by RG Long
It was Holve.
"As strong and as terrible as it seems, it is not invincible. We must fight it back or we will all perish here."
Ealrin nodded, yet he was confused. How in the world did Holve know that this beast was not invincible? There was no time to deliberate.
Elven archers appeared and began to shoot as many missiles as they had left toward the flaming beast. Though some arrows were engulfed in purple flame and seemed to turn to ash, others pierced its flesh. With a howl of rage it turned its attention in the direction of the archers and charged them.
A line of dwarven warriors met the beast as it charged, protecting the archers. Their shouts of battle intermingled with cries of pain as an attack from the monstrosity hit them and they were cut down.
Still more arrows peppered the monster at its chest and head. Its helmet was protecting it from fatal shots and across its chest it wore a huge plate of armor. Yet where there were exposed places of its black skin, the shafts of arrows protruded.
A hundred men with spears and swords gathered around Ealrin. Knowing that this would be the greatest test of his bravery and skill as a warrior, as well as the final charge of his life, he lifted his sword high and sounded a battle cry as he ran towards the demon.
When he reached the monster he did his best to hack at its legs, only to find that its skin and hide was as tough as the trunk of a tree. Several men attempted to stab him with their spears and still more rushed at it in order to bring the beast too its knees.
With a mighty kick it sent several flying twenty feet into the air, including Ealrin.
He landed with a thud on top of several others. Many cried out in pain, but Ealrin felt winded, not wounded.
Spinning around, he tried to see where the battle between the demon and the others was taking place. All he had time to perceive was a warrior with an ornate spear jumping high into the air. From the tip of the spear shone a brilliant white light.
As Holve forced the tip of his spear into the demon a flash of purple fire and white light overtook the battlefield. Shielding his eyes, Ealrin was again knocked back by the force of the explosion. Recovering quickly he looked up, and saw that where the demon was standing, there remained only a huge crater.
There was no trace of the giant beast.
Or of Holve Bravestead.
The noise of the battle died around him.
As the Merc and Southern Republic armies surged forward to take advantage of the stunned army of Thoran, Ealrin stared at the spot where the demon stood moments ago.
The spot from where Holve leapt.
The crater that remained.
Holve was gone.
Some warriors from Thoran stood to fight. A group of dwarves was stubbornly holding back the tide of men that came upon them. Ealrin saw Tory lead a charge of a hundred men to their deaths. They fought bravely. They fought until their bodies were ruined by battle. They fought until there was nothing left of them.
Androlion and his generals rode on horseback through the crater. Verde signaled from his horse for a soldier to pick something up.
A spear.
Holve's spear was given to Verde, who then passed it back to Androlion.
After examining it for a moment, he lifted it into the air and gave a shout.
He knew whose spear that was.
The army of Thoran was overwhelmed. Sheer numbers crashed into them on all sides. The beast had knocked Ealrin into the cover of the forest. Most men surged past him on the road or the beach. He looked around desperately.
Where was the king?
It didn't take long for him to spot him. He was surrounded by warriors of Thoran. They defended the road and the few speakers that remained. Pieces of rock flew through the air, crushing men as they fell. But soon the rocks slowed as the speakers grew weary with their spells. Though the king and his protectors fought with all their might, they soon disappeared underneath uniforms of green and gray.
Ealrin felt someone tugging at his shoulder. It took ages for him to respond. He looked up, almost unaware of his own sense of touch and time.
It was Lote.
***
THEY RAN THROUGH FOREST and mountainside. They ran, knowing that their life depended on it. They ran with singular purpose: Warn the city of Thoran of what had transpired.
There was no rest. Fewer breaks. They stayed as close as they could to fresh water, and then they ran again.
It was a week before they came to Liaf. Ealrin was exhausted. Lote pushed them on each day and night, knowing full well that the joint armies of the Mercs and the Southern Republic may be close behind.
They bartered for horses and asked if any others had come through town. To find if any wearing the maroon and gold of Thoran had come.
None had.
Either we are the first to come, Ealrin thought, or the last that would.
By horse they raced to Thoran.
And what would they say when they arrived? How do you deliver the news they had?
Ealrin's heart sank, as his horse galloped desperately onward.
Teresa.
He began to think of the difference between dying on the battlefield alongside those you care about, and living on in their absence.
Holve. Tory. Gorplin. Cedric.
The other men, dwarves, and elves from Thoran who lay dead on the beaches outside of Liaf.
They had lost so many.
And for what purpose? Fighting back the hate of a man who drove armies to madness?
Androlion Fellgate had beaten Thoran's armies.
Now, Ealrin feared, he would come for its castle.
40: Verde
General Verde sat comfortably at the table of the head elders of the Southern Republic. Banners that no longer had meaning hung from its ceiling, celebrating the diversity of the south and the unity of the races. A unity that no longer existed.
Victory was surely within their grasp.
