Sword of Ruyn

by R. G. Long

  "Crazy old coot doesn't quite do him justice. He's dependable and quite good company. But let's just say he's lived by himself 20 years too many. He's full of odd stories and rants every now and then."

  "Has anyone turned him into a chicken?" Ealrin asked Roland, smiling a bit himself.

  Roland let out a laugh that was much too loud for a group trying to hunt down a thief, but was genuine and rang over the field and off the mountain.

  "Holve, I've met many a man in my adventures and half of them were those that you've introduced me to in our many years. Some I haven't thought much about or like, but this one is growing on me!"

  6: General Rayg

  In the coolness of the dawn, he could see his own breath mist in front of him, as well as the breath of the four hundred souls behind him. The bursts of fog were the only telltale sign that they occupied this spot, covered as they were by several barriers of protective magic.

  The mountain of the dwarves loomed before them. For generations dwarves had dwelled in and mined the mountains of the Southern Republic without fear of their precious bounty being claimed by another, thanks to the treaty of peace signed nearly one hundred years ago.

  That treaty ends today, thought Rayg, general of the Mercs.

  He stood taller than any other man around him. He was broader as well. The sword he carried was nearly the same size as his own body. It would have been impossibly heavy to lift for any other man, but not Rayg. He was more than just a man.

  "I don't like the idea of raiding the dwarves," spoke Gileon in his ear. Typically the short, squat man would not be able to whisper to him so because Rayg would simply ignore the words coming from the height of his torso. As the company was kneeling down to remain in the barrier, Gileon could talk directly into Rayg's ear.

  This displeased Rayg greatly.

  "You heard how they plan to attack Conny and usurp power from the elders so that they can mine the plains!" Rayg directed back to him in a harsh tone. "They must be dealt with swiftly if we are to maintain peace!"

  "Peace," the word echoed in Rayg's ear. Yes. All would be done for peace. Or so the common man would believe.

  Preparations for this day were four years in the making and all players had to be in the correct spot, ready to pounce as one. Some of the lesser races would play their own role. But it would all be for the rise of man.

  "The age of man is come," said Rayg out loud, yet barely audible to any but himself and possibly Gileon. No matter.

  The morning sunlight would cast out any doubt or darkness from their plan, Rayg thought.

  He rose above the protective barrier, effectively breaking it and revealing the four hundred men in red robes under battle armor standing at the base of the mountain. A dwarven horn blared in the distance.

  It begins, thought Rayg with a smile.

  "Torch the mountain!" he yelled as he felt the energy around him begin to condense and burn hot.

  In unison, four hundred fireballs shot from staffs bearing precious stones and blasted the mountainside. As expected, war machines cranked to life along the cliffs, but as they had not used them in such a long time, several groaned and protested.

  The pause was all the Speakers needed.

  Rayg mumbled the language of the stones. His sword began to emit a purple light that shone oddly around the red and orange flames near him. Fire erupted from where the war machines were creaking, and the screams of dwarves echoed along the mountain.

  "What sweet music," said Rayg. "Advance!"

  As one, they began to march up the mountain. Using the ancient road constructed by the dwarves themselves, the men advanced towards the stronghold known as Cardun-Adush. This dwarven city would fall before first light.

  AS RAYG LOOKED AROUND the great hall where the dwarven leaders kept court, he smiled at the devastation. Bodies of dwarves littered the halls. Every now and then a Speaker's words would echo throughout the cave turned into a city, signaling another burst of orange or red light, a scream, and then silence.

  The dwarves had for too long mined the mountains and kept their bounty as their own, thought Rayg.

  Now it would be put to good use. A noble cause. Not made into any crude sword or ax, but fashioned into the rod of magic needed to bring peace to Ruyn.

  "Peace," spoke Rayg as he surveyed the destroyed great hall and bodies strewn all about. He chuckled. Yes, peace would come in time. A peace that would surpass all expectations.

