by RG Long
"Why don't they just call it front, back, left and right?" Abigail wondered out loud. "I really don't understand why they have to make this so difficult. What's wrong with calling it left?"
Blume would have found it more annoying, but she could never remember the difference between the nautical terms. She was glad for the reminder every once and awhile.
One night, after they had cleaned the dishes away from the evening meal and done all of their prep for the next morning, the four of them slumped back to their tiny room in the bottom of the ship, weary and ready for whatever sleep they could get.
Blume, particularly, was having a hard time sleeping while her hammock constantly rocked back and forth.
The first week had witnessed her throwing up at least once in the night.
As they walked into their room, however, they found it occupied.
The commander of the vessel stood beside their meager table.
Cory stood and looked down at them each in turn, before letting his gaze fall on Blume.
"Follow me," he ordered.
Then he marched out of the room, brushing past them all. He turned and waited at the bottom of the stairs they had just descended.
For a moment, Blume just looked back and forth from Jeremy, Abigail, and Rose. Jeremy shook his head. Abigail squeaked. Rose just looked at the floor.
Blume began to walk towards the general, hating him for everything he had done.
Then a hand grabbed her own.
She looked back at Abigail, who was near shaking. There was terror in her eyes. Pain was mixed in alongside it.
"Be safe," she whispered.
"Now," Cory said when he saw Blume delaying. His voice was sharper this time.
Blume gave Abigail's hand a squeeze, and then followed Cory up the stairs.
As they climbed the stairs Blume saw that most of the sailors and soldiers had bunked down for the night. A few soldiers, who must be the night’s watch, saluted when Cory past them and gave Blume a quick glance before tending their post.
They emerged from the center of the ship and out onto the deck. A chill ran down Blume's spine. It was a cloudless and cold night. The stars above were on a brilliant display. Blume wished she could have appreciated them more.
A rather intimidating looking sailor manned the helm that controlled the direction of the ship. A set of stairs on both the left and right led up to the wheel. Underneath it, light came through a paneled double door towards the rear of the ship.
Aft, Blume reminded herself.
Cory walked to the door and held it open for Blume.
He looked back at her, his eyes staring hard.
She saw no emotion there. There was nothing on his face that told her what was happening inside his mind.
It made her blood go colder than the air around her.
Putting one foot in front of the other, Blume walked through the door. Cory closed it shut behind her.
He led the way down a simple, yet elegant hallway.
Unlike the leaky room they had just left, the surroundings they found themselves in, this hallway was clean and bright.
Cory turned right down the hall, and then left. Blume followed, but all the while she looked for something sharp.
She felt the overwhelming need to arm herself. There was no way to know what danger lay in wait for her.
No such object presented itself to her, however.
He stopped in front of one door and opened it, motioning for her to go in ahead of him.
She entered what looked like an office. A desk sat in the middle of the room. An ornate chair was placed behind it, while two plain wooden ones were arranged in front. Cory sat down behind the desk and pointed to one of the others for Blume to sit in.
She hesitated for a moment, still unsure of his intentions.
"If you care to stand, I'll continue without you having a seat," he said. "You have no need to fear."
Before she knew what she was doing, Blume was shouting.
"I don't need to be afraid!? Why say that!? You killed people who were your friends! You murdered them! I know! They told me who you are! They told me what you did! I'm not afraid of you! You're the coward! How dare you kill someone who trusted you! Don't you..."
"Enough," Cory said as he held up his hand to her.
For some reason, this small motion silenced her. The next words stuck to the roof of her mouth.
A guard came into the room with his sword ready.
"Sir!" he said as he opened the door and looked back and forth from Blume to Cory, bewildered.
"I heard shouting, sir," he said, slightly confused at the spectacle of a young girl in the office of his commander.
"Yes," Cory said. "Miss Dearcrest here was just expressing her opinion. That will do, soldier. Back to your post."
The man saluted, glanced at Blume, and then exited the room, shutting the door behind him.
Cory got up from his chair.
Blume moved away, into a corner. He looked at her, then opened the door and looked out into the hallway.
He stood there for a moment, then closed the door and locked it. As he returned to his chair, he spoke.
"You speak the truth, but only in part."
He seated himself in his chair again, but this time a new expression came over his face.
It looked like sadness, but within it was something else.
Was it...hope?
Blume blinked, and the look was gone. In its place was the hard look of an officer. Nothing more.
"And this time, Blume," he said as he again pointed to the open chair. "You had best keep your voice down."
Hearing her name wasn't very comforting. Still, she moved to take her seat.
The walls of the room were wooden, though painted. A chair railing ran along the middle of the wall. On her left, a map of Ruyn hung framed upon the wall. On the right, a banner of Androlion was held in place by a decorative rope.
Behind Cory was a window that showed the night sky. In the corner, behind him, stood a small metal fire pot that warmed the room. Blume had yet to feel it. Her hands were still shaking.
