1001st Games

  After the ending ceremony

  Gladiator underground hall

  The Pits of Fu De-Gar

  “Ha!” An elated Asmudius guffawed, spit flying out of his numb from excessive drinking mouth and pushed through the injured to reach the blood-covered Troy. “There he is! The mighty Colossus!”

  “Titan,” Troy corrected him with a tired, but pleased grunt, and ripped the remnants of his bloody lower chiton off to air his drenched in gore and sweat genitals. “Get that girl here to feast on ever-bulging cock for it’s about to burst out of my fucking groin from witnessing such potent display!”

  “Protos has the girl thoroughly fucked by now,” Asmudius explained, using a towel to wipe as much of the grime as he could from Troy’s chiseled body. “For he left after the games end, whilst you stood alike a peacock in the arena.”

  “I’ll fuck him then!” Troy roared and eyed Eoganus with fierce eyes. “Was it proper, old head? Befitting Velox and all those afore me?” He asked walking near him to shake his forearm. “It pleases heart to witness ye still drawing breath,” Troy added with Eoganus clasping his handsome and drenched face with his good hand. “Although yer ghastly visage might kill my fucking libido quicker than an opponent’s blade!” Troy roared in his face and Eoganus nodded, accepting the taunts from the surviving gladiators, all winners upon the bloody sands.

  “Blessed be thee, spectator of the way dancing blades deploy,” Eoganus told Troy in a hoarse voice with Asmudius listening over his shoulder like a proud and now very rich, father. “For thy stood in them bloody sands and beheld of Troy!”

  “HEED STONEMIND’S WORDS!” A young champion from Ani Ta-Ne yelled with excitement and got everyone to follow.

  “WELL SAID!” Everyone present yelled thunderously inside the ancient underground halls, with Asmudius hugging the stunned Paikan like a lover and above them one could hear the thudding of many thousands of legs on the stone stands and the roar of the massive crowd still cheering their heroes on in a drunken delirium.

  Lucius Alden,

  ‘Bloody Tiger’,

  Lord Lucius Aldenus the Third,

  Praetor Maximus,

  Legatus ‘omnis Legionis’

  King Lucius III

  Old rusted blade

  Part III

  -Naught but his bare arms, old garbs and wits-

  20th of Lorian Month Tertius (Lucius) 196 NC

  Luciopolis

  Under construction desert Hippodrome ‘Circum Legatus Augustus Lucius III’

  The Spatium’s sands across the unfinished Pulvinar

  The King climbed down the side-stairs leading to the ‘seats of honor’ from whence the Lorian officials would eventually watch the various tourneys, after the large building finished construction. Nipius Bonosus who had followed the King from the Tunnel bearing his name, packed as much as he could in his presentation. Even broaching the matter of gladiatorial games. Something the Lorians had given up from antiquity, right after they decided that slavery would never be accepted on Jelin.

  “Several Cofol Ludi of Greenwhale Peninsula have suggested the idea of hosting a couple of matches every two years,” Nipius explained. “And are prepared to partially fund construction of the Cavea seats in exchange for advertisement space. They are trying to do the same in Wetull to generate interest again, as everything has stopped on the Peninsula for years now. It is killing their economy.”

  They are fine.

  “We can’t introduce gladiator games,” Lucius replied, pausing to watch Faye training against the young Decanus Santiago ‘Jacob’ Scaro, Roderick’s kin, with his son and Logan observing them intently. “For we have abolished slavery. The Khanate merchants, especially the Cofols, always try to push for a normalization of their backwards customs. It comes as no surprise they found sympathetic ear in Wetull.”

  “The stands are like an endless pit hungry for stone and might stall the project,” Nipius argued. “Absent sufficient streams of revenue.”

  Lucius stopped him. “We won’t spill blood on the sands. If they sent a free man to compete, we might give him a chance, but I really don’t like this idea, Nipius.”

  “Aye, Praetor Maximus,” Bonosus yielded and the king jumped on the powdery sands to approach his wife. Faye had forced Scaro to retreat, attacking the legionnaire officer ferociously with two blades.

  “Go mum!” Roderick yelled with enthusiasm, but the young Scaro held up against the Queen’s attacks and started pushing back when Faye paused to breathe, drenched in sweat, skin flushed red and barely standing on her feet.

  Full on attacking under the desert sun won’t work, Red, Lucius thought and signed for his old companion’s kin –a 2nd cousin- to stop advancing on the Queen. Scaro nodded and halted, lowering his training sword.

  “What?” Faye hissed, breathing heavy and glared at the young officer. “Did I tell ye to stop?”

  Logan who had noticed the King approach, let out a grunt to voice his displeasure.

  “Praetor Maximus,” Scaro saluted and a groaning Faye turned around to eye the smiling Lucius.

  “You’re late.”

  “I’m not.”

  “It’s the plaguing summer!” Faye protested raising the sword threateningly.

  “It is not,” Lucius insisted and brushed both training swords aside in order to hug her over the soaked ringmail shirt. “This will leave marks on your skin,” he murmured in her ear.

  “Plenty of marks there,” Faye breathed on his neck. “Didn’t bother ye afore.”

  “It did,” Lucius teased and Faye pulled back to behold his smiling face.

  “You want to take Scaro’s place? I ain’t done yet,” she asked and Lucius shook his head.

  “The King dueling with the Queen in the arena?”

  “Sure. Aye,” Faye replied with a shrug. “Why the hell not?”

  “They’ll make a play out of it before summer.”

  “Fuck them. How about it?” Faye grinned in a challenging manner.

  “I won’t do it. Too big a risk,” the King replied and glanced again at the young officer. “Had enough training with his uncle to know not to drill against an angry opponent.”

  “I ain’t angry. Fine, no more drilling then,” Faye retorted sounding mad, which brought a yelp of protest from their oldest son and then his wife puffed out slowly, when she spotted Lucius indecipherable expression. “Unless the king has another kind o’ drill in mind?”

  “Red! By the love of all-gods!” Lucius warned her and little Roderick, who had run near his parents, furrowed his brows looking at both of them curious. “Can Logan bring the boy to the palace?”

  “Oh, he will,” Faye murmured and then brushed against Lucius as she walked past him, with Logan’s scowl turning into a crude pleased grimace.

  One of the palace’s courtiers was playing the harp. The notes rising over the large floor-to-ceiling window of their royal suite inside the King’s Villa, Faye had left wide open per usual. The sonnet’s words and music recognizable by now, ‘oddly familiar alike her sweat, sweet like the taste of wine in your lover’s mouth.’

  Lucius managed to get up from the large bed, dominated by Faye’s fit naked body resting over his frame, and walked barefooted on the cold marble tiles clad only in his loincloth, in order to approach the spacious Lorian verandah. The lit torches burning at the four corner columns and beyond the two moons resting embraced on the night sky. Nesande’s blue and Oras’ white.

