Sword of Ruyn

by R. G. Long

  The map that Ithrel was considering was laid out on top of a piece of wood laid over a barrel.

  All tables were currently serving as beds.

  As Wisym stared at the map, she was in awe of its craftsmanship. The ink that covered the well-worn, but still intact, parchment was delicately applied. Each country on the continent of Ruyn was marked, along with each major city and settlement. There were too many smaller villages and towns to be named on a map covering such a large area.

  They had sailed west as a start. The beating war drums and trumpets had come so quickly that in their haste, the elves had left with no real desire to know where they were heading. Survival was their goal.

  After being at sea for a day, sailing directly west and sure that they were not being followed, Wisym held counsel with her generals and Ithrel about their next actions.

  “River Head lies to the north,” said Celdor. He was a battle worn elf, with a scar running the length of his face from a goblin’s blade several human generations ago. He had fought bravely then and continued to fight well to this day. His brown hair was long and braided and reminded Wisym of the many trunks of a good forest. “Good Harbor to the southwest.”

  “What about this settlement? Dun-Gaza?” asked Wisym as she looked closer. It was the nearest city that they would see and closer than any other by far. Though sailing to it would put them far from Good Harbor.

  “Dwarves. I doubt we’ll find much help from them,” Celdor said with more than a hint of disgust in his voice.

  Among some of the elves there was a disdain for dwarves. Wisym had heard of wars long ago between the two races, long before men walked the earth. Yet now they were a part of the same country, the same republic. Why should they not aid them?

  Though Wisym found herself doubting those from her country now.

  Men had attacked. Had they come from Weyfield? Breyland? From Conny itself? She looked over the map and saw that to sail upriver to either of those settlements would take far less time than it would to travel to Dun-Gaza.

  And if it were aid they required to reclaim their forest, if indeed that was their purpose, Wisym had heard of no better warrior than a dwarf with a hammer.

  Save perhaps for an elf with a bow.

  “We sail for Dun-Gaza and beg for aid. Perhaps they will oblige us and put aside feelings from a long distant past,” she said with a flick of her eye up to Celdor.

  She was grateful for his battle knowledge and the skills he would bring to any fight.

  But there could be no room for malice aboard this vessel, of that she was sure.

  JUST AS THEY HAD COME within view of the mountain four days later, Wisym knew that something was wrong.

  Smoke rose from the mountaintop as well as from many places on the island.

  Dun-Gaza was ablaze.

  Finwe wanted to sail in to see if they could find survivors. Celdor wanted to sail on and leave the dwarves to their own devices.

  The decision was made for them, as two lone dwarves sailed out to the vessel.

  “Turn around! Leave! You are not welcome! We’ll have no more foreigners on our island! Get out!”

  And then, in an old dwarven tongue, they hurled curses at the elven vessels.

  Celdor grabbed a bow and strung an arrow.

  Wisym quickly put her hand on the weapon.

  “They’ve done nothing to harm us, I’ll not have you harm them.”

  Celdor’s eyes were slits of anger. Slowly, however, he obeyed his commander.

  Wisym looked back out to the small boat and shouted.

  “Master Dwarves! We are refugees from our own homeland! Goblins and men attacked our home! We need supplies and provisions! Let us get fresh water and we’ll be on our way!”

  More dwarven curses.

  “Your trouble is on your own heads! We’ve been ruined by goblins and man alike! Find somewhere else to steer your pointy ears!”

  “Please!” Wisym pleaded. “We are in need!”

  “So are many who sail these waters! Good Harbor’s been attacked and so had River Head! We’ve heard of many in need, but our mountain stands because we fought off those who attacked us! We’ll not stand to be attacked again by elvish trickery or become victims of a scam! Be off!”

  And with that, the dwarves rowed back to land.

  “So much for dwarven aid,” Celdor grumbled.

  Wisym wished he wasn’t right.

  What had happened here that had caused the dwarves to be so defensive? Not in her lifetime had she been turned away from aid or rescue because of her race.

  But the times were changing.

  An elf signaled from the front of her ship. Wisym looked off the side to see what had caused the elf to signal danger.

  Seven ships approached.

  Though they didn’t look like goblin ships or those of the dwarves, they did not look friendly.

  Black flags flew from their masts.

  “Pirates,” Ithrel said.

  Wisym cursed.

  “Prepare for battle!” she called to the wind.

  29: Supper with a King

  The route the boy took Ealrin wound through the interior of the castle until he was sure that he was lost beyond hope. Then they came to a door that the boy opened for him and motioned that Ealrin should go inside. The view took his breath away.

  Before him on the opposite wall rose windows that stood taller than three men and spanned the length of the room, which was more than a stone's throw from wall to wall. Ealrin could see the majority of the city from here and saw that though the suns were beginning to set, Thoran was still a busy place. People hustled from one part of town to the next.

  “I never wish to eat without understanding the effect any indulgence will have on my people,” said a deep voice from Ealrin's left.

