by RG Long
Alric, Teresa's brother, was now king of Thoran. Holve took some time to explain how Teresa and a few faithful swords would join him for a meeting in the south to discuss what, if anything, could be done to prevent something like this from happening again.
“But unfortunately,” Holve said with a sad look. “History often repeats itself, even if we are careful to see that tragedies of this nature are not common occurrences in tomes of legend.”
He sat back in his chair and now gave Blume a questioning look.
“What I am still trying to understand is both how you were able to defeat Rayg and why you were even in Beaton at all.”
Blume gave a soft chuckle, and then looked worried all of a sudden.
“Jeremy!” she said looking back and forth from Ealrin to Holve. “Abigail! Did you see the others after the battle was over?”
“Calm down, Blume,” Ealrin said. “Jeremy and Abigail were the two that found you. Well, Holve said a man was with them.”
“Anders,” she told him. “His name was Anders.”
“Yes, Anders Sureloft, the blacksmith,” Ealrin said waving his hand and continuing on. “They were returned to Thoran with the other refugees. Holve made sure they made it to their families.”
He looked at Holve to help confirm this story, but found the old man looking at him now with the same puzzled expression he had given Blume.
“I don't remember that man telling us his profession,” he said quietly. “Nor did I know what it was. You know he was a blacksmith?”
Ealrin paused.
“I...” he started. “Well, yes. I do know. It was just something I knew about him.”
He found this puzzling as well. Now that he thought about it, that was all he knew about the man. That Anders was a famous blacksmith. But where had he heard that before?
“Strange,” he said to no one in particular.
Holve looked back to Blume.
“I believe it's your turn to spin a tale,” he said, inclining his head to her.
“It's a long one,” she said honestly. “And I'm too starved to tell you on an empty stomach. What's to eat?”
Ealrin went out and brought back a tray laden with bread, meat, cheese and more water for them to drink. Over the meal, Blume told them how she and her two companions had been magically transported to Sea Gate, worked at an inn, and then had been rounded up into an orphanage that provided the labor for Androlion's ships. The journey to the north, and then of Cory and his act to save her and return her necklace to her and keep it from Androlion.
It was this that made her feel her neck without thinking and gasp.
“Where is it?” she asked, panicked.
“It's here,” Ealrin answered, trying to calm her. He stood and went to the mantle above the fireplace and removed the necklace, handing it gingerly back to her.
She took it from him and held it to her like an infant. She held it in one hand and stroked with the other.
“Rayg gave this long speech about, well, it was something about 'his Master' or something odd like that. He talked about this being a puny world and that he had come to cleanse it. Then we fought.”
Blume gazed into the green stone in her hands.
“I can't explain it,” she said. “I thought I was dead. Then there was this surge of power that I knew wasn't completely from me. I thought I had used all the energy I had to give. But I kept fighting. It still wasn't enough. But Rayg had lifted his sword and was about to kill me. I knew he was. I raised my hands into the air and... I saw. Well, I saw my parents. And my brother. They were all telling me how proud they were of me and that I had grown up and that it wasn't... They said it wasn't time yet.”
Blume looked up at them.
“Then there was nothing. Blackness. I woke up here.”
They let the stillness of the moment gather around them.
Ealrin was in awe.
“You know there were at least twenty of those terrible demons before you fought Rayg?” he asked after some time. “They disappeared with him, I guess. The dark comet that had come so close to us receded as well. It's still in the sky, though.”
Holve was scratching his chin. He had been quite silent during her tale.
“May I, Blume?” he said, holding out a hand to her and indicating the necklace.
Slowly, she gave him the necklace and he spent a moment spinning it in his hands, observing the design and the Rimstone held within the claw at the end of it.
“Hmm,” he said softly. “Maybe...”
“What is it?” Ealrin asked curiously.
“I'm not sure,” Holve replied, handing it back to Blume. “But based on the events that happened around Beaton, I have a theory.”
He stood.
“I'm glad you're alright, Blume,” he said as he looked down at her. “I have a feeling your adventures aren't done yet.”
“Ealrin,” he said as he made his way to the door. “Take care of her and...”
He dropped his voice lower so that Ealrin had to strain to hear him.
“Keep her and that necklace safe.”
After grabbing his coat, putting his pack on his back and grabbing hold of the spear Ealrin had given back to him, he looked at them both.
“I'll send a letter if I can't come myself. Get your strength up.”
He looked at Ealrin as well as Blume.
“Both of you.”
With that, Holve opened the door and closed it behind him, leaving the two alone.
“I'm glad he's gotten less mysterious,” Blume said as she bit into another piece of bread.
The two laughed for a good long time. Something Ealrin hadn't done in months. As he chuckled, he felt a weight that he hadn't realized was resting on him lift off of his shoulders.
45: The Rusty Hook
One month to the day after Blume awoke from her long sleep, they had received a letter from Holve, along with some other papers marked for travel in a small package.
“It is time we met again,” the letter had said in hastily drawn script. “All of us. Come to Good Harbor. Ealrin, you'll know the place at which we'll meet. No need to reply, Holve.”
