by RG Long
The number of steps and soreness in his legs was the only measure he had for the distance they had traveled.
Underneath his feet, Tory could feel the terrain changing. He felt like they were climbing up steeper paths, rather than walking on the plains like they had before.
Stumbling became a regular occurrence.
“Curse these head coverings!” Tory shouted. “If you'd just take them off our heads we'd be able to travel twice as fast!”
Tory felt the arms that held him pull him to a stop.
“Do you ever stop complaining, human?” another elf voice asked.
“Give me a blade,” Lote said. “I'll silence him. Just bring him close.”
That sounded a little too authentic to Tory for it to be sarcasm.
“Your fate will be decided soon enough,” another elf said. “For the moment, stand very still.”
Hands clutched Tory's left and right arm. Words that he recognized as a Speaker's spell echoed around him, as if they were in a very small, enclosed space.
A wind began to wrap around his feet. Faster and fast it wound around him, until he felt the ground sinking away.
“Woah, woah, woah” he said as he felt himself lifting higher and higher off of the ground. He kicked and flailed, but he continued to rise higher still.
Then he fell.
***
THE SENSATION ONLY lasted a moment. A hard stone floor seemed to materialize underneath him. He hit it hard, stumbling and going down to one knee.
He groaned as pain shot through his leg.
“Make that your last noise and you may yet live,” said a voice as Tory felt a blade press against his neck.
This adventure north had given him far too many close calls in his mind.
“Give us leave, brother,” said a voice Tory thought must have come from a ghost. “You've done what I have requested.”
Lote must have thought so as well.
“What manner of Shivian trickery is this?” she said from Tory's left.
Footsteps came near to them and a new voice spoke.
“Daughter of Paterus,” it said in a mocking tone. Tory thought this voice's owner was female. The first he had heard other than Lote's since leaving. “What an honor.”
Mirthless laughter echoed throughout wherever it was they were.
It sounded as if they were in some large room or amphitheater. He felt the cold stone beneath him with his hands and a shiver overcame him.
He tried his best not to let the cold drive him into the blade still pressed to his throat.
The voice was now dangerously close to his ear.
“You are in the fortress of Shiv. None who enter here unwelcomed leave alive. Pray that you become welcome,” said the female voice threateningly.
“I welcome them and that's enough, Viol. Now back away from them. And unmask them both.”
Tory heard her stand from her crouching position. The knife slid away from his throat and he breathed deeply. He felt the mask removed from his face. The bright light of the sun was harsh on his blindfolded eyes. He blinked several times before he could see properly.
And even then he didn't believe what was right in front of him.
Dressed in black robes, with hands outstretched, was a man Tory had thought dead for months.
“Welcome to Shiv, friends,” said Holve Bravestead.
33: Ealrin's Pursuit
Ealrin led Wisym and Bertrom out of the residential district and back into the marketplace of Beaton.
Though there was a gathering of the Red Guard near the remains of their armory, the rest of the city appeared to have gone back to its normal activity.
Street vendors shouted at them as they passed, trying to convince them to make a purchase.
Both casual shoppers and those who seemed to have urgent business filled the streets.
"Nothing stops this place for long," Bertrom said as they walked past the cleaning efforts continued by the Red Guard.
"It's nothing they haven't seen before," Wisym replied. "The Suns have become braver in their raids recently. I'm curious to know what they're up to."
She looked at Ealrin with a questioning expression.
"But first I'd like to know what it is you are wanting to see?" She asked.
Ealrin looked around at the busy guards, the crowded street, and the businesses. He knew he wasn't going to see what he was looking for in the exact same spot.
He had a feeling that if his guesses were right. He would have to visit a less traveled part of town.
"If someone came to Beaton, but didn't want to draw attention to himself, where would he go?" He asked.
Wisym raised her eyebrows.
"That depends on how dangerous they were feeling."
***
LATER THAT NIGHT, WEARING clothes that didn't betray their origin or their status, the three of them quietly slipped into the area of town Wisym referred to as "the lower docks."
While the Red Guard did their best to ensure the safety of the majority of the city, there were certain parts of it that they knew they had no authority or control over.
A sign above an ancient looking rock wall said so.
"Caution. Silver Suns activity suspected in this area. Turn back to safety," Bertrom read out loud.
"That's cheerful," he said in a wavering voice. "Think we want to take their advice?"
"Not this time, Bertrom," Ealrin replied as he passed through the gate in the wall.
He heard Wisym and Bertrom following him down the path and out towards the docks.
Wisym had explained that Beaton and the Red Guard did a great job of monitoring who enters the city through the river to the south. Keeping tabs on the sea to the north, however, had always proved to be difficult to the city's authorities.
Unlike the pristine appearance of the business district and the upper crust residential area, the lower docks was a dingy and disheveled looking place.
