by RG Long
Abigail and Jeremy headed up the stairs first. Blume had seen a fork that Jeremy had left out on the table and went to retrieve it. Before she realized what she was doing she found herself reaching for the utensil that was right next to the sleeping Drake.
She hesitated for a moment, shook her head, and quickly grabbed the fork away. Drake continued his heavy breathing and didn't stir.
Blume let out a sigh of relief and walked off to the kitchen.
She didn't know why the older man bothered her so. She had not felt like this when she was with Ealrin, or even Holve, as grumpy as he was.
With them she had felt safe. Maybe it was because they had saved her life before they even knew who she was. But when she was around Drake, all she felt was a sense of foreboding and a desire to not be alone with him.
After washing and putting away the fork, Blume returned to the dining room and began to make her way upstairs. When she had ascended only a few steps, she paused and looked back at the dining room.
The small fire in the hearth was dying out, but it cast enough light for her to plainly see that Drake was no longer asleep at his table.
He was gone.
Blume began to climb the stairs again, hoping that he had stumbled over to his house.
Looking up, however, she found herself less than an arm's length away from Drake, who was two stairs higher than she was.
"You're way too pretty to be all alone tonight," he said in a drunken slur. "I could fix that."
He lunged at her with his great strong arms, but Blume was too quick for him. She ducked underneath his reach and ran up the stairs. She didn't even look back when she heard him tumble and fall to the bottom of the stairwell, cursing.
Blume flew up both of the staircases until she had practically knocked down the door to her room and slammed it shut behind her. She turned the latch to lock the door, and then turned around to see Jeremy and Abigail giving her puzzled looks.
"Drake," she said as she slumped to the floor, leaning against the door for support.
"I THINK HE'S A DISGUSTING man," Abigail said as Blume related her story to her companions. The two girls sat on the bed they now shared. "He really is gross. His breath always reeks of alcohol and he keeps staring at me like a carnivorous wolf. I wish he'd stop it."
She was tying knots over and over again in her head covering. It was quite fortunate that she worked with the food at the inn. Her constant adornments of bandanas and headpieces were all in the name of keeping her hair out of her eyes as well as out of patron's food.
None had yet questioned her about her elongated ears. They hadn't seen them.
But the bandana she now yielded was becoming frayed due to her angrily messing it over and over again. Blume gently took it from her.
"You'll have to make another if you keep treating that like its Drake's neck," she said with a smile.
Abigail laughed.
"I just wish he'd leave us alone," she added as she examined her nails. Blume saw that they had become cracked and broken in places. The constant handling of food and dishes had given her hands a rough time.
"Perhaps you could tell Beryl? Or Marvin?" Jeremy suggested as he lay on the floor. He spoke to them from the other side of the sheet they had hung to create a privacy barrier between what was now called the girls' side and the boys' side.
The room was quite small. If Blume and Abigail held hands, they could reach opposite walls both length and width. It didn't matter. It was more than they could have asked for. The bed was soft enough and better than the stones of the street. Jeremy said he preferred the floor. He had gathered a few blankets and made a pallet on which he slept each night.
Whether he was being chivalrous or truthful, Blume couldn't tell.
One armoire with two drawers was the only other piece of furniture the room had to offer. No chairs or desks. Those went to the paying patrons.
"I'm not sure if it would break Beryl's heart to know what we think about her only son," Abigail said.
"No one wants to hear that somebody thinks your own flesh and blood is an evil disgusting pervert."
Jeremy poked his head around that sheet.
"You really hate him?" He asked.
Abigail rolled her eyes at Jeremy and then gave him a stern look.
"You wouldn't understand, you're a boy," she said emphasizing the word boy.
"I'll come of age in less than two years’ time," Jeremy said as he came around the sheet and sat on the end of the bed. "And that's in dwarf years. I've been a man in human terms for almost 10 years now!"
"No one invited you over to the girl side!" Blume said as she threw her pillow at him.
"Plus, that means you’re as old as Drake anyways. You tell him to quit looking at us like we are pieces of meat," she continued.
Jeremy threw the pillow back at her.
"That doesn't seem very prudent seeing as I'm supposed to be younger than both of you," he replied. "How would you like to be corrected by a 13-year-old?"
Blume knew he was right; she just didn't want to agree with him.
"We ought to be talking about how we can spy on the small army that's gathered here," she said, trying to change the conversation.
"I've heard some of the patrons complaining about all the military in town. That includes some of the mercenaries as well."
The mercenaries, or Mercs, were Androlion's personal soldiers, with no allegiance other than to the man himself.
"I don't see how we'll have time to spy on anybody with how hard we have to work here," Abigail said with the tiniest of squeak in her voice.
Blume knew that squeak meant that Abigail was still scared of the idea,but didn't know how else they could be useful in this war. Certainly not by cleaning up an old inn.
"I think we should be talking about how to save our money and go back home," Abigail said in a very small voice.