  And standing before him must be King Thoran the IV, for he looked every bit like the man who stood in the painting with his wife and three children: tall, dark haired, and commanding. Yet in his dark eyes there was a gentleness that the painter had not been able to capture. There was a light of the understanding of the common man.

  Ealrin bowed deeply before the king, but not for long.

  “Rise Ealrin. You've earned a good supper and a chance to dismiss a few formalities,” Thoran spoke as he motioned to the table. Several members of the Swords were already seated, though none had any food on their plates.

  How they could resist the spread before them was unimaginable, Ealrin thought.

  Meat of all descriptions was laid before them, as well as several fruits and vegetables. Baskets of bread were set between every two chairs and cups, which looked to be made of silver, begged to be filled with the wine that sat in bottles before them.

  Ealrin found an empty seat next to Cory and seated himself as well.

  As the king came to his seat at the head of the table, the company rose. Ealrin followed suit.

  Thoran spoke in a reverent manner.

  “We eat in memory of those who gave their lives to ensure that tonight we eat in peace.”

  He took a cup in front of him and filled it with the wine from a bottle close to him.

  “To Gray Furtherland. A Sword for the King!”

  “A Sword for the King!” came the response from the rest of the group. As the king sat, so did they. Ealrin noticed that Tory, who sat across the table from his brother, had eyes that were red and swollen. Apparently he was only just recovered enough from mourning to sit at the king's table tonight.

  All the chairs were filled save for three to the left of the king. Ealrin did not see the queen at the table and assumed one of them would be for her. But who would sit in the other three?

  The king began speaking to those who had assembled.

  "I have heard about your short journey to find Holve, and am pleased to let you know that it was not in vain. Thurin arrived a day before you did, and Holve is now in the care of my best healers. I am told he will not only survive, but be able to have a speedy recovery.
"

  The collective sigh of relief was felt throughout the room. Ealrin could feel tensions easing away as news of Holve’s survival sunk in. He would not need to bury another friend just yet.

  "I am also told," The king continued, "that his survival is due to the fact that his wound was contained quickly by a young and yet very gifted healer.

  The King looked meaningfully at Ealrin and then around his table.

  "And where is our talented speaker?"

  As if she had heard his summons, Blume stepped through a door at the opposite end of the room. Behind her followed the same attendant that had escorted Ealrin here. She looked clean and refreshed, but slightly embarrassed.

  "I'm sorry," she spoke timidly. "Apparently I overslept."

  The king arose as she took a step toward the table and motioned at a seat next to him.

  "My dear, you have nothing to apologize for. It is because of your efforts I'm told that Holve still lives. Please come and sit as an honored guest."

  When the king had risen, the rest of those seated had also. As Blume walked past Ealrin she gave him a nervous smile. Ealrin returned it with a wink. She would have no trouble asking permission to be accepted into the school of magic here. The king waited for her to take her seat and then he sat down again.

  "I have asked you to join me for supper tonight to discuss what I fear are interconnected and disturbing events on the continent of Ruyn. But I have delayed you long enough. We will discuss these matters once you have eaten to regain your strength from your journey. Please, my swords, eat well."

  This was a command Ealrin was glad to obey. He was famished from the week’s journey and eating only what they were able to shoot or find. He found himself eating whatever was within his reach. And in that small radius, there was quite the feast. Fruit of all types lay before him as well as a wide spread of other plants and vegetables. There were two types of birds and one other meat that Ealrin didn't recognize but found delicious. Before he had been able to sample everything he found that his stomach could hold no more and so he simply sat back and took sips of his wine to finish off his meal.

  As he observed his supper companions, he noticed that all of them were in better spirits at the news of Holve’s survival. All except Tory, who was simply picking at his food. He had eaten a fair bit in order to obey his king, but now food could not satisfy his empty heart.

  "I haven't thanked you properly Tory," Ealrin spoke across the table. His were the first words to rise above smaller conversations going on around the table. "You and Gray saved my life when General Rayg attacked us. Thank you for your bravery and for defense of Blume and me."

  Tory looked up from his picked over plate.

  "It's who we are,” he said through a constricted throat. “It's what we do."

  With this, he dropped his gaze into his plate. And yet you continue to speak through his constricted throat.

  "Gray and I grew up together. He was my second brother. His family was killed by a group of raiding goblins. Out of three other children and his parents, he was the only one to survive. Corey and I begged our father to take him in. We were eight and he was seven. Since then we've done everything together. Laugh. Fight. Grow up. We joined the king swords at the same time, though he was a year younger. For six years now we have defended those who were in need. He died doing what we have all sworn to do. I don't suppose he could've asked for more."

  Tory then looked up at Ealrin with eyes that were still red, but now shown with determination.

  "We are the swords of the King," he said with a renewed boldness in his voice. "We are the defenders of Ruyn."

  The king took notice of Ealrin and Tory's exchange and cleared his throat.

  "I believe now is the time to tell you, Ealrin, about the group gathered before you and their purpose. To explain that to you will help you understand why they are gathered here now to hear about these unsettling events happening across our continent."

  With this he gave a deep sigh.

