by RG Long
A female elf, short for her race, stood and addressed those who had assembled on the deck. All of Teresa’s companions were there. Holve, gray and stern as ever, stood with arms crossed. Ealrin was next to him, pain written on his face. Silverwolf, Elen, and Wisym stood in an unlikely trio next to Teresa, who had placed herself apart from the three. She was busy trying to look anywhere than what she saw right in front of her: Blume comforting a nearly inconsolable Gorplin. The dwarf had wept bitterly for his friend the first day. Never had Teresa heard such pain from a dwarf. Their race was known for being stout and hard, not prone to tears.
Gorplin’s flowed with ease.
Blume had one arm around the dwarf and the other holding onto the railing beside her, steadying the pair. It looked like Gorplin might collapse at any moment. Teresa wondered painfully if the dwarf would ever forgive her.
“We live in dark times,” the elf said. She was the captain of this vessel, a fierce elf who was not to be trifled with. Tory would have loved to get under her skin. The thought made Teresa shiver again.
“And have dark enemies all around us. But, we who survive must not mourn the dead who go before us. We are all destined for death, even the elves who live far longer than the human race. We must all face death one day. Let us praise the valiant who faced death in battle and not mourn their departure from such evil times. They can now rest. May the sea cover them with peace.”
The phrase was repeated by every sailor on the ship.
“May the sea cover them with peace.”
The elf nodded a few times. Teresa registered that she didn’t know her name. Nor, at the moment, did she care to. Her words echoed in her head. Was Tory really at peace? And if he was, would she ever find peace outside of her own death?
“Make your final goodbyes,” she said, and turned back to the wheel she had left to another.
Some of the Wood Walkers who were aboard their ship came forward and knelt beside the two who they had brought from the battle. A small female and a teenaged male clung to one bundle. An older and stout looking male put his hand on the other. They looked like the elves Teresa had seen months ago, gathered in the forest to discuss what they must do to face the coming season.
At that moment, it had been a question of food, or of dealing with their own race, or the Wrents. Now, they had been forced from their homes by both Wrent and imperial elf. How strange it must be to board a ship and sail from their lands and their forests. The smoke of it still rose high in the horizon behind them.
Some of the sailors walked past their fallen comrade and bowed to him, or made a sign with their hands, or just stood beside him for a moment before moving away.
Tory’s body was well attended. Their group had moved forward to surround the fallen. Holve looked gravely at them in turn and was first to speak.
“I had hoped we would escape violence and war when we came to Irradan and left Ruyn,” he said through a thick voice. “But it seems we find it wherever we travel. Tory knew what it was like to face danger head on and to defend those in need. Even in his last moments, he refused to kill the princess he had served for so long. We honor him for that.”
Gorplin was a wreck. The only thing that kept him upright was Blume and a now kneeling Ealrin who was supporting his other side. Many of their group just nodded. None looked at Teresa. Except for Wisym. For a moment, she gave her a look as if she expected her to say something.
What could she possibly say? That she had killed a loyal servant and ended the life of a warrior who had served her father in many battles? No. She couldn’t make herself endure such a feat. She turned from the body and held onto the railing of the ship to keep from swaying. Teresa was fighting tears with each breath.
“To Tory Greenwall,” she heard Holve say, knowing he must be saluting the man in some way. “A Sword for the King.”
“To Tory Greenwall,” came the echoing reply.
Teresa couldn’t help it. She walked from the body and from her friends to the front of the ship and resumed her vigil there. After a time, she heard the bodies being lifted from their boards and ceremoniously given to the sea as they sailed. She wasn’t sure which splash of the water belonged to Tory. All she knew was that the peace the captain had said the water would bring sounded far too tempting at the moment.
7: New Plans
Ealrin sat in the cabin space that he and his companions had occupied since coming aboard The Dragon. It was meant for four, but currently the small room slept all of their male company. The females were in the room next door for the night. Their quarters were just as cramped, but so was everyone’s now that they occupied a ship meant for fifty with one hundred.