  "By the blessed gods of light," Gileon shuddered as he walked into the ancient hall.

  He and three others had emerged from a side room. Gileon was pale and ashen, adding to the impression Rayg always got that the man resembled a gourd more than a man.

  "All dead, Rayg," he said through trembling lips. "We've checked every room we could find. Every dwarf is slain. By the gods, it didn't need to be like this.”

  Gileon was surveying the damage done with wide eyes. Rayg looked at his feet and saw a dwarf, or at least, the charred remains of one, still clutching his ax. He bent down and wrestled it from its former owner. It was a beautiful ax, though now the fire of the Speakers blackened it. The handle and blade were one magnificent piece of metal, shaped with care and the skill of a master craftsman. Rayg, who detested the dwarves, could tell that this was a great weapon and that its owner must have been someone of importance. At least to the dwarves. He kicked the carcass for good measure and turned to face Gileon, who was still rambling about the needless shedding of blood and violence.

  “Where was the council that was sent to bring about a peaceable agreement for the dwarves? Is this really what the elders had asked of us and our order? Are the Speakers meant to burn the mountains down to appease the leaders? This isn't putting down a rebellion. This is genocide. This is..."

  His words were caught in his throat. More specifically the dwarven ax Rayg had hurled at him was caught in his throat. Rayg had heard enough from the sorry excuse for a man.

  Gileon tumbled to the ground in a pile of robes and blood. The three speakers around him backed away as they watched their master twitch as he slowly died. Rayg allowed his blade to glow intensely as they recovered and turned their gaze at him.

  “To the mines speakers. We still have work to do,” he said as he turned from the great hall. These speakers would follow him for sure, for they feared him above all else. But Rayg would not allow them to tell of how their master died. He would ensure an ‘accident’ claimed them while searching the mines for what they sought. The dwarves would be blamed for the death of the Master Speaker of the Southern Republic.

  The golden inlaid columns were stained with blood and ash. The floors were charred and dented. As he walked from that place, Rayg could feel an elation rising up within him. This was why they had come. To end the dwarves. To take from their mines that which would serve men in the coming struggle.

  This was his purpose.

  To cleanse the world of the blight of the lesser races.

  There was still much work to do.

  7: Old Soltack

  As the last few rays of the double suns faded into the mountains, Holve, Roland, and Ealrin came upon the house that Ealrin assumed belonged to Old Soltack.

  The house looked older than the hills themselves.

  The thatch roof had holes that could be seen in this fading light. A window with a pane knocked out of it long ago had several faded rags stuffed into the hole to keep out the critters and the wind. What may have once been a garden was now overgrown with weeds that threatened to move right into the old house, should the walls ever collapse due to the weight of plants crawling up its mud and log siding.

  A dim light could be seen from the crack in the door, as if a single candle was all the light that was on inside the home.

  Holve approached the door and knocked hard.

  "Don't bang the door down! I saw you coming from a league away!" said a voice from the shadows of the side garden. "I may yet be 70 winters, but I'll not be snuck up on by the likes of vagabo
nds and pickpockets."

  Ealrin nearly jumped out of his skin. The old man stood behind a bush to the right of the doorway. He hobbled out on a cane, hunched over, yet still demanding attention. His beard grew all the way to his navel, perhaps to compensate for the hair that no longer resided on his head. He walked up to the trio and looked each of them in the face.

  There was a fire behind those old gray eyes.

  "Holve Bravestead, I'll be waggered if you think you can come calling at this hour expecting a feast and wine!" he said as he opened the door and motioned for them to come in.

  Three men followed the old one into his home. Holve came last and closed the door tight as he replied to Soltack.

  "Your hospitality hasn't changed much in the last year, Soltack! We're chasing a thief, old friend, and simply need a place to lay down our heads tonight. I've brought some provisions for us in my pack, and we'll not intrude on your stores, you old greedy guts."

