by RG Long
Ingur lay in ruins.
The towers of their sister city lay crushed and broken among the ruins of what was once a beautiful elven metropolis. Trees that were older than the elders lay fallen and burned. These revered forest sentinels would no longer stand to protect the dwellers of the woods.
There had been no answer for their calls to aid because there was no one left to respond.
Wisym gave the command to search the rubble for survivors, sure in her heart that there would be none.
The elves at her command spread out and searched underneath stones, trees, and bodies for any sign of life.
Wisym herself walked through the city with her constant companion, Ithrel, at her side. The words of the elder still hung in her ears as she made her way to the elder tower of Ingur.
As they were sister cities, the towers that held their elders were identical to one another. Therefore Wisym knew that underneath the great raised platform was a bunker of sorts: the very last line of survival among the residents of an elven city.
When she arrived at the tower, there were hardly any ruins to search.
The massive tower of Ingur that housed no less than seven elders lay toppled in on itself. If there were survivors underneath the platform, they were beyond reach.
Wisym could imagine their pleas for help in her mind. Screams of desperate elves trapped under a mountain of rubble.
Wait, she thought, that was not made up in her head.
Wisym really did hear someone yelling for help. She turned to her friend to confirm what her ears were telling her, that someone nearby was alive.
"Elves!" Wisym cried out, knowing that some of the warriors she had brought from Talgel were close by. "To me!"
She followed the sounds, first faint and far away. As she ventured away from the tower of elders and more toward the center of the city, the plea for help grew louder in her ears.
The center of town, as she had remembered it from its previous glory, used to be a beautiful sight. A white stone fountain stood in the middle of a courtyard paved with stones. Twelve beautiful and ancient trees rose up in a circle around the fountain. Around one half of the circle were the shops where elvish craftsmen and artisans could sell their wares. Around the other half stood the homes of ancient and noble families. This was a gathering place of the elves here. This was a place of business and training as well as a place to celebrate and commune with one another.
But the place she remembered in her mind's eye was very far away from the reality she saw when she entered the city center.
All that remained in the once glorious fountain was rubble. The pool that it had fed into it was ruined and, in one section, broken, allowing a steady stream of water to flow out of it.
The bodies of elves, warriors, children, women, and the old lay scattered in and among the city center. No one was spared for mercy or for pity. All were killed.
Save for the one elf that still cried out for help.
Wisym turned from the shops and followed the sounds of the voice in the shadow of one of the homes that surrounded the circular plaza.
And there outside of one of the houses, yet hidden underneath the trunk of one of the great ancient trees that surrounded the old fountain and other debris, lay a young servant elf. He could be no older than thirty, a child by elf reckoning. After clearing away some of the debris, she could see his eyes. He looked terrified. At the same time, as he looked into the eyes of Wisym, she saw a flood of relief wash over his face.
“Quick! Over here!” Wisym called.
Several elves came to aid her. They lifted the tree off of the young elf that had trapped his leg to the ground. Wisym looked at the leg and said a silent thanks to her elders; it was not crushed.
Several elves lifted the boy out of the rumble and laid him down close by, not wanting to move him much in case he was injured internally.
“What happened here?” Wisym asked him. “Was it goblins?”
In her heart, she knew the answer. Though throughout the whole city she saw fallen elves, there was not one body of an attacker. No goblin corpse littered the streets. Goblins don’t clean up after a battle. Goblins leave their dead in hopes to spawn more of their filth.
The arrows and shields that lay smashed in the streets were not the crude things made by goblin armorers.
These were much better made.
These were too well adorned.
The elf boy shook his head and spoke, though his voice was hoarse from lack of water and weak from lack of food.
“Men.”
As the boy spoke the word, Wisym heard the drums of goblins in the forest. Side by side with the trumpets of the armies of men.
It was a deafening sound. As if thousands marched upon them.
She looked desperately for her scouts, who were stationed around the perimeter of the city. Ithrel placed a hand on her shoulder and pointed to the wall of Ingur. A scout was signaling to Wisym with a bow in one hand and an arrow in another. The signals were those used by elves who were great distances away from one another and so could not hear, but with their elven eyes could still see.
As Wisym saw the signs, she spoke them out loud.
“Men. Goblins. Thousand. Thousand. Thousand. Thousand. West. Fire.”
Her decision was made as she scooped up the young elf.
“To the harbor. There is nothing left for us to defend here.”
She looked down the street that led to the ocean harbor of Ingur and prayed that there would be a ship they could salvage. If they marched from the west, Talgel had fallen as well or was besieged and beyond the help of their small army.
There was nothing to go home to.
“We sail.”
21: Holve’s Surprises
Ealrin carried Blume until the light of day was fading. They decided it would be wiser to make their camp for the night away from the road in case Merc Raiders came looting down that road again. The provisions Holve had found made them a decent supper. Their camp was in the valley of two hills providing them cover from the road. No one would be able to see them or their fire and in the failing light, their smoke would be undetectable.
