by RG Long
"Fortunately," Holve continued, "most of the cities of the Southern Republic have a port of some kind. If we head north that would also put us closer to Thoran. What do you think Ealrin?"
The decision didn't seem like a difficult one, however Ealrin knew that their first priority was to find water. Without it, neither of them would be able to make a journey of any kind.
"I think we ought to head north," he replied. "But not before we find some water."
Holve nodded at him. In that small movement, Ealrin could see his obvious pain.
"I'm glad to see that losing your memory hasn't affected your common sense. You know what you're talking about."
Was Holve really that surprised? Ealrin didn't like being treated like a youth. But seeing as how Holve was injured, he would let it go. This time.
"I'll ask you another question, from where does the sea get its water?"
From the sky when it rains, Ealrin thought, though still a bit annoyed at the young pupil treatment. Then some of it was always there, also. And from...
"A river," he said out loud. He looked to his right and his left, north and south on the beach respectively. He couldn't tell if a river was nearby or not. And if one was not nearby, could they indeed walk far enough to find one?
"Exactly," Holve said as he started back to the lean to. Ealrin followed him.
"There are two rivers that feed into the Forean Sea on the west coast of The Southern Republic. And unless I was out cold for a week, and you swam us to the other side of Ruyn, we should be less than a day's journey to either a river or a port. Either way we can restock and resupply, but it's imperative that we continue north to Thoran."
Ealrin realized he hadn't asked Holve the reason they were going there in the first place.
"Blast!" Holve said after Ealrin had asked him why they must get to Thoran. "My notes! My maps! I'd only just now remembered!"
He'd spent the better part of three days writing copious notes in his journal, which now undoubtedly lay at the bottom of the sea.
"Oh well," he said. "Nothing changing that now. Let's get going. I'll explain why to Thoran later."
After they had gathered their weapons, folded the sail, and arranged it so Ealrin could carry it on his back, the two began walking north. It was slow going due to Holve, whose leg had been injured during the battle. Thankfully the cut was not deep, and the blade was not poisoned. Ealrin had cut a piece of the sail off, and wrapped the wound sufficiently to stop the bleeding. The sand had gotten the wound infected slightly, but not so bad that it required immediate attention. They washed it with the salt water in order to stop it from spreading.
Perhaps, Ealrin thought, we were fortunate after all.
It was indeed half a day's journey to the river. He was thankful for Holve's knowledge of the land. Without him, Ealrin may have decided to head inland in hopes of finding a lake or city without knowing where one might actually be.
They drank from the flowing and fresh water freely, filling their empty bellies. Ealrin was beginning to have headaches of his own. The cool water was refreshing and drove the pain away from his head, as well as his badly chapped mouth.
While they spent time drinking, Holve was able to spear two fish. Being injured had not affected his skill.
Holve, after inspecting his catch, looked at Ealrin, "Gather some of the dryer wood farther away from the river. Leave me your sword."
Holve had gathered some dry brush, and cleared a space of grass and weeds until it was mostly bare earth.
Ealrin was staring at him, trying to figure out what he was doing.
"Get us some wood Ealrin, otherwise we'll eat this fish while they are still wiggling!"
That was enough of a thought to turn Ealrin's stomach and cause him to search for wood. He handed Holve his weapon, and walked up from the river to where the forest bed was no longer moist from the river. There were enough branches to give him an armful of wood in no time at all.
He returned to Holve and, to his surprise, saw a small fire started in the brush he had collected. He dropped his wood next to Holve, who was busy cleaning the fish. He sat down beside him.
"I’m glad to have you as a traveling companion," Ealrin told him as he put a fish on a smaller branch he had collected in order to cook it over the fire.
Holve just grunted, and began to clean another fish.
"It's been a while since I've traveled with anyone honestly," said Holve as he watched his fish begin to steam. The smell of it made Ealrin's mouth water. He had been trying very hard not to think about how hungry he was.
"Roland had mentioned that," Ealrin said, saying the name of Roland with a pang in his voice. He only knew the man for a short time, and yet now it felt odd to be without him here. Why did Holve travel alone so often? Ealrin couldn’t bear the idea of dealing with the loss of so many, and the prospect of walking to the next city without being sure of where he was by himself.
"Perhaps it’s sufficed to say that several places I travel to, are beyond what most would consider dangerous. It has generally been more wise to travel alone than to risk being uncovered by having a large traveling party."
Holve's voice was still normal, but buried within it, Ealrin sensed a grimness he had only heard once before: when he was mentioning the goblins. To where had Holve traveled that required he bring as little attention to himself as possible? He was about to ask when Holve began speaking again, cutting him off.
