by RG Long
Lote continued speaking.
“I know little of my kin to the south. Since the dwarves’ homes were assaulted, we can only assume that their cities lie in ruins as well. But, there are more elves to the far north.”
She hesitated.
“We could request their aid,” she said slowly, without looking up from the table. Ealrin looked her way, but couldn't read what was going on in her mind.
“Bah,” said Gorplin from his chair.
“I suppose you find something terrible about that idea, dwarf?” Lote asked.
Gorplin stood on his chair and pounded the table with his fist. Another bowl flew to the ground.
“Why ask some spindly elf when there's a mountain of dwarves to the west! Grandun-Krator holds the best dwarven warriors and weapons on the whole continent! Send a delegation to the dwarves! They'll put an end to Androlion!”
“For that matter,” said Tory, in an apparent moment of clarity as his voice was much calmer, “Why not ask for aid from them both? And the men of Beaton as well? If Fellgate is as mad as we suspect him to be in his delusions, what's to stop him from taking this conflict further than Thoran?”
For the first time since the conversation had begun, Ealrin spoke.
“That is a course of action that would make Holve proud.”
The table fell silent.
Ealrin knew mentioning his friend's name would have this effect on those gathered. He was a mentor, if not a friend, to all here.
“He was always seeking peace and unity between the races of the south. What's to stop us from asking the same of those in the north? Three delegations could travel to each country and beg for aid in ending Androlion's madness and giving peace back to the south.”
His words hung in the air around the room. Most began to nod in contemplation.
Teresa sat back in her chair with a sigh. She looked years older to Ealrin in that moment, though no less beautiful.
“Three delegations will be sent then,” she said. “Tory and Lote will travel to the north and request aid from the elves. Gorplin, I will ask that Gaflion accompany you to the dwarven holds in the west. Ealrin and I will travel to Beaton. My brothers were studying under the governor there to forge a stronger relationship with them already. Surely each can send aid to us. Each should prepare a traveling pack, tonight if you must. We ought to leave on this mission soon.”
There were more nods of agreement from around the table. Ealrin had feared that when he heard Teresa suggest who should travel where. Tentatively, he broke the silence.
“Actually, Teresa, I thought it would be best if you stayed here with your people. They will need to prepare for the coming conflict and no one can better serve them around this table than you.”
The tired look faded from Teresa within a blink of an eye. Wild anger replaced it.
“You'll not command me how to rule my own nation, Ealrin Belouve!”
She shoved the chair back from the table and stormed out of the chamber, kicking aside an ornate pot as she slammed the door behind her.
The ring of the wooden door against the stone wall echoed throughout the chamber.
“Bah. She's a bit of a hot head, don't you think?” Gorplin said as he picked up a chicken leg and bit into it.
6: A Speaker's Dilemma
Blume was nearly knocked off her feet as Teresa stalked out of the dining hall. Fortunately for her, a rather large tapestry hanging in the hallway cushioned her as she stumbled against the wall. Equally as fortunate, Princess Teresa seemed so upset at whatever it was that was being discussed within that she hardly noticed the young girl snooping outside the door.
A sigh of relief escaped Blume as she realized she was not going to be in trouble with the princess.
That sigh quickly gave way to a gasp as she caught a glimpse of who came walking past Teresa and up to the door Blume had her ear up against just a moment ago: Madam Wishter, the head of Thoran's School of Speakers.
Though the look upon her face was no more stern than usual, Blume knew that she was once again going to hear a lecture from the woman who was her mentor and teacher. It wouldn't have been so bad had it not been her third today.
“Blume Dearcrest,” Madam Wishter said in her unusually deep voice. Blume didn't have to look up at the woman's large nose to know that she was being glared at with those piercing green eyes. “I pray you were not listening in on conversations you were not invited to? Come with me.”
Begrudgingly, Blume began to walk towards the head Speaker of Thoran, unwilling to meet her gaze. Instead, as she took her eyes off of the floor, her eyes met those that belonged to Jeremy Farthee.
It was all Blume could do to not punch him in the nose.
She stared daggers at the skinny, black haired dwarf youth who was a good two heads shorter than her.
“What are you doing here?” she spat at him.
Jeremy opened his mouth to reply in his typically squeak of a voice, but was cut off.
“That is none of your concern, Miss Dearcrest,” Madam Wishter interrupted. “It is curfew and you are not in bed. I will escort you to your room.”
“But he's not in his room either!” Blume said before she could wrest control of her tongue.
The glare from Madam Wishter was all the young Speaker needed to see to know what was about to happen next.
BACK IN HER ROOM, BLUME's ear still ached from being dragged up three flights of stairs and across numerous hallways in order to be forcefully returned to her quarters. No amount of rubbing was going to stop it from hurting before she fell asleep, so she gave up.
