Glen

Mister Garth

Hardir O’ Fardor

The Veils of Nether

Part I

-Castes, Priests & Beasts of Odd-

“SHITE!”

Glen made to jump from the massive tree trunk to help the poor girl, realized it wasn’t the smartest thing to do half-way through and by the time he turned around to jump back towards his friends the Zilan was laying down in a pool of her own blood fully dead. The jungle road quiet again.

“What happened?” Flix asked when Glen dropped down from the trunk, his boots sinking in the soft soil.

“Someone just killed a Zilan girl.”

“No dammit!” Alix gasped in shock.

Glen stared at him numbly, not expecting his reaction.

“Yer Surveyor?” Jinx asked with a frown, having gauged the reason for the male Gish’s anguish.

Ah, that makes sense.

He turned his eyes on the female Gish. “It wasn’t her.”

“Did you see who it was?” Kalac asked and signed for his unmounted riders to circle around the fallen tree.

“I didn’t,” Glen replied. “Keep your heads down,” He warned the three Horselords. “Whomever shot that arrow is a darn fine shot.”

“There’s someone coming towards her,” Soren reported, he head clearing the trunk easily. “Big eared dude.”

“Don’t engage,” Glen told Kalac and went to climb up the trunk again.

“Was she armed?” Jinx asked him. “That girl.”

Glen paused and glanced at her. “I don’t think so.”

“Better not stand up there then,” Jinx advised him.

“He’s going for the girl,” Soren reported.

Glen puffed out hard.

“Whisper can you cover me?” He asked her.

Jinx nodded and went to get her bow.

“Soren?” Glen asked next, wanting an update.

“Ah,” Soren replied and Glen turned to look into his face.

“What?”

One of Kalac’s men giving them the answer, peeking through the tree's branches.

“Bastard just cut her head off!”

Glen snapped his way alarmed.

“Ah,” Soren said again still in shock.

“Fuck’s sake,” Glen cursed and rushed up the trunk.

Wishing that he hadn’t.

The Zilan paused, bloody heavy cleaver in one hand, a severed arm in the other. The girl’s head left by her mutilated body. The gore turning the soil a darker shade of red. He turned his yellow eyes on him, as Glen rose up the massive trunk. He had a pale and long face, a shaved head with three red stripes painted on his forehead. His armor made of different pieces, both chainmail and leather. Another sword strapped on his waist, but no bow.

Fuck’s sake, Glen repeated.

Where’s the other?

“What are you doing?” He asked him after an awkward moment had gone by and the Zilan narrowed its eyes and got up. Tall and lanky, sinewy in build.

“Sinya Nore,” He hissed. “You are a long way from home.”

“Name’s Garth,” Glen retorted, an eye on him, the other searching for the bastard that had shot that arrow, still hidden somewhere behind the trees on both sides of the road. “How do you know?”

“Know what?” The Zilan asked him dropping the chopped arm on the girl’s body.

“We’re not from here,” Glen replied and jumped down from the trunk. He started walking towards him, in an attempt to mess up with his associate’s aim.

“We?” The Zilan asked frowning. Those red lines are running down his face, but have washed off a bit, Glen noticed. War paint? He didn’t know.

“I have a hundred soldiers with me,” Glen lied without batting an eyelash.

The Zilan showed him his teeth.

“You should turn back,” He advised him.

“What are you doing?” Glen rustled repeating his query, having had enough of this weird back and forth. “What is this shite?”

“Turn back Sinya Nore. Pelleas rules these lands and the Veils of Nether.”

Glen sighed and glanced at the mutilated corpse of the girl.

“What are you gonna to do wit that arm?” Glen asked the Zilan again and he smiled with a carnivorous mouth, the front fangs that of a lion.

“Glen!” Jinx yelled a warning, just as the Zilan sidestepped in front of him leaving Glen exposed to his friend.

“Uh-oh,” Glen gasped dropping to a knee, two arrows zipping over his head. One flying one way, the other the complete opposite, shot from behind him. He jumped sideways and into a roll, leaves and broken branches caked with mud covering him. Glen saw a Zilan stumbling out of its cover, an arrow stuck in his right arm and another two rushing just behind him coming towards the tumbling former thief.

Glen stood up, another arrow fired over him, made to unsheathe his sword, but caught the cleaver coming rotating end-over-end out the corner of his eye and jerked his torso back in a desperate attempt to avoid it.

“Ugh!” He groaned, the blade thudding on his shoulder, cutting through his armour, but stopping there for a moment afore dropping down. Glen stumbled back two steps, his arm numb, saw the first Zilan rushing him sword in hand and clenching his teeth hard went for his blade again.

