slowly between him and the now hidden predator, hairless extremely-toned body stark naked, but weirdly feminine, as his arse was too meaty and wide to belong to a man, stooped over the slowly moving and confused snake, in search of something. He found it a second later and punched down hard with the bolt he’d used to stir their dinner, through the cloth.
The crunching sound loud enough, to send a shiver down Glen’s back.
The fatally injured cobra thrashed about immediately, trying to get away, long body escaping Flix’s dress and coiling on his legs and torso. The Gish maintained his steely grip on the bolt though, part of it going through cloth and the snake’s oblong head, to keep it away from him.
Wow.
There was an intricate tattoo-like pattern running down Flix’s back and neck, very similar to the one Jinx had. A pinkish discoloration of the skin, like a scar. Not a tattoo though, Glen realized seeing it clear. A Gish thing.
“Hand me your dagger,” Flix said, sounding tensed and thoroughly embarrassed. “This is a great dish.”
Which was in Glen’s mind almost as weird a notion, as everything that had happened that day.
Even dead, the desert cobra’s severed head gave Glen the creeps. Flix, now dressed again, was skinning the body using a sharp smaller knife skillfully and uninterested. The night desert silent again around them, although the young former thief didn’t trust any rock, or tree enough to go to sleep. He eyed the Gish discreetly, still rattled from earlier.
“I’m a eunuch,” Flix told him, cutting away the scaly disgusting skin and keeping the fleshly parts in the kettle they used earlier. “If the procedure is done early enough,” He breathed once deep and continued. “Or you live, as long as the Gish, the body forgets.”
Glen stared at his boots, not knowing what to say. The right one had a dark spot on at the front, where the poison had soaked the leather.
“Did the Zilan do this?” He asked, after a moment, seeing the Gish wasn’t going to comment further.
“Everyone leaves something inside the Circle,” Flix answered solemnly. “Usually what one values the most, or thinks he does.”
“What’s the Circle?”
“I’m not allowed to say. It is better you don’t know.”
“Okay. That’s barbaric though.”
“The Cofols still do it, offering no reward,” Flix replied, finishing with the last pieces of usable flesh and rolling the bloody skin on the bolt he’d used to kill it. “It makes for good handle wraps,” he explained, seeing Glen’s curious look. “For smaller knives.”
Right.
“You got something, for… doing it?”
The old Gish, stared at his bloody hands with a frown, before answering.
“I did.”
How did you know? Glen asked the stupid voice in his head. He got no answer and half an hour later sleep claimed him.
They spent the next day resting and eating the cobra, while they waited for the night to come. Glen had worn his armor again, gambeson and plate, but covered his head with a scarf and threw over the plate the silk tunic Flix had given him, like a light cloak. He wore Emerson’s sword on his back using a harness, over the tunic and kept the other on his waist, next to the dagger. The small lightstone gem, now tied to a leather cord, he hang from his neck to show his horse the way.
They packed the rest of their supplies on the mule, loaded the horses and saddled them up, with Glen opting to return on Outlaw’s back, the large horse now well rested and fully recovered after almost two weeks of the young man riding the Cofol mount.
“What is it?” He asked Flix, seeing the Gish procrastinating with his own horse.
“Did you get the egg?”
Glen blinked.
“I forgot about it,” He admitted and climbed down with a sigh. He walked to where they’ve left it a day back and found the black ovoid thing sprouting out of the sand, amidst the smaller rocks. Impossibly big and creepy looking. Hells did ye find it girl? He asked Jinx, but of course the female Gish was on the Marquette now, hopefully circumnavigating the Shallow Sea to reach their rendezvous’ point and didn’t answer him.
Gimoss though did.
Look at that! Haha!
“At what?” Glen snapped and stooped to grab the heavy egg, in order to carry it to their mounts.
“What is it Garth?” Flix asked, hearing him.
It’s cracked.
Ahahaha! You done fucked up, kid.
“Nothing,” Glen replied with a frustrated grimace and then registering, what Gimoss had said, stared at the egg he now held in his arms. At first he didn’t see anything amiss, but as Glen turned it around, he felt a break in the scaly, rock hard surface, right at the green-like seams. About a hand’s length long and near the top.
Damn.
“Anything wrong?” Flix asked and Glen turned to look at him unsure.
“The egg got damaged,” he explained.
The old Gish raised a washed-out pink brow. Glen noticed he’d put makeup on his face.
“How big?”
“The damage?” Glen puffed out. “Just a crack.”