"Back home?" Blume said, surprised. "We can't go back yet! We need to find out what the Southern Republic has planned! We need to help Princess Teresa!"
Jeremy and Abigail exchanged a small glance.
Blume looked back-and-forth between the two of them.
"What?"
"Well," Jeremy began. "I'm not sure how much good we'll do trying to spy. Who knows what could happen to us if we get caught? Tortured or worse. Perhaps it would be wiser for us to avoid confrontation and try to return home."
“Do both of you feel this way?” Blume asked, her voice rising.
Abigail looked down at her fingers. Jeremy remained stoic, but spoke again.
“We both have families. Granted mine has never really understood my affection towards magic instead of working the earth, but they are still my only familial connection. Abigail feels the same,” he said, motioning to her with his hand.
Abigail didn't deny him, but didn't speak up either.
Blume was livid.
“And neither of you told me that's how you felt? Why didn't you tell me?” she demanded.
“Because we knew this is how you'd react,” Abigail said. She looked up from her fingers at Blume.
“I know you lost your family. You never talk about it, but they told us a little at school before you attended your first lesson. We were told not to bring it up. I don't know what happened or why, but I know you're alone. That has to be hard, I don't doubt it for a moment. But we have families. My mom is probably worried sick and my dad will have paced the floor raw.”
Blume jumped off the bed and began pacing herself; trying to figure out why her friends couldn't understand the position they had been put in. How much help they could be! Jeremy backed further onto the bed. Abigail stayed put.
“I spoke to a sailor a few days ago,” she continued. “He said we could probably barter passage to River Head for as little as fifteen coins a piece. Just two weeks’ worth of work and we could go home!”
Blume stopped pacing.
“Home? Home! Thoran isn't my home! My home burned to the ground because of these... th
ese monsters that call themselves the Mercs! They murdered my brother right in front of my eyes! They killed my mom and dad, too! Do you think they'll stop with that? Do you think they'll just quit killing and leave Thoran alone?”
She was beginning to yell.
Jeremy scooted closer to the edge of the bed and hissed at Blume.
“Be quiet! If someone overhears your ramblings...”
“Ramblings!” she yelled even louder than before. “It's not rambling, it’s the truth!”
"What do you think they would do to you if they found out you were a dwarf, Jeremy?" She said pointing a finger at him. "Or what about you, Abigail? Do you think they'd let you go because you're a kid? They murdered my younger brother! They would do the same to you!"
She was livid. Blume couldn't understand how her friends wouldn't take advantage of the opportunity they had been given. If they were in Sea Gate
, their best move would be to find out what their enemy was doing. And soon.
Blume grabbed her coat out of the armoire and hastily put it on.
"If I can't get a dwarf and an elf to come with me to save their own races, I guess I'm going to have to do it myself," she said, turning to walk out of the room. She turned the latch on the door and swung it wide open.
Framed in the doorway was the massive figure of Drake, a scheming smile twisted on his lips
18: Mountain Gate
Lote was still in a bad mood. Nothing the Red Guard could tell her about why they closed the gate when the troll was chasing them down could calm her anger. Ealrin could see her seething everytime Fray, the leader of the guard at the Mountain Gate, approached her.
They made many claims.
Some of them said that the gate malfunctioned and closed on its own. Others said that they closed the gate out of fear for the townspeople inside the gate. Still others claimed that they misheard the elf's instructions to them.
None of these words from Fray or any of the Red Guard, the defenders of The Mountain Gate and the military of Beaton, could convince Lote that they hadn't shut them out on purpose.
"Cowardice," she would mutter under her breath every so often.
Ealrin felt like she was right on some levels. On the other hand, as he looked around the city that was contained within the walls of the gate, he understood what might drive them to shut out a fully-grown and monstrous troll.
The Mountain Gate was much more than the wall and iron gate Ealrin had thought it would be. In fact, it was an entire city, nestled between two mountains and protected on either side by formidable walls. True to its name, two massive iron gates closed in the city on the east and west sides. To the north and south were impassable cliffs. Inside these natural and manmade barriers, a city flourished. Women, children, families old and young lived here.
No wonder they didn't want a troll destroying the lives safely protected by the gates. This was a city of safety.
A street ran through the city's center, from one gate to the other. On the southern side of the street, businesses and shops lined the road. Metal workers, bakers, craftsmen and farmers sold their goods. On the other side of the road, and taking up a much larger space, were the houses of those who inhabited the city.
Ealrin was relieved to see diversity here. Dwarves and elves lived among men as they did in Thoran.
Good, he thought as he walked the streets during their second day there. Androlion's hate hasn't spread here yet.
In the very center of Mountain Gate were two buildings that faced each other. One was the barracks and offices of the Red Guard. It was a two-story building made of stone. Ornate columns decorated the front and a red flag flew over the entrance. A black castle encased in a shield emblazoned the banner.
On the opposite side of the street, a one story stone building. This building was raised higher than the other single story structures around it. Ten steps led to the large wooden double doors. On either side of these flew a flag identical to the one on the Red Guard building, but without the shield.
