by R. G. Long
"And then you came," he concluded. "At every step, one of us should have perished. Yet the fates seem to have a different plan. At least, I hope that fate will continue for Holve. I hope he will live. Holve's been the reason I've gotten this far."
Ealrin fell silent after that, and the rest of the group didn't press him for more information at the moment.
Good, he thought.
He was drained from reliving everything and was glad for the moment's silence to think.
Wherever Ealrin went, destruction followed. What could he have done to prevent this? Was there anything he may have been able to do to save his friend? Though the scene played over and over again in his head, sometimes without his permission, he couldn't think of anything.
Holve's life rested solely in the hands of those healers in Thoran and fate.
"You had said something about a demon wound?" Ealrin said out loud after a long time of hearing nothing but the sound of hooves and boots on the road. "What is a demon wound?"
"General Rayg is no mere man," replied a dwarf carrying a large mace over his shoulder. His red beard was braided elaborately and hung down almost to his knees. "He's a speaker of great skill, but also a charmer of demons and others from the nether."
The brown haired man spat.
"Ruyn will be a better land once it’s rid of his filth," he said with a tone of hatred and disgust.
"Aye," replied the dwarf. "But you'll soon learn that he can't be bested by any mere man. Most speakers you encounter get incredibly weak after they work their magic, as that little girl did," he said as he pointed a short finger towards Blume, who still lay peacefully asleep on the horse as they walked.
"Not Rayg. He's speaking the language of demons and shades. He channels their power somehow into his. He's evil in the flesh, he is," said the dwarf. Then he made a huffing sound and added, "Which ought to tell you how good Holve is for wounding him."
Several murmurs of assent went up from those who were traveling with them. Apparently these warriors held Holve in the highest regard.
Just like Ealrin.
THE GROUP ALTERNATED resting on the horses and walking so that they could reach the capital quickly. There was enough adrenaline rushing through them to make it through two days of constant walking, as long as they could rest on horseback.
Blume was the only one of them who was constantly riding. She was so drained from her two feats of speaking that she could hardly hold herself up on the horse, let alone walk. Ealrin was her constant companion. The rest of the company took it upon themselves to be their guards. There were always two bows with arrows drawn on them at all times as they continued their journey to Thoran, the capital city.
The state of things must indeed be grim, Ealrin thought.
Though they were in the very heart of the country of Thoran, these soldiers moved as if in enemy territory. They could feel the tension in the air. The Mercs could not have traveled so far into Thoran unless there were others who were sympathetic to them and their cause. It did not bode well for the King.
Ealrin was worried about Holve, so instead of dwelling on the condition of his companion, he busied himself with asking about the new companions he was surrounded by: The King's Swords. The four who chased after the Mercs were elves. They were the quickest on their feet and the most deadly of trackers. The group was quite sure that those who had escaped would either meet a quick end or be brought back to Thoran without much trouble.
Four of the others were men. Well, three if you counted the one woman. Brute was a huge man, easily taller than Roland was and just as strong. He was the quietest of the group after hearing about Roland's passing. The two had shared many an adventure and were training partners. Ealrin knew better than to press him at this point. He was a barbarian of a man who carried a large mace in his hands, and a few small daggers around his waist. He may have a soft spot for a companion, but to cross him on the field of battle would be an entirely a different story.
The woman was a knight. She was dressed head to toe in armor and wielded two blades into battle. Her black hair was cut short but not unattractive. Were it not for her constant scowl as she surveyed the land before her she may have been beautiful. Something about her, however, pushed away all pretenses of worrying about looks. She was concerned with the fight ahead. She was a warrior at heart and had little time for pleasantries. She was also the leader of this group and was addressed only as “Milady.” Ealrin didn’t think it wise to ask her name.
The two who remained were brothers. Twins in fact. They resembled each other in nearly every way, save that one had brown hair and the other had blonde. They both wielded spears as Holve did and both had a slender but strong build. Cory, the one who had been speaking to Ealrin was the easiest going, but alert to the situation at hand. Tory, blonde haired and sullen, was leading the horse carrying the dead man: his best friend other than his brother. Gray was the same age as the twins and apparently bent on convincing those who didn't know them that they were actually triplets split apart at birth. Most believed him. Now he would no longer make the jokes that only the three of them knew. His body would be buried in the soldier's cemetery outside of Thoran. Tory's face was solemn as he led his friend's old horse to its master's grave.
Three dwarves also accompanied them. Two fit the mold of what a dwarf should be; according to those Ealrin had met. Frerin had a red beard that was braided. This was the dwarf who had spoken highly of Holve. The other, Khali, had brown hair that was less braided than his companions but not unkempt. He held a halberd, a long pole that had on its end an ax head larger than both of Ealrin's hands put together.