"Yes," Cory said. "I did kill two of my friends. Two dwarves to be exact. Their names were Frerin and Khali. They were good soldiers and better companions. Yet they knew what every good warrior does."
He put his elbows on the table and sighed. His eyes wandered around the room for a moment.
This time, there was no denying it.
His face was covered with remorse.
"Sacrifice and victory go hand and hand."
Cory looked Blume in the eye.
For once, she didn't hate him.
She pitied him.
"When we were captured, the three of us talked about our fate and what would become of the survivors. We knew that Androlion would put us all to death, starting with the dwarves and elves. They told me they didn't want to be disgraced and have their bodies wracked by torture, the playthings of drunks and fools. So we plotted together. When Androlion offered any of us the chance to defect, I took it."
He sat back against the chair again, his hand against his chin.
"I cannot tell you it was easy to do what I did. Now, knowing that they escaped all but unharmed was terrible for me. But I was in the position that none of them could have fathomed. I was in the favor of the enemy. I could now learn their motivation. Even attempt to thwart them when the opportunity came."
Blume sat dumbfounded.
It had been a trick? Cory wasn't truly the bad guy?
"I don't believe you," she said softly.
And it was true. Who could kill their friends just to spy? What kind of sacrifice was that?
Cory gave a weak smile.
"I didn't plan on you trusting me," he said. "At least not yet."
He stood and walked over to a dresser.
"I arranged for your friends to be placed on this ship," he said as he opened a drawer and took out a small wooden box. "I knew that if they were placed anywhere
else, under the more hateful eye of a different commander, they wouldn't last a week."
Returning to his seat, he placed the box on the table.
"I didn't know they were from Thoran until later. I never bothered much with the school. I just knew that a dwarf and an elf would have little chance among the ranks of the Southern Republic."
Blume was still trying to make sense of it all.
Cory had killed his friends, but he had also tried to save hers.
Could he be trusted?
"My efforts in the south to disrupt Androlion have been stalled seeing as how we sail north," he continued. "But it appears that we are both in fate's good favors."
He pulled out the contents of the box and placed it on the desk between himself and Blume.
"Especially since we have the locket that Androlion seeks more than conquering the continent of Ruyn."
Blume saw the green stone that lay within her necklace glow softly on the table, casting an eerie light around the room.
"Now, Blume," Cory said as he looked into her eyes. "Let's discuss this piece of jewelry. For if I understand correctly, it'll be the thing that saves us all."
35: Back At Fern's Rest
Ealrin looked left at the mysterious woman sitting beside him at the bar of Fern's Nest. She brushed her silver hair away from her face as she took a swig of the mug in front of her.
So far, she hadn't displayed the most civilized of qualities.
Instead of being repulsed, however, Ealrin was intrigued.
She looked at him after she set her mug down.
"So, you want me to kill the leader of an entire nation?" she asked boldly. "That's not going to cost a few coins."
Not that it mattered much to the patrons of the Nest. They looked like the type of people who would either never leave the bar, or arrange an assassination themselves.
Two rough looking men in the corner looked ready to murder the musician who played his instrument with the skill of a rock.
Ealrin might have thanked them. He turned his attention back to his drinking partner and leaned his elbows on the slick counter.
"Not just the leader of a nation. He's a mad man. If he gets his way, the entire continent will be rid of dwarves, elves, and all other manner of things that aren't man."
Silverwolf took another drink, but said nothing.
"Doesn't that seem like an injustice to you?" Ealrin said after a few moments, his words becoming looser with the influence of a little drink.
"Murder is also an injustice, is it not?" she responded, looking into her now empty cup.
"Don't you kill for a living?" Ealrin asked, feeling a bit too comfortable speaking.
Her movements were lightning fast. His own reaction was slowed by the drink and by weariness. Ealrin had not expected retaliation.
The knife pressed to his throat reminded him the nature of those who murder for money.
Silverwolf looked him hard in the eye.
"Never for a moment think," she said through gritted teeth. "That I kill needlessly."
She let the dagger fall from his neck and put it back into a hidden sheath, just below her wrist. The blade clicked back into place and her sleeve fell over it, concealing the blade once more.
"Take a moment to think about all the ways a girl might earn a living with no family to support her. Or rather, how others would earn a living off of her. I don't think I chose the path that is the darkest I could have trod."
She spoke without looking at Ealrin. Her words were blunt.
Ealrin could imagine the horrors someone would have to face as a young girl on her own. But to choose to become an assassin? Surely there was a reason she walked that path.
"You killed Verde without much care to who he was," Ealrin said, not knowing how to respond to her previous statement.
"The money was there," she answered promptly. "Morals are one thing. Putting food in my belly sometimes means ignoring the laws I try to abide by."
"And what are those?" Ealrin asked.
The bartender came by and took both of their mugs. He refilled Silverwolf's, but Ealrin's he began to clean. It seemed he could tell who had money and who lacked. Silverwolf was apparently doing well for herself, even though she claimed not to kill often.
