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Glen

Mister Garth

Hardir O’ Fardor

The Surveyor

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In the old days,

All folk had their own gods

Whether wit whispers or in dreams

Spirits and demons kept them awed,

either in passionate reverence or horror’s screams

Hence they gave prays

Be it to Dark Places, the Wyverns or the Beasts of Odd

_

Ancient Zilan lullaby

Unknown date

 

 

 

A disheveled Glen walked briskly to the edge of the river’s banks and stared frustrated at the damp greenery. The cattails and tall reeds made it difficult for him to see where the water started. The insects buzzing enraged, their diversity ranging from the thumb sized mosquitos, to the fist-sized giant hornets that could take a punch or two, afore going down.

“Oi, look at that! Angrein says there was a bridge here,” Jinx said. She’d followed him from their camp. The men had cleared the site around the entrance, located the old Imperial stone-paved road and then followed it towards the river. “But since its rain season, it might have sunk under. I thought he was pulling at my tits.”

Glen blinked at the misuse of the phrase.

“Do bridges sink Whisper?” He asked her in a coaching manner that was to disappear faster than spittle in the desert.

“My isles do. Uhm…” she replied and Glen glanced at her frustrated. It wasn’t her fault though and he was sensible enough to admit it. Glen was still rattled after almost getting killed by that monstrous chicken, or whatever the hells a plaguing Ostrich is.

I mean what in Luthos shaved n’ shriveled balls!

Darn meat hard as dry leather and tasting of bloody sulfur!

“So we clear the banks of reeds?” He asked her instead and stepped away from a root sneaking up on him.

Because there is this fuckin’ shite to worry about as well!

“Or wait for the road to point us in the right direction?” She argued much as Jinx habitually did.

“This might take a week,” Glen hissed. “Where’s the nearest city?”

“No cities left standing Glen,” Jinx said. “And I don’t think they know. Angrein had left the Empire before the catastrophe and Flix… well, he’s not really talking much.”

“Why is that?” Glen probed.

Jinx shrugged her shoulders, looking at the hidden river longingly. “He won’t say.”

Glen sighed. “You know getting in there is dangerous right?” He told her. “We’ll find a proper spot with drinkable water and safe enough for ye to soak in it.”

“I’m kinda disappointed,” she admitted. “I expected more from this adventure.”

“It’s not your fault,” Glen said, sounding like the late Captain Blackwood. “Yes, we lost some people, but they knew the risks Whisper.”

Glen surely didn’t.

“Nobody knew anything Glen,” Jinx replied, pointing out the obvious, as if she was reading his mind. “We thought it was going to be an escort mission.”

Ah, Glen grimaced seeing her so troubled. “It still is an escort mission,” he said to her small back, as she’d turned away to return to their horses.

Glen sighed deeply and went after her, but paused two strides in seeing out of the corner of his eye an Ostrich’s ugly head popping out from behind the reeds. The bird blinked seeing him and lowered its head to hide again. That stupid thing is standing in the fuckin’ river, Glen thought turning around.

“Glen?” Jinx queried from his back, seeing him walking back towards the river’s bank again, sword in hand.

The Ostrich head appeared again, large eyes ogling even more seeing him approach and letting out a honk-like cry turned around and hoofed it hard to escape.

“What the actual fuck?” Glen cursed running after it, hearing the two large hind legs pounding on the river’s surface going away from him. He burst out of the reeds, bugs and mud-covered reeds smacking him in the face, boots stumbling on something and almost going down. Glen expected to find Merodras flowing angry and barring his way, bloated and deep. The river did in a sense. Glen also found that bridge, water going over it but still visible and saw that large Ostrich crossing it fast to reach the other side.

“Hah!” Glen guffawed after finding his footing and heard Jinx coming up behind him.

“Wow,” the Gish said simply.

“Get yer plaguing bow out Whisper,” Glen rustled breathing heavy, a boot stabbing down the ancient stonework to gauge its sturdiness. “Kill that vicious beast for cryin’ out loud!”

