I. This is the direct sequel to 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
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Chapter specific maps of the realms
Sir Emerson Lennox
No con is that long
Suddenly, everything made sense.
Every small little thing falling in its place.
Neatly and with grace, the way only truth could.
The Cofols hunting them, Lord Molders not wanting to speak about it and the High King electing to give up his sister, than confronting the Cofol Prince publicly. He couldn’t. Nine times out o’ ten, his late father used to say; an animal refusing to attack ye is lame, or plaguin’ scared.
Glen stopped suddenly and fell behind them. They were walking down one of the long corridors of the manor to their assigned quarters, following a servant and Sir Arno. Emerson turned, saw him scrunching his face this way and that, before opening his mouth to ask whatever it was bothering him, unable to hold the question in.
“I don’t believe it,” Glen said. “If she was working for them all along, then why risk her life, helping us?”
Emerson had reached him in the meantime, Sir Solomon and the old servant, watching the young man surprised.
“Who is she, young lord?” The servant asked, but Emerson put a hand on Glen’s chest, to stop him from answering.
“Now is not the time,” He told him sternly and added throwing a glare at the curious servant. “He’s on the road for months. Answered enough questions already, I reckon. I’d like to get to our rooms now.”
“Of course, Sir Knight,” The man said, face turned pale.
“Where are the others?” Emerson asked, minutes later, when they reached their bedrooms, via the hall facing a warm and spacious common room, on the second floor of the manor.
“They are staying in the East House, next to the stables, Sir Knight,” The servant replied.
“What about our prisoners?” Glen blurted out, before he’d time to stop him.
His question piqued Sir Solomon’s interest this time.
“We called for a sergeant-at-arms to come and take them,” The grey-haired knight replied. “It will be swift our Lord’s justice, rest assured. By their admission and crimes, there’s nothing to be said really. Their sentence for proven piracy, well established. They’ll hang in Altarin’s main square, two days from now.”
“Can the Lord stay that order?” Emerson asked quickly, not because he thought it unfair, but because he wanted to prevent Glen saying something, they couldn’t take back, or explain away.
“You wish them tortured?” Sir Solomon asked, appalled and a little disappointed.
“No, Sir Arno. I don’t. But the young Lord paid for their delivery and I’d like to see his wishes fulfilled on the matter,” He replied brusquely.
The man took a step back surprised.
“I understand,” He relented, after a thoughtful pause. “What are his wishes, Sir Knight?”
“He will speak on the matter, with Lord Reeves,” Emerson said matter-of-factly.
Sir Solomon grimaced, not liking it.
“Lord Reeves asked not to be disturbed for an hour,” He said through his teeth. “But there will be a private dinner served later, to which young Glenavon is of course invited.”
Emerson grabbed young Glenavon the second, by the collar and pushed him against the wall of their large room, the moment the door closed behind them.
“Gah?” Glen cried out, trying to breathe, eyes ogling scared and his face all flushed and sweating.
“What did we say about mentioning her, lad?” Emerson grunted after a tense moment. He released his grip on him and Glen dropped down on jelly legs.
“I didn’t?” He croaked.
“Ye would have, had I not stopped ye.”
“Did you hear, what he said?” Glen asked, fighting back. “I was surprised, weren’t you?”
“Of course I was! Don’t be an idiot!” Emerson snapped, but caught himself and breathed once deeply to calm down. “We must never mention her. Ever. It is a death sentence, considering how things are right now. The High King is willing to fight the Khan over her, they’ll kill us without batting an eye. Trust me on this one.”
“He’s my grandfather,” Glen said, sounding deflated.
“Aye, lad. He is. Don’t put him in this position.”
“You think she lied?” Glen asked, a moment later.
“Probably,” Emerson replied, clenching his jaw. He used a hand to brush his beard, deep in thought, before adding. “But what ye said earlier, makes sense. She could have killed us twice over all this time, helped herself to the letter, but didn’t. Do you know why?” He asked with a deep sigh.