  ‘For there on the dark skies,’ Tacitus wrote years before describing Manius’ fever dreams, ‘the once Harmonious Gods Circle -Dii Consentes-* now stood crippled, with only far-reaching Hecate’s blue and sickly Coras’ white visible, what the barbarians call Nesande and Oras. The Gods of Magic and Death. Without a priest’s voice the old gods in his dreams grew silent.’

  The King walked outside and stood under the moonlight, feeling the cool night’s breeze coming from the mountains. To the west the old desert breathed in its turn silently, the darkness so thick it was impossible to discern the terrain from the heavens and it was as if the stars were touching the sands.

  Mavors, Lucius thought, using Tyeus archaic name, where art thou?

  Lucius heard the sound of a bed creaking from inside the chamber and turned around to catch a glimpse of the naked Faye standing up to look for him.

  “Over here, Red,” Lucius rustled and the Nordic Queen walked towards him, her fit figure slowly revealed under the moonlight. I haven’t married a Valkyrie, Antonius had acknowledged to him days ago, and Lucius realized his friend was right. He took a breath and a moment to appreciate the visage of the fierce redhead and Faye halted a couple of meters away to return his intense stare.

  “Enticed enough to return to our bed?” She asked and Lucius pursed his mouth, the desire still burning in his stomach engaged in a fierce battle with his restless mind.

  If I was to be given all the time in the world, Lucius thought. It still wouldn’t have been enough.

  For a man’s responsibilities always lack of time and future troubles never wait.

  “Always,” he replied and signed for her to approach.

  “Yet, you are not moving feet from spot,” Faye murmured in almost perfect Lorian jargon and pressed her warm body on his. The taut skin burning on his chest and increasing the beats of his heart tenfold.

  “You wish another kid?” Lucius probed with a smile and kissed the mess of red curls at the top of her head.

  “If you do,” Faye responded in a husky tone, then added more pointedly, “What does Regia say? Monica always claims your life is too crowded for all of us with her in the mix.”

  Monica is bitter with everything and not the best person to seek advice from right now.

  “Faye,” Lucius objected. “I needed to hear about current events in person. The horse’s mouth,” he added.

  It was an attempt to lighten the mood.

  “Uhm. You get a wagonload of mail dragged by mules every other day. I never realized so much was happening in the realm regarding us. Why do we care about Kaltha’s troubles?”

  “Regia is very big.”

  “There she is again. What did you discuss with Antonius?”

  “His wife and son. You,” Lucius answered, leaving the Regia stuff out.

  “Alden,” Faye cautioned him. “Don’t give me any midget-truths.”

  Well, there goes that attempt at dodging.

  “Half-truths, and it was an equivocation,” Lucius corrected her with a grunt of pain, as Faye had pressed her fist against his solar plexus. Not forcefully, but her knuckles were not the softest, bless her warrior heart. “You were loving before—”

  “I’m still pretty loving,” Faye interrupted him, sliding her hand inside his loincloth to locate the King’s phallus. “Me offer still stands and the bed is near, but this couch is also fine.”

  “Aye, it is,” Lucius agreed and tried to kiss her, but Faye’s fingers turned the grip on his phallus uncomfortable. “Ouch. It’s not a real sword, but in some poet’s verses, Red,” Lucius warned her.

  “What troubles you?” Faye queried removing her hand to rest it on his chiseled abdomen. “You were more eager earlier.”

  “I’m still… eh, it’s a public space of sorts.”

  “Our balcony?”

  “It has a view and no gardens like Cartagen.”

  “It’s a forest Alden, your garden in Cartagen,” Faye teased and went near the rails to watch the slowly waking up desert city. The first working crews already heading towards their posts with their carts and tools. The villa built in a commanding location inside the central square. “Let them perceive their Jarlinde from afar.”

  Lucius picked up a sheet from a verandah couch and draped it over her shoulders. “That’s enough, leave something a mystery.”

  Faye turned to look at his tensed face. “You are such a Lorian, Alden,” she teased.

  “Modesty is a quality befitting a noble woman,” Lucius grunted and Faye chuckled.

  “A warrior doesn’t care about such feeble matters.”

  “A Queen should,” Lucius retorted and Faye frowned, then shook her red mane. “What?”

  “A Lorian Queen can’t be a warrior?”

  “Are you serious? There’s no such thing. Where are you going with this, Red?”

  “I just told you,” Faye replied and went to rest on the couch, dragging the sheet behind her. “I miss snow and the cold breeze of winter. The danger of hunting in the big forests.”

  “Plenty of breeze out here, and we hunt safely during summer,” Lucius grunted, still annoyed with her remark. “Lorians care about their women. They protect them and see to their needs. Guard their house and family.”

  “Why don’t they let them fight then? Carve their own path, that’s true freedom,” Faye queried. “Had Monica knew how to handle a blade herself, then… eh, forget I said it,” Faye grimaced seeing his face.

  “Lorian women are valued,” Lucius noted through his teeth. “As mothers and leaders of their household, in trade they are considered equal—”

  “Can’t you hear yourself? No wonder you are always surprised by how my people treat yours. How about sports, or adventuring? Nah, we can’t have that,” Faye argued and then breathed out. “Even Issirs allow them poor females more freedom and most of them are religious zealots. Of course there are always the gilded Cofols and the Khanate to balance things out. Your people can say hey, we are not as bad as they are, right? We are not like… these barbarians.”

  “Well, we are not. Eplas allows slavery and in their games people die. Is this about Elsanne?” Lucius grunted in frustration.

  “Why believe Anker’s claim? Why not support hers?”

  “She’s not legitimate.”

  “She’s a woman and you’ll prefer to deal with a man on Kaltha’s throne,” Faye argued.

  “Zofia is a woman too. I put her on the throne of Krakenhall,” Lucius countered and puffed out.

  “What if you had to choose between her and her brother?” Faye insisted and Lucius pursed his mouth to control his rising temper. Faye had managed to fire him up with her words.

  “Her brother I trust more,” Lucius grunted. “It’s nature’s way.”

  “No, it is the Lorian way,” Faye replied softly and stood up, then moved for him to seat near her on the couch. “There is no room for women with true power in your culture. It’s not about female virtue or purity, no other kingdom invites Naossis’ priestesses into their cities so freely. You do. Celebrate her twice with more vigor than the Zilan of old. No Issirs do that for sure and not the people in the north. We never favored her much.”

  Alright.

  “You’ll accuse a temple for the actions of a single woman?” Lucius asked hoarsely. “Not even Monica does that.”