You could barely see it.
“Did you kicked, or dropped it?” Flix asked accusingly and Glen threw him a glare.
“I didn’t touch the darn thing!”
“Wow there young man! Again, you’re tensing up.”
“I didn’t like yer bloody tone!” Glen snapped back. The last thing he needed was Jinx hounding him over her stupid egg.
“Garth, I gave you that pipe for a reason,” Flix replied patiently and then climbed on his own horse nimbly. “Have yourself a smoke, relax and tie that egg on your horse.”
Two hours later, Nesande’s Moon and Ora’s Eye looming large over their heads, they were on the road again. The road being a euphemism, as all Glen could see in front of them was the endless desert.
At least, it wasn’t as hot, or difficult as traveling during the day.
“I think that snake gave me a bit of indigestion,” Glen griped, rearranging his arse on the saddle and glanced at the Gish riding silently, pipe on his lips unlit this time.
“It was the quantity, not the quality of the meal,” Flix replied, with a smirk.
Glen narrowed his eyes.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Your portions are… extravagant.”
“I’m hungry. I need food,” Glen defended himself.
“You’re probably growing still,” Flix yielded. “I always forget that.”
“Does that trick with the cobra work always?” Glen asked him, a bit later. It was boring traveling in the dark and in total silence, the terrain mind-numbingly dull.
“Mostly, it does. Not if it sees you though,” Flix explained and got out his firestone gem, to light his pipe again.
“Where did you get this?”
“Imperial mines produced them and crafters used to cut them into various useful shapes,” Flix explained blowing the smoke out, with a sigh of pleasure. “Everyone had one. Made them into jewels, small pendants to carry around and even sold them in adventurer kits for the young Zilan. Quite the industry behind them.”
“Does anyone make them anymore?”
“I don’t think so,” Flix replied. “Not much is left around.”
There goes that market opportunity, he thought sourly.
“What about the sorceress, what did she do?” Glen asked him next.
“She got the mark, I know little else,” Flix replied.
“By whom?” Glen probed again, but the Gish remained silent for the rest of the night journey. The next day, they continued south after a brief stop, the Great Desert extending in all directions, the task of continuing onward daunting.
“Do you see the dunes up ahead? And to the far right the Twin Peaks range?” Flix asked him, turning around on his mount. Glen stopped gulping down water from his flask and looked at where he was pointing.
“Sure, what of them?” He retorted, too hot to get into a fight with him.
“We’ll make a stop. Then follow the stars southwest, at a straight line from here,” Flix explained and shook his head pleased.
“Is there another oasis after that?”
“Well, perhaps… if we get lucky.”
“Luthos helping we are, then what?” Glen hissed, sweating everything he’d glugged-down out right away.
“We find Lebesos,” Flix replied with a forlong expression on his aged face.
“A city,” Glen droned, quite interested and approached the mounted Gish.
“A dead city,” Flix corrected him.
Glen licked his dry lips.
“How is that useful, Gish?”
“Well, it’s better than this for sure,” Flix gestured about them.
“Are there any people living in it?”
“Ahm, of course not.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“It’s dead Garth.”
It was a hot topic this, dear younglings. It held their interest for hours, over the sandy dunes and further away from the distant mountains. The Great Desert winds started slowly picking up, the heat monstrous, each new sudden gush a torture, but the two adventurers continued on. They traveled at night, found as much cover as they could during the day and barely survived a desert storm that came out of nowhere and turned everything to mud for half a day.
A miracle, the wise Flix had declared, grinning happy mud covering his face. In a sense he was right, as the next storm that crossed their path was devoid of water. It blew for hours, and buried one of their horses alive, the poor animal suffocating, before a desperate Garth could dig it out in time.
Garth’s mood continued deteriorating rapidly after that, despite Flix’s efforts to cheer him up, either offering drugs, or singing. Gimoss had insisted the Gish was trying to seduce him, which Garth found ridiculous and refused to hind to its insane advice to murder the old Gish in his sleep, according to what he told me later.
It came close though.
Either on the second week after they left the Valley Oasis behind them, or the start of the third, another crack appeared on the large egg Garth carried on Outlaw, now returned to its hemp sack. Then a third, just before Flix announced proudly, Lebesos was but a day away, or night. Since Garth had no intention to sleep another day under the scorching sun, they traveled all day and saw the white ruins of the city, just after sunset. A sprawling mess of weird stony buildings, parts of them, or just collapsed walls, ancient and forgotten ruins stubbornly sprouting out of the yellow sands.