“She plays the long con?” Glen replied, always distrusting of people. Emerson couldn’t blame him, with all that had happened.
“No con is that long, lad,” He replied with a grimace. “I think, that was another one. Another of her kind, Uher help us.”
The possibility gave him grave concern.
Glen cleared this throat.
“Another… advisor to the Khan?”
“Not advisor ye fool! His spouse more like. They can have three or four of them. Though the Cofols are a bit loose on the terms, their depravity well documented,” Emerson snapped, before explaining it for him.
“When you say loose—” Glen insisted, for some reason stuck on the matter, so Emerson had to stop him dead, with a glare.
“Not a word,” He warned and a sulking Glen had to agree.
A well-rested Lord Reeves raised his eyes to stare at the young man, over his lavish dinner table, a couple of hours later. It was a gamble, Emerson knew it, but he had to offer Glen something, before he snapped and put everyone else in danger. It will take a good deal of time, for him to learn the pitfalls of public life, he thought. Especially, with a war looming over all their heads.
“My Lord,” He started but the Lord of Altarin stopped him with a wave of his hand.
“Let him speak his mind, Sir Lennox.”
“I’d like them spared,” Glen said, sounding nervous. “My Lord.”
“Why?” Lord Reeves asked.
“They asked for clemency and I believe they can repay their debt to society, another way.”
Emerson crossed his arms surprised at his thought out answer.
“What would that way be, young Glenavon?” Lord Reeves asked, examining him carefully.
“Help us in whatever mission, or difficulty, we’ll face next,” Glen replied readily.
Lord Reeves nodded and turned towards the guard standing by the doors of the first floor’s public room.
“Bring them in,” He ordered.
Emerson grimaced, unsure on what the old Lord’s intentions were, as the eight miserable looking former pirates entered. Mr. Stiles leading their lot.
“Are these the men then?” Lord Reeves asked Glen, after he stared their way for a brief moment.
“Aye, my Lord,” Glen answered quickly.
“My grandson,” Lord Reeves started, after hearing his reply. “Has asked for clemency for your crimes. He’s young, but has a good heart, which is to be commented,” One of the pirates smiled at his words, the others looking relieved but for Stiles, who had what was probably, a permanent distrusting scowl on his face. “Won’t you agree?”
“Aye milord!” Several of them eagerly murmured, looking towards a blushing Glen.
“Young Glenavon, your mercy is hereby noted,” Lord Reeves said, steel in his voice. “Sergeant these men are pirates and murderers. My decision stands. Take them away.”
The guard saluted and turned to lead them away.
Glen stepped forward and Emerson frowned knowing he couldn’t stop him in front of his grandfather.
“Wait sergeant,” Lord Reeves said, seeing him trying to think of something to say. “Young Glenavon, you wish to object?”
“Ahm… I’d like a more lenient punishment, my Lord, or an amendment, if you so wish,” A scared Glen muttered. “Not all should perish, at the very least.”
The latter words struck rather strange to Emerson. His whole speech, was peculiar.
“You have a favorite?” His grandfather asked, with a small smile.
“I don’t really…”
“Pick one, young Glenavon,” Lord Reeves said and Emerson narrowed his eyes, furious at the old man’s game. “The one you pick, shall live his life as your slave, in the Eplas custom. The others will face their fate.”
Glen gulped down nervously, a tremor in his right leg visible to all at first. But it went away gradually, face changing, even hardening; the lad turning into a man, before the Knight’s very eyes. Glen turned his head towards the demoralized pirates, as a thoroughly surprised Emerson observed and pointed a thin finger on one of them.
“Spare him,” Glen said, voice firm and commanding, to his rather shocked audience.
It was Stiles, the one he picked.
The man accepted his salvation stoically, managing to not bat an eyelash, while his former colleagues were dragged outside and to their doom, by the guards. Their screams and curses for this betrayal, falling on him and the young Reeves scion alike.
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