  “She doesn’t, but you never asked her,” Faye replied. “Rather it seems you distance yourself with every month.”

  “What can I offer her?” Lucius queried bitterly. “But a reminder that I failed to protect our son and household?”

  “It wasn’t your fault, but hers and she knows it,” Faye replied harshly, but then her tone changed and became softer with more understanding. “You can’t see the things for how they are, blinded by your own perception of the world. How it should be, how it must act and how it will be judged by the gods or yer ancestors. Fuck the gods. Fuck them all. Not your fault, each person is responsible for his or her actions.”

  Lucius grabbed her hand and brought it to his mouth. He touched his lips on the rough skin moved. “The gods blessed me when they brought me to you, Red,” he told her and his wife rolled her eyes.

  “Damn it, I found you on me own,” she rustled and then narrowed her green eyes. “You managed to completely derail the conversation.”

  “You did that,” Lucius replied with a smile. “I shall not actively try to rob Elsanne of the throne. Faye has made her case heard.”

  “Her throne.”

  “Antoon has a son,” Lucius insisted.

  “Just Anker’s word against hers, and the scales will never tip her way. She borders Regia and the Lorians would prefer her to go home and raise Gust’s children, leave ruling to her husband,” Faye noted and Lucius stared at the marble tiles of the verandah for a long moment, before finally replying.

  “Antonius and Robert, both agree that Elsanne doesn’t have the power to overcome Pourem in time. She’ll try and fail,” Lucius paused to take a breath. “Then either the Khanate shall reinforce Pourem or open a second front,” he stood up with a grimace of frustration. “More likely, Anker will finish what he has started.”

  “She’s still alive and fighting,” Faye warned and Lucius paused, then turned to look at her fierce expression.

  “Others fight for her, Red. She’s not like you,” Lucius reminded her patiently and his wife nodded, the red mane moving about like that of a lioness.

  “Me husband once told me it’s a great skill…” Faye had said. “To have others fight your battles.”

  “Augustus,” Nipius Bonosus greeted Lucius, when the latter arrived at the gods’ temple, erected next to the hippodrome. “Sir Sabinus.”

  Lucius returned the architect’s greeting and dismounted Nightsilver lithely, immediately handing the reins to Aesop Sabinus. The sun had just come up on the clear sky and its light bathed what was to be temple grant hall, now standing absent canopy and with only half the marble Regia-style columns installed. Ending in sculpted Acanthus-flower leaves at the top, they differed to Lesia’s simpler and more serious style, where the top of the column connecting to the ceiling or supporting a canopy had a spiral scroll-like ornament carved at its top, commonly called a volute.

  The king walked to the central altar of the gods, a round marble slab where the names of the Five Gods would be carved onto. Uher the All-father and god of thunder’s light, Tyeus the warrior god, Oras the shadowy god of underworld, Naossis the goddess of pleasure, poisons and all lovers and Luthos the god of Luck and news, good or bad.

  “Who will stand as the patron god?” Lucius asked the architect.

  “Haven’t touched the matter yet as you can see, your grace. These debates can kill an artist’s visions. Grand Disciple of Tyeus, Aulus Ventor, offered to come here and sanctify the temple,” Vibius Bonosus elucidated. “Which means we might get a visit from the ‘Pilgrims of the South Coast’ along with his holiness.”

  “I know Nicetius, the Disciple leading the order now. He won’t be a problem and Ventor is a patriot,” Lucius said. The king himself had studied and was a member of the Order of Tyeus, the Issir-founded knightly order more common with the nobility. Crassus, a rich Lesia merchant had established the ‘Pilgrims’ allegedly, six centuries into the past and well into mythology. Secretive and probably half-pagan, the Pilgrims were nevertheless an accepted arm of the Lorian-dominated church of Tyeus, especially by Ventor, who had familial ties with the Crassus dynasty of merchants out of distant Andatelia. After the purge that had occurred in Regia during his father’s reign —the vaunted two days and nights bloody event known as ‘the long knives of summer’, which had occurred while Lucius was in ‘exile’— Uher’s church had lost a lot of power in Regia and had historically not great penetration in the conservative but bigoted Lesia. His late mother’s people always struggled with their morality’s diktats battling their deep-rooted vices.

  “The night market of Miloville at Ostrich River. My mother loved visiting it,” Lucius murmured, thinking out loud and Bonosus furrowed his brows unsure.

  “Your grace,” the architect said. “While eager and fully committed, I’m not sure I follow your meaning.”

  “The night market decree was birthed due to the big numbers of dwarves flooding this river town’s lively market, in Parmaport Barony’s domain. A way to avoid inciting violence and the wrong kind of pathos,” Lucius explained and Vibius narrowed his eyes still trying to figure out where the king’s mind was. “Let’s not favor one god,” Lucius finally said. “Dedicate the temple to all gods and leave it vague. Ventor will understand.”

  “All gods,” Vibius murmured, separating the two words just as the king had done, both commonly spoken together to ascertain one body and the same pantheon.

  “Aye,” Lucius replied and tapped the marble altar’s surface once with his mid-finger knuckle, before turning away. “Old and new. All of them.”

  There were flower trees at the edges of the wheat field, more sprouting near the aqueduct’s massive supports, the climbing vines hugging the cement reinforced stone columns. Lucius approached the humming Leirda, or Galadriel of Tir, a mythical Zilan city on a distant island that was no more.

  Galadriel’s human name mirroring her Zilan, if one was to read it backwards shortened by three letters.

  Lucius went to speak, but heard a strange tip-tapping coming from the nearby massive support-arch’s twin columns and halted to examine the vine-covered surface with a frown.

  “Your presence excites all creatures,” Galadriel said and stood wiping the dirt from her hands. She was in her disguise again. Lucius glanced at his escort and Sir Sabinus took a few steps back, the legionnaires of the patrol stationed near the aqueduct’s bridge standing near the knight as well.

  “What manner of creature sounds like that?” Lucius queried, pursing his mouth.

  “A kind soul,” Galadriel replied. “In its own ways. Gallant even.”

  “Is this, your doing?” Lucius grunted and pointed at the lush vegetation spreading towards the canals hugging the wheat fields.

  “You brought the water down from the mountain, dug the irrigation channels and worked the desert’s soil to breathe life into it,” Galadriel replied all serious. “I’ll say, it’s as much your doing general, as it is mine.”

  Lucius stood back impressed with her response. Then he remembered this was a Zilan, a race of cannibals and sorcerers that worshiped flying monsters.

  “Daemon es,” Lucius hissed through his teeth and Galadriel raised a taunting brow. “Maga.”

  “Ah, I’ll take the second epithet,” Galadriel said. “Old Lorian is such a brutal language to the ear,” she added letting her long ears poke out of her changing color mane. Some purple and blue, but mostly long white strands, sparkling like silver.

