The Old Realms - Chapter 170

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

Glen

Guild’s man and the one that wasn’t

Part I

-The man of the Guild-

Soren shook his large head having none of it. “If Pretty goes, I go as well.”

“You stay and help Ottis,” Jinx insisted with Glen watching from the table, a crude map of the territories beyond Eikenport open in front of him. Most of the things written on the painting ineligible to him.

“He needs no help,” Soren countered. “This Lorian and Crafton are doing a fine job.”

“Dammit big guy,” Jinx protested. “You know fuck all about treasure hunting.”

Soren grunted. “And you do?”

“Ayup. I can also track, move fast while still quiet and hunt stuff—”

“That Elk almost killed ya. It eats grass and rotten leaves,” Soren argued. “So I don’t know about that.”

“Twas a big one,” Jinx said frustrated, looking around embarrassed. “So it doesn’t count.”

“Haha! Big she says,” Soren guffawed, mistaking her words for a jest.

“Fine,” Glen intervened his eyes on the map. “Soren comes along.”

“Wait, you’re taking his place?” Jinx protested and banged her fist on the table almost toppling a vial of ink on to his papers, the fragile thing dancing to the edge and stopping there by a miracle. Glen raised his eyes and stared at her warningly. The Gish fixed the ink-pot and repositioned the map before him in silence.

“So, he comes? Despite my objection?” She asked with a small voice sounding very hurt. Glen wasn’t going to get fooled that easy.

“Yes, Whisper. Anything else?”

“Your heart is made of stone,” Jinx whispered stooping over him and walked out, her fit arse dancing provocatively and throwing a last ominous, “I will remember dis,” on her way out of the shack.

Soren feeling guilty for frustrating her, run after the young Gish.

Glen groaned. “Flix is this normal?” He asked the silently smoking older Gish, sitting with his back to the wall. “She’s more patient wit Leona and that wench is a right criminal.”

“You’re more valuable to her than Leona will ever be,” Flix replied. “Soren as well. Gish value sex a lot, but love big families. We can’t really help it. Do you know that young Jinx has four siblings?”

Glen turned to look at his painted face. “No, I don’t.”

“Hasn’t seen them since she left the Isles. Two sisters and two brothers. You should occasionally ask your friends about their lives.”

“I ask you.”

“Gratitude, but your reasons were different with me. I meant selflessly.”

“Is that what you are? A gallant assassin?” Glen countered and Flix chuckled.

“Absolutely not. This old Gish isn’t following you out of the goodness of his heart dear Garth,” he paused and then added. “Though I admit, I find myself enjoying your adventures very much.”

They both turned silent for a long minute.

“That’s a lot of siblings,” Glen commented finally very impressed, picking up the thread again. “Is it normal?”

“The Gish are fertile rarely, as it is tied to the seasons back home,” Flix explained, sucking at the pipe with his eyes closed. “Every five or six years, no one is certain. When they are though, a lot of younglings come of it.”

“So you can’t know?” Glen asked, but Flix opted to just smile at that, eyes hidden behind a veil of aromatic smoke.

“It’s a straight shot,” Fikumin insisted, standing on the chair to be able to read the map. A stubby calloused finger tracing the route. “We cross the bridge, keep a vigorous pace and reach Laun River in half a week’s time. Maybe less. We go over the bridge there and the next stop is Dragontoe River and its bridges.”

“Let me stop you right there,” Glen said, wiping the sweat off of his face with a silk hankie Sen had given him. “First assume we cut on the ‘vigorous’ shit a bit and second, how many bridges does Dragontoe have?”

“One before we reach Jadefort, just where one of its branches splits into two. The other a day or two after it, leading to Dia Castle. But we aren’t going that way.”

“Right,” Glen grimaced.

“Why cut on the pace?” The dwarf asked.

“I won’t have Sen hauled through the wilderness Fikumin and then there is Biscuit to think about.”

But Sen was the biggest concern.

“The Wyvern will not stay in a cage Garth.”

“Carriage,” Glen sighed, the stress wearing him down. “And we’ll cross that particular bridge when we come upon it, friend.”

The Cofol workers yelled, half a warning, half a curse and the slaves pulling at the ropes gave it their all, the large wooden support pillar –four straight hardwood beams fastened into one- slowly rising vertical. It settled in the square meter-deep ditch and immediately cement was poured in the empty space at the corners.

“Will it hold?” Glen asked, sleeve over his mouth to protect himself from the dust clouds, created by the many slaves digging the ground and forming a long trench that followed the ancient alley running the city south to north.

It will eventually block direct access to Glen’s part of town completely.

“Another four on each corner of the Guard Tower,” the Chief engineer explained. “Soaked in thick oil for a whole day, each pillar fastened with steel bolts on the tower itself. Only fire and catapults will hurt it.”

“The gates will be placed next to the tower,” Glen commented.

“That’s the plan Mister Gath.”

Glen glanced towards Gimoss, the corpse –now looking a little better, if one wasn’t paying enough attention- demonstrating with a sledgehammer how to break up the bigger boulders and then pour the debris into the cement mixture for better results.