  Holve's tone was sarcastic and harsh, but Ealrin could sense a playful tone in the gruff man’s voice. All it warranted from Soltack was a simple "Bah!" as he led them into the first room of the house and then disappeared into another. A cloth that served as a door fell behind him, signaling to Ealrin that they were not to follow.

  The floors were rough and uneven wood that may have once been straight and fine. Years of erosion under the house and what looked like much abuse had caused them to bend and warp.

  A single candle stood on a table in the center of what could have been a common room for cooking and eating. Ealrin wasn't sure what anything was, as there were books, clothes and all manner of odds and ends stacked to the ceiling. Everything was a shelf to Soltack, though for most it was not its original purpose.

  The old man returned to the room with a loaf of bread, a pitcher of water, and a small wedge of cheese set upon a wooden plate. He threw it down on the table (on top of various books and parchments), and let out a "Humpf" as he seated himself on a crate that was overturned next to the table.

  "Sleep where you can, you and your friends. Just keep any thief you chase far away from my house!" Soltack said as he placed both hands on top of his staff and stared square at Ealrin. He felt uneasy as he moved a book from a chair in order to sit down himself.

  Roland stood at the window and watched the night sky as Holve also moved to sit next to the old man.

  "You're too kind to allow us some floor and a roof, Soltack," he said as he tore off a piece of bread, spread a bit of cheese on it and offered it to the white bearded fellow. He then did this again and handed a piece to Ealrin.

  "And since you won't stop staring at the boy here, I'll be the one to have manners and introduce him. This is Ealrin Bealouve. I believe you've met Roland before?"

  Soltack grunted a response, which Ealrin supposed meant yes. Roland threw Holve a smile and a wink, and then went back to looking out the window.

  "I doubt we need a watch tonight, Roland, as the man would be outnumbered three to one."

  "Four!" interjected Soltack through a mouthful of bread.

  "My apologies," said Holve giving Soltack a mock salute. "And if you continue to stare at the boy like that, Soltack, you'll burn a hole right through him. Come on, you suspicious old goat, he’s trustworthy."

  Boy. Ealrin wanted to fume at Holve for calling him young again. He wasn’t young! Well, at least he didn’t feel young. He felt experienced and... and what? Some other word tugged at him, but he couldn’t quite call it to mind. But then Holve had also called him something else. Trustworthy. What on earth had Ealrin done to earn that kind word? Sure, in the last week he had stolen no food from Elezar and made small talk with Holve about the various visitors to the Rusty Hook.

  Did Holve already consider him someone worth trusting?

  "Perhaps if I told you my story you could try to enlighten us, Master Soltack," said Ealrin meeting his gaze.

  At being called 'Master,' Soltack's eyes softened a bit and the slightest turn of his mouth indicated a smile on his bearded face.

  "So far, I like him," he said as he finished his bread and returned his hand to his staff.

  The tale took Ealrin only a few moments to tell, but then Soltack began asking questions to which he didn't know the answer. Holve would fill in where he could, but then every now and then he himself couldn't find an answer to the old man's questioning.

  "Which direction did it appear the boat was headed? How many bodies did you find along the shore? Were there other things that washed ashore that could help ascertain the origins of the vessel? Did any scrolls or parchments appear as well? What did the sails have on them? Were there any signs of a battle? Had the magic gone wrong? Storms? A mutiny?"

  Several questions to which Ealrin had not given much of a thought to. Holve, who had been unable to answer the last round of questions entirely at one point, said "We found little else on the shore save for Ealrin, some debris from his vessel, and a few other bodies. Whatever caused his ship to sink, it must have been catastrophic."

  After some time, the man relaxed a bit on his old crate, satisfied with the tale.

  "You say you're chasing a thief, eh?"

  "Stole something off of Elezar," said Roland, speaking for the first time in a while. His gaze was fixed outside and he had not yet sat down to eat. He seemed determined to watch the darkness for any signs of the thief.

  Or is he looking for that man at all, Ealrin thought.

