by R. G. Long
"Then again, we have other Speakers who are able to influence rimstone to mend wounds and cause bleeding to cease. It would seem that our friend here is able to heal wounds by speaking through the rimstone. What I'm lost for though, and wondering if she'll explain to us is how did she come to possess such a gift as a rimstone necklace and, how in the world was she able to heal herself?"
Blume looked up from her rabbit at Holve, with a blush on her face, but Ealrin was more lost than before Holve began talking.
"Why is it such a feat to heal yourself?" Ealrin asked, looking at Blume who was now fiddling with her necklace.
"You see, one of the most advanced forms of speaking involves convincing the elements to influence the speaker. For most, causing a fire is easy due to it being outside of you. For a typical healer, convincing the elements to heal others is a much simpler, though still difficult, task than healing yourself. It isn't heard of except in the most skilled and powerful of speakers."
Holve directed his gaze again towards Blume as he handed her the rabbit.
"How about we start with the easier of my two questions, hmm? How did you come to possess a rimstone of healing?"
Blume accepted the rabbit and gingerly began cutting small pieces of meat from it, as it was still quite hot. She began speaking in a quiet but matter of fact tone.
"As far as I can remember we have owned the stone. It's been in our family for generations. It was my dad who fashioned it into this necklace."
She said this as she twirled the necklace in her fingers gingerly, as if admiring the handiwork of her father all over again.
"There aren't many known deposits of rimstone in The Southern Republic," Holve said out loud. It was perhaps just a statement. Or was there something more in his voice, Ealrin wondered.
Blume returned his look.
"I swear our family has always owned the jewel. We're not thieves or crooks," she said as she put the necklace down and went back to her rabbit, still apparently hungry from her previous magical feat.
Holve relented.
"Okay, Blume. So how did you learn how to heal with the stone?" he asked her.
Blume took a moment to answer because she was chewing a particularly tough piece of meat.
"My father really was a jeweler in the city, but that's not all he could do. He could make the necklace do things also. He had a way of making the precious metals and stones bend into shapes that other artisans just couldn't imitate. He was amazing. My brother could never get the hang of... what did you call it Holve? Speaking? He could never speak to the stone like dad could. I tried to make the metal do what I asked, but it just wouldn't cooperate. Then, one day, dad gotten hurt pretty bad working in his shop. He hurt his hand and it looked like he wouldn't be able to make jewels like he used to. I don't know, but it just came to me that I could heal his hand. I saw bones mending and skin returning to its natural smoothness in my mind. So, using the necklace, I was able to mend his bones and repair the damage. It was more from desperation than anything else."
She paused from her story and looked back up at Holve and Ealrin.
"Whenever someone in our family was injured I could heal them, unless it happened in front of a lot of people. Dad never wanted a lot of attention drawn to us. Once my brother broke his arm in the field, but others were with us when it happened. I wanted so badly to fix it for him, but dad forbid it. He hurt so badly that I healed him when they weren't paying attention and he pretended to have a broken arm for the next few months so that no one would know."
Holve was staring intently into the fire as he listened to Blume's story. Ealrin was speechless. She truly was talented beyond his comprehension. Blushing again, Blume busied herself with getting another bite of rabbit and drinking from the water container.
Then, after a long pause, Holve broke the silence.
"You speak of a natural ability, Blume. There are Speakers who study rimstone for decades to achieve what you say you learned from just willing yourself to."
Holve studied her for a long time before speaking again.
"Has your family always lived in Weyfield? Or did you move there from somewhere else?" he asked her with a look on his face Ealrin couldn't place. Was it suspicion?
"Our grandfather moved to Weyfield when his father came with their family. I don't know where they moved from though. Dad never actually told me the exact place. I always assumed it was somewhere else in the Southern Republic."
Holve made a sound that was something like a grunt or a sigh, and then added a log to the dwindling fire. He looked at the pair of them and just simply said, "Loran is the first town we'll encounter in Thoran. I pray that once we reach that small city we will be able to borrow horses to let us reach the king quickly. If Androlion is planning a coup in the Southern Republic, then King Thoran must be warned immediately. It may be too late for the Grand Elder. Perhaps even for the elder council, but that doesn't mean we can't try to prevent the bloodbath that would ensue should a civil war rise up from these seeds of rebellion. We'll need to travel at first light. Hopefully we can reach Loran in two days walking."
There wasn't much conversation after that. Ealrin volunteered to take the first watch of the night to let Holve and Blume sleep. After hunting all afternoon, Holve was obviously drained. Blume was still recovering from her magical healing and needed rest as well.
Ealrin was happy to guard them as they slept.
There was much more to his adopted daughter than he knew, and more if he was to believe that Holve was suspicious of her. Perhaps she was hiding something from them and didn't completely trust them, even now.
One thing was for sure, though. Ealrin was in the presence of a gifted general, and now a speaker of great magical power.
As Ealrin began to count the stars he could see through the treetops and listen for any signs of movement down on the road below, he felt that he could not ask for better traveling companions.