Jinx started chuckling seeing his expression taking it as a jest and slapped his back a couple of times, until she realized the murderous look on his sickly face wasn’t an act.

“It’s harmless Glen,” she argued smiling nervously. “It lays eggs like a chicken.”

“So does Biscuit apparently,” Glen retorted not convinced. “I remember ye screamin’ a-plenty the first time ye saw him!”

 

---

 

Glen stared at the caravan and the men gathered to check on the ancient flooded bridge. Kalac had twenty riders with him. He had more, but they’ve lost four crossing the underground passage. Angrein, Metu, Fikumin, the three Gish and Soren. Sam Mathews sporting a bandaged arm and the two guards Ottis had provided and Glen knew from Rida made it another ten. Plus the three wagons.

“A carriage at a time,” Angrein told him. “Animals and people follow.”

“What’s over the river?” Glen asked him.

“The road to Goras,” the Blacksmith replied. “But Goras is no more. This is a different place now Garth.”

“Was it safer back then?”

“Less trees, regulated fauna and clear roads.”

Glen called bullshit on all three points.

“How much wildlife can we expect?” Glen asked him.

“We’ve enough people and weapons,” Angrein said, skirting around the topic.

“Unless? Ye hesitated at the end,” Glen noticed.

“I’ve been gone for a long time Garth.”

Everyone else had the same idea apparently.

Get away from this place.

“Flix?”

“If you want to reach Goras, you need to cross the bridge,” Flix replied. “The old road follows the river on the other side and the coast next.”

“Why not go straight? Reach that place…”

“Hunter’s Watch mount.”

“That.”

“It’s not easy to cut away through the big trees. Imperial Zilan avoided it,” the old Gish explained. “Plus the woods were always full of dangers.”

“And the tunnel wasn’t?”

“The coastal road is easier to follow.”

“Is this you cautioning me not to cross the jungle and head straight there?”

“You need to find Wyvern’s Mouth. It’s a gulf and was a port at some point. You find that, you’ll find Goras.”

“How big was it?” Glen asked.

Goras was his meaning.

Flix shrugged his shoulders. “The size of Raoz,” he finally said and the men gasped hearing him.

“You mean Rida,” Glen corrected him.

“No,” Flix replied. “I meant the Duchy.”

For fuck’s sake.

“Right,” he said, clearing his throat. “Let’s get this over with. Alix you go first friend. You seem like a lad that has crossed a tight bridge afore.”

“I’d like to have mister Soren accompany me or Lady Jinx,” Alix retorted.

“You may not,” Glen countered in an unyielding manner. “I want yer expertise and undivided attention on this. Furthermore Soren is weighing a ton.”

“Haha!” Soren guffawed. “I weigh more than him!”

“That’s was his meaning doofus,” Jinx admonished him and Soren frowned deeply troubled.

Alix groaned in frustration.

“What about the jungle?” Jinx asked him.

“I have an idea, but I’ll need to think on it some more,” Glen replied.

 

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Four hours later they had crossed Merodras, the last of the covered wagons going over slowly as they had to push it over. It had lost a wheel, after cracking its axle and they begrudgingly agreed it would be better to fix it after they have crossed and had access to the better timber on the other side of the big river.

With night falling the work was postponed for the next morning as dragging the wagon across the muddy terrain had exhausted both men and animals.

“What kind of tree is this?” Glen asked standing under the first big trees of the thick jungle that started some distance from the river.

“It’s a temple tree,” Flix explained.

“How tall is it?” He asked as the branches disappeared twenty meters over their heads. “Can we use it to repair the wagon?”

“I wouldn’t. It’s lightweight wood, good for boats. The one next to it though is ironwood. Much harder than hardwood. Good for ship-building, or a wagon’s axle.”

“Can we fell it with axes?” Glen asked.

“It’s wood Garth,” Flix replied with a smile. “Yes.”

Wow, old Gish humor, he thought sourly.