For a long time, the three sat in silence and ate the small loaves of bread and cooked fowl Holve had managed to kill with his spear. His accuracy with his weapon of choice was incredible to see.
It was Holve, who finished his meal first and broke the silence.
"Blume, I know the past day must have been the worst in your life, but do you think you could share with us anything you had heard about the Mercs before they attacked Weyfield?"
Ealrin could tell that Holve was both trying to be gentle in the asking and to also get whatever information from her he could. Perhaps it would help him learn more about the Raiders activities in the Southern Republic. Still, it may be too soon to expect Blume to give them any pertinent information considering the trauma of the day.
To his great surprise, she answered Holve. Her tone was flat and matter of fact, but she began to tell about how she had heard of the events leading up to today would unfold.
"The traders who came to my mom and dad's shop had talked about the Mercs making them pay for safe passage through the roads south of Weyfield. They all knew it was a payment to ensure that they would not be harmed by the Mercs themselves. That was what they meant by a "safe passage." They were the only bandits on the road to worry about. The merchants kept paying the fees because they knew they could make it back and they valued their necks. It meant that they charged more for their goods. Mom and dad often talked about how unfair it was."
"Then, one day, a shipment of Woodlander Elven cloth was supposed to come into town. Instead of cloths, the cart that came into town carried the bodies of the Elven merchants. Scrawled on the cart were the words "unclean." My friend, the girl elf, had known many of them personally. She was devastated. Then later, the same thing happened with a dwarven shipment of weapons from the west, except this time it was a ship. All who were on board, men, wo
men, dwarf and elf were killed. Again a word was carved into its hull: "filth."
"Two days ago, a man in red robes came through town. His head was shaved, but his beard was long. He had a strange metal collar around his neck, as if he was chained to something. He carried a long pole with a sign on top that simply read: Cleanse the Unclean. He warned us to get rid of all the non-humans in the town or else judgment would come. A couple of the city folk ran him off and called him crazy."
"I guess today was what he warned us about. No one thought that anything would come of it. My family and I have always had a good relationship with anyone who came into our store, human or not. It's so wrong."
At this, she stopped talking and rested her chin on her arms. She had drawn her legs close to her and still huddled under the blanket Ealrin had borrowed from the house of Holve's friend. She stared into the fire, her eyes reflecting the flickering flames.
Ealrin thought for a time. Humans trying to destroy the other races? What was the meaning of this? All the dwarves and elves he had met had been wonderful company. They had the quirks and differences of their race about them of course, but to call them filth? That was beyond ridiculous. But to kill them just because they were not human? That's insanity. It was unthinkable. Who could stir an army of Raiders to believe that killing innocent dwarves and elves as well as other non-humans to be the right course of action? Such a person must truly be evil in their very core.
"Such talk is not unheard of," said Holve as he packed away the remaining food. "There are many who would rather believe that there is someone to blame for their problems."
"What problems could originate with the elves and the dwarves?" Ealrin asked, lost for how such a connection could be made.
"Well," said Holve. "Say for example you had a bad harvest this last fall. In reality it may just be that there was no rain, or it got too hot during the summer, or for a myriad of other reasons. But what if someone convinced you that it was due to dwarven mining."
Ealrin scoffed.
"No, listen," Holve said in answer to Ealrin's frustrated tone. "You could make an argument that their forging and mining had tampered with the minerals in the soil. That if the dwarves stop their mining that your crops would be better. Now, try to convince a dwarf to stop mining. It can't be done! It's their way of life. And so if you can't convince him to stop, you force him to. By whatever means necessary. It is cruel when you think about it. But what if having those crops means putting food on your table? What if having those crops means your family can live? Do you suppose that someone would do anything to keep his family from starving? Men have gone to war for much less than that."
Ealrin thought about his words. Would he really come to terms with such a violent proposition if it meant that those he loved most dear would survive? Would he allow himself to believe that all of his worries were really caused by an entire race or races?
"Dad didn't believe that," Blume said without taking her eyes off the fire. "He said your problems were your own. That it was foolish to blame others for your own hardships. Some said it was because of the Dark Comet. I don’t believe that either. They did this themselves and should be punished. Dad said everyone is responsible for their own life."
Blume was certainly much wiser than her years gave her credit for. Her parents must have truly loved her to instill such wisdom and knowledge into this little girl.
"I hope we encounter more people like your parents little Blume." Holve said.
Ealrin agreed.
***
LIGHT BROKE THROUGH the night sky heralding the morning. Ealrin was more than grateful for the coming day.
He had offered to take the second watch of the night and, after being awoken by Holve in the middle of the night, he realized he was more than exhausted. He stoked the fire to provide some extra warmth and sat up as his friend lay down to sleep. They had agreed that they should stay up and look over Blume just in case any raiders or thieves decided to also stay off the beaten path. He watched his two companions; a warrior who had shown himself to be of the highest skill and caliber, and a little girl whose family was violently taken from her and he wondered what their dreams were of. Ealrin could not shake from his mind the visions of violence and bloodshed he had witnessed in the past four days. They haunted him while he slept. He saw Roland being overtaken by the goblins. He saw Blume's brother being run through with the Raider's sword.