Despite their effort though, still remaining half buried.
They camped outside the city that night, as it was hours away, although visible under the moonlight and they were exhausted. The next morning, when Garth had gone to check on the large egg, he discovered only broken up pieces inside.
Nothing else.
For a little while that is.
Fikumin Flintfoot
Jarl of all the Folk
First Servant of the Onyx Wyvern
Foremost Shield,
of the King beyond the Pale Mountains,
Lord Garth Aniculo.
-
Chapter II
(Last paragraph)
An Adventurer’s Tale
Circa 250 NC
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
(aka Garth)
The Architect & a Wyvern’s egg
Part II
Flix, the crossdressing Gish assassin, now in the process of stirring with a crossbow bolt the mixture inside the iron kettle, hummed an annoying tune and added a couple of more pieces of dried pork. The bubbling stew is smelling rather nice, Glen decided and checked the small long-necked vial the Gish had given him.
“Put this stuff on my nose?” He asked and Flix turned to look at his face.
“Just a bit.”
“Okay. Is it an oil, or something?” Glen probed.
“Or something,” Flix droned, with a reassuring grin. “Though it’s aged somewhat.”
“Aged?”
“Not as potent, it happens all the time,” Flix elucidated, without batting an eyelash.
“What’s in it?” Glen insisted, pouring some on his open hand.
“This and that. Some aloe extract, ginger, jojoba oil, mashed seven-seeds,” Flix counted, scrunching his face to remember. “I have it written somewhere. It’s been a while since I’ve made one.”
“Made?” Glen asked, unfamiliar with the ingredients. “You actually made this?” He put some on his hurting nose and the pain immediately subsided.
So he poured on it some more.
“That’s enough,” Flix said and reached to take the vial away. “Wipe your jaw, or use the rest on your ears. Wow, one of them is pretty damaged.”
“I got that in my first fight,” Glen replied, spreading the oily substance on his face.
“You got a couple of more there,” Flix noticed shaking the vial to gauge its contents and then emptied it in the stew, causing Glen immense bewilderment.
Luthos gives two fucks?
“Hey! What are you doing?” Glen snapped with a scowl.
“What? Ah, hehe. It is like ginger of sorts,” Flix elucidated. “It will liven up the taste.”
“Are you sure?”
“Hehe,” the Gish chuckled again and started mixing the stew some more. “You can always stick to the biscuits, if you want.”
Short pinkish moth’r fucker!
Glen didn’t.
The night had brought a chill to accompany the desert’s silence, but despite the temperature dropping dramatically, it felt rather pleasant for the most part. Glen, having enjoyed the stew enough to have two full portions and the leftovers, walked to the rock where most of their supplies were left in a pile and plopped down with a sigh on the flat rock.
No more than ten feet from him, Flix had prepped a spot next to the firepit, creating a cot with a couple of saddles. The Gish, who’d preferred to dip dry biscuits in the hot stew sauce and then suck on them for the most part, was now smoking his fancy pipe, a faraway look on his aged face. He had placed a lightstone near the burned out coals and the empty kettle, its light enough to illuminate both of them, their long shadows stretching out over the edges of the small oasis.
“Dinner was great,” Glen admitted, touching with a finger his nose to check on his burn. “Darn pork turned into meat again,” he added.
“Not that difficult to make,” Flix replied modestly, blowing smoke out of his nostrils. “And if we had some vegies to throw in, it would have been even better.”
“Yeah,” Glen agreed and stretched his legs out, the sand still warm under his heels. The silence surrounding them eerie; that is, other than the water dribbling weakly down the vertical limestone rock, about ten meters away and the occasional snort coming from their -well-fed by this time- animals. “Or wine.”
The Gish chuckled and turned to look at him. He’d gathered his legs under his body, like a real woman, which was weird, Glen thought.
“I didn’t have the time to look through your supplies back there,” Flix admitted. “A brusque red, or even a bitter white.”
“Yeah,” Glen said, not as well-versed in wines. “How about a Flauegran?”
That thing had cost him an arm and a leg in Rida.
“Too sweet, but sure,” Flix replied, with a curious grin. “You know it’s an imperial recipe right? They use a flower in the juice to make it so sugary.”
“I didn’t know that,” Glen replied. “Is it a secret?”
“I suppose it is now,” Flix said, with another suck on his pipe. “The Barons will kill you to keep it. Humans love their secrets too much.”
“And you don’t?”
Flix chuckled, probably into a euphoric trance already. “You got me there, Garth.”
