by RG Long
Kilgore actually laughed.
“You haven’t seen the devastation that Enoth causes. You’ve not witnessed the vastness of its armies!”
“And you have?” Cecil challenged back.
Kilgore shrugged.
“The actual army of Enoth? No, I haven’t seen the force in full,” he admitted. “But I spoke with the generals of the elven force now roaming Darrion. The army they brought against us here is only one fourth of the might of Enoth. If they bring their full might against us, we’ll certainly face our doom. If we flee, they’ll find us and kill us anyway. The best hope we have is to unite what humanity we have left and defend ourselves.”
“Could we not send for aid across the sea?” the woman who sat under the banner of Condor asked. “Surely some of the countries across the oceans would give us aid if we needed it badly enough? The humans of Ruyn? Or the Theocracy of Laodis?”
“It’d be a full month before we could even get word back from either,” Robert said. “And I’d rather be subject to the empire than get aid from the religious zealots of Laodis.”
Kilgore stepped forward.
“Are you, then, proposing,” he asked in a tense tone. “That we subject ourselves to the empire to serve it no matter the cost to our own dignity?”
Robert straightened up in his chair. He was pudgy. He was short. But upon his throne he had one thing Kilgore did not.
Authority.
“I am trying to preserve the people of Darrion,” he said. “I do not wish to throw our lives away in a battle we cannot win.”
“You would rather surrender than fight? Than even try?” Kilgore pushed.
Robert stood to his feet.
“This country is not in your care, Captain.”
He more spat the last word than said it.
“While we appreciate your information and your sacrifice for your country, this decision is not yours to make.”
He sat back down in his chair and looked like he was preparing to steel himself for something.
“This country,” he said, fidgeting with his rings. “Is in no place to defend itself from attack. Our ships are old. Our army is spread throughout Darrion. We can barely defend ourselves here as it is. I will seek a truce with Enoth. A treaty. Perhaps they will spare us and allow us to rule ourselves as loyal subjects to them.”
Some murmurs broke out in the crowd. Some sounded like they agreed. More than half even. Bernard felt his eyebrows go up and his mouth part. Was his country going to just lie down and allow themselves to be taken over by Enoth? Without even trying?
Pumpkin stepped forward and away from Bernard before he could grab her back.
“Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head. ‘They won’t let that happen. Nope. They’ll kill you all for sure. You’re taking up the resources they need. Water. Food. Air. Trees. Land. They want it all. Enoth is just like that. You won’t live. They won’t let you. They’ll kill you all for sure.”
Stunned, shocked silence followed this pronouncement. Pumpkin just stood with her hands folded in front of her, like she had just answered a teacher’s question and waited to see if she was correct.
“But I really like your bird flag,” she said, nodding to the woman Bernard did not know. Her mouth twitched, as if she didn’t know whether to smile or frown at this statement.
“Come on,” Kilgore said, grabbing Pumpkin and taking her from the center of attention. “These fools have already made their decision anyways.”
And with that, Kilgore led them from the room, Bernard and Lincoln trailing behind their captain and the crazed elf they had brought with them to Lone Peak.
“I STILL DON’T SEE WHY we had to go,” Bernard said as they left the House of Judgement and walked back to the wall. “Why couldn’t we have just stayed out on the wall?”
“I didn’t want you,” Kilgore said as they began to climb the steps. He looked over his shoulder as he said it. “I wanted her.”
Bernard and Lincoln exchanged looks and then both looked back at Pumpkin. She was twirling and dancing as she came up the stairs. Bernard thought she had said something pretty powerful, but would it be enough to convince anyone to do what Kilgore had suggested?
“So, what do you think they are going to end up deciding?” he asked as they reached the top of the wall and walked a few steps. Kilgore had stopped walking altogether and was looking out over the plains of Lone Peak.
“I don’t think it matters,” he said, face grave.
“What?” Bernard said, looking confused. “But there were at least three different ideas they had.”
“That’s not a small army, is it?” Lincoln asked, his face draining of color as he looked out in the same direction as Kilgore.
“Huh?” Bernard said, turning to look out where they were.
Up over the horizon, smoke rose in a haze as the suns began to set into the evening. On every available stretch of land, purple banners flew in the distance. The elves had come back from their banishment from Lone Peak.
And they had brought the rest of the army with them.
Pumpkin rested her arms on the wall and stared out, her face placid and wearing a smile that stretched from cheek to cheek.
“Told ya.”
30: The Fleet of the Mask
Elven ships lined the coast. The masked elf was surveying the vessels from the beach as he prepared himself for what was to come. He had found where the girl was as well as the Wood Walkers. The time to strike would come soon. He would deliver his message and his proof just before the real assault began.
All he needed was for those untrustworthy pirates to start the process. He would see that it was finished.
He took a deep breath of the sea air and the cool breeze filled his lungs. It was meditation that allowed him to see how this was going to work for him. He feared no death. It was the last thing on his mind. What he desired above all was to please his master and to appease the Comet.
