Glen

also Sir Glenavon Reeves of Altarin

Arguen Garth

Hardir O' Fardor

Lord of Morn Taras

Monarch of Wetull

King beyond the Pale Mountains

Aniculo Rokae

Duath Erin I Menel

Malantur O' Furu

Rhu Fareno

The Monarch's Envoy

Part I

-Since it clearly didn't-

Let's do dis!

A comically sober and hyper-focused Glen thought and burst out of the repairing stables —now a much smaller building, as a permanent pavilion had been erected in the space between the pyramid and the Morn Taras' outer structures to host 'events'— leaving behind the Beastmaster Laedan and the stables manager Rama.

The energized Monarch quickly snapped his mid-finger and thumb together, then pointed with his index finger —from the same fast-moving arm— at Hagen, who was dozing off perched against the unfinished doorway, as he hurried past. The surprised bodyguard sprang into action and promptly chased after the briskly walking Monarch.

"I want you to get ahold of Folen," Glen told the struggling to keep up with him Hagen. Despite some honest effort to get in shape, Hagen remained a simple man easily seduced by 'the aromas of the kitchen' as he had been forced to admit at a recent intervention. "We need to tackle both matters today. This can't wait any longer!"

"Tackle… both… matters. Aye, milord," Hagen replied breathing heavy.

Ten minutes later they reached the palace's stairs and Glen climbed them as fast as he could, given that Voron had left enough space at each step to fit a balcony. The Hoplite guarding the doors thudded the spear on his Aspis, the gong-like sound produced all but blowing Glen's eardrums off.

Ouch.

The ravaged by a spasm of agony Glen friendly-tapped the Hoplite's armoured chest once with an open palm, said nothing and just ducked inside the opening doors with ringing ears.

"Hurry up," he told a grimacing Hagen once inside the long dark corridor and with that Glen switched to a light trot, not because he sought to build up his cardio —although the latter was probably needed— but to traverse three hundred meters of corridor in order to reach the entrance to the great columned hall before the throne room.

"What for milord?" Hagen probed already falling behind, sweating like a pig and smelling of leather and honeyed dough.

They had cake at breakfast.

The temptation too-strong to resist.

Yeah.

"God damn it, Hagen! You'll eat yerself into an early grave!" Glen grunted with a glance over his shoulder, and it ruined his running rhythm. The Monarch slowed down for the bodyguard to catch up. "Anyhow, back to Folen. I need him to look at a lock in my quarters. Need a second 'professional' opinion. A wall to bounce off ideas, ayup."

"Milord lost the palace's keys?" Hagen asked, slowing down even more instead of keeping up, until the impatient Glen grabbed his elbow to drag him along at a much faster pace.

If he drops with a heart attack, so be it. At this point he has to risk it for a biscuit, Glen thought. Plus, some things are more important!

"I have keys and 'keys' up the wazoo," Glen retorted with a grunt, making an air quotes gesture. "But I need a better tool for the job, and the darn thing might end up being a blasted pry bar!"

"A pry bar?" Hagen asked as they approached the twin doors to the Main Hall. "For what, Milord?"

"Aren't ye following up my reasoning? The witch's secret side entrance is tightly locked somehow," Glen explained puffing out and stopping some distance from the Rokae guarding the door. The Zilan made to open it for the Monarch, but hesitated seeing that Glen had stopped about ten meters away.

"The… door, is the Monarch's meaning?"

Glen nodded soberly, although he could see how his earlier wording could have been perceived differently.

Even so, it fell not that far off the plaguing mark!

"Aren't all secret passages sort of locked for safety, Milord?"

"Not for me. I built this motherfucking house!"

Not in the literal sense, although Glen had held the random shovel in a couple of occasions in order to stand for a profile-raising portrait.

"Absolutely, sire."

"This motherfucker is wedged shut for some reason," Glen elucidated, then added upon seeing Hagen's puzzled expression. "The secret door."

"Why not use the front door?" Hagen asked and got a warning backhand on the chest from a serious Glen.