The south had given in and believed the rhetoric that was being preached from every hastily constructed chapel bearing the mark of the comet that these calamities plaguing their land were the result of the elves meddling with dark magic and the dwarves mining for treasure and jewels.
It was the purity of man that would cleanse this land of the demons that now roamed over it.
Fear was a powerful ally. And as far as general Verde was concerned, there was much for the common man to be afraid of these days.
Those living in rural areas or villages without walls feared an attack from the demons. Beasts cloaked in purple flame that roamed the night, killing all who crossed their path.
Those who lived in the sprawling cities feared those who now had power in the Southern Republic: the Mercs and their general: Androlion. To fall out of grace with them meant being banished from the protection of the city walls and forced out into the plains where demons roamed.
And now that these beasts were not the babbling of a displaced elder, but rather the prophecies of a general and protector of the people, it was easy to convince lesser men to do whatever it took to retain their safety.
Verde was quite pleased with himself and the part he had played in bringing down the republic.
Until Androlion entered the elder chamber.
He burst through the doors fuming and threw Xaxes onto the round table that used to serve as the meeting place of the republic’s elders.
There was now only one elder, and he was a puppet of Androlion.
Androlion had become more irate than Verde had ever seen him before. There was something in his plan to dominate the continent of Ruyn that was not going as he had expected. A very guarded man, he never confided in anyone unless he was absolutely sure he could trust them.
And then once that trust was given, total and complete obedience was expected. Something that apparently Xaxes lacked.
Verde removed his boots from the table as Xaxes groaned from hitting the hard wood.
"You told me that you acquired the amulet!" Androlion
shouted at the young general. "This," he shook a fancy and well polished silver claw grasping at a blue piece of rimstone, "is a worthless trinket!"
Androlion threw the metallic accessory at Xaxes. It struck him and made a gash in his forehead, which began to bleed immediately. Xaxes grasped his head with one hand and howled in pain.
Verde was glad their places were not swapped.
"This is twice you have failed me!"
Androlion drew his sword from its sheath and approached Xaxes. He grabbed his neck and brought the blade to his throat. He looked him in the eye with as much loathing as Verde had ever seen in his general’s face.
"I will have no more failures from you."
***
VERDE AND ANDROLION left the chamber. The latter took a cloth from one of the young servants who cleaned the elder’s tower. With it, he wiped his blade clean until there was no more blood left upon it. He threw the towel back at the servant who grabbed it and scurried away, obviously more afraid of Androlion than he was disgusted by the bloody rag.
"Verde," Androlion said as they walked down a flight of marble stairs. "I have a task that is of the most importance. I will not trust it to anyone else but you, my most faithful general."
Verde was not exactly sure he coveted that title, seeing how well it had served Xaxes.
He handed him a book bound in leather. Verde accepted the tome and examined it. It was as old as the city of Conny itself. Its cover was worn and stained and the pages were brittle and delicate.
"Within this book you will find a description of an amulet that I seek. You will also find potential locations for this valuable charm. Find it and return it to me so that I might name you as second only to me in rule over this continent."
Verde had never seen this book in his leader's possession before, nor had he ever spoken if it. A locket or amulet he knew his master had sought, and had been told several times of his desire for it.
But this book was a new discovery.
"Do not fail me, Verde," Androlion said as he continued to descend the stairs. He turned and looked up at the general. Though he was considerably shorter than Verde from this angle, Verde felt no taller than his superior. Verde was at his command, no matter what it was Androlion asked.
He nodded agreement.
"Follow me," Androlion said, leading the way.
***
THEY CAME TO AN ARMORY of the Southern Republic. The stores of weapons were used in times of war and strife.
Incidentally, the stone storage facility was quite bare.
They walked past several guards who stood to attention at the sight of them. Passing through several locked portals, they finally came to an iron door at the bottom of two flights of stairs. Androlion waved aside the two guards and removed a key from his own pocket. He unlocked and opened the heavy door. The creak of the heavy and old metal filled the halls of the armory.
The room was no wider than the span of Verde's arms. Inside were several chests, which were also locked. Leaned up against the back wall was a spear Verde recognized. The spear of Holve Bravestead.
Androlion handed it to him.
"Read through the book as you travel to Beaton. You'll find this spear to be very useful in your travels, but not for battle. Do not use it to fight with. Your sword will suffice for any man you encounter. This spear must be returned to me as well as the locket."
Androlion gazed into the eyes of Verde, who took hold of the spear with awe.
It vibrated in his hands with an unknown power.
Androlion spoke again.
"I will suffer no more failed attempts to find that which I seek. Do not return without it."
And with those words, Androlion was gone.
41: Beaton’s Governor
The elven ships sailed up river.
It had been a full month since leaving The Southern Republic and their supplies were running low. Though no more pirates had crossed their paths, they were still sailing slower than they could have due to the damage their ships had sustained.