  “Some believe that their armies should have numbers like the rocks along our mountain ranges: immeasurable. Surely Beaton has always found its strength in numbers. I don’t believe in having a military that is all consuming. Instead of using men as hammers and repeated banging against an enemy, suffering insurmountable loss and casualty, I use my army as one would delicately use a knife. Precision is what I value. The strength in tactics and advanced planning.”

  “Those you see gathered here before you,” He made a gesture with his hands, indicating that the people seated around the table, “are my swords, my weapons of choice. They are the leaders of my military. They are my finest knights. If I am able to fight a war using only those you see here before you, I will. They are elite fighters, every one of them.”

  “Every man in Thoran knows his way around a sword and a bow. We regularly train ordinary citizens, but I don’t delight in seeing them arrayed for battle. They are bakers. Farmers. Artisans and craftsmen. I would have them stay that way. We have known peace for years now on the continent of Ruyn. Thoran has not seen war, other than the rebellion in the Southern Republic, for one hundred years. I would prefer it to stay that way. Having a large army means needing to use it. Instead of telling a family that their father is dead because of my actions, I would keep them safe within these walls if it is possible.”

  “My swords you see here are a different story.” With this statement the king looked fondly at those gathered around him. Ealrin could tell he was proud of his warriors.

  “These swords know battle. They have fought in hundreds of skirmishes. All of them necessary acts to stave off a greater conflict or war. They are my finest fighters. They are the defenders of those who need it. They are the keepers of peace.”

  The king rose from the table and walked over to a large map that was hung on the wall opposite of the great windows. Ealrin admired the map in all of its detail and craftsmanship. The top of it rose well above the Kings head and went nearly all the way to the floor. It was wider than two men standing with their arms outstretched. It had in detail every city, Mountain range, forest, and country, on the entire south eastern side of the continent of Ruyn. There were several tens of different colors placed around the map. Some of them had pieces of paper with notes written on them hanging from it, while others were simply just round and metallic.

  “Unfortunately,” he spoke as he viewed the map, his back to the table. “We now know that there is a war brewing in the hearts of our southern neighbors, though perhaps not from their leadership. Ten years ago we helped to put down a rebellion led by a former elder of the Southern Republic, Androlion Fellgate.”

  The king shook his head and looked at the floor.

  “A madman who quests for power.”

  The King pointed towards both Weyfield and Breyland as he returned his gaze to the map.

  "We know of Merc activity and both of these cities of the Southern Republic. Holve told me how they burned Weyfield to the ground. They are now camped within the city of Breyland. What worries me is this high concentration of Raiders without any response from the army of the Southern Republic. It would seem that he had either stirred the general population to agree with his views or somehow managed to silence his opposition. The latter would be difficult unless...”

  Here he paused and again shook his head. After a moment he let out a deep sigh and returned his gaze to the table.

  “The Southern Republic is ruled equally by the three major races. If Androlion has quieted the elves and dwarves, I fear that there may no longer be any other race in the Southern Republic other than humans. If that is not the case yet, it is certainly how he would like it to be.”

  Ealrin looked around the table. Determination showed on every face. Determination and resolve to stop a madman.

  “My swords. It is time to gather our people and go again to aid the Southern Republic. This is not a time for some to fight. Now is the time for all. If Androlion takes control of the south, he will exterminate t
he other races there and then surely turn his attention here. He must be stopped.”

  “And yet there are still threats to be dealt with your Majesty,” said a voice that Ealrin knew well and had not heard in several days.

  Holve Bravestead walked slowly from a door on the opposite end of the hall as the king. Thurin came up behind him. Ealrin could tell that he was readying himself to catch the unsteady Holve if need be. Ealrin was just glad to see his friend alive. He looked at Blume, who looked equally happy.

  “The goblins that raided our ship have traveled north, and are now attacking River Head as we speak. The message just arrived.”

  Behind Holve and Thurin walked a man who was breathless and weary looking. He looked as if he had been traveling hard. He bowed to the king.

  “It’s true your Majesty. Goblin ships sail the Crow’s Sea. They began their raids just as I was sent to deliver this message. We need aid.”

  The king looked from messenger, to Holve, to Ealrin, and back. He stroked his beard thoughtfully.

  “Goblins raid Thoran. The Mercs burn cities in the south. Could the timing be incidental or perhaps orchestrated?”

  “By whom your majesty?” Cory raised the question. “Surely not Androlion. He has more disgust for goblins than any other race.”

  Again the king thought for a moment.

  “We may not know all the details as of yet, but I fear for my people. If the goblins raid, we must defeat them. If the Southern Republic is in danger of collapse, we must come to their aid.” His eyes showed a great sadness as Ealrin could tell he was unhappy with what must be done. “We must gather ready the people for war.”

  “My swords, “the king walked back to his chair and stood beside it as he spoke. “Each of you is to take ten of your best men to River Head. Intercept the goblins there. Surely they can be defeated by your cunning and skill. I will gather the people and march for Loran. There I will await your return so that we may aid the Southern Republic.”

  Everyone at the table stood as the king held his cup high again. Ealrin stood with them and took his own cup in hand as did the others.