Glen

Luthos idea of good fun

To state the wind blowing through Helfort’s Pass was darn cold, was to not do it justice, he thought. There was dust carried within, clouds of it billowing up the walls bordering the cut between the mountains and also tiny pebbles, snow, or even ice that whipped Glen’s face hard, as he squinted his eyes to better see further away.

“Looks empty!” He yelled, more a guess and Jinx half-turned her head, bright pink atop all that fur and yelled right back at him, none pleased.

“There’s a turn a couple of kilometers ahead!”

“Is it long?” He inquired, not perturbed by her hysterics.

‘The Pass? Aye,” Jinx replied, much calmer now. “Ye need a day to walk it and then yer at Snake’s Spine and ye better come right back then, or turn towards the desert, if yer smart.”

Glen nodded, his ‘father’s’ coat over all that armour making him toilsome, but stopping the wind from reaching his bones.

“You’ll be okay?” He asked, offhandly and looking away, to avoid appearing all sad.

“Ayup, don’t worry about it,” Came her reply, sniffing out his undertone. Sharp as a fuckin’ razor. “Stay away from that bounty hunter.”

“Why?”

“Yer not stupid, Glen,” Jinx said and he threw her a glare now. “What did your instinct tell ye?”

He thought about it some, remembering the ambush wasn’t pleasant, since he had to relive Lith turning into a monster and he didn’t want that.

“Everything was… staged. I thought that at first,” Glen said, looking back towards the opening of the foreboding barricade. The shadow coming alive that night inside the yard, was another disturbing memory. “Where do you think he went?”

“He never left,” Jinx replied, with a snort. “Get back behind the barricade. Stay in the open,” Adding after a pause. “Keep that cock in yer pants.”

Glen blinked at the latter. “Fuck’s sake Pretty!” He admonished.

“Oh, shut up. Just stay alive, until I get back,” Came her retort.

“Aye, mom.”

“Ye want a smack on the nose?”

“Do you?”

“Pfft, yer too stupid to survive, it seems,” Whisper turned on her heel and walked towards her mount. The beast towering over her, but she reached the saddle deftly, almost with no effort.

“It may be, but I ain’t that easy to kill!” Glen yelled at her back and she shook her head, before clicking her tongue to gallop away.

Well, that wasn’t half-bad, far as retorts go, Glen thought, with a shiver and a grin. He started walking slowly towards the gate, the new armour weighing him down, but thankfully the wind blowing on his back propelled him forward nicely. A soldier saluted, as he went by, another giving him a nod, which he returned stiffly, standing a little straighter. Val snorted, when he jumped on her saddle and turned her towards the castle.

Glen stopped at a crude stand selling potatoes and small pickled cucumbers in jars, the wretched farmer doing a double take when he noticed him, which the young man found weird.

“Do you have any eggs perchance?” He asked, the sight of the man’s yellow teeth, when he grinned to soften his denial, unsettling.

“No, milord. But these pickles are excellent. A family recipe. Fried, spiced and soaked in vinegar and not brine, and left just the right amount of time—”

“Give me a jar,” Glen said stopping him. “How much is it?”

“Ahm, a copper?” The farmer replied, with a glance at a pretty girl standing beside him, probably his daughter.

Hello there, Glen thought quite interested.

“I’ll give ye a silver, if you keep some fresh eggs for me tomorrow,” Glen offered, with a confident smile at the long-haired blond girl, in the thick blue dress. She returned it, a gleam in her eye and pushed her father away from the stand.

“I can have yer eggs, milord,” She reassured him. “Worry not about it.”

“Kacie, don’t go botherin’, his lordship!” Her father scolded her.

“Oh, it’s no bother,” Glen replied, stooping to give her the silver Eagle. “I’ll be seein’ ye,” He promised her accepting the jar, Kacie’s blush reaching the roots of her hair, when their fingers touched briefly. Glen remembered her father watching them and cleared his throat, standing up straighter; then assuming his well-rehearsed noble façade, the voice matching it, he added.