Thanking the Cofol engineer, he walked away from the slowly forming part of the wall that was to separate Garth’s District from the rest of Eikenport. People were watching him discreetly, the identity of Mister Garth one of the hottest topics in the ancient city. Stiles, now sporting a long blue redingote and a large leather belt to match his prominent tricorn hat, greeted him as he approached the shade of the Amphitheatre. Enough of the old building remained standing to cast a prominent shadow over this part of the street.

“I told you to meet with the Sopat’s man,” Glen complained, taking a flask of water the former pirate held for him.

“Clint went,” Stiles informed him. “He’s a good fellow.”

“You sent a crook to deal with the man?” Glen protested, then grimaced thinking about it. “Belay that, I get it.”

“Aye,” Stiles agreed with a smirk. “I work wit the tools at hand, milord.”

“What’s the deal with the refugees?” Glen asked him a moment later. He’d spent it glugging down as much water as he could. The day had been brutally hot, despite the season.

“We have no way to know who is who, or their talents,” Stiles explained. “So we ask for people to take over jobs, after we erect the workshops.”

“Give it to me in a simple manner, Stiles. I have a ton things to take care off, precious little time to spare.”

“We repair a building, we name it, say a Bakery. Then we install what’s necessary for it to run properly and make request for someone to take over it.”

“At no cost?” Glen asked.

“At a percentage of the profits,” Stiles explained.

“How much?” Glen rustled.

“A quarter. If he makes a hundred coins, we get twenty five.”

“How much of that in yer pocket?” Glen probed.

“Five, milord. It’s a good deal,” Stiles explained.

Glen nodded. “Any takers?”

“We had three wanting to take over the Bakery. Two I had to turn down,” Stiles griped. “What they made, the Chief over there added in his cement mixture instead of Gimoss’ broken rocks.”

“What about the third one?”

“Marcela. Well, I had her tested thoroughly,” Stiles grinned, the gold gleaming in his mouth and stared at the workers building the gates on the street that led straight to the Cofol District and the South Market. “Abrakas be me witness, she’s great.”

His words leaving a wide enough berth for speculation as to the woman’s true talents.

Glen decided to leave it at that.

Two days later Brock Olin offered him a toothy grin and Glen frowned, immediately distrusting him. Given the man’s profession, it was probably a normal instinctual reaction, so he gave him the benefit of the doubt. Glen hardly trusted anyone in his camp anyway, other than his friends and those he kept an eye on.

Alix whistled for Jinx to climb next to him on the supply carriage and she protested wanting more room for her stuff. A fight broke out, the two Gish pushing each other, until Flix jumped between them and put an end to it with a couple of fast but hard-hitting cuffs, neither managed to dodge.

Those must have hurt a lot, he thought having been on the receiving end of a couple of good ones in the past.

“Well,” Glen said, turning to the expecting thief. The man had short cut black hair, green-something colored eyes and a Lorian face. Nothing was distinct about him and he could have been between twenty or thirty just as easy. “I’m sorry about that. Mother is rather heavy-handed in her arguments.”

“Not common, having a Gish mother,” Brock commented that grin ruining it at the end.

“How so Mister Olin?”

“Just not common,” Brock repeated.

“Yeah,” Glen said, staring at the slaves loading the carriages. “Do you know the road, Mister Olin?”

“I’ve never been there, but I’ll recognize the spot when I see it,” Brock said. “I told your man what I know. No secrets.”

Now that was a lie, stupid grin or not, Glen thought.

“Someone in the Guild went after it and then I don’t know, mayhap talked about it afterwards? Is this how you learned of it?” He tried again.

“Lots of claims, but time will tell, I reckon,” Brock droned keeping it vague.

Wow. Dude yer worse than me!

“Is the map accurate at least?” Glen probed a little frustrated.

“No map really is, Mister Garth.”

Fantastic.

Another group approached them on horses. Ottis with Sen and the slave girls. His wife smiled seeing him and Glen let his eyes roam the street where their caravan was gathering for any dangers. He saw nothing to justify his edginess, but the massive Mastaba bathed in the rising sun’s light and the rows of worker crews slowly starting their day. They had finished the gates the previous day and worked on the main wall next, bringing it closer to the Watch Tower Glen had converted into an estate of sorts.

“Mister Brock,” Glen said, as Sen was helped down from her horse. “This is Lady Sen-Iv and officer Ottis of the Gallant Dogs.”

“A pleasure,” Brock greeted them, adding that stupid smile at the end of it.

“Tonight?” Ottis asked Glen, after briefly acknowledging the thief with a head nod.

“Tonight,” Glen agreed and moved to take Sen away from the sun. “See that everything is loaded, Ottis. Get your horse ready Mister Brock.”

Glen tugged the white shawl back, to uncover Sen’s hair and she giggled looking over the taller man’s shoulder raised on her toes, for anyone watching them.

“I hate this,” Glen said. “Having to hide the truth. I’ll have to change this, force the issue, if I have to.”

