by RG Long
Fires raged, started by Speakers on both sides to either attack the enemy or block their advance. Ealrin coughed through a haze of smoke as the suns began to sink into the afternoon. His sword arm ached, and his grip was now more instinct than decision. The blade that had served him so well for the last few months was really being put to the test.
Twice, Ealrin had thanked the Skrilx for inventing such an oddly shaped, yet incredibly useful weapon. There was no sharp point, as with a normal blade. Rather, the sword ended in a razor sharp rectangle. This he had used to free himself from the grasp of a soldier who had come close to freeing Ealrin of his left arm. That particular man now fought on, if he still fought at all, without his right hand.
Another odd part of the blade was that it had a hole in the middle that ran from the hilt nearly to tip. This Ealrin had the good fate to use to disarm a very dark, fierce warrior. The spear he carried had been put to good use by running the man through the chest.
The elves had to be right about some things, he thought as he used the weapon defensively in his left hand.
He and Bertrom were now fighting alongside a group of fifty Beaton residents, clad in the uniform of the Red Guard, the masks of the Silver Suns, and the common garment of civilians.
Fighting for survival had the odd effect of bringing even the most bitter of enemies together.
Three elves from Talgel fought with them, their colors differing from the others around them. Ealrin was glad to see the great white tree emblazoned on their armor. More than once these three had saved their entire group from demise.
Though Beaton was putting up a hard fight, they were no match for the brutality and the constant influx of new warriors from the south. They were slowly losing ground.
The main thoroughfare of Beaton was overwhelmed and battle lines were clearly identifiable. In the side streets where this group now fought, the lines were constantly changing. Having just successfully defeated a small contingent of warriors, Ealrin was sure they were safe for at least the next moment. He was just about to congratulate Bertrom on keeping his cool under pressure and dispatching an enemy before Ealrin could come to aid him.
But then the yell came from the front of the group as they entered another street through an alleyway.
“Speakers!”
A blast of fire from three men in robes sent several diving behind mounds of rubble, overturned carts, and stoops leading up to back alley entrances. Ealrin dove under what might have once been the back of a store that lay in ruins along the street. Bertrom was close behind him.
Oppressive heat was surrounding them.
“Can we go back through the alley?” Bertrom yelled, resuming his usual shaky voice.
Clangs of metal on metal told Ealrin that they were not going to retreat through there without a fight. Those who had tried were running into a fresh wave of troops.
“They can't keep this up long!” Ealrin said, trying to sound reassuring. The reality was, however, that the street was on fire and they were helpless for the time being.
“Wait until they stop, then try to get close enough to distract them!” shouted someone close by. A man in Red Guard clothes was calling to them from his own hiding spot.
Ealrin found several things wrong with that plan immediately, but had no better alternatives.
“Throw some of these bricks instead of charging them!” replied Bertrom.
“Much better,” Ealrin said, nodding. The Red Guard soldier looked displeased with the suggestion, but picked up a rock anyway.
In moments, the flames died away and they rose to their knees, holding bricks and stones, preparing to throw them at the Speakers who were sending out the flames.
But there were no more magic users to hurl their rubble at.
Silverwolf stood there, looking none too worse for ware, removing a good length of blade from one of the Speakers. The other two lay slain at her feet as well.
“Don't think I haven't had rocks thrown at me before, boys,” she said nonchalantly.
Her face was blackened with ash and blood splattered more than one part of her body, though apparently not her own. The wolf cloak was gone completely. She breathed heavily and approached Ealrin, not bothering to wipe the blood off of her sword. To his astonishment, she smiled.
“Miss me?” she asked.
He stood transfixed at her. The moment she had leapt from the wall he had decided to give her up for dead.
She has more fight in her than most of the army of Beaton, Ealrin thought.
“Not nearly enough, apparently,” he replied.
"Still think you can stop this by killing one man?" she said, looking intently at Ealrin.
She had a point. Now that the army was here, there was little they could do to stop the violence except to fight back and defend the lives of those who had not asked for this war.
The fighting in the alleyway was growing louder. They dropped their projectiles and readied their blades to face whatever was coming through to them. Bertrom even took a step forward, but was stopped by a hand from Silverwolf.
“It's no use,” she said simply. “They've broken down enough of the wall to let in at least half of their army. The business district is lost.
“Where to, then?” Ealrin asked, looking up and down the street, seeing fighting on either side of them.
“I rather liked the governor's mansion, now that I think about it,” Silverwolf answered, removing some hair from her face.
“Keep staring,” she said to the Red Guard soldier, bringing her sword up to the throat of the man who had attempted to get a good look at her. “And I'll make sure your family line ends with you.”
He swallowed hard.
“We can get to the upper district this way,” he said, pointing to an alley on the other side of the road, which looked fairly empty.
Silverwolf considered him for a moment and then dropped her sword.
“Good boy,” she said. “Lead the way.”
And as quickly as they had come to it, their group left the street that was blackened and charred to head down another street that, Ealrin reminded himself, held more battles to be fought.