The total number of Wood Walker survivors had not yet been counted. There were some that fled the battle and escaped both Wrent and Empire, Ealrin was sure of it. But the number they had brought with them onto the ships was so small, he wondered if many had escaped the purging of the woods or if their race was now reduced to this scant few.
He took another bite of bread that he had dipped into his soup. Both terms were being generous. The bread was just a crust and the soup was broth so thin he could clearly see the bottom of his bowl. Beggars, he reminded himself, hardly had the chance to be picky.
It had been these sailors who had saved their lives. Without them, who knows what might have become of their company? Consumed by fire, or fox beast, or elven warrior no doubt. Three threats all converged onto one Wood Walker resistance. One, he learned, that Tory and Gorplin had helped arrange. The dwarf had calmed down a bit in the days following Tory’s funeral. He was still overcome with grief, but could give them details of the pair’s journey from being picked up by pirates, to being thrown overboard thanks to the cunning or malice of Felicia. Gorplin hated swimming, so he was more likely to choose the latter.
After they had gotten to shore they had run into the Wood Walkers and gained their trust enough to offer strategy on defending themselves. Some of their plans had worked rather well. But no one had foreseen the fire and the Wrents. Both had swept over the battlefield and thrown everything into chaos.
The only saving grace was that it seemed the arrival of the third army was also unforeseen by the Enoth Empire. Because of this, many more Wood Walkers were able to flee to safety than would have been possible.
“Now we just have to find a place to settle a couple hundred Wood Walkers,” Holve said as he poured over some maps the captain had lent to him.
Amrolan, Ealrin, and Gorplin were all gathered together in the room with the females. Silverwolf, Teresa, Wisym, Elen and Blume were mostly sitting on the floor, though the assassin had shooed Ealrin off of his hammock and claimed it for her own while they met.
“I still haven’t heard anyone say thank you,” she said. “Without me, you’d all be dead.”
Holve scoffed, but still smirked slightly.
“Thank you,” he said without looking at her. “I’m still unsure what debt we ’ll owe for this rescue.”
“You’re welcome,” she replied. “And you worry too much. It’s all worked out.”
Holve raised an eyebrow. Ealrin interpreted his look to mean “I doubt that entirely” and took another bite of crust.
“We’re headed for Death’s Gate, correct?” Holve asked Silverwolf.
“Yup. That’s where this lot make their port.”
“Sounds like a pleasant place,” Wisym offered.
“It’s not a place you’d want to live permanently,” Silverwolf confessed. “But a small vacation there will suffice.”
Wisym made a noise, but Ealrin wasn’t turned to see her face. He wasn’t sure the elf trusted the assassin. If he was honest, he wasn’t sure himself whether or not he always trusted her with their best interests. She was cunning and strong and skilled with her blades. But she knew many of the wrong sort of people.
The fact that these sailors were more like pirates concerned him, though they had been treated very well on all accounts. None of the goods aboard the sh
ip looked stolen, per se. But, then again, it was hard to tell what belonged to a person and what did not just by looking at it. There were many symbols of Darrion here, as well as one or two from Enoth. The rest were covered in a strange crest he hadn’t seen before.
A female elf held in one hand a skull, and in the other a long scythe. She was scantily clad in only a long, black ribbon. This was the mark that many barrels and crates aboard the ship bore, as well as the flag that she flew. This, Ealrin had been told, was the sign of Death’s Gate. An appropriate sign for such a somberly named place.
“I imagine it looks like a black plague on the landscape,” Wisym said. “With such a nice title to it.”
Silverwolf shrugged.
“You’ll see when you get there.”
“And what next?” Blume asked as she sat in the corner close to Gorplin. She had taken to walking with the dwarf around the ship since they departed. The two had formed a close bond over the loss of Tory. Ealrin didn’t think that Blume felt as close to him as Gorplin did, but she seemed to grieve better by helping Gorplin through his own pain.