He imagined what it might have been like to arrive in Thoran, surrounded by new companions and friends, as well as both Holve and Roland. Would the violence that haunted him now reach him eventually? Surely the Mercs would still have attacked Weyfield? And if Holve and Ealrin had not been there, would Blume be alive at this moment? Would she have been left to the despicable desires of the Mercs?
He pushed the thought from his mind.
It would be best to take his own advice, move on from what was past him and seek instead to bring justice to those who had committed the terrible acts of the past week. He would not sit idly by while the innocent suffered. He would do whatever it took to fight back against such terrible evils.
And in his heart, he knew that this feeling was not only familiar, but also right.
***
AS THE FIST SUN PEAKED over the hill they had camped behind, Ealrin nudged Holve awake.
"Better get a move on, I suppose," he told his groggy companion.
Holve rose to his feet and walked around the camp once, twice, and then a third time. Ealrin supposed this was to get his blood flowing and his mind alert. Waking up was always the hardest part of the day for Ealrin.
"I certainly hope I don't snore as loudly as you do, friend," Holve said, looking down at Ealrin, who was now putting out the fire and attempting to erase the evidence of there ever being one here.
"You both snore and it's quite awful," said Blume, startling both men slightly. She had seemed to be in the deepest of sleep.
Holve let out a grunt, but then bent down to one knee to speak to her.
"Do you think you can walk today little one?" He asked her.
"I will try. Especially if you stop calling me little one," she replied as she sat up, the blanket still surrounding her. "I'm nearly fourteen years old."
"My apologies, Miss Dearcrest," Holve gave a slight nod of his head, bowing to Blume.
Perhaps Ealrin had misjudged his friend. At first he thought that Holve would begrudge bringing her to the next village and not treat her well. He was wrong and glad he was. Holve was great with her.
Blume smiled at him and said, "Apology accepted Mister..."
"Bravestead, milady. Holve Bravestead," he said as he rose to his feet. "And this is the brave Sir Ealrin Belouve. Or at least, we think he is."
Blume's face showed her confusion at Holve's statement. Ealrin stepped in.
"To take your mind off of walking and other things, let me tell you a story: mine so far," Ealrin said, holding out a hand to help Blume to her feet. She took his hand and got up. He noticed she still clung to the chest that Holve had extracted from her house.
After they had ensured that the roads looked clear, they began walking down the path and west towards Breyland.
Telling his tale indeed took their minds off the current tragedy they were facing. Blume asked some of the same questions Ealrin had already heard, but was still unable to answer.
But then, after he finished answering the questions he could, she asked him “Do you think your family misses you?”
Looking down at the little girl by his side, he answered her truthfully, “I hope I have a family at all. And if I do, I don’t want them to worry too much. I intend to find them at some point. Finding them, however, will mean that I’ll need to remember where I’m from in the first place!”
“I hope you do remember,” Blume said, returning his gaze. Her face was sad. It was no small wonder. She had lost everything dear to her. Ealrin had the hope that his family was alive somewhere and searching for him. Blume had no hope for a family.
They were gone. Perhaps she clung to hope for Ealrin because she had none of her own?
Ealrin again turned his attention to the road ahead of them. They hadn’t met anyone since beginning their journey and it was nearly midday. Either the Mercs had come this way and it was already too late for Breyland or something else stopped the travelers and merchants from coming south. Ealrin feared they would know soon enough.
“What’s in the chest, Blume?” he asked as he walked side by side with her.
She shuffled it in her arms. It was just big enough to be carried under one arm, but she clung to it with both hands and kept it near her chest.
“It’s our family treasure,” she said warily. Apparently she did not completely trust them. And perhaps she was right not to. Aside from saving her from the Merc raider who was carrying her away, they were strangers to her. While she might have trusted them to watch over her while she slept, she was not yet willing to tell them what lay inside her chest. And that was okay.
“I don’t doubt that it will be safe with you, Blume,” Ealrin said. He hoped this conveyed that he had no desire to remove it from her. It was what she desired to remember her family by, he guessed. Let her hold it for as long as she liked.
He desired to change the subject, and asked Holve another question.
“What do you suppose the Merc’s are trying to accomplish by raiding cities that harbor nonhuman races?”
“That is a question I’ve been thinking on since we came to Weyfield. I don’t understand their reasoning. When the elders of the Republic hired the Mercs originally, they were nothing more than a group of mercenaries who sought to make money. The trick was they had incited the rebellion they were meant to crush. No one was sure of their meaning then, and I’m surprised by their resurgence. And I must say that it takes a lot to surprise me when it comes to the goings on of Ruyn. Like the goblins. I can’t help but wonder that the two are interconnected in some way that I cannot yet see.”
