by RG Long
All he received in answer was a look of annoyance from Pella and a grunt from Holve.
Far from the caring man who had comforted him the night after the battle, Holve had become more and more moody as the days had past. He kept glancing upward and speaking in soft tones under his breath at whatever it was he was looking at.
Tory wasn't convinced that Holve missed Lote more than he let on. They had known each other longer. Holve and Lote were a part of the Swords before Tory was inducted. They had fought together, trained new soldiers together, and given council to one another.
Perhaps Holve was distant because he was attempting to keep his emotions in check.
But nothing Holve did or said could verify that to Tory. So he did all he knew to do.
Complain.
"We've been riding nonstop for a day and a half," he said loud enough to ensure Holve heard him, even if he was going to pretend he hadn't. "Aren't we going to rest?"
For a long moment, Tory thought his hundredth question would go unanswered. Neither Pella nor Holve seemed to be in any mood to answer him since they began their journey.
A wind blew from the east and brought with it the smell of winter. Leaves blew through the air, crumbled and dying as they flew past the elven army. They had fallen from trees long ago and were now but fragments of their former selves. Crisp air bit at Tory's face, though he tried to keep himself covered and warm. If for no other reason, he wanted to stop so he could sit by a fire and warm himself a bit.
But these elves seemed intent on marching through day and night without end or break.
They also seemed to need less to eat. Tory was starving.
He was just about to open his mouth and complain about the lack of provisions for such a journey when Holve spoke.
"Tory Greenwall," he said gruffly and without looking back at him. "If I hear you open your mouth one more time before we reach Fern's Rest, I'll gladly stuff it closed."
A new complaint about reaching the inn was nearly to his lips when he saw out ahead of them what he had been longing for: a long tendril of smoke rose from the earth and into the sky.
The inn was just ahead.
Fortunately, that meant he wouldn't have to keep quiet for too long or be too cold either.
He doubted Holve was making idle threats.
THE PATRONS OF FERN's Rest were not a little wary of an army of elves marching through their town. Holve went to speak to the owner of the inn to see if they could sell them wood and food. Tory took the opportunity to get off Windsprint and stretch his very sore legs.
"Do you people always travel for such long stretches at a time?" he muttered as Pella walked beside his elk and patted its neck.
Windsprint let out a grunt that was either a relief to have an elf touching it instead of Tory or an answer to his question.
"We haven't traveled this far south in many years," she said in measured tones, looking into Windsprint's strong face as if to agree with his judgment of Tory. "There have been other matters that have required our attention."
"You... You haven't come this far in years?" Tory repeated, surprised by this information.
Even when Thoran was at war with the Mercs in the Southern Republic, the Swords and other representatives for the king moved about the continent. Tory and a few of the other Swords had been sent on an errand to parlay with the dwarves of the south. Granted, they had been able to find the entrance to the dwarven lairs and weren't met with any representatives from the short, stubborn dwarves either.
"Our efforts have been fully engaged in the war against Yule," Pella replied. "And we still have unfinished work."
"What could you need to finish?" Tory asked curiously. For starters, these were more words than the female elf had spoken to him the entire trip thus far and he was glad to talk to someone other than Windsprint. Second, the elves who had fought for Yule had either perished in the battle or sworn loyalty to Shiv and rode with them now down south.
Or so Tory thought.
"We were unable to find Paterus' body," Pella answered, teeth clenched. "And I won't rest until I know his bones are ground into powder."
She stalked off to where some elves had begun to find shelter under trees or set up small canvases, leaving Tory to consider her words.
Lote had been all but consumed with the magical blast Paterus had killed her with. He had assumed the magic had done him in as well. He couldn't still be alive, could he?
Tory shook his head. The thought did not sit well with him and made a heat burn inside him that came from no fire started by elves. He could understand Pella's quest for vengeance if Paterus still lived.
He began to look around for a fire to go and sit by, even if the company he sat with looked at him menacingly. One fire began to grow tall and look enticing. Tory was nearly to it when Holve came from the inn, huffing loudly and shouting for Pella. Several of the elves paused in their labors of setting up camp and glanced his way.
"Gather up! Move out! Through the gates!" he was calling. Tory looked to see several men fall out of the inn, swords and other various weapons in hand.
Pella began to pull her swords from her back when Holve got to her. Tory ran over to where they were meeting.
"They've got it in their heads that we're invading the inn," Holve said, growling. Clearly he thought that the locals had lost their minds. "Won't let me pay for a stick of wood to burn or a stale piece of bread. Move on!"
Pella did not look satisfied.
"You mean to tell me these fools wish to fight?" she asked, struggling against Holve's arm that was holding her own. "They want to see the strength of the elves?"
She was nearly shouting as loudly as Holve had been and several of her comrades were gathering close by, hands on swords and bows.
The men at the inn's door stood defiant, but did not approach the army. Tory thought that was a wise choice, as the army at their gate outnumbered them at least twenty to one.