  He had said he had news of goblins. Was that his concern as the darkness enveloped the land before him? Ealrin could not remember anything about his past, but he remembered goblins.

  Soltack interrupted his thoughts.

  "It's been far too long since I've had visitors, so you'll have to pay me for spending the night by hearing one of my stories."

  "Which one will it be this time, old man? The Dark Comet? The troll king who rallied the goblins? Or some other rambling we have heard at least a hundred times?" asked Roland, not looking at the old man, but still gazing out the window. “That comet’s been in the sky for several years now and done nothing but inspire fear and doomsday prophecies from crazy old men with nothing better to do than make people frightened of their own shadow.”

  "Boy, you'll hear my story or you will sleep under the stars." Soltack said as he pointed his staff at Roland.

  "Easy Roland," Holve said with a grimace. "I've heard just as many of his stories as you have."

  Ealrin wondered if the old man would truly kick Roland out of the house for not listening to a simple story. But given Roland's playfulness, he was sure that at least he was kidding. The old man, however, he was less sure of.

  As for the comet outside, Ealrin craned his neck at the window to see what Roland was talking about. The night had fallen now and, indeed, in the sky, there was a star greater than all the others, brighter and more intense. Its tail stretched over a large portion of the sky and its head was a deep orange, becoming an odd color of purple at the tip. What was that comet?

  Ealrin didn’t have much time to think it over, as Soltack started talking. He did notice Holve, however, who raised an inquiring eyebrow at him looking out the window.

  "No. I'll tell you a story I know you haven't heard before. The other day I was reading through an old journal of mine, from when I was sailing as a merchant for the republic."

  "I've heard several of your tales of adventures on the high seas..." Roland began, but Soltack cut him off abruptly.

  "One more word from you and I'll have you out of this house!"

  Ealrin was now certain the old man was serious about Roland sleeping under the stars.

  Turning his gaze back to what he probably considered his more polite audience (Holve and Ealrin), Soltack began his tale.

  “I’ve traveled far and wide in my younger years. I was never much for the sedentary life. I took several jobs working cargo ships that sailed from the continent of Irradan to Ruyn. The voyage was treacherous and sometimes meant goblin invasions."

  “The othe
r day I was looking through my journals to remember some of the adventures we had as we traded goods from the two very different lands. We were a day’s good sailing from the coast of Irradan when I heard a voice in the cargo hold. Not just a voice, but crying, whimpering. I went to investigate and low and behold, in a barrel, bound and gagged was a young boy, no more than ten. He was handsome, but pretty banged up. He had been through a pretty big ordeal.

  “I took him out and tried to bandage him the best I could. He took to me rather fondly, perhaps like a father. I also made sure to save him from the glances of the more unsavory characters we took with us. Adventure sometimes calls the sick and twisted along with the good hearted.

  “In the month that we were at sea, he barely talked at all, though when he did it was with the respect and poise of a knight's page or the most skilled magician’s apprentice. He was no commoner! He refused to be bathed like a child and only washed himself in privacy.

  “He told me that he had not come willingly on the boat and of course that much he was sure of. He had been kidnapped in the hopes that his father would pay a royal sum for his return. His captors learned that his father had been killed the very night he had been kidnapped! Figuring that without his father, he was worthless, they bound, gagged, and put him in a barrel to ship him off to his death, and have their names be cleared. He never got a good look at his kidnappers. Thank the stars they didn’t sell him into the market to be used like a rag doll. As I said, he was handsome for his young age, and would have fetched a fair price. I assume they weren’t the smartest bunch.

  “The boy was determined to find his father’s murderers and avenge him. I tried to talk him out of it. Perhaps he could sail with me instead. He would have nothing of it. His heart was consumed with the thought of revenge. He begged me to practice sword skills with him. He was already quite talented and by the end of the trip he could beat every man on the ship with ease. Not many threw him unwelcome glances after he had defeated them in a duel. Though they may have held a grudge for being beaten by one so young.