by RG Long
Lote looked sideways at Jurrin, who gingerly held the spot where the bandage was wrapped around his arm. He caught Lote looking in his direction and turned red. It wasn't rage that changed his color.
Ealrin let out a small chuckle.
“We desire for you to have your peace, but it cannot be so if we stay here. Ruyn is in a state of war. Hiding won’t solve it. We go to confront evil face to face.”
“We have stayed long enough,” Lote agreed. “We are grateful for your hospitality, but if we do not quickly resume our quest, the peace you know here will be only a memory.”
Allet gave a great huff, and was visibly agitated.
“The first outsiders we have in over a decade and you throw our hospitality back in our faces!” he yelled. “Fine! Go! Fight your war and kill to your heart's’ content. But leave us at peace. And do not return and bring war with you!”
The graciousness of their hosts was spent.
Allet stood from his place at the table and marched away angry. Several of the halflings tried to look busy as he passed by them. Some wore the same sour expression on their faces, obviously upset about all the talk of fighting and strife. A few, however, took on a look of disappointment.
Ealrin and the rest got up from their places and returned to the house they had spent the night in. They gathered up their packs and other supplies from the small dwelling and started out of the village.
A few of the halfling children followed them for a stone’s throw, singing songs and dancing with one another, too curious and energetic to care that the outsiders had offended their leader with their hastiness.
Most were called back by concerned looking parents who cast worrisome glances towards the big folk.
As the rest of the party found a small path back into the woods, Ealrin turned to look again on the small halfling settlement.
Little people were back at work and going about their business. It really did seem like this village would never know conflict or war. But Ealrin knew better. A larger conflict than these peaceful halflings could ever imagine was brewing outside their forest. Eventually it would reach them here if left unchecked. Little houses and farms and breweries that made ale would be burned to the ground.
Androlion would not suffer a race such as this to prosper. If even the wise and skilled elves were a target of the madman's rage, what would prevent him from wiping out such a defenseless threat to his perceived perfect world?
Ealrin turned his back to the little view of peace he had, and marched along with his companions to seek a greater peace to be won.
12: Faraway Fish
Blume, Jeremy, and Abigail landed hard on the slanted wooden surface. They barely had any time to register how much the impact had hurt. Before Blume could guess where it was they had landed, and where the battle and Thoran had gone, she realized that not only was it raining, they were also slipping.
Scrambling as best they could in a pile of limbs and confusion, Jeremy had time to shout out one question before they slipped off the roof and onto a covered porch below: "What just happened?"
Instead of receiving an answer, the trio crashed through the roof and onto a large pile of fish that reeked of the sea.
"Oh, fish," said Abigail, who had landed in a box of brightly colored blue and orange fish. "I don't really like to eat fish. I think their scales are kind of yucky and gross. Plus they spend all their time in the water. What if you could swim underwater like a fish? I mean, how do they breathe?"
Blume was attempting to wiggle her way out of a barrel when she heard a loud commotion and a string of curses.
"What the devil is going on out there?!" came a shout from inside the building they had just fallen off of. A wiry man holding up his meat cleaver was framed in the front door. Just to his right was a sign that read "The Angry Fisherman."
"Thieves! Vandals! I'll have your heads for ruining my fish!" shouted the very skinny and now very red-faced owner of the shop.
A portion of his own porch covering impeded his way through the door. Currently, he was trying to shove his way through it.
Jeremy tried to talk through a mouthful of fish fins.
"Sir, there's a perfectly justifiable..."
"Shut up and run!" Blume told him as she tried to scramble to her feet. She jumped out of the barrel she had landed in, grabbed Jeremy and Abigail by their wrists, pulled them from the piles of fish they had landed on, and began to run as fast as she could.
She pulled them out onto the cobblestone street, no longer trying to figure out where they might be in her mind, but desperately trying to escape from the shop owner wielding a knife and threatening bodily mutilation.
If there was one thing she had learned in her travels with Holve and Ealrin, it was never give an angry, blade-wielding stranger the chance to interrogate.
Still clutching their arms, Blume ran wildly down a street lined with shops. The fish store owner was slipping on his own wares as he attempted to pursue them. To Blume's great relief, the street was filled with people milling about.
"Follow me," she managed to say while continuing to half drag, half lead her friends away from the fish man. They took a few quick turns down one alley and then another. Just before her, Blume saw the street widen into a larger thoroughfare.
"Then we can take a minute and try to figure out where we..."
As they turned the corner onto the much larger street that was bustling with the business of the morning, Blume saw a symbol she had come to both fear and hate.
A white griffon flying on dark green flags hung from every store, building, and street pole in the main thoroughfare.
The trio had landed in the Southern Republic.
JEREMY PACED BACK AND forth in the narrow alley they had eventually found to hide in. The main street was a good three miles away. As an extra precaution, they had arranged several boxes and barrels to prevent them from being seen from any passersby. But, as secluded as they were from the activity of that main thoroughfare, Blume prayed there wouldn't be many who would think to walk down this secluded back alley.