“At least now,” he said to himself with a glance to his right where the assassin now ran, “We've got someone really dangerous.”
32: The Brother's War
Alric hurried down the alley along with the rest of the Council of Seven.
The living members at least.
Ever since the Southern Republic had begun their assault on the city, they had been attempting to do what Jerrick had suggested: get on a boat.
It hadn't been easy. Fighting was breaking out all over them. They had the unlucky fortune of picking one of the most heavily fought over routes: the one the Southern Republic had knocked down the wall next to.
Alric and Bryne had just come out of a combat with three rather large soldiers. Never before had Alric appreciated the dark woman's ability to use her many daggers until today. While he fought with his sword, attempting to gore his assailant, she had seen fit to fill him with as many knives as she could throw.
Messy, but effective.
“Where's Verid?” Bryne yelled over her shoulder at Alric. Before he could reply that he had no idea, a large blast detonated behind them and purple smoke began to fill the air they had just vacated.
Quell was the last of their number and was pulling a glass vial out of her coat and hurriedly checking a paper tag that was fixed to it with string.
“She's dead now,” the elf replied as she threw the bottle over her shoulder and a second blast conjured up more purple smoke. “It's a pity her kind are cursed with such short legs. They don't seem to help in a retreat.”
Alric was very thankful for his ability to run faster than Quell could while reading labels.
Wisps of the purple smoke followed them as they ran. Alric could hear Jerrick coughing horribly, but not slowing down for fear of being dragged into the thick of the poisonous gas.
They now
numbered only four: Bryne, Jerrick, Alric, and Quell.
Being a Council Member was never a path to longevity.
But running away from a fight was also counter what was natural to Alric. He was the one who led men to battle, not fled like a dog with its tail between its legs. The thought of glorious victory over an invading army, propelling himself into the hearts of not only one nation but of two began to invade Alric's mind, even as they ran.
And then those dreams were brought back into stark contrast as they made a turn down a street and found themselves facing a wall of soldiers, both of Beaton and beyond.
In their midst, speaking hurriedly with a female elf, was Folke. Alric slowed his run to a jog as he approached his brother. He hadn't seen him in days. It had been at least since the Council had taken over the city.
What had his brother been up to, he pondered as he reached to make sure his dagger and sword were both easily accessible. The fighting was still a ways off, both thanks to these exhausted looking elves who must have taken the invaders to task and the purple haze that still wafted behind them.
Now was his chance.
“Brother,” he called out, catching Folke's attention and causing the elf to turn and see the group running towards them. She immediately grabbed for her swords.
“Now, now,” Alric said, frowning at the elf as they approached. “We mean you no harm.”
“Yeah, especially you, cutie,” Jerrick said, letting his eyes wander up and down the female Folke was speaking with.
Alric really hated the tasteless manner of the half-elf sometimes.
"You've killed both the governor and the Red Guard general and expect us to believe that you mean us no harm?" the female spat back in disgust. "Get out of my face."
"Just a moment, Wisym," Folke said as he stepped in-between her and Jerrick. He looked at Alric sternly.
"Is what I've been hearing true?" he said in a tone that reminded Alric of their father when he was trying to teach them a lesson. It annoyed him greatly.
"Depends on what you've been hearing, brother," Alric replied, taking a step closer to Folke. All of the boyhood jealousy he had felt towards him began to bubble to the surface and spill out of him. The fighting behind them was closing in. Southern Republic soldiers would pounce on this street before the suns set and darkness covered the city.
And, with any luck, Alric would be sending the other council members out to sail the Red Sea while he attempted to gain the fame he had so eagerly sought here in Beaton.
"Yes," he said, meeting Quell's eyes with his own before bringing them back to his brother. "I've aligned myself with the Silver Suns and the Council of Seven. I personally relieved that corrupt and arrogant governor of any more worries and watched the general Jamond get the same treatment. I've been running the city along with them for a day or so, and then these blasted Southern Republic people had to come and ruin the fun. But I plan to make the best out of it for myself before I go back to Thoran."
Folke's eyes were narrowed and his normally jovial face was almost twisted into a snarl.
"When we get back to Thoran, I'll make sure that you are given what is due to you. What is the royal name that you've gone and thrown your lot in with criminals and vagrants? You have disgraced our family and wrecked the very thing father sought to uphold: justice and peace. You ought to feel ashamed, brother."
Alric wasn't quite listening; he was instead looking just over Folke's shoulder. When he had stopped talking, Alric finally met his gaze. He saw in his brother's eyes a desire to put him in prison and rot.
He had other plans.
"I will return to Thoran a hero that helped to preserve the city of Beaton from a terrible fate," Alric said, readying himself. "And you won't see the light of the suns ever blossom again."
Alric reached for his sword and made to jump, but not at his brother.
Quell had just broken a vial over Folke's head and a gaseous orange cloud formed quickly. Folke doubled over, wheezing, hacking, and within moments, he was vomiting red.
Alric had jumped right and swung his sword at the female elf, who had seen Quell remove the vial from her jacket a moment too late. Her swords ran down, but met Alric's own blade instead of her intended target. The elves around them burst into action, but Alric had already ducked into an alleyway.