“He’s a bounty hunter, Glen,” Sen said, pushing his unruly hair back with a smile. Glen had cut them, but the refugee ‘barber’ hadn’t done a particularly good job. “Can’t we pay him off?”

“He works for the bank. Kinda looked incorruptible to me.”

“What bank?”

“Mclean & Merck. Do you know them?” Glen probed.

“Our family uses the Bank of Dinar for most of its transactions. But yes, everyone knows of the Bank of Trust,” Sen replied, trying to catch a long luscious curl that had escaped her bun and was now dancing on her face.

Glen didn’t know about them, not a year ago.

“They sent him and a fuck ton of mercenaries,” Glen hissed.

“A fuck ton?” Sen queried raising a well-shaped eyebrow.

“Means a lot, from the widely used ‘a ton of fucks’ expression,” he explained and the Cofol woman burst out laughing, burying her face in his chest to avoid the scrutiny of the passing crews.

“This is ridiculous,” Glen added. “These people are gonna gossip. Half the town will think we’re having an affair by morrow.”

“Half the town will be right,” Sen purred, then paused with a frown. “Why is a bank interested in Reeves? He’s a Lorian, they should support him.”

“Ah, money is involved,” Glen sort of explained, not wanting to admit the truth. “But they don’t know who I am, so it won’t get them anything.”

“How is finding the road, or tunnel to Wetull, going to help us?” She asked.

“It will buy me time to finish the wall.”

“In order to fight them for it?”

“I don’t believe a bank would fight,” Glen started, then paused seeing her expression. “What is it?”

“Mclean & Merck wield enormous political power on Jelin husband. Especially in Lesia,” Sen explained. “There’s a saying in Merchant circles, it goes… you know someone is in a dire situation, if the man from Atetalerso pays him a visit.”

“Where is that?”

“Near the Stonemaze Peaks of Lesia. Was a village once, before they invested a fuck ton in it, he-he,” Sen loved that expression. “Lesia has a large coast, but its two most famous cities are near the north mountain ranges. Flauegran and Atetalerso. The City of Wine and the City of Coin.”

“You know so fucking much,” Glen told her awed and she blushed to the roots of her hair.

“I don’t. I know of gems, deals and banks. We are merchants, it is all we do.”

“No its not,” Glen teased her. “You’re building a wall now.”

“Lon thinks you’ll keep the Wyvern here.”

“Uhm. Lon has half yer smarts. What?” Glen asked, seeing her face sober up. “How was it? Life, back in your Peninsula?” He asked, remembering Flix’s advice.

Sen stared at a group of slaves carrying tools walking towards the trench behind their repaired tower. She had a blue robe on today, the cloth basically a finely made net with a thin silk tunic underneath, but looked as stunning as every day.

“My father loved me very much,” Sen-Iv replied in her whispering voice. “Gossip of the time said it was unhealthy, which while frowned upon, isn’t against the law in the Peninsula. It’s an old Imperial Law still active,” Glen frowned, but she shook her head to reassure him. “It wasn’t, people are just vicious,” She sucked a rugged breath in, losing her concentration for a moment, before continuing.

“He split the family fortune before the end and left half of it in my name. Securing that my brother, or any other family member would never want to get rid of me. It was a gift to keep me from another man and a curse I suppose. Perhaps there was something there untoward, but I never felt it. So I don’t believe it.”

“Then the Prince came,” Glen said, trusting her word. Sen wasn’t some fool to mistake love for lust.

“An offer you can’t refuse. The Khan would have loved the match, but then the Prince went on campaign, came back with a witch from the north provinces.”

“Where are the north provinces?”

“Nobody knows. There was nothing there before.”

“You thought about the Prince?” Glen asked her.

“I did. I was younger, it sounded like a great idea,” Sen replied truthfully. “Growing up, now especially no… actually I’ve made up my mind about this long ago.”

Glen sighed. “How did he agree on the contract? Your brother, is my meaning.”

Sen’s face lit up. “Come on. Surely you’re teasing me now. Ahm, I twisted his arm?”

“You did?”

“Yes husband, it was all me,” Sen replied without an ounce of guilt.

“Why?” Glen croaked. “I was—”

Sen stopped him midsentence.

“Mysterious. A dashing carefree adventurer of sorts roaming the steppe,” his wife said huskily. “All cocky walking about and casting dirty looks on every slave girl.”

“I don’t know about the dirty part,” Glen said, his stare turning lustful and she chuckled freely –a darn wonderful thing- turning serious in an instant.

“A man willing to fight the Horselords to save me, not knowing who I was,” she added. “A worthless slave girl he met one night at a caravan’s stop.”

“Well,” Glen mumbled. “I was fifty-fifty whether to rescue you or not,” he admitted, but Sen was undeterred.

“I was fifty-fifty whether to marry you or not, but then you lied about the dagger and I almost bought it. I wanted in the mystery. So I told Phon I wanted you, or else.”

“What did he say?”