"This is not the battle you agreed to fight," Holve said, speaking in a low voice to try and calm down the irritated and proud elf. Tory wondered if it would work.
Pella was breathing hard, looking at the men who had gathered with hatred written all over her face. It was this type of thing that Tory had sworn to fight against. He wanted to tell the inn's owners off. What right did they have to refuse these elves of food and wood?
But, on a second glance, he noticed that it wasn't hate that was etched on the faces of the men outside the door.
It was fear.
They were afraid of the elves. Perhaps they had never seen this many in one place, especially if they never traveled far. Tory had seen fear do terrible things to people.
He looked around for a moment. Holve was still restraining Pella. The elves around them were still holding on to their weapons. The men at the inn had not moved from their spot. Glancing back and forth several times, he made his decision.
Tory walked over to Windsprint and, to the best of his abilities, mounted the elk.
"Come on," he said loudly, hoping the elves and the residents of Fern's Rest would hear him. "Beaton has plenty of provisions for us and no reason to deny it to us."
For once, Holve looked at Tory gratefully.
It wasn't that Tory was not looking forward to a good rest or a warm fire or a meal worth eating. He was cold and hungry and exhausted.
But he knew that more blood being spilled at this moment wouldn't solve any of their problems. It certainly wouldn't help them convince the elves that men were a race worth saving.
Slowly, Pella backed away from Holve and folded her hands across her chest.
"Onward!" she called, leaping gracefully onto her own mount and leading the way out of town. Tory saw that she continued to stare at the men. They returned her gaze, but looks of relief came over a few in the back.
Holve walked over to Tory and the elk.
"Finding out that you can use your tongue for good use?"
A half smile found its way onto his fa
ce.
Tory shook his head.
"Don't worry much," he said, wrapping his cloak around him and preparing for the next few days journey. "You'll have a hard time shutting me up after these idiots turned me away from a hot meal."
"THOSE ARE THE TYPE of people you wish to save?" Pella asked Holve as the suns began to set over the second day of traveling from Fern's Rest.
"Fools who can't help themselves, but respond out of fear, still need protecting from those who would end their lives."
The pair hadn't spoken much since they had left the settlement. Finally stopping late in the afternoon yesterday, they had set up camp and spent the night in the open fields. Watches were set and fires were made, much to Tory's delight.
"And I assume you'd like to return home without incident," Holve finished.
Now that they should be upon Beaton in the next half a day, they rode without stopping. They would ride through the night and camp outside the city walls if need be, Holve had explained. The urge to get to Thoran quickly, it seemed to Tory, was overwhelming him.
“We'll stay in Beaton only as long as we need to,” Holve explained to Tory. “Resupply and rest. No more than one evening if we can help it.”
The outlook of only having one night of a warm bed and a hot meal made Tory's spirits sink slightly, but onward they traveled. He supposed one night was better than none at all.
Pella had pushed her mount on to scout the area before the army marched along the long and now sparsely snowed on road. A very light powder fell from the sky. The effect made Pella's light skin even paler.
Or was something else causing her to look so anxious?
She sat upright on her elk and, obediently, the beast came to a halt right in front of Holve and Tory.
“Show off,” Tory snorted quietly, forgetting how well elven ears could pick up his quiet remarks. Lote hadn't been around to remind him.
He remembered, however, when she gave him a very hard look before turning to Holve and speaking rapidly.
“Judging from what I see ahead, we may not have a quick stop in Beaton,” she said to Holve. “Nor much chance of resupplying.”
“What's wrong?” Holve asked, looking slightly troubled at the words Pella spoke.
"You'll see as soon as you crest that hill," Pella said, pointing down the road to where it disappeared down to the lower lands and the plains of Beaton.
The army of elves continued forward. The pair from Thoran urged their mounts onward, followed closely by Pella. As they crested the hill, Holve's eyes narrowed and Tory swore.
Beaton was under siege.
From this distance, they could see a massive army outside of the walls, making their way inward through a large gap in the defenses. The river appeared to have been dammed and was dropping in level. Ships that must have brought the army were beginning to tilt awkwardly as their hulls touched the riverbed.
Smoke, which Tory had mistaken as a gathering storm, rose steadily over the city.
"No rest for the weary," he said, stretching out his arms and adjusting himself on Windsprint before asking. "What are we going to do Holve?"
For a moment, the old soldier just looked over the scene in front of him. His eyes lingered on certain spots, trying to see something in the failing light of the day.
"Those are Androlion's banners," he said at last. "They've come north after all."
Holve paused a bit, and then shook his head slightly.
"I wonder what fate Thoran has met."
Tory had a hard time imagining what might have happened to his homeland if the army that had threatened it had already moved up this far north.
"I guess you were right, Holve," he said. "The elves here are in more danger than we first thought. They won't stop in Beaton if they win this battle."
Pella turned to them.
"These are the ones you said were to march against your country," she said in a tone Tory couldn't quite identify. "Yet they are here."
She looked out over the scene before them. Most of the soldiers had already entered the city and the densest part of the fighting was taking place in an area inside the first wall.