The Fair Maiden's sails were badly tattered. The Oak's Envy needed several holes patched with more than other pieces of the ship, and if Wisym's own ship, The Bright Blade did not soon undergo much needed repairs, her main mast would surely splinter and break off at the bottom. The only thing holding her mast upright now was a splint engineered out of oars and several lengths of rope.
And their creaking didn't give Wisym any confidence that the ship would last much longer.
So naturally they had cheered when they saw land. The river meant that Beaton lay farther north, only a few days worth of sailing. Surely they could last that long.
The dwarves of Dun-Gaza had turned them away. The Southern Republic had not answered their pleas. The harbors of River Head were abandoned and blackened. Surely someone in Beaton would have pity and come to the elves' aid.
But what now would be her request? To send an army so that the elves could reclaim their homes? To give food and shelter to four hundred elves who were crammed into three ships? Or to repair the ships they had so that they could sail to another far off place and find new homes? Even among their ancient ancestors on the continent of Irradan?
She wasn’t sure what her request would be, having been gone for so long and unsure of where the elves aboard her vessel might call home in the future. Only that surely, in a city such as Beaton, someone would listen to her pleas.
Wisym had only heard tales of the great city, supposedly larger than two capitals of the Southern Republic placed side by side. The sheer amount of beings living in one space was hard to imagine.
Surely someone would aid the elves of Talgel?
Wisym’s hopes were high.
***
ON THE THIRD MORNING since sailing into the river of Beaton, Wisym caught sight of the City by the Sea.
Beaton was every bit as huge as her stories had said it would be, and more so.
From one side of the horizon to the other, the walls of Beaton rose up around the river. Like the great towers of her homeland, several watch towers and other stone monuments rose over the top of the great city walls. Red flags and banners draped the stone parapets and defenses.
Truly, this was an impressive city, even for an elf who desired to see the forest trees more than stone and mortar.
As they approached the harbor, one of her generals, Finwe, came to her side. Finwe had been a general far longer than Wisym. She had the experience of an additional hundred years under the leadership of Galebre and for that, Wisym was more than willing to listen to whatever advice she might offer.
“Up ahead, Sister,” she said as she pointed up river. There were several ships docked at the harbor outside of the city’s walls. Several men in armor were signaling to the ships to make their way to three empty places on the docks.
“They don’t look particularly pleased to see us.”
“Do as they signal, Finwe,” Wisym said, though she was able to perceive the look on the guard’s faces. Wisym agreed with Finwe. It was not a welcoming smile, but an annoyed indifference that showed on the faces of several of the guards in red.
Perhaps they were unfamiliar with the four golden leaves flown on the banners and flags of their vessel. The symbol of Ingur. Wisym wished they had some banner for Talgel so that they may be rightfully represented, but pushed the thought from her mind.
She was now the representative of all the elves of The Southern Republic.
The guards signaled them into the docks and almost immediately lifted up ladders and walkways to the ship. Without any words, several soldiers began to march onto Wisym’s ship.
For a moment, she was a little less impressed with this city.
***
AFTER A FULL TWO HOURS of interrogation and cross questioning, the dock master and Wisym still did not see eye to eye with one another.
“I have no payment for docking and will not be turned away! Our people have fled from war and you demand a fee for our ships to float in your
river!”
Wisym’s patience was wearing thin.
“Every ship pays to dock, without exception. It’s the law of Beaton. Pay the fee or sail back down river, lady elf.”
Lady elf.
The dock master was a heavyset soldier with a strong handlebar mustache. His brown hair was peppered with gray ones. The helmet he wore had a red plume that matched the red of his robes and chest plate. A sword was slung at his side, though Wisym was quite sure the man was no swordsman worth crossing blades with. His eyes almost disappeared into his fattened face and he stood a good three heads shorter than Wisym.
A black castle with a shield for its door was embroidered onto the cloth of his robes and etched into his armor: the symbol of Beaton, Wisym guessed.
To have come this far, seeking aid and then to be told that they were going to be turned away for three hundred coins was ridiculous. The money of The Southern Republic was only useable if it was exchanged for the coins of Beaton. The exchange could only be done in the city and yet here they were, outside and still in their boats after several hours of being told the laws of Beaton. What Wisym wanted was aid for her fellow elves from those whom she thought would give it, and yet here he was bullying her into paying a fee she could not unless she was allowed into the city.
Wisym was beginning to consider sailing away after trying to reason with this short and pudgy man when she heard another hailing from a ship just now coming into port.
“Hail! What brings the elves of Ingur to Beaton?”
Wisym turned. Here was someone who knew the banners of the elves!
She saw a ship that was much larger than their own that was also emblazoned with the red banners of Beaton with black castles.
The difference, which was not lost on Wisym, was that this ship’s flag bore no shield upon the door.
“Dock Master! Let the elves come to my ship with haste!”
The dock master huffed loudly, then turned and left the ship with the rest of the guards of Beaton.