“My brother? He would do anything for me. Almost went to war with the Khan after the engagement was broken,” Sen replied with a shrug. “But he didn’t trust you at all, until I suppose you revealed the Wyvern. Which again is a big matter husband, even for me.”

“And dangerous,” Glen added.

“I don’t fear anything, when I’m with you,” Sen replied bravely.

I don’t think you fear anything when you’re alone also.

Glen grimaced and eyed the crews moving about. This part of the city slowly getting more alive with each passing day. Then he turned to stare at the caravan, getting ready to depart that night to avoid unwanted scrutiny and sighed.

“Glen,” his wife said sensing his turmoil. “You can do whatever you want. I won’t be your shackles. Ever.”

The former thief shook his head. “I know. Don’t worry, I’ll fix everything.”

Outlaw snorted and then neighed seeing him approach. The sound caught by the other animals and even those at the closed wagons, turning into a cacophony of voices. Glen grimaced, two lines permanent on his forehead and eyed the old Gish smoking on the driving seat of the second carriage. Flix signaled him everything was good to go and Glen checked on the sleeping Jinx next and Alix watching her awed, or whatever that expression was.

The former thief shook his head alike his horse had not a meter from him and looked towards the approaching Soren first. The muscular Northman moved at a slow deliberate pace, his face covered in darkness and standing at a massive six foot eleven. He was still growing it seemed.

Seeing Glen he raised a huge arm in greeting and Glen returned it with a grin.

“Hey big guy. Are you going to ride or use the wagon?”

“I’ll sit on the wagon,” Soren replied. “Never done it afore.”

“I’ll take a horse,” Fikumin said standing next to the Northman. Glen had missed him completely. The dwarf looked very pissed and stupid per usual. More stupid than angry.

“Hey Fikumin, are you sure ye don’t want to ride with—”

“I am,” the dwarf stopped him.

“Fine, have fun climbing up,” Glen said crossing his arms on his chest and eyed Sen coming down their repaired tower, followed by the two slave girls. His wife had a lightstone on her. She had hers made into a jewel of sorts, some-fucking how, long chain and a silver cast to put it in and hounded the old Gish to find her more. No other jewelry will be able to compete, she explained to an amused Glen, if ours light up in the dark.

“What?” Sen asked, emboldened as she was among very close company, other than Brock that had appeared on his horse. The thief coming from the now working ‘Sopat Gate’ and the Cofol District. “You don’t like it on me?”

“I like it very much,” Glen replied, her taste still in his mouth from another of their passionate earlier sessions and caught sight of Gimoss getting out of the Mastaba and walking towards them as well.

“Can I drive?” Sen queried, apparently in a good mood and Glen thought about it, then refused it flatly assuming a serious look.

“We should put the best driver on that seat,” Brock commented.

“Thank you for yer input,” Glen replied sarcastically and the Thief Guild’s man managed at last to get the timing on his grin right, though he completely missed the former thief’s sarcasm. Gimoss who had almost reached them, paused seeing their exchange and turned on his heels to head towards the Mastaba again, walking stiffly, but energetically this time.

“Anytime,” was Brock’s reply.

Right.

Glen grimaced and turned to speak with Crafton. The old Northman wasn’t going to come with them, as work was needed done for the expanding Gallant Dogs and as he’d put it the other day, a man needs to know when to take an alternate career opportunity, or just retire.

“Supplies for two months,” his old mentor informed him, “Sam Mathews is briefed and won’t talk about that other thing,” Glen had told him about the Wyvern. Everyone making the journey knew, but for Brock. Not everyone had seen the Wyvern though.

“You told him,” Glen said.

“No way around it lad,” Crafton explained. “The man would be driving the carriage. The old Gish appears just about ready to kick the bucket.”

“Mister Crafton, I can hear you,” Flix said from the wagon and Crafton eyed him, just as Glen caught out of the corner of his eye Gimoss returning from the Mastaba, custom made shovel on his shoulder. Apparently the corpse had forgotten his tool, he thought, turning his attention on Crafton again, as Brock went leisurely to help Sen-Iv climb the stairs to her carriage.

“No ill intention, Ma’am,” Crafton apologized.

“None taken, you’re quite right,” Flix replied with a grin just as Gimoss went past Glen and walked towards the carriage and the smaller group of the slave girls and of course Sen, now disagreeing over sitting arrangements inside the small cabin, the thief watching them.

Several things happened one after the other in the next minute.

A hooded man appeared coming down the empty street on foot, from the direction of the heavily guarded ‘Sopat Gate’ and the Amphitheatre for starters.

“Hey,” Glen said to Gimoss, as he’d missed the stranger appearing.

“Ask him you fool!” The corpse bellowed getting everyone’s attention, but for Flix who kept his eyes on the approaching stranger and Alix who slowly rose up on the driver’s seat looking spooked. Glen paused pretty confused himself, an eye on the stranger that had popped out of nowhere, the other on the corpse and his bizarre query.

What in Luthos shriveled balls…

“I’ll be damned,” Alix mumbled, blinking and waking up a drowsy Jinx. “Nigel –fucking- Grim.”

