by RG Long
“With justice.”
Blume forced her mouth to speak.
“Death given to the undeserved is not justice.”
The effort of speaking those words cost her greatly. The force of Yada’s cane hit her just as hard.
“Victory and justice,” she repeated, stomping off, using the cane in her hand again. She didn’t even look at Blume as she said to her guards. “Get her strapped to that machine and put her abilities to good use. We charge as soon as that gate falls.”
Blume didn’t have time to turn to see Yada leave. She couldn’t. Instead, she was being magically moved forward, to the canon that the other two Speakers had been connected to. With weary expressions, they let go and stumbled away.
No other Speaker came to join Blume at this one. A fierce looking woman in Speaker’s robes came up and began to speak rapidly to Blume.
“You’ll place your hands here,” she said, indicating the runes on the machine right in front of her. “This stone is where you will channel your magic.”
She then listed off two spells, one of which Blume was familiar with and the other was one she didn’t know. Her schooling wasn’t exactly complete or regular.
“Use those spells,” the woman insisted. “ONLY those spells. We haven’t tested anything else.”
She looked at the three Speakers who had been restraining Blume since the beginning of Yada’s appearance.
“Direct the canon to aim at the main gate,” she said. “That’s where all of our forces will be firing soon.”
The magical machine began to move slightly, its arm facing a new direction. Blume saw others doing the same thing. A blast of magic shot out and nearly hit the gate, making a large hole just to the other side of it.
The Isolian army cheered.
“What does it feel like?” Blume asked. She was hesitant to place her hands on the runes, even less so to use this machine to assault a castle for an army she cared nothing for. But she looked over to Gorplin, Ealrin, and Silverwolf with a sad expression.
“I’ve no idea,’ the woman replied coldly. “I’m not a Speaker, just a researcher. Get on that machine now. Or we kill one of your friends.”
Blume tried to make a face at the woman, one of indignation or defiance, but neither happened. She was stuck in her position again. The Speakers had allowed her one glance at her friends before she was no longer in control of her body again.
One glance to remind her why she was being forced to do this.
Her hands moved up against her will and, with outstretched fingers, placed themselves on the runes of the machine.
Immediately, she felt the cool rush of the metal, which was strange as the thing had been sitting in the sun all morning. It was icy cold. Whether by the magic of the Speakers controlling her or the device, she found she could not even twitch her fingers. Her breathing intensified and the Rimstone in front of her face began to pulse brightly.
“Use the first spell,” the woman said into her ear. Blume heard it as from a great distance. Like the woman was shouting, but from the other side of a field.
What was the spell again?
Blume couldn’t remember. Her mind was filling up with euphoria. Her sense heightened greatly as she heard every cheer of the Isol army individually. She perceived the pain of the defenders of the castle as they ran from hiding place to hiding place, trying to escape the magical barrage that was directed at them.
She sensed mothers torn from their children. Fathers forced to fight a battle they didn’t choose. She felt a little girl torn between life and death. She could see them. All of them. Each face of the soldiers who cheered, the mothers who wept, and the fathers who died.
She saw the distraught little girl disappear into darkness.
“The spell,” the woman repeated in her ear. “Or we will end this young man’s life.”
Blume felt herself returned to the moment. She was strapped to a canon, being asked to reign destruction down on a people who had done her no wrong.
She wouldn’t.
At the same moment, she perceived a monumental bolt of energy hit the gate of the castle and the troops of Isol surge forward, she let the magical energy that had been building inside of her flow out into the cannon.
“NO! Wait! Not that....” the woman began to say, but it was too late.
Blume’s magic had already entered the canon and split the earth beneath her feet. A great expanse opened up underneath her and the woman fell into it, clawing all the while at the ground as it gave way. Blume was floating with the canon above the hole she had made in the ground. She enlarged it until it engulfed the Speakers who had been controlling her as well. They fell with screams that echoed in her ears. Before they had time to react, Blume sent magical bolts flying out at the guards who threatened her friends. They dropped to the ground, unmoving. Their weapons now useless on the ground.
There was shouting. Noise from the surrounding army. Blume shut them out. With another surge of magic, she brought the same earth she had forced downward up. This made a wall around them that would protect her friends. That would protect her.
“Blume!” the sound was far off and small.
Her eyes had been closed during the experience of euphoric magic. She snapped them open and looked around her. The earth she had cracked open was continuing to grow. Larger and larger it opened, until it came to her friends. The same ones who were enclosed in her magical wall of earth.
They would be swallowed up. Consumed by the earth.
And it was her fault.
With all of her strength, Blume wrested her hands from the machine. The euphoria ended, replaced with a sudden dread and fear.
And the sensation of falling.
36: A Lack of Grace
Ealrin felt the earth underneath his body long before he was aware of what was actually happening. He had spent the last few minutes trying to see what they were forcing Blume to do, without turning his head too much and earning a tip of a spear in his neck.
Yada had come and spoken to Barton. He was far enough away from them not to catch every word, but the use of Yada’s cane on Barton was clear enough.
Then Blume was made to touch that canon and the world exploded.