He imagined several more elves would have followed him, had the invaders not burst onto the street to attack them at that very moment. Alric continued to flee; noticing that Jerrick, Quell, and Bryne all ran behind him.
The Council appeared to be doing well at what it did best, he thought. Darting through shadows.
"Not much longer," he said out loud, hearing the crashing behind him that heralded at least a few elves were tracking them.
"What's that?" Jerrick said, shouting from behind him.
"Not long until we're back in the lower docks!" Alric shouted back, covering his words.
With his brother out of the way now, he was sure there would be nothing that could stop him from achieving his goals. Then a knife nicked his ear and took a chunk of hair along with it. He whirled around to see three elves chasing them. The small opening into the street behind them was filled with the clash of the two sides in battle. But these three had managed to give chase.
"Quell!" Alric shouted, hoping she had a few more tricks in her cloak.
"It's all so meaningless, really," she said casually, throwing a vial behind her, which burst and filled a large portion of the alley with green, shimmering goo. One of the elves got his foot caught in it and screamed out in pain. The mixture began melting everything it touched, including his foot. The other two, however, managed to jump over it and continue pursuit.
Alric noticed that the female who had stood with Folke was one of the two.
"Stupid girl," Alric muttered.
"Jerrick!" he shouted as they continued dodging around barrels of waste, overturned boxes and other alleyway debris. "Take care of the other and take the elf you liked so much for yourself."
"Ha!" came the response from behind. Jerrick had leapt onto the side of a building and thrown himself backward in a tackle maneuver. Alric turned and threw his own knife at the female elf. She managed to deflect the blade from doing her damage, but was unable to stop Jerrick from landing a killing blow on her comrade. The elf fell limply to the ground. A strangled cry came from the remaining female named Wisym, who lashed out at Jerrick with a flurry of blows.
Jerrick's voice echoed in the alley.
"Stop fighting, cutie, and I'll give you something else to come after me for!"
Alric looked at Bryne and Quell, both of whom looked to him and shrugged.
They continued to run down the alley. If Jerrick lived, he'd follow them if he cared to leave the city.
If he died, they'd have one less to worry about boarding the ship along with them.
A groan of pain that didn't sound like it came from a female told Alric the latter would be more likely.
33: The Last Sunrise
Water was now building up in the streets of Beaton. The broken wall that surrounded it now blocked the river that flowed from the Red Sea out to the plains beyond. Though it was only inches now, Ealrin feared that by the morning light of the suns, it might well be waist high or deeper.
"The lower docks won't be much to look at either!" he said as they made their way to the upper district, where the governor's mansion was.
More than in name alone, the entire district was actually higher in elevation than the rest. Most of the fighting was now heading in this direction, even as the suns began to set. The Southern Republic was obviously desperate to get the bulk of their fighting force into the city and beyond the rising waters. They spilled into the city unhindered, save for the tightness of their entryways. Ealrin was sure they would be trying to open the main gates before long.
Or maybe not.
Perhaps they intended to flood the city and force the defenders into cramped quarters.
Whatever
their plans, Ealrin was sure it would all come to a head soon. Fires from still burning buildings lit the city as dusk settled over them. As they ran up to them, he could see that the gates to the upper district were still open. The reason for this was plain. Armed soldiers and citizens alike were pouring through the portal, even as others were attempting to pile stones and dirt high around the gate.
Ealrin assumed this was to keep out both water and invaders alike.
The three of them, as well as others who had joined the procession to get inside, made their way through the gates and saw the mass of people within.
"I doubt there'll be any empty beds at the governor's mansion after all," Silverwolf said in a tone that hinted at actual disappointment cloaked in sarcasm.
"Come on," Ealrin said, directing them to a group of soldiers who were gathering around the walls and climbing up and down narrow stairs to the top walkways. "We need to find out who's leading the defense."
"You think they can agree on who's in charge?" Silverwolf asked. She followed Ealrin nonetheless.
Bertrom trotted alongside the pair, looking determined.
Ealrin was proud of him.
"You gave it everything today, Bertrom," he said as they came to the base of the stair. "You saved my life at least twice in all that."
Bertrom just shook his head.
"And you saved mine a dozen," he said using the end of his sleeve to wipe his forehead. "Thanks."
Ealrin gave him a smile, which Bertrom returned and clapped his hand on Ealrin's shoulder.
"No really," he said. "Thanks for getting me off my backside. I needed that."
"Excuse me, boys," Silverwolf said, looking up the stairs to the top of the wall. "But our friend who led us here is bringing down a delegation and they don't look excited to see us."
Indeed, the man who had led them here was leading two others in bright red uniforms. One man had an extremely bushy mustache and a plump figure. He also wore a scowl.
"You there!" he said as he bustled down the steps. "You were a part of that blasted delegation from the south, were you not?" He arrived at the bottom of the steps, slightly out of breath waving his pointer finger back and forth between Ealrin and Bertrom.