Sword of Ruyn

by R. G. Long

  "We've much to say, my king. But I fear it must be as we prepare for battle."

  AS IT TURNED OUT, HOLVE was right. From their vantage point outside of the forest, it was evident that at least fifty goblin ships floated out at sea.

  And from them rowed countless smaller boats, bringing the remainder of the gray horde to shore.

  The scouts who were surveying the landing of the boats counted six to eight thousand goblins. This was to be a battle that would be hard fought and sorely won.

  If it was to be won at all.

  While the preparations were being made, Gorplin, Lote, Teresa, Ealrin, and Holve met with King Thoran to discuss the current standing of the Swords as well as their new found knowledge of Androlion.

  Of those swords who had marched from River Head, only Tory, Teresa, Holve, Lote, and a male elf named Minare remained. Frerin, Khali, and Narvi had perished in the battle with the Mercs. Frerin and Narvi at the hands of Cory. The two other elves, Enlon and Elel, were unaccounted for, as was Brute, the largest and strongest of the human Swords. Some said he was defending the entrance to the cave that collapsed as the survivors escaped from the Mercs through the tunnel. Ealrin knew better, but didn't see a need to correct their stories.

  Let them remember Brute as a strong defender, he thought.

  King Thoran’s countenance was sullen. His most elite warriors had fallen to the hands of betrayal and war. Ealrin could tell that this was why the king had not trained other knights and warriors in his domain.

  The man hated war as much as Ealrin did.

  “As for those lost in battle, we remember their sacrifice and will hereby make it count for something worthwhile. All of them,” the king thrust his own spear into the sky as he looked at those who stood in a circle around him. His shout was loud and fierce. “A Sword of the King!”

  “A Sword of the King!” came the salute from those who remained.

  “And as for Cory. We will not let such betrayal go unpunished. He will find justice, whether by my hand or by that of my allies.” At this the king looked down to Gorplin and put his hand on the dwarf’s shoulder.

  “I would hope you will find Thoran to be your ally, brave dwarf of Kaz-Ulum. I owe the lives of those who stand before me to you and your people. You are a skilled and able leader. I am sorry to hear of the attack on your mountain, but I hope that our meeting has been determined by fate and that we can become great allies, Gorplin of Kaz-Ulum.”

  Gorplin’s chest swelled with pride at being addressed so. A grim smile pushed at his beard and mustache as he looked up at the king and raised his hammer in salute.

  “Bah! You’ll find the dwarves of Kaz-Ulum to be strong allies my Lord! Our allegiance is set!”

  The king looked up as the sound of goblin drums began to resonate stronger southwest of them. The horde was approaching.

  “See to your people, Gorplin," the king said. "I’ve assembled the dwarves of Thoran by the forest on the road. My men can handle charging on the beach. I’ll not make you suffer by running in the sand for my sake.”

  “Bah. A strong ally indeed!” said Gorplin, as he hefted his hammer to his shoulder and jogged off to join his companions and the other dwarves in the coming battle.

  The king then turned to Teresa and smiled at her. Ealrin saw in his eyes a great sense of relief.

  "My daughter," he said as he held his arms out to embrace her.

  On the field of battle, Teresa was one of the most intimidating warriors Ealrin had ever seen; in the arms of her father she was the picture of a king’s princess.

  He held her for several moments and took her shoulders in his hands. He looked at her with great affection and love.

  Ealrin wondered if he had a father like that.

  "You have never been one for dresses and frilly things, Teresa. I wonder, if your mother were still alive, if you would have preferred a quieter life than the one you have chosen. And yet I could never be more proud of who you are. You are one fine soldier for your king and your father. You have served me well. I would tell you not to fight in the front ranks, but I know it wouldn't do any good."

  At this the king chuckled and held her face with one hand.

  "Be brave my daughter. Lead your people bravely. Attend to the warriors on the beach. Show them that the house of Thoran is a courageous one."