Thankfully, the rain had stopped about halfway through their escape. As the sun rose, they began to dry out.
Blume's fingers were freezing, though it was a fairly mild day. It was a sign of her nerves coming undone. Her companions were no better. Abigail had stopped talking all together and Jeremy was having trouble finding the right words to describe their situation.
"Teleportation with the use of Rimstone still has to be studied intensively..."
"Typically the magical gift of a Speaker predispositions himself..."
"The pure physical stamina required for such a maneuver..."
"Jeremy, if you do not start talking in full sentences I am going to throw something at you," Blume said in her frustration. Though, with all the tingling in her fingers and hands, she wasn't sure if she would actually be able to follow through with her threat.
"Don't," Abigail said, or rather squeaked.
Blume let out a very long sigh.
"Look, I can't explain how we got here. What we can do from this point, however, is try to figure out where we are exactly and what we are going to do."
Jeremy stopped his pacing and sat down, resting his back against the alley wall. Abigail rocked back and forth on the box she had found to sit on, holding back a few tears.
"Okay," Blume began. "We are most definitely not in Thoran. We aren't in my hometown, either." Blume paused a moment as images of her ransacked city and the ghosts of her parents and brother flickered to the front of her mind. She shook her head in an attempt to clear her thoughts.
"I remember the capital of the Southern Republic had a giant tower in it. Or, at least they taught us about it in school," Blume said trying to forget the faces pictured in her head. "I haven't seen a tower like that here. I'm almost certain we would've been able to see it from that main street."
Blume took a deep breath of the air around her. Weyfield had been a large city before the Me
rcs ransacked it. She remembered how bigger cities smelled. Thoran smelled of forests and mountains. Weyfield smelled of fresh bread, bustling stores, animals and people everywhere. She also could smell her father's metal working table where he crafted jewelry.
This town, however...
"We're by the ocean," Blume said as she recognized the scent filling up her nostrils. It was the unmistakable smell of salt in the air.
"We must be in Sea Gate," she said.
She had smelled the sea only one other time in her life, but it was unforgettable. It was during a family trip to the coast. It was a wonderful time then, but a painful memory of all that she had lost now. She pushed the recollection from her mind.
"Teleportation covering the distance of two entire countries..." Jeremy began saying before he trailed off and mumbled incoherently. Blume's foot connected to his shin.
"I told you to talk in full sentences!" She said as she grasped her toe, realizing that the kick had probably hurt her as much as Jeremy.
A tiny squeak came out of Abigail.
"What!?" Blume yelled too loudly as she turned on her classmate who was still so uncharacteristically quiet.
Saw the look of sheer terror on Abigail's face and immediately regretted lashing out at her. She was quiet for a moment and kept her eyes on the ground.
"I’m scared," Abigail finally said in a whisper.
Blume took a deep breath to calm herself. She sat down next to her and put an arm around Abigail. She realized it was the first time she had shown affection to anyone her own age since arriving at Thoran. Maybe she had been thinking of herself too highly.
"I’m sorry I yelled at you," she apologized. She meant it, too.
Blume had already been on a life threatening adventure. She doubted Abigail or Jeremy had ever had that experience.
"I'm scared, too," she added truthfully. The last time, she had been the one who needed protection. She had two grown men with her to look after her and guide her.
This time, Blume had no such luxuries.
She took her eyes off of Abigail's and looked around the stone-walled alley. Her fingers were still cold with nervousness. But while she was daunted by the task she knew lay before them, she was also determined.
"I’m scared," she repeated. "But I also know that sitting here and talking about how scared we are won't fix anything. We are in a country we're at war with. If anyone finds out where we’re from, we’ll be in big trouble. Like, prison trouble. Or worse."
Visions of prison cells guarded by men in green and white danced in Blume's mind. She thought of crusts of bread and water served in cold metallic dishes.
Abigail squeaked again.
"So what do we do?" Jeremy asked in his first complete sentence since arriving in Sea Gate.
Blume stood up, dusted herself off and realized what she was wearing. Even though it was soaked and smelled like fish, the unmistakable maroon and gold were a dead giveaway to where they had come from.
"First," she said. "We should probably change out of our robes from the Magic Academy of Thoran.”
AT FIRST, BLUME THOUGHT that they could sell their clothes or at least trade them for others. After realizing just how badly they smelled of fish and how the shop owners would question where they had acquired such clothing from, she thought better of it.
The robes that marked them as Speakers in training were unceremoniously stuffed into a garbage bin.
"Every night before bed I would put my robe on a hanger," said Abigail. "I would worry over every wrinkle or stain. Actually, I would do that with almost all of my clothes. It's kind of like being punched in the gut to throw it away. I don't think I've ever thrown out clothing before."
Blume understood. Not about keeping her robe pristine, but about taking pride in being a student in the Speaker Academy.
Ever since learning about its existence, she had wanted to be a part of it. She had wanted to belong again. Now she was getting rid of the one thing that marked her as a Speaker.
She clutched at her Rimstone necklace.
