by R. G. Long
“So I will give this option to you: join me. Trust in my words and the future that I have seen and I will give you a place among my other generals. Give me your allegiance and help us preserve the line of mankind in the age to come. Join me, and I may just spare your princess as well.”
Ealrin couldn’t believe his ears. Surely Androlion was speaking madness. He spoke as if he could see the future, as if he knew what was going to happen.
No man sees what is going to come! Ealrin thought.
This had to just be something a madman dreamt up to justify his hatred of those who were not like him. Of those who were not men.
And then a voice echoed over the silence of the other prisoners.
“I will fight with you.”
Ealrin had been looking at the ground, lost in his thoughts about how Androlion was a man driven to insanity and couldn’t be sure who had spoken. He looked to his left and right trying to find who had called out. Surely no one would actually believe these ramblings!
And yet the voice spoke again, one that Ealrin knew well. He could see that he was not the only face that was filled with shock at the owner of the voice.
“I will fight,” Cory said again.
Androlion turned to where Cory was sitting, several steps past Holve in the opposite direction of Tory. As he walked from one twin to the other, Ealrin could see the look of surprise that was turning into disgust on Tory’s face.
“Ah,” said Androlion as he approached Cory. “There are two of you. Brothers no doubt? Twins? How quaint.”
At this, Androlion bent and spoke on a face-to-face level with Cory.
“You see that the gods have given me a glimpse into the future and that to preserve our race we must destroy the others that walk this land? Do you agree?”
Again, Androlion blocked Ealrin’s view of whom he was speaking to. But the answer was not lost among the stillness of the other prisoners.
“Yes.”
Androlion stood and motioned to two of his generals and said simply, “Untie him.”
Xaxes and Verde moved forward, each with a dagger in hand and loosened the bonds. Ealrin still couldn’t believe what was going on in front of him. Surely this was all a ruse? He half expected Cory to stand to his feet and drive a sword into Androlion’s chest. But all he did was stand and massage his wrists. There was no fight in him and his face was expressionless, something that was odd for the typically outspoken twin.
“You will prove to me that you mean to help rid this land of the lesser races. What is your name?”
“Cory. Cory Greenwall.”
Androlion stood surveying him for a moment. He then sheathed his sword and drew a dagger from his belt. He marched back a few paces from Cory, stopping right in front of Holve. With one arm he extended the weapon to him and with the other he motioned to Frerin and Narvi.
“Very well Cory Greenwall. You will show me that you are pure in purpose and that none of the lesser races can be saved. Not even those whom you have called friends. I see that these two dwarves are the last that have survived the battle with my army.”
Ealrin could see the twisted smile that lined Androlion’s face as he spoke his next words.
“Kill them.”
THE SUNS BEGAN TO RISE over the mountain range, but they brought no light with them. None, at least to Ealrin and the other survivors of the Merc assault.
The survivors were no longer the diverse and complimentary warriors that marched from River Head. Instead, it was a group of only men.
Ealrin was devastated. How could Cory kill his comrades? How could he slit the throats of those with whom he had fought and battled the evils of the realm? Ealrin had listened to countless stories from the dwarves about their adventures as Swords. They always talked so highly of Cory. In his short time of knowing him, Ealrin had thought he was a level headed soldier. Given over to a little superstition perhaps, but to be so easily swayed?
It was all too terrible to believe.
And yet the missing bodies of the dwarves across from him couldn’t be a hallucination. Holve had indeed awoken. He had been able to wiggle into a sitting position from where he had laid previously. When they dragged the dwarves’ bleeding bodies away, Holve had fallen into the dirt.
Now he sat up and was trying to ascertain what had happened from Ealrin. With every detail his brow continued to furrow and his eyes more steely than normal. Ealrin finished the story with all the details he knew.
“After Cory... Well, afterwards Cory left with Androlion and the other generals. I just can’t believe he killed Narvi and Frerin. For what? The ramblings of a mad man? I just can’t believe it Holve. He’s betrayed us and murdered his friends.”
With a moment to think about what was going on around him, Ealrin was beginning to come to terms with all had transpired. Now it was all for naught.
“War is hell, Holve,” he finished.
“I’ve never said it was anything but, Ealrin. War is not what happens when those with level heads can rightly discuss their issues and solve them with peace instead of swords. War is what happens when those who have a need for power or position see no other alternative other than the needless shedding of blood. War is hell. But some wars are fought against those who seek to do a greater evil. And some wars are won when those who seek to do good rally around others who seek to do what is right. This one isn’t over, Ealrin. I doubt it’s truly begun. We still have a chance to do what is right.”
“How? How Holve?” Ealrin was downcast and desperate. He was bound, hungry, and angry. Angry at Cory for deserting them. Angry at Androlion for starting a war. Angry at war for the bloodshed it caused. He wanted it all to stop. He wanted to stop it himself. But he didn’t know how and felt powerless to do anything. “I’m surprised the rest of us have lasted this long. They’ll surely kill us before next sunrise.”
“Perhaps,” said Holve. “But never doubt that there are others around you who seek justice as much as you do.”
Ealrin had no other words for Holve. He just sat for a while and stared.