  He embraced her once more and then placed his forehead on hers.

  "Be safe and return to me when the battle is won."

  With that, Teresa saluted her father and King, and made her way to the beach. Ealrin saw that the king’s face showed pride and hurt. How it must pain him to send his daughter into battle. And yet, as Ealrin had plainly seen, Teresa was one of his finest warriors.

  The king turned his attention back to Ealrin and Holve.

  "I had hoped we would meet under better circumstances, but fate would not have it."

  He considered them both for a moment.

  With a sigh, he said, "Holve, stay at my side in this. I fear what may come after the goblins as well as for your health. You don't look well, my friend. The journey you've taken has been difficult for you, though you try to hide it, I can tell."

  Holve grimaced, but bowed.

  "Yes, My King," he said as he stood straight again, he hefted his spear to his side. It really was such a fine piece of work and only after having seen thousands of spears being carried by other warriors of Thoran did Ealrin really see that it was special.

  He grasped his own odd, but plain sword.

  "And what would you have of me?" Ealrin asked.

  The king's face turned into a weary smile as he looked at Ealrin with his compassionate eyes.

  "My general is at my side and yet my daughter goes to the front lines. I wonder if you would serve the king by serving his princess."

  Ealrin bowed and said, "I will, King Thoran."

  He began to walk off towards the beach, the same direction Teresa had gone only moments ago, but then stopped.

  On an impulse, he took the few steps back to Holve and hugged him.

  It certainly caught Holve off guard, but then Ealrin felt himself wrapped in the arms of his constant companion since his shipwreck. It felt good.

  He let go of Holve and stepped back to look into those same eyes that had watched over him when he was unconscious. The eyes that had guided him to this point. He felt like whenever he was in the sight of Holve, all was well.

  Holve spoke.

  "Ealrin Belouve, you've come a long way in a year. For all I know, I still couldn't say where you come from."

  And he knew Holve was right.

  Looking down Ealrin thought about his journey. Out of all their many travels over Ruyn thus far, Ealrin hadn't recognized a soul, nor had anyone else thought they had seen him before. But then he looked back into Holve’s eyes. Something was wrong.

  Was that a tear?

  Holve took a deep breath through his nose and continued on.

  "To hell with who you were, Ealrin. I've been most impressed with who you are becoming!"

  Holve slapped his shoulder and shoved him away.

  “Now get out there before the goblins get to the front!”

  And with that, Ealrin ran towards the beach to join Teresa and fight for the kingdom of Thoran.

  For a country he thought he might soon call home.

  37: War

  Ealrin stood on the front line with the rest of the warriors of Thoran. On his right was Teresa. Once again, her face was that of a stout warrior. While she was in the arms of her father, Ealrin had thought that the warrior side of her had vanished completely. Out here on the field of battle, however, Ealrin was sure he had imagined her softer side altogether.

  Her blades were drawn and held tightly in her hands. She paced back-and-forth slightly, always keeping an eye on the growing tide of goblins on the horizon.

  "You ever fought goblins before?" asked Cedric, one of the human survivors and scouts for the previous battle. He looked younger than Ealrin, an
d under the certain circumstances of their upcoming fight, a little nervous.

  "Once," Ealrin replied, looking over at the young scout. "It was several months ago out at sea. The key is to aim low."

  Cedric chuckled a little, the tension in his face easing.

  "I'll try to keep that in mind," he said.

  Cedric looked back to the horizon and his eyebrows furrowed.

  "They're coming," he said.

  Ealrin looked and saw that a flood of gray was spilling over the horizon.

  "Why do you suppose there's war?" Cedric asked as he unsheathed his sword and readied his shield.

  Ealrin's answer was already on his lips.

  "As long as there is unchecked evil and hatred, and those who are willing to oppose it have courage, there will be war." He paused for a moment as he took his own sword out of its sheath. He looked back to Cedric.

  "A friend told me that."

  TERESA STOPPED HER pacing, grimaced at the approaching goblin horde, and then turned to the army of Thoran.

