The Old Realms - Chapter 167

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

Character portraits

Eight Fingers (also 8, VIII),

Thieves Guild, Rules of the Trade.

(Unconfirmed, Unknown era.)

Glen

Mister Garth

Hardir O’ Fardor

The biggest treasure on Eplas

Part I

-Eighth rule of the Trade-

‘Honest’ Van Fleet appeared to have tasted something sour, Leona ‘Foxy’ Vale winking at him probably not helping, but the rest of the pirates gathered to watch the boat from the ‘Marquette’ moor at the docks, were more curious than angry.

A couple of dirty looks were tossed Glen’s way, but he could live with that. He’d his eyes on the people disembarking from the boat. The giant that was Soren, the Northman as huge as Glen remembered him. His red beard reaching under his broad chest. Soren carried Liko on his back, the boy sleeping, with his head resting on the giant’s shoulder.

Iskay and Ninan came out next and helped Sen-Iv out. His wife stepped on the docks, covered from head to toes in a shrill yellow veil, the white silk tunic she wore underneath teasing and revealing, but it was the most clothing she had ever put on, other than the time Sen had worn that long cape, when they had entered Rida.

Sen-Iv paused to examine the crowd gathered for a long moment, then said something to Soren and bowed deeply at the pirates that had brought them ashore. The hard faced men returning the gesture with respect. Glen clenched his jaw, tanned face now shaved. His scars contrasting, the skin paler there and his eyes scanning the crowd for dangers, or new faces. There was a Lorian amongst the spectators, long coat too heavy for the weather, wearing a mail vest under it. The leather harness for his sword wide, it crossed his chest right to left. The man’s face even more scarred than Glen’s, a ton of age wrinkles making him appear worn out, but for his eyes. Those were watching the exchange with interest.

Fuck are you? Glen wondered and turned to the approaching Sen, the woman’s veiled eyes on his face, returning his stare inquiringly. Soren walking right behind her, narrowing his eyes and then opening his mouth to shout, when he recognized him.

“Mister Soren,” Glen said loud enough to be heard, putting a stop to that. “There’s food for you and the boy at the carriage,” he pointed behind their lines. Jinx and the soldiers had created a crowd of their own much more armed and professional, with the exception of Lon-Iv Sopat who had come dressed in flowery robes and a same pattern umbrella shading him, carried by a miserable looking Marvir. The slave couldn’t stand the smell of the docks apparently.

“Ah,” Soren said, his sad eyes lighting up. “What about drink?”

“Plenty of that too,” Glen deadpanned.

“Haha!” The Northman guffawed and gave him a solid pat on the chest that almost threw Glen down, but for the fact he expected it and had planted his feet down beforehand. “The little guy comes through again!”

Sen-Iv had stopped as well, her arms crossed and hands gripping her biceps. Glen returned her stare, an eye at the hawking stranger, a vein throbbing on his temple and his teeth grinding.

“Lady Sopat,” Glen rustled his voice coming out hoarse, Sen keeping her composure remarkably. “Yer cousin is expecting you.”

Sen-Iv gulped down, bowed her head and walked past him. Glen puffed out, feeling like he’d just got punched in the stomach and glared at the pirates.

“The entire western approach to the city,” he announced, the warning clear. His mood foul. “From the ruins of the Amphitheatre, the ancient Mastaba and the buildings facing it. Everything on the periphery,” he eyed them stopping at each one, but mostly at Van Fleet, since Leona had her tongue out for some reason. “Belong to Garth. I paid for them in coin and blood. We all work together, everyone shall make profit. We don’t, I make profit just the same, but ye lads don’t. The Sopat are happy with the former, what say the pirates?”

“Who be the new captain of Dayton’s ship?” Van Fleet asked with a sneer that ridiculous top hat back on his head, but it was the sword that held Glen’s interest the most.

“You should decide,” Glen replied, returning the smirk with one of his own, even more prominent. “I’d put a man I trust in charge of it.”

Van Fleet nodded, satisfied at Glen giving him an opening to take it over. “What about Captain Vale?”

“She owes Garth. Nothing to do wit you. We have it worked out betwixt ourselves. The Marquette moors wherever she decides.”

Leona stepped forward, hands on her hips.

“Mister Garth is speaking of a partnership, but it sounds like a slave contract,” she turned at the slightly confused colleagues of hers, the majority mesmerized more of the fleshy mounds bursting out her tight bustier. She had most of the buttons of her shirt open, the bindings gone. “But Abrakas be knows, ye can’t put a collar on dis Vale unless it’s the hangman’s noose, or there’s plenty of fornicating involved in her grog. Savvy?”

“We have a deal, Mister Garth,” Van Fleet hissed, not wanting to hear more of it. “Will ye join us for a pint? The heat is ungodly.”

“Appreciate yer offer, friend. I do,” Glen replied diplomatically. “But alas I have business left unfinished on my side of the city. Perhaps another time though. I’ll always favor a tavern visit, when drinking is involved.”

Leona hollered approving wholeheartedly, even a little moved and Van Fleet seeing everyone present laughing and in agreement, tipped his hat to him giving birth to the Garth District of Eikenport.

Lon left them to return from the road parallel to Felmond River and Glen’s much larger group, -Jinx in animated talk with the slave girls about silk tunics, with Soren and Liko listening in dumbfounded- slowly followed the main street cutting through the city. Glen pulled at the reins of Outlaw, slowed the horse down enough for Sen to catch up with him and glanced at her serene profile a little uncertain.

“I had to maintain the ruse,” he explained speaking in a subdued tone. “Half the people here have no idea, who I am. The rest are not sure which part is true.”

“Does Lon know?” Sen-Iv asked, in her hushed voice.

Glen grimaced. “Some things aye. Not everything, it’d be better to keep it that way.”

“As you wish, husband.”

“Sen, damn it girl,” Glen murmured. “Just say what you want to say.”

“Can I remove the veil? I have difficulty breathing,” his wife explained and Glen sighed.

“Sure. Go ahead,” he said.

“You have to make a stop husband. A small one.”

“Anything else?” Glen asked wryly.

“Seeing you again makes me happy,” Sen-Iv said simply. “I was very sad for months.”

“You call this clean?” Glen growled and Metu almost doubled over, his bow catastrophic for his lower back.

“The second floor is in the best possible condition, sire!” He clamored, not looking at Sen-Iv.

“Well, how about the furniture?”

“Not everything has been installed,” Metu admitted sweating profoundly.

Glen groaned. “Fine, but I’m not very pleased, friend.”

“You should flog him,” Sen-Iv advised simply.

“Eh, it’s not really his fault, dear,” Glen defended the miserable slave.

