On the Shores of Irradan

by Ronald Long

  There was a general murmuring at this last word from Eren. It echoed throughout those who had come to listen to the leaders of the elves speak.

  Ferinan held her chin in her hand, stroking her bones with gentle fingers.

  “Food. Forest. Foe,” she said as she stared ahead, not letting her eyes fall on anyone in particular. “Which may we deem most important to our gatherings? And which will we allow to be ignored?”

  Many elves stood looking around the roots of the giant trees, some looked down at the ground. Others began to shout their opinions.

  “Food!”

  “Wrents!”

  “The north!”

  Ferinan made no attempt to quiet the shouters, but nor did she answer them. Instead, she turned her gaze upward.

  Elen looked up as well and saw the quiet twinkling stars through the break in the canopy of trees.

  A rustle of noise caught Elen's attention and she spun on the spot, spear held at her waist and eyes narrowed. Five or more elves came walking up to the circle gathering with two figures, dressed in odd clothes and bound by their hands. They were not scuffling now, but on their bodies, they showed evidence of a tussle that had occurred recently.

  A part in the circle was made and the two were brought forward. Ferinan brought her attention back down from the heavens and looked at the small crowd that now took up the middle of the circle.

  “And what is this?” she asked, looking from the middle of the group to those around. “You are not Wood Walkers, but one of you is of elvish decent.”

  The two glanced at each other and then back up at Ferinan. For being captured, they seemed quite calm and proud.

  Elen had heard of the other settlements that were outside of the woods. Those who cut down trees and forests and carved stone into blocks. These were the humans. She had never seen a human before, but from Etet's description of them to her, she thought she looked at one now.

  Both elf and human stood upright and proud. The elf had brown hair that was braided and rolled into a bun close to her head.

  The human had dark black hair that was short, not even past her chin. Both wore dark leather and a shiny material on their chests.

  Elen had heard of this shining plate before: metal.

  “What names do you go by?” Ferinan asked gingerly. “And why have you come to the forest?”

  “To tear down our trees!” shouted an elf.

  “Thieves! They've come for food!” shouted another.

  “Noble spies!”

  Ferinan held up a hand to call for silence. The Noble elves were those who cared nothing for the forest, only for their buildings and their worship of the glowing rock. Though they were relatives of the Wood Walkers, the two elf lines had long departed friendship. One group cared for the life of others. The other only cared for their own selfish gains.

  The Noble elves and the Wood Walkers had been mortal enemies for thousands of years. Yet these two did not seem like they were of that stock. Looking around the circle, the brown haired elf woman spoke loudly. Elen continued to hold her spear at her waist.

  “I am Wisym of Talgel, and this,” she said, nodding her head towards her companion. “Is Teresa of Thoran.”

  A hush fell over the crowd as they listened to this stranger speak.

  “Several moons ago, we sailed from our homes on Ruyn so that we could begin a quest for an ancient legend.”

  She took a deep breath and turned her gaze up to Ferinan.

  “We've come in search of a tree.”

  Chapter 4:

  First Wall

  Ealrin Belouve stood on the walls of Lone Peak with his arms crossed and his eyebrows furrowed. She had never been quite this late before.

  Lone Peak was the capital city of the kingdom of Darrion. As its name suggested, it rested upon a cliff overlooking the great river that connected the ocean surrounding Irradan to the great sea within it. Several boats were docked at the bottom of the rocky crags, anchored to ancient stone docks that keep them from crashing against the face of the rocks.

  Great stairs lead from the docks below to the first level of buildings and houses that stood out from the cliffs. These were the storage places for the goods brought by boat to the great city. More stairs led to the first business and trading district that jutted out from another cliff. Still more brought travelers to the housing of those who could not afford to live within the protective walls that surrounded the last and most lavish part of the city: the First Wall.

  First Wall was the name given to the castle and surrounding homes and shops of the tallest peaks of Lone Peak. It was these walls that were first built by human settlers to Irradan to protect them from the dangers outside.

  The party he had come with, however, had only been in Irradan for a month. Their ship and captain had borne them across both stormy and calm waters alike on their journey here. The journey had been an adventure unto itself, with its own dangers, travels, and new experiences shared among his companions: a group that called themselves “The Swords.”

  It was with fondness that Ealrin thought of those he traveled with. He had experienced so much with the company of humans, halflings, an elf, a dwarf, and a Skrilx. They were the closest thing to family Ealrin could remember.

  His past was a blur to him. As far as he could recall, his life began on one spring day when he washed ashore on a small island on Ruyn. The year that followed had certainly felt like a lifetime. But, instead of using his time to find out who he was and where he had come from (as there had been few clues and even fewer answers), Ealrin had purposed himself to aid his friends.

  They sailed from their homeland of Ruyn to this strange new land on a quest. A war had nearly consumed their entire continent and a hatred of the various races of Ruyn had been the cause.

  But not all of the pieces fit into that story.

  There were a few questions that were left unanswered. One of them still remained high in the sky, burning orange in the failing light of day. From this Dark Comet, beasts of purple flame had rained down on Ruyn. And while they were massive and terrifying, they fought for and with one man.