The private room for a Speaker wasn't really much to speak of. A small room, barely wider than the beds that were bunked two high, held a bookshelf, a desk and a chair, as well as two small chests of drawers for personal belongings. Blume had only her small chest, necklace, and tattered dress from home left in the top drawer. The bottom drawer held the clothes given to her since arriving in Thoran. That summed up all of her possessions in the world. Blume was the only one in her room for the time being. The rooms were evenly split and Blume made the total number of girls in her age group an uneven seven. She did almost wish she had a bunkmate, but then she wouldn't be able to sneak out and listen to the talk of war down south.
Sitting on her bunk in her nightgown, Blume felt more than the sting of her ear.
She felt a little left out.
There was more than enough reason to be excited. Blume had only recently started her studies at Thoran's School for Speakers. Speakers were those who could manipulate the elements through a special crystal known as Rimstone. Most Speakers were found around their fifth or sixth birthday. Blume just turned fourteen this year. To be accepted at such a late age was an honor. But to be able to perform the complicated magic of which she was capable was unheard of in the kingdom of Thoran.
Blume knew she should be glad for her advanced placement and the admiration of her teachers. Well, most teachers.
Madam Wishter had been hard on her ever since her very first day. Though the other students claim she's as hard on everyone else. Still. The head Speaker did little to help fill the void Blume so desperately craved.
Her parents and brother had been killed not two months before now. When she was with Ealrin, she felt taken care of. Protected. Not that she wasn't learning how to take care of herself these days. There was still the feeling of missing out on her father's kind words to her, or her mother's encouragement, that made her heart ache. Ealrin and even grumpy Holve had been that to her as they traveled from her hometown of Weyfield to the mountain kingdom of Thoran. Madam Wishter, on the other hand, wasn't really the encouraging type even though Blume excelled as a gifted Speaker.
Being so talented had its drawbacks as well. When it came to practical application, she excelled beyond the group her own age in every way. the study of theory, though, was where she was terribly bored, and therefore struggled during examinations. The very idea of reading the large tome of Rimstone incantat
ions next to her bed made Blume yawn loudly.
To think that there was something about the wonderful gift of magic she had that could actually put her to sleep! And while she struggled with books like The Displacement of Beings Through Rimstone Manipulation, there was talk of war and battles amongst those she had traveled to Thoran with.
Blume was torn. She knew she ought to be spending time with the students her own age and making friends with them. But with friends like Jeremy, who Blume was sure tattled on her sneaking out of the dorms, she would much rather spend time with Ealrin and Lote.
There was one other elf girl with whom Blume could stand to spend a few minutes with. Her name was Abigail Flowers. But Abigail couldn't Speak her way out of a pantry. For all of her efforts, she had only barely made it into the next level of study on par with Blume's same age classmates. She was sweet, kind hearted, and young for her race (about twenty-five) but a little hopeless when it came to Speaking.
While her classmates either ratted her out or begged her for help during class, Blume found herself cut off from the action Ealrin was getting into.
Nothing I can do about it tonight, Blume thought as she blew out her candle and left her book unopened on her bedside table.
But tomorrow is a new day.
And with thoughts of sneaking out again to hear about the plans the princess and Ealrin were making to fight Androlion, Blume slowly drifted off to sleep.
SHE WAS RUNNING.
The main street through Weyfield lay before her. Fire consumed the city on both sides. Men with unusually large mouths laughed and threw rocks at her as she sprinted.
She had to go faster.
At the end of the road she saw them: her mother, brother, and father.
If she was fast enough, she could get there in time.
She could save them.
Faster and faster she ran.
And then, right before her and blocking her way, a man without a face stood in the street.
A cruel, evil laugh came from his direction, but Blume didn't know how someone with no mouth could give out such an evil sound.
She tried to run around him, but he just got bigger and bigger, blocking her way.
Then she saw her family pleading for her to run faster. To save them.
The faceless man held a sword in his hand. He turned and lifted the sword higher. The weapon was coming down on her family. And at the same time, she felt that it was coming down on her.
Her head resonated with the sound of the faceless man's laughter.
The sound pierced her skull and she startled awake.
Just as she sat up, she saw the very real, not imagined, candle-lit face staring at her from a mere arm’s length away.
7: The Princess
Navigating the castle of Thoran was a skill that did not come naturally to Ealrin. The very first time he had come here with Holve and the other King’s Swords, he had been hopelessly lost.
Now he was just plain lost.
Some of the tapestries were becoming familiar to him now. The goblin raid on the ancient castle reminded him to turn left. A troll being defeated by a previous king of Thoran signaled a right.
After backtracking twice, Ealrin found himself with the balcony that overlooked the city. Standing on it with her hands resting on the railing and, more than likely, still seething with anger, was Teresa.
He slowed his walk as he approached her. Though he tried to lighten his step and quietly join her, he was no elf.
“I can hear you,” Teresa said without even turning around.
Ealrin smiled, despite knowing the conversation he was about to have would be difficult. Being holed up in this castle had not blunted the warrior's sense Teresa possessed. He positioned himself next to her on the balcony and looked out over the city.