“He talks with Lon-Iv. All his creatures do,” his wife explained not convinced. “You should flog him for that.”

Glen narrowed his eyes.

“Mistress!” Metu cried out and prostrated himself over her ring-adorned feet. He kissed the sandals she wore, stopping at every toe, the scene weirdly erotic, but Sen was watching Glen instead of him.

“You work for me Metu,” Glen said with a sigh. “I want none o’ that.”

“Buy him away,” Sen-Iv advised seeing Glen wasn’t going to go ahead with her first suggestion and pushed her big toe on the groveling Metu’s face, shoving his head back. “Lon has agreed already. He wants to have access to the black market through you.”

“Too dirty for him?” Glen probed, stunned she’d managed to work out a deal during her brief greetings with her cousin.

“The Sopat can’t associate themselves with low life criminals,” Sen explained, cleaning her gem-covered heeled sandals on the smiling Metu’s shirt and face.

Crime lords they were fine with, was her meaning.

“That bronze bathtub cost me an arm and a leg,” Glen explained eyeing the furniture, they had bought from the pirate market. Mostly ripped from ship cabins, but some sailors love their comforts. “The water is lukewarm,” he walked inside checking around to see if anything was missing. His people were mostly crooks, with some exceptions. Refugees notwithstanding. Sen-Iv followed him inside the second floor of the Watch Tower, latched the only door of the place behind her.

“What about the bed?” She asked, bending at the waist to remove her sandals. Sen pulled one cord, then the other and kicked the expensive footwear away.

Glen smacked a hand on it, not much dust jumped up. “We need to install the window.”

“Hmm.”

“You can have your bath right away, rest up some,” Glen offered her and went to sit on the bed. “Take your time. I’ll have to talk to you, about a couple of things.”

Sen-Iv breathed once deeply and walked slowly towards him. That top is mostly an undergarment, Glen decided. These people have really economized dressing. Then again, interweaving gems with silk thread must be nauseatingly expensive.

Probably the reason they make so little of it.

The Cofol woman was staring in his face intently. Her eyes alike two jewels unto themselves. The biggest treasure on Eplas and the thief who’d stolen it. Glen cleared his throat, thinking on how to break out the news about his adventures in the Great Desert to her. He worked it in his mind as the Gods were listening.

Brag a bit, underplay the worst parts.

Old Flix, the corpse that was a wyvern once and Biscuit who is one now.

Me goodness she’s gorgeous.

Can ye lie to what you love?

How to start and how to finish.

How much to say…

“There are some things, you should know,” he started and Sen-Iv placed a ring-covered hand on his thigh. There were silver strands binding her rings together, looping at her wrists and then traveling up her tanned-forearms. A large red garnet slotted in her navel. Sen raised a fit leg, the side-splits on her shrill skirt leaving it bare and planted a well-formed instep on the edge of the bed next to him, the engraved platinum anklets ringing.

“Can I speak my mind?” His wife asked, as if she was talking about the weather.

“Sure,” Glen croaked. “Go ahead,” he’d forgotten what he wanted to say to her anyway. Sen-Iv nodded, but didn’t say a word, just reached with a hand and unclasped her top. The marvels of the Peninsula spilling out, the tips engorged and the white-gold barbells shinning. Glen gulped down completely enthralled, Sen’s chuckle turned into a husky sigh, her face lighting up for the first time, since she’d come ashore and hours went by in a single breath.

There was dark inside the room, the moon’s light coming through the window. The workers had enlarged it and turned it an oblong square, a foot from the floor almost to the ceiling. It made shades appear darker, hid details of the rather round chamber. Glen turned his eyes on the soundly sleeping woman. Her arm wrapped around his naked chest, her soft breasts massing at his sides. He watched her breathe in the light coming in and with a sigh untangled himself and put his feet down. The floor cool under his soles, the night air smelling of sweat and sex, jasmine oils, brimstone and geranium, wild orange and cedarwood powder. Sen’s arsenal of scents inexhaustible, the barrel still smelling of her.

He run his hand into the cool water and rubbed his face with it, then walked to the window and looked outside. Eikenport was sleeping partially. The pirate district unruly, lights over it. The rest of the ancient city quiet. Glen wiped his face and stared over the horizon. Beyond the Felmond River to the far South, lay the Jade Lake and the Dragontoe River. A jungle beyond that and a wall of mountains. Some so tall and huge, you could see them on a clear day from hundreds of kilometers away was the word. Pillars of basalt reaching for the skies.

Glen raised his hands toward the two moons.

Eight fingers stretched out, the thumbs gathered inside and resting at the base of the ring fingers.

Treasure and monsters.

Danger and reward.

He thought of Jinx’s pendant and the man at the docks.

Had he left a trace?

Somewhere in the chaos of trying to find a way out of a dying city?

In the end you always do, Glen thought.

Rule of the trade number seven.

If you think you haven’t fucked up, then ye did.

For sure.

And the one after it on the list.

The old thief had him memorize them, just in case the Guild came looking for recruits.

Be ready to split in a breath, when ye sense peril’s shade coming from around the corner.

Glen sucked a deep breath in panicked, his instincts screaming.

I can’t run with Sen. You need another plan my dude.

Another life.

His eyes turned west towards the Mastaba, the dark massive building ominous and silent. He watched the guards standing in front of the gates and then his eyes roamed up towards the missing top. Glen remembered the gargantuan opening and the smell of brimstone.

His blood froze.

The Wyvern clacked with its forked tongue, the bed creaking. Glen turned slowly, his eyes trying to adjust in the darker room. Biscuit’s burgundy eyes glowing like torches. The leathery wings gathered back, a long claw working the garnet on Sen’s navel. The talon on it the size of a small dagger. The scorpion-like scaled tail rustling, the stinger teasing a nipple and then tracing a line up the neck’s notch at her throat.

RRRRRR

“Buddy,” Glen whispered. “No.”

He made a careful step closer, the Wyvern watching him, nostrils expanding smelling his fear. Glen extended his arm.

“Come here. Don’t harm her. Please.”

Biscuit blinked, turned to watch Sen peacefully sleeping and clicked his tongue again. Glen reached for the dagger, wrapped his arms around the handle.

“She’s mine,” Glen told the Wyvern and Biscuit snorted. “A mate. A lover. Do you understand? What is mine you do not harm,” What did that old Gish had told him? Fuck! “My bidding is yours and yer…” Curse ye, he couldn’t for the life of him remember all of it, under all this pressure. So Glen made it up, as he went along. “Your wants are mine and… my wants are yours.”