  “You are risking exposure,” Lucius warned, dropping his hand on the pommel of his sword. Endariel hummed a sweet melody and Galadriel smiled. “Lord Calamer’s daughter Aurelien was a kind soul,” the Zilan sorceress said, “and the Lord Justice wanted a sword to remind him of her always. His little swan. So Isil O’ Mecatan built him Endariel, the Lord Justice’s blade, um, and its song still warns of both good and evil.”

  Lucius felt a tickling in his fingers from touching the buzzing pommel and breathed out, afore releasing his grip.

  “I knew you’ll come to me,” Galadriel had whispered the words.

  “You can see the future,” Lucius rustled. “This is magic.”

  “Some of it.”

  “Speak clearly. Which part, the future’s knowledge or magic?”

  “Both,” the witch replied and reached to touch a large yellow flower with a red center. It immediately withered away and crumbled to dust, the desert breeze blew away from the stem. “Nobody can tell you what will happen exactly, but you can learn enough to figure out the possible outcomes.”

  Lucius grimaced. “Why not save my son?”

  “On the scales, it would have been wrong,” Galadriel replied and Lucius’ face hardened.

  “It wasn’t your call to make.”

  “Had the son lived,” Galadriel continued. “His sister would have ruled Regia through her twin and not your firstborn or his brother. You love the Northern Queen’s children more.”

  “No.” Lucius grunted irate and stepped forward, but the Zilan female didn’t back off. “You are wrong.”

  “Pretend I’m not. Would you have accepted the outcome?” Galadriel asked calmly.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  “Vacia isn’t like that at all and Roderick shall take the throne. When the time comes, my will would be done,” Lucius told her matter-of-factly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

  “I have my answer,” Galadriel replied. “The future eludes you, general.”

  “If you know the future, then why didn’t you stop the crazy priestess?” Lucius all but growled and heard Sir Sabinus shifting nervously ten meters away. There’s that strange and creepy sound again, he thought looking over Galadriel’s shoulder.

  “To predict something, you must suspect or seek it,” the Zilan replied. “What I sought didn’t reveal the start of the conspiracy, because nothing had been decided yet. It was a matter of another’s choice that didn’t concern neither you nor me.”

  “What conspiracy?” Lucius grunted, not trusting her words, but worried.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Galadriel grimaced. “All current roads lead us elsewhere.”

  “You told me the future is difficult to predict,” Lucius argued angry with her vagueness.

  “Each path one reveals, is a possible outcome, but some things won’t come to be. The Goddess won’t allow it.”

  “Nesande,” Lucius guessed and the Zilan nodded. “Then what might appear to be bad, could turn out to be the opposite?”

  “Sometimes,” Galadriel said. “What do you wish to know, general? I shall make divination.”

  Lucius gulped down, his tongue lodged on his palate to prevent himself from speaking. “Does it affect future events also, this attempt at seeing what’s ahead? Does it burn some details, but makes the general aftermath more possible?”

  Galadriel chuckled and extended her right arm. In her closed fist a staff materialized out of thin air, its butt buried in the ground. “An excellent observation. Few have thought to ask before.”

  “Aren’t people nervous about your talents?”

  “More than nervous usually. Skittish, it’s a struggle.” Galadriel revealed and crooked her mouth seemingly troubled.

  “Again you evade, yet you expect to gain my trust?”

  “You need me,” Galadriel replied. “Whether you trust me or not, makes no difference.”

  “Huh,” Lucius made a dismissive gesture. “Again you lie freely. I don’t wish to learn anything about me or my family,” Lucius continued, then paused. “For if I hear of the divination, then what I learn might not be useful in some or all of its details?”

  “Again, your observations are very astute,” Galadriel noted with a half-smile. “For someone unaccustomed with Sibyls.”

  “There are plenty of seers in our mythology,” Lucius retorted. “What you just told me, isn’t as shocking as you believe, but it is quite interesting. I give you that.”

  “You don’t believe me,” Galadriel stated visibly annoyed.

  “Oh, but I do,” Lucius whispered and stooped near her alien face, always shifting between that of Leirda and the Zilan’s. “Which is why, I haven’t arrested you.”

  “You can’t…” Galadriel sighed. “I can destroy your city. Turn it back into a desert,” the sorceress explained. “You know why I won’t? Because I’m friendly—”

  “Negative. You just need me,” Lucius rustled cutting her off midsentence. “More than I need you.”

  The Zilan gasped in surprise and then made to smile, afore her expression turned sour.

  “Can Elsanne take the throne?” Lucius asked her without hesitation.

  “Does the Raven live?” Galadriel asked, but Lucius cut her off, despite knowing the answer or guessing about whom she was talking about.

  “Aye or nay,” he warned.

  “Yes,” Galadriel replied surprisingly.

  What?

  “How?” A genuinely surprised Lucius queried before he caught himself and waved his finger in front of the sorceress face to keep her quiet. “I’ll figure it out,” he told her and then pivoted to march back near his escort.

  “This isn’t how it works, general!” Galadriel hissed on his back, but Lucius didn’t turn around nor graced her with a reply.

  Lucius spoke briefly with the legion patrol’s Decanus before he returned on the saddle of Nightsilver, whilst the Zilan female –now left behind- appeared to be talking aloud with herself near the aqueduct canal. Just as they were about to depart, Director Ramirus rode to them on a black and brown horse.

  “Praetor Maximus,” Ramirus saluted, went to dismount but realized the King was about to depart and stayed on the saddle. “Interesting missives arrived during the night,” the LID commander informed the distracted Lucius, who turned his attention on Ramirus, whilst patting softly the nervous Nightsilver’s black mane, in order to calm him down.

  “Easy boy. Give me another minute,” Lucius whispered, before addressing the LID Director. “Where from?”

  “Lesia. The port of Cediorum,” Ramirus replied readily and unfurled a very large scroll. Noticing Lucius’ curious stare he added. “They sent an albatross across the gulf, then Cartagen dispatched four pigeons. I remade the original message in its proper form.”

  “That’s excessive,” Lucius noted pursing his lips. “Speak the abbreviated version, Vibius.”

  “Cediorum was hit again from saboteurs,” Ramirus replied sternly, “this time they broke into the goods warehouse square and set fire to the wooden haylofts. Two big buildings were destroyed and while the authorities tackled this issue during the night, someone opened holes to a laden Barque’s hull inside the harbor and Gallica Aurea went down.”

  “What was the cargo?” Lucius asked hoarsely.

  “Wine from Faro, twenty tons of Flauegran barrels went to the bottom and four times that amount burned inside the warehouse. It was a bright night,” Ramirus replied. “The Bank’s merchant fleet was anchored inside the harbor and was in the process of loading up.”