  Or what most had believed to be a man.

  With more questions than answers, their party had sailed to the land of Irradan in search of a tree. An ancient and significant plant that may hold some keys to unlock who or what may be the cause of these demonic beasts and their invasion of Gilia.

  In the month that they had lived on Irradan, surrounded by a few humans and elves beyond counting, they had found out nothing about the great Everring Tree of legend.

  Though he was discouraged by their lack of knowledge about where to look and what exactly the tree was supposed to be or do, Ealrin knew he should be grateful.

  Holve Bravestead, their leader and guide, had connections to the great city. He knew both nobles and common folk. It was he who found the house in which their party now used as a base of operations. The dwelling was no mansion by any stretch, but it was a roof over their heads and a place to call home for the time being.

  The only other inhabitants of the huge but rundown place was a young family with their small child. Frederick and Sara Brewer cherished their little daughter, Lily. But the young child would often keep anyone who was not a desperately sound sleeper awake for hours at a time at night. Such was the life of young parents, Ealrin was told.

  He wished for more sleep and less interruptions to their meetings.

  Fortunately for all involved, the young family had inherited Frederick’s father’s coffee shop and fields. In what they could not give them in terms of sleep, the Brewers offered in liquid wakefulness.

  Ealrin sipped from his mug now and was grateful for the dark drink. It was what sustained him in his long stays in the library with Holve. Day after day, the two of them would scour the great library inside the First Wall. The structure was magnificent. The only other building that rivaled the great library in all of Lone Peak was the House of Nobles, from which the leaders of the city ruled.<
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  Floors upon floors of ancient tomes lined the shelves of the great stone building. Holve and Ealrin had tasked themselves with searching through the ancient and mostly unreadable volumes in search of finding any secret they could about the tree they sought.

  So far, their efforts had been in vain. The library was where Ealrin was supposed to be now. Worry kept him from his duties.

  Most of their party had been sent on one quest or another by Holve after they had established their base and resupplied themselves. Felicia, their fearless captain, Urt, a strange and powerful Skrilx, Tory, a human from Thoran, Jurrin, a halfling from Ruyn, and Gorplin, a dwarven prince, had been sent along the coasts of Irradan. It was their job to seek information from the various cities that thrive off shipping and trade. They were sent in the hopes that in some bar or pub or inn there would be a legend told of a great tree on the continent and where it might be found.

  Holve admitted that it was a small hope, but it would serve them well to get to know the land they were now searching and, if Ealrin was honest with himself, he thought Holve wanted to get Tory and Gorplin away from him for a few weeks.

  The month of sailing from Ruyn to Irradan had been a constant bickering battle between the two and it was beginning to wear the others down. With Felicia giving her naval master's watchful eye and stern discipline over them, perhaps they would come back a little more tolerable.

  Teresa, princess of Thoran, and Wisym, former general of the elves of Talgel, were sent to spy out the elves who lived in the forests that lined the inner sea and, if possible, seek out the other elves who lived further south beyond them. With an entire continent brimming with elves and their long lives to their benefit, Holve thought that surely some of them would have heard of the tree or, at least, know legends about it.

  The two were a good mix. Teresa was a hard, disciplined warrior who could stand her best in a bar fight or on the battlefield and Wisym, while every bit as skilled in battle, was more kind and softhearted. A virtue that may help them tremendously as they encountered strange peoples.

  Footsteps approached Ealrin as he stood looking out over the plains of Darrion. Two months before, he would have drawn his sword at the sound of any coming towards him on a city wall. Now he only lazily drank his coffee, feeling quite safe from within the walls.

  “I got tired of waiting for you," Holve said as he joined him on the wall.

  Even though his face was sour and Ealrin could tell that the older man was a little bit annoyed with his tardiness, he was glad to see him. Holve was the first person he had met after he had washed up on the shore of Good Harbor on Ruyn. The older man was the closest relationship he could claim. Holve was a mentor to him. A teacher. A friend.

  And every time he saw him, even if Holve was in a horrible mood, Ealrin was glad the old man was alive. For a few terrible months, he believed Holve had been killed by one of the purple flamed demonic beasts. Ealrin had seen him, along with a terrifying monster, disappear into a massive explosion that had killed many stout men. The fact that Holve was alive right now was one of the pieces of the puzzle that still needed answering.

  "I'm sorry to keep you waiting,” Ealrin said, taking a sip of his coffee. “She's never been out this late before."

  The twin suns were setting to his right and still Blume Dearcrest had not returned to the safety of the First Wall.

  Holve had kept Blume and Jurgon, the other halfling of their party, with them at Lone Peak so they could both continue their studies in magic. Not only was the library a wealth of information on legends and the history of the continent, it was also home to one of the few magic users who lived in Lone Peak who knew the secrets of Rimstone.

  The mystic rock was what Speakers, what most called magic users, would use to channel their gifts and abilities through. It was because of these stones that mortals could bend and change the elements around them.