The Wyvern listened to him carefully. Whether he understood Glen’s mumblings, or not, impossible to tell with any certainty. Finally with a cackle Biscuit sniffed her belly once more and withdrew his stinger.

Moving extremely silently for such a big creature, he put a clawed leg on the floor, pushed once opening his large wings and hang from the ceiling as if he was weightless. With another snort the Wyvern moved over Glen’s head, reached the open window next and jumped outside. Glen run there and caught him rising up flapping his wings once, like a gigantic bat and then with a gratified shriek, he flew away over the sleeping city.

Shite.

God dammit, fuck!

Gods helps us, Glen thought thoroughly stunned. He can get out.

“Glen?” Sen asked, sounding drowsy. “Is that you?”

“Aye,” the former thief croaked, as if he’d swallowed a bucket full of gravel. Make that two. “Don’t worry. Get back to sleep. Everything is fine.”

“I had a dream,” Sen said getting up, putting her small feet down. The anklets ringing now a warning to the sweating and rattled Glen. “I’ve dreamed of flying on a Wyvern,” she chuckled softly, seeing his terrified expression.

“I’ll have them install bars to these fuckin’ windows,” Glen decided, his mouth dry.

“Oh come on,” Sen said playfully, a side of her she allowed no one else to witness. “It was a beautiful dream. Very relaxing and thrilling at the same time.”

“What was beautiful about it?” Glen croaked, trying to think of a way to fix the unfixable.

“In the dream,” the Celestial Opal of Lai Zel-Ka replied with a smile hugging him. “I was pregnant.”

Glen had neither any strength left, nor the intellect to think of a fitting reply, so he just silently hugged her back, hoping the worst was over.

Glen caught Soren staring at the ruins of the Amphitheater first thing the next morning.

“Hey big guy,” he greeted him.

“Hey there Glen,” Soren replied. “You don’t seem happy.”

“I am,” Glen cleared his throat and stared at his boots. “Ahm, just tired you know.”

“A good thing,” Soren replied sounding sad himself.

Glen smacked his lips and looked about them.

“I’m sorry about Zola,” he finally said. “I liked her very much.”

“She thought you’re a noble,” Soren said.

“Not anymore.”

“Can I do that?” Soren asked. “I was alone afore, didn’t think much of it. Can I get back to that?”

“I don’t know,” Glen replied truthfully. “You can move forward though.”

“To where?”

Ah.

Hmm.

“How did you do it before?” Glen asked. “Before her. Before the Gallant Dogs.”

“I just walked,” Soren replied. “Through the snow. I wanted to see what was beyond it.”

“What did you find at the end of it?”

“More snow,” Soren snorted thinking about it. “People. Small people. Then more them.”

“Hah, yeah,” Glen laughed. “You won’t find any bigger than you my friend.”

Soren turned his large head and stared at him surprised.

“Soren isn’t big. You are just small,” he frowned, as if trying to find memories he’d lost. “My mother was small,” the Northman finally said. “I got it from her.”

“Where’s yer father?” Glen asked, an orphan himself.

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t either.”

“You made a deal with the pirates,” the Northman said, after a while.

“Garth did. I have to use the name Soren,” Glen explained. “People are coming after me.”

“Because of Jinx’s egg?”

Glen stood back stunned. “You know about that?”

“Was there when she found it,” Soren replied. “She’s small, but brave. But she shouldn’t be in the game. People like Garth could have her killed. Like me. I couldn’t save Zola. Trust Soren. It will hurt ye badly. What we do is dangerous for those we like.”

Glen gulped down. “I won’t. I will have Ottis enlist the men to the Gallant Dogs. She’ll have her company back.”

“That’s clever Glen,” Soren agreed. “Better than her plan, I think.”

“What’s her plan?”

“That thing wit Alix,” Soren stopped and frowned. “He’s very small too right? Tiny! Ha-ha.”

Glen nodded. “Aye he is. Where’s Jinx now?”

“At the races probably, ye know Jinx,” Soren replied still grinning. “Small feet, ha-ha. How can one walk on small feet?”

“I’ve no idea,” Glen replied with a smile. “Hey, I’ll leave you to it. Gotta talk to that Gish.”

Metu saw him heading for the stables –the lot they had converted into a shaded place for their animals- and jumped up.

“Mistress asked for a carriage to be sent to the South Market,” he reported. “I’m to buy linen sheets and pillow dressing’s en bulk.”

What the…

“No pillows,” Glen snapped, then thought about it. “Sure. Fine, but I need you here. You have the workers to deal with.”

“You’ll sent the girls to the market?” Metu asked. “Mister Garth sir?”

“Can’t the driver do that? Why do I have to deal with this?”

“He can’t sire.”

Glen sighed. “Is Fikumin around?”

“He’s working on the soldiers’ camp.”

“You mean like digging?” Glen asked.

“He’s a dwarf. Gimoss asked for fifty slaves by the way.”

“Why?”

“He wants to tear down the west side of the Mastaba, make a shelter of it, or a furnace. I panicked and couldn’t understand what he wanted.”

Glen glared at him. “No. Anything else?”

“Will you need an escort?” Metu asked.

“No. Wait… do you know where the races are?”

Metu blinked. “The races sire?”

“Yes, I imagine it’s something roomy, out in the fields.”

“There are no horse races in Eikenport Mister Garth,” Metu replied.

“Surely… some kind of races exist. Jinx is there since last night!” Glen blasted him.

“Ah. Alix mentioned it. Your other Gish. Quite the interest amongst the plebs it seems.”

Said the slave.

“He’s not my Gish, Metu,” Glen warned him.

“And I take it back sire with heartfelt apologies,” Metu bowed deeply.

“Go on,” Glen rustled, not trusting him fully.

“The races,” Metu droned.

“I’m all ears,” Glen urged him.

Glen sat down in the packed pirate run tavern, a wench dropping a bronze carafe on the table, beer spilling out everywhere and the dirty surface of the table turning to mud. A pirate walking by slipped on the spillage and went down on the stone floor head first, stopping Glen from complaining. By the time he’d turned his head around, the waitress was gone and the man was probably dead.

Good grief!

Cursing Glen looked about for a clean cup, but found none. That is, no cup was in the vicinity, clean, or otherwise. The noise inside the low ceiling place otherworldly, someone playing a note over and over, without any skill. He grabbed the carafe, his eyes on the door leading into the game area. The basement had been emptied and was used for the ‘races’. The animals competing not those you’d expect in a decent establishment, or any really, but quite on par with this one in particular.

“Here… arr, for the races?” A drunk shouted in his ear and Glen turned to shove him away, stopping at the last moment, when the drunk’s words registered.

“When is the next opening?” He asked with a grimace, his eardrums ringing.