Ealrin and Blume had spent every day of that month walking around the city of Mountain Gate as it thawed from the winter chill. It was a good thing because the journey south was going to be difficult at best for Blume. As Ealrin looked at the other papers included in the packet Holve had sent, he was relieved to see two additional letters.
One was to a man named “Solitad Trainer” and on the letter was a note from Holve.
“Ealrin, give this to the man who owns the stables called 'Trainer's Finest.' He owes me.”
Solitad did not dispute this fact. After Ealrin and Blume had packed up their meager belongings and received several parting gifts of packaged traveling food from Marty, the Vagabond's innkeeper, they walked the very short distance from the inn to the stables.
“I remember riding a horse with you before,” Blume said as they approached the place, smirking. “I'm glad we're not stealing these ones.”
Solitad looked as if they were stealing them. He wore quite the sore expression as he read the letter, but led them to two horses all the same.
“You'll take 'em to 'Finbit's Horse Emporium' in Riverhead when you get there,” he said gruffly, leading out two very fine looking horses. “He'll see that they make their way back to me.”
They thanked the man and were soon on their way.
Blume still needed help getting into her saddle, but before long the city of Mountain Gate was behind them and Ealrin was telling stories of how they had fought a troll and met some halflings the first time he had traveled this way.
Thanks to the speed of their horses and the happiness they shared at one another's company, the journey to Riverhead seemed to take no time at all. Within days, they were soon delivering Holve's second letter, to none other than Felicia and Urt.
“Been wonderin' when our paths might cross again,” Felicia said to the
stunned Ealrin. “It's been ages. Holve told us about your adventures and all. Sounds like a tale for tellin' over dinner.”
“Great!” Ealrin said, rubbing his quite empty stomach and looking around expectantly. “When do we eat?”
Felicia threw him the end of a long rope.
“After you get the sails up,” she said with a look that drove all question of defiance out of Ealrin's mind.
“What's with the cat?” Blume asked, nudging Ealrin slightly and looking over at Urt. The Skrilx had just assumed his position at the wheel before looking down at Blume and giving a small snort.
“His name is Urt,” Ealrin explained. “And I wouldn't call him a cat. Claim whatever bed or hammock Felicia points you to while I rig this up.”
And with that, Ealrin assumed the same task he had been appointed the last time he had set sail with Captain Stormchaser.
For a fleeting moment, he remembered Roland and his brave fight on the White Wind that seemed ages ago. He shook his head and ran to the starboard side of the ship, hoisting the sails up with some of the other crew. In his gut, he knew fate would give them a much smoother ride.
DAYS LATER, THE CREW, Ealrin, and Blume arrived at Good Harbor, experiencing no major setbacks save for a cool spring storm that had seen the crew hauling ropes in the rain and Blume laughing at Ealrin, who had managed to soak every piece of clothing he owned so thoroughly it was a full day before he dried out.
Stepping onto the docks, Ealrin looked at the small walled city he had washed ashore by a year ago to the day. Good Harbor looked the exact same as it had then save for one thing: the population of the city seemed to have doubled at least.
“Refugees from the war who wanted to get away from the mainland's violence,” Felicia explained behind him, helping load supplies onto the ship. Her crew was hard at work, gathering barrels and crates from the dock and loading them onto the vessel Ealrin had learned was called Willow's Flight.
“Heading back out so soon?” he asked her as she pulled hard on a rope and tugged the cargo it was hauling aboard. Urt pulled the crate onto the deck effortlessly and Felicia let the rope down with a grunt.
“Just a quick trip to Sea Gate and back,” she replied, panting for breath. “Then we're off to more exotic places!”
The pair of them left Felicia and her crew to their task and they walked off the dock, Ealrin leading the way. He guided Blume around, pointing out shops he had visited while recovering at the Rusty Hook. It was to this place he was directing them, assuming that when Holve said Ealrin would know where to meet, that the inn would be the location of the meeting.
He wasn't wrong.
Opening the door, Ealrin was immediately greeted by shouts of welcome and an odd sight: a completely full Rusty Hook. Loudest of these was Elezar, the owner of the inn and the man for whom Ealrin had helped retrieve an old locket that had pictures of his family.
The old man had run around his bar and embraced Ealrin. He wasn't the only one who patted him on the back or hugged his neck. Gorplin, Jurgon, Jurrin, Tory, Teresa, Wisym, and, to his great surprise, Silverwolf were all gathered in the dining area of the old inn. The latter was leaning against the back wall and did not rush over to embrace him, but merely inclined her head at his entrance.
Blume was met with even more enthusiasm than Ealrin, as all had been told of her long recovery from the battle of Beaton.
“Alright, alright,” Holve shouted over the commotion, quieting them down and standing over them. “If everyone's done, we've business to talk about.”
The room settled down and its occupants found seats. The tables had been pushed around and chairs rearranged so that they formed a type of semicircle around the room. Ealrin noticed that everyone in the room was someone he knew and, save for Elezar, were those who had been greatly involved in the war that engulfed Ruyn.
Holve nodded to Elezar, who strode over to the door and locked it, turning an “Open for Business” sign in the door over to “Full Occupancy.” He nodded and addressed the crowd at large.