“You too, dear sir.”

There was commotion on the castle’s gate, when he approached atop Val, the soldiers scrambling to take positions, standing at attention of all fuckin’ things, when he slow-trotted before them. Well, Glen thought, this could be a prank, but if Jinx went and did anything stupid, I’ll have her locked up and feed her all the pickles.

He stared at the jar silently for a moment.

I ought to taste them first, he decided. Not exactly a punishment, if yer giving her a delicacy.

“Here he is,” Zola said, a hint of taunt in her voice. “Our Lord Reeves.” She was standing just outside the kitchen’s door, on the left from him, with Dante and Soren on his right.

“Who’s he?” Soren asked, greatly confused, bushy copper brows raised.

“Glen,” Dante replied, with a calculating smirk.

“Ha-ha,” The Northman guffawed, finding it hilarious for whatever reason.

Glen offered Zola the jar, he still held in his hands.

“What’s this?” Soren inquired, now all serious.

“Pickled cucumbers,” Glen replied and seeing Zola’s amused look, added. “In vinegar.”

“Ah,” Dante exclaimed, appreciating the difference.

“I’ll take it then, milord,” Zola said, with a wink.

Damn, Glen thought, all warmed up inside. It must be the armour. I’m on a fuckin’ roll today!

There was a knight standing next to Sir Emerson, his back turned towards Glen, the aged warrior eyeing him as the young man walked the small distance from the kitchen to meet them. The knight turned hearing him approach, Barbute helm in hand, full set of grey hair cut short, over a familiar face. Sir Solomon Arno looked tired and his cape was drenched in caked mud from the road, a hardness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

“Glen,” Emerson started, a little strained and Glen stopped in his tracks catching something in the man’s voice. “There’s some news from Altarin.”

Not good news was his meaning.

Fuck, have they found out about me? He thought, trying to swallow and failing.

Lie first, then cry, if that fails.

Luthos give helping hand here!

Sir Solomon stepped forward dramatically, his jaw clenched and raised his hand; Glen thought he was going to smack him in the face, steel gauntlet knocking his teeth out and flinched, a scared yelp lodged in his throat. The knight tapped once his plated chest though, in a salute, followed by a smart bow of his dignified head.

“Lord Reeves,” Sir Solomon said, his voice measured and to the point. “I hereby inform you, on the untimely passing of your grandfather.” He’d a scroll in his other hand, which he slowly unfurled.

Glen blinked, in stunned silence. Sir Emerson put a hand on his shoulder comforting, while the young former thief tried to process, what exactly had happened. The latter interrupted, when Sir Solomon started reading from his now opened scroll.

“Hear and obey,” He started, loud enough to be heard by everyone inside the small castle’s yard.

City of Altarin,

Second month of winter,

Year 189 of the New Calendar.

Blessed be the Five.

This is the last Will and Testament of Elliot Reeves, fourth of his name, Lord of Altarin, Duke Gideon Winfield’s of Raoz, first Shield and his grace’s Marshal of Arms.

I, Elliot Reeves, son of Duncan, being sound of mind and body, declare the following to be witnessed and realized by my subjects, in the event of my passing. All my earthly possessions and titles, landed estate and properties owned by my person, are to be bequeathed to one Glenavon Reeves, henceforth to be known as the second, firstborn of my legitimized late son Glenavon Reeves, effective immediately. Furthermore he, Glenavon Reeves, second of his name, henceforth to be also known as Lord of Altarin and its provinces, is to preserve a third of that income and provide the use of my manor in the city of Altarin to his aunt Lady Isla Reeves, for as long as she draws breath…

What in the slovenly fuck, just happened? Glen thought, mouth hanging. He tried desperately to assume a proper expression, fully aware that people were staring, while Sir Solomon continued reading from the scroll, his voice coming out almost incomprehensible to his ears.