“Ah, lots of good rats today arr… is the word,” the red faced Lorian replied, with a watery burp. “Tis gonna be close mate.”

“Right, yeah,” Glen agreed, although the man wasn’t helpful and puffed his cheeks out. He wiped the sweat off of his forehead, tasted a bit of his beer from the carafe and almost puked it all back out. “Luthos cock caught in the plaguin’ door!” He cursed, wiping his mouth. “That’s pure piss, what in the actual fuck?”

“Wanna have a gold ring, handsome? Tis pure gold,” a drunk whore asked him, sitting on his table. She had it in her dirty hand. Glen almost snapped at her, but wiped his mouth and gave it a look. Big garish thing, with a red stone on it. A bit of blood on the inside of the loop, where they’d cut the finger wearing it.

Uh.

“Were you paid with it?” He chanced, rolling it in his fingers.

“Aye, how about we shake on it, for a coin and a quick suck under the table?”

“A silver and ye pick that dude up from the floor,” Glen retorted pointing down. “I think he’s dead.”

“More for the rats, he-he!” The whore cackled, all black teeth and frothy saliva. “Ye have a deal, handsome!”

He would have given her twice the amount, just to get her away from his table.

Glen washed the ring with the beer afore wearing it on his thumb and stared about, his head hurting from the ruckus. Glen spotted Leona, riding a man’s shoulders glugging down rum straight from a small barrel and thought he saw Alix’s pink head amidst two young whores twice his size going upstairs. He made to get up, but a man sat on the table stopping him, right where the whore had been a moment before.

Aged face, full of scars, mainly old stitched cuts on his forehead, a large burn on his right cheek, where an arrow had gone through. The skin a pale pink there. Eyes hard, with a touch of sadness in them. A good amount of sadness. The chair barely taking his weight, the armor gleaming in the light of the torches.

The man from the docks.

“What do you want?” Glen rustled and sat back on his chair, his right hand relaxed to go for his weapon.

The man stared about them, spotted a waitress and made a nod with his head. Another armed guy popped out of the crowd, tackled the woman, took the bottle of rum from her and then brought it on their table. A couple of wooden cups along with it. Another Lorian, with grey hair that looked older than the stranger, but not by much. He just gave a nod and walked away again.

“Name’s Lear Hik,” the man introduced himself and tended a gloved hand. Glen took it over the table.

“I’m Mister Garth,” Glen said. “That’s a lot clothes for the weather,” he pointed.

Lear nodded. “It is. That’s also expensive armor and a knight’s sword,” he pointed in turn pouring them a drink. Glen smacked his lips and accepted it.

“I came into a good deal,” he said simply, tasting the rum. Strong stuff, way better than piss.

“I heard,” Lear replied. “Had help, is the word.”

“Don’t place too much stock on rumors, Mister Lear,” Glen cautioned him, keeping in character.

The fuck do you want? He asked him with his eyes.

Lear sighed and removed his leather gloves slowly. “You control a part of the docks,” he finally said, after he placed the gloves on the table. It took him a while to find a clean spot.

“Maybe I do, or maybe I just have a say. Why?”

“I need to bring two transports of troops in,” Lear deadpanned, taking him by surprise.

“You’re planning an invasion, Mister Lear?”

“Let’s just say, I’m looking for a murderous thief,” the man replied and Glen gulped down, cursing himself for not getting an armed escort. Then again, does he know?

“Well, thieves aplenty in Eikenport, friend,” Glen taunted. “Is the man with the Guild?”

“Ah, I don’t think so.”

“Can’t help you. Ye need to give me more than that,” Glen rustled, sipping at his rum.

“He employs dwarfs, Gish. Rings a bell?”

“Well, there was a dwarf that popped here a week back, or was it two weeks? Hmm, haven’t seen him meself, but heard the rumor,” Glen said. “As for a Gish, now that I’ll help you find.”

“Word is they work for you,” Lear argued, all reasonable.

“What do I need a Gish for, unless it’s for fucking?”

Lear sighed. “Will you allow the bank to bring the Three Hundred here?”

“The fuck is that? What bank?” Glen asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Mclean & Merck. You deal in Dinar?”

“Mostly,” Glen lied. “Don’t you? You’re going to get ripped off otherwise. You’re on Eplas, friend. Go wit the flow.”

“You didn’t answer, Mister Garth.”

“You want to bring an army here,” Glen repeated.

“A mercenary company. Quite famous.”

“How do you know?” Glen probed him. “I never heard of them.”

“Led it for a while,” Lear admitted. “Back in seventy two. They are from Lesia.”

“Why three hundred?” Glen asked.

“It’s a nice round number, Mister Garth.”

“What do you need them for?” Glen queried, playing with his ring.

The knight’s ring. Lear’s eyes on it.

“Looking for a thief, as I said and a killer,” Lear replied and Glen frowned. “He’s been a Lord. He’s been a knight. But he’s neither, but scum of the earth. A conniving ruffian, who thinks he’s fooled everyone.”

“Wow, you don’t like him at all,” Glen noticed to hide his nervousness.

“He’s not a good man, Mister Garth.”

“Nobody in here is, Mister Lear.”

“Where did you get this ring? That’s a knight’s ring,” Lear asked, sitting back on his chair.

You keen-eyed fucker.

Glen took a deep breath to calm himself down. “Do you know who I am, Mister Lear?” The man tried to answer, but he stopped him raising the hand with the rings on. “Not who you think I am, not the fantasy, or whatever the fuck you’ve gotten in yer head. This ring, is payment for example. The big one, I just bought. It belonged to a dead man as well.”

Lear smacked his lips.

“You say Reeves is dead?”

“I’m saying, I got paid to get his wife off the hands of the pirates,” Glen grimaced and finished his cup. “Quite a messy affair.”

“Reeves wasn’t on the ship,” Lear insisted.

“Ah, I didn’t say he was. Did you know the woman was his wife?”

“I didn’t. Suspected it was a ruse.”

“For what?”

“A cover, a scheme.”

“Mister, Reeves is dead. His bones picked clean by vultures. You say he lives, I think he ceased to be. His belongings are spread amongst the populace more like, his wife captured by pirates and his people were killed in the sea. You say this was his knight’s ring? I find that hard to believe as well.”

“I didn’t say that. Will you allow me to look into your district for the dwarf, or the Gish?”

“Ah, why would I do that though? We aren’t partners, or friendly.”

“The company is en route, Mister Garth. We can do it like cultured people, or we can fight for it. You might win this round even. Either way, the Bank will not stop coming. Eventually you are gonna lose. Take the easy way out if you value these people’s lives.”