25: Androlion Fellgate
Androlion Fellgate sat on the armchair that had served as his throne for the past month. Here in Breyland, he was a king. In the inn that was made of wood and nails, he reigned. Men did his bidding without question. Whole cities were raised at his command. He was the ruler of this settlement, without question. He longed for the finer things than a musty armchair and creaking floorboards.
Soon, his reign would extend far beyond the simple city.
Who else had been able to unite the warring Mercs under a single banner after they had been so utterly defeated? Who else had given them purpose other than looting and raiding at random? Who had been able to show them a vision of a great future?
It had been he, Androlion Fellgate, a former elder of the Southern Republic and soon to be ruler of all men.
He was fit to be a king.
Fit to rule those who were lesser than he.
For he alone had been granted the privilege of foresight. He alone had seen what the future held for the continent of Ruyn and indeed, the rest of Gilia if they did not follow him.
After he had been ousted from his position as elder those many years ago, he had been dejected and broken. His own followers turned him away. Those who claimed to be loyal knew that they could no longer find favor with any in power by befriending him.
With no one to help, he had wandered into the mountains, seeking to perish and be forgotten.
He was a miserable thing.
Yet it was as he stumbled in the darkness, tripping over bramble, brush, rock, and dirt, that he fell. Into the deep pit, he fell. It felt like he had fallen into the very bowels of the planet itself, never to reach to the other side, but rather to fall for an eternity.
There, he heard the voice.
A voice powerful and terrible, wonderful and awful at the same time. Androlion had first feared the voice that sounded like thunder and stone, but soon the voice began to tell him of his reign over men.
And he was no longer afraid, but consumed.
Pictures flashed before his mind.
Images of himself as a king seated on a throne and exalted.
Men bowed down to him, worshiped him as a god.
But it was only a possibility. One of many futures.
And it would not be unless the other races were subjugated and destroyed.
For a greater threat was coming.
A threat that stood to destroy them all.
The images he saw were terrible. Flame. Ruin. Destruction. He sat not on a throne, but on a pile of the bodies of those who had once worshiped him, now consumed by the demons of his mind.
Two futures, two possibilities. Either Androlion could reign or be ruined along with all other living things.
To cause his future to happen, it was up to him. The vision showed him how he could rule. Where stores of rimstone could be gathered, harvested, and used to fight back the demons.
And he was shown the key to it all: the Rimstone of Demon Song.
He would control the precious stone and rule upon his throne.
At whatever cost.
When he had awoken from his dream on the mountain, he had been found by the remnants of the Mercs. They bandaged him. They listened to his ramblings in his fever and sickness. And when he had recovered, they followed him.
As it turns out, men are easily swayed to fear the future, to fear that which is unknown. Now that Fellgate knew of the coming darkness he could persuade others to follow him, to rid the continent of the blight of the elves and dwarves who hoarded the stone for themselves.
Unless men used it to stop the tide of what was coming, all would be consumed.
Androlion had learned that he could inspire others to believe that their misfortune was due to others. To begin to hate those who had caused them such hardships. To act upon those feelings of hate.
His thoughts were interrupted by Vyncent, one of his generals whom he had sent to capture the eavesdroppers, the spies.
Androlion leaned upon his arm and looked into the eyes of his general and knew.
He knew he had failed.
“My Lord, we were unable to bring back the...”
Androlion had made eye contact with him, the other general who stood at the door of his chamber. With a simple wave of his hand, a life was ended.
A worthless life of one who was unable to carry out orders.
Two Mercs came in and dragged away the former general.
“My Lord, shall I go and do what he was unable to?”
Androlion looked to Rayg.
Rayg was a man whom he could trust to do whatever he had asked of him, and yet Androlion feared the man’s ambition. Oh well. His time would come, as all others who dared defy him.
“Go, Rayg. See that they are destroyed and that no word of our plans reaches the north. We need for our timing to be perfect. Take whatever men you need. I will see to the speakers in your absence.”
Rayg bowed and left the room.
Though he had successfully acquired as much rimstone as the southern peninsula could offer, there was still more to be found. In the north, on the islands to the west, and the farthest reaches of the continent. More must be added.
In Rayg’s absence, Androlion would see to those who were being trained to use the magic stones in battle. Rayg’s knowledge of the stones was a boon in this coup, but also a threat to Androlion, who was unable to speak through the stones.
In his time, Rayg would fall.
As would all of those closest to Androlion who knew too much. Secrets were safer with those whose lips could no longer speak.
Androlion rose from his chair and went to the window.
As Rayg left, another came on a horse. The assassin.
From here Androlion could see the smirk upon his lips.
Good, he thought. Not all who do my bidding fail me.
With those who opposed his way of thinking removed from power, it would be easy to march upon Conny and preach to those who were inclined to hear that others were responsible for their suffering. The Mercs readied themselves to move into the city and take what rightfully belonged to man, and no other. For months the prophets of Androlion had been sent to preach hate in the chapels of the city. They preached that a better future was upon men.