  Lucius glanced at the scroll. “Trupo says Riveras had dispatched regular soldiers to escort the cargo. He probably talked with his father.”

  “There was a big fight, people were killed and for some hours control of the port was lost. It happened two days ago,” Ramirus elucidated. “Duke Roman Lennox asked us for permission to land forces on Turtle Isles,” Lucius shifted his weight on the saddle concerned. “Captain Gareth Lennox was ordered to aggressively sally outside the harbor and Lord Patrick, his father, will follow with the fleet. This might happen as soon as tomorrow.”

  “Wait, who do they suspect?” Lucius asked. “Pirates? Is there a hostile fleet inside the Lorian Gulf?”

  “No pirate was found dead, or other intruder. They had no casualties and moved too-fast for the sentries to react. No ships have been spotted also, unless they can moor in a friendly port and move only during night time, which of course is difficult to fathom.”

  “Cediorum is a fortress harbor and the gulf is pretty huge in size to traverse coming from the high seas, then attack in the same evening,” Lucius grunted. “If they were indeed brought in from the Scalding Sea in enough numbers to overrun the sentries, then so many approaching ships should have been spotted! You can’t slip a ship inside there, Ramirus! Not while waiting at the mouth for the right currents to enter the gulf!”

  “No alarm was raised,” Ramirus replied with a grimace of discomfort. “No fleet also.”

  “They had help from the inside?” Lucius queried. “Lesia wants to search Turtle Isle for pirates, I get that, but pirates don’t risk coming so close, less so attack big harbors packed with warships.”

  “Duke Roman writes that according to the Bank this was the Zilan of SETC or agents working for them,” Ramirus replied. “A retaliation for D’Orsi’s expedition. Apparently he did a lot of damage.”

  Lucius breathed out. “It’s disturbing they have such numbers to risk,” the king finally said. “Notify Nattas, he rules over Turtle Isles. How soon could we get a message from him?”

  “Two days,” Ramirus replied. “Lesia wants an answer soon, else they’ll go ahead and just land troops on the isle.”

  “They think Zilan are stationed there? Where? The city of Head? Turtle Port? Hells, it’s a small island, Nattas should have suspected something was happening under his nose! Do we have any reports for SETC activity near the island?”

  “None, sire.”

  Lucius grimaced, and then stood up straighter on the saddle to perceive the people visiting the aqueduct canals. The majority of course workers tending to the fields, but also some tourists. “A base on Turtle Isle doesn’t allow entry into the Gulf in such a short window and it is a crowded isle to hide foreign ships. Pirates talk as much as the civilians and most people there are not criminals. Furthermore, one needs to account for the night mist, currents, and other ships activity coming out of two major harbors and some smaller ones,” he finally said. “Less so during the night. You need a foothold inside the Gulf or the ability to move very fast during night time. All this to sink a cargo ship? Burn down a couple of buildings? Why not hit the rest of the fleet?”

  “Ships sunk inside the harbor could be retrieved or their cargo salvaged. Wine barrels are sturdy. A full on attack on the harbor is suicide with the watch towers guarding the entry points.”

  Lucius turned to stare at Ramirus’ sober face. This couldn’t be an elaborate ambush to draw them out, surely? Lucius thought. Based on the treaty, SETC had walked a fine line attacking Cediorum, if that was indeed them behind the sabotage and night raid.

  A commotion interrupted his train of thought.

  “Excuse me, great Viziers and Lords,” a voice said in Common with a foreign accent. A heavily covered in makeup Cofol pressed against the legionnaires shields that had moved to block him from approaching the king’s horse. “If I can have word with the illustrious Pharaoh, please.”

  “The King is busy,” Ramirus grunted. “Decanus, disperse the crowd!”

  “Yes, do away with the crowd,” the Cofol stranger agreed readily. “But give ear to the bold Anepou Siba-Kal!”

  “Who the hell is that?” Ramirus barked.

  “Me. The famed Kenso Siba-Kal is my father!” Anepou replied with excitement raising his arm for them to notice him. Difficult not to with the amount of jewelry the painted Cofol had on. He also had a couple of muscular armed men behind him, and it was them that had alarmed the soldiers.

  “Again. I don’t know the man,” Ramirus grunted, very annoyed with him and trying desperately to remain cordial in public.

  “No way! He was the biggest Lanista in Ani Ta-Ne great Vizier.” Anepou explained and Ramirus grimaced, his goatee shifting with pent up rage. “If I can speak for a minute with the illustrious Caliph—”

  “You’ll address the King properly!” Ramirus exploded, but stopped as Lucius gestured for him to calm down, noticing the bystanders had become interested at the unfolding scene.

  “Mister Anepou, you have your minute,” Lucius told the elated Cofol, who broke through the standing back soldiers immediately to approach them. The man smelled of lavender and his fit tattooed arms were oiled on top of being adorned with gold bracelets and armlets.

  “King Lucius,” Anepou said stopping before Nightsilver, then dropped to his knees in a spectacular genuflection that scared the horse. The Cofol was saved from a front kick to his skull from the king’s timely intervention.

  “Good grief!” Ramirus grunted. “Stop this fool!”

  “Whoa, boy… easy now,” Lucius ordered the nervous horse and a pale Anepou stood up, sweating profoundly and smelling even more of fruity oils. “Mister Anepou, your minute is running away along with my patience.”

  “Greatest of apologies!” Anepou all but screamed, before clearing his throat. “Gallant King Lucius…” he started, but saw Lucius’ face distorting with anger and sped himself up again, his voice cracking and his accent becoming even funnier to the ear of the bystanders, who burst out laughing out loud at his expense.

  “Silence!” Ramirus barked at the crowd. “Show proper respect in the King’s presence!”

  “My father is in exile now, stricken by cruel and unjust fate,” Anepou explained to the grimacing Lucius. “Looking for a new home and faring badly, but I have just recently arrived from Fu De-Gar, where many more of our people have found refuge with news of hope.”

  Ani Ta-Ne was one of the Peninsula cities destroyed during the slave rebellion some years back, but Lucius hadn’t had the time to learn more about this event that had robbed the Khan from his most skilled son. Prince Nout.

  “You wish refuge?” Lucius queried.

  “I’m a businessman, your grace,” Anepou replied.

  “What manner of business?”

  “Entertainment,” Anepou said quickly and frowned at the burst of laughter coming from the interested crowd, with several agreeing the Cofol was indeed very entertaining. Lucius patted Nightsilver’s mane in silence. “I organize games of passion, thrilling events that pleasure all ages, for the lowly price of a single ticket.”

  “You are a slaver,” Lucius noted and the crowd murmured hearing him.