“What did he do?” Glen asked, clenching his jaw.

“He knows,” Lear replied and got up. “Let’s leave it at that. When can I get an answer?”

“You want to search my District. There’re refugees, kids there, I gave them shelter.”

“I’m not a savage, Mister Garth. The job forces my hand sometimes though.”

“I have business to attend to friend, I can’t stop everything for you. Is there a compensation in the mix?”

Lear narrowed his eyes.

“You’re planning on leaving?”

“For business, I told you. You don’t know me. If you want to find this dead person, I suggest you make friends with people like me and not enemies.”

“You can have the bottle,” Lear offered and took his gloves from the table. “The Three Hundred will be here in two months either way. I’ll watch closely for myself until then. Unless you reconsider.”

“Let me think about it, Mister Lear,” Glen replied. “We have time as you said.”

Dammit, Glen cursed inwardly.

He’d just run out of time.

Sen-Iv Sopat, part of the 100 portraits collection, around 193 NC

Artwork by @intheblackveil

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 Character portraits Never leave a place empty handed. Never betray the Guild. Don't get caught with the loot. Smart folk always have a plan. Stupid people get tortured, then die. There's no honor among Thieves. If you think you haven't fucked up, then ye already did. Be ready to split in a breath, when ye sense peril's shade coming from around the corner. Eight Fingers also 8, VIII, Thieves Guild, Rules of the Trade. Unconfirmed, Unknown era. Glen Mister Garth Hardir O' Fardor The biggest treasure on Eplas Part I -Eighth rule of the Trade- Honest' Van Fleet appeared to have tasted something sour, Leona Foxy' Vale winking at him probably not helping, but the rest of the pirates gathered to watch the boat from the Marquette' moor at the docks, were more curious than angry. A couple of dirty looks were tossed Glen's way, but he could live with that. He'd his eyes on the people disembarking from the boat. The giant that was Soren, the Northman as huge as Glen remembered him. His red beard reaching under his broad chest. Soren carried Liko on his back, the boy sleeping, with his head resting on the giant's shoulder. Iskay and Ninan came out next and helped Sen-Iv out. His wife stepped on the docks, covered from head to toes in a shrill yellow veil, the white silk tunic she wore underneath teasing and revealing, but it was the most clothing she had ever put on, other than the time Sen had worn that long cape, when they had entered Rida. Sen-Iv paused to examine the crowd gathered for a long moment, then said something to Soren and bowed deeply at the pirates that had brought them ashore. The hard faced men returning the gesture with respect. Glen clenched his jaw, tanned face now shaved. His scars contrasting, the skin paler there and his eyes scanning the crowd for dangers, or new faces. There was a Lorian amongst the spectators, long coat too heavy for the weather, wearing a mail vest under it. The leather harness for his sword wide, it crossed his chest right to left. The man's face even more scarred than Glen's, a ton of age wrinkles making him appear worn out, but for his eyes. Those were watching the exchange with interest. Fuck are you? Glen wondered and turned to the approaching Sen, the woman's veiled eyes on his face, returning his stare inquiringly. Soren walking right behind her, narrowing his eyes and then opening his mouth to shout, when he recognized him. Mister Soren, Glen said loud enough to be heard, putting a stop to that. There's food for you and the boy at the carriage, he pointed behind their lines. Jinx and the soldiers had created a crowd of their own much more armed and professional, with the exception of Lon-Iv Sopat who had come dressed in flowery robes and a same pattern umbrella shading him, carried by a miserable looking Marvir. The slave couldn't stand the smell of the docks apparently. Ah, Soren said, his sad eyes lighting up. What about drink? Plenty of that too, Glen deadpanned. Haha! The Northman guffawed and gave him a solid pat on the chest that almost threw Glen down, but for the fact he expected it and had planted his feet down beforehand. The little guy comes through again! Sen-Iv had stopped as well, her arms crossed and hands gripping her biceps. Glen returned her stare, an eye at the hawking stranger, a vein throbbing on his temple and his teeth grinding. Lady Sopat, Glen rustled his voice coming out hoarse, Sen keeping her composure remarkably. Yer cousin is expecting you. Sen-Iv gulped down, bowed her head and walked past him. Glen puffed out, feeling like he'd just got punched in the stomach and glared at the pirates. The entire western approach to the city, he announced, the warning clear. His mood foul. From the ruins of the Amphitheatre, the ancient Mastaba and the buildings facing it. Everything on the periphery, he eyed them stopping at each one, but mostly at Van Fleet, since Leona had her tongue out for some reason. Belong to Garth. I paid for them in coin and blood. We all work together, everyone shall make profit. We don't, I make profit just the same, but ye lads don't. The Sopat are happy with the former, what say the pirates? Who be the new captain of Dayton's ship? Van Fleet asked with a sneer that ridiculous top hat back on his head, but it was the sword that held Glen's interest the most. You should decide, Glen replied, returning the smirk with one of his own, even more prominent. I'd put a man I trust in charge of it. Van Fleet nodded, satisfied at Glen giving him an opening to take it over. What about Captain Vale? She owes Garth. Nothing to do wit you. We have it worked out betwixt ourselves. The Marquette moors wherever she decides. Leona stepped forward, hands on her hips. Mister Garth is speaking of a partnership, but it sounds like a slave contract, she turned at the slightly confused colleagues of hers, the majority mesmerized more of the fleshy mounds bursting out her tight bustier. She had most of the buttons of her shirt open, the bindings gone. But Abrakas be knows, ye can't put a collar on dis Vale unless it's the hangman's noose, or there's plenty of fornicating involved in her grog. Savvy? We have a deal, Mister Garth, Van Fleet hissed, not wanting to hear more of it. Will ye join us for a pint? The heat is ungodly. Appreciate yer offer, friend. I do, Glen replied diplomatically. But alas I have business left unfinished on my side of the city. Perhaps another time though. I'll always favor a tavern visit, when drinking is involved. Leona hollered approving wholeheartedly, even a little moved and Van Fleet seeing everyone present laughing and in agreement, tipped his hat to him giving birth to the Garth District of Eikenport. Lon left them to return from the road parallel to Felmond River and Glen's much larger group, -Jinx in animated talk with the slave girls about silk tunics, with Soren and Liko listening in dumbfounded- slowly followed the main street cutting through the city. Glen pulled at the reins of Outlaw, slowed the horse down enough for Sen to catch up with him and glanced at her serene profile a little uncertain. I had to maintain the ruse, he explained speaking in a subdued tone. Half the people here have no idea, who I am. The rest are not sure which part is true. Does Lon know? Sen-Iv asked, in her hushed