"The restless Monarch visits his guests unexpectedly and at weird hours," he reminded the chastened bodyguard.

Out of prying eyes.

This also, could be perceived a different number of ways.

"Right, sire."

"Sir Nuvian," Glen said walking near the imposing Royal Rokae. "Any early risers inside the throne room?"

"It's already noon, Hardir. Everyone of import has left," Sir Nuvian argued. "I'll have to check."

"Take a guess."

"Negative, sire. As I said, the hour is late."

"Yet, some people are known to have a different timetable. Um?" Glen retorted a little miffed.

"Only your grace, Hardir. But you are standing right here," Sir Nuvian insisted and Glen cut him off.

"I heard a familiar scream from behind the doors," he told the masked Zilan knight, now worried. "The voice rang a bell."

Sir Nuvian shrugged his broad shoulders. "Lady Lussiel came to visit."

"Whom? Surely not the kitchen staff?"

"Lady Aelrindel. It's a matter of pleasure. Far from me to stand between a witch and her patients."

Shite! The Gish lied you pile of metal!

"Get out of my way!" Glen growled and started running again.

Glen could hear their voices as he dashed across the gigantic, lacquered black granite central columns, the semi-darkness of the massive hall giving way to the lit lightstone lamps secured on each column.

The Monarch finally spotted the Gish and the Witch arguing near the red and black marble platform of his throne, and switched from running to walking in order to be able to speak. Then the much taller Aelrindel —clad in a red silk negligee and not much else— said something Jinx didn't like and the feisty Gish —wearing her typical green and yellow, tight leather outfit consisting of pants, vest and a shirt— leaped forward to strike at the Zilan sorceress.

Damn it.

Glen made to start running again, but Aelrindel snapped an arm out and snatched Jinx by the shirt's collar to keep her away, managing to lift the smaller female off of the floor.

Eh. It won't work, the fast approaching Glen thought, and as if to prove him right Jinx grabbed the witch's forearm, folded at the waist, and plunged her extended right leg into Aelrindel's left breast.

"Ouch! You little…" the Sorceress hissed irate and seemingly in considerable pain as the Gish had pulled at the thinly-covered sensitive tip with her toes almost ripping it away. The detail to be revealed shortly to Glen. Aelrindel dropped Jinx on the ground, glowed from messy blue head to naked toes, pointed the same extending arm to the standing up Jinx and commanded in elaborate Imperial.

"HALKIN HU!"

Which translates to 'freeze bitch' in the Witch Tongue of Cydonia Cazan. Anyways, she send a thin arrow of white something towards the dexterous Gish, who dodged with a ridiculous right-side cartwheel planting a hand on the floor, then stood and raised the other turned into a fist —but for the middle finger, which Jinx slowly extended upwards.

"Ye missed, shit fer brains," Jinx told the grimacing sorceress in her own rendition of slum Imperial and Melon, who was balancing at the edge of the scribe's table, a paw extending towards a plate with leftover cake, froze abruptly and tumbled backwards, hitting the polished granite floor hard.

"ARGH! FUCK!" The magic cat yelped in panic and a great deal of pain, moving only its mouth. "BROKE MY NECK! HELP!"

"Look at what you did!" Aelrindel hissed and lunged towards the cackling Jinx, who folded at the waist yet again and then jumped from her feet to dive between the witch's arms and catch her with a flashkick under the sternum.

Aelrindel screamed in pain and stumbled backwards just as a heavy-breathing Glen arrived.

"HERE COMES THE END!" Melon roared from the ground, paralyzed in an awkward position. "ME GOOD PUSSY FRIEND. OUR LAST LIFE, LOST IN STRIFE!"

"Stop this madness!" Glen ordered angrily with both females of very different species pointing a finger at the other accusingly and talking at the same time, in between the cat's desperate and very dramatic pleas for assistance.

Glen thrusted both arms in the air to stop them. "Speak," he told Jinx.

"You'll have the Gish speak first?" The Sorceress asked sounding shocked at the perceived favoritism.