“Give me your hand Lady of the Isthmus,” Brock told his wife and Glen, who had his attention split in too many places at once, grunted feeling a shiver running up his spine.

Half a minute had gone by and time moved forward faster.

Tick and tock the old scales went.

The clacking of the beads was heard.

And the elder sitting by the fire in a faraway forest,

stopped working on his bones.

The hooded stranger paused five meters away and stared at the large group, black and rigid Issir face gleaming in the light of the many lit torches, white hair gathered and unseen.

“Fuck me sweaty arse,” a drowsy Jinx was heard. “No way.”

Ask him, the corpse had told him.

Sen offered her small hand to the man of the Guild and he took it, just as Glen’s question rang down the ancient and largely dark -with the exception of their part- Eikenport street.

“How did you die?”

And then the minute was up.

Nigel Grim

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 Glen Guild's man and the one that wasn't Part I -The man of the Guild- Soren shook his large head having none of it. If Pretty goes, I go as well. You stay and help Ottis, Jinx insisted with Glen watching from the table, a crude map of the territories beyond Eikenport open in front of him. Most of the things written on the painting ineligible to him. He needs no help, Soren countered. This Lorian and Crafton are doing a fine job. Dammit big guy, Jinx protested. You know fuck all about treasure hunting. Soren grunted. And you do? Ayup. I can also track, move fast while still quiet and hunt stuff That Elk almost killed ya. It eats grass and rotten leaves, Soren argued. So I don't know about that. Twas a big one, Jinx said frustrated, looking around embarrassed. So it doesn't count. Haha! Big she says, Soren guffawed, mistaking her words for a jest. Fine, Glen intervened his eyes on the map. Soren comes along. Wait, you're taking his place? Jinx protested and banged her fist on the table almost toppling a vial of ink on to his papers, the fragile thing dancing to the edge and stopping there by a miracle. Glen raised his eyes and stared at her warningly. The Gish fixed the ink-pot and repositioned the map before him in silence. So, he comes? Despite my objection? She asked with a small voice sounding very hurt. Glen wasn't going to get fooled that easy. Yes, Whisper. Anything else? Your heart is made of stone, Jinx whispered stooping over him and walked out, her fit arse dancing provocatively and throwing a last ominous, I will remember dis, on her way out of the shack. Soren feeling guilty for frustrating her, run after the young Gish. Glen groaned. Flix is this normal? He asked the silently smoking older Gish, sitting with his back to the wall. She's more patient wit Leona and that wench is a right criminal. You're more valuable to her than Leona will ever be, Flix replied. Soren as well. Gish value sex a lot, but love big families. We can't really help it. Do you know that young Jinx has four siblings? Glen turned to look at his painted face. No, I don't. Hasn't seen them since she left the Isles. Two sisters and two brothers. You should occasionally ask your friends about their lives. I ask you. Gratitude, but your reasons were different with me. I meant selflessly. Is that what you are? A gallant assassin? Glen countered and Flix chuckled. Absolutely not. This old Gish isn't following you out of the goodness of his heart dear Garth, he paused and then added. Though I admit, I find myself enjoying your adventures very much. They both turned silent for a long minute. That's a lot of siblings, Glen commented finally very impressed, picking up the thread again. Is it normal? The Gish are fertile rarely, as it is tied to the seasons back home, Flix explained, sucking at the pipe with his eyes closed. Every five or six years, no one is certain. When they are though, a lot of younglings come of it. So you can't know? Glen asked, but Flix opted to just smile at that, eyes hidden behind a veil of aromatic smoke. It's a straight shot, Fikumin insisted, standing on the chair to be able to read the map. A stubby calloused finger tracing the route. We cross the bridge, keep a vigorous pace and reach Laun River in half a week's time. Maybe less. We go over the bridge there and the next stop is Dragontoe River and its bridges. Let me stop you right there, Glen said, wiping the sweat off of his face with a silk hankie Sen had given him. First assume we cut on the vigorous' shit a bit and second, how many bridges does Dragontoe have? One before we reach Jadefort, just where one of its branches splits into two. The other a day or two after it, leading to Dia Castle. But we aren't going that way. Right, Glen grimaced. Why cut on the pace? The dwarf asked. I won't have Sen hauled through the wilderness Fikumin and then there is Biscuit to think about. But Sen was the biggest concern. The Wyvern will not stay in a cage Garth. Carriage, Glen sighed, the stress wearing him down. And we'll cross that particular bridge when we come upon it, friend. The Cofol workers yelled, half a warning, half a curse and the slaves pulling at the ropes gave it their all, the large wooden support pillar four straight hardwood beams fastened into one- slowly rising vertical. It settled in the square meter-deep ditch and immediately cement was poured in the empty space at the corners. Will it hold? Glen asked, sleeve over his mouth to protect himself from the dust clouds, created by the many slaves digging the ground and forming a long trench that followed the ancient alley running the city south to north. It will eventually block direct access to Glen's part of town completely. Another four on each