  “This man is,” Anepou replied quickly pointing an accusing finger at one of his associates. The also wearing modest makeup man furrowed his penciled brows worried. “I follow in my father’s footsteps, my Lord. Anepou stands a Lanista and the owner of a Ludus.”

  “So you own slaves, this man provides you,” Lucius expounded. “Who you then throw in the arena to perish. How is that any better, mister Anepou?”

  A severe tick distorted Anepou’s face he managed to turn into a crooked grin. “I own gladiators, who have the opportunity to free themselves in the arena!” He declared proudly, not getting the enthusiastic reaction he expected from the predominately Lorian crowd.

  “You want to participate in the tourneys,” Lucius noted. “You’ve talked with Bonosus already, I presume.”

  “Indeed, your grace. Several times,” Anepou agreed. “For I came with a plan to give a broader audience the chance to thrill themselves in a spectacle much desired in the Peninsula.”

  “I understand the games have stopped for years now,” Lucius pointed out, noticing the crowd was now listening at the Cofol’s words more carefully.

  “A dark age, hopefully to change soon for the better.” Anepou had nodded. “Much effort is put forth for this to be realized and many influential characters are being approached,” he added, looking devastated, but hopeful. “For the sands now stand gloomily empty, echoing of past glories and profitable events not easily forgotten from those who had witnessed them in person!”

  “Gladiatorial games is a blood sport,” Lucius said in a clear voice. “Barbaric in nature.”

  “Your grace, I merely want to offer a helping hand to both our endeavors,” Anepou insisted nervously. “I have secured funding and the help of Paikan Abu-Ra, an experienced Lanista of the Peninsula, now starting over. We can forgo the slave part and use freed men as a demonstration. We are just looking for a chance. Jousting is a duel, isn’t it? Allow us to showcase a duel far more exotic in nature but of equal intensity.”

  “Why would a freed man agree to fight another to the death?” Lucius asked.

  “Coin and glory,” Anepou replied, then gulped down nervously. “We can use a beast instead, leave personal combat aside.”

  “You wish to pair a man against a beast?” Lucius probed curious. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “A young lion. Lioness. Mayhap a fearsome herbivore,” he added several amendments upon seeing the King’s reaction. “No danger for the gladiator.”

  “He wants a man to fight a horse?” Someone asked aloud curious. “What bullshit spectacle is this? This Cofol stands sick in the head!”

  “Shame on you!” Another yelled accusingly.

  “A monoceros!” A rattled Anepou fired back. “Much feared and dangerous,” he continued and then noticing the King’s expression, he quickly added. “Yet easily fooled and taken out by a seasoned gladiator!”

  “Is that another name for a rhino?” A citizen queried.

  “Aye, but with one horn only,” a more informed citizen explained.

  “What is it called then? The one with more than one horns?” Another asked with an eager youngster replying afore anyone else could react.

  “A two-horned elephas!”

  Lucius stood back straighter on the saddle, trying to conceal the hint of a smile. “I’ll consider a written proposal, mister Anepou. But I’m more interested in the politics of the Peninsula than your offer.”

  “Perhaps the offer can be enhanced with both coin and information?” Anepou probed hopefully.

  “Perhaps,” Lucius replied. “But a man won’t be killed inside a Lorian stadium by either blade or beast.”

  “There’s practically zero danger in the demonstration,” Anepou assured him. “Naught but an appetizer to tickle the crowd’s palate, your grace.”

  “You have this man present?” Lucius asked and Anepou bowed.

  “Just after the workers depart, he walks the sands of Circum ‘Legatus Augustus Lucius’, every afternoon without missing a day, seeking meaning in their uniformity, your grace,” the Lanista revealed with a tensed smile. “And envisioning new grand tales of valor written upon this blank canvass.”

  “Where is he the rest of the day?” Lucius queried a little intrigued at the effort Anepou had put to prop the man up and the Cofol crooked his painted lips, blew out a deep breath and murmured.

  “The brothel.”

  Lucius finished talking with the Cofol Lanista and led his horse back to the villa through the city’s center, followed by Sir Sabinus and Ramirus. The LID Director rode next to the King and tried to get his attention as they crossed the newly paved streets of the desert city.

  “I’m still preoccupied with the matter of Cediorum,” Lucius told the intelligence officer. “Robert is also still fresh in mind.”

  “A missive, Praetor, from my man in Issir’s Eagle,” Ramirus insisted and handed Lucius the much smaller scroll. It stood weathered and muddy, as if the birds bringing it had travelled from afar.

  Lucius pulled at the reins with a glance at the sun moving over their heads and brought Nightsilver to a stop right at the entrance of the royal villa. While the small garden and yard were finished, much as the first floor, the villa was still under construction, but the workers had paused working while the King was staying there. Had Faye not come with Roderick, Lucius would of course had slept in the Castrum with the soldiers and the villa would have been ready.

  It was a good trade nonetheless, he thought and searched for the redhead inside the yard, but didn’t see her or the boy. They are probably with Logan at the market, the king decided and read the codified message quickly.

  “Who is Cipher?”

  “That’s my man. Potis Canus. Horrible soldier, but makes an excellent spy. He can get inside anything,” Ramirus elucidated.

  “A portrayal fit for a thief.”

  “Still an accurate account of the man.”

  “Who is the fiend of the heights?” Lucius asked with a sigh. “This sounds ominous.”

  “The King beyond the Pale Mountains. Lord Garth,” Ramirus said quickly.

  Right.

  “He has an envoy sent to the… is this Elsanne?” Lucius probed curious. “Black hen? This sounds like a pirate tavern name Vibius.”

  “It does sound like that sire and Garth has sent an envoy. His man arrived without prior warning,” Ramirus explained. “Right about the time Duke Rik’s assault failed.”

  “Any word on that?” Lucius asked reading the packed with metaphors and coded words letter. Some keys he knew, others needed Ramirus’ assistance to figure out.

  “Garth’s man is a human?” Lucius frowned and then looked at the Director.

  “Good Praetor, the fact he has others with him that are not, is more of a concern?” Ramirus argued respectfully.

  “How is it more of a concern, good Vibius?” Lucius retorted in the same manner. “Mayhap because they are Zilan, supposedly?”

  “Yes?” Ramirus furrowed his brows and Lucius thought of Galadriel.

  “This relationship sounds more intimate than we thought,” Lucius noted. “In the context of what happened to Lesia.”

  “Could be unrelated, sir.”

  “What business would Garth have with Elsanne?”

  “Scaldingport is friendly with the pirates, perhaps it is friendly with Wetull as well?” Ramirus offered.