  Only some were able to use this wonderful gift. Jurgon was a halfling from the forests of Ruyn. He and his friend, Jurrin, were discovered almost by accident by their party on another adventure. Though the halfling was small, his abilities in Speaking were growing by the day. As gifted as he was, however, his skill was nothing compared to Blume.

  Or at least, that would have been the case a few months ago.

  Ever since the last major battle on Ruyn, Blume had somehow been stripped of her ability. Try though she might, she could only perform the most rudimentary tasks of Speaking. Whereas before, she had done magic that had not only impressed Holve; he had confided in Ealrin that it almost scared him.

  Now, since Speaking was no longer as easy as it once was, Blume had taken less to her lessons and more to a new found passion: riding horses.

  "Didn't you send Jurgon with her?" Holve asked as he gripped the side of the wall and stood looking out over the plains and rocky countryside that led up to the city of Lone Peak.

  Ealrin nodded, but did not say anything else. It was true that he had sent the halfling with Blume in the hopes that the older and more mature creature would be able to keep the nearly sixteen year old in line. Seeing as how neither had returned yet, Ealrin was sure that strategy had failed him.

  He wasn't sure why he was becoming so protective of this intriguing young woman. He and Holve had found her among the burning ruins of her hometown and saved her from the hands of a merciless bandits and rogues. Since then, the trio had been involved in things much more dangerous and threatening than horseback riding. If even half of the story Blume had told him about her journeys without him was true, she had endured trials that made Ealrin, who had led troops into battle, fought demons, and befriended a wild assassin, cringe.

  He took a deep breath, smelling the spring air that brought the scents of fresh grass and flowers mixed with the smell of his nearby coffee. It was slowly getting cold.

  No, he decided. He was sure why he cared so much for her.

  This must be what it feels like to care for someone as a father. He was supposedly old enough to have children of his own, but the thought of not knowing who they were or that they were left without the support of their dad made his stomach turn. He tried not to think about any past life he might have left behind and focused on the present.

  "As soon as she gets back, we'll go to the library," Ealrin said, not looking at Holve but still surveying the countryside. "For staying out this late, I'll make sure she has her fair share of the work tonight as well," he finished with a nod.

  "I'll be surprised if you can get her to focus for..." Holve began to say.

  Ealrin widened his eyes in an attempt to find the source of the noise that cascaded over them and sent chills down his spine, despite all his coffee. A long and low howl echoed out over the hills.

  Holve turned to look at Ealrin.

  "That doesn't sound like any wolf I've heard," Ealrin said, grasping his mug.

  "Guess we won't be seeing the library tonight," Holve replied.

  Not hesitating a moment more, both of them sprinted down the wall towards the nearest set of stairs.

  Chapter 5:

  Aimless Sailing

  The window of the inn shattered into a thousand pieces as the bulky dwarf was thrown through it. Had he not been wearing his padded leather armor, he may have been sliced to ribbons on all the broken glass. Gorplin, son of Thorplin of Kaz-Ulum, landed in a heap on the cobblestone road outside The Graceful Gabbin, one of two inns in the city they were exploring.

  Tory Greenwall, former commander of troops and member of Thoran's elite group of warriors, the Swords of the King, wasn't surprised that the dwarf had found himself as a part of an altercation with some of the locals. Being one of the only dwarves on a continent full of elves and a handful of humans could have that effect on anyone if they were in the same boat as he was.

  Since sailing to Irradan and away from their homeland of Ruyn, the prince of dwarves had become more and more reckless. Not just with his fists, but with his words as well. This time, the stout dwarf had challeng
ed the wrong sailor to an argument about why the dwarven race made the best ships in the entire planet. There had been more than a minimal disagreement.

  Tory had enjoyed the first part of the conversation and had imagined that, had there been less ale in each of them, the discussion could have gone on without incident. But both were offended by the other's claim and Gorplin had lost the support of his comrades after a full two dozen slightly inebriated sailors realized the dwarf had insulted everything from their ship building abilities to their mothers.

  Felicia Stormchaser, their fearless captain, had at one point rolled her eyes at the whole thing and continued her conversation with the tall and dark skinned owner of the inn. The man had almost agreed to give them board for a few nights in exchange for a fair price. Then Gorplin was sent through one of his two good windows. Tory imagined they wouldn't be receiving a warm welcome at the Graceful Gabbin for a long time.

  He walked out of the inn to the cheers of the sailors, who had broken into song and a new round of drinks. For a moment, he just stood over Gorplin. The dwarf lay face down in the street, muttering curses in common speech and dwarven tongues alike.

  “Let me back in there,” he sputtered finally as he found that his hands were useful for more than wallowing and he began sitting himself up.

  Tory grabbed the back of his leather armor and pulled him into a sitting position. With Gorplin's considerable stockiness and current state, this was no small feat. He sat down next to the dwarf in the street and let out a deep breath.

  “I doubt they'll let us back in now,” he observed as the rest of their crew filed out of the doorway and into the street, prodded by a very annoyed looking inn keeper. Tory saw a few coins being pushed into his hands by Felicia.

  So had their journey gone since leaving Lone Peak and beginning their trip along the coast of Irradan. They would find a port, look around for inns and bars and the like to see what the local stories were about trees.