“Welcome all,” he said, still in his gruff tone but, Ealrin thought, with a softness that was not typically present in the older man's normal speech. “Before we begin, I think we ought to raise a toast to those we've lost in the last year.”
Elezar had just handed Blume a greenish tea and Ealrin something a bit stronger. One by one they stood, calling the names of the fallen in reverence.
“Bertrom.”
“Lote.”
“Gaflion.”
“Folke.”
“Narvi.”
“Finwe.”
“Roland.”
“Crawford.”
“Gray.”
“Dece, Darrith, and Lily.”
Ealrin looked at Blume, who had just stood among the others and realized he had never asked her the name of her parents, whom he knew she had just honored.
“And Cory,” she finished, looking over at Tory. He stood stoically, his chin set.
Ealrin couldn't guess what might be going through the mind of the twin whom had learned that his brother was not a traitor but, in fact, a man who had risked all to attempt to undermine Androlion.
A moment of silence followed this last name, and then Holve broke the quiet.
“Tonight, we honor those whom we've lost. We toast to their memory. We remember the lives that they lived and the sacrifice they made. May we see the peace they fought to secure.”
With that, he lifted his mug and then took a drink. The others did likewise.
They all resumed their seats, with the exception of Holve and Silverwolf in the corner, who continued to stand.
“I thank you all for answering my call to meet. This has indeed been a difficult year,” he looked around at them all, his gaze resting on Ealrin.
“But I believe we are on the precipice of circumstances more dire than even the fate that Ruyn had seen come to it in these troubled times.”
Everyone shifted in their chair, looking at the person sitting next to them or else giving Holve a puzzled look.
“Always the positive one,” Tory interjected, putting his face in his hand as he rested it on the table.
Teresa shushed him with a glare.
“I wouldn't have gone to the trouble of getting you all here unless I felt it of the utmost importance,” he continued on, pretending that Tory hadn't spoken. “The one I have been most interested in seeing, however, has only just come through the door.”
This time Holve's eyes did not land on Ealrin, but on Blume.
She looked sideways for a moment and then awkwardly around the room, as everyone had turned to see her more clearly.
“Me?” she asked, pointing to herself as if making sure she understood.
“Yes, Blume Dearcrest,” Holve said. “I have actually been doing a fair amount of research on you these last few months. “Or least, I've attempted to. There's one bit I'm still curious about and would like it if you could test a theory I have for me.”
Blume shrugged her shoulders and nodded, looking at Ealrin for an explanation. He shook his head, having no more idea what Holve was talking about than she did.
Holve purposefully set his mug down on the table and then looked at Blume again.
“Could you make this drink float a bit?” he asked.
Ealrin could see more than one eyebrow raised at this question. It was the most basic of magic and Blume, as everyone in this room was completely aware, was capable of feats much more astounding than this.
Blume looked sheepish for a moment, then took her necklace in her left hand and Spoke a few words Ealrin knew to be magic. Her gaze was fixed on the mug on the table ahead of her.
It didn't budge.
She blinked and then, looking around for a few moments, turned her attention back to the mug and Spoke the words again.
Nothing.
“I'm...” she started. “I'm not sure what's wrong.”
Holve considered her, then turned to Jurgon.
“
Jurgon,” he said, opening his hand to the halfling. “I understand you are a self-trained Speaker as well. Would you mind?”
Jurgon went red, but clutching an intricate looking metal wand in his hand, he performed the same words of Speaking and the mug indeed rose about a foot off the table before gently setting itself down again.
Jurrin smiled at his companion who, still quite red in the face, shrugged at his friend and looked at his hands.
Holve nodded, as if understanding something of importance.
“Have you tried to use your gift at all since waking up a month ago?” he asked.
Blume looked at Ealrin, as if asking for help, before answering.
“No,” she said. “I mean, I've been trying to rest so I haven't tried a lot. Just a few things...”
She trailed off and Ealrin could tell she was more bothered by her inability to do the task Holve had asked of her than she let on.
“Bah,” Gorplin said, his beard dripping with his own drink. “I've never heard of Rimstone running out of juice.”
There was a general murmur of agreement.
“Nor have I,” Holve said. “And that is part of the reason I've asked Blume to come. I believe she is holding something that is not normal Rimstone at all.”
“In fact,” he continued. “I believe what Miss Dearcrest here possesses may just be unique on Ruyn, if not all of Gilia.”
Blume held her necklace gingerly as everyone looked at her, questions in their eyes.
Holve went on.
“That is a small part of why I've asked our northern friend here to attend this meeting,” he said, motioning to Silverwolf, who simply sighed and began to rummage in the bag that was hidden underneath her new gray cloak.
After a bit of searching, she procured from it an ancient looking book, and then tossed it to Holve.
He caught it deftly, but gave her a look that clearly communicated his dislike of her handling the object in such a fashion.
Turning the pages of the tome, he spoke as he searched.
“This is a book that I can read only parts of. There seems to have been a fair attempt by some to translate the language written here to the common tongue, but not all of it has been.”