Glen rolled his eyes and stared at the dark sky over their heads, the two moons were up somewhere in the East, almost full.
So is it the dagger? He thought, not really expecting Gimoss to answer. The ‘voice’ in his head had kept silent during their dinner. Are you… trapped in it?
The mere thought is insulting.
Why? It’s a magical dagger, Glen insisted, glancing at the Gish smoking, his back on a saddle.
That’s true, for the most part.
Only weaker creatures are laced on items though.
Unwillingly.
I use the dagger to understand languages, Glen explained. It also has helped me in battle, a couple of times. The last part, he added a little annoyed.
That’s the sorceress’ spell at work.
The first part.
Huh? What about the other part? Glen probed, unwilling to let go of the opportunity to learn more.
The bones are magic unto themselves, kid. That may… be what’s happening.
So she combined the two, to make more? Glen asked, trying to grasp the procedure.
The magic she used, wasn’t her own.
Although there’s some talent there, I suppose.
Where do you come in then? Glen insisted, blinking once surprised, seeing the Gish producing perfect alternating square shapes and round rings of smoke that stayed over his head for a time, before dissolving.
I don’t.
But that’s a part of me you’re carrying around.
I took an interest.
Why? Glen asked. You should be dead.
I was bored.
Wait, how could you know about the latter?
Eh… the Gish whore isn’t to be trusted.
His brain has probably turned into mush a very long time ago.
No, he’s telling the truth. That other man told me the same thing, Glen replied and gathered his legs near the rock, trying to find a better spot on it, as his arse had started hurting. The man in my dreams.
You are not making any sense.
Magic, dreams. It’s the mushrooms.
What? Glen frowned.
You didn’t actually think it was just tobacco…
Ah, you did. It doesn’t come as much of a surprise, seeing as you are pretty stupid.
A drugged whore and a fool, crossing the Great Desert.
Ahahaha!
I’m telling the truth darn it! If I’m stupid, then yer a useless turd! Glen growled inwardly and the annoying voice snorted and added almost vindictively.
There’s a cobra near your legs.
Hah!
Haha!
AHAHAHA!
The desert cobra, scaly skin a perfect gleaming black, coiled back and then slowly raised its large head, its hood extended and hissed angrily, when it realized Glen had spotted it.
Shit.
Glen, felt sweat running down his forehead and without drawing breath tried to pull his legs back, the large snake not even a foot away. It raised its elongated body even more and let out another growl-like slow hiss, forked tongue dancing out of his freakish mouth.
Don’t, Glen warned it and pulled his shaking legs back, heels scraping the large rock he was sitting on.
The cobra snapped its head and got his retreating boot, teeth failing to penetrate hard dry leather and the poison bubbling, spraying on it, as it retreated to strike again. Glen kicked it hard, just below the raised head, felt solid flesh snap back and rolled backwards, over the flat surface and to the other side. Heart beating wild, he landed on his back and rolled again to the side away from the rock, the snake hissing in righteous indignation and flying over the rock, long body whipping the air, to land where Glen was a moment ago.
Luthos balls caught in a bear trap.
Glen made to draw his longsword, remembered he’d discarded his armour earlier, the silk tunic Flix had given him, soaked in sweat and opted to jump away. The black cobra’s head –pale yellow hood fully extended- rose up again, reaching more than a meter in height and came after him, moving faster on the soft sand, than Glen thought it was possible.
His mind told him stop fooling around and just run, but his legs refused to budge, as if they were bolted in place. The desert cobra let out another indignant drawn out hiss and coiled back reaching him, to attack him again.
Time slowed down for a moment, Glen ogling the venomous snake, the cobra’s jaws extending impossibly wide, pink flesh viscous inside and large white fangs dripping, when a large amorphous cloth flew between them, breaking the spell. The cloth covered the snake and it immediately stopped hissing and dropped down, though still stirring under it.
A flushed Flix walked slowly between him and the now hidden predator, hairless extremely-toned body stark naked, but weirdly feminine, as his arse was too meaty and wide to belong to a man, stooped over the slowly moving and confused snake, in search of something. He found it a second later and punched down hard with the bolt he’d used to stir their dinner, through the cloth.
The crunching sound loud enough, to send a shiver down Glen’s back.
The fatally injured cobra thrashed about immediately, trying to get away, long body escaping Flix’s dress and coiling on his legs and torso. The Gish maintained his steely grip on the bolt though, part of it going through cloth and the snake’s oblong head, to keep it away from him.