“Hmm. There’s no way we can get the carriages through this,” Glen said, after a moment of consideration.

“What is the alternative?”

“Send them down the coastal road,” Glen replied. “But it will take them a while to circle back.”

“Sam Mathews can lead the caravan,” Flix agreed. “Why not follow it?”

“This mist over the river leaves us little room to see what’s up ahead,” Glen said and pointed at the visible mountain range. “That’s Hunter’s Watch, that plateau will give us a fine view of the jungle and that Gulf.”

“You’ll still have to cross it,” Flix argued.

“Can it be done?”

“A large enough group can do it, but half the Horselords need to follow the caravan. That’s too many animals to bring into the jungle.”

“You expects us to walk?” Glen asked.

“And climb, I’ve no idea if there’s a road going to that plateau.”

“I’m bringing a horse Gish.”

“Of course Garth.”

 

---

 

Glen walked to the edge of the jungle and stared at the dark canopy over him. Some of the trees massive in size, their trunks as big as houses. A score of people could hide behind one and you wouldn’t know it. Or a big animal.

He checked the sky for Biscuit, but the Wyvern hadn’t appeared since they’ve entered the tunnel. Can he cross over the mountains? Glen wondered. I mean flying gives him an advantage there. How fucking difficult could it be?

“Where are you buddy?” He asked and smacked his lips, the sounds coming from the trees disconcerting. They sounded liked cackles.

A branch snapped and he turned around sending light on the pale-colored tree trunk and the small broken branch that had dropped from it. The wood at its core a coal black. Glen could see it, right where the branch had snapped. An ebony tree. Glen walked there, picked up the branch and then looked up trying to discern what had made it snap. He failed as no amount of light could penetrate the darkness. While not deep in the jungle, the moonlight didn’t reach his spot. He stared at the black heart of the branch again, remembering Sen’s love for the expensive hardwood.

Glen crooked his mouth, missing his wife and turned to see a small monkey with a white head staring at him.

Ooh-ooh, ah-ah, the monkey said making the most ridiculous of faces and turned its head back towards the jungle.

“Ahm,” Glen replied unsure.

Ooh-ooh, the monkey insisted with a frown.

Feeling silly Glen reached for his dagger.

Ah-ah, the monkey warned him.

“He wants his branch back,” a female voice said, a singing quality to her Imperial. Glen froze and turned slowly towards the newcomer. Long-legged, her cobalt hair cut very short, elongated Zilan ears pointy at the end. She wore soft leather pants, same material boots and a silk tunic that reached her thighs. She carried a good quality black leather satchel, no weapons and her striking dark blue -with a touch of green- eyes smiled seeing Glen’s scrutiny.

Her face didn’t have Lith’s attractiveness, but it still had a fine quality about it, something rare and refined.

Perhaps deceptively unthreatening.

“Who are you?” Glen asked her in common and she stepped gracefully into the open.

“I’m Aenymriel,” the Zilan said switching in common, with a soft smile that kept her predator’s teeth concealed. A very deliberate act. “A surveyor.”

“Is that a job?” Glen asked taking a cautious step to the side.

While he was fond of pretty Zilan, Glen was also conscious of the fact that they were ranging from unpredictable to right murderous. Cannibals even.

Ooh-ooh! The monkey replied. Glen turned and tossed the small branch his way. The monkey caught it, gave it a thorough sniff and then dropped it. With a cackle he opened his small hands revealing small membranes underneath and jumping high on the trunk flew up the tree.

Literally.

“Whoa,” Glen gasped and the Zilan laughed seeing his reaction.

“It’s a flying monkey,” she explained and switched to Imperial again. “You speak the Old Tongue.”

Glen looked at her for a moment.

“Maybe I do. Maybe I also think curious Zilan popping out of the woodwork aren’t to be trusted.”

“I was walking the woods,” she explained not insulted. “In a sense, you’re the one that popped out in front of me.”

That was a dodge, Glen thought, but she didn’t appear dangerous and he was fully armed.

