by RG Long
47: A Fresh Start
The warm breeze caught Ealrin by surprise. It had been a cold winter. The city of Lone Peak had pulled together every resource they could find. Many of the cities in Darrion had sent them provisions, as had Death’s Gate. In the wake of the destruction of Enoth, the continent of Irradan had pulled together in order to survive a difficult season, hoping for a fresh start.
Ealrin was standing on the wall of Lone Peak, having volunteered for the city guard since so many had given their lives during the assault. The rest of his group had mostly done the same, save for Gorplin. The dwarf had gone back to the Death’s Gate dwarven holds in order to help them improve their halls.
Come spring, both he and Silverwolf were set to return to Lone Peak to report on their endeavors, though what the assassin was up to, Ealrin didn’t know.
He turned to look out to the sea below. Ships were sailing back and forth through choppy, wintery waters. The captains were risking a lot, but starvation was something that everyone wanted to avoid.
Felicia and Urt had offered to run on these dangerous trips. The captain said she had been away from a captain’s wheel far too long to walk around a city guarding it. Ealrin couldn’t blame her. Mostly the city’s guard was on the lookout for small bands of elves looking to raid Darrion supply carts and a few clans of Wrents. The fox beasts had been relatively silent, but some still roamed the land, attacking anyone foolish enough to travel in small groups.
The suns were nearly below the horizon. Ealrin was eagerly waiting for his replacement. His stomach was growling and his feet were weary with all day guard duty. Plus, it had been rather boring. Nothing had come up all day long.
“Volunteer Guard, Ealrin?” came a voice from behind him. Ealrin turned around on the spot, looking for the owner of the voice. He quickly adjusted his view up. Before him stood one of the tallest and biggest guards he had run across. The man was saluting him with one hand. In the other, he held the hand of a short, black-haired elf with a distant expression on her face. She carried a small torch, which lit her face in an odd light.
“Lincoln, right?” he asked, returning the salute and smiling at the elf.
“I’m your replacement,” he said. “You’re relieved.”
“Thanks,” Ealrin said, sheathing his sword and walking down the wall’s path to the stairs. He looked over his shoulder as he went. The elf was sitting on the wall, her feet dangling dangerously off the edge. Lincoln was ruffling for something in his coat.
He turned back and walked down the steps, treading the familiar path to his bed for the evening. The warm breeze followed him as he walked through the streets. Many were huddled around fires and eating the portions they had been rationed for their evening meals.
The houses of Darrion had, for once, worked together in order to preserve their nation. They were giving out food once a week. It was up to the populace to eat it in the correct portions.
Come spring, there would be more food. At least, that was the hope. The elves of the southern kingdom were willing to offer what they could in way of seeds and crops. Enoth was no more, but what was left of the eleven cities to the south had arranged themselves into three separate kingdoms, whose borders were ancient, even by elvish standards.
It took a while and the city was dark now, but Ealrin finally arrived at the familiar house of the Brewers. The young family had managed to survive their capture by the Priest of the Comet and the Enoth rule of Lone Peak. They happily accepted the newcomers into their home, especially since volunteer guards were given extra rations. Ealrin, Holve, and Jurrin gladly shared what they were given with the family.
He knocked and entered the door. A few patrons were still there, drinking coffee and spending their evening distracted from the cold and their woes. A smile creased his face as the familiar smell came to him and he crossed the common area to the door that led to their kitchen. Sara was cooking up something that smelled delicious.
The kitchen was filled with people. Jurrin was at the stove with Sara. Holve sat at a desk with a candle and several papers sprawled out before him. Blume was playing with the baby. Or trying to. The little kid was in tears.
Sara abandoned her cooking and grabbed her from Blume.
“Must be time for bed,” she said distractedly. “Hello, Ealrin. Welcome back.”
Ealrin sat at the table while Jurrin brought him a bowl of stew.
“Long day, Mister Ealrin?” he asked.
“Not bad,” Ealrin replied, taking a spoon and devouring the first few bites of stew without even tasting it. He was ravenous.
After taking a breath, he looked over at Holve.
“Any news?” he asked. This had been his common question to the old man whenever he was at his desk. Letters often came from their friends, now spread over the continent. Every so often, a new bit of information came from one of them, letting them know how they were surviving the winter. It had been a few days since they had received any new letters. The ships brought them whenever they could, but often the letters were delayed.
“Surprisingly,” Holve said as he lifted one piece of parchment up off the desk and turned to them. “Yes.”
Blume got up off the floor and came to the table, where Jurrin served her and himself a bowl of the stew. Holve brought his own over from the desk.
Holve settled himself down and cleared his throat.
“So, Amrolan and Elen sent word that they had settled the elves, both on the island with the tree and in the portions of the forest not burned or cut down by the empire. Then we got the letter from Gorplin that everything was going alright in Death’s Gate, right?”
“Still no word from Teresa and Wisym, though,” Blume pointed out, stirring her soup to cool it down.
Holve looked at her and nodded.
“I think Teresa will have a long season to get rid of whatever demons she believes are still inside her,” he said sagely. “Wisym went with her because she understands. We’ll hear from them when they’re ready.”
Blume sighed. Ealrin knew she missed the two. Especially when she only had he, Holve, and Jurrin for company.
“We’ll see them in the spring,” Ealrin said reassuringly.
Blume looked up at him and smiled.
“I know.”
Holve laid the parchment out on the table.
“Well, we haven’t heard from Silverwolf in a while,” he continued. “But it seems she’s written us to say she’s found something. And...”
He trailed off a moment.
“Well, let me just read and you can judge for yourselves.”
Holve cleared his throat again.
To The Brewers and Company, Lone Peak, from Silverwolf, Assassin Extraordinaire
“Humble as always,” Blume interjected.
Holve didn’t correct her, but Ealrin swore he saw a slight crease at the corner of the older man’s lips.
Urgent.
I remember seeing something in Blume’s book about a temple on a far off island. I think I may have found its whereabouts and can guarantee a horde of treasure if we can get out there this spring.
Has Ealrin fixed the flying rowboat yet? If not, tell him to get on it. We’ll need it.
Oh, and bring the girl’s book.
The girl is optional.
In service to no one but willing to split some treasure for a ride,
Silverwolf.
P.S. - Bring a sack of gold. I may have lost a wager on a fight and need to settle a debt before we set out.
“The girl is optional!?” Blume said, soup spilling from her mouth in her anger. “Who does she think she’s dealing with here!?”
A bolt of energy shot from her spoon and put a dark burn mark on the wall.
“Oops...” she said quickly, looking at the spot where the magical blast had hit. It was no larger than her fist, but still, the outline of a circle was burned clearly into the Brewer’s wall.
Ealrin and Holve looked at one another and exchanged a chuckle.
They went back to their meager soup and shared stories of the last year with one another, remembering those they had lost, and the new friends they had found. Jurrin commented on his cooking ability and Blume agreed with him; his creations were becoming more and more edible as the winter ended and spring began.
There was no doubt about it, Ealrin thought to himself as he finished off his soup and looked out at the window towards the night sky. There wasn’t anywhere else he’d rather be than with these friends.
The Story Continues
“Arrows of Ladis”, book seven in the Legends of Gilia series, will be available August 27th, 2018!
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Enjoy the journey,
RG Long