Ealrin wasn't sure if he was looking at businesses or homes, but buildings of some sort rose up around a cobblestone street. Most of them had wooden fronts. Some had signs that hung atop the doors, but they had long faded and not been restored. Doors were kept closed and some windows were shuttered. Every now and then, streams of light would flow from these. More often than not, however, darkness was all that they could see if they peered into an opening.
A handful of people moved quickly from one building to another. No one was meandering through the streets or perusing the shops.
"Quaint," Bertrom said. "What are we looking for again? I'd like to find it and leave if that's already with you two."
Now that Lote was gone, Bertrom was a little more forthcoming with his fears. Ealrin appreciated his honesty, but was becoming a bit frustrated with his lack of bravery.
"We're looking for a who, not a what," he replied as he walked the street toward the docks. He wasn't sure where he should start, though.
He looked back towards Wisym.
"Are there any bars or inns around here that..." he started to ask, before he walked right into something.
Or rather, someone.
"Excuse me," said the stranger, whose hood was covering his face.
"No, no," Ealrin said, backing away and hoping to avoid a confrontation. "Excuse me."
The man didn't appear to hear him or care. He had already walked off.
Ealrin, turned to continue walking, but then stopped.
Wisym and Bertrom came beside him.
He turned around and looked back at the stranger.
The man was very tall and quite muscular. Ealrin could tell that just from bumping into him. He wore a cloak around him with its hood up.
But sticking out from the bottom of his cloak was the tip of a spear.
A spear that Ealrin recognized.
“There's our who,” he said as he began to tread behind him, making sure to keep him in his sights.
***
THEY FOLLOWED HIM FOR several streets and through a few
different shops. Ealrin was careful not to be too close to him, lest he suspect he was being followed, but also feared losing him.
The man who carried the spear of Holve Bravestead was someone Ealrin wanted to keep tabs on.
Surely it was his spear. There wasn't its equal that he had seen on Ruyn. It was exquisite.
Why would this man have it unless he was who Ealrin suspected?
Still, he had to make sure.
After coming out of a store that sold various types of pipes and smoke weed, their target took a sharp right and then disappeared from their sight just as soon as they piled out of the shop. The owner looked glad to see them go. Especially since they weren't going to make a purchase.
Ealrin looked both ways down the street. A number of stores lined the road, but only two had lights in their windows. One was the store they had just come out of. It smelled terribly. Ealrin couldn't stand the smell of a pipe, though he saw Bertrom linger in the doorway.
“Come on!” Ealrin said. “You can come back later and buy a bag of leaf if you want.”
A longing expression was on Bertrom's face.
“Wish I had brought some coins,” he muttered.
“I thought you said you were glad to have left your valuables?” Wisym countered with a sly grin.
Ealrin wasn't too interested. He was trying to figure out where to go next.
“That looks like an inn,” he said, glancing over at the other establishment with a light.
A sign above the door showcased a bed. But the lettering was far from legible after years of decay.
“Or perhaps, another type of business,” Wisym offered.
True. But there didn't seem to be any other option. If the man had walked further down the road, they would have seen him.
“Let's go inside,” Ealrin said.
“And what?” Bertrom argued. “Buy a bed for the night?”
“I have some coins,” Wisym offered. “Let me buy you two a drink.”
***
INSIDE THE INN, IT was musty and dank. Ealrin was at least glad the place really was an inn, though shady business was sure to be done behind closed doors.
The dining area was no larger than the three of them holding hands. Two tables and a bar were the only surfaces on which to eat.
A man was passed out drunk on the bar, so they took to the table.
No one else, save for a young, shrewd looking woman who took their drink orders, was around.
Bertrom leaned forward, clutching his arms.
“Wish they'd light another candle,” he complained in a low voice. “I can barely see the floor.”
“You probably don't want to know what’s down there,” Ealrin said as he rubbed his boot over the wooden boards. More than one solid object rolled under his sole.
Their drinks were served and Wisym paid for them.
After a sip, she sighed.
“No hooded man,” she said. “I wonder if he really came in here.”
Ealrin wasn't sure. There were several places he could have ducked in along the street. Maybe he didn't come in here at all.
“Ma’am,” Bertrom asked from their table. “Could you spare a towel?”
He had bumped his mug and made a spill.
The hostess looked at Bertrom like he had grown another head for a moment. She shook her own and threw a rag to him from behind the counter.
It looked dirtier than the floor.
Bertrom held it in his fingers.
“On second thought,” he said, placing the rag beside him on the table. “I don't think that will help.”
Then the sound of several pairs of feet came down the stairs. Ealrin looked up at them, and then quickly back down to his drink. Bertrom and Wisym did the same.
The hooded man was among them.
“It was fortunate that you came here, general,” a female voice Ealrin didn't recognize said.
One he did know answered it.
“Fortunate for both of us,” General Verde of the Southern Republic answered. It was he who wore the cloak and the hood. “I will continue on my way in the morning. I must return to the north. I trust that what we have spoken about will be put into action?”