“Are we going to find the tree?” she asked.
Holve looked up from his maps at the group assembled in the room. Ealrin noticed they were all rather haggard. Their journey to find the tree to restore Blume’s lost magic had so far been marked with tragedy and violence. It was not the intended plan. Nor was it helping them to find many answers about the demons that had ravaged their own homelands.
“We still have to find Felicia and the others,” Wisym added. “We can’t just leave them to the pirates.”
“Blood Spire,” Gorplin croaked. These were the first coherent words Ealrin had heard him say in hours. “That Boss fella said he was to sell us as slaves in Blood Spire.”
“Pirates and their names are really pathetic. Death’s Gate. Blood Spire. Do they think it’ll just scare people away?” Wisym asked.
“Seems to have worked well enough for them,” Ealrin admitted. No one he had talked to in Darrion had ever mentioned the two cities. Holve said he had heard tale of them from a few adventurous folks, but even they spoke of the places with a reverence of fear.
“Death’s Gate to find a home for some Wood Walkers and then to Blood Spire to buy back some slaves,” Silverwolf mused. “Sounds like a wonderful way to spend the winter.”
Ealrin had to admit, it sounded either very brave or very foolish.
“And perhaps we’ll find our tree,” Holve added. “We’ve had no luck otherwise from either Enoth, Darrion, or the Wood Walkers.”
Elen grunted slightly.
“What is it?” Ealrin asked.
She shook her head.
“You think my people will willingly leave their homeland and live on some stony patch of rock that’s been carved out by pirates and thieves?”
The group considered her for a few moments. Holve was the first to speak.
“I’m not sure they have a choice,” he answered. “Enoth has near complete control of the entire continent with their influence over Darrion and now their dominance of your realm. Where else would you flee?”
“We’ve yet to speak with my master,” Amrolan interjected. “The northern gatherings may not be as tainted as the ones we fled from.”
Elen looked at him in disgust.
“You think because you’ve defiled yourself with metal and forges that we’d share gatherings with you and your rebellious elves?”
Amrolan straightened in his seated position.
“Your own belief that nothing in the forest must be harmed has gotten you and your brethren into a terrible fate. My master is wise. He can and will show you the light of our advances.”
Elen stood to her feet quickly as did Amrolan. The two stared at each other as many of the company quickly got in between the two different elves.
“This solves nothing!” Holve said angrily, shoving his way past Ealrin and Wisym in between the two. “There are hundreds of elves without homes here! We need to find them a place to seek refuge, if only temporarily.”
Wisym grabbed Elen’s arms and held her close.
“I know what it’s like to lose your homeland,” she said. “To have it taken from you by monsters and to have to find a new place to live. I know what it’s like to have to be in a place you dislike for a time. It’s not easy, but you can manage. This may not be your forever home. It doesn’t have to be. But you have to survive this winter if you hope to ever reclaim any part of your own forest. And, to do that, you need a place to call your own.”
Elen was still breathing heavily, her face red and her eyes narrowed at Amrolan. Ealrin couldn’t see what the other elf’s expression was as his back to him.
Finally, Elen gave a deep breath and nodded. Holve must have took that as all he needed for the time being.
“That’ll do,” he said. “We should arrive sometime tonight or tomorrow morning. Let’s make it our first priority to get the elves a place to stay. Then we resume our search for the tree.”
“What about Enoth?’ Ealrin asked. “We can’t just let them continue to rampage all over the continent and destroy everything that’s good, can we? I mean, they’ll even come to Death’s Gate and Blood Spire and the rest of the continent if they gain so much power.”
Holve didn’t answer at first, he just furrowed his brow and looked down for a moment. Then he sighed.
“Ealrin, on Ruyn we had no less than three kingdoms who were willing to fight for peace against a tyrant. This time, we have the people in this room.”
Everyone looked at one another and Ealrin felt deflated. He wanted for there to be peace. He wanted the continent to be set right. But, Holve was right. How on earth could they do that with eight companions who had no nation to call their own and no army to help them fight?