  "Warriors of Thoran!"

  She raised both her blades high.

  “Do not fight these monsters because you relish the chance to swing your sword! Do not fight them because you detest their race! These that charge us have threatened our home! They come to kill and destroy our families, our people!”

  “Warriors of Thoran, let us show those that would force evil onto a nation that strives for peace and the good of all what will come to it! Your king fights with you! Defend your homes! Protect your king!”

  She turned and pointed her blade at the approaching horde. Thousands of goblins now sprinted toward the line of Thoran warriors. Ealrin could see elves standing in the forest, bows strung and ready. Dwarves stood on the road, preparing for a charge of their own.

  War had come to Thoran.

  “For Thoran! For the king!”

  “For Thoran!” came the thunderous reply as four thousand men surged forward, spears out, swords drawn, fire in their hearts.

  EALRIN RAN AS HARD as he could on the sandy beach. His hands already ached from gripping his sword and borrowed maroon shield.

  It was the third time in two weeks his sword would draw blood.

  Above him a hail of elvish arrows flew. They rained down on the goblins' ranks and peppered the first hundred.

  It was no matter.

  Thousands more raced over their fallen comrades.

  The two lines smashed into one another. Goblins leapt high in the air, throttling some Thoran warriors with their spears. Teresa carved a path through the gray beasts and Ealrin did his best to keep up, to be her defender.

  She hardly needed it.

  Through the chaos, Ealrin could perceive the dwarves smashing into their section of goblins.

  The elves continued the rain of arrows upon the goblins both at close quarters and at those who continued to run forward.

  Blood mixed with sand and ocean around Ealrin's feet.

  He parried a blow with his sword, then thrust his own into his attacker. He drew it back and swung again at another goblin.

  The tide of gray was endless.

  All around him warriors of Thoran slew scores of their enemy. And yet more replaced those slain.

  Men fell to the ground and were overcome by sheer numbers. Others fought on despite being desperately wounded.

  Teresa whirled around in circles, her blades slaying everything they touched.

  Four hours the battle raged.

  Ealrin knew not whether he trod on sand, earth, or body.

  It didn't matter.

  There was no time to see the ground, only the enemy.

  And yet in all the battling, as the sun began to sink beyond the horizon, the night sky was a bright orange, as the Dark Comet came ever closer to the land of Ruyn.

  FINALLY THE CRIES OF war died, replaced by the moans of the wounded and a triumphant cry from the warriors of Thoran.

  They were victorious.

  What was left of the goblins were running back to their boats and making their way back to the ships still out at sea. Perhaps only a few hundred fled. The rest were slain on the beaches and the road.

  Other warriors of Thoran were going through the bodies, easing the passing of the hopelessly wounded and identifying those who may still be helped by the healers. The healers were in white robes, running from wounded to wounded in order to try to save a few.

  Ealrin sat on the sand. His body ached in a hundred different places. His arm hung limply at his side, bandaged and still tingling from the healer’s speaking over it just moments ago. The goblin that had cut his arm lay motionless at his feet. It wasn’t the beast that Ealrin was looking at, however.

  It was Cedric.

  The young scout lay dead. The wound in his chest given to him by the goblin Ealrin had been cut by and slain himself.

  A long sigh escaped Ealrin.

  Here, among the countless dead of goblins, men, dwarves, and elves, Ealrin wondered if war really was the way for good to conquer evil.

  Teresa walked up behind him. He recognized her not by her face, for he didn’t raise his head to look, but by the armor on her legs and blades that hung at her sides.

  “War is hell,” she said.

  Ealrin wiped his cheek to brush away a pesky tear that had come. Was a warrior supposed to be this heartbroken over one who gave his life defending his home? He didn’t know that much about Cedric, yet looking into his youthful face, staring, but unseeing, he felt as if he had lost a brother.

  “Agreed,” Ealrin replied.

  And then the trumpet sounded.