"You had asked why it was so important that we travel to Thoran. Well, to answer that, I must tell you that I am in the service of King Thoran the IV. He is both a wise and good king. He treats his people as if they were his children. He cares deeply for them. What concerns him is a gang of thieves, robbers, and sell-swords who simply are known as the Mercs. It fits them well as they are primarily a group of hired warriors. The Southern Republic employed their services for a time, in order to put down a rebellion in one of their own cities. Unknown to them, the Mercs were responsible for the rebellion itself. Only with the help of King Thoran were they able to route the bandits and drive them into the Crescent Mountains. At the time, they were crushed beyond survival, so the pursuit of them was halted. Or so it had seemed. That was ten years ago now. Not only have they survived, but also they have grown in numbers that threaten the lives of many once again. This time they are moving up the eastern coast of the Southern Republic, or so my intelligence says, and are making their way to the Kingdom of Thoran."
Holve gave a great sigh. Ealrin could tell this weighed heavily on him. The sound of their fire and fish cooking intermingled with the occasional sea bird call.
"It would appear that they wish to settle a score with the King himself. I've been gathering as much information about them as possible from those who trust me and know about such matters. That was why I was at Good Harbor. It tends to be an excellent place to garner information about people who are more dubious in nature. I've learned much about their leader and his purposes, and intend to report my findings to the king as soon as possible. Unfortunately, I was hoping to sway many of the crew aboard the White Wind to join our cause. Captain Stormchaser had been gathering those individuals for that very purpose while I collected information. That part of my mission has failed. I wonder why the goblins went undetected and attacked us so viciously. I assume they mean to raid the Southern Republic, but the ports along the inland are much more guarded than Good Harbor. I suppose time will tell. Now let me eat my fish as I see you've all but finished yours!"
The fish in Ealrin's stomach was quite satisfying. On top of the water he had consumed, he almost felt full. He sat and watched Holve eat, and thought about what he had said.
Mercenary raiders. Goblin ships. Countries dealing with rebellions. A king to whom Holve was in service. And a boat full of warriors meant to repel a threat now dead. It was like a story that meant the continent of Ruyn was a dangerous place for anyone. What part would Ealrin play in it all? He was unsure of any affiliation of his to a country. What
would become of him after he arrived in Thoran with Holve? Would he find himself useful to the king as Holve had intended the crew of the White Wind to be?
Of his intended recruits for King Thoran, the only one he had managed to bring safely this far was unintentional.
What were the fates doing with Ealrin, he wondered.
***
AFTER HOLVE HAD EATEN, they again discussed their options.
"If this is the river I believe it is," Holve said, "then there's a city a day's walk upstream. But that will take us further east instead of north. It'll be a little out of our way, but we can restock and resupply there."
"We haven't any money or goods to trade," Ealrin pointed out.
Holve chuckled and replied, "You'll soon learn that I know a great many people who owe me favors, or are generally good willed in my direction. In Weyfield, I have both."
And with that, the pair began to follow the river away from the coast and towards the east.
Keeping near the water had plenty of advantages for the traveling pair. It meant that whenever they became thirsty they were able to drink, and the river's water had proved a valuable asset to a great many trees as well. They found a berry bush that sustained them for the better part of the afternoon as they continued to walk. Holve speared a few more fish that they intended to cook once it became too dark to travel safely.
When night fell and the two could no longer see well, they set up the sail by hanging it on some tree branches and then over to another. It wasn't as sturdy as a lean-to, but it would shelter them through the night. It also served a dual role in blocking the fire from any suspicious eyes.
"I learned a long time ago that fires at night on the road attract trouble. You're best to avoid being seen by them if you can," Holve told Ealrin as he cooked his second fish of the day. "And for your future information, Weyfield is certainly up this river. Just a half days walk more I think. The river that runs past it is surrounded by forest that is. The river down south is more of a grassy plains area. We aren't as far off of our course to Thoran as we could have been."
Ealrin was glad for that news. His back was beginning to protest sleeping on the ground. But for now, he was glad to have a belly full of fish, berries, and water. Perhaps Holve is owed a favor by the owner of a nice inn located in Weyfield?
With a full stomach and his thirst quenched, Ealrin was able to think about the crew of the White Wind without a bitter sorrow this night. Roland's death was easier to handle on a full stomach.
Still.
He wished more of the crew had survived. He knew for sure the dwarves had not. Their bodies were strewn about the deck. They also wanted to go down fighting. Ealrin knew he had seen at least one of the elves dead. The other was sure to have fallen to the goblins as well. And now that he thought about it, he wasn't certain of the fate of Urt or Captain Stormchaser either. He tried to push the thoughts of his fellow shipmates’ fallen bodies from his mind.
That night his dreams were painful, but something else also stirred with him.
A desire to fight back.
18: Dwarven Stubbornness
Frerin and Khali stood on the ancient docks of the city of River Head. The stones on which they stood would receive ships sailing from Good Harbor and further locations. Boats both large and small would anchor next to these rocks pulled from the base of the surrounding mountains.
Frerin was fascinated with the architecture and design of the docks, even if they were man-made.
"I'm telling you Khali," he said as they stood staring off into the horizon. "There’s a thing or two a dwarf could learn from the stonework of a man."
"Bah," Khali huffed.
It was plain to Frerin that Khali was not as taken with the design and flow of the ancient harbor as he was.
