Sword of Ruyn

by R. G. Long

  “For peace on Ruyn!” he called to them.

  “We are Swords of the King!” was their reply.

  The king excused himself as he went to discuss matters with the messenger who had arrived.

  Ealrin walked over to Holve and made to hug him.

  “Wait!” Holve said as he raised an arm to block Ealrin “I may be standing, but I’ll be bowled over if you aren’t careful. General Rayg’s sword left me quite wounded. Though I know I have Blume here to thank for my survival.”

  Blume had also gotten up and walked with Ealrin over to their traveling companion.

  “I’ve heard endless talk about you little Blume,” said Holve with an unusual smile in her direction. “The healers were quite impressed with your ability to contain the damage done.”

  She blushed at his kind words.

  “Do you think they’ll take me on at the school of magic here?” she asked through red cheeks.

  Holve chuckled lightly, but held the spot where Rayg’s blade had cut.

  “I doubt you have much to worry about there, Speaker.”

  THE NEXT DAY WAS A flurry of activity. The king sent word that all able-bodied citizens of Thoran were to gather in Loran, ready to march to war and stop the Merc’s pillaging of the south. While the planning was going on, Ealrin received a summons from the king. He walked into the room where he and several advisers as well as some of the members of the King’s Swords and Holve were gathered. They were planning a strategy for the coming conflict.

  “Your Majesty?” he spoke loudly enough to be heard over the general commotion, but still cautious. After all, he was unsure of how to act around a king.

  Looking up from various maps and notes laid on a wide wooden table, the king smiled.

  “Ah! Ealrin! Come in please.”

  The king dismissed several advisers to go and attend to other duties. Cory and the woman of the swords were left with Holve, Ealrin, and the king.

  “Holve has told me much about you and your fateful journey here. You’ve no memory of your country, your station, or your past then?”

  Ealrin had little time to try to remember who he had been after the encounter in Weyfield. It was strange that it should be brought up here, as he assumed the present was more pressing than his past.

  “No your majesty. I cannot recall who I was or where I came from.” He felt foolish speaking the truth, but he knew better than to fabricate anything about himself. And why would he? What purpose would it serve?

  “I have heard of men who have lost things before, but one who has lost his memory is something that I have not encountered.” The king did not speak with a tone of unbelief, but merely one of fact.

  “I hear of the good you have done beside Holve,” he continued, not allowing Ealrin a chance to explain himself or guess the nature of his circumstances. “He assures me of your heart and your bravery. One, such as you would fit well with the rest of my swords. Would you serve a king and adopt a country, in light of not knowing your own?”

  Ealrin stopped short. Become a Sword in the king’s army? Hadn’t he called them the very best of his soldiers? His elite army leaders? He was sure that he couldn’t be anywhere near their caliber. He was nearly going to protest when Holve spoke.

  “You see, Ealrin, we are going to head to River Head in the morning. The swords and 150 soldiers against an armada of goblins. We know that goblins are only sure of an attack as long as their leaders push them to. If we can deliver a death blow to the goblins or trolls who lead them, we are sure the others will flee. Goblins only fight...”

  “...when they are sure they can win.” Ealrin finished. He remembered all too well the last time Holve told him that statement.

  The king looked to Ealrin and grinned. “So you’ll become a Sword for my army then?”

  Ealrin was still lost for a response. He wanted to aid, to fight. But as an elite?

  “I... I uh...” was all that he could muster at the thought.

  The king turned and looked Ealrin Square In the eye.

  “You have nothing to fear. Not all of my soldiers need to be the most skilled of fighters. I also need those who are courageous of heart. From what Holve tells me, that description fits you perfectly.”

  Ealrin met the king’s gaze. His were not the eyes of belittling or babying. He was not trying to convince Ealrin. He believed in him. It was evident in the kindness of his words and the expression on his face.

  Ealrin finally found his voice and put words to his thoughts.

  “I... I don’t know if I am quite the soldier you’re looking for. I’ve survived mostly on instinct and luck so far,” he finally said.

  The king gave Holve a knowing look and a nod that said that Ealrin’s luck so far was just what he was hoping for.

  “Sounds like you’ll fit in just fine,” said Holve with a slap on Ealrin’s back. “Welcome to the Swords.”

  THE REST OF THE AFTERNOON was a blur of activity. Ealrin was fitted with his own suit of armor. It was not a full plate of metal, as old explained that the nights of beaten wear, but rather a combination of small metal plates that fit together on top of a suit of leather.

  We wear these armored suits so that we are protected, but also so that we are not hindered in movement. Holve explained.

  Like all of the other sorts of the king, Ealrin’s suit bore the symbol of Thoran.

  I may not have had a past that he could remember, Ealrin thought to himself. But for now I have a country to call my own. One I will fight for and defend.

  Ealrin was walking around the castle courtyard trying to feel comfortable in his new uniform when Blume came up beside him. The look on her face was, at first, one of happiness. When she saw his armor, however, she began to look worried.

  "So you were going off to fight the goblins raiding River Head were you?" She asked him with a tone of concern and her voice.

