by RG Long
Ealrin recognized him as one of the men who had been in the company of General Jamond at least once.
"Yes," he answered slowly, looking down at the man, as Ealrin was at least a head taller than he was. "Why do you ask?"
He threw his arms up in disbelief.
"Why do I ask!? My word! You show up and then this blasted Silver Suns uprising happens. General Jamond ends up dead along with the governor!"
His eyes then fell to Silverwolf.
"And look at this!" he said as he held his hands out to her. "You're in the company of a convicted murderer and conspirator!"
"At your service," Silverwolf said with a mock curtsey. "Perhaps you've noticed your city is being destroyed?"
The short man let out an exasperated breath.
"Of course I have! And as far as I can tell, you three are to blame!"
Ealrin looked incredulously from the guard to Silverwolf and then back.
"You must be joking," he said.
"He's not," Silverwolf muttered.
Bertrom stepped in between Ealrin and the guard.
"Fine," he said, bringing himself up to his full height and putting out his chest. "Go ahead and put us in irons. Tie us up. Let three of the fighters who are most experienced with fighting Southern Republic soldiers sit in chains while you try to defend this place."
Bertrom stared down hard at the man, while Ealrin and Silverwolf exchanged a rather quick but very surprised look.
"Well done so far, by the way," Bertrom finished, taking a step back and folding his arms across his chest. "Ready to lock us up?"
This can't work, Ealrin thought. Surely it won't.
The guard looked at Bertrom, then at Ealrin, and glanced once at Silverwolf. Then he puffed up his mustache importantly and looked down at the ground.
"Well..." he said, sounding much more deflated than he had a few moments ago.” Well, fine then. Up you three go. Get us out of this mess and the Red Guard will think about forgiving the trouble you've caused us."
Ealrin must have misheard him.
"And possibly," he added casting his eyes once more to Silverwolf. "We may look into a more lenient sentence for you, assassin."
EALRIN COULDN'T BELIEVE their good luck. The guard had let them climb the stairs and join the ranks of soldiers on top of the wall without so much as a second glance after that.
"That was really brave, quick thinking," he told Bertrom as he looked over the fires that illuminated the city now that night was now falling in earnest. "I thought we were done for."
The noisy hustle of the troops around them filled the air. An hour ago the gates had been closed and the pile of rubble around it was as tall as two men. Water was still filling the streets of Beaton from the dammed river. This had not stopped the Southern Republic from gathering their forces inside the city. Large shadowy masses moved up and down the city streets in tight formations. Every so often, a green banner would fly past a burning building, carried toward the upper district.
This would be where they made their stand.
"Have you been able to think up any good strategy?" Bertrom asked Ealrin.
He hadn't.
"Don't let them kill us," he replied, shaking his head. "I've never really been the strategist through this."
It was the truth. Holve had been the general. Wisym was the other one who might be qualified to lead something of this magnitude now. He wondered where the elf leader had gotten off to and if she was okay.
Ealrin had been a willing soldier throughout all of this, but that was all. He was a participant. His position as a Sword of the King had certainly given him experience, but defending against tens of thousands of soldiers was something in which he lacked authority. And though Bertrom's claim of being the most experienced in fighting the Southern Republic was true, Ealrin felt extremely inadequate at the moment.
He shook his head again as he looked out into the city.
Southern Republic troops were coming closer to the wall. They had not yet attacked, but Ealrin thought this was only due to their desire to consolidate before making a last push into the upper district.
"A lot of help you two are," Silverwolf said.
"Do you have an idea that doesn't involve some suicidal dive off into thousands of troops?" Ealrin asked her.
She folded her arms across her chest and looked up at Ealrin with a raised eyebrow.
"That doesn't sound like you have a lot of faith in me," she said.
Ealrin couldn't tell if she was joking or if she really expected them to place their trust in someone who killed people for a living.
He supposed stranger things had happened to him in the last few months.
"Alright then," he said shrugging. "What's the plan?"
LATER, THE CITIZENS and soldiers of Beaton had made all preparations ready to put Silverwolf's strategy into action.
"If you thought I didn't trust you before, rest assured that I trust you less now," Ealrin said as he stood in position.
He, Bertrom, and Silverwolf all stood outside of the wall on the great heap of stones. Feeling very exposed, Ealrin held both his sword and Holve's spear at his side, ready for what was coming.
Bertrom was to his left, shaky but resolute.
"It's got to work," he said. Ealrin suspected he was trying to encourage himself more than reassure them. "We've got to fight."
Bertrom looked over anxiously at Ealrin.
"Right?"
Ealrin thought about all those who had died up to this point. He thought about those who were willing to give their lives now, rather than to have their friends and family be killed for the sake of one mad man's schemes.
"Yes," he said. "We have to fight. It's the only way to save those who can't fight for themselves. No one deserves to die because of who they are. No one should face death because of what they were born. We have to fight."
Bertrom nodded and turned back to look at the darkness gathering in front of them.
And then it began.
Horns blew out in the darkness before them. Torches were lit and moved along with their bearers. Ealrin could hear the distinct sound of water rushing. The combined footfalls of thousands of men marching forward sounded similar to a mighty waterfall pouring over a great cliff.