Wow.
There was an intricate tattoo-like pattern running down Flix’s back and neck, very similar to the one Jinx had. A pinkish discoloration of the skin, like a scar. Not a tattoo though, Glen realized seeing it clear. A Gish thing.
“Hand me your dagger,” Flix said, sounding tensed and thoroughly embarrassed. “This is a great dish.”
Which was in Glen’s mind almost as weird a notion, as everything that had happened that day.
Even dead, the desert cobra’s severed head gave Glen the creeps. Flix, now dressed again, was skinning the body using a sharp smaller knife skillfully and uninterested. The night desert silent again around them, although the young former thief didn’t trust any rock, or tree enough to go to sleep. He eyed the Gish discreetly, still rattled from earlier.
“I’m a eunuch,” Flix told him, cutting away the scaly disgusting skin and keeping the fleshly parts in the kettle they used earlier. “If the procedure is done early enough,” He breathed once deep and continued. “Or you live, as long as the Gish, the body forgets.”
Glen stared at his boots, not knowing what to say. The right one had a dark spot on at the front, where the poison had soaked the leather.
“Did the Zilan do this?” He asked, after a moment, seeing the Gish wasn’t going to comment further.
“Everyone leaves something inside the Circle,” Flix answered solemnly. “Usually what one values the most, or thinks he does.”
“What’s the Circle?”
“I’m not allowed to say. It is better you don’t know.”
“Okay. That’s barbaric though.”
“The Cofols still do it, offering no reward,” Flix replied, finishing with the last pieces of usable flesh and rolling the bloody skin on the bolt he’d used to kill it. “It makes for good handle wraps,” he explained, seeing Glen’s curious look. “For smaller knives.”
Right.
“You got something, for… doing it?”
The old Gish, stared at his bloody hands with a frown, before answering.
“I did.”
How did you know? Glen asked the stupid voice in his head. He got no answer and half an hour later sleep claimed him.
They spent the next day resting and eating the cobra, while they waited for the night to come. Glen had worn his armor again, gambeson and plate, but covered his head with a scarf and threw over the plate the silk tunic Flix had given him, like a light cloak. He wore Emerson’s sword on his back using a harness, over the tunic and kept the other on his waist, next to the dagger. The small lightstone gem, now tied to a leather cord, he hang from his neck to show his horse the way.
They packed the rest of their supplies on the mule, loaded the horses and saddled them up, with Glen opting to return on Outlaw’s back, the large horse now well rested and fully recovered after almost two weeks of the young man riding the Cofol mount.
“What is it?” He asked Flix, seeing the Gish procrastinating with his own horse.
“Did you get the egg?”
Glen blinked.
“I forgot about it,” He admitted and climbed down with a sigh. He walked to where they’ve left it a day back and found the black ovoid thing sprouting out of the sand, amidst the smaller rocks. Impossibly big and creepy looking. Hells did ye find it girl? He asked Jinx, but of course the female Gish was on the Marquette now, hopefully circumnavigating the Shallow Sea to reach their rendezvous’ point and didn’t answer him.
Gimoss though did.
Look at that! Haha!
“At what?” Glen snapped and stooped to grab the heavy egg, in order to carry it to their mounts.
“What is it Garth?” Flix asked, hearing him.
It’s cracked.
Ahahaha! You done fucked up, kid.
“Nothing,” Glen replied with a frustrated grimace and then registering, what Gimoss had said, stared at the egg he now held in his arms. At first he didn’t see anything amiss, but as Glen turned it around, he felt a break in the scaly, rock hard surface, right at the green-like seams. About a hand’s length long and near the top.
Damn.
“Anything wrong?” Flix asked and Glen turned to look at him unsure.
“The egg got damaged,” he explained.
The old Gish raised a washed-out pink brow. Glen noticed he’d put makeup on his face.
“How big?”
“The damage?” Glen puffed out. “Just a crack.”
You could barely see it.
“Did you kicked, or dropped it?” Flix asked accusingly and Glen threw him a glare.
“I didn’t touch the darn thing!”
“Wow there young man! Again, you’re tensing up.”
“I didn’t like yer bloody tone!” Glen snapped back. The last thing he needed was Jinx hounding him over her stupid egg.
“Garth, I gave you that pipe for a reason,” Flix replied patiently and then climbed on his own horse nimbly. “Have yourself a smoke, relax and tie that egg on your horse.”