"We are not eating cake, to fear there won't be any left after she goes first," Glen retorted and Aelrindel knitted her brows as if confused. "Whisper?"

"She took memories," Jinx said. "But I don't know which memories she took, because they are missing!"

"Aha," Glen grimaced unsure and stared at the sorceress for an explanation, only to realize she was on the verge of tears.

"It hurts," she told the now concerned Monarch and pointed at her left breast. Sure enough, the nipple in question looked engorged from the mistreatment.

Luthos spit went down the wrong pipe!

"WHO CARES? I'M DYING ON THE FUCKIN' FLOOR HERE!" Melon roared irate. "HELP ME OUT!"

"How bad is it?" Glen asked trying to discern the extent of the injury, without outright copping a feel on the round tit. Although it might still come down to that.

Yeah.

"She pulled at the nip with her rough dirty toes," Aelrindel explained kneading at the tender flesh over the thin fabric.

Um.

"It's these sandals," Jinx defended the condition of her feet. "Have me boots at the shop all week. Hey, can you at least pretend to listen to me?" She protested.

"ARE YOU PEOPLE SERIOUS?" Melon growled from the floor.

"For Luthos sake, someone deal with that pesky cat! Kill him if you have to, but make him shut the fuck up!" Glen grumbled to put an end to the cat's interruptions, and Jinx stepped forward to scoop Melon up. The cat looked utterly confused by the king's order.

"It's a binding spell," Aelrindel explained in a comforting tone, while a numb Glen gazed at her lovely face, not really following her reasoning. "It'll be over in no time and now unshackled he shall walk free?" The witch sang probably to speed up the process.

Ah. You mean the cat?

Well, I've already moved on dear.

Try to keep up.

"I don't really care," Glen replied earnestly, more interested in her hand applying pressure on the soft mound, than the stupid cat. "How bad is it?" He asked curious and Aelrindel approached even more to show him.

Luthos cackled so hard, he went and peed down his crooked leg.

"HARDIR!" A different voice was heard before the Monarch could examine the perceived injury from up close. "Stand aside infidels! Let me through afore this migrant unbeliever. PAINTED APOSTATS! The egg goes first."

Gods no.

It was Feyras, the priest of Eodrass. The Priest walked fast down the columned hall towards them, holding a giant blue egg in his outstretched arms.

"Look at what we found whilst clearing the temple's ruins! I had to rush back across the gulf to bring it to Hardir! Slept on a fishing boat and had no food for three days!" Feyras announced and upon arriving offered the big blue egg to Glen. It had the texture and feel of stone, and its real color was a dark blue with tiny yellow dots peppered across its scaly surface.

"So another wyvern's egg?" The Monarch queried, not really interested in the priest's find at that moment. He gave the egg back to Feyras after the briefest of examinations, but the priest pushed it back towards Glen.

"Is it alive?" Glen asked returning the egg to the frowned and troubled at the lack of progress to their exchange Feyras.

"Of course, it is not!" The priest grunted and gave the dead egg a good smack before he shoved it yet again into the Monarch's hands.

"The Monarch must keep it," the stubborn Priest explained, but Glen pushed the egg towards the priest again, now very annoyed.

"The Monarch has better eggs already," he explained warningly, but it was like talking to a deaf person with Feyras. Jinx found his words hilarious at least and started cackling behind him. "Keep it."

"We must make the effort to awaken it. If all else fails, a sacrifice must be picked by your grace. You are Hardir O' Fardor," the Priest asserted and then pressed the egg on Glen's chest aggressively. The Monarch had to retreat a couple of steps —yet again with the heavy egg in his hands, in order to get some distance between him and the disheveled, foul-smelling priest. Glen puffed out in exasperation, raised the blue egg above his head decisively and taking a forward step, hurled it away as far as he could.

"AAH!" Feyras decried grimacing in horror and they all watched the flying egg traverse the distance to the last row of columns, hit the left one with a loud bang and bounce off of it. The giant egg landed on the tiled floor with another loud clang and then awkwardly rolled across before stopping at the right column's base.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

A couple of meters in front of the first column, a silent Akira stood in her priestly attire and wooden sandals, her solemn painted face watching the exchange -for gods know how long.