"I kill for those with just cause," she answered. "I will take action when none has been taken in defense of the powerless. I do not kill mindlessly. Even the man you speak of. My contract was not solely for the coins," she smiled as she took another sip of her drink. "Though I must say that I'll have to make very few contracts to pay off my debts after I collect on him."
"And what were the terms you were under for him?" Ealrin asked.
She shook her head.
"I don't discuss my contracts with other potential clients," she said as she threw a few coins onto the bar. "Though, from the sound of it, you won't actually become a client at all."
She stood and began to walk to the door.
"Hey!" Ealrin said as he walked after her. "You haven't even heard me out."
Opening the door to the hallway, she looked back at him.
"You have very few coins in your pocket and a vendetta with the leader of an entire nation. I can't take on such an offer to kill him. What would I gain? Notoriety, perhaps. Probably a death sentence of my own. Not to mention the fact that he'll probably be surrounded by his guards day and night. Then there are the travel expenses of getting to the Southern Republic. What do you expect? For me to walk there?"
They walked towards the dark hallway. Floorboards creaked under their feet. Small oil lanterns that hung from the wall every few steps lit the way. She stopped at a solid oak door in the hall and turned around to face him.
"Ealrin Belouve, I cannot offer you my services. Not unless you can produce a mountain of gold or a very good reason for me to place my life on the line for people I've never met."
She began to turn and enter her door.
"That sounds exactly the opposite of what you said earlier," he countered. "What about helping the powerless? Elves and dwarves are being killed by the thousands. You could stop it by killing this one madman!"
"Ah," she said as she turned and leaned her back against the door. "But there's the problem that you've not thought through and that I have seen on many occasions. If you kill one lunatic king, who's to say another twice as crazy and bloodthirsty won't take his place? What if the next one is worse than this Androlion fellow?"
She opened the door and turned to walk inside.
"I leave for Beaton as soon as the sun rises tomorrow, snow or not," she said over her shoulder. "That's where I'll collect."
She turned back to look at Ealrin.
"If, by the time I collect, you've come up with either the money or a good enough reason, I'll consider your job."
With that, she shut the door in Ealrin's face.
For a moment he stared at the old wooden door, not knowing what to do.
He turned and, rather than walk back down the hall towards the terrible sounds of an unpracticed musician, he found his way to the meager room he had rented for the last few days, and lay upon his bed.
What was the reason he wanted Androlion dead? Was it because many of his friends had died in repelling his armies? Was it because he truly believed Androlion was wrong? And would killing him undo the wrong he had wrought upon the continent?
And why was he so convicted about the fate of this land?
There was something that told him that in fighting this war for Ruyn, he would learn something about himself and who he was.
His mind continued to wonder until he eventually drifted off to sleep.
***
MORNING BROUGHT NO new answers, save for the fact that the snow had stopped falling and that he would be heading back to Beaton after being gone for a week.
His gear was gathered and packed before the second sun rose over the horizon.
Ealrin made his way downstairs and saw that he was the only patron awake at the early hou
r. The foyer was deserted, save for the pudgy owner of the inn. He was writing in his books and sorting through a small pile of coins.
"Silverwolf told me to tell you she left," Saldrao told him without looking up. He swiped a few coins into a pouch and fastened it.
"She's headed south," he said as he looked up, a crass smile on his face. "You'd better run."
He let out a curse and then flew out of the door.
***
AFTER A SOLID HOUR of jogging with his pack, Ealrin was not only exhausted, but he was livid.
If this was how Silverwolf operated, perhaps he didn't want her services.
Except that he had no other plan to end the war quickly other than by taking out Androlion before he could do more damage to the continent.
Over the horizon, through the white powder that blanketed the ground, Ealrin saw a lone figure trekking up ahead of him.
The only thing that gave the figure away was the shadow it made on the snow. Otherwise, it blended in with the white around it perfectly.
As if it were covered in white itself.
Ealrin knew he had found his wolf.
He ran up next to her, making sure to stay a safe distance until she acknowledged him.
His eyes had seen first hand how well she threw a dagger.
Less and less snow crunched beneath his feet as Ealrin followed her. Soon only dirt and rocks padded his path. When noon came, Silverwolf stopped and sat upon on a rock. She took off her pack and laid Holve's spear, which she had been carrying with her, beside her on the ground.
Ealrin approached her cautiously.
"I'm not going to randomly kill anyone who walks next to me," she said as he neared her.
He wasn't quite convinced.
"I didn't want to give you any reason to change your mind," he replied as he took off his pack. In it, he found some bread wrapped in a cloth and a few pieces of dried meat. A fine enough lunch.
After taking a bite of both, he noticed that Silverwolf wasn't eating. She was only watching the countryside.
"Would you care for a bite?" he offered, holding out the bread to her.
She sniffed at it.
"I'll get my own, thanks," she said stiffly.
Ealrin chewed a moment before swallowing. He repacked his food into his bag and shouldered it again.