  "Yes, Blume," he replied. I am going to help defend those who are defenseless. This is what I have wanted since seeing so much violence from both the goblins and the Merc Raiders."

  She placed her hand on his arm and looked into his eyes. Ealrin could have sworn he saw small tears forming in them.

  "Promise me you'll be safe Ealrin. You have to be safe. You saved my life." She hesitated before she spoke her next words. "I don't want to see you die."

  "I promise," he said, though inside of him, he knew that in order for him to defend others he must put himself in danger's way. It's what he had done when he had saved her life. It's what he had done when he had fought to defend her and to help Holve. But he knew, that for her sake and perhaps for the sake of others, he would defend, he must not throw his life away needlessly.

  "You looked so happy walking up before you saw me in my uniform," he said attempting to change the subject. "What could make you so glad?"

  At this her face brightened, even if only a little. A smile broke out on her face as she blushed.

  "I've just spoken with the head speaker in Thoran's school of magic. They have accepted me and I am to begin training tomorrow."

  At that news Ealrin hugged Blume tightly and then held onto her shoulders as he broke away. He knew the smile on his face must be huge for he saw it reflected in her brightening face.

  "That's wonderful news Blume! Well of course they will accept you! They would be crazy not to. What did you show them that convinced them?"

  He let go of her and began to walk around the castle grounds again with her at his side.

  "At first all they wanted me to do was to make a small piece of rimstone glow. It wasn't very difficult, but I may have overdone it. I was blinded for a moment after it shown so brightly."

  She giggled.

  "I wanted them to know that I could do it. They said that the task of making rimstone react to your voice was what some speakers train for years to do. They said that I would be placed in a group of speakers who are 5 to 10 years older than I am."

  The pair climbed a set of stairs that led to a balcony
overlooking the castle grounds. There will be people running in all directions, preparing for tomorrow when the citizen army would march south to war.

  Ealrin was so glad to hear that Blume would be accepted into the school of magic, but he was also hesitant about the role of speakers in the coming conflict.

  "Do any speakers March off to war?" He asked her as he looked out over the commotion below.

  "Yes, she replied, but only those who are older or much more advanced than I am."

  Ealrin gave a sigh of relief. Blume, he thought, had already seen too much war and violence as it was. He didn't want her to be a part of any more.

  "I will miss you while you are gone, Ealrin."

  Blume turned to him, a small tear actually falling down her cheek.

  "You and Holve have been so wonderful. Rescuing me and ensuring that I was kept out of harm’s way. I don't know how I could ever repay you."

  Ealrin put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze as he looked out over the clamor below him.

  "Become a gifted speaker and make use of your talents to bring peace to this land, he told her, "and that will be payment enough for me."

  Ealrin did not know what would await them in the city of River Head that was under goblin attack. But this one thing he did know: he would miss his adopted daughter.

  30: The City Crusher

  Stinkrunt was glad that his feet were now on firm ground again. He was glad that there were no more fish to eat and that he could eat whatever berry or squirrel that seemed good to him.

  Except whatever Splitear ate. He fell over dead after eating a couple of roots right after they landed. Then again, he could have died because Stinkrunt stabbed him with the knife he found out Splitear had stolen from him.

  One of those was definitely to blame.

  Stinkrunt held his knife at his side and was pleased that his leadership had helped them get to the right city.

  The first three times they had landed when Stinkrunt thought they saw a city didn’t count, in his mind. They had found a house or two and smashed them. A city, he reminded himself, had lots of houses.

  And a stupid wall.

  The city they had landed at they were now attempting to smash a big wall built around it, as well as lots of towers.

  And the stupid walls just wouldn’t smash easily.

  Stinkrunt was not a master tactician and he knew it. But what he did know was that this one city was his chance to prove to Grayscar that he was a good boss and that other goblins should fear his name.

  Or at least do what he wanted.

  And currently, Stinkrunt wanted his goblins to get up the walls.

  A couple of the goblins had enough smarts to grab ropes and things from the ship to use to climb up the wall. Stinkrunt thought that was a good idea, so he made all the goblins grab all the ropes they could and rush the wall. Well, he made his cronies make the other goblins do it.

  He was far enough back from the wall that he was safe from the arrows that kept getting fired from along the wall.

  He had been camped out here for the last week as the goblins tried to smash the city.

  So far, it wasn’t smashed.

  The rope method hadn’t really worked out the way he wanted it to though. He saw that a lot of goblins kept getting smashed with heavy rocks dropped from the wall and stuck with arrows. Neither did they have the ladder strategy, or the throw the rocks back strategy.

  He needed a new strategy.

  “Hey, you, lazy guts!” he shouted at a goblin who was standing next to him, obviously also trying to avoid being shot with an arrow. He looked around slowly to Stinkrunt.

  He wasn’t sure if the goblin’s name really was lazy guts or not, but it would have fit this particular one. He hadn’t done much since getting off of the boat and Stinkrunt was planning on changing that.

  “Make some fire, then take it to that big door!”

  Stinkrunt pointed at the large wooden door in the middle of the wall.