voice. Glen grimaced. Some things aye. Not everything, it'd be better to keep it that way. As you wish, husband. Sen, damn it girl, Glen murmured. Just say what you want to say. Can I remove the veil? I have difficulty breathing, his wife explained and Glen sighed. Sure. Go ahead, he said. You have to make a stop husband. A small one. Anything else? Glen asked wryly. Seeing you again makes me happy, Sen-Iv said simply. I was very sad for months. You call this clean? Glen growled and Metu almost doubled over, his bow catastrophic for his lower back. The second floor is in the best possible condition, sire! He clamored, not looking at Sen-Iv. Well, how about the furniture? Not everything has been installed, Metu admitted sweating profoundly. Glen groaned. Fine, but I'm not very pleased, friend. You should flog him, Sen-Iv advised simply. Eh, it's not really his fault, dear, Glen defended the miserable slave. He talks with Lon-Iv. All his creatures do, his wife explained not convinced. You should flog him for that. Glen narrowed his eyes. Mistress! Metu cried out and prostrated himself over her ring-adorned feet. He kissed the sandals she wore, stopping at every toe, the scene weirdly erotic, but Sen was watching Glen instead of him. You work for me Metu, Glen said with a sigh. I want none o' that. Buy him away, Sen-Iv advised seeing Glen wasn't going to go ahead with her first suggestion and pushed her big toe on the groveling Metu's face, shoving his head back. Lon has agreed already. He wants to have access to the black market through you. Too dirty for him? Glen probed, stunned she'd managed to work out a deal during her brief greetings with her cousin. The Sopat can't associate themselves with low life criminals, Sen explained, cleaning her gem-covered heeled sandals on the smiling Metu's shirt and face. Crime lords they were fine with, was her meaning. That bronze bathtub cost me an arm and a leg, Glen explained eyeing the furniture, they had bought from the pirate market. Mostly ripped from ship cabins, but some sailors love their comforts. The water is lukewarm, he walked inside checking around to see if anything was missing. His people were mostly crooks, with some exceptions. Refugees notwithstanding. Sen-Iv followed him inside the second floor of the Watch Tower, latched the only door of the place behind her. What about the bed? She asked, bending at the waist to remove her sandals. Sen pulled one cord, then the other and kicked the expensive footwear away. Glen smacked a hand on it, not much dust jumped up. We need to install the window. Hmm. You can have your bath right away, rest up some, Glen offered her and went to sit on the bed. Take your time. I'll have to talk to you, about a couple of things. Sen-Iv breathed once deeply and walked slowly towards him. That top is mostly an undergarment, Glen decided. These people have really economized dressing. Then again, interweaving gems with silk thread must be nauseatingly expensive. Probably the reason they make so little of it. The Cofol woman was staring in his face intently. Her eyes alike two jewels unto themselves. The biggest treasure on Eplas and the thief who'd stolen it. Glen cleared his throat, thinking on how to break out the news about his adventures in the Great Desert to her. He worked it in his mind as the Gods were listening. Brag a bit, underplay the worst parts. Old Flix, the corpse that was a wyvern once and Biscuit who is one now. Me goodness she's gorgeous. Can ye lie to what you love? How to start and how to finish. How much to say There are some things, you should know, he started and Sen-Iv placed a ring-covered hand on his thigh. There were silver strands binding her rings together, looping at her wrists and then traveling up her tanned-forearms. A large red garnet slotted in her navel. Sen raised a fit leg, the side-splits on her shrill skirt leaving it bare and planted a well-formed instep on the edge of the bed next to him, the engraved platinum anklets ringing. Can I speak my mind? His wife asked, as if she was talking about the weather. Sure, Glen croaked. Go ahead, he'd forgotten what he wanted to say to her anyway. Sen-Iv nodded, but didn't say a word, just reached with a hand and unclasped her top. The marvels of the Peninsula spilling out, the tips engorged and the white-gold barbells shinning. Glen gulped down completely enthralled, Sen's chuckle turned into a husky sigh, her face lighting up for the first time, since she'd come ashore and hours went by in a single breath. There was dark inside the room, the moon's light coming through the window. The workers had enlarged it and turned it an oblong square, a foot from the floor almost to the ceiling. It made shades appear darker, hid details of the rather round chamber. Glen turned his eyes on the soundly sleeping woman. Her arm wrapped around his naked chest, her soft breasts massing at his sides. He watched her breathe in the light coming in and with a sigh untangled himself and put his feet down. The floor cool under his soles, the night air smelling of sweat and sex, jasmine oils, brimstone and geranium, wild orange and cedarwood powder. Sen's arsenal of scents inexhaustible, the barrel still smelling of her. He run his hand into the cool water and rubbed his face with it, then walked to the window and looked outside. Eikenport was sleeping partially. The pirate district unruly, lights over it. The rest of the ancient city quiet. Glen wiped his face and stared over the horizon. Beyond the Felmond River to the far South, lay the Jade Lake and the Dragontoe River. A jungle beyond that and a wall of mountains. Some so tall and huge, you could see them on a clear day from hundreds of kilometers away was the word. Pillars of basalt reaching for the skies. Glen raised his hands toward the two moons. Eight fingers stretched out, the thumbs gathered inside and resting at the base of the ring fingers. Treasure and monsters. Danger and reward. He thought of Jinx's pendant and the man at the docks. Had he left a trace? Somewhere in the chaos of trying to find a way out of a dying city? In the end you always do, Glen thought. Rule of the trade number seven. If you think you haven't fucked up, then ye did. For sure. And the one after it on the list. The old thief had him memorize them, just in case the Guild came looking for recruits. Be ready to split in a breath, when ye sense peril's shade coming from around the corner. Glen sucked a deep breath in panicked, his instincts screaming. I can't run with Sen. You need another plan my dude. Another life. His eyes turned west towards the Mastaba, the dark massive building ominous and silent. He watched the guards standing in front of the gates and then his eyes roamed up towards the missing top. Glen remembered the gargantuan opening and the smell of brimstone. His blood froze. The Wyvern clacked with its forked tongue, the bed creaking. Glen turned slowly, his eyes trying to adjust in the darker room. Biscuit's burgundy eyes glowing like torches. The leathery wings gathered back, a long claw working the garnet on Sen's navel. The talon on it the size of a small dagger. The scorpion-like scaled tail rustling, the stinger teasing a nipple and then tracing a line up the neck's notch at her throat. RRRRRR Buddy, Glen whispered. No. He made a careful step closer, the Wyvern watching him, nostrils expanding