Glen had missed smacking the unflinching Cofol on the head for less than a foot.

"Priestess," a flushed from the effort and slightly embarrassed Glen said hoarsely. "How can we be of assistance? We are in the middle of… an experiment right now."

"I'm here for my audience with the Princess," Akira replied. "The Castellan has it written for today."

"She's sleeping, I think," Glen said with a grimace. "Perhaps you should wait for a while. I'll send for a servant."

"It's late noon, Hardir."

"She follows my looser schedule," Glen explained.

"I wasn't given such a schedule."

"Because I don't really have one, so she doesn't also."

"A child should be afforded to live like a child, but not past the right age," Akira said cryptically. "But maintaining a tight schedule is a matter of importance, if you want to build up character."

Yeah, I don't agree.

"Clearly, yes," Glen grunted instead, reluctant to address yet another subject in front of an audience. Feyras opened his mouth to speak, but Glen stopped him with a reproving gesture. The priest had moved to the other column to retrieve his stupid, gigantic blue egg and had come back ready for a second round of negotiations.

"May I see the princess?" Akira inquired once more, in her annoying patient tone.

"You may."

The stoic Akira bowed her elaborate head once respectfully and then proceeded past them —at a very slow pace— towards the stairs situated behind the throne platform.

"Use ointment," Jinx's voice offered behind the Monarch's back.

"I need it more!" Melon protested, but before Glen could turn around to see what was going on, Feyras took a step forward, his brows knitted tightly and the giant egg clasped with both hands.

"Stay where you are," Glen warned the Zilan priest.

"Hardir, see reason!" Feyras protested. "You can save this egg like the other, or the princess can! I've talked to her already—"

"You shouldn't have! She has scars on her hands from last time!" Glen snapped angrily, then puffed out in exasperation. "I have things to do right now. Important meetings—"

Feyras grimaced very disappointed. "What meetings? Why would you even entertain the witch?"

"Use more," Jinx said behind his back. "Spread it around."

What the actual fuck?

"She's a guest. We are being hospitable, Feyras."

Feyras pursed his mouth in complete disbelief, then one of his eyes ogled wide open, and the other half-closed as if he just had a stroke. Glen followed the foul-smelling priest's gaze and turned around to finally see what the two females were doing. The witch had pushed the left side of her bust aside to bare the injured breast with no care in the world and then proceeded to lather it with Jinx's ointment, using the same slow cyclical moves from before.

An idiot could have seen what the Gish's plan was and even the semi-paralyzed Melon had finally gone silent at the arousing —though shocking— spectacle.

Sadly, we can't have this kind of performance inside the throne room.

Not at this time of day at least.

"Ehm," Glen grunted to get the two alien females attention. "I have visitors."

"Pfft. He's fine," Aelrindel assured the Monarch flippantly. "The old peeping creep probably fantasized about this very moment for centuries. None filthier in their thoughts, more depraved and grabbier, than the wyvern's vile priesthood."

Glen snapped his head over his right shoulder to glare at the grimacing Feyras.

"Ha! Putrid nonsense! Edlenn's delinquent daughter pretended to be Naossis in the flesh in order to take part in Valimae Lilt, although she wasn't of age!" Feyras retorted. "Embarrassed herself and her mother! No one else was at fault, but her!"

"How old was she back then?" Glen asked, derailing the priest's train of thought for a moment, but Feyras recovered fast.

"All witches are rowdy harlots since birth, Hardir. They eat boiled bugs, munch on shit, and piss in all their potions. She's here to seduce you and steal your seed!"

Whoa.

"Can I have some of the therapeutic ointment, old tits? Think I have a cracked vertebrae," Melon requested in a reasonable voice. "Alas there's no more sperm to spare, but I did spray some urine on the Gish due to my paralysis, thou can have," the cat added with a very-wide impish grin.