However, there was something odd about the last dwarf. She, and Ealrin could only guess it was a she for there was no beard on this dwarf, carried two smaller hammers than Ealrin thought a dwarf would carry. She also had affixed to her back a banner of sorts. It blew in the air and bore a black anvil on a maroon background. Ealrin learned that this dwarf, whose name was Narvi, was the forger of Thoran: the master weapon maker of the city, and in fact the country. She had come to Thoran to practice her skill because in the dwarven forge cities, the forgers are predominantly male. Ealrin wasn't sure if she had been outlawed from forging, or had just wanted to have a better chance to see her skills put to good use. It could have been either way to hear her tell it. She promised to have a good look at Ealrin's sword when they returned to her workshop. Perhaps she could coax it into greater feats in battle.
Dwarves and their weapons, Ealrin thought. Treating them as if they were living beings.
As he thought it, his own weapon grew warm in his grasp.
And now I’m imagining it, he thought. That was foolish.
The last living member of the party was a female elf named Lote. She carried a large bow that enabled her to shoot just about anything in sight. Her deadly skill and accuracy ensured that the arrow she launched would hit its target. Her blonde hair was in a bun on the back of her head and her deep green eyes were always darting here and there, looking for the recipient of the arrow she kept continually strung on her bow.
The Southern Republic was not the only country in Ruyn that saw the benefit of using the skills of the three major races. Ealrin was glad of the difference in the company again. Just like on the White Wind.
He also hoped that this band would not meet the same fate as the last group he had traveled with.
BY MID-AFTERNOON ON the second day after Holve was injured by the Merc general, the city of Thoran rose up over the horizon. Though he was exhausted from his travels, Ealrin could not help but admire the beauty of the city and its castle. It rose up from the very base of the mountain and indeed, part of the castle must have been hewn from the range itself.
A vast wall rose up to protect its borders from intruders. A giant wooden door, which was strengthened by iron and bronze, guarded the entrance to the city. It was the only way in or out of the stronghold.
The doors were closed tight presently and Ealrin wond
ered how they might get past them, when a trumpet sounded from the wall and a maroon flag was waved back and forth next to the sound. The same imagery of two swords crossed behind a shield that was emblazoned with a crown was on the uniform of Ealrin's companions.
The soldiers were expected.
As they came closer to the city, Ealrin was able to see more clearly the construction of the wall. The giant blocks that formed the majority of it were taller than him and just as wide. They towered above him. He guessed that if ten men stood on each other’s shoulders, they would still not reach the top of the great wall.
A set of smaller doors opened at the base of the large gate and the company filed through. They entered into the structure of the wall and Ealrin was in awe of the vastness of it. Corridors ran to his left and right through the inside of the wall. Eight soldiers could easily walk side by side and march through the inside of the wall itself. The only thing that prevented any from doing it at the moment were more large doors about a stone's throw away. If the outside wall was ever demolished, the ruined part could be locked down so that no invader could get inside the city. It was brilliantly constructed and would be able to withstand the mightiest of attacks, Ealrin thought.
The party walked another ten paces and then was allowed through a second door, much like the first, on the other end of the wall.
If the wall was awe inspiring, the city itself was magnificent.
What must be the marketplace of Thoran was constructed of the type of rock that the wall was, only the stones were smaller. The shops rose into the air like mighty trees of an ancient forest. Ealrin could see people buying and selling on not only the Main Street that ran in front of him, but also on two streets that were laid over the tops of the shops on the ground level. The city was bustling with activity at the moment, though most who were close to the entrance took notice of the group who had just arrived and parted to make way for them.
Ealrin could see the castle ahead of him, blocked off by yet another wall. As they made their way down the finely stoned road, a knight on a horse rode up to them from that direction.
The man who rode the horse spoke in an official tone of reverence for the soldiers.
"His Majesty, King Thoran IV wishes to welcome his valiant Swords home and wishes to speak with them as soon as they are rested from their travels. Your quarters are ready and a supper will be served as the sun sets so that you may speak with him. As for your company," the man looked straight at Ealrin and Blume on her horse. She had rested just enough to admire the gates as they were walking in properly and now sat up a little straighter. "He has prepared a set of rooms for them as well and wishes they also join him for supper."
Supper with the king? This was not what Ealrin had expected from his visit to Thoran, especially without Holve's intervention. Perhaps he may have had a quick audience with him, but this was beyond what he had imagined.
And Blume was also to attend?
"If you'll allow me to escort you to the castle."
"As always Gaflion," said Cory as he gave a deep bow.
The group followed the man as he rode on horseback. Some people stopped what they were doing altogether to watch them pass. Other continued about their business without giving much of a glance towards the company.
When they reached the walls of the castle, two guards wearing maroon came up to assist Tory with his friend's body. They lowered him onto a stretcher of cloth and two wooden handles and carried him away. Tory watched them until they turned a corner and disappeared from sight.
Then he lost control of his emotions and broke down into sobs of crying.
His brother walked back to him and motioned the rest to go on ahead. Then, as if he remembered something, he called back to their host and said "Gaflion! See Ealrin and Blume to their rooms please. They're unfamiliar with the castle and its rooms."