smelling his fear. Glen extended his arm. Come here. Don't harm her. Please. Biscuit blinked, turned to watch Sen peacefully sleeping and clicked his tongue again. Glen reached for the dagger, wrapped his arms around the handle. She's mine, Glen told the Wyvern and Biscuit snorted. A mate. A lover. Do you understand? What is mine you do not harm, What did that old Gish had told him? Fuck! My bidding is yours and yer Curse ye, he couldn't for the life of him remember all of it, under all this pressure. So Glen made it up, as he went along. Your wants are mine and my wants are yours. The Wyvern listened to him carefully. Whether he understood Glen's mumblings, or not, impossible to tell with any certainty. Finally with a cackle Biscuit sniffed her belly once more and withdrew his stinger. Moving extremely silently for such a big creature, he put a clawed leg on the floor, pushed once opening his large wings and hang from the ceiling as if he was weightless. With another snort the Wyvern moved over Glen's head, reached the open window next and jumped outside. Glen run there and caught him rising up flapping his wings once, like a gigantic bat and then with a gratified shriek, he flew away over the sleeping city. Shite. God dammit, fuck! Gods helps us, Glen thought thoroughly stunned. He can get out. Glen? Sen asked, sounding drowsy. Is that you? Aye, the former thief croaked, as if he'd swallowed a bucket full of gravel. Make that two. Don't worry. Get back to sleep. Everything is fine. I had a dream, Sen said getting up, putting her small feet down. The anklets ringing now a warning to the sweating and rattled Glen. I've dreamed of flying on a Wyvern, she chuckled softly, seeing his terrified expression. I'll have them install bars to these fuckin' windows, Glen decided, his mouth dry. Oh come on, Sen said playfully, a side of her she allowed no one else to witness. It was a beautiful dream. Very relaxing and thrilling at the same time. What was beautiful about it? Glen croaked, trying to think of a way to fix the unfixable. In the dream, the Celestial Opal of Lai Zel-Ka replied with a smile hugging him. I was pregnant. Glen had neither any strength left, nor the intellect to think of a fitting reply, so he just silently hugged her back, hoping the worst was over. Glen caught Soren staring at the ruins of the Amphitheater first thing the next morning. Hey big guy, he greeted him. Hey there Glen, Soren replied. You don't seem happy. I am, Glen cleared his throat and stared at his boots. Ahm, just tired you know. A good thing, Soren replied sounding sad himself. Glen smacked his lips and looked about them. I'm sorry about Zola, he finally said. I liked her very much. She thought you're a noble, Soren said. Not anymore. Can I do that? Soren asked. I was alone afore, didn't think much of it. Can I get back to that? I don't know, Glen replied truthfully. You can move forward though. To where? Ah. Hmm. How did you do it before? Glen asked. Before her. Before the Gallant Dogs. I just walked, Soren replied. Through the snow. I wanted to see what was beyond it. What did you find at the end of it? More snow, Soren snorted thinking about it. People. Small people. Then more them. Hah, yeah, Glen laughed. You won't find any bigger than you my friend. Soren turned his large head and stared at him surprised. Soren isn't big. You are just small, he frowned, as if trying to find memories he'd lost. My mother was small, the Northman finally said. I got it from her. Where's yer father? Glen asked, an orphan himself. I don't know. I don't either. You made a deal with the pirates, the Northman said, after a while. Garth did. I have to use the name Soren, Glen explained. People are coming after me. Because of Jinx's egg? Glen stood back stunned. You know about that? Was there when she found it, Soren replied. She's small, but brave. But she shouldn't be in the game. People like Garth could have her killed. Like me. I couldn't save Zola. Trust Soren. It will hurt ye badly. What we do is dangerous for those we like. Glen gulped down. I won't. I will have Ottis enlist the men to the Gallant Dogs. She'll have her company back. That's clever Glen, Soren agreed. Better than her plan, I think. What's her plan? That thing wit Alix, Soren stopped and frowned. He's very small too right? Tiny! Ha-ha. Glen nodded. Aye he is. Where's Jinx now? At the races probably, ye know Jinx, Soren replied still grinning. Small feet, ha-ha. How can one walk on small feet? I've no idea, Glen replied with a smile. Hey, I'll leave you to it. Gotta talk to that Gish. Metu saw him heading for the stables the lot they had converted into a shaded place for their animals- and jumped up. Mistress asked for a carriage to be sent to the South Market, he reported. I'm to buy linen sheets and pillow dressing's en bulk. What the No pillows, Glen snapped, then thought about it. Sure. Fine, but I need you here. You have the workers to deal with. You'll sent the girls to the market? Metu asked. Mister Garth sir? Can't the driver do that? Why do I have to deal with this? He can't sire. Glen sighed. Is Fikumin around? He's working on the soldiers' camp. You mean like digging? Glen asked. He's a dwarf. Gimoss asked for fifty slaves by the way. Why? He wants to tear down the west side of the Mastaba, make a shelter of it, or a furnace. I panicked and couldn't understand what he wanted. Glen glared at him. No. Anything else? Will you need an escort? Metu asked. No. Wait do you know where the races are? Metu blinked. The races sire? Yes, I imagine it's something roomy, out in the fields. There are no horse races in Eikenport Mister Garth, Metu replied. Surely some kind of races exist. Jinx is there since last night! Glen blasted him. Ah. Alix mentioned it. Your other Gish. Quite the interest amongst the plebs it seems. Said the slave. He's not my Gish, Metu, Glen warned him. And I take it back sire with heartfelt apologies, Metu bowed deeply. Go on, Glen rustled, not trusting him fully. The races, Metu droned. I'm all ears, Glen urged him. Glen sat down in the packed pirate run tavern, a wench dropping a bronze carafe on the table, beer spilling out everywhere and the dirty surface of the table turning to mud. A pirate walking by slipped on the spillage and went down on the stone floor head first, stopping Glen from complaining. By the time he'd turned his head around, the waitress was gone and the man was probably dead. Good grief! Cursing Glen looked about for a clean cup, but found none. That is, no cup was in the vicinity, clean, or otherwise. The noise inside the low ceiling place otherworldly, someone playing a note over and over, without any skill. He grabbed the carafe, his eyes on the door leading into the game area. The basement had been emptied and was used for the races'. The animals competing not those you'd expect in a decent establishment, or any really, but quite on par with this one in particular. Here arr, for the races? A drunk shouted in his ear and Glen turned to shove him away, stopping at the last moment, when the drunk's words registered. When is the next opening? He asked with a grimace, his eardrums ringing. Ah, lots of good rats today arr is the word, the red faced Lorian replied, with a watery burp. Tis gonna be close mate. Right, yeah, Glen agreed, although the man wasn't helpful and puffed his cheeks out. He wiped the