They preached that an uncertain future awaited them unless they followed him.
Androlion Fellgate, the savior of men.
26: Purpose
In the morning, after Holve had woken both Ealrin and Blume, the three set out on the road again. They had not heard any signs of travelers during the night, or in the early hours of the morning, and didn't fear running into any now. The Mercs were content to let the three go, for now at least.
The day of walking was not a bad one. The spring air was cool and crisp, but warmed gently by the twin suns. There was not much talk as all three of them apparently had thoughts to settle.
Ealrin certainly was.
If Blume really was so talented at such a young age, with little to no training whatsoever, what could she potentially accomplish given the proper education? Could she become a speaker the likes of which had not been seen before? Could she turn the tide of a battle that she may take part in later by healing the wounds of those who had fallen? Ealrin kept pondering and pondering until, at last, he could not hold his thoughts in his head any longer.
"Holve," he said as Blume was getting a drink of water from a creek, just out of earshot. "Perhaps we should take her all the way to the capital of Thoran. I know we planned to find her a home in a city along the way, but that hasn't quite worked out like we had intended. Not to mention she'd be useful if we came into any more situations like we did yesterday."
He knew it was a stretch to ask Holve to allow her to come with them. They would travel more quickly without her that was for sure. But then again, she had healed so well back with the raiders that Ealrin was nearly resolved to take her to the capital to receive some type of training, even if he had to do it by himself.
Holve was studying her as she drank from the creek.
"I don't like the idea of bringing her further away from her home, honestly. Plus, we are still putting her in a lot of danger by having her journey with us. The open road is no place for children."
He paused as he spoke, changing his grip on his spear a few times, as if lost in thought.
"Still," he continued. "Her skill in speaking is unbelievable, considering she has had no formal training. I would like to see what she could accomplish with the proper study."
He glanced up at Ealrin with a look of resolve on his face.
"Let's say this, shall we? We will take her to the capital of Thoran unless we perceive that she is in more danger there than she is here. Such a gift could become useful in the days ahead."
"Agreed," said Ealrin. He was glad Holve had given in so quickly to his idea. Perhaps he had been thinking the same thing? That Blume was useful to them now, and perhaps could become a very skilled Speaker later.
She walked back to where they stood, licking her lips and staring at them both.
"Well, are we going to stand around all day or keep going?" she asked them.
Holve gave Ealrin a look that said, "You wanted her to come" and continued down the road that would take them all the way to Loran, the first mountain town of Thoran.
IN THE CITY OF LORAN, the trio was able to barter for a pair of horses. They hardly dared to sleep at the inn for more than a few hours due to the urgency of their message. Holve not only now needed to inform the king that he was bringing scant few recruits for his order of knights (Ealrin being the sole volunteer to survive thus far) but that there was going to be war in The Southern Republic very soon unless Androlion was stopped.
Rumors of the Merc's raiding had already reached as far as Loran, and Holve speculated that the king would be aware of their renewed presence as well. Apparently, he made it his business to know everything he possibly could about the entire continent of Ruyn. Because of this, the king could send aid where it was needed and avoid catastrophes where he was able to intervene.
That morning, they saddled up to prepare to depart from Loran. It would take a full week of riding to reach the capital of Thoran. Ealrin gave Blume the news of what they intended for her to do there.
"Holve has told me that in Thoran there is a small school of magic that is a branch of the larger college in Irradan. How would you like to study the craft of Speaking there? It would give you a place to belong, a new home, and maybe friends as well. You'd know your purpose, which is little better than I can say for myself right now," he said as they rode from Loran in the breaking daylight.
"Do you think they'd really allow me to study there, Ealrin?" she asked him hesitantly. "I overheard Holve telling you that they normally only accept students at a very young age."
Ealrin looked down at her as the horse continued to trot towards the edge of town. He could understand her trepidation, but there still remained her unexplained phenomenal talent.
"Blume, Holve also told me that a Speaker of your skill is normally no less than fifty winters. I don't think they'll be too worried about your age when you show them what you are capable of."
She smiled as she looked to the path they planned to travel on. Ealrin hoped that she would join the small school when they arrived in the capital. It would make him feel as if he had helped her find herself. If the girl with no family could not find a purpose, he would feel as if he had failed her.
Then again, over and over Blume had proven herself to be more resilient to tragedy and adversity than even Holve predicted. She had never once complained during their journey about sleeping on the hard ground, or eating the rough food on the road. She had traveled very well, all things considered. She had certainly gotten more adventure than she had hoped for.
With her purpose all but resolved, Ealrin began to wonder what would become of him when they reached the capital. Holve had a job to do as a general of the king's army once more with the unrest in the south. Would the king as a recruit accept Ealrin? He had certainly been able to defend himself against Merc and goblin alike since departing from Good Harbor. Somewhere in his past, he must have learned how to handle a sword, for it was easier each time he had needed to use it to fight.