corner of the Guard Tower, the Chief engineer explained. Soaked in thick oil for a whole day, each pillar fastened with steel bolts on the tower itself. Only fire and catapults will hurt it. The gates will be placed next to the tower, Glen commented. That's the plan Mister Gath. Glen glanced towards Gimoss, the corpse now looking a little better, if one wasn't paying enough attention- demonstrating with a sledgehammer how to break up the bigger boulders and then pour the debris into the cement mixture for better results. Thanking the Cofol engineer, he walked away from the slowly forming part of the wall that was to separate Garth's District from the rest of Eikenport. People were watching him discreetly, the identity of Mister Garth one of the hottest topics in the ancient city. Stiles, now sporting a long blue redingote and a large leather belt to match his prominent tricorn hat, greeted him as he approached the shade of the Amphitheatre. Enough of the old building remained standing to cast a prominent shadow over this part of the street. I told you to meet with the Sopat's man, Glen complained, taking a flask of water the former pirate held for him. Clint went, Stiles informed him. He's a good fellow. You sent a crook to deal with the man? Glen protested, then grimaced thinking about it. Belay that, I get it. Aye, Stiles agreed with a smirk. I work wit the tools at hand, milord. What's the deal with the refugees? Glen asked him a moment later. He'd spent it glugging down as much water as he could. The day had been brutally hot, despite the season. We have no way to know who is who, or their talents, Stiles explained. So we ask for people to take over jobs, after we erect the workshops. Give it to me in a simple manner, Stiles. I have a ton things to take care off, precious little time to spare. We repair a building, we name it, say a Bakery. Then we install what's necessary for it to run properly and make request for someone to take over it. At no cost? Glen asked. At a percentage of the profits, Stiles explained. How much? Glen rustled. A quarter. If he makes a hundred coins, we get twenty five. How much of that in yer pocket? Glen probed. Five, milord. It's a good deal, Stiles explained. Glen nodded. Any takers? We had three wanting to take over the Bakery. Two I had to turn down, Stiles griped. What they made, the Chief over there added in his cement mixture instead of Gimoss' broken rocks. What about the third one? Marcela. Well, I had her tested thoroughly, Stiles grinned, the gold gleaming in his mouth and stared at the workers building the gates on the street that led straight to the Cofol District and the South Market. Abrakas be me witness, she's great. His words leaving a wide enough berth for speculation as to the woman's true talents. Glen decided to leave it at that. Two days later Brock Olin offered him a toothy grin and Glen frowned, immediately distrusting him. Given the man's profession, it was probably a normal instinctual reaction, so he gave him the benefit of the doubt. Glen hardly trusted anyone in his camp anyway, other than his friends and those he kept an eye on. Alix whistled for Jinx to climb next to him on the supply carriage and she protested wanting more room for her stuff. A fight broke out, the two Gish pushing each other, until Flix jumped between them and put an end to it with a couple of fast but hard-hitting cuffs, neither managed to dodge. Those must have hurt a lot, he thought having been on the receiving end of a couple of good ones in the past. Well, Glen said, turning to the expecting thief. The man had short cut black hair, green-something colored eyes and a Lorian face. Nothing was distinct about him and he could have been between twenty or thirty just as easy. I'm sorry about that. Mother is rather heavy-handed in her arguments. Not common, having a Gish mother, Brock commented that grin ruining it at the end. How so Mister Olin? Just not common, Brock repeated. Yeah, Glen said, staring at the slaves loading the carriages. Do you know the road, Mister Olin? I've never been there, but I'll recognize the spot when I see it, Brock said. I told your man what I know. No secrets. Now that was a lie, stupid grin or not, Glen thought. Someone in the Guild went after it and then I don't know, mayhap talked about it afterwards? Is this how you learned of it? He tried again. Lots of claims, but time will tell, I reckon, Brock droned keeping it vague. Wow. Dude yer worse than me! Is the map accurate at least? Glen probed a little frustrated. No map really is, Mister Garth. Fantastic. Another group approached them on horses. Ottis with Sen and the slave girls. His wife smiled seeing him and Glen let his eyes roam the street where their caravan was gathering for any dangers. He saw nothing to justify his edginess, but the massive Mastaba bathed in the rising sun's light and the rows of worker crews slowly starting their day. They had finished the gates the previous day and worked on the main wall next, bringing it closer to the Watch Tower Glen had converted into an estate of sorts. Mister Brock, Glen said, as Sen was helped down from her horse. This is Lady Sen-Iv and officer Ottis of the Gallant Dogs. A pleasure, Brock greeted them, adding that stupid smile at the end of it. Tonight? Ottis asked Glen, after briefly acknowledging the thief with a head nod. Tonight, Glen agreed and moved to take Sen away from the sun. See that everything is loaded, Ottis. Get your horse ready Mister Brock. Glen tugged the white shawl back, to uncover Sen's hair and she giggled looking over the taller man's shoulder raised on her toes, for anyone watching them. I hate this, Glen said. Having to