Hard ground materialized underneath him. Even though it hurt, Ealrin was glad to find it at last. For several moments, the only thing he felt underneath him was particles of dirt that separated as soon as he touched them. The whole earth seemed to swallow the guards and him up.
Blume had somehow managed to send bolts of energy that knocked out or killed their guards before the earth split into pieces. Ealrin wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but all the same, they were in the middle of an army led by a woman that apparently hated them.
What hope of escape did they have before Blume used her abilities to free them?
Ealrin scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could regain his breath and the feeling in his left leg. That had been where he’d hit the ground first. Standing gingerly, he tested the leg by slowly putting pressure on it. He felt like nothing was broken, so he waded through the earth and bodies to where he was fairly certain Blume was.
The magical canon was mangled and wrecked. The bodies of the Speakers who had been close to Blume and the machine lay strewn about. Ealrin tried not to focus on them. Instead, he started digging.
Blume was buried up to her waist in dirt. Fortunately, it was soft.
“I think you overdid it,” he said, trying to make a joke to the half-awake Blume.
“Never... go easy,” she managed, moving her arms around and stretching out her hands.
Ealrin let himself smile, though he dug faster. Who knew how long they had before a very angry Yada showed up above them and picked them off, one by one? Around him, Silverwolf, Gorplin, and Barton were stirring and making their way over to him.
“Help me!” he said, just as a rock fell from above and rolled down the pit Blume had made in the ground.
Looking up, Ealrin saw that no on
e had thrown the rock, but that the walls of the pit were crumbling away. They needed to get out of here and quickly. Gorplin was the first to make it over to them and the first to get digging. His hands seemed to cut through the dirt like shovels. Blume was free in moments.
“Bah,” Gorplin said as he helped to pull her free. “Better luck we haven’t had yet. Look!”
With one hand he pointed at a part of the wall of earth that wasn’t soft dirt, but instead was hard rock. A tunnel stretched inside of it.
“Her Holiness has rejected me,” Barton said, so distraught that Ealrin thought the man must be joking. He seemed like such a tough warrior. Surely this wasn’t his undoing?
“She has rejected me, a faithful servant,” he said again. Putting his face in his hands, he shook his head. “What will I do?”
“You could start by looting some corpses with me,” Silverwolf said, bringing over to them a few swords and a spear. “Why am I in charge of getting us things to fight with?”
“Because you make it a priority,” Ealrin said, holding out the sword in his hand and feeling its grip. It was different than his own sword. He felt a moment of grief at the thought of leaving it behind, but knew they had no choice.
It was time.
“Think it’s safe, Gorplin?” Ealrin asked, looking at the tunnel with an eyebrow raised.
“Bah!” the dwarf replied, heading into the dark passage first. “To the depths with safe. We’re going in anyways!”
BLUME SWORE MANY TIMES that she wasn’t too tired and could keep the Rimstone rings pilfered from the dead Speakers lit enough to keep them traveling. She passed them out. One to Gorplin, one for her, and one, though rather begrudgingly, to Silverwolf. Ealrin saw the assassin wink at Blume before slipping it on her finger and holding it up.
Blume rolled her eyes and muttered something about hoping the Isol army followed them down to pick her off.
Ealrin was pretty sure Silverwolf heard that statement because she smiled at the back of Blume’s head. It wasn’t a smile that endeared her to him. He shuddered just thinking about that look on her face.
The rings cast an eerie blue light, but it was enough to see by. The tunnel was tight and very low. They often had to stoop in order to keep walking and, on more than one occasion, they got down on all fours to get through a difficult passage.
Gorplin was optimistic.
“Bah!” he said when faced with a decision to go left or right. “There’s a right way out of here! We’ll see the setting suns before long!”
“Are you sure we won’t be setting ourselves down here for an eternity?” Silverwolf asked from the back.
Though Ealrin knew she was tough, Silverwolf had her moments of showing weakness. He wondered if she didn’t like tight, underground spaces. He didn’t especially care for them, but he trusted Gorplin. The dwarf would see them to safety.
“What’s the use?” Barton said. “Without Yada...”
“Shut it about the old lady,” Silverwolf said, regaining the edge in her voice. “She’s not too happy with you, so find a new line of work.”
Ealrin was glad he was in between Barton and the assassin because he was fairly certain the man would have met an early grave had he actually gone to attack her like he intended. Ealrin stopped him by the sheer use of his own body and a rather tight squeeze to make sure they didn’t come to blows with each other down in a cave.
“Her Holiness’ blessing is everything!” Barton replied. “Without it...”
“You’re blessed by whatever else you feel like being blessed by,” Silverwolf said. “Want me to bless you with this sword?”
“You’re not helping,” Ealrin muttered, still keeping Barton back.
“Quiet back there!” Blume said over the scuffling. “There’s something up here!”
To his credit, Barton at least stopped in order to move forward and inspect what was going on. Though, Ealrin could tell he hadn’t allowed all of his righteous anger to come out against Silverwolf and would possibly save it for a later chance.
The group became very quiet as they tried to hear what Blume had mentioned. Gorplin stood with his arm outstretched, casting the light as far ahead as he could. Then Ealrin heard it.