Ealrin hoped he would live long enough to see such a beautiful waterfall.
The main road through Beaton led to the gates of the upper district. It was wide enough for fifty men to march side by side. Torches were lit on top of the walls, as Silverwolf had instructed, and in their light Ealrin could see the ghostly glow of helmets, shields, armor and swords as they approached. He did his best to keep his breathing regular. Bertrom was shaking next to him, but standing tall all the same.
The banners of the Southern Republic were brought to the front of the great column of soldiers. By it walked, not Androlion Fellgate, as Ealrin had suspected, but the general who had attacked Holve, Blume and him as they had traveled to Thoran.
The one named Rayg.
In contrast to the others who walked behind and beside him, his armor did not reflect the torchlight. The black plates of steel blended into the darkness. Only a dark purple glow from Rayg's impossibly large sword was visible. That, and the twisted smile he wore upon his face.
Ealrin breathed out a long sigh, hoping it would not be his last.
A single horn blew into the night and the army halted. Water continued to rush all the way around them. Ealrin was sure that the feet of every man in the army below were freezing.
It was little comfort.
"Well, well," Rayg said as he surveyed Silverwolf, Bertrom, and Ealrin. "Are you the ones with whom I ought to speak? Were you expecting a truce or a deal to surrender?"
Ealrin hadn't prayed for such a thing.
"Since you gave us no time to respond to your first request, why would we think you were going to allow us to surrender now?"
"Clever," Rayg responded. "I have no intention of allowing any of you to leave these walls
alive."
"We won't allow you to escape either," Ealrin said back to him, standing as tall as he could. It was something to be taller than Rayg, standing on the pile of stones as he spoke. He knew if they were face to face that he would be at least two heads shorter than the general.
"What have you done with your fearless leader, Androlion? Was he too worried about getting his boots wet?"
"Androlion Fellgate is dead," Rayg replied, spitting into the gathering water.
Ealrin paused.
"Then why continue this fight? Why can't we have peace?" he asked.
Androlion was dead? How could it be? Ealrin thought.
He had seen him at the city gates yesterday and hadn't seen him in the fighting today. What was this trick?
The twisted smile on Rayg's face began to turn into an expression of pure loathing.
"Androlion's vision of a peaceful Ruyn was one of lies and false dreams," he said. "I desire no such peace. He thought he was the savior of men. There is no hope for any: dwarf, elf, or man. My aim is not to unite this pitiful land under a banner of men. I want as much blood spilt as possible. I want war. I want hatred. I want chaos."
As he spoke, the dark purple flames of his sword began to glow more powerfully, casting demonic shadows over his face.
"The calamity Androlion foresaw is coming" he said. "Those whom I truly serve will see to it. There is nothing to stop it now. There are only bodies to be burned in its wake."
"And those behind you?" Bertrom said, causing Ealrin to jump slightly. He hadn't expected any words from the cowering soldier.
"Do they want chaos and war? Do they want to kill for the sake of killing?"
Rayg smiled again, gazing at Bertrom intently.
"Funny how riches and the promise of land will encourage man to throw morals to the wind. All who survive this will be granted fortunes beyond their dreams!" he said loudly and the ranks behind him cheered, beating their swords on shields and stomping their feet.
The noise was deafening.
"And how does that fit with your desire to watch the world burn?" Ealrin shouted after the cheering subsided.
"Clever," Rayg replied. "But that is something you won't be alive to work out, I fear."
"One mad lunatic to replace another," Silverwolf said, speaking loud enough to be heard but with a slight crack in her voice.
Was she nervous? Ealrin wondered. How was it different to face an army than to face one victim alone in an alleyway?
Rayg turned his attention to her with a greedy expression.
"Perhaps your body might be spared," he said silkily.
Ealrin gripped his weapons with hands shaking with anger.
"And I hope yours is added to the pile to burn," Silverwolf replied, before turning to the wall and throwing her hand into the air.
That was the signal.
Rayg had seen and was now rushing towards the pile of stones. With every step he came closer to them all with the speed of a galloping horse.
From above them on the walls, a cold wind began to blow. This was not the wind from the winter that was stirring up around them. This wind was unnaturally cold. Magically cold.
Dozens of Speakers were now chanting as one. The wind began to bite at Ealrin and, to his great relief, began to gather frost around the pile of stones. Below them the waters began to crack and to turn white. The horn blasts has signaled the charge, but the men below found that they couldn't move. Ealrin could see that their legs came up slower and slower as ice and snow began to creep along the road. Some began to trip over their comrades who had found their legs frozen to the ground. Others slipped on the now frozen ground. Those who fell did not get back up. In seconds, they were covered in ice.
Rayg had stopped his charge towards the three on the pile and looked back at his army. Not a man marched forward now. Everyone stood stuck in the ice at their feet. There were shouts of pain and the ringing of swords trying to break through unnaturally hard sheets of frozen water.
But at Rayg's feet, Ealrin noticed, no ice gathered. No water froze into solid mass. He stood on dry ground.