  If the stones wouldn’t smash it, maybe the door would burn down. Then the goblins could get inside the city and smash it that way.

  Not a bad idea, Stinkrunt thought to himself.

  It only took a week.

  So Lazyguts, which incidentally, was actually his name, got the fires ready and led the charge on the door of the city. Stinkrunt was pretty sure this idea might work.

  It even had other goblins falling all over him, asking him what they were going to do with all the loot in the city.

  Wait, no a goblin really had fallen on him.

  Stinkrunt looked at the big underling who hadn’t been a part of the charge, but who lay on the ground with an arrow in his back.

  Looking in the direction of the fallen goblin, Stinkrunt turned and then did what any great goblin general would.

  He ran for it.

  31: Strategy

  It was early morning and the first sun had barely risen over the horizon. Ealrin stood and watched as an army ten thousand strong marched south. He prayed it would be enough to stop the violence in the Southern Republic and put an end to the Mercs. Still, something inside him doubted that all was right in the leadership of that country. The king’s words had troubled him.

  Why would the elders not send aid to the city of Weyfield? Why would they allow the Mercs to camp in another city and stand idly by? Perhaps there was more at work here than he could see with his own eyes.

  He turned towards those gathered with the swords. The thirteen Swords he had traveled with now stood fifteen strong. He had taken Gray’s place among them and Holve was on horseback, ready to travel, although Ealrin and the king had tried their best to convince him to rest.

  “I was never one for sitting still for long,” was his only reply as he began strapping his own armor on. “Besides, Ealrin here won’t have a clue what’s going on unless I explain it to him!”

  Holve now sat on his horse at Ealrin’s side.

  “I’ve been in the service of King Thoran for many years now,” he said with grimness in his voice. “This is only the second time I’ve seen him march to war. Both have been south to deal with the Mercs. I think he knows that giving the Southern Republic to them would spell doom for Thoran. We don’t have the population of the south to add to our numbers. The mountains give us more protection than the people do. Now with the goblins invading as well, I fear there will be hard times for the people of Thoran in the future if this is not dealt with swiftly.”

  Ealrin looked at his friend. His eyes were squinted as he surveyed the army marching south. Caravans of supplies followed them, providing them with the necessary food and shelter they would need on their ten-day march to the southern border. If all things went as planned, they would camp at the river and wait for word from the forward scouts sent to entreat the elders of The Southern Republic on how best to aid them.

  If they can just make it past the Mercs in Breyland, Ealrin thought.

  He turned his horse toward the west along with his fellow soldiers and rode towards River Head to face the goblins.

  Their two-day journey would soon reveal the threat they faced in the city of River Head.

  A threat that Ealrin hoped would be dealt with swiftly.

  AS THEY RODE IN FORMATION down the road, Ealrin began to understand how the Swords had organized themselves. To each soldier who was a Sword, they had ten warriors underneath them. Each of them in some way reflected the one who trained them. For example, the elves that had returned from chasing down the Mercs now marched with other elves. They all carried bows. The dwarves, whose legs could never dream of reaching the straps of horses, marched diligently with other dwarves. All of them carried the traditional dwarven weapons: things that were heavy and pointed on the end. Men marched with men. Twenty of them were on horses and another forty marched on foot. Most of them were armed with spears and swords.

  The whole company, as diverse as they were, was clothed in the maroon and gold of Thoran. How strange, Ealrin thought, that there a
re some who see such diversity among the races as impure. How well they would compliment each other in battle! The elves would fire their arrows at the foe, while the men would rush ahead and form the first striking force. Then the dwarves behind them would form the anvil on which the enemy would be deflected.

  It was a strong company that marched west and for good reason. If the goblins that had sailed from The Maw had kept most of their strength, they would be facing a horde. Fear was what the Swords were banking on. When a goblin became more fearful of the fight than of its master's whip it would flee the battlefield in a panic. If the Swords could find and defeat the leader of the goblins and his cronies, perhaps a troll or a goblin shaman, the whole army of goblins would falter. Still, Ealrin could not get the sight of countless goblin vessels on the horizon, sailing toward the White Wind, out of his mind. Each must have carried a hundred of the beasts. How many would they find at River Head?

  River Head was called so because it stood at the mouth of the river that ran throughout the country of Thoran. It was a trading city and would also send goods down river to the smaller cities of Liaf and Loran. It would make a fine prize for any goblin captain looking for things to steal.

  The second day of marching brought the company of soldiers to a hill that ran down to the river and overlooked the city.

  Ealrin's heart leapt slightly.

  Five goblin ships were docked in the river port that served the walled city of River Head. One was burned black and still smoked in the water. Goblins were everywhere. At least six hundred of the short, gray skinned marauders filled the area just outside the city walls. Thankfully, they had not breached the wall, but they were making a good effort. Three catapults were constructed on the land and were chucking large rocks and pieces of a broken ship at the city.

  Thin ladders were attempting to be hoisted to the wall, but were constantly pushed down by River Head's defenders. Men, dwarves, and elves stood on the walls and rained down arrows and rocks at the goblins.