"Hey!" Jinx protested and held Melon away from her garbs. "Dis was me only clean shirt!"

"Alright that's enough!" An irked Glen exploded to put an end to the lunacy afore it got out of control. "Time is up, everyone without a job vacate this hall or give me proper room to breathe! Grab a distant seat and marvel at the blasted décor! I have serious meetings pending, people! Ah, and Feyras, I can't heed to your brand of scatological outbursts or forceful manners, for too much longer, mate."

"Well, Hardir," Feyras retorted taking a step back after the King's lengthy rant, the blue egg still in his hands. "That's too bad for you, I fear. It's either me or the winged God and you don't want Him to come visiting."

Glen frowned, a violent tick marring his face remembering the freaky humanoid entity haunting the dreams of his youth. He watched the priest walk away and Rimeros appeared behind the last row of columns. The Castellan made a sign with his hands so the Monarch would know, the two summoned subjects had arrived in the palace.

"Her boob is better," Jinx said out of the blue, coming to stand next to him. She used a hand to massage Melon's hurt neck and belly through the half-burned fur patches. "Although it was fine to begin with. Yeah. Our Moira can fashion a whole horse out of a horse's tail."

Well, the Gish is right this time.

Glen glanced behind them but didn't see Aelrindel. "Where is she?"

"Are you blind? She sits in your throne," Jinx retorted and Glen saw the half-decently attired witch reclined on his throne seat. "You told us to move away and she did, so that's on you."

"Jinx," Glen grunted. "I'm handling the matter."

"Sure ye are," Jinx said mockingly. "Some concoctions need to be munched on fer a while, afore been made. Same with relationships, I reckon. Sometimes they are smooth, others volatile."

Glen glared her way. "You make no god darn sense! Fuck's sake, ye need to start putting proper sentences together, you are older than me. And I was talking about Liko!"

"I wasn't and me years count half of yours," Jinx retorted and narrowed her eyes just like the purring cat in her hands, either in warning or holding in a fart. Despite Glen's urging, the Gish's next sentences another word salad. "But I can pretend we were talking of the same thing. Me cute ears are always turned on you, and so are hers… for different reasons. Ehem. I said my piece, so speak."

Glen made to respond, feeling quite perplexed, but he paused to cast a sidelong glance at the witch, who appeared fixated on the hall's various big paintings. He immediately observed that her graceful, elongated ears, were angled in their direction, even though her head was turned away. Remarkably, despite the twenty-meter distance between them, the Zilan could hear them perfectly.

"Rimeros," Glen ordered with a grimace, still plenty perturbed by the Gish's usual cryptic bullshit. "Bring them idiots in."

Glen marched towards the occupied granite throne, and the comely -in all her states- sorceress, moved her crossed legs out like a Hydra's heads to stop him, clasping at the armrests with both hands. Glen navigated the semi-covered in intricate tattoos shins and ankles, keeping his amber eyes on the Zilan female's animated face.

"Am I in trouble, Glenavon?" Aelrindel teased pushing against the back of the throne, as the difficult to keep away Glen had managed to snake his way over her.

"You can't sit here," Glen whispered hoarsely inches from her upturned nose, suddenly too-aroused to be angry. He could actually feel the witch's long fingers touch everywhere, which… yeah, is very bizarre. The squashed —between him and the throne— rather tousled Aelrindel was still clasping at the armrests with that coy smile plastered on her plump lips.

"Thou want me to," the Sorceress sang in the ancient isles tongue and Glen realized she had let go of the support at some point, in order to steal the Wyvern's Tongue from his waistband. Without some kind of magic shield the witch's charms were unstoppable.

"Give me the dagger," Glen warned trying to get control of his faculties.

"It's mine. What I see and touch," the flushed witch taunted breathlessly. "All of it."

"You don't need it. All else pale afore the king's attention," Glen reasoned in a soothing whisper and brushed one of her loosened blue and purple curls behind an elongated ear that wilted to his touch. The witch's gold-dotted silver eyes opened up wide and her lips split to reveal two pairs of pearly canines. She returned the dagger into its sheath and slowly stood up from the throne, all those curves and soft parts gently brushing on the unwilling to give her any space very-aroused Monarch.