"Silverwolf!" he called, urging her to complete the part of the plan he had thought would be for Androlion. "Now!"
She didn't acknowledge him, but readied her dagger, then threw it.
The blade flew, cutting a path through the air. Ealrin could hear it spinning as it hurtled towards its target: Rayg's neck.
Then, it all happened in an instant Ealrin could barely comprehend.
Rayg turned with purple fire in his hands. He sent a blast of it forward, towards Silverwolf. The flames consumed the dagger as if it were a dried leaf. The rush of purple sped so quickly for the assassin that Ealrin didn't have time to react.
But Bertrom did.
He dove forward, past Ealrin, and shoved Silverwolf out of the way of the blast. She fell sideways onto the pile of rubble. The flames hit Bertrom with such force that it lifted him off his feet and blew him towards the upper district walls. A large section of the wall exploded. Rubble flew everywhere. The area around it was charred and burned. Soldiers raced away from the explosion and Speakers lost their chant.
Ealrin was shouting. A yell from the bottom of his gut was coming out of him. But he couldn't hear it. There was a ringing in his ears so deafening that all other noise was obsolete.
He raised his sword and dove headlong for Rayg, Holve's spear behind him and ready to strike. The giant blade was in the general's hands in an instant.
And the two began to fight.
Ealrin was overcome. He seemed to be possessed by something other than himself. He watched as he countered and attacked furiously. Rayg's sword hit the ground where Ealrin had stood moments before. The ice instantly evaporated into steam. Water was all around his feet. He could just barely tell that the water was warm. The ice was melting. The army behind where they dueled was beginning to move again.
And Ealrin was fighting.
He was fighting for Holve. He was fighting for King Thoran. He was fighting for Bertrom and Wisym and Silverwolf.
Everything he had was put into each swing of his blade and thrust of his spear.
But he knew he was dead. There was no possible way he could match Rayg's unnatural speed and strength. Ealrin was just a man. Rayg was something else. Even on his, face the general had a demonic look coming over him. The purple flames of his sword began to spread over his body. With one blow of his shoulder, Rayg knocked Ealrin to the ground.
He splashed into the water, losing his sword. He held on to Holve's spear with all of his might and put it up to block. Rayg lifted his sword above him. There was no escape from this. Ealrin looked at his death approaching.
And then a giant stone rolled into Rayg. It knocked him over, down into the water and out of sight. Ealrin saw two things that he could comprehend. The army of the Southern Republic was advancing and Silverwolf stood panting on top of the pile of rubble, shouting his name.
"Get up here, fool!" she was calling.
His hearing had returned. He sloshed as quickly as he could to where she was standing retrieving his sword and sheathing it. Silverwolf held her arm outstretched. He took it and grasped her arm tightly. A rope was in-between them now. Another part of Silverwolf's plan. They both gripped it firmly and gave a mighty tug.
The rope responded with a pull so hard Ealrin nearly lost his grip on it. They were lifted off their feet and hit the side of the wall hard. Scraping against the wall, they were carried up to the top of the defenses.
Arms gathered them and pulled them back over the wall.
"Where's the other one?" the plump Red Guard commander with the mustache asked.
Ealrin shook his head. Every muscle in his body ached. His head was pounding. His shoulders were screaming. And one terrible truth was rushing over him.
Bertrom wasn't coming back.
He looked down and saw that the army was nearly at the base of the wall.
"Fire!" he shouted hoarsely.
> The words echoed a dozen times in a battle cry, shouted by commanders all around them. Arrows shot from the Beaton side of the wall and over to where the army was gathering. Ealrin looked over to see men falling. But each one that fell had three more behind him, ready to take his place.
"It didn't work," he breathed.
Silverwolf was standing up right. Her gaze was not down at Ealrin, but over the mass of soldiers below and beyond.
"Maybe it didn't need to," she said in a voice barely audible over the commotion.
While men began throwing rocks down at soldiers who were scrambling to climb the walls of the upper district, Ealrin could see something that gave him little hope.
The twin suns were just beginning to rise.
One thought struck out in his mind eerily as he began to throw rocks down at the advancing soldiers.
Beaton may be seeing its very last sunrise.
34: Complaints and Cowards
The army from the north was making good. Riding their elks were a major factor in this. Tory was even getting used to the vile beast, as he called it in reference when speaking to Holve.
“I'll never get used to this thing,” he complained aloud to no one in particular.
Talking seemed to be the only thing that could keep his mind from her. He hadn't realized how much he had missed Lote's demanding and serious tone until it wasn't around to be heard anymore. The journey south had been filled only with small grunts and short sentences from Holve.
He wished he at least had the decency to berate him fully.
Pella wasn't much for conversation either. The female elf leader was stoic in her demeanor. Though she had agreed in the end to come south and aid Thoran, it was obvious she was more doing it out of obligation than willful acceptance.
And so Tory spent most of his time complaining to his elk, whom Pella had said was named Windsprint.
The beast gave a slight lurch and Tory grabbed whatever fur was available.
“Don't you people believe in bridles and saddles?” Tory said as he attempted to steady himself.