It burned in the sky above them, the recent bloodshed showing in its great tendrils of dark flame. The time was drawing near. Soon Enoth would bring forth the nine stars of its past. By resurrecting these towers and by spending the resources they had fought so hard to achieve, they would succeed in their goal.
The Comet would be appeased. Rophilborn would be elevated to god-like power in the wake of that service. Enoth would become a worldwide power and beacon of light. The fools who worshipped the comet were wrong. It was not something to admire. It was a power to be used. And they would do it. They would succeed.
His thoughts were interrupted by a cough. Turning around, he saw a soldier who bowed low to him and waited to be addressed.
“Speak,” he said.
“The ships are ready,” he said simply. “We wait for your signal.”
The masked elf turned to face the ships. He saw the fleet prepared. This was the time.
“Prepare the rowers,” he said. “We will fly through these waters.”
31: Oar Slaves
Serinde shivered, even as the fire from the metal bowl above her blazed. The empire had no use for dead slaves, so they tried to prevent hypothermia from setting in as best they could. But if one or two died a week from cold, they were easily replaced. She had seen it happen twice since she had been chained to her oar.
The human or elf just slumped over. They couldn’t go far. Every single inhabitant of the ship’s undercarriage was chained by their ankles to the floor and their wrists to the oars in front of them. Four to an oar. Eight to a row. The man who was beside Serinde stopped speaking gibberish three days ago. Yesterday, he stopped breathing and sank onto his oar. After the oar master whipped him twice, nearly catching Serinde on the shoulder, the harsh elf came and shook the man violently. When he didn’t respond, the elf reach out and put a dagger in the slave’s chest.
There was no faking death to get out of the boat.
Next to Serinde, the empty spot was now filled with a woman who cried more than she spoke. Serinde sat on the inside edg
e, closest to the narrow aisle between rowers. As the tallest of the slaves on her row, she had no trouble keeping hold of the handles as the oar rose above her head.
Serinde found no comfort in her new companion. The woman was a whimpering, sobbing mess. She’d be dead in a week, if Serinde could be so heartless as to guess when new slaves would give up.
The undercarriage of the ship was dark and bleak. Water often sloshed at their feet. The only portals to the outside world were the small slits of light created by the movement of oars against the side of the ship. Those and the one set of stairs that the slaves only came down once. Any that went up were no longer breathing.
Overtaken with hunger, Serinde grabbed the bowl she was handed and gobbled down whatever it was that was inside. The first day, she had choked down the odd porridge mixture, unsure if she would be able to live on the stuff. Now, she ate it without even stopping long enough to taste it. There were only two meals a day and she wasn’t about to waste a morsel. She licked the bowl clean.
Panting, she handed the bowl back to another slave, this one allowed to walk the aisle with a tray. This was only a partial freedom, however. His chain began at the center and was only long enough for him to walk from one end of rowers to the other. He grunted in response to Serinde’s bowl being returned. She looked at the woman who had been handed her own bowl of slop and was still holding it outstretched, as if it was something grotesque.
“If you don’t eat it, someone will try to steal it from you,” Serinde said knowingly. “If you can’t stand it, hold your nose and eat quick.”
A week at the oars had taught her a lot. She was at least not so far gone as to not pass on life saving information.
“And when the drinking water comes by,” Serinde added as an afterthought. “Just close your eyes and gulp it down.”
She didn’t think it would do any good describing the consistency of the water or how it tasted. The woman held her nose and began eating from the bowl, gagging a little, but pressing on. Serinde was impressed.
She looked over her shoulder to get a glimpse of Erilas. Her sister was two rows behind her on the other aisle. She met her eyes and Erilas nodded at her. Serinde tried a weak smile, then turned back around. The sting in her shoulder from the bite of a whip reminded her that talking to Erilas during the day was frowned upon. Omioor and his son were several rows ahead of them. Neither had done much to turn around or pass a message.
It didn’t matter much.
Their mission to find the emperor was quite the failure. They couldn’t do much searching when they were chained to oars.
Serinde tried not to let the reality she faced overwhelm her. She steeled herself for every hour of every day. And, by the looks of it, she needed to prepare herself again. The slave came by again and was snatching bowls and cups away just as the oar master walked down the stairs.
“Break is over!” he yelled. “Back to work! We’ve got a long way to go today. We’re going to go aid the emperor himself! So, put your backs into it!”
Serinde cocked her head to the side. They were going to the emperor?
Omioor actually turned as the oar master walked past him and gave Serinde the slightest of winks.
She shook her head. If this had been their plan all along, it was a very poor one. She grabbed her oar and muttered to the woman beside her.
“Don’t let go,” she said. “Tell me if you’re getting tired and I’ll pull harder, but whatever you do, don’t take your hands off the oar.”
The sound of a whip cracked above them.
“No talking!” the oar master barked, taking his place at the back of the boat, weapon in hand and ready to whip any who disobeyed him. Serinde knew all too well. She put her hands to her oar, ready to row for hours on end.
What bothered her the most about her current circumstances wasn’t the dreary, cold, and oppressive place she was chained to. It was that she had been a slave once and tasted freedom. And it was something she couldn’t easily let go. She would be free again.