Glen could feel the Zilan's heavy breath, burned amber resin and old grass mixed with frankincense. Fleshy lips that tasted of bitter lime and honey. The King growled and they both fell into the massive throne's embrace, as their kiss turned violent and even animalistic. The sword's scabbard banged on a chairside short table and sent goblets clattering on the floor, but the noise came from afar. Everything drowned in the rumpus created by falling waters and chirping birds. Flying monkeys and a gang of three different-colored cats resting next to the idyllic miniature cataract, talking of fermented milk or goat cheese?

Oh, fer fuck's sake!

"The small cheesy bits are tasty," Galaxy said, blinking her large eyelashes.

"Eh, spoiled milk gives me indigestion," River argued, licking a snow-white paw.

"As Melon would have said, I prefer it fresh from the goat's nipple," Loki argued waggling his tail, a weird lanky cat with pointy ears and brown stripes on his short white fur.

"Oi! Oi! Ick!" The other two cats protested with one voice and Glen realized he somehow knew their names. In deep disbelief, Glen fleetingly raised his gaze from Aelrindel's face, while the cats turned their feline eyes on them, more-annoyed than surprised and immediately after that happened a sharp, veteran-sailor's whistle broke through the haze of his arousal.

Followed by Jinx's trumpeting voice. "Hey, you dumb libertine fucks. Ye got visitors!"

Ah, shit. Rimeros, Glen recoiled and managed to break away from the witch's vision to return to the present again. Or something. Aelrindel initially bit on his lower lip drawing blood with them sharp fangs, unwilling to break off their kiss. But then she opened a pair of glowing eyes after Glen tapped the tip of her nose once warningly, in order to extricate his bleeding lip.

Damn it, Glen thought while the giggling witch quickly relocated her arse on the armrest to free up the throne. The Monarch took a quick moment to get his bearings back –and to adjust his cock, then turned around and stood in wait for the returning Rimeros.

"I warned ye earlier," Whisper said, gathering the spilled goblets from the floor of the platform and setting the side table upright again.

"I was away… some-fucking-how," Glen admitted, wiping the blood from his lips with the back of his hand.

"Where to?" The curious Gish asked and before either Glen or the Witch could answer, Melon retorted in a hoarse vibrant voice.

"Clammy Pussies Spring. Aye. It's a bloody trip and a half. Uhm."

Lewd naming aside, the fact the cat knew about the 'imaginary' place was even weirder, Glen decided.

Rimeros halted briefly as if in an attempt to figure out what the two females where doing on the royal platform, Jinx was sitting on the side table next to the throne and Aelrindel was still parked on the armrest behind Glen, but then at the King's gesture he presented the two agents.

They didn't know it yet of course.

"Berthas O' Aelinole and Keya O' Berthas," Rimeros announced.

"Good day, Hardir O' Fardor," the prematurely aged Berthas bowed his head and the smart-eyed female apprentice standing next to him blinked in shock. Keya —originally Keya O' Hfrial Depths, which was a lake near the woods of Phina's Village— had taken as a surname Berthas's name, since despite the mage being Ebenezer's bastard himself he still was of a much higher status —especially after the Monarch had publicly recognized him, and this allowed Keya as Berthas first pupil, to take full advantage of that.

"Isn't she Moon's Daughter? Whoa!" The young Keya asked sounding impressed and a little scandalized, but her abrupt manners got the usually very under control Rimeros so enraged, he completely lost it.

"At least pretend to greet the Monarch properly! Uncouth young brat! Accursed tree dwellers plucked from the wilderness and given undeserving status!" The Castellan growled, trying to control his fury without much success, other than that he turned an unhealthy dark red color, in contrast to Keya who had paled in fear before him.

The incident forced Glen to intervene.

"It's alright. Rimeros, take a breath. Have some water afore you pop a vein, friend. Else, the aneurysm is just around the corner."

