by RG Long
Why would the elders not send aid to the city of Weyfield? Why would they allow the Mercs to camp in another city and stand idly by? Perhaps there was more at work here than he could see with his own eyes.
He turned towards those gathered with the swords. The thirteen Swords he had traveled with now stood fifteen strong. He had taken Gray’s place among them and Holve was on horseback, ready to travel, although Ealrin and the king had tried their best to convince him to rest.
“I was never one for sitting still for long,” was his only reply as he began strapping his own armor on. “Besides, Ealrin here won’t have a clue what’s going on unless I explain it to him!”
Holve now sat on his horse at Ealrin’s side.
“I’ve been in the service of King Thoran for many years now,” he said with grimness in his voice. “This is only the second time I’ve seen him march to war. Both have been south to deal with the Mercs. I think he knows that giving the Southern Republic to them would spell doom for Thoran. We don’t have the population of the south to add to our numbers. The mountains give us more protection than the people do. Now with the goblins invading as well, I fear there will be hard times for the people of Thoran in the future if this is not dealt with swiftly.”
Ealrin looked at his friend. His eyes were squinted as he surveyed the army marching south. Caravans of supplies followed them, providing them with the necessary food and shelter they would need on their ten-day march to the southern border. If all things went as planned, they would camp at the river and wait for word from the forward scouts sent to entreat the elders of The Southern Republic on how best to aid them.
If they can just make it past the Mercs in Breyland, Ealrin thought.
He turned his horse toward the west along with his fellow soldiers and rode towards River Head to face the goblins.
Their two-day journey would soon reveal the threat they faced in the city of River Head.
A threat that Ealrin hoped would be dealt with swiftly.
***
AS THEY RODE IN FORMATION down the road, Ealrin began to understand how the Swords had organized themselves. To each soldier who was a Sword, they had ten warriors underneath them. Each of them in some way reflected the one who trained them. For example, the elves that had returned from chasing down the Mercs now marched with other elves. They all carried bows. The dwarves, whose legs could never dream of reaching the straps of horses, marched diligently with other dwarves. All of them carried the traditional dwarven weapons: things that were heavy and pointed on the end. Men marched with men. Twenty of them were on horses and another forty marched on foot. Most of them were armed with spears and swords.
The whole company, as diverse as they were, was clothed in the maroon and gold of Thoran. How strange, Ealrin thought, that there are some who see such diversity among the races as impure. How well they would compliment each other in battle! The elves would fire their arrows at the foe, while the men would rush ahead and form the first striking force. Then the dwarves behind them would form the anvil on which the enemy would be deflected.
It was a strong company that marched west and for good reason. If the goblins that had sailed from The Maw had kept most of their strength, they would be facing a horde. Fear was what the Swords were banking on. When a goblin became more fearful of the fight than of its master's whip it would flee the battlefield in a panic. If the Swords could find and defeat the leader of the goblins and his cronies, perhaps a troll or a goblin shaman, the whole army of goblins would falter. Still, Ealrin could not get the sight of countless goblin vessels on the horizon, sailing toward the White Wind, out of his mind. Each must have carried a hundred of the beasts. How many would they find at River Head?
River Head was called so because it stood at the mouth of the river that ran throughout the country of Thoran. It was a trading city and would also send goods down river to the smaller cities of Liaf and Loran. It would make a fine prize for any goblin captain looking for things to steal.
The second day of marching brought the company of soldiers to a hill that ran down to the river and overlooked the city.
Ealrin's heart leapt slightly.
Five goblin ships were docked in the river port that served the walled city of River Head. One was burned black and still smoked in the water. Goblins were everywhere. At least six hundred of the short, gray skinned marauders filled the area just outside the city walls. Thankfully, they had not breached the wall, but they were making a good effort. Three catapults were constructed on the land and were chucking large rocks and pieces of a broken ship at the city.
Thin ladders were attempting to be hoisted to the wall, but were constantly pushed down by River Head's defenders. Men, dwarves, and elves stood on the walls and rained down arrows and rocks at the goblins.
Not all of the might of the goblins had sailed here. Still, they outnumbered the Swords four to one.
Should some of the army have marched here instead?
Holve had led the soldiers all the way here. Ealrin spent the second morning familiarizing himself with the horsemen he was now in charge of. Ealrin barely felt capable of leading himself. Then again, there was something natural when he was directing them. Though his group was used to Gray, as they were his men, they responded well to Ealrin. Being a sword meant leading men.
After two days, he rode up next to Holve. "I don't know if we've enough soldiers to put down this threat, friend," Ealrin said quietly to Holve.
"You've yet to see how we operate," said Holve. "You'd be surprised what can be accomplished with a few soldiers and a lot of strategy."
***
HOLVE WAS RIGHT. WITHIN three hours the King’s Swords were placed in their positions ready for their precision strike against the goblin board. Forty elven archers stood within bow shot of the goblin leaders’ formation. It was easy to tell who was in charge of the battle. Goblins always lead from the back, sending in their cronies to do the dirty work for them. Only when a goblin boss was cornered and trapped would he actually fight the battle himself.