Yes, dwarves build things that are sturdy and can stand the test of time it's true, thought Frerin. But as he looked at the intricate designs woven into the top of the surface of the dock, he was more than a little interested in the handiwork that had been done many ages ago by a man.
It was certainly a strange tendency of Frerin to think so highly of anything constructed by a man. Most dwarves held such pride in their work that they saw anything made by the other races as sub par at best. The dwarven halls of the south and the glorious capital of the dwarves to the west certainly out shined the city of River Head in almost every aspect.
Still, Frerin appreciated the work of others not his own race when many dwarves would simply turn up their noses at the notion that someone could create something beautiful out of stone better than they.
Looking behind him, he could see the city of River Head, nestled in between two mountains, and admired the stonework of the city there as well. Like many of the cities in Thoran, this one was made predominantly of stones and rock. Most of the roofs were constructed of wooden planks to be sure, but everyone knew how long the stones would last. If they were well tended to, nice houses that have stood for 100 years could last on for a hundred more.
Frerin turned his attention back to the sea, scanning for the ship they had been waiting on for the last two weeks. Holve was meant to arrive during the first full moon of summer. Frerin looked up to the sky and saw the sinking twin suns on one horizon and the rising half-moon on the other.
For the first time since Frerin had met General Holve, he was late.
"What do you suppose has kept him?" Frerin asked Khali for at least the third time today. And Khali's reply was the same as it has been for the last two weeks.
"Bah. Don't worry about it, Frerin. We will find out when he gets here."
Khali spat into the ocean.
It was a common thing for him to do, and Frerin had made it a habit of standing far enough away from his older companion to never be hit by stray spittle.
The two dwarves had traveled together for decades. It had been thirty years ago today that they had met when the goblins in the West had sailed to the Southern Republic. Their raids had caused several dwarves to emerge from their mountain homes and defend their country. It had been the first real test of the unity between the races of the Southern Republic since their founding one hundred years ago. Frerin and Khali fought side-by-side against the goblin hordes that threatened their ancient home.
Unfortunately, that same home would eventually fall to the goblins and be crushed underneath the weight of countless thousands of the gray skinned beasts. Too overcome with grief due to the loss of their ancient home, the pair had traveled north into the mountains of Thoran. It was there that they had met a very young king Thoran, for whom they had saved from bandits that had attacked him on one of his early hunting expeditions. After witnessing their fighting prowess, he begged them to join his elite group of fighters as soldiers who could train other dwarves to fight for Thoran. Having no other place to call home, the pair accepted and have been in his service ever since as part of "The King's Swords."
Though technically neither of them wielded a sword.
Being dwarves, they preferred the weapons of their race: Frerin a battle hammer, Khali a double-handed long ax, or halberd as they were called. The two would often get into a heated argument about which was the better weapon.
"Since my halberd’s forging it has slain 400 goblins, and I claim at least a third of those," Khali would argue.
"Ah, but my hammer has crushed the walls of several goblin settlements, and not to mention a fair few of their skulls as well. It's obviously the better weapon for ridding the world of that scum," Frerin would counter.
Today, however, there was no talk about which was the better weapon. There was no reminiscing about their old mountain home. The two didn't swap stories of who had drunk the most ale, or climbed one of the continent's many mountains.
Today the pair only looked out to sea.
"As far as I'm concerned," Frerin said, "something has happened and we ought to go looking for him."
"Oh sure," Khali replied with a large dose of sarcasm and annoyance. "Let's both jump
in the harbor and start swimming. We'll find him in no time. "Frerin knew that part of the reason for his friend’s hostility was the absence of the general. He paid it no mind.
"And as far as I'm concerned, the both of you are old worrywarts," came a voice from behind them. The elf who had spoken was walking on the dock and in usual light footed manner. They say that an elf could walk right behind you in a forest, and unless they wanted you to, you would never know you were being trailed. Lote as a fair looking elf with brown hair that flowed down to her waist. Most of the time it was tied up with a ribbon or piece of cloth. Some mistook this for a needless accessory.
Lote wore it in order to keep the hair from her eyes when shooting her bow. Among her own kin, she was a deadly shot.
As she came up behind the dwarves she crossed her arms and looked down at them. She was tall, even for an elf, and had a long way to look.
"Both of you are worried sick about Holve, and there's no denying it."
Khali made to protest and began to point his short finger up at the elf but she cut across him.
"If you weren't so concerned about him, you wouldn't be standing on this dock along with Frerin, Khali Son of Karven." Frerin chuckled as he looked at his friend. He knew that Khali despised being addressed as his father's son. There was some bad blood there that when brought up in conversation could always get a rise out of Khali.
But then he noticed that the elf also looked out to sea with a hint of worry in her eyes.
"He'll show up," she said. Frerin guessed that it was more to reassure herself than to stop the worry of her two dwarven companions.
"At any rate," she said, returning her glare to the pair of dwarves. "We have been summoned back to the castle. We had better make haste."
With that, she turned around and began to walk back toward the city of River Head. Frerin watched her go for a moment, and then looked back at the horizon. He closed his fist and stuck his hand straight out to sea: a common sailor salute.