"Apologies, your grace," Rimeros grunted.

"Right. Now, let us use the scribe's table," the Monarch offered and then climbed down the stairs of the Throne platform, to reach them. "Come, both of you. Berthas, Keya. This sneaky fellow is Vulreon O' Kataer. The good scribe will vacate the table for us, but remain close to write some stuff down," Glen added. The bespectacled Vulreon bowed before gathering his quills, inkpots and fresh papyrus to march to one of the other scribe's tables near the east walls of the throne room.

Glen waited for everyone to take a chair and sit down, then turned to Rimeros who had brought a rolled up map with him. Realizing the court official would be busy setting up the map for a few minutes, Glen decided to start himself.

"Berthas you are going to visit queen Elsanne," Glen told the ancient-looking Zilan and his partner or pupil… in this instance it was both. "Assist her discreetly to free the mercenaries and especially Liko, as in the event all the men can't be saved, you should focus on him."

"Bert Ottis," Jinx —who had approached their table— started saying, but Glen stopped her.

"Bert is lying."

"You've intimidated him," Jinx snapped. "And you heard that Martell is committed in getting them out!"

"It's the part I don't believe," Glen explained and pointed at the map. "How is he going to get them out? The queen's letter describe the matters one way, the Gallant Dogs give different interpretation. Had I asked the Duke of blasted Scaldingport fer his opinion, mayhap I would have received yet a third perspective!" Glen breathed out and then signed for Rimeros to begin. Before the Castellan could, Berthas cleared his throat and raised his arm to ask for permission to speak.

"Yes, Berthas?" Glen asked calmly.

"Why are we helping the Queen of Kaltha, Hardir?" The much-younger than Rimeros -despite his looks- Zilan mage asked. Berthas was an Elderborn no less, with his grandfather being Lord Suraer, the insanely long-time serving Governor of Lo-Minas and his mother the Elderborn Ranger Lady Aelinole. In a bloodline that included the prehistoric Shaelor (the dragon-rider of Gilvaris) but also the Elderbloods Nuala and her sister Lyrael. "Nobody likes Issirs."

"First of all, this isn't true," Glen argued, crooking his mouth. "I do. Second, this Issir lass is friendly and we want friendly people ruling in other kingdoms. Thirdly… eh, Rimeros can you take over? I need to have a goblet of wine, my mouth dried up."

Rimeros showed them a map of the Issir capital's greater principality. He used a foot-long stick to point at the different names and routes of the newly-drawn map, based on the input of merchants, travelers, but mainly Doris Alden's recollections.

"The Kaltha Queen is trying since the end of summer to take the city," Rimeros explained. "But little progress has been made," he pointed at Reinut's Gulf shores. "For example at Eagleport, one of the capital's two harbors and in this case the saltwater one, the army of Castalor that had found a great rhythm before the summer securing Khan's Landing, Colle and Jaw Castle, has stalled. In fact, they haven't made any gains for months."

"The Khanate was retreating perhaps? But now they can retreat no more and this exposed Castalor's poor tactics?" Berthas asked rather perceptively, but Glen grimaced as he wanted this boring part over as soon as possible, in order to free up his schedule.

"Could be a factor, but the truth is the Khanate still controls the Shallow Sea and can resupply both cities," Rimeros replied.

"Can't the Issirs block the river route?" Berthas probed.

"It's a challenge to control it for both sides, yet the Duke's men have likely created issues for Pourem," Rimeros clarified.

"We don't care whether Elsanne triumphs in the siege or not. Sure, it would be nice if she did, but that's not the ultimate goal. All we want is for her not to fail and for our own friends to come back safe," Glen interjected. "We're already supporting her with funds and mercenaries. We're also providing ships. However, we need someone on the ground who will prioritize our interests. The first issue, which the Queen seems unable to resolve for some reason, is the release of all mercenary captives, particularly Liko, who is a damn officer and a personal friend!"

"Bert Ottis promised us that an effort will be made to rescue them by force," Rimeros stated. "But even though the plan was presented in a positive manner, the Monarch remains skeptical."