Maybe there are others who would end a war, he thought.
But where were they now? And what good could they do for those whose hands and feet were bound and whose spirits were downcast?
FOR MOST OF THE DAY, the River Head army sat bound and at the mercy of the Raiders. Ealrin couldn’t tell what they were planning to do. They seemed content to stay in this pass for however long they needed. A few mountain streams were giving them the water they needed to quench the thirst of their army. He feared for the rest of the Swords and those who had marched with him.
He had tried a few times to talk to Teresa, but she only shook her head whenever he had spoken. His attempts to encourage her about the whereabouts of the king went unacknowledged.
Androlion hadn't come back for Teresa yet. Ealrin could only imagine what the enemy had in store for her. So far, however, her treatment had been the same as everyone else's. Maybe he intended to just leave her in the mud with the rest of the prisoners?
Ealrin was starving. His tongue was sticking to the top of his mouth. The heat of the suns above them was blazing down on them. And in the light of the sun on Ealrin, he finally noticed something up on the mountainside. Something gleamed through the trees and shrubs that grew alongside the cliffs that rose to form the mountain. Several things did.
And then came the arrows raining down from above, shooting over those bound and sitting tied up and landing on the raiders who were caught off guard completely by the assault.
Then from all around them, out of the trees and the bushes at the base of the mountain, erupted soldiers wearing the maroon and gold of Thoran.
Ealrin recognized several of the elves that burst forward and began to rain arrows down on the closest Raiders. At the same time several others began cutting the prisoners free. As they were cut free of their bonds, the warriors of Thoran began to scramble toward a pile of weapons and grab anything that could be used to defend themselves agai
nst the Raiders. Slowly, some began to organize and attack the new and unexpected threat. Fortunately, they were still drunk over their victory and from their ale to react quickly, but Ealrin knew that would only give them an advantage for so long.
He was cut free and hastily scrambled to Holve and worked to help him to his feet. Teresa ran to Holve’s other side and also began to help escort the general away from the fight and toward the slopes of the mountain.
"Get yourselves a sword and let go of me!" he tried to argue. Ealrin and Teresa exchanged grim looks, knowing that his words had truth to them. Three unarmed and weak prisoners of war would have little chance of surviving any battle. And yet they both knew that Holve was in worse condition than either of them.
The sound of battle horns echoed in the valley as the Merc warriors were alerted to the small skirmish going on. Ealrin knew they were hopelessly outnumbered and could only last several minutes at best.
He looked behind him to see whatever warriors had been able to grab weapons forming a semicircle with the mountain at their back. The last of the army of Thoran that marched from River Head would be crushed against the mountain. He could see that most of the elves were hanging their bows on their backs and drawing their swords. They were running out of arrows.
"I don't know how long we will last here Holve," Ealrin said as he continued to help Teresa drag him away from the battle.
And then a voice that came from a rock spoke up.
"Bah. A lot longer if you get inside and quit fooling around."
34: Fate
They walked for several minutes through a series of caves and caverns that had Ealrin’s head spinning. It was just wide enough for Ealrin and Teresa to stay at Holve’s side, continuing to help him walk. The light that contented to lead them through the dizzying maze came from the lantern of a dwarf. Ealrin couldn’t see him well enough to know if he was familiar with this dwarf, but he doubted it.
Instead of the maroon and gold of Thoran, this dwarf was wearing brown leather pants and a black shirt. No uniform that Ealrin had seen thus far or could identify. The tunnels they traversed were extensive and reinforced at different parts. Old wooden beams held up certain areas, though some threatened to fall soon if not maintained. Behind him, Ealrin could hear the shouts and boots of several others coming into the underground cave. And then a loud crash echoed throughout the tunnel and a rush of air and dust came down on them. For a moment the light flickered in the dwarf's lamp and Ealrin feared they'd be plunged into darkness, but the darkness passed as soon as it came.
"What was that?" he asked, not truly expecting an answer from Teresa or Holve, who both were looking as puzzled as Ealrin felt. There was also a bit of fear in Ealrin that he didn't want to show at the moment.
"That'll be the entrance we came in collapsing," said the dwarf over his shoulder as he continued to lead the group onward through twisting tunnels. Ealrin's stomach dropped as he realized that this was the thing he feared. Had they been led from their death at the sword to their death underground?
"We're nearly there," the dwarf said as he made a right down a fork. He passed from sight for a brief moment and Ealrin took the opportunity to voice his concerns with Holve.
"Maybe following this dwarf into this cave wasn't the best decision. What if we're no better off under this mountain than out there with the Mercs?" he spoke in a low voice.
"We'd be dead if we weren't under this mountain, Ealrin," said Teresa with a tone of impatience.
"But with no way out..." began Ealrin. He found that he was unable to continue his sentence as he found himself walking into the large cavern that opened up. Giant stalactites hung from the great ceiling of the giant underground room. The light of several lanterns illuminated the room. They were resting on natural rock outcroppings that acted as shelves. It made missing the three hundred dwarves that stood watching the influx of warriors from Thoran impossible.
AS THE COMMOTION SETTLED and the last of the survivors came from the tunnel into the cavern, Holve wrested free of Ealrin and Teresa and stood on his own in order to address the dwarves.