“Name’s Garth,” Glen said, impressed at her composure. “The fires over there are my people. I’m an explorer.”

“Looking for treasure?” She asked, not even bothering to look towards the caravan.

“Is there any treasure left?” Glen countered with a query.

It didn’t hurt to ask.

“Some, but most of it is gone, I fear,” Aenymriel replied not missing a beat, her eyes glowing in that strange shade of blue, another rarity. She isn’t bad-looking at all, he thought. A pretty race if there ever was one. “Then again, what isn’t valuable to me, might be valuable to you Garth, or vice versa. Garth… of what I wonder?” She teased.

Glen smiled and shook his head. “I knew there was a Zilan in there,” he told her and she raised a thin cobalt brow.

“You know of others?” She asked.

“I do. A number of them,” Glen replied. “Come, let us share a cup of wine.”

“Is this a lewd suggestion?” The alluring Zilan asked.

“No, it’s a casual expression and an offer,” Glen said a little tensely, but she took it in stride.

“Apologies Garth,” she replied sounding genuine. “I haven’t really socialized in a while.”

 

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Jinx’s eyes bore holes into the Zilan’s back. Most of the men had collapsed too tired from the rough journey, but for the Gish of course. Flix and Alix appeared thoroughly impressed when he returned with the unknown Zilan female in tow.

“Aenymriel is a surveyor,” Glen explained, although he’d no idea what that was. “I found her in the woods.”

“What where you doing there dear?” Jinx asked her narrowing her eyes. “Counting the trees? Maybe peeing? I do that as well. Ye have to remember to wipe afterwards, it leaves a stain.”

“Whisper can you be a bit more polite for Luthos sake?” Glen blasted her.

“One follows a routine, even after the need for it has expired,” the Zilan answered and Alix stepped forward, well into her personal space.

“Indigo Spirit of the Woods,” he started all serious, making a reference to the strange tone of her irides, his voice lowering an octave for the next part. “Let’s start now a fresh routine filled to the brim wit sweet passion. Make this night memorable.”

Aenymriel blinked her large striking eyes unsure, but not entirely uninterested and Flix chuckled greatly enjoying the younger male’s shenanigans.

“Jinx get Alix to bed,” Glen intervened to avoid a diplomatic incident.

“There’s no need for beds,” Alix argued unwilling to give up so easily. “Let this grass be our mattress, the sky above our roof,” he turned to the smiling Zilan for the finale. “And our naked bodies filled with all the heat we’ll ever seek to find.”

The Zilan raised a brow impressed.

That darn motherfucker is almost there, Glen thought approvingly. Has his foot to her door.

“Alright,” Jinx said and shoved him away, breaking the moment. “That’s enough lover. Move along now.”

“You keep a very diverse company Garth,” the Zilan told him, when the two of them had walked away.

“I’ve traveled a lot,” Glen replied.

“Where will you go now?”

Glen shrugged his shoulders. “How about you join us? You help us out, we are the good guys after all.”

“Hmm. What does the old Gish think? Should I join your friendly circle?” She asked and Flix blinked a visible shiver running through him.

“Flix doesn’t have a problem wit it,” Glen told her and eyed the speechless Gish curious. What had gotten into him? He wondered. Flix wasn’t easily rattled or spooked. “You’re welcomed to stay.”

“I have an errant to run,” she explained. “If you reveal your destination though, I’ll meet you there Garth.”

“Wyvern’s Mouth Gulf,” Glen said. “But there’s no path through the jungle.”

“A path exists but peril awaits the unprepared,” Aenymriel replied with a cryptic smile.

“I’ve been to some freaky places woman,” Glen grunted.

“I’m female,” she corrected him in her nonchalant manner, adding almost conspiratorially. “Can you read the stars Garth?”

Glen couldn’t, so the female Zilan showed him.

 

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Angrein set his jaw hearing his proposal.

Great, Glen thought.

“We will meet in a month,” he explained.

