by RG Long
None of the houses were really built for “big people,” as the halfling residents called the entire group, save for Gorplin. As no one table or living space could suit them for a proper meal, many tables were brought out in the garden of the house they slept in last night.
They were joined by a few of the natives at their table. Jurgon and Jurrin were there, though neither sat close to Gorplin. Another male, named Allet, had two other halflings who walked at his side and introduced himself as the mayor of the halflings. He welcomed the group to Big Tree, which was the name of the village in which they ate, and sat at the head of the table. At this point, Allet began a long protracted speech about Big Tree and its neighbors and the history of the halflings in Ruyn.
“It's been some time since any of the big folk ate the fare of our village. We mostly try to keep any who wander too close away. It's not because we don't like them. Peace has always been our first and most important virtue. Many outsiders use to come here for the food and skill of our people in the making of ale and the telling of fine tales.”
Gorplin sat up a little straighter in his chair at the mention of ale and began to check the mugs he had already been drinking out of. Ealrin wondered if he hoped to find their contents different than the last time he drank from them. Allet continued.
“But with them they brought war, strife, and hardship. It was too much for us to bear! So for many years, we've simply kept up our little game of scaring off any travelers who come through the woods. Why, it was my great-great-great-grandfather who first used the ghost disguise...”
Ealrin began to look about the table, pondering the mayor's words.
Many more dishes were brought out in the mayor's presence. More vegetables cooked in different ways: roasted and boiled, chopped and whole. With these came soups and meats other than deer. Ealrin was wondering what time it was and if there was going to be any respite from eating in-between breakfast and lunch. He shrugged and continued to eat his fill.
Looking around the table, he saw his fellow travelers either putting away as much food as he was, or more. Gorplin was no exception. Though he was the shortest among them, he was also the one eating the most food in the most uncivilized manner.
Lote, however, was engaging the Mayor in conversation.
“I have served Thoran for nearly one hundred years, yet I have never heard of your settlement,” she said in what could have been an accusatory manner.
Allet took no offense, but rather Ealrin thought he looked quite pleased with himself.
“Ah! Even the gifted elves aren't able to find us! See how we keep the peace here? If no big folk are able to find the halflings, we are safe.”
It was Lote's turn to be offended, and Ealrin could tell that she was no longer thinking well of the little ones.
“I said I haven't heard of you. I did not say you were unable to be found,” she said in a measured tone.
Allet took out a small wooden stick and, to Ealrin's great surprise, showed that on the tip of it rested a small bit of Rimstone!
“Even if you had come looking for us, elf of Thoran, you would have found your way blocked by brambles that appeared at what would have looked like a well traveled path. We halflings are able to do more than just wear a costume and make scary noises.”
Even as he spoke, a vine crept up Lote's chair and began to entwine her arm. She quickly grabbed a dagger with her free hand and cut her arm free of vine.
Allet let out a boisterous laugh.
“Weren't expecting that, eh, elf?”
He looked at his companions, who let their big smiles tell the company they thought the joke was in good taste.
Bertrom spoke up.
“So you're able to Speak through Rimstone. You showed us in the woods that you're willing to fight to protect your home, even if it was a poor joke.”
Tory gave Gorplin a kick under the table and the dwarf let out a string of what must have been dwarvish curses.
“Why not come to help Thoran? Surely you know that if war comes north you can't hide forever.”
Allet's smile left his chubby face, He looked hard at Bertrom.
“And what does a monarch offer to halflings, hmm? Forced labor? Taxes and contributions of goods? We have everything we need here, without the supposed help of a king. We've had one hundred years of peace and no army to thank for it, thank you very much.”
Bertrom sat back to think on what Allet had said. Tory needed no time to think to reply.
“But all of Ruyn has seen the same peace. It's been mostly quiet on the entire continent. What happens when a threat does come? Having an army doesn't mean you're war hungry. It means you're willing to protect those who are helpless to protect themselves. That's why we...”
Tory stopped and cleared his throat. Ealrin could guess what he was thinking about. His brother, now a traitor to the country, and his best friend who died the day Ealrin met Tory.
“That's why I joined the army,” he continued. “To protect those who can't fight for themselves. Disguises and magic and hiding won't keep out your enemies forever. You have to be willing to face evil and resist it if you want peace.”
“We've no need of an army, or a king's army for that matter, if we are never found,” Allet repeated. His two friends nodded aggressively. Ealrin noticed, however, that Jurrin and Jurgon did not nod as enthusiastically as the other halflings listening to the conversation that was unfolding.
“Suppose the forest is put to flame, Mayor Allet?” Gaflion asked in his deep voice. “What if it’s burned to the ground by the whim of a madman who seeks to purge all of Ruyn's races save that of man? What then?”
Allet launched into a tirade of how the halflings would conceal themselves even further. He then continued to describe how Big Tree had become self-sufficient and needed no outside help. Not even an army to protect it.
Ealrin looked around to see that several locals had come to see the travelers. Some only cast glances in their direction as they went about their normal activities. Others, who were less polite, just stopped and stared at them as they ate their breakfast and discussed the outside. No amount of rudeness, however, could stop Ealrin's appetite. A fearful march through the dark had given him quite a hunger. As he ate, he had time to admire the quaintness of the village amongst the trees.