hide the truth. I'll have to change this, force the issue, if I have to. He's a bounty hunter, Glen, Sen said, pushing his unruly hair back with a smile. Glen had cut them, but the refugee barber' hadn't done a particularly good job. Can't we pay him off? He works for the bank. Kinda looked incorruptible to me. What bank? Mclean & Merck. Do you know them? Glen probed. Our family uses the Bank of Dinar for most of its transactions. But yes, everyone knows of the Bank of Trust, Sen replied, trying to catch a long luscious curl that had escaped her bun and was now dancing on her face. Glen didn't know about them, not a year ago. They sent him and a fuck ton of mercenaries, Glen hissed. A fuck ton? Sen queried raising a well-shaped eyebrow. Means a lot, from the widely used a ton of fucks' expression, he explained and the Cofol woman burst out laughing, burying her face in his chest to avoid the scrutiny of the passing crews. This is ridiculous, Glen added. These people are gonna gossip. Half the town will think we're having an affair by morrow. Half the town will be right, Sen purred, then paused with a frown. Why is a bank interested in Reeves? He's a Lorian, they should support him. Ah, money is involved, Glen sort of explained, not wanting to admit the truth. But they don't know who I am, so it won't get them anything. How is finding the road, or tunnel to Wetull, going to help us? She asked. It will buy me time to finish the wall. In order to fight them for it? I don't believe a bank would fight, Glen started, then paused seeing her expression. What is it? Mclean & Merck wield enormous political power on Jelin husband. Especially in Lesia, Sen explained. There's a saying in Merchant circles, it goes you know someone is in a dire situation, if the man from Atetalerso pays him a visit. Where is that? Near the Stonemaze Peaks of Lesia. Was a village once, before they invested a fuck ton in it, he-he, Sen loved that expression. Lesia has a large coast, but its two most famous cities are near the north mountain ranges. Flauegran and Atetalerso. The City of Wine and the City of Coin. You know so fucking much, Glen told her awed and she blushed to the roots of her hair. I don't. I know of gems, deals and banks. We are merchants, it is all we do. No its not, Glen teased her. You're building a wall now. Lon thinks you'll keep the Wyvern here. Uhm. Lon has half yer smarts. What? Glen asked, seeing her face sober up. How was it? Life, back in your Peninsula? He asked, remembering Flix's advice. Sen stared at a group of slaves carrying tools walking towards the trench behind their repaired tower. She had a blue robe on today, the cloth basically a finely made net with a thin silk tunic underneath, but looked as stunning as every day. My father loved me very much, Sen-Iv replied in her whispering voice. Gossip of the time said it was unhealthy, which while frowned upon, isn't against the law in the Peninsula. It's an old Imperial Law still active, Glen frowned, but she shook her head to reassure him. It wasn't, people are just vicious, She sucked a rugged breath in, losing her concentration for a moment, before continuing. He split the family fortune before the end and left half of it in my name. Securing that my brother, or any other family member would never want to get rid of me. It was a gift to keep me from another man and a curse I suppose. Perhaps there was something there untoward, but I never felt it. So I don't believe it. Then the Prince came, Glen said, trusting her word. Sen wasn't some fool to mistake love for lust. An offer you can't refuse. The Khan would have loved the match, but then the Prince went on campaign, came back with a witch from the north provinces. Where are the north provinces? Nobody knows. There was nothing there before. You thought about the Prince? Glen asked her. I did. I was younger, it sounded like a great idea, Sen replied truthfully. Growing up, now especially no actually I've made up my mind about this long ago. Glen sighed. How did he agree on the contract? Your brother, is my meaning. Sen's face lit up. Come on. Surely you're teasing me now. Ahm, I twisted his arm? You did? Yes husband, it was all me, Sen replied without an ounce of guilt. Why? Glen croaked. I was Sen stopped him midsentence. Mysterious. A dashing carefree adventurer of sorts roaming the steppe, his wife said huskily. All cocky walking about and casting dirty looks on every slave girl. I don't know about the dirty part, Glen said, his stare turning lustful and she chuckled freely a darn wonderful thing- turning serious in an instant. A man willing to fight the Horselords to save me, not knowing who I was, she added. A worthless slave girl he met one night at a caravan's stop. Well, Glen mumbled. I was fifty-fifty whether to rescue you or not, he admitted, but Sen was undeterred. I was fifty-fifty whether to marry you or not, but then you lied about the dagger and I almost bought it. I wanted in the mystery. So I told Phon I wanted you, or else. What did he say? My brother? He would do anything for me. Almost went to war with the Khan after the engagement was broken, Sen replied with a shrug. But he didn't trust you at all, until I suppose you revealed the Wyvern. Which again is a big matter husband, even for me. And dangerous, Glen added. I don't fear anything, when I'm with you, Sen replied bravely. I don't think you fear anything when you're alone also. Glen grimaced and eyed the crews moving about. This part of the city slowly getting more alive with each passing day. Then he turned to stare at the caravan, getting ready to depart that night to avoid unwanted scrutiny and sighed. Glen, his wife said sensing