by R. G. Long
"I hope they find us another city to torch soon!"
"Ha! Yeah! That was the most fun I've had in years!"
The Mercs dismounted their horses, led them to the stable beside the inn and then disappeared.
"Holve, normally I wouldn't suggest what I'm about to," said Ealrin.
"Under the circumstances, I don't think any in this group will disagree with you. Let's go." replied Holve.
Quietly they walked past the inn and into the stable. If there were stable attendants, they weren't around to be seen. The two horses that were just brought in were tied to a post and eating from their bags of grain. Ealrin loosened one and Holve released the other. Holve hopped up onto his stolen horse, while Ealrin helped Blume on top of his.
"I'm not really okay with stealing horses," she said as Ealrin lifted her up.
"Nor am I, but these horses belonged to the people who burned your city to the ground," he replied as he mounted the horse as well, Blume sitting in front of him so she wouldn't fall off easily.
"Does your wrong correct theirs?" she asked him, looking over her shoulder.
Ealrin knew the answer; he just didn't want to give it. Blume was certainly an older soul than her age let on.
"Hiyah!" he and Holve said in unison.
They were out of the city limits without any sound to accompany them save for the clip clop of the hooves of their stolen horses.
THEY RODE FOR HOURS. Stopping only for water at a stream to rest their horses for a moment, they rode by the light of the moon and until the first sun began its slow climb into the morning sky.
Ealrin was certain that Blume had dozed off at least twice. She lay resting now, leaning forward on the neck of their steed. He was weary himself, but he also knew that they must put as much distance as possible between themselves and any potential pursuers. He waited for the second sun to rise to ask his question.
"When will we reach the border that separates the Southern Republic from Thoran?" he asked Holve.
"A river makes the border between the two countries," Holve responded as he looked back at him. His eyes looked just as weary and bloodshot as Ealrin's. They both needed rest, but it would have to wait.
"I hope that we reach it before midday," Holve said as he turned his eyes back to scan the horizon. "It won't make us completely safe from the Mercs, as they have no territory, but I hope it will dissuade them a bit."
And so on they rode. The scenery continued to change. Small rolling hills changed into larger ones, and then in the distance Ealrin could see mountains creating a new horizon. Plains in grassy fields had characterized the Southern Republic. Thoran was to be distinguished by its impressive mountain ranges.
"I hope you know trails that our horses can ride through," said Ealrin, pointing to the mountainous landscape ahead of them.
Holve chuckled a little as he replied, "There is a pass through those mountains as old as the mountains themselves. You are in for a big change of scenery, Ealrin."
A little before midday, they came upon the river Holve talked about. And indeed, the mountains ahead of them rose up from this ancient riverbed. They were about to enter the kingdom of Thoran. The river's waters were beautiful. It was an impressive sight to see.
Presently they came to a mighty looking stone bridge that connected the two countries. On one end stood the flag that must represent the Southern Republic. It was a green flag with a trim of yellow. Inside the flag there were three smaller triangles stacked on top of one another that pointed downward. The triangles were a golden color, like the suns when they crest the horizon in the morning. The top triangle was red, the middle orange, and the bottom yellow. Each one its own color, yet all supporting the other. Ealrin wondered if this was to symbolize the three races living in harmony.
And how long that harmony could last.
As they came to the foot of the bridge, Holve stopped, turned his horse around, and looked back on the path that they had traveled.
"I've been traveling through the Southern Republic now for five years. It's almost become a home to me. It's odd that I'm in service to Thoran but have been so long delayed in returning to it," he spoke as he looked back over the country.
He didn't say it necessarily to Blume or to Ealrin, just out loud so that his head wouldn’t trap his thoughts. Ealrin understood, if only just a little, the need to talk in order to clear one's mind. He had done so often himself lately.
Holve then turned and led his horse toward the bridge. The hooves of his steed rang loud and clear over the stonework of the ancient looking bridge. Ealrin led his horse and his fellow rider over as well.
"I've never been this far from home before. I've never left the area surrounding Weyfield, much less the Southern Republic," Blume said.
"How are you holding up?" Ealrin asked her.
He was not yet sure what they were going to do with her. While she slept he and Holve had spoken about her fate. They didn't think they could carry her to the capital. It was much too far: still a week's journey. But Liaf was much closer to them and would potentially have work for her. Maybe a family would take her in. Ealrin knew he would miss her whenever their paths diverged, as they must. He was beginning to enjoy being a father, in a manner of speaking.
"Better than I anticipated, I must say. Still, I miss them so much. Mom, dad, and Dece. I can't believe they really are..."
She trailed off and Ealrin did his best to console her without words. He didn't have any that seemed appropriate anyway. How could someone say to a child that everything will be all right when they've lost everything?
"If I hadn't come with you, I don't know what would have become of me. Maybe I would have just given up and died myself. This adventure has taken my mind off my tragedy. In a way, it's helping me cope."
Again Ealrin was surprised by her self-awareness and maturity. She must have been a bit of an enigma to other girls her age in Weyfield. He smiled to himself and cast a casual glance back over his shoulder at The Southern Republic.