sweat off of his forehead, tasted a bit of his beer from the carafe and almost puked it all back out. Luthos cock caught in the plaguin' door! He cursed, wiping his mouth. That's pure piss, what in the actual fuck? Wanna have a gold ring, handsome? Tis pure gold, a drunk whore asked him, sitting on his table. She had it in her dirty hand. Glen almost snapped at her, but wiped his mouth and gave it a look. Big garish thing, with a red stone on it. A bit of blood on the inside of the loop, where they'd cut the finger wearing it. Uh. Were you paid with it? He chanced, rolling it in his fingers. Aye, how about we shake on it, for a coin and a quick suck under the table? A silver and ye pick that dude up from the floor, Glen retorted pointing down. I think he's dead. More for the rats, he-he! The whore cackled, all black teeth and frothy saliva. Ye have a deal, handsome! He would have given her twice the amount, just to get her away from his table. Glen washed the ring with the beer afore wearing it on his thumb and stared about, his head hurting from the ruckus. Glen spotted Leona, riding a man's shoulders glugging down rum straight from a small barrel and thought he saw Alix's pink head amidst two young whores twice his size going upstairs. He made to get up, but a man sat on the table stopping him, right where the whore had been a moment before. Aged face, full of scars, mainly old stitched cuts on his forehead, a large burn on his right cheek, where an arrow had gone through. The skin a pale pink there. Eyes hard, with a touch of sadness in them. A good amount of sadness. The chair barely taking his weight, the armor gleaming in the light of the torches. The man from the docks. What do you want? Glen rustled and sat back on his chair, his right hand relaxed to go for his weapon. The man stared about them, spotted a waitress and made a nod with his head. Another armed guy popped out of the crowd, tackled the woman, took the bottle of rum from her and then brought it on their table. A couple of wooden cups along with it. Another Lorian, with grey hair that looked older than the stranger, but not by much. He just gave a nod and walked away again. Name's Lear Hik, the man introduced himself and tended a gloved hand. Glen took it over the table. I'm Mister Garth, Glen said. That's a lot clothes for the weather, he pointed. Lear nodded. It is. That's also expensive armor and a knight's sword, he pointed in turn pouring them a drink. Glen smacked his lips and accepted it. I came into a good deal, he said simply, tasting the rum. Strong stuff, way better than piss. I heard, Lear replied. Had help, is the word. Don't place too much stock on rumors, Mister Lear, Glen cautioned him, keeping in character. The fuck do you want? He asked him with his eyes. Lear sighed and removed his leather gloves slowly. You control a part of the docks, he finally said, after he placed the gloves on the table. It took him a while to find a clean spot. Maybe I do, or maybe I just have a say. Why? I need to bring two transports of troops in, Lear deadpanned, taking him by surprise. You're planning an invasion, Mister Lear? Let's just say, I'm looking for a murderous thief, the man replied and Glen gulped down, cursing himself for not getting an armed escort. Then again, does he know? Well, thieves aplenty in Eikenport, friend, Glen taunted. Is the man with the Guild? Ah, I don't think so. Can't help you. Ye need to give me more than that, Glen rustled, sipping at his rum. He employs dwarfs, Gish. Rings a bell? Well, there was a dwarf that popped here a week back, or was it two weeks? Hmm, haven't seen him meself, but heard the rumor, Glen said. As for a Gish, now that I'll help you find. Word is they work for you, Lear argued, all reasonable. What do I need a Gish for, unless it's for fucking? Lear sighed. Will you allow the bank to bring the Three Hundred here? The fuck is that? What bank? Glen asked, narrowing his eyes. Mclean & Merck. You deal in Dinar? Mostly, Glen lied. Don't you? You're going to get ripped off otherwise. You're on Eplas, friend. Go wit the flow. You didn't answer, Mister Garth. You want to bring an army here, Glen repeated. A mercenary company. Quite famous. How do you know? Glen probed him. I never heard of them. Led it for a while, Lear admitted. Back in seventy two. They are from Lesia. Why three hundred? Glen asked. It's a nice round number, Mister Garth. What do you need them for? Glen queried, playing with his ring. The knight's ring. Lear's eyes on it. Looking for a thief, as I said and a killer, Lear replied and Glen frowned. He's been a Lord. He's been a knight. But he's neither, but scum of the earth. A conniving ruffian, who thinks he's fooled everyone. Wow, you don't like him at all, Glen noticed to hide his nervousness. He's not a good man, Mister Garth. Nobody in here is, Mister Lear. Where did you get this ring? That's a knight's ring, Lear asked, sitting back on his chair. You keen-eyed fucker. Glen took a deep breath to calm himself down. Do you know who I am, Mister Lear? The man tried to answer, but he stopped him raising the hand with the rings on. Not who you think I am, not the fantasy, or whatever the fuck you've gotten in yer head. This ring, is payment for example. The big one, I just bought. It belonged to a dead man as well. Lear smacked his lips. You say Reeves is dead? I'm saying, I got paid to get his wife off the hands of the pirates, Glen grimaced and finished his cup. Quite a messy affair. Reeves wasn't on the ship, Lear insisted. Ah, I didn't say he was. Did you know the woman was his wife? I didn't. Suspected it was a ruse. For what? A cover, a scheme. Mister, Reeves is dead. His bones picked clean by vultures. You say he lives, I think he ceased to be. His belongings are spread amongst the populace more like, his wife captured by pirates and his people were killed in the sea. You say this was his knight's ring? I find that hard to believe as well. I didn't say that. Will you allow me to look into your district for the dwarf, or the Gish? Ah, why would I do that though? We aren't partners, or friendly. The company is en route, Mister Garth. We can do it like cultured people, or we can fight for it. You might win this round even. Either way, the Bank will not stop coming. Eventually you are gonna lose. Take the easy way out if you value these people's lives. What did he do? Glen asked, clenching his jaw. He knows, Lear replied and got up. Let's leave it at that. When can I get an answer? You want to search my District. There're refugees, kids there, I gave them shelter. I'm not a savage, Mister Garth. The job forces my hand sometimes though. I have business to attend to friend, I can't stop everything for you. Is there a compensation in the mix? Lear narrowed his eyes. You're planning on leaving? For business, I told you. You don't know me. If you want to find this dead person, I suggest you make friends with people like me and not enemies. You can have the bottle, Lear offered and took his gloves from the table. The Three Hundred will be here in two months either way. I'll watch closely for myself until then. Unless you reconsider. Let me think about it, Mister Lear, Glen replied. We have time as you said. Dammit, Glen cursed inwardly. He'd just run out of time. Sen-Iv Sopat, part of the 100 portraits collection, around 193 NC Artwork by @intheblackveil