"Not about the strategy," Glen grumbled. "A surprise attack could succeed; this is a massive city, very difficult to guard," he exhaled heavily and then rubbed his forehead. "I just don't understand why they are not pressuring Pourem to release the prisoners. She could trade supplies for them directly if they don't want coin. An assault runs the risks of failure and I have no patience for failure, especially when our own people are involved or are in danger. Right Berthas?" Glen queried knowing the Zilan wouldn't find any fault in that.

Glen's broad catchphrase our own people or friends, meant my own people and my own friends and not the Kingdom's per se.

"What if Martell's plan succeeds?" Jinx asked. "I could go instead—"

"You can't," Glen cut her off.

"Ivasaar offered to fly me there," Whisper retorted with a pout and Glen turned to look into the Gish's eyes all-serious.

"You understand flying is a dangerous sport right?"

Also fuck Ivasaar for being so bloody annoying!

Stay in yer neck of the plaguin' woods buddy!

Leave my friends alone!

"I wasn't going to take up his offer, fool!" Jinx argued and rolled her eyes.

"Because we are friends and that goon is too intrusive?" The still miffed with Ivasaar Glen reasoned.

"What's that got to do…? I'm scared of wyverns, you dork!" Jinx pursed her mouth angry.

"I thought that had gone away," Glen retorted.

"It wasn't a common cold or last summer's boil!" Whisper Jinx hissed in protest. "I'm a Gish. It's in our blood! You know this."

Glen smacked his lips and stared at the table's surface for a long moment, afore speaking. "You make no god darn sense," he finally told the snarling in frustration Jinx. "Seriously."

Rimeros cleared his throat. "It's a big journey, Hardir," the Castellan reminded the perturbed Monarch, who gave a nod and allowed the Zilan official to finish up the briefing.

Aelrindel approached the scribe's table, after the couple had departed with Rimeros and Jinx in order to secure enough supplies for their journey.

Alongside a transport of course.

"Aelinole's boy?" The witch probed and Glen nodded. "Who is the father?"

"The adventurer. Old Ebe Framtond," Glen was about to head upstairs to check up on his daughter, but the witch's reply made him stop. "What did you say?"

"I said strange," Aelrindel replied with a shrug and traced her finger on Jelin's shores. The blue waves came alive on the painted map, some of the cities and villages turning lifelike with moving herds, even 'real' smoke rising from the tiny castles depicted on the velum.

"How?" Glen asked, watching the whole map changing with the witch's magic.

"Berthas shouldn't have any arcane powers, and yet he does clearly," Aelrindel elucidated. "A union between a Zilan and a human should not have produced a mage, theoretically."

"Could it have produced a mediocre mage?" Glen probed and reaching sunk a finger inside Shallow Sea's blue waters. Fucking impressive! He thought and brought the 'soaked' finger to his mouth, only to realize it was completely dry and stained with blue ink.

"Berthas isn't a mediocre mage," Aelrindel argued. "He's just young. How did he end up so damaged?"

"He tried to forcefully extract a curse out of a fetus," Glen replied hoarsely. "We talked of this some, inside the garden."

"Ena's curse should have killed him outright," Aelrindel said with a cute frown. "Since it clearly didn't, you perhaps should protect Berthas until the secret is fully revealed. Not only because you seek to secure Lord Suraer's favor, but to figure out why Nesande shielded him. The old geese might drop dead tomorrow, but the boy has potential."

"What are you saying?" Glen inquired, deep in thought. "Should I send someone else?"

"You shouldn't send him by himself. Include another member in their group, but ensure this new addition is someone very competent, preferably not another Zilan," the sorceress suggested. "I wager there are Issirs in the Queen's court, who despise Zilan just as fervently as some of your subjects do, Glenavon," she remarked, lifting her hand from the map, causing everything to revert to its previous, less-exciting state. Then Aelrindel chimed in as if she had just noticed it happening. "But these same people could talk, even open up to a human."

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