Two hours later, Nesande’s Moon and Ora’s Eye looming large over their heads, they were on the road again. The road being a euphemism, as all Glen could see in front of them was the endless desert.
At least, it wasn’t as hot, or difficult as traveling during the day.
“I think that snake gave me a bit of indigestion,” Glen griped, rearranging his arse on the saddle and glanced at the Gish riding silently, pipe on his lips unlit this time.
“It was the quantity, not the quality of the meal,” Flix replied, with a smirk.
Glen narrowed his eyes.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Your portions are… extravagant.”
“I’m hungry. I need food,” Glen defended himself.
“You’re probably growing still,” Flix yielded. “I always forget that.”
“Does that trick with the cobra work always?” Glen asked him, a bit later. It was boring traveling in the dark and in total silence, the terrain mind-numbingly dull.
“Mostly, it does. Not if it sees you though,” Flix explained and got out his firestone gem, to light his pipe again.
“Where did you get this?”
“Imperial mines produced them and crafters used to cut them into various useful shapes,” Flix explained blowing the smoke out, with a sigh of pleasure. “Everyone had one. Made them into jewels, small pendants to carry around and even sold them in adventurer kits for the young Zilan. Quite the industry behind them.”
“Does anyone make them anymore?”
“I don’t think so,” Flix replied. “Not much is left around.”
There goes that market opportunity, he thought sourly.
“What about the sorceress, what did she do?” Glen asked him next.
“She got the mark, I know little else,” Flix replied.
“By whom?” Glen probed again, but the Gish remained silent for the rest of the night journey. The next day, they continued south after a brief stop, the Great Desert extending in all directions, the task of continuing onward daunting.
“Do you see the dunes up ahead? And to the far right the Twin Peaks range?” Flix asked him, turning around on his mount. Glen stopped gulping down water from his flask and looked at where he was pointing.
“Sure, what of them?” He retorted, too hot to get into a fight with him.
“We’ll make a stop. Then follow the stars southwest, at a straight line from here,” Flix explained and shook his head pleased.
“Is there another oasis after that?”
“Well, perhaps… if we get lucky.”
“Luthos helping we are, then what?” Glen hissed, sweating everything he’d glugged-down out right away.
“We find Lebesos,” Flix replied with a forlong expression on his aged face.
“A city,” Glen droned, quite interested and approached the mounted Gish.
“A dead city,” Flix corrected him.
Glen licked his dry lips.
“How is that useful, Gish?”
“Well, it’s better than this for sure,” Flix gestured about them.
“Are there any people living in it?”
“Ahm, of course not.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“It’s dead Garth.”
It was a hot topic this, dear younglings. It held their interest for hours, over the sandy dunes and further away from the distant mountains. The Great Desert winds started slowly picking up, the heat monstrous, each new sudden gush a torture, but the two adventurers continued on. They traveled at night, found as much cover as they could during the day and barely survived a desert storm that came out of nowhere and turned everything to mud for half a day.
A miracle, the wise Flix had declared, grinning happy mud covering his face. In a sense he was right, as the next storm that crossed their path was devoid of water. It blew for hours, and buried one of their horses alive, the poor animal suffocating, before a desperate Garth could dig it out in time.
Garth’s mood continued deteriorating rapidly after that, despite Flix’s efforts to cheer him up, either offering drugs, or singing. Gimoss had insisted the Gish was trying to seduce him, which Garth found ridiculous and refused to hind to its insane advice to murder the old Gish in his sleep, according to what he told me later.
It came close though.
Either on the second week after they left the Valley Oasis behind them, or the start of the third, another crack appeared on the large egg Garth carried on Outlaw, now returned to its hemp sack. Then a third, just before Flix announced proudly, Lebesos was but a day away, or night. Since Garth had no intention to sleep another day under the scorching sun, they traveled all day and saw the white ruins of the city, just after sunset. A sprawling mess of weird stony buildings, parts of them, or just collapsed walls, ancient and forgotten ruins stubbornly sprouting out of the yellow sands.
Despite their effort though, still remaining half buried.
They camped outside the city that night, as it was hours away, although visible under the moonlight and they were exhausted. The next morning, when Garth had gone to check on the large egg, he discovered only broken up pieces inside.
Nothing else.
For a little while that is.
Fikumin Flintfoot
Jarl of all the Folk
First Servant of the Onyx Wyvern
Foremost Shield,
of the King beyond the Pale Mountains,
Lord Garth Aniculo.
-
Chapter II
(Last paragraph)
An Adventurer’s Tale
Circa 250 NC