"Well, it looks like we owe you all a great deal, dwarves of Kaz-Ulum," he said with a rare grin. "How in the world did you come to Thoran's mountains from the south without receiving the wrath of the Mercs?"
"If there's a tunnel on the continent of Ruyn, we dwarves put it there!" said the dwarf who led them into the cave originally. A resounding "Aye!" rang up from the other dwarves. Ealrin saw males and females, young and old gathered in the cave. All bore weapons or mining picks or something dwarven made and sharp. Though they looked resolute and smug, they'd been traveling for a long time, and not in the best circumstances. Several had clothes that were tattered or hastily patched. More looked like they hadn't eaten a good meal in a month.
"It'll take them days to dig through that rubble and weeks to find another entrance into these tunnels. These are ancient dwarven paths we're treading, so mind yourselves."
It was then that Ealrin began to see what he had at first missed. Though the cavern was still quite dark and his eyes were still adjusting to the dim light, he was beginning to make out shapes in the stalagmites he was standing close to. In rings around each one were runes that were carved into the rock. Yes, they were certainly runes; similar to the ones Ealrin had seen carved into some of the dwarven weapons.
Then he noticed that some of the rock formations were not natural, as he had first assumed, but rather statues of dwarven kings and nobles, hewn from the rock wall of the giant room. As his eyes lifted, he saw that the darkness of the cave was intermingled with small lights on the ceiling. No lanterns, but rather glowing dwarven runes of light above them. Time had dimmed them, but he was certain that when they were first carved they had lit the cave enough for any who came here.
The dwarf chuckled a bit as he saw several others mimicking Ealrin’s glance around the room.
"There's not much time for gawking. Especially if we're to meet up with King Thoran!"
At this declaration, Teresa gasped and stepped forward.
"The king? You know of his whereabouts? Is he alright?"
Ealrin saw emotion in the face of the stout warrior. Though Teresa was a battle-hardened swordswoman, she was still a daughter to a father, Ealrin could see. A small smile creased his lips.
"The King lives or my names not Gorplin of Kaz-Ulum! We saw him not two days ago. He marches south from Liaf. Heard he had a little goblin trouble, but took care of it. Nine thousand march south still."
Ealrin took a deep breath. He had been concerned for King Thoran's welfare. His look of relief was nothing compared to that of Teresa's, however. She looked years younger as she turned back to him.
And twice as beautiful with a smile on her face.
Of course, when she saw Ealrin smiling at her, she quickly resumed her usual hard glare.
Oh well, Erin thought, chuckling in his head. At least she does have some emotion.
'We'll march south in these tunnels and then come out close to Loran. The woods conceal our gate into the mountain, so we ought not to have any trouble getting to the king. Then we can sort out these Mercs!"
A cheer came from the survivors of Thoran, though they were bruised and battered.
"General Rayg has much to answer for the atrocities he committed at Kaz-Ulum and Cardun-Addush. Androlion too for that matter," the dwarf continued. "As far as we know, we're the only survivors of that mountain..."
The dwarf coughed into his hand and looked at his feet. Several other of the dwarves also cast their eyes down. Ealrin couldn't imagine what they must have been through. Escaping the carnage of the Mercs. Leaving behind family, friends, leaders, mentors, and others. What a terrible loss.
He clenched his fist. Such evil. And for what? To forestall some insane vision a man had of a coming calamity?
"He'll pay," Ealrin said under his breath. But apparently it was loud enough for some to hear standing next to him. Holve especially.
He placed a hand on Ealrin's shoulder and spoke again to the dwarf.
"We owe you our lives. Lead the way, Dwarves of Kaz-Ulum!"
Gorplin looked up from the dust. A tear stained his cheek and dripped down his beard.
"Bah. Were it not for the courage of your elves and the strength of your men we wouldn't have been able to get you this far. Unlike Androlion, we're not so daft as to believe there's one race who can survive without the other. We have some weapons from the battlefield we stole in the night. Grab what you can. Warriors of Thoran, we march as one."
He bowed deeply to the crowd before him and his fellow dwarves copied his action.
Ealrin and the others from River Head returned the bow and began to walk forward to where the weapons were. The dwarves stood up and began putting whatever they could carry onto their backs. They looked determined and battle ready, despite their apparent lack of sleep and meals. Ealrin admired the fight in these dwarves.
And then he spotted it, among the other weapons purloined from the battlefield.
A certain sword, with a gap at the base of the blade and without a point at the end.
ACCORDING TO THE DWARVES, the march through these tunnels would take two days. After that, the company would emerge in a forest west of the city of Loran, where the King was supposed to be camping at this point. Though they were few in number, they would add something to the King's forces. Information, if nothing else.
The timing of the marching raiders from the south had helped the king's forces. Had they been late in coming, the two armies would have clashed at the border of Thoran and the Southern Republic.
Hopefully they were not in the midst of a battle yet.
For hours upon hours they marched through tunnels. Ealrin couldn't help but marvel at the coolness of the caves. Though the heat of the summer suns had been nearly unbearable, it was cool and damp in these twisting tunnels.