  “Rik would never agree to speak with a Zilan. Elsanne shouldn’t even consider it also,” Lucius murmured. “I understand trade, she needs the coin, but these are not allies you want to introduce to your people in order to strengthen your claim.”

  “Perhaps it is Garth reaching out? Sending a human to make it more palatable?”

  “We need to learn more about D’Orsi’s expedition,” Lucius grimaced. “If this is a domain held up by a beast’s wrath, then you can’t seriously expect Garth to attempt an expansion so far from his base. A man wielding but a single tool, needs that tool at the near to work on his projects and can’t lent it to his distant neighbor.”

  “There is also SETC’s fleet to account for, Praetor,” Ramirus noted.

  “Nobody has the numbers though for this mighty fleet. Less than ten transports, probably not even five if we are honest, making the journey to Scaldingport. No warships sighted yet. The pirates present a bigger threat with Scaldingport’s backing and even they fear to approach Aldenport. If Garth had that many ships, then he would have opted to move his product legitimately. Yet, he acts as a pirate lord who came upon enough coin to create a trading company.”

  “He uses to smuggle goods about,” Ramirus added and Lucius nodded. “Instead of paying taxes or negotiate another arrangement.”

  “Is this the imperial pride the tales speak about?” The King queried. “We don’t need their market, but they need ours. The Eplas seas is a realm away. The Cofols are more accommodating.”

  “Stubbornness? The empire is dead and they stand a pale imitation of the past. Mclean believes this person is a criminal, lucking upon a fortune.”

  And a wyvern.

  That’s a lot of luck, my friend.

  “If Garth is an old Zilan of some import there might be a reason behind his actions. This back and forth the Lesia bank has initiated is not to our best interests. Perhaps we need to find a better source of Intel than the bitter old banker,” Lucius pointed out and thought of Galadriel’s answer again.

  That direct and without hesitation ‘yes’ still bothered him.

  “Praetor?” Ramirus asked seeing Lucius expression.

  “Make Nattas understand we are in a hurry,” Lucius ordered and made to come down from the horse, but halted mid-move to stand on the saddle again. “Where is your man?”

  “On his way to Forestfort, then to Sabretooth Castle,” Ramirus replied.

  “Have him turn east for Vinterfort and the Canlita Sea after that,” Lucius ordered. “I want him to report to Marcus-Antonius.”

  He turned Nightsilver around and away from the gates of the villa.

  “Where to sire?” Sir Sabinus asked from atop his own horse.

  “The Hippodrome,” Lucius replied with another glance at the moving sun. It was almost afternoon. “I want to make friends with the Peninsula.”

  To the extent that this was even possible.

  The late noon breeze coming from the desert skirted over the first unfinished row of spectator’s stands and shifted the fine sand on the racing track. The flattened ground extending in an oblong rectangle shape, longer at its sides facing east and west, than its shorter rounded edges that faced north and south.

  Lucius stopped his horse outside the tavern-housing stands of the west side, went through the unfinished groundworks and entered the barren arena area. The latter would be a race track for chariots after the middle section or Spina (spine) was finished, a jousting tournament field and space for other events.

  The maimed figure stood in the middle of the west side of the race track, shaved head gleaming in the sun’s rays and deformed ears adorned with gold nails. His left forearm was a solid piece of metal ending in a bronze hook, shorter than a normal arm. The rest of his tanned arms were muscled and well defined, though covered in long rugged scars.

  When the man turned around, Lucius realized half the man’s face was fused with a gold plate holding its shape together, a glass sphere for an eye, while the other portion of this half-breed’s face was still intact. The sole eye having a strange purple color, burning through the approaching Lucius.

  But for those gruesome injuries, his otherwise excellent physical condition and prominent muscles, depicted a man probably closer to fifty than forty, who stood shorter than the king by half-a-head.

  He was also armed with a custom sword of ancient design and had a half-plate worn under his loose sleeveless robes.

  “Surrender that weapon!” Sir Sabinus barked rushing behind Lucius and the man raised his gaze on the worried knight.

  “Eoganus, the Stonemind,” Lucius repeated the name Anepou had given him and the former gladiator pulled his lips back to showcase a mouth filled with bronze teeth.

  “You could stand as a Hoplomachus,” Eoganus rustled in rough Common pointing at the King’s armour. “Which would make me your opponent upon the sands as a Murmillo.”

  “He stands the King of Regia!” Sabinus barked angrily and Lucius turned to sign for the knight to calm down.

  “Sheathe that sword, Aesop,” Lucius told the worried knight and turned to face the sober Eoganus. “Your moniker weaves a tale worthy of knowing,” he noted looking to steer the conversation elsewhere.

  “Madrox struck me with an iron club during the nine-ninety-one games, but most of my brains remained inside my cracked skull,” Eoganus explained with a rustle. “I fell mute and deaf for two months, paralyzed for a year, but didn’t perish from the wounds nor departed the ranks of the living. Sometimes though, when I stand upon the sands, I hear slain champions walk past me. Sometimes they speak, others they remain mute.”

  Um.

  “What kind of man was this Madrox?”

  “The Unyielding Gargoyle was no mere human,” Eoganus retorted. “He was a Yalca half-giant and stood well over seven feet tall without armour. A full eight with his great helm on.”

  Lucius immediately thought of ‘Hulking’ Layton.

  “What happened to the arm?”

  “A chariot run over it, but this was during the nine-eighty-nine games. I traded the arm for freedom.”

  “Wait, so you fought Madrox as a freed man?” Lucius asked standing back.

  And with one arm?

  “No one else took the challenge that year,” Eoganus explained. “Everyone that had before or after me, fell to the mighty Gargoyle’s blows. On his fifth year as champion of the Pits, Madrox killed nine men and two beasts.”

  “This Madrox, whatever happened to him?” Lucius probed and spotting Faye and Logan entering the arena grounds, waved an arm for them to approach.

  “Mista Savar stopped Madrox, it is known,” Eoganus replied crooking his mouth. “He had help, but it was a feat worthy of great praise.”

  “Mista Savar was the leader of the Slave Rebellion,” Lucius noted remembering the name.

  “He was indeed. A colossus of a man, the Pale Jackal stood like no other upon the sands. The Jackal and his friends were true gods of the arena.”

  “There is a rumor he was Lorian. A knight,” Lucius queried, the matter holding his interest.

  “His deeds paint the picture better than any titles,” Eoganus replied. “I knew the skilled Velox well, and the ‘surgeon’ fought with Mista Savar in the Chiliad across the Peninsula to the walls of Que Ki-La. Many others did fight in these great battles, but very few of those great gladiators survived. Telos and Audax are gone. Asper and Black Toros probably. The Bull Qathor for sure and the Titan of Novesium has disappeared somewhere in Wetull.”