Tory wondered what had become of Ealrin and the others. Were they going to be casualties of the war, like Lote?
"Maybe your country has been bypassed?" she offered.
"Or already fallen," Holve replied. "The question then, Pella, is not if you and your elves will fight this army, but where. It seems they have been more than willing to come north and seek out this country. Surely yours to the north will be next. Or perhaps even the dwarves to the west, though they are well defended."
"Are you saying we are not..." Pella began, but Holve cut across her.
"No matter how well protected you may be," he nearly shouted at her. "The war has come to you. Will you fight it here and now or wait for the inevitable?"
The elf became quiet. Several around her shifted on their mounts as they, too, surveyed the city below them.
Beaton's prospects looked quite grim from this angle.
"Ealrin's down there," Tory said to Holve. "At least he was when we left. Him and a few others."
Holve only grunted in reply. Tory cleared his throat.
“We're going down there, then? Won't be pretty.”
He knew Holve didn't need his assessment of the situation. There were thousands of soldiers down there flying the green and white of Androlion. Tens of thousands. The company from Shiv was half that at best. They would make little difference if the defenders of Beaton were already being routed.
Pella turned from the sight below and looked at Holve and Tory.
“We cannot fight this war here,” she said. “There is no advantage. We would be better off in our castle to wait for them there. That or sail off to more friendly lands.”
Holve turned to face her.
“You would abandon your promise to help me?” he said roughly. “You would abandon your homeland in order to save your own skin?”
“The lives of my people are not so easily thrown away,” she retorted with a look of distaste in Holve's direction.
“And their lives?” Holve said, pointing back down to the city with its smoke rising higher into the evening sky. “Are they to be discarded whenever you find it convenient?”
Pella didn't answer. She looked back at Holve defiantly, crossing her arms in front of her.
Tory looked from the elf to his general and back again.
“It's getting colder,” he said, rubbing his hands together as a wind blew over them. The wind was much colder than any other that had come across them that day.
“Then light a fire,” Holve near shouted, rounding on him. “I dare say the Southern Republic cares little about us being up here when they've got thousands of helpless people down there to slaughter.”
Tory turned away from Holve and looked down at Beaton.
“Probably cold down there, too,” he muttered. “There's people down there I know. Friends. There are probably lots of kids, too. Bet they're cold. And scared. I bet too many of them have already lost a mom or a dad or someone.”
He took a step forward and put a hand to his sword.
“You and I swore to protect those who couldn't protect themselves, right, Holve?” he asked.
For the time being, Holve and Pella had stopped arguing and looked at Tory.
“I'll go,” he said after a moment of staring down into the city. Fires were blazing everywhere. The suns were both falling past the horizon and their light faded. The only thing that would light the city tonight would be the flames of war.
“Even if no one else comes with me,” Tory said. “I'm going.”
He looked at Pella.
“Holve and I swore to do our part to ensure peace on this continent. Even if it meant doing something crazy or beyond our capabilities. It's our oath. To help the helpless.”
The elf, still looking defiant, stared back at Tory. Her eyes bore into him, but he refused to look away.
“That's what Lote did for you, coward.”
At these words Pella advanced on Tory, but Holve held out an arm, stopping her.
“She helped you,” Tory continued, not worried at this point if the elf attacked him or not. “And she was going to help these people, too, I bet.”
He glanced back to the city as Holve put his arm down and Pella looked indignant.
“Decide what you like. Sail away or go back to your castle and wait for that army to come find you,” he said.
He looked at Holve, who, though he had raised an eyebrow at him slightly, could not mask a look of pride on his face.
“Holve and I will fight,” Tory said resolutely. “We're going to go put a sword in a Southern Republic general if it kills us.”
35: A Kingly Refusal
The feast that followed the defeat of the demon lasted the entire next day. Gorplin ate at least twice more than he thought his stomach could hold, though he was certainly impressed with how much food the little halflings could pack away given their small size. They and a very large number of dwarves ate in a great hall with huge columns supporting an intricately designed and rune-covered ceiling. Rimstone glowed from large, lamp-like constructions that hung from the roof and lit the chamber in a warm, orange glow.
All sorts of meats and breads were spread out before them on long tables. They sat on ornate benches and drank from stone goblets. Gorplin wasn't sure what he was drinking from his cup, but he knew it was strong and it warmed his bones.
Jurgon had reached for the goblet in front of him, but Gorplin had stopped him by putting his hand in-between the halfling's and the cup.
"Bah," he said in a slight hiccup. "I would stick to water, little one."
King Thuda sat on a raised chair at the front of the room. As guests of honor, Gorplin, Jurgon, and Jurrin had been placed at the end of one of the tables closest to the king. Thuda stood up on his dinner throne and raised his goblet and cheered.
A loud echoing chant rose among the dwarves.
"Thuda! Thuda! Thuda!"
The king raised both his hands into the air and a roar of pounding and cheering filled the hall. He shouted over the crowd and they quieted to listen.