Gaflion nodded and rode on.
The courtyard of the castle was surrounded by beautiful gardens. It made a large rectangle that could hold several hundred people. Perhaps it could be used as a way to address a large number of people, as a balcony from the castle overlooked the courtyard below.
A man with a trumpet blew a few notes to announce their arrival into the beautiful grounds.
"Your quarters will be this direction," Gaflion said to Ealrin and Blume as he dismounted his horse.
"Can you walk Blume?" Ealrin asked. He knew that she was still exhausted, as she had not yet had the opportunity to sleep lying down since their confrontation with the Mercs.
She shook her head. Ealrin helped her down off the horse and then lifted her off the ground. He then nodded to Gaflion to say that he was ready to take Blume to wherever she could rest.
Ealrin would be glad for the opportunity himself.
HIS QUARTERS WERE NO less fine than the king's, Ealrin thought to himself as he put on the clothes provided for him: a white linen shirt with black pants and boots. His old clothes lay folded in a pile on the least nice looking chair in the room, which was truly hard to decide upon as all the furniture was ornate and well taken care of.
He had taken a bath and cleaned the dust and dirt off of him from his journey here and already felt better than he had in days. He hoped that Blume was feeling as equally rested in her chambers, or at least had fallen asleep so that she could recover.
After having been cleaned and dressed, Ealrin began to feel anxious again for Holve. He had heard nothing about him since arriving and had not mentioned his name for fear of the news he may receive. Gray was to receive a soldier's funeral the next day at sundown. Would two be buried instead of only one?
His thoughts were racing with worry. He had tried to write in Elezar’s journal to pass the time, but he couldn’t focus. So instead of pacing his room, Ealrin decided to wander the grounds until he was called to supper with the King and his soldiers.
Long and well-decorated corridors met him at every doorway. Some held ornate tapestries depicting famous battles in the history of Thoran, others displayed past kings and queens with their families. It didn't take long for him to find a portrait of the current nobility.
King Thoran the IV. According to this picture, was a tall man. His dark black hair matched his well-kept beard perfectly. In the painting, presumably his wife and the queen stood next to him. She was beautiful with her long and golden hair, blue eyes and winning smile. Their three children stood before them. The oldest, a boy, stood proudly at his father's side, holding a sword and a scepter. His hair matched his father's, black and well combed. The middle, another boy, stood next to his brother and held a bow along with what must have been a kill he was proud of: one of the birds that inhabited the mountains of Thoran. His hair was more like his mother's, golden and longer, flowing almost with the wind in the picture. The third child was a girl, who held a dove with one hand and shield in the other. Her hair was long, but her face was familiar to Ealrin, though he was sure he had not met any royalty thus far. Only the members of the King's Swords.
“Ahem,” said a voice that startled Ealrin. He had been so absorbed in the painting that he had not noticed a palace boy standing next to him at attention. The boy may have been standing there several moments before making the sound.
“Sir Ealrin Belouve, supper is served in the dining hall.”
28: Dwarven Aid
Wisym peered off the starboard side of her vessel.
The ship was in good condition considering the fate of the city they had brought it from. Though Ingur lay in ruins, neither the harbor nor any of the three vessels that were currently sailing were sullied by the battle fought next to them. Wisym could see no reason why the ships were left the way that they were. Hardly one stone was left on top another throughout the entire city yet these ships were stocked for a three-week long journey and hardly touched. They had been the only ships in the harbor.
Perhaps there was a great journey to be taken soon by the elves of Ingur that was cut short due to their untimely deaths.
Wisym t
hanked her elders that they had been so lucky to find them in such good condition.
Of course, these three ships were stocked and ready for a crew of fifty apiece, though they now held six hundred. The boats were big enough as long as the elves didn't mind being in very close quarters. Even as the general of this army, and the only thing they had close to a leader, Wisym shared her quarters with five other elves.
Being closely packed together was a small price to pay for their current safety. What would become a problem in the near future was a lack of food and drinking water.
Wisym had assigned several elves to fishing duty. Though none she had with them were fishers by trade, most had some experience casting lines off of the harbor docks of Talgel or nets from the nearby beaches.
Unfortunately fishing from a ship while out at the deep-sea was another issue entirely.
Wisym reminded herself to look over their food stores and do her best to ration what they had. There was no way to tell how long their journey would be, nor where it would take them.
Wisym returned to the main deck of her ship to consult the only map they had. Elves were, as a community, a very close-knit group. Those who would sail far from home or travel by any other means usually had very good reason to do so, and were thought of as odd by the elves of Talgel and Ingur. Who would desire to leave the blessed canopy of that great forest of the elves?
Yet the idea pained Wisym, for she knew that the forest was sullied. The goblins had invaded her home and were repelled. Men had invaded Ingur and were victorious.
For what reason? Why were they being attacked? Typically the land of the Southern Republic, though diverse and compact, was one of peace. She shook the thoughts from her mind so as to address the current question at hand.
To where were they sailing?