It wasn’t the sound of dripping water or the web crawling of some ancient cave dweller come to hunt them down. It was the wonderful sound of rushing wind.
“Think it’s a way out?” Blume asked. Ealrin could hear both her hope and worry mixed in the question.
“It better be,” Gorplin answered. “Or I’m not Gorplin, Son of Thorplin, Prince of the Dwarves!”
The dwarf moved forward, still keeping his hand out as he walked.
“Think he’d let me rename him to Gorplin, the proud gut?” Silverwolf asked.
Ealrin turned his head around to say something witty back to her but was cut off by his own yelling.
And his sword just barely coming in between Silverwolf and the claw that was plunging for her neck.
37: Shaken History
Forst was ahead of them, but not by much. They had barely finished their food when the room they were sitting in began to shudder. Dust fell from the stones above them and the table gave a quake that made Jurrin hop onto his feet.
“What was that, Mister Forst!?” he exclaimed, spilling his bowl and cup to the floor.
Forst had already grabbed a torch and opened the door.
“Sorry I don’t have time to be more hospitable, Holve, but it seems like we need to get you out of here and get ready for a long siege.”
The room shook again and Forst used the door frame to steady himself against the quake.
“Or maybe not as long of a siege as I thought,” he said, still making sure he didn’t fall over. “Let’s go!”
Jurrin didn’t think twice about obeying that command, but he did make sure Serinde was on her feet in front of him before he exited the room. Even in a crisis, he had time to be a gentleman.
Holve was the last to leave. He had risen from his chair, grabbed a satchel from the wall, slung it over his shoulder and then grabbed something long and wrapped in cloth. Jurrin didn't know what was in there and he was fairly certain it wasn’t Holve’s. When Forst saw him do it, he nodded.
“Just like old times,” he said with a grin. Taking several steps forward, he held the torch high enough to light their way.
“You never had to use these, did you?” he asked Holve.
“No, but your tunnels are legends,” Holve said.
Jurrin looked around at the passage they were walking through and wondered how tunnels could be a part of any legend. Then again, Jurrin had seen a lot in his years traveling with this group.
What more would he see?
Forst stopped at a fork in the tunnels and turned to face them. He smiled, but Jurrin didn’t think it was necessarily a happy one. There was sadness in it.
“Time to get the old group back together?” he asked Holve, slapping his hand to the man’s shoulder.
Holve nodded.
“But have them report to you for the time being,” he said. “I don’t want Yada knowing we’ve talked, though she probably assumes so by now.”
“She’s a smart one,” Forst conceded.
“And we’re not on the same side anymore, it seems,” Holve said, looking weary. He put on a face of gratitude and looked at Forst. “Thank you, for helping us.”
“You kidding?” Forst replied. “I love this stuff! Spies and espionage and such. Much more exciting than changing bed sheets. Safe travels.”
Forst looked at Serinde first and nodded.
“Keep a chin up,” he said. “I’ve seen that look on people many times. You keep a chin up and things will turn in your favor.”
Serinde’s eyebrows went up slightly at those words, but she still nodded. Jurrin thought she looked a little confused and a little sad.
Then, Forst turned to him.
“Master Halfling,” he said. “Don’t see many of you in Ladis. In fact, I think
you’re only the second I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
“You’ve seen another halfling, Mister Forst?” Jurrin asked, amazed.
“Traveling charmer, he was. I believe he went by the name of Swazbo. You ought to see if he’s still in Ladis. A bard, a storyteller, and a learned little halfling. Interesting fellow, like yourself!”
Jurrin swelled at these words. Someone thought he was interesting?
Forst bowed at them all. Without any more to say, he handed the torch to Holve and started walking off.
“Hey, Forst!” Holve called out. “Which way?”
Jurrin heard a chuckle before the answer came back.
“Two lefts, two rights, then straight every time!”
“If only life could be that easy,” Serinde said to Jurrin as she pointed him ahead, letting him go first.
“I can’t go ahead of you, Miss Serinde!” Jurrin said. “What if someone follows us?”
“Then we’ll be in deeper trouble than you know,” Holve answered. “Come walk with me Jurrin.”
Unsure, Jurrin stepped forward, following Holve as they began their trek through the tunnels of Grellis.
THE TUNNELS WERE AMAZING to behold. On and on they went, like the cave they had explored earlier, but straighter and without any water running through it. Jurrin marveled at how such a long tunnel could exist. Then he began to think of the stones. For one turn, then another, then another and then straight on, the stones kept going.
How did they ever find so much?
“How old is this, Mister Holve?” he finally asked, after more than an hour had passed. Above his head, the stones were wet with moisture and every so often, moss had crawled between the cracks and swept through the roof. Even some cracks appeared here and there. Holve passed under these without question. They made Jurrin nervous, but the stones held firm.
“Hundreds of years,” Holve said, taking the last turn Forst had told them to take before heading straight on.
“Who built them?” Jurrin asked, thinking it must be the work of skilled dwarves like Gorplin, or else the efforts of men of a much more skilled and diligent age.