“Indeed,” the first voice replied. “I will see to the arrangements, as well as forming the new allegiance.”
They approached the counter and Ealrin stole a glance over his shoulder. Verde was still wearing his hood. The woman who accompanied him had black hair. It was cut short in the back, but in the front it came down to her chin. Her garments weren't spectacular. A blue blouse and black pants, along with shin high boots and a cloak she collected from behind the bar and slung over her shoulders. She wore a single dagger on her belt.
“Be leaving soon then?” the hostess asked Verde.
He dropped a bag of coins on the counter. The drunk stirred at the noise, but went back to sleep quickly.
“I was never here,” he said, as he continued with the other person he spoke with.
They walked out of the inn without even a glance at the table where Ealrin, Wisym and Bertrom sat.
When the door closed, Ealrin leaned in to his comrades.
“I'm going to follow him in the morning,” he said.
Bertrom spilled his whole mug onto the floor.
***
BACK AT THE MANSION, Ealrin had his ear full of dissent.
Folke wanted to know where he thought Verde might be headed.
Alric was concerned about what this mysterious woman was referring to.
Bertrom thought the whole thing was ridiculous and that Ealrin should stay in Beaton and continue to try to convince the governor and the Red Guard to go to war like they had originally planned.
Only Wisym seem to at least partially agree with him.
"We haven't made much ground in Beaton during the last few months," she reasoned. "Who's to say a few more days will change their mind?"
She shrugged her shoulders and looked at Ealrin.
"Maybe this is what the stars have in store for you," she said as she looked into his eyes.
Ealrin had his mind made up back at the dinghy inn.
Now, at least, he was glad to have someone on his side.
"I'm going to finish packing my bag and I'm going to follow him," he said with as much finality in his voice as he could muster.
"Bertrom you can speak for Thoran as well as anyone. You lost friends and family. Show them what heartache awaits them if they don't do anything," he continued.
"Once Thoran falls, there's nothing stopping Androlion from marching north." He stuffed another package of necessities into his bag and closed it.
"I'm going to the northern wall to wait for Verde. I want to find out what he's up to."
Those gathered in the bedroom no longer tried to argue with him.
Bertrom looked down at his feet awkwardly.
Ealrin clapped him on the shoulder.
"You can do this," he told him.
He looked up to meet his gaze.
"If there's anything I've learned in my journey thus far, it's that the one who might surprise you the most is yourself."
And with those words, he walked out into the night.
34: The General's Surprise
Life aboard the Pride of Men was tolerable at best.
The four cabin attendants had been worked to the bone. They were roused before dawn to set out the soldiers and sailors' breakfast.
They weren't the only ones waiting on the ship. It turned out that the entire bottom portion of the ship held similar rooms to theirs with other young boys and girls who obeyed every order that Cory Greenwall could give.
Decks had to be mopped. Food had to be cleaned up and scrapped for the next meal. Then ropes needed tying, buckets needed emptying, and other endless tasks needed completing.
Androlion's own flagship was just beyond their vessel, sailing north.
Blume could see the large banner that flew from it when she cleaned the railings. Messages were received fr
om the boat by flag signals at least twice a day. Adjusting course or giving new orders to be carried out in preparation for what Blume could only guess was a full on assault of Thoran.
Things aboard that ship couldn't have been worse than theirs, Blume thought.
Cory's orders were to be followed to the letter.
And she hated him for it.
She, of course, had several reasons to hate him already.
Ealrin had told her of Cory's betrayal. How he had killed two of his dwarven friends right in front of him. Then he defected to Androlion's side. It had ruined many of Thoran's loyal soldiers. None so terribly as Tory, his twin brother.
Blume had seen him after the battle. He was a wreck.
Apparently, however, the betrayal was working well for Cory.
Men, soldiers and sailors alike, were at his command. No matter where he walked, men saluted him and gave him the right of way. He was the most powerful man aboard the ship.
He must have done something more gruesome and terrible to earn this title in such a short time, Blume thought. Or several things.
How many other dwarves had he killed? What about elves?
Blume shook her head as she thought about it.
She hated the man.
And he deserved to be hated.
The work here made the Home for the Helpless seem like a casual hobby. Blume was exhausted to her core. Poor Abigail was doing her best just to stay upright.
She had suffered on her journey to the shore more than she talked about.
But still she talked, and that at least drove fears of her slow demise out of Blume's mind.
Jeremy seemed to handle being on a ship well. In fact, he was the most inquisitive of the bunch. He asked whoever would tell him the names of things and the purpose of others. Very few spared him any words at all, but the few that did were at least begrudgingly helping Jeremy survive the hard labor by feeding his mind.
"Port is the left. Starboard is the right. Aft means the front and stern means the back," he repeated to himself over and over again.