“I shall follow Garth,” the hale man said and Kalac agreed with him.

“We will see this to the bitter end,” he said.

Fuck’s sake.

“Who will lead your men?” Glen asked trying not to roll his eyes at their melodrama.

“Tarn shall make sure the caravan reaches its destination.”

“Angrein your wagon-forge won’t make it through the jungle,” Glen said turning to the Blacksmith. "The Imperial road while abandoned is still there and solid under the wheels.”

“Tarn will drive it then,” Angrein insisted. “I shall follow you. Why change your mind though? Was it that Zilan? Where is she now?”

Aenymriel had left before dawn promising to meet them at the outskirts of Goras.

Wherever that was.

“She showed us a way,” Glen said. “Flix?”

The old Gish placed the pipe in his mouth and grunted.

“There,” Glen continued with a grimace of annoyance. “The Gish agrees.”

“I wouldn’t trust her,” the Blacksmith insisted.

“Why?” Glen glared at him. “For all we know she’s even more of an Imperial than you.”

“I didn’t know you had an alliance with them Garth. And the old empire had many factions, even more enemies.”

“Like what?” Glen asked. “The Aken?”

“That’s one thing, there are rebels, cults of the old Gods, even criminals,” Angrein explained.

“This fucking place looks more like wilderness than a city Angrein. That’s a whole lotta of jungle over there and I haven’t seen any loot yet,” Glen argued, ducking under a fat fly or a beetle thingy that buzzed over his head. “Fucking all-hells! What was that shite?”

“Let them come with us Glen,” Jinx advised him, after he calmed down and he sighed giving in.

“Fine. Soren, Angrein and Kalac with his…” Kalac showed him three riders. “Three lads,” Glen continued. “Myself, Metu and the Gish, Fiku—”

“The name’s Fikumin!” The dwarf growled.

“What he said,” Glen moved on not wanting to dwell on the dwarf’s insecurities. “Mathews, Tarn and Belec with the rest will bring the caravan from the coastal road, providing it is still there.”

“Master Garth,” Metu said probably wanting to ask permission to travel with the caravan, but Glen beat him to it mistaking his reaction for eagerness.

“It’s alright dear Metu. I know you yearned to come along wit me,” he told him and Metu forced a smile on his lips quite comical and then bowed deeply.

Eh, he’s overdoing it a bit perhaps, but he’s as solid as they come, Glen thought.

“Gratitude for the opportunity to serve Master Garth,” the slave croaked.

 

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Glen heard a monkey cackling, the creature following them flying from branch to branch over their heads. The ‘path’ through the thick vegetation hidden, but still existing, just as the Zilan surveyor had told him. There was an old stone road crossing the jungle. Wild roots, bushes and grass had covered it, but it was solidly built and didn’t allow the big trees to grow on its surface. The width of it massive at almost twenty meters across. The jungle had created a roof over it, the big trees lined up at the edges thick and impregnable almost.

“These trees were planted here,” Jinx told him. She was following after the machete-carrying Glen. Glen of course wasn’t clearing the road ahead of them anymore. He’d left the job to Soren who was walking in front of him. After the former thief had started the day hacking with enthusiasm, he quickly realized there was considerable labor involved in the process and no end in sight.

“This doesn’t seem like an un-trotten path,” Glen commented, parts of the ancient road half-cleared already, cut branches and roots everywhere. “Animals follow it as well.”

“It makes sense,” Alix said.

The better part about it was you didn’t get soaked immediately when rain started falling. It was also colder under the trees, but not by much. The sounds of nature coming in waves, ever present. Birds chirping, monkeys and insects. The buzzing and the whistling of the breeze amidst the trees, followed by a cacophony of croaks and a variety of shrieks.

The trees becoming bigger, their branches starting high over them and disappearing in the semi-darkness. The light coming through meager. At the end of the day they cleared a large patch of the ancient road completely and down to its solid granite slates, to make camp.

“How much work to have this cleared?” Glen asked Angrein. “The shit they’ve used is still there, sturdy as fuck.”