The night had fallen and now the only thing visible down in the city below was anything lit by lantern or firelight. The dim lights showed movement throughout the streets and houses of the city within the wall.
Beyond the wall was only darkness.
“You can't leave, Teresa,” Ealrin said as he rested his hands on the railing. He had come to love the view of Thoran at night. Though the world was being thrown into chaos, there was something about the night's view that brought him a moment's peace.
“When you are the king of this country, only then will you tell me what to do, Ealrin,” Teresa replied in a noticeably calmer voice than the one she had used in the dining hall.
“And then who will lead these people, Teresa? Who will prepare them for what's to come? And to whom will they look for strength?” Ealrin asked.
He knew he was pushing his luck and that Teresa could lose her cool at any moment. If she stormed off again, he wasn't sure he could find her.
Instead of a heated reply, Teresa let out a deep sigh.
Ealrin stole a sideways glance at the princess of Thoran. Her cheeks were red and her eyes were glassy.
“My father always said I was the strongest of the three of his children. A better warrior than even my two brothers. When they were busy studying politics and the finer arts of debate, I was practicing with my swords. My mother, when she was alive, swore she'd make a proper lady out of me. But I never really fit that role.”
Her voice was soft and contemplative. Ealrin wasn't sure whether she was talking to him or to herself. Regardless, he pressed on.
“What good would come of you leaving your people at this time? Why go when you're needed here?”
Teresa turned to face Ealrin. Her cheeks became a darker red and a tear rolled onto her cheek.
“Because I can't do this! I'm not fit to lead. I'm trained to fight. These people need a king. They need father. I can't lead them as he did.”
The last few words came loud and strong over the cool night air.
“Then you would leave them to fend for themselves?”
Teresa brought her hand around and struck Ealrin on the cheek. He wasn't ready for the blow and it caught him by surprise. He resisted the urge to retaliate and instead stepped backward. His foot found a potted plant instead of firm ground. As Ealrin fell backward, he reached out to grab the balcony. Instead, he grabbed Teresa's still outstretched hand.
The two fell over on top of the plant, sending greenery and dirt flying.
A castle attendant ran out to the balcony. A boy, no more than twelve years looked flustered and slightly confused at the sight before him.
“Do... Do you require assistance, Milady?”
Ealrin's nose was inches away from Teresa's. It might have been a romantic moment, were it not for the attendant and the look of pure rage on the princess's face.
Quickly, Teresa stood up, brushed herself off, and stalked away from Ealrin, still sitting on the now broken pottery.
“No, thank you,” she said as she passed the boy. “But this man may need some cleaning up. And a reminder about his place.”
She glanced over her shoulder at Ealrin, turned a corner, and disappeared, leaving him still lying on the floor of the balcony.
This had not gone how he had planned.
EALRIN DID NOT WAKE well rested. All night he had tossed and turned, trying to think of what would happen if Teresa left the country of Thoran without a true leader.
In a way, he understood her pain. How hard it must be to sit in the chair so recently occupied by her father and rule in his stead. Her brothers were supposed to be groomed for the throne. Teresa was only prepared for war.
Knowing that her father would not be returning to his kingdom and that she must now lead in his stead must surely weigh heavy on her. Then comes the one suggestion to leave this place in order to seek out help and she's told not to go. Ealrin thought about how he might feel, were he in her shoes.
Conflicted about wanting what was best for his country, yet trying to do what would keep him sane at the same time. Get help by leaving and have something to occupy his mind, or stay with the sad memories and lead the people directly.
How ha
rd it must be to lead a nation when you feel at war with yourself.
The first of the twin suns rose over the horizon and accompanied the morning song of several birds outside his window. Groggily, Ealrin drug himself out of bed and began to wash his face from the basin of water that rested on his bedside table.
Cool water helped to stir him awake. He groped for the towel beside the basin and, after a moment, finally found it. As he took down the towel from his face, he was met with the stare of Tory standing in his doorway.
Ealrin startled and nearly fell back onto his bed when he saw his unexpected visitor. Tory looked down at him with an almost grin.
“And you survived the battle with Androlion's forces?” he asked as he leaned against the doorframe.
Struggling to return to his feet, Ealrin threw the towel at him.
“Yes! And led men into battle against an enemy face to face!” Ealrin was embarrassed, but only slightly.
Tory caught the towel deftly and folded it.
“Teresa wants to see you,” he said as he threw the fabric onto Ealrin's bed.
Ealrin put his hand to his forehead and let out an exasperated sigh.
This would not be good.
BEGRUDGINGLY, EALRIN opened the door to the throne room. He was sure there were fancier places for a king to sit in the world somewhere. Tables lined the side of the hall. These were typically reserved for the guests of the king or important banquets. Today, they held Gorplin, asleep at his mug. His snores echoed throughout the chamber, and had Ealrin been in a better mood he would have found the sight of the dwarf sprawled out on the table clutching his ale quite funny.
But his thoughts were more on the princess who sat on the throne in front of him. The same princess who glared at him with piercing eyes.