"Not everything," she said out loud.
"What’s that?" asked Jeremy.
"Nothing," she said as she dropped her hands quickly to her sides. She did wonder, though, what Jeremy or Abigail used to perform their magic. She hadn't paid much attention or cared up to this point. "Now onto the next priority."
"What’s the next priority?" asked Abigail.
Blume rubbed her grumbling stomach. It had been hours since they had escaped the owner of the Angry Fishermen and their breakfast was long gone.
"Food."
UNDERNEATH THEIR ROBES, the trio wore matching shirts and pants with simple leather shoes. Fortunately, they were brown and white and did not betray their country of origin.
The main problem they had now, was trying to figure out how best to disguise Jeremy and Abigail to look more human.
"I don't suppose we have a hat to cover up your ears?" Blume said out loud as she looked into Abigail's face.
Though she was a beautiful elf, she did not look too unlike most humans, save for the ears that were the unmistakable mark of the elven race.
"A bandana will have to do for now," Abigail said as she reached back into the garbage and tore a piece of cloth from her old robe. The maroon looked much less incriminating when it was only enough to cover her head and the tops of her ears. "I've never much cared for bandanas. They make my hair look funny. But I've seen them on other girls and they look rather sweet."
After just a moment, Abigail was looking more human than ever. Blume was satisfied for the time being.
Jeremy, however, was going to be more difficult.
"We could always call him our little brother," suggested Abigail as she adjusted her new headpiece. "You know I'm used to a bigger family. Maybe we could be our own family for a time. Of course, without a mom or a dad we don't make a proper family. Oh, I wonder if I could be the oldest, since I'm the tallest?”
Blume was almost glad to hear Abigail talking normally again, but knew she had to cut her off before they spent the rest of the day listening to her chatter. She also had a difficult time suppressing a smile as she looked at Jeremy and Abigail and then back at herself.
Abigail had long flowing blonde hair that sparkled like the sun when it wasn't soaking wet. She was tall and fair, with blue eyes that rivaled the sky's brilliance. Her face was pronounced and very well defined.
Jeremy, on the other hand, was short and black headed with round features and deep brown eyes. And, when inspected closely, he was sporting stubble on his face that betrayed his dwarven heritage.
“Do... do you have to shave Jeremy?” Blume asked him.
He turned redder than the robes they had just discarded.
“No!” he said. “A dwarf should never shave his beard. It's his pride and the mark of his race!”
“I thought you told me you shaved every morning because it itched you terribly?” Abigail interjected, now finished adjusting the bandana. "But that's the complete opposite of what you just said. So which is it? Do you like to itch but don't like to be a dwarf? Or, wait, I mean, do you not like to itch and prefer to be a dwarf. No, that's not it either..."
Though Blume had thought it impossible, Jeremy turned even redder.
“Alright, alright. Your secret is safe with me,” Blume said as she patted Jeremy on the shoulder. “But we're not going to fool anyone into thinking we're related.”
Her stomach rumbled again. This time Jeremy’s echoed it as well.
“I've got five coins,” Blume said, pulling out the currency from her front pants pocket. “Do you two have any on you?”
Jeremy had ten and Abigail had two.
Not a bad start.
“Well, it won't last forever, but I think we should eat something to commemorate our first day as spies for Thoran.”
Both Jeremy and Abigail jumped a bit and looked at Blume in alarm.
“What?” she asked. “You didn't think we weren't going t
o take the opportunity to see what the Southern Republic is up to, did you?”
The young elf and dwarf exchanged looks of horror with each other, and then looked back at Blume.
“Come on,” she said. “Food first. Spying later.”
13: Old Enemies, New Friends
Ealrin walked alongside Lote on the fifth day since leaving the halfling village, Big Tree. The last few nights of sleeping on the forest ground, contending with fallen leaves, poking branches, and half empty stomachs, were all reminders of how gracious their hosts had been for a night.
And still, Ealrin knew halfling kindness would be a thing of legends and fairy tales if they didn't continue their journey.
So through a foggy morning, with similarly bleak moods, the group continued on towards Mountain Gate.
According to Lote, there was only a three days’ march left until they would see the mountains that rose up marking the barrier between Thoran and Beaton. The change in scenery would be welcome. The fall colors were beautiful. The forest was now much less daunting, knowing that its only inhabitants were halflings and the occasional edible wildlife. Squirrels were becoming Ealrin's least favorite travel food.
Conversation was light.
Even after they would cross into Beaton, there was still a long march to the city. For Ealrin and Bertrom, their travels would end there and the task of convincing the nation to go to war would begin. For the others, their journeys would continue on. Everyone was deep in thought about what would happen should the plan fail.
And if they had left in time.
EARLY ON THE LAST DAY, before the mountains would rise above the trees and signal the end of the first leg of their quest, Ealrin was on guard duty. The forest canopy hid the rising suns, but the breaking dawn was proof enough to him that his watch was soon over and that he would have to begin the unfortunate task of waking the troops.
Gorplin was especially difficult to rouse.