This particular leader stood taller than the goblins he led and was surrounded by tough looking gray skinned warriors and goblin shamans in black hoods.
Ealrin could see the archers moving into position from where he stood with the cavalry and footmen. Once the elves had released their volley of arrows and had taken out the goblin leadership, the men and horse riders would come in from the opposite flank and disrupt the goblin lines more. If the monsters acted according to their nature, once they saw their leaders defeated fear would take over and the gray warriors would flee back to their boats. If they chose to instead flee south away from the shore, they would find their escape blocked by the most fearsome dwarven warriors Ealrin had ever seen.
Elves on the left flank. Men on the right. Dwarves from behind. Ealrin wondered why anyone would fail to appreciate the diversity of races, especially when they worked as one.
One of the elves reflected the light of the twin suns from his blade in the direction of the horses. It was the signal that they were ready to strike. Holve and the other men emerged from the group of trees they had hidden themselves in and let out a battle cry. Howls of rage came from the goblins outside the city walls of River Head. The goblin boss began pushing his cronies towards the new threat that had risen from hiding.
And just as the full company of goblins had turned to their right, hundreds of arrows rained down from the elven archers. From Ealrin’s viewpoint, every arrow claimed the life of a goblin. Truly the elves of Thoran were unparalleled in their deadly accuracy.
Goblins fell in every direction as the missiles rained down on them. As the elves let loose with their tenth volley the men on horseback charged. Boots thudded against the earth as men wielding spears ran behind them. Ealrin was not afraid, but neither was he quite prepared for what happened next. His horse galloped among the leaders, right next to Holve. Goblins were in disarray. Some were standing to receive the charge. Most were fleeing the opposite d
irection. Only one hundred yards now separated them from the horde. And then fifty. Twenty. Ten.
Ealrin swung his sword just as his horse broke through the goblin line, or what was left of it anyway. With each swing of his blade a goblin fell. Some put up a fight, their eyes filled with hatred. Most, however, began to flee in fear.
The gray skinned monsters did just as they had anticipated. After being peppered with 400 arrows, there were few goblins left who wished to continue the fight. Some fled for their boats that were down by the river and began to row for their ships out at sea. A large group of them began to run away from the castle walls, knowing that death met them at the left and right.
A mighty shout arose from the dwarves. The goblins soon realized their fate was sealed.
From the walls of River Head came a triumphant cheer as those who stood defending the city realized they had been saved. Ealrin turned his gaze to the walls of the city. They did not stand as high or as impressive as those in the capital, but they had done their job.
As the last of the goblins fell, the gates to the city opened up and a handful of the city's defenders came out to greet their saviors. At their front was a tall, dark-haired man. He stood a head taller than any of those around him and was broader than two of his fellow River Head dwellers put together. Ealrin had always thought Holve was the sourest person he had ever met. This man made Holve look cheery. His brow was creased into a perpetual scowl.
"It's about time you showed up Holve Bravestead!" he shouted as he walked out with the others. He sneered as he spoke. He stopped beside Holve's horse and stood leaning on the sword he brought with him.
Holve removed himself gingerly from his horse and stood beside the dark haired man.
"Well, if I had known you would have been able to handle six hundred goblins and five of their crummy excuses for ships I would have stayed back in Thoran where the receptions are more welcoming!"
With that, Holve put a hand on the man's shoulder and smiled at him. Ealrin had dismounted his horse while the two spoke to each other. He could see the last of the goblins being taken care of by elves, men, and dwarves.
More battles fought. More blood spilled.
The swords had only lost a handful of men, maybe twenty at most. Would this good fortune last?
"Well Gregory Riverson, it has been too many winters since I've laid eyes on you." Holve said as Ealrin came walking up next to him. "Have you gotten fatter?"
Gregory snorted and looked up and down at Holve.
"I haven't gained as much as you have lost, you twig!" he said as he slapped Holve on the back.
Holve let out a grunt of pain.
"Well, I've seen a lot of action in the last month, Gregory," Holve said as he nursed his back with one hand. "I don't suppose River Head could spare some men who'd like to see some action themselves?"
With this statement, Gregory grunted and scowled at Holve. Ealrin was surprised a man could look so sour.
"Does the king march to war? We had heard rumors of trouble in the south as the goblins sailed toward us. Does Thoran march to the Southern Republic again?"
"That he does," replied Holve. He walked back to his horse and cleaned off his spear on a cloth that he produced from a pack. And as gingerly as he dismounted his horse, he climbed back up as he turned back to Gregory. "We are to meet him as quickly as we can. Round up what men you can spare and march out with us. We go to aid the south."
***
GREGORY, EALRIN WOULD learn, was not just a large man with a belly that was threatening to betray a formerly fit individual's health but the mayor of River Head. Once the Swords had gathered outside of the city, Gregory began shouting orders in ten different directions. He was not only commanding men to prepare to march, but also in delegating tasks to be done in his absence.