It was just long enough to comprehend the ten Merc raiders racing their horses to the bridge with blood in their eyes.
24: The Speaker
"Move Holve! Quickly!"
Ealrin was shouting as he directed his horse towards Thoran and its mountains. They had too easy of an escape from Breyland. Of course it would be assumed they would take a main road and travel either north to Thoran or south to the capital city of the Southern Republic. Judging by the shouts of the raiders behind them, there was a significant price on their three heads or a promotion in store for their capture or death.
Now was the time for speed.
The horses galloped as quickly as their strong legs would take them. Holve and Ealrin constantly reminded them with their commands how vital it was to race ahead. Ealrin shouted over the stomping of hooves at his fellow rider.
"We'll never outrun them. We're outnumbered. We need a strategy! What do we do?" he yelled desperately to Holve who was keeping side by side with him.
"I'm working that out as we ride. I remember a turn in the path just ahead. Do what I do when we come to it!" Holve shouted back.
The path between the mountains up until this point was straight and surrounded by some trees that provided shade from the hot suns. Now Ealrin could see the turn as they flew down the road. That was when the first arrow zipped by his head. He heard it more than saw it, for he was keeping low and his body spread out wide, protecting Blume, who was holding on to the horse's mane with all her might. It was a bad place for a little girl to be, of that there was no doubt. More arrows flew past them, sticking into trees or falling onto the pathway. Ealrin prayed fate would spare them for becoming a direct hit. He glanced back to see that the men were still a far ways behind them and were letting arrows fly out of desperation more than assurance of a hit.
As Holve made the turn he had spoken of, he quickly hopped off his horse, took hold of his spear and hit the animal with the end of it to send it galloping down the road without
him. He then grabbed on to the lowest tree branch closest to him and began to climb.
Ealrin followed suit. Before he got off his own horse he rode it under a branch and hoisted Blume up first to give her a head start. He then slapped his horse on its rear to send it following after Holve's and began to climb a tree a few paces away from Blume's. He would draw them away from her if need be.
The first four riders sped off down the trail, chasing after the riderless horse, apparently unaware of their trick. The next six, however, slowed down at the command of their leader: the long-haired general from the inn.
"These hoof marks show they got off here!" he shouted over the sound of stampeding horses.
"Look sir!" A raider called out. "Footprints!"
He was pointing close to the tree that Holve had climbed. As he looked up from the prints he let out a small choke and a gasp as Holve's spear caught him in the chest.
The howl that came from Holve as he jumped from his perch was loud and strong. He collided into another raider and knocked him off his horse. Before any of them could react, he had already grabbed the man's sword and ended him before running to retrieve his spear from the now fallen horseman.
It was time to come to his friend's aid. Ealrin leapt from his own branch, about the height of two men, with his sword swinging high. He wasn't sure if it was fate or skill, but he managed to separate a Merc from his head as he fell from his tree. Holve had let the stolen sword fly and find a new home in the heart of another Merc who had turned to fire an arrow at Ealrin. Being saved in this manner allowed Ealrin to turn and face the general who was still on his own horse with a menacing looking trident at his side, ready to strike. Two other Mercs on their own horses were behind the man wielding a trident. One raised his bow. The other raised a dagger high, ready to throw it.
Ealrin took a defensive stance with his sword, unsure if he would be able to block two projectiles and a trident. The Merc with his bow was about to let his arrow fly when a flash of white knocked him off his horse. Blume had jumped from her own tree and tackled the man, saving Ealrin from deflecting two missiles. The pair landed in a tangle on the ground. A spear came whistling through the air and finished off the Merc who was readying to throw his knife. The general was too distracted by the fate of his comrades to fully deflect Ealrin’s sword. He had taken advantage of the chaos to run at the man and cut him along his thigh. He jabbed his trident at Ealrin before turning his horse off back towards Breyland.
“You’ll not soon forget today!” he yelled as he rode back in the direction he had come from.
Ealrin then turned his attention to the Merc and to Blume, who was now being aided by Holve. He ran up to kill the man before any damage was done to the girl. The man let out a grunt of pain as the point of a sword ended his life. Yet his hand was still clutching the dagger he had pulled from its sheath.
The very same dagger that was now lodged in Blume’s shoulder.
BLOOD FREELY SPILT from her wound as Ealrin laid her on her back.
He was terrified.
He had no skill in healing, as poor Holve’s leg was still evidence of. He knew only that the blood that poured from her was much too much for someone so small to lose and live. He took off his jacket and did his best to cover the wound and stem the stream of red that was now coming faster from her.
“Holve!” he shouted at his friend. He could hear the terror in his own voice and knew that it must be frightening poor Blume, but he didn’t know at this moment how he might conceal his fear. “Holve what do we do?”
Holve stood above him looking sadly down at Blume. His face was smeared with the blood of the enemies that lay at his feet. He had retrieved the spear that he had used as a weapon of war and now leaned against it. Ealrin knew, at that moment, that Holve was only gifted in ending lives, not saving them.
He shook his head and dropped his gaze.
Blume looked up at Ealrin and smiled a faint and knowing smile. How could she be so calm at this moment? Surely she knew she was dying and that her life would soon be over. The adventure she had taken with them would be over soon. And it had been too short.