8: Death’s Gate
They continued to sail all through the night. No storms came upon them, though the clouds hung heavy in the sky. With the morning came fresh winds that propelled the clouds on ahead of them as they continued to sail towards the port. What was more, land was visible on the horizon ahead of them. Though Ealrin couldn’t see the tops of them because of the clouds, mountains rose up ahead of them forming the barrier to the sea. They would glimpse the city before breakfast was rightly finished.
The elf captain, whose name was Denise, pointed out to Ealrin that when they made a turn around a large outcrop of rocks, they would be able to see the city. Several large rock formations jutted out of the sea all around them. It was as if the mountain were sending out roots to grow in greener pastures. If indeed they could be found.
“The city is ahead!” came the call from the crow’s nest. Many sailors, as well as the rest of Ealrin’s company, came from below to view the gate to death. Wisym was helping a still grieving Gorplin out of the lower deck, pulling him forward while Blume pushed from behind. To move the dwarf was no small achievement.
Sailors cheered as they got ever closer to the turn they must have known by heart. The ship made a sharp left and some of the companions held onto the rail for support. Then they dodged another rock.
“Come see this city,” was all Ealrin could mutter as they rounded another jutting stone and the mountain that the port sat by finally came into view.
“Come on, Gorplin!” Blume said as she pushed him out onto the deck. He fell with a lurch and only slowly put out his hands to get up.
“This is not black plague on the land,” Wisym admitted when she turned to see the city.
Blume must have looked up as well. Ealrin heard her clearly.
“Woah.”
The city of Death’s Gate looked nothing like death, nor a black plight that Wisym’s words had made Ealrin to imagine. Even the clouds seemed to part around the city, leaving a beautiful sky clear and open above them. Winter winds even seemed to warm as they approached.
Ships sailed back and forth between two large half arches. The woman whom Ealrin had seen on the barrels and crates stood on each, mirrored on eith
er side. She held her scythe aloft and the skull still in her other hand, but in carved marble she looked less threatening and more like a vision of loveliness. They passed through this entryway and sailed into the proper port, giving them a view of the city.
On one side of the mountain, a great citadel rose up above round domed buildings and porticos. People bustled down on the stone paths that lead from the ports all the way up to the largest structure: the citadel which stood in grandeur above all else. To Ealrin’s amazement, ships not only sailed to the city, but also flew to the highest parts of the city as well, docking alongside vast bridges that stopped in the air.
On the other side of the mountain, many smaller, but no less beautiful, domed houses were gathered into rows and clusters that ran alongside the mountain as it rose into the sky.
Death’s Gate was not a place of vile and ugly things. It was beautiful. One of the most beautiful cities Ealrin had ever seen.
“Did we sail to the wrong place?” Blume asked.
Silverwolf laughed and even patted the girl on the back, perhaps a little harder than would have seemed affectionate.
“Nope, this is the place. Welcome to Death’s Gate!”
“Sailors!” called Denise. “Get ready to make port!’
The elves jumped and bounded all around the companions who were still in awe of the great city. Those who were more familiar with the place cheered to see it but were now busying themselves with landing.
“For now,” Holve said, addressing them. “Leave your things on the ship.”
Ealrin rose an eyebrow at his mentor and friend.
“Why?”
“Inns cost money,” he replied simply and turned out his empty pockets. “How many coins did you bring with you from prison?”
Ealrin chuckled and agreed in his heart. He knew there wasn’t a half a coin to his name. The only thing he had that was of any value was his sword and there was no way he was parting with it. It had served him too well thus far.
“Leave your things,” Silverwolf said from her perch on the railing. Sitting precariously was a pastime of hers, though it only annoyed Holve into speech when she did it while reading one of the precious books they had brought from Ruyn. Like she was doing just a moment ago. She stuffed the book into a bag she had looped around her. “But don’t worry about sleeping arrangements, Crusty.”