“You need workers and someone with a plan. Why would you clear the road Garth?”

“Look at all this fine wood Angrein,” Glen told him. “Lon had to pay an arm and a leg to secure enough to build a single gate back in Eikenport. They had to work on it, to make it last. This shit, even if we don’t find anything of worth is crazy valuable.”

“What do you expect to find?”

“In Goras?” Glen shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, what do you expect to find?”

Angrein frowned and stared into the flames for a while. “Purpose,” he said after a while. “Something of worth, I suppose.”

“No merchant will want to cross that tunnel Glen,” Jinx said, her head resting on his shoulder. The Gish had really suffered from lack of proper sleep in the journey.

“Whisper, a merchant will cross burning lava for profit,” Glen replied.

Thieves as well.

“Uhm,” Whisper murmured.

“You don’t agree?” He asked turning to watch her half-sleeping, her pink head a mess.

“Twas a yawn,” Jinx replied truthfully. “Can you remove yer armor? It bits into my skin.”

Glen didn’t remove his armour, but he tasked Metu with finding a pillow for the young Gish. It came as no surprise to Glen that the slave had brought several with him.

The Cofols love their fuckin’ pillows!

 

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On the fifth day of their journey the jungle started thinning on the southeast course the old road was leading them. The beasts of the jungle had stayed away, whether by lack, or design Glen didn’t know. That afternoon Flix who hadn’t said much for days and looked more worn out than usual ordered Soren to stop. The Northman had gone to clear out a fallen tree that barred their path along with Angrein, Kalac and his riders.

“What is it Flix?” Glen asked and walked near him.

“The jungle is quiet.”

“It does that at times,” Glen argued and looked around them, the trees and shrubbery blocking his view beyond the pathway, along that massive trunk of course.

“I smell of the sea,” Jinx said approaching them.

“I can’t smell shit,” Glen complained, his voice hoarse. “The whole system has clogged up from the fuckin’ air in here!”

“You want a hankie?” Jinx offered and got a dirty cloth out of a side pocket. “Blow hard on it and it will help or it will make yer ears pop.”

Uh.

Glen wasn’t going to touch that with a ten foot pole.

“Angrein what felled the tree?” Flix asked loud enough for the Blacksmith to hear, breaking the awkward moment.

“I’ll have a look,” the man replied and walked the length of the massive trunk to reach its roots, still hidden at the side of the road where the trees were thicker.

“We can lift it away, it’s like a ton only,” Soren argued looking back.

“How about we push it aside big guy?” Kalac countered. “A ton sounds like a darn lot.”

“Ha-ha!” Soren guffawed finding humor where there was none.

Glen had started heading there in the meantime, worried at the old Gish’s reaction.

“Soren what’s beyond it?” He yelled rushing towards their position.

“More road?” Soren replied unsure. He was tall enough to look over it.

Glen reached there and started climbing up the rough ironwood trunk. Soren helped him to the top with a shove. The strength behind it shocking. Glen almost went over it and down the other side, but managed to find his footing at the last possible moment, boots skimming at the hard bark. He grunted pretty miffed at the big Northman and was about to give him an earful, but he spotted a girl running towards the blocked part of the road and paused in alarm.

Glen became aware of a couple of things worth of note immediately. The road was pretty decently cleaned for starters. The girl was a Zilan, her short tunic leaving a lot of skin bare and her cobalt hair was billowing behind her as she dashed forward like a gazelle. Being as she was almost fifty meters from the trunk and closing in fast Glen could see her face clearly.

The poor girl was extremely scared.

“It’s cut with a darn axe,” Angrein reported with a grunt and the Zilan gasped in terrified agony, hands clasping at her chest where a bloody arrow had just burst out. The next moment she lost her footing and went down cracking her skull open on the mostly cleared granite slates.

 

Shuddering she let out a small pained whimper and then died.

 

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Aenymriel, the Queen's Surveyor (?)