"See that the next shipment from Beaton is ordered properly when it comes. I don't want medicinal herbs being sent off to the kitchens of the inns again!"
"What are you doing, sitting there like a lump? You're marching south with the rest of the men. Get to the city gates now!"
"Someone clear up those goblin bodies outside the walls! See that they are burned! They'll start to wreak by tomorrow and spread disease like wildfire if they aren't taken care of!"
"You there!" Gregory pointed to a man who was shaping a stone outside of his shop. Most of the buildings in River Head were made of stone, due to the proximity of the mountain quarries. Wood was used as a decorative trim around them, but defense was the main reason these houses were built in such a fashion. Barely any of them were scratched after the battle. The shopkeeper looked up from his work, trying to see from which direction the shouting was coming from.
"Yes, you lazy bones! You're in charge of this section of wall getting repaired while we march! I want those battlements looking superb when we return!"
The bewildered looking shop owner was following the finger Gregory was pointing up to the part of the wall that the goblins had managed to damage with their war machines. Along the wall, every thirty paces rose a tower meant for surveying the outer villages of River Head, and helping to defend against enemy attacks. This particular one had collapsed in on itself and was a heap of rubble atop the otherwise untouched wall.
The shop owner was not acknowledging his task swiftly enough for the demanding Gregory, who was now marching closer to him as he continued to gaze upward.
"Do you understand me, Ivan? I want that tower back in pristine condition!"
Though Ealrin didn't think he would enjoy marching south with Gregory because of his countenance, he surely wouldn't mind sharing some of the man's command of people. Whenever Gregory spoke, most people, other than Ivan, who was now taking a beating with a wooden rod that Gregory carried around with him, obeyed without question.
"He's a hard man, but a good mayor," said Holve as he walked up next to Ealrin. He had spent his time since arriving in River Head arranging the weapons from the armory to be sorted between those who were marching. Mostly it was breastplates, shields, spears, and swords. Every other man wore a helmet, but others had deemed them unnecessary. Some had weapons of their own making, but most carried the same steel sword that had been produced here in River Head for occasions such as these.
After men collected their weapons and armor they headed to one of the forgers in the city to have them inspected and sharpened, and then they reported to the city gates to be assigned to one of the captains who were the leaders of the army of River Head.
Again, King Thoran's doctrine of only employing a few men for the army and recruiting his civilians only in the hour of need. There were around twenty captains, each with two hundred men, dwarves, and elves. The army that would march from River Head would be four thousand strong.
Looking out over the men, and then remembering the goblin attack, Ealrin had a thought that weighed heavily on his mind.
"Holve," he asked as the host marched from River Head with the Swords at the lead. "If goblins only fight battles they are sure they will win, why did so few fight against a city as great as River Head? I spoke with Gregory and he believes no more than one thousand originally made landfall to attack the city. It would seem that they were terribly outnumbered."
"I've been thinking the same thought," Holve said with a sigh. "And so far I'm without an answer. Perhaps they thought the city would not be as well defended. It's been many generations since the goblins have come as far as River Head. Maybe they didn't know how many dwelled there now. Still..."
Holve let his sentence die out as they headed south. His brow was furrowed in such a way that it reminded Ealrin more of Gregory's disposition, not Holve's typical jovial manner.
"Still," he continued, "I've known many a goblin army to turn away from a larger city to lay siege to smaller villages if they believe the pickings are easier. I hope it was nothing more than a goblin leader's lust for blood than anything else."
"But do you remember the armada of goblin ships we saw on the White Wind?" Ea
lrin prodded Holve. "What we saw here could only have been a fraction of the ships we saw that day. Where did the others sail to?"
The female soldier Ealrin only knew as Milady rode up beside them. When she spoke, Ealrin realized it was the first time he had heard her voice. He also noted a small amount of fear in her voice. He looked properly into her face and realized that he recognized some of her features. It was as if he had seen someone else share the same face.
"Commander Holve, I have been listening to your conversation and I fear for the king. We must quicken our pace if we are to meet him and give him aid."
Holve turned in his settle towards the dark-haired lady in armor. He smiled at her reassuringly. He bowed his head as he spoke.
"Milady, we will march as fast as we can. Do not fear, we will see your father soon."
32: The Long March South
Ealrin's mind was still uneasy three days after their march for Loran from River Head began. The army marched down the only road that led from the capital city to the border of the Southern Republic. The same road Ealrin and the swords had traveled north on after being attacked by the Raiders. Mountains rose on either side of them, creating the valley path that they now took. The terrain did not hamper the army from marching, but Ealrin was sure they would have made better time over the flat plains of the Southern Republic than the mountains that now surrounded them.
He thought he might be as concerned for the king as Teresa was. Teresa, of course, being the king’s daughter and a member of the swords. He could see the resemblance now. How much the two favored each other. The long-haired young and seemingly carefree girl Ealrin had seen in the painting in the halls of castle Thoran, however, was gone.