He made a step back, just as the knight finished, bowed deeply and before Glen had time to run away, approached him ceremoniously, his aged face solemn, lips pressed in a scowl and offered him a gold signet ring, with a stallion engraved on it. Glen took it numb and turned it this way and that, too stunned to speak, his mouth locked and his head spinning, on the verge of full blown panic.

Sir Solomon’s thunderous voice brought him violently out of his stupor. Sir Emerson joining him a moment later, Soren’s thunderous roar topping both of them, his surprise equaling the young man’s.

“All Hail, the Lord of Altarin!”

“HAIL LORD REEVES!”

“THE LORD OF ALTARIN?”

The rest of the soldiers present in the yard, around thirty of them, quickly caught up and created an enthusiastic rumpus of epic proportions, as a terrified Glen tried desperately to ride through the emotions and the shock of the moment, his knees shaking and barely standing upright. Emerson realizing he was about to collapse, grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him inside their barrack, with Sir Solomon following right behind them.

“Drink,” Emerson told him, putting a cup of wine in his shaking hands.

“Huh, it’s…” Glen started to say, but the Knight stared him intently, before nodding. He gulped down the contents without further protests, some of it spilling on his coat.

“My lord,” Sir Solomon said, as he finished and wiped his mouth with a sleeve. “You must return to Altarin post haste.”

“Ahm, well…” Glen mumbled, still too confused to form a coherent thought.

“Explain to him, what happened,” Emerson grunted, not pleased for whatever reason. Glen trusted the knight though and turned to Sir Solomon quizzing.

“What happened?” Glen asked not exactly sure, what he was looking for. Emerson stooped well into his personal space, to help him with that.

“To his grandfather,” The knight said.

“Yes,” Glen agreed, crossing his arms on his chest, hopping Sir Emerson took the hint and backed off. “What happened to my grandfather, Sir Solomon?” The latter he delivered accusingly.

Sir Solomon Arno grimaced, none happy to divulge the information, but unable to refuse a direct command. He smacked his lips once, a sadness returning to his eyes, before replying gravely.

“Lord Reeves was murdered in his sleep.”

A tick appeared on Glen’s right eye, the words too ominous, on a day that didn’t need any more surprises.

“When you say murdered,” He started, taste of wine in his mouth turning bitter.

“An assassin,” The knight deadpanned. “Sir Laurel was murdered as well.”

Him Glen didn’t much like, but he nodded troubled at the news. What he was supposed to say now? He wondered, casting a side glance at the frowning Emerson.

“Have we… found out the culprit?” He finally asked, seeing the knight wasn’t going to help him there.

Sir Solomon snorted, a grimace distorting his face, the failure probably a personal stain on his honor. When he finally opened his mouth to answer him, the sound of thunderous galloping and much yelling coming from the yard, stopped him dead.

“What in Uher’s name?” Emerson exclaimed, before rushing outside. Glen went after him, all curious and Sir Solomon left behind, mouth still hanging open, sighed and followed them back out.

“Speak out lad!” Marcus barked, right hand firmly grasping at the reins of the soldier’s horse to calm it down. It was one of the sentries posted at the barricade, Glen noticed, recognizing the young soldier from before.

“Lady Jinx returned,” The soldier gasped, all flushed and tense from riding like a madman from his post to report. Haha that was bloody fast! I bet she rode for a bit to pass the time and came right back. Glen thought with a smirk, slipping the gold ring on his middle finger, now that no one was paying attention to him.

“What did she find?” Emerson asked, steel in his voice forcing Glen to return to the conversation unfolding before him.

“Khan’s banners,” The hapless man replied, scared shitless. “The whole darn Pass is flooded wit soldiers!”

And with that everyone present turned as one and looked at him expectantly.

Glen closed his eyes, his heart sinking to his stomach. Trouble loves her fuckin’ company, he thought, despair oozing out of him in waves, and Luthos idea of good fun, left much to be desired.