Ealrin stood directly in between these two. The only reason they had yet to pass through Mountain Gate and into Beaton was because of the differences between the two who were in charge of the buildings.
Fray, the leader of the Red Guard, had seen the group’s fighting prowess and was very impressed. But he would rather send them back to Thoran instead of inviting diplomatic missions to the capital.
"We are tasked with ensuring the safety of Beaton," he had said at their first meeting in the Red Guard's offices. The room held his unusually large wooden desk and several bookshelves crammed with old volumes. Ealrin doubted whether the old man had read every book there or just kept them for show. Fray's mustache and beard were graying much faster than the black hair on his head. It gave the impression of a slow decay that only half of the parties involved knew about. "It sounds as if you want to drag us into this war you southerners have begun."
Lote had sprung from the musty smelling room without another word, leaving Ealrin, Gorplin, and Tory to follow out with a few awkward glances and half hearted apologies to the captain.
Susan, the leader of the people of Mountain Gate, was sympathetic to their calls and wanted to grant them passage.
"I think it is very noble of you to desire to find help for your friends," she told them in her own office that was much different than old Fray's.
Her quarters were a simple small room with a writing desk and one chest of drawers.
Unlike Fray, Susan had a large following of different city council members. Many of them were willing to do her bidding, or offer her advice on one matter or another, or simply trying to learn from her wisdom.
She would often gesture to one of them and tell them to take a note to remind her of a future task. "I must speak with the baker in the morning," she said. "Oh, and we need to put in a request for more food for the farm workers, they've been famished with the harvest."
Their conversation was very disjointed due to this.
"Unfortunately," she said as she turned back to the company that had gathered at her office. "I am unable to grant you passage without the Red Guard’s signature."
She let out a deep sigh and rubbed her temples. Many of her advisers exchanged knowing glances at one another and shook their heads.
"We've tried to develop a system of checks and balances on one another so that the military does not have more power than the civic branch of government. I fear, however, that all we have really accomplished is preventing one another from getting anything of significance done. "
Susan turned to an adviser and asked them to schedule an appointment with the head of the farmers’ union sometime next week to discuss the soldiers’ rations again.
"You'll have to convince Fray to let you pass, or I fear your journey is bound to end here."
They mumbled thanks and walked out of her office and into the afternoon light.
"Bah," Gorplin said as he stretched his arms out wide with a deep groan. "This is not how the dwarves rule over their kingdoms. What nonsense. Why not just make a decision and get things done?"
Ealrin was frustrated with the process himself. It seemed like far too much politics and trying to ensure that no one party has too much power. But like Susan pointed out, instead of making things equal for everyone, it seems that no one was able to accomplish anything. Least of all letting a small group pass from one country to another.
"Should we just sneak out under the cover of darkness?" Tory suggested as they walked back to the small inn where they had purchased three rooms for themselves. "I think that would skip all the paperwork."
Gorplin snickered.
"That it would, I agree."
"But there's the problem of raising the gate to let us out," Lote said coldly. "Not to mention the fact that we would want to pass this way again on our return journey. Hopefully the armies of three different nations will accompany us. "
Tory and Gorplin looked down at the dirt, dejected. The one time they had agreed on a sol
ution, the idea was put to rest.
"I say we eat supper and think about it on full bellies," Bertrom offered as they neared their lodging place.
"I wholeheartedly agree with that suggestion," Jurrin said as he saw them returning from his spot on the stairs of the inn. "What are we discussing again?" he asked.
DINNER WAS SERVED AT their lodging place and the company ate well. As the party now was eight strong, the innkeeper was quite busy preparing their food.
The owner of the inn was ecstatic that he actually had guests, let alone enough to fill three rooms.
Situated right beside the barracks and the Red Guard's offices, “The Vagabond” was the only inn in Mountain Gate. Like most of the buildings in the city, the inn had seen better times.
The dining hall was big enough to seat at least fifty. Ealrin remembered that The Rusty Hook had only been capable of twenty guests or so at a time. It was a large two-story building. The rooms were situated on a balcony that wrapped around the entire inn. Any patron could, at any time, walk out of their quarters and look down on the dining hall to see who was eating and milling about down below.
Now the only guests in the inn were the eight gathered around two tables pushed together for the purpose of their evening meal.
What once surely was a fine collection of stuffed animals and shields and paintings that decorated the walls were now all covered in dust and needing more than a little care and attention. The metal utensils were slightly bent and rusted and the tablecloth was stained from previous lively occasions. An entire staff had once worked the place from top to bottom. Now the old innkeeper only unlocked it when the opportunity arrived.
The first night, they had waited an hour for him to actually find the key.
Marterior Morninside, or Marty as he asked them to call him, was an aging widower. His wife had died ten years previous and the two never had children. He worked the inn when it was needed and tended his small farm the rest of the time.
Marty spent every meal telling them stories of previous patrons, all of which he could recall with uncanny detail.