  Lucius raised his brows impressed. “The Chiliad defeated Prince Nout,” he told the old former gladiator and Eoganus frowned, his sole eye narrowing. “Yet of her greatest accomplishment, naught is written.”

  “The Chiliad fought valiantly, but no one could defeat Prince Nout in the field,” Eoganus corrected him. “The Gold Leopard was the finest general of our times.”

  Lucius pursed his mouth, but forced himself to smile despite the scoff from Sabinus behind his back, as the long-legged Faye had reached them.

  “I wasn’t trying to insult the King of Regia,” Eoganus rustled sensing Lucius’ displeasure. “But merely voiced accepted opinion where I’m from.”

  “Who did?” Lucius asked and Eoganus stood back, his brows raised when Faye brushed him off to reach Lucius’ side, then turned to eye him tauntingly.

  “Better not to speculate or speak of these things,” Eoganus replied defensively.

  “Yet rumor exists in your faraway lands,” Lucius insisted. “I wish to be informed about and we’ll strike any perceived insult from record. Then look forward to a demonstration of your skill in the arena Eoganus.”

  “Sire,” Sabinus protested, but Lucius signed for him to hold his tongue, despite Faye’s fierce glare, as she was also in disagreement with his decision.

  “Nout’s actions aggrieved Hardir O’ Fardor,” Eoganus replied forebodingly after regarding the statuesque Queen of Regia for a moment. “For this the Onyx Wyvern turned all of the Prince’s men and gilded chariots into ash and brittle stone. Now standing in some desolate and forgotten parch of the Dry Sea, naught but a stark reminder to all those seeking to cross paths with him. These grim stone effigies of the dead cry in silence, their words clear. Alter course or suffer a similar fate.”

  Lucius licked his dry lips and then gave a brief nod to the scarred gladiator.

  “Have Anepou deliver his proposal and expect amendments,” he told Eoganus, who cracked his lips into a bronze adorned smile.

  “I shall inform the Lanista,” the gladiator had replied respectfully, turned abruptly and then cut across the race track taking his leave.

  “What are you doing, Alden?” Faye hissed in his ear and Lucius glanced at Logan showing sword techniques to Roderick for a moment, before replying.

  “An old blade can only help you so much,” the King replied. “Afore it breaks against stronger foe, and no man using naught but his bare arms, old garbs and wits, has ever won a battle against overwhelming odds.”

  “Who said that?” Faye grunted in frustration as he had turned to head towards his horse again. “Where the all-hells are ye going now?”

  “My father did. Yet, I always believed he was referring to deceitful strategies,” Lucius said softly, pausing to gaze at her flushed, freckled complexion. “I never supported this aspect of him.”

  Faye let out a sigh, her eyes fixed on her sandaled feet, the toes peeking out and dusted with fine sand. She truly despised wearing them, but boots were ill-suited for the scorching heat of Luciopolis.

  “What other advice did my callous father-in-law give my husband?” Faye inquired.

  “He advised against traveling west of the pond,” Lucius answered, and noticing her bewilderment, he clarified. “The Shallow Sea.”

  “Are there fresh foes lurking beyond the sea?” Faye asked.

  “No, Red. There aren’t,” Lucius reassured her. Yet. “I have something to take care of, but we’ll dine together tonight at the villa. Us two and Roderick.”

  Aesop Sabinus’ expression revealed his frustration as they mounted their horses again.

  “Sire, where are we headed now?”

  “I’m going to have a word with Ramirus. He’s anticipating the Grand Disciple’s arrival along the road, but in the meantime, I need you to track down the half-breed Leirda or her companion. Bring them to the Legion Castrum. I’ll meet with the men again tomorrow and use the opportunity to discuss matters with her.”

  “Your command is my duty, sire,” Sir Sabinus responded, crooking his mouth at the unusual task. “What if I can’t find the half-breed?”

  “Oh, I have no doubt she’ll be expecting you, Aesop,” Lucius answered, clicking his tongue to urge Nightsilver forward.

  -

  Galadriel of Tir

  With a puff Qerrali materialized inside the bush and rattled it proper, twirling around manically in her panic. Then the Arachne remembered she had marked the spot earlier and where she was, so she calmed down.

  “Well?” Galadriel asked without looking at the now silent bush, her fingers tying the rope she had created into even knots. One strand of hemp soaked in frankincense, a strand of spell-forged Wraith Arachne silk and dried foxglove flower, rare but now growing in abundance under the aqueduct’s supports. In shade and moisture, the vines had grown strong. The wide bracelet she intended to fashion, Galadriel would tie on her wrist to enhance her dreams. The potency of the visions depended upon the quality of the materials and the witch’s skill.

  The latter the 2nd Sibyl had aplenty since very young.

  

  “Stay back youngling,” Sintoriela had ordered that early misty morning, with Kallister’s Tower visible in the hazy background. “For this might turn awry and the Coven must survive. It shall, as long as you remain.”

  The warning from the First Sibyl came and went that day, the threat successfully dodged, yet ultimately Galadriel found herself alone, having to endure without any of her sisters for entirely different reasons. The Coven was no more, and until a few months prior, Galadriel was convinced that no other mature witch had survived the Fall. However, Qerrali informed her that this was not true, as the lineage of Sintoriela continued through Edlenn’s youngest daughter.

  As is often the case in life, it was the more troublesome of the two siblings who had managed to survive. Galadriel held a deep affection for late Rinariel, yet she was not well acquainted with her sister, the spoiled young Aelrindel. This was largely due to the fact that the teenager was far too irritatingly foolish to tolerate for long, and although Galadriel had a sympathetic heart for the unfortunate, she had little patience for vain full-blown idiots.

  The spurs are coming here, Qerrali sang from the bush in the Witch Tongue and then added coming out of it shaking with fear, her thin legs rapping at the ground nervously. The Arachne felt sick every time she walked the shades, as while skilled, she wasn’t as talented as her now lost kin. Kallister’s pets had slowly faded away just like their creator, as time was unforgiving.

  Even for old Witches.

  One night you’ll sleep next to a tree, Galadriel told herself and stood up with difficulty using her staff. And in your sleep turn into a flower feasted on by a bee.

  “How did poor Ena perish?” Galadriel asked the skittish arachnoid that darted to the edge of the massive support column to see if anyone was approaching them sneakily. “Was it peaceful?”

  “Peaceful, it was not,” Qerrali screeched as she recalled the traumatizing event. “Cause in the black Wyvern’s stinger she was caught!”

  Yeah, a sour Galadriel thought pursing her wrinkled mouth, as she didn’t bother propping herself up unless she expected visitors. Since apparently visitors are arriving though, the witch frowned and closed her eyes to let out a deep breath.

  Let’s give this hag a good ole coat of polish.