The entire village was situated around a large square with an enormous tree planted right in the middle. All the other trees had long been cleared to make way for houses, farms, and even a few small shops. In every direction the forest surrounded them. No signs of goblins, wars, conflict or strife were here. Only peaceful little people going about their business without a care.
“It won't last,” Ealrin said out loud, breaking his silent observation.
“Eh?” Gorplin said through half a mouthful of roasted deer.
Half of the party looked at Ealrin, and he realized that he had been silent this whole morning. His first words had interrupted their host and, he was sure, caused his traveling companions to question his meaning.
Allet had just begun explaining the process of making Big Tree's most famous ale: Troll Foot. He appeared put out that the attention he had enjoyed for so long had been broken.
“We can't stay here any longer than necessary,” Ealrin said, loud enough for all gathered to hear. “We have to get to Beaton and beyond, quickly.”
Allet attempted to get back the attention of the crowd.
“But you've only just arrived!” he countered. “And you've much to see and experience here in Big Tree! Stay! Be at peace!”
His jovial invitation only reminded Ealrin of the dire need of their quest.
“I'm sorry, Mayor Allet, but we must be going.”
He stood and spread his arms, hoping to bring attention to the things around him.
“You speak of peace and of living comfortably here in the woods. You've treated us very kindly, especially after we shot one of your own.”
Lote looked sideways at Jurrin, who gingerly held
the spot where the bandage was wrapped around his arm. He caught Lote looking in his direction and turned red. It wasn't rage that changed his color.
Ealrin let out a small chuckle.
“We desire for you to have your peace, but it cannot be so if we stay here. Ruyn is in a state of war. Hiding won’t solve it. We go to confront evil face to face.”
“We have stayed long enough,” Lote agreed. “We are grateful for your hospitality, but if we do not quickly resume our quest, the peace you know here will be only a memory.”
Allet gave a great huff, and was visibly agitated.
“The first outsiders we have in over a decade and you throw our hospitality back in our faces!” he yelled. “Fine! Go! Fight your war and kill to your heart's’ content. But leave us at peace. And do not return and bring war with you!”
The graciousness of their hosts was spent.
Allet stood from his place at the table and marched away angry. Several of the halflings tried to look busy as he passed by them. Some wore the same sour expression on their faces, obviously upset about all the talk of fighting and strife. A few, however, took on a look of disappointment.
Ealrin and the rest got up from their places and returned to the house they had spent the night in. They gathered up their packs and other supplies from the small dwelling and started out of the village.
A few of the halfling children followed them for a stone’s throw, singing songs and dancing with one another, too curious and energetic to care that the outsiders had offended their leader with their hastiness.
Most were called back by concerned looking parents who cast worrisome glances towards the big folk.
As the rest of the party found a small path back into the woods, Ealrin turned to look again on the small halfling settlement.
Little people were back at work and going about their business. It really did seem like this village would never know conflict or war. But Ealrin knew better. A larger conflict than these peaceful halflings could ever imagine was brewing outside their forest. Eventually it would reach them here if left unchecked. Little houses and farms and breweries that made ale would be burned to the ground.
Androlion would not suffer a race such as this to prosper. If even the wise and skilled elves were a target of the madman's rage, what would prevent him from wiping out such a defenseless threat to his perceived perfect world?
Ealrin turned his back to the little view of peace he had, and marched along with his companions to seek a greater peace to be won.
12: Faraway Fish
Blume, Jeremy, and Abigail landed hard on the slanted wooden surface. They barely had any time to register how much the impact had hurt. Before Blume could guess where it was they had landed, and where the battle and Thoran had gone, she realized that not only was it raining, they were also slipping.
Scrambling as best they could in a pile of limbs and confusion, Jeremy had time to shout out one question before they slipped off the roof and onto a covered porch below: "What just happened?"
Instead of receiving an answer, the trio crashed through the roof and onto a large pile of fish that reeked of the sea.
"Oh, fish," said Abigail, who had landed in a box of brightly colored blue and orange fish. "I don't really like to eat fish. I think their scales are kind of yucky and gross. Plus they spend all their time in the water. What if you could swim underwater like a fish? I mean, how do they breathe?"
Blume was attempting to wiggle her way out of a barrel when she heard a loud commotion and a string of curses.
"What the devil is going on out there?!" came a shout from inside the building they had just fallen off of. A wiry man holding up his meat cleaver was framed in the front door. Just to his right was a sign that read "The Angry Fisherman."
"Thieves! Vandals! I'll have your heads for ruining my fish!" shouted the very skinny and now very red-faced owner of the shop.
A portion of his own porch covering impeded his way through the door. Currently, he was trying to shove his way through it.
Jeremy tried to talk through a mouthful of fish fins.
"Sir, there's a perfectly justifiable..."
"Shut up and run!" Blume told him as she tried to scramble to her feet. She jumped out of the barrel she had landed in, grabbed Jeremy and Abigail by their wrists, pulled them from the piles of fish they had landed on, and began to run as fast as she could.
She pulled them out onto the cobblestone street, no longer trying to figure out where they might be in her mind, but desperately trying to escape from the shop owner wielding a knife and threatening bodily mutilation.
If there was one thing she had learned