By saving his life, she had sacrificed her own.
Slowly, her uninjured arm rose to her neck, lightly pulling at her necklace until she found the jewel that was hidden under her dress. She turned it a few times in her fingers.
Perhaps she wished to hold her family’s treasure one last time before she passed?
But then, as the jewel turned in her hands, she began to mutter something that was unintelligible to Ealrin. Words that sounded as if they were made up, or in another language. Ealrin looked back at Holve, who was now staring fixedly at Blume and her necklace.
Then a green light began to illuminate the jewel. Indeed a light so bright that it stole the suns’ rays and made them its own. Ealrin looked back at the jacket that covered her wounded shoulder and noticed another light coming from it. In fact, it the light was coming from the wound itself.
As the light faded, so did Blume. She let out a deep sigh and her head fell to one side. Ealrin was now shouting her name, but Holve took hold of him.
"Our little friend has been hiding a great skill," he said with a calm, steady voice. Apparently he knew something Ealrin did not. When he saw his confused face, Holve gestured towards Blume's injured shoulder.
"I believe it would be okay to remove your jacket now. You may be surprised at what you see."
Reluctantly, Ealrin removed his jacket that was now stained with Blume's blood. And indeed, he let out a gasp when he saw her shoulder. Her dress was stained a deep maroon, and though it had a hole in it where the dagger had split the cloth, there was no evidence of any injury to her whatsoever. Her skin was soft and smooth and whole. There was not the faintest scar to show where the knife had plunged so deeply into her.
"How is this possible?" Ealrin asked, looking up at Holve.
Holve smiled down at Ealrin, and then looked back to Blume. She was breathing quite regularly and appeared to be asleep.
"We are in the presence of a Speaker."
BLUME SLEPT FOR THE rest of the day, and on into the night. Holve and Ealrin had moved themselves into the protection of a small cave that was far enough from the path to avoid anyone's gaze. The bodies of the fallen Raiders were hidden on the opposite side of the road underneath many tree limbs and leaves. Hopefully their stench would not attract any unwelcome looters to their camp. Not that they had anything on them worth stealing. Holve and Ealrin had relieved them of anything of value. They kept anything they could use for their journey to the next city in Thoran, the mountain town of Loran.
The small fire they had made inside the cave kept away the chill of the night and were just large enough to cook the rabbit that Holve had shot. The bow and arrow had come from a dead Merc. It now served them meat. Holve had figured that the smoke would be hidden by the failing light and the cloudy sky outside their cave.
Ealrin was trying to comprehend what had happened. Blume still slept peacefully, covered in several jackets to keep her warm as she lay next to the fire on the cold stone floor. He was certain he was going to watch her die, and then witnessed her life be spared by the light from the jewel that still hung around her neck. Holve had not spoken much of what he meant by calling her a speaker. Only that they should protect her while she recovered as whatever she had done apparently drained her of all of her energy. Holve had made very clear that she would probably be ravenous when she woke up.
It did seem like the smell of the fire roasted rabbit was what roused Blume from her sleep. She sat up slowly and licked her lips, apparently also quite thirsty. Ealrin got her a container of water that they had pilfered from one of the Merc's and let her drink as much as she could, which turned out to be the entire thing.
"I hope we have more of that," she said as she let out a satisfied sigh.
Ealrin laughed in reply. "I believe we happen to be close to a certain river where we can get more. Are you hungry?"
/> "I'm famished," she replied. "Is that rabbit?"
Without much more comment, she began to greedily eat every piece Ealrin handed her. Holve was right. She had developed a bottomless pit of hunger. And just as Ealrin was thinking about him, he appeared at the entrance to the cave with another rabbit and two other containers now filled with water.
"I see our speaker is awake now," he said as he came and sat next to the fire, preparing the rabbit to be cooked as he did. "And when were you planning on telling us that not only were you skilled in the magical art of healing, but also that you had a near flawless piece of rimstone?"
Rimstone? The name triggered something in Ealrin, like a memory he could almost recall.
"What's rimstone?" Ealrin asked. Already he could see the blush on Blume's face as she continued to eat her rabbit.
Holve put the rabbit on the spit he had made from a stick he carved sharp with a stolen knife. He began to spin it over the fire, roasting the meat that would be Blume's second helping. She was almost finished with the first rabbit. Ealrin had taken perhaps two bites; the rest was in her belly.
"Rimstone is found throughout the world. It's a rare stone of differing color and shape. It allows those who have the gift of speaking to influence and change the elements around them. Those who are able to convince rimstone to change the elements around them are called Speakers."
"Speak to the elements?" Ealrin asked. None of this sounded familiar.
"Say a Speaker here with us was able to speak to fire. He could easily take the fire and make it bigger, smaller, or give it a shape. But they wouldn't be able to do this through their own willpower or skill. They would need a rimstone that had the ability to influence the element of fire. Several different rimstones exist, some that are able to influence the known elements. Others have properties that are still being studied in the College of Magic of Irradan."
Holve paused to check on the meat of the rabbit on the spit. It wasn't done yet, for he returned it over the fire to continue to cook it.