The Zilan swung at him, but Glen jumped back, then sidestepped a lunge, all this time trying to get his own sword out but failing. The Zilan hissed and tried again, the blade biting his armour, but Glen landed a kick on his opponent's thigh managing to push him away.

He got Emerson’s longsword out, a permanent grimace on his face, the pain on his shoulder excruciating. The Zilan smiled again not intimidated and Glen heard the sound of feet tapping behind his back which sort of explained his opponent’s mirthfulness.

The Zilan was facing the trunk though and Soren’s massive figure landing behind him axe in hand, had equalized the situation. Glen showed the dumbfounded at the giant’s appearance Zilan his middle finger and turned around to face his friends.

Which was easier said than done.

The first of the Zilan brigands, wearing a muscled cuirass and steel vambraces went for a savage slash Glen barely dodged. He jerked away, almost turning an ankle and smacked the second man’s spear thrust to the side with the flat of his blade, managing to recover.

The second Zilan hissed furious initially, then groaned in pain, when two arrows pierced the ancient piece of studded leather armour he had on, one after the other.

Glen went to cut him across the chest as he stood there stunned, but his friend stopped him parrying his blade aside. The former thief had to duck under a wild returning swing, but got blindsided by a heavy left hook in the face, his nose turning into a leaking faucet and had to stumble away his chin painted red.

Dazed as a headless chicken and gulping down blood.

“Argh! Eh,” The injured Zilan gasped, now sporting a third arrow on his chest and went down. The one with the Hoplite’s cuirass snarled seeing his friend perish and sidestepped to put Glen between the archers and himself. Kalac’s riders and Jinx had to stop shooting as they were standing too close to each other now. The Horselords, who had circled around the gigantic fallen tree, got their sabers out and charged Glen’s opponent, who jumped away keeping him in Jinx’s field of view.

Glen stepped away himself and looked back towards the other duel.

Soren parried the first Zilan’s blade aside and missed with his axe on the return. The Zilan grimacing and disturbed at the sudden appearance of so many enemies made a quick step back, then leaped forward in the blink of an eye, in an attempt to cut the big Northman low aiming for his thigh. Soren blocked it with his axe and used his left hand just like Glen’s opponent had done earlier, to punch the Zilan right at his plate covered chest.

Glen heard the sound of metal getting warped and watched the sinewy Zilan lift clean off the ground and fly briefly backwards before crashing down four meters away, his armour ruined at its front, as if he’d just gotten hit with one of Angrein’s beefy sledgehammers.

Fuck, Glen thought impressed, although he’d always suspected the almost seven feet tall Northman was incredibly strong, it now appeared Soren was holding back.

The Zilan got up, yellow eyes ogling and coughing blood and stabbed his sword down. He raised his right arm and pointed at Soren, left hand sneaking into his satchel. Glen at first thought he was going to surrender, but then he smelled incense burning and felt a shiver running through him.

More a premonition.

“Bae’ Uglar,’ The Zilan spat and Soren stopped dead in his tracks.

He just stood frozen staring at his opponent, who retrieved his custom sword casually, made two large quick steps and run the big Northman through with it.

Jinx’s scream came just before her arrow that missed the Zilan.

Fuck no, a shocked Glen repeated and started running.

The Zilan hissed in frustration seeing the small Gish reloading her bow standing on the massive trunk about ten meters from him. He made to get his sword out of the still frozen Soren’s sides, darn blade going through chainmail and hard-leather twice afore getting out his back, but spotted a livid Glen rushing him sword in hand and changed his mind. He raised his right hand confidently and repeated the words he’d said earlier.

BAE’UGLAR

A jolt went through Glen, it rattled his teeth and made him lose his footing momentarily, but he quickly recovered. The Zilan had turned around in the meantime, certain on his spell’s success to get his blade out of Soren. Hearing boots pounding on the soft ground he glanced sideways, his right hand already on the sword’s grip.

The Zilan recoiled first in bewilderment, then in gut-wrenching pain, as Glen downed his blade brutally, got his opponent’s forearm just where the steel vambrace ended and severed it cleanly.

The painted Zilan stumbled back horrified, his left hand desperately trying to staunch the bleeding at the stub, the cut part of his right arm –everything after the elbow- still clenched on the grip stuck inside Soren. As for the big Northman himself, he groaned getting out of whatever had immobilized him and stared at the blade sprouting out of him nigh perturbed.

Glen swung his head towards the slowly retreating and maimed Zilan, but spotted a couple of things immediately. For starters his friend had cut down one of Kalac’s men, but he was laid down bleeding and dying himself, sporting several cuts and wounds. Furthermore another two Zilan had appeared on the Jungle road, two females this time. One of them painted like the injured bastard held a long knife on the other’s throat threateningly.

“Stand back, or I’ll end Meira’s life,” She hissed and then eyed her injured friend. “Let Darfin go, ye fiends!”