  Not of the king, nor from a dwarf or elf.

  Ealrin stood and looked south, from where the goblins had come.

  Over the horizon marched thousands of soldiers bearing the banners of the Southern Republic and white griffin of Androlion Fellgate.

  38: Negotiations

  The king, Lote, Gorplin, and Holve rode their horses down the dirt road packed hard by the years of travelers and the battle just fought. All had small injuries from the battle with the goblins. Holve had a bandage over his head, covering a wound that was still bleeding. Lote and Gorplin shared a horse, no doubt because Gorplin's feet would never reach the flanks of the animal. Lote was scratched all over her face and hands, possibly from pursuing goblins through the forest. Gorplin was not bleeding from any place in particular, but rather from several places that revealed how hard fought the victory was. The king's arm was in a sling. No doubt he had been attended to by healers and now was resting the arm.

  Rest for a weapon arm would not last long under the current circumstances.

  King Thoran looked down to Ealrin and Teresa. His face was hard. In his face, Ealrin saw sadness and rage, weariness and strength, wisdom and daring.

  This was a man he would follow.

  "Ealrin, ride out with us. A horse comes for you. Carry the banner of Thoran. We will go to meet Androlion and stop this madness."

  As he spoke a rider came up behind them, bearing the image of the king as well as the banner of Thoran. A second horse was with him, saddled and ready.

  Ealrin was glad to see the rider look down to him.

  "How did you fare in the battle, Tory?" Ealrin asked his fellow sword of the king as he mounted the horse and relieved Tory of his second banner, the maroon and gold flag of Thoran.

  "I claim at least thirty-seven. Though Holve would dispute the last,” he replied as he checked the sword at his side.

  Tory, too, was bandaged and weary looking. Still, Ealrin could see a grim determination in his eyes and he remembered his last words to Ealrin.

  Tory Greenwall wanted Androlion's blood.

  "I'll dispute because I claim the last. I saved your life and you've yet to be grateful," Holve shot at Tory.

  Teresa was not amused by the exchange.

  "Where is my horse, father? I'm going with you," she said as she sheathed her blades and looked into the eyes of her father.

  Ealrin guessed
what was about to happen.

  "My dearest Teresa," the king began. Ealrin was reminded of the manner one tells a friend of a family member's passing or of the loss of a good friend.

  He had heard that tone of voice many times since leaving Good Harbor.

  "We cannot win this battle if the Mercs attack us. Our numbers are too few. Four thousand left of what marched here. Androlion has twice as many as we."

  With this he gave a great sigh.

  "Your brothers are in Beaton with no one to warn them of what is transpiring here. Flee to Castle Thoran and prepare all those who remain for what is to come."

  Anger filled Teresa's face. Her fists clenched tightly at her sides. She looked ready to strike her own father for what he was telling her.

  To leave him to die and return to a castle and prepare them for death as well.

  "My king, please allow me to fight at your side. Goblins, Mercs, they are no different to me."

  King Thoran got down from his horse and took hold of Teresa’s shoulders. Ealrin could see the hurt in his eyes.

  “My daughter, you are a princess of Thoran. If I do not return from this battle, this country will need someone to lead them. There are dark days ahead of us. Do not ask me to send my daughter to her death while I reign on the throne with sadness in my heart.”

  “And what about my own heart?” Teresa replied.

  The King embraced Teresa and then quickly got back on his horse.

  “May your heart guide you as you lead our people in your brother’s absence. Send for them. Folke is to be king and Alric his regent. I’d have you be Thoran’s general.”

  “Don’t give up on hope, my King!” said Holve. “I’ll not surrender my position as your general so easily.”

  The king sighed and nodded. Teresa stood rooted to the spot. Her eyes were glassy and her lip began to tremble. Through all the sand and dirt and blood and sweat from the last battle caking her skin and armor and matting her hair, she looked terrible. Yet, in her eyes, Ealrin saw only the love of a daughter for her father.