his turmoil. You can do whatever you want. I won't be your shackles. Ever. The former thief shook his head. I know. Don't worry, I'll fix everything. Outlaw snorted and then neighed seeing him approach. The sound caught by the other animals and even those at the closed wagons, turning into a cacophony of voices. Glen grimaced, two lines permanent on his forehead and eyed the old Gish smoking on the driving seat of the second carriage. Flix signaled him everything was good to go and Glen checked on the sleeping Jinx next and Alix watching her awed, or whatever that expression was. The former thief shook his head alike his horse had not a meter from him and looked towards the approaching Soren first. The muscular Northman moved at a slow deliberate pace, his face covered in darkness and standing at a massive six foot eleven. He was still growing it seemed. Seeing Glen he raised a huge arm in greeting and Glen returned it with a grin. Hey big guy. Are you going to ride or use the wagon? I'll sit on the wagon, Soren replied. Never done it afore. I'll take a horse, Fikumin said standing next to the Northman. Glen had missed him completely. The dwarf looked very pissed and stupid per usual. More stupid than angry. Hey Fikumin, are you sure ye don't want to ride with I am, the dwarf stopped him. Fine, have fun climbing up, Glen said crossing his arms on his chest and eyed Sen coming down their repaired tower, followed by the two slave girls. His wife had a lightstone on her. She had hers made into a jewel of sorts, some-fucking how, long chain and a silver cast to put it in and hounded the old Gish to find her more. No other jewelry will be able to compete, she explained to an amused Glen, if ours light up in the dark. What? Sen asked, emboldened as she was among very close company, other than Brock that had appeared on his horse. The thief coming from the now working Sopat Gate' and the Cofol District. You don't like it on me? I like it very much, Glen replied, her taste still in his mouth from another of their passionate earlier sessions and caught sight of Gimoss getting out of the Mastaba and walking towards them as well. Can I drive? Sen queried, apparently in a good mood and Glen thought about it, then refused it flatly assuming a serious look. We should put the best driver on that seat, Brock commented. Thank you for yer input, Glen replied sarcastically and the Thief Guild's man managed at last to get the timing on his grin right, though he completely missed the former thief's sarcasm. Gimoss who had almost reached them, paused seeing their exchange and turned on his heels to head towards the Mastaba again, walking stiffly, but energetically this time. Anytime, was Brock's reply. Right. Glen grimaced and turned to speak with Crafton. The old Northman wasn't going to come with them, as work was needed done for the expanding Gallant Dogs and as he'd put it the other day, a man needs to know when to take an alternate career opportunity, or just retire. Supplies for two months, his old mentor informed him, Sam Mathews is briefed and won't talk about that other thing, Glen had told him about the Wyvern. Everyone making the journey knew, but for Brock. Not everyone had seen the Wyvern though. You told him, Glen said. No way around it lad, Crafton explained. The man would be driving the carriage. The old Gish appears just about ready to kick the bucket. Mister Crafton, I can hear you, Flix said from the wagon and Crafton eyed him, just as Glen caught out of the corner of his eye Gimoss returning from the Mastaba, custom made shovel on his shoulder. Apparently the corpse had forgotten his tool, he thought, turning his attention on Crafton again, as Brock went leisurely to help Sen-Iv climb the stairs to her carriage. No ill intention, Ma'am, Crafton apologized. None taken, you're quite right, Flix replied with a grin just as Gimoss went past Glen and walked towards the carriage and the smaller group of the slave girls and of course Sen, now disagreeing over sitting arrangements inside the small cabin, the thief watching them. Several things happened one after the other in the next minute. A hooded man appeared coming down the empty street on foot, from the direction of the heavily guarded Sopat Gate' and the Amphitheatre for starters. Hey, Glen said to Gimoss, as he'd missed the stranger appearing. Ask him you fool! The corpse bellowed getting everyone's attention, but for Flix who kept his eyes on the approaching stranger and Alix who slowly rose up on the driver's seat looking spooked. Glen paused pretty confused himself, an eye on the stranger that had popped out of nowhere, the other on the corpse and his bizarre query. What in Luthos shriveled balls I'll be damned, Alix mumbled, blinking and waking up a drowsy Jinx. Nigel fucking- Grim. Give me your hand Lady of the Isthmus, Brock told his wife and Glen, who had his attention split in too many places at once, grunted feeling a shiver running up his spine. Half a minute had gone by and time moved forward faster. Tick and tock the old scales went. The clacking of the beads was heard. And the elder sitting by the fire in a faraway forest, stopped working on his bones. The hooded stranger paused five meters away and stared at the large group, black and rigid Issir face gleaming in the light of the many lit torches, white hair gathered and unseen. Fuck me sweaty arse, a drowsy Jinx was heard. No way. Ask him, the corpse had told him. Sen offered her small hand to the man of the Guild and he took it, just as Glen's question rang down the ancient and largely dark -with the exception of their part- Eikenport street. How did you die? And then the minute was up. Nigel Grim