Or die in the attempt.
32: With Haste
Ealrin grabbed Blume as she fell sideways onto the cave floor. The little tree shuddered and then its light went out. A hole, large enough for him to fit through, opened in the cave wall and light from outside streamed in. It wasn’t as bright as that morning had been; it was dim and spoke of the afternoon setting into evening.
“Was that because of her, or something else?” Silverwolf asked, pointing at Blume.
Ealrin shrugged and looked down at Blume. Her eyes were open and a faint, otherworldly glow was coming from them. Her amulet was emanating the same faint, green aura.
Was this magic?
Another tremor shook the cave. A cloud of dust and debris came from the tunnel they had just come from, signaling that they had lost that way of escape through the mountain.
“No time to figure it out!” Ealrin shouted. “Out we go!”
He pointed to the opening and saw Holve nod at his suggestion. The gruff man barked at the group.
“One at a time,” he ordered. “No pushing.”
And so, one by one, they filed through the slim opening.
“You know that could close up with the next shake right?” Silverwolf asked as it became her turn to walk through the slit. She eyed it warily.
“And this whole cave could be rubble with the next shake, too,” Holve said. “Move!”
She shrugged but moved through the small opening with speed. Ealrin couldn’t blame her. It did look rather intimidating.
“Do you think you can walk?” Ealrin asked Blume as she hadn’t yet stood to her feet. He, Blume, Jurrin, and Holve were the last in the cave, except for Nerashi, who had laid stoically throughout the tremors. Jurrin was by her side, speaking words Ealrin couldn't hear.
“Yes,” she said as she got to her knees and then stood up shakily. “I’ll be fine.”
Without another word, she walked through the gap.
“The kid is resilient,” Holve said. “You do realize what she’s been through in the last two years would finish off most grown men, right?”
Ealrin had to agree. Blume had seen her fair share of tragedy and trial. Yet here she was, feet still moving forward.
“What about you, Jurrin?” he asked the halfling, who turned at the sound of his name.
“Ready to go, Mister Ealrin!” he said as he turned and walked out through the hole, having a much easier time than the rest of the company.
Holve and Ealrin both shuffled through afterwards. Nerashi said they should get going and gave no explanation to her calmness.
“Just go,” she said. “Follow the beach back around west until you find your friend’s ship.”
Feeling no obligation to argue, Ealrin did just that. The newly broken rock scraped his back and his chest in intervals, but posed no more difficulty of him walking through the gap than a really tight fitting hall. In moments, he was out of the cave and crawling up a sandy embankment. The rest of the company was standing, waiting for the two of them.
“No sign yet as to what’s causing the quakes,” Felicia said as Ealrin stood to his feet and brushed sand off his knees. “Better find the ship.”
There was no argument to that point, so they set off west with a slight jog. The island’s trees and jagged rocks prevented them from seeing what lay beyond the curve of the beach, where their ride hopefully stood waiting for them.
“Bah,” Gorplin panted as they kept up the pace. “I’m not a runner.”
“Suck it up, shorty,” Silverwolf said, giving a burst of speed that led her to the front of the pack and to the turn of the beach. As soon as she rounded the corner, Ealrin saw her stop and drop her arms to her sides.
When the rest of them arrived at the turn with her, they saw why she had come up short. Ealrin let out a deep sigh.
“Why did I think this was going to be easy?” he asked no one in particular.
Three other ships, all flying the flag of Blood Spire, were
anchored on the shore by their own. From the looks of it, no less than fifty stood on the beach, gathered around a circle of people who were tied up and seated on the sand.
POINTING AND SHOUTING told them that they had been seen.
“Do we run back or try to fight?” Silverwolf asked, turning to Holve.
He spun his spear once and then gripped it tightly.
“I think we can take them,” he said. “There aren’t too many.”
Brendt snorted.
“There are five for every one of us!” he complained, almost taking a step back.
Gorplin hefted his axe.
“Bah. You haven’t fought with this group before.”
Even Jurrin was looking grim as he pulled a knife from his belt.
“We’ve all seen a fair bit of action, right, Mister Urt?”
The Skrilx hadn’t said anything. He had only drawn two blades from his back. That spoke well enough for him.
Ealrin looked at Blume. She still seemed to be a little unsettled on her feet.
“Are you alright?” he asked her, putting a hand to her shoulder.
She looked up at him and patted his hand.
“Fine,” she replied. He knew that he had asked her that question several times in the last hour, but this time he saw in her eyes that she truly meant it when she answered him. Either she was determined to be fine despite her circumstances, or she was really feeling like her old self. “Better get ready for a fight.”
She said this as she drew out the sword Silverwolf had loaned her. Ealrin had heard the assassin remind Blume several times it was still being borrowed and to take care of it. He gripped his own sword, feeling the familiar warm feeling it exuded every time he was about to enter a battle.
“Everyone ready?” Holve asked as the people on the shore began to run in their direction, leaving only a few guarding the prisoners. Ealrin nodded, as did the rest of their group. Brendt was the last to draw out his hammer, looking like he much rather would have stayed behind than get caught up in this mess.