Glen grimaced, then glared at her. “I don’t know any of these people! So ye can take yer threats and shove them up your arse!” He blasted her livid. “Yer friend just killed my friends!”

“I’m fine,” Soren replied standing next to him, holding the bloody sword in his hand, torn chainmail leaking blood down his sides.

Huh? What in Luthos hairy ears is happening?

“Don’t let them live!” The other female screamed suddenly, looking at him with begging eyes. “They killed my Ulanola!”

Ahm.

Well that’s just great.

Glen snarled clenching his teeth to the point of breaking, blood covering half his face, the situation too complicated to make heads or tails of and looked at the still retreating Zilan. He was also losing blood fast.

“Turn back Sinya Nore,” The knife wielding Zilan female urged him in turn, seeing he was conflicted. She wore a ranger’s light armour similar to Lith’s.

“Pyriael go,” Darfin ordered, moving towards her as fast as he could. “He’s a sorcerer.”

Eh.

Glen was torn, whether he should let them go, or not. He’d no idea what was going on and which side was in the right. At first glance of course, the Zilan that had attacked them appeared to be the bad guys.

Who chops a corpse’s head and arms off? He wondered with a shiver, overlooking that his friends had done it, albeit for a different reason.

“Whisper can you hit her from there?” He asked opting to rid them of witnesses and Pyriael hissed showing him her ghastly teeth.

“Sure,” She replied, still standing on that huge trunk and added sounding worried. “Soren are you okay?”

“Ayup,” Soren reassured her, still bleeding.

“Don’t kill the other girl,” Glen cautioned her.

“Why?”

“Fuck’s sake Whisper!” He snapped and glared at the small Gish.

Jinx fired an arrow, the distance almost forty meters. It went over Glen’s head, but Pyriael dodged it nimbly, slashed Meira’s neck open from ear to ear and rushed into the jungle. Glen made to run after her and Darfin, but the injured Zilan had reached the thick part of the woods himself and promptly vanished by the time the distressed former thief had started moving.

“Report!” Glen barked, when the rest of their group had finally gathered finishing their cleaning of the road. Kalac was tending to his injured man. He’d a nasty cut on his thigh, but it was looking like the horselord might make it.

“Flix is missing,” Jinx replied, still working on Soren’s potentially lethal wound. Glen expected him to drop dead any moment now, but two hours had passed since the scrap and the big Northman appeared to handle it pretty well.

“I’m fine Pretty,” He reassured her again.

“Ye stupid fuck,” Jinx sniffled still rattled.

“It wasn’t his fault,” Angrein commented smoking a pipe of exquisite quality. It was made out of white silver and engraved with tiny gold details. “This was a domination spell. Hunters use it for easy kills.”

Fantastic.

“How bad is it?” Glen asked Jinx and the young Gish shook her head, wiping her moist cheeks with a bloody hand.

“He’s been through worst,” She said.

Glen stared at her numbly.

“Ayup,” Soren said. “Don’t worry small Glen.”

Right.

He puffed his cheeks out, used a sleeve to clear his leaking nose and stared at the frowning blacksmith. “What was this shite huh? Why in Luthos’s arse did they kill those girls?”

“Meira wore a priestess pendant,” Angrein replied. They had buried the two Zilan side by side next to the fallen tree, the two brigands in another spot not that far away. The men had, Glen had watched them with a cloth up his nostril.

“Which god?” Glen asked him.

He shrugged his shoulders. “The Moon’s Daughter, it’s a minor god. A number of strays worship her. Lower caste folk.”

“Poor folk?” Glen taunted.

Angrein blinked. “I didn’t make the system Garth.”

Glen glanced at the scowling Fikumin.

“Is she a good one?” Glen asked crooking his mouth.

“I wouldn’t know, never met her,” Angrein deadpanned. “This was a religious murder though.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve heard of Pelleas. He’s the priest of Snake Mountain. These must be the three headed god’s disciples. They call themselves the Veils of Nether. They’ve never left their mountain before though.”

Yeah.

This tradition has gone down the drain.

Darfin had told Glen as much. Not that it helped, not that it made sense.

“A stupid cult then?” Glen sighed. “What kind of God is this? Is he insane like Gimoss?”

“Hah. Vemoro is a beast Garth. Can’t be reasoned with, but I doubt she’s here,” Angrein seemed pretty confident about it, but Glen didn’t share his conviction.

How do you know? He wondered, cursing Luthos for not making anything go smoothly. Knowing the god of fucking luck, the beast might pop out of the woods at any moment now.

Good grief!

“What kind of beast?” Glen asked tiredly instead.

Angrein smacked his lips, blew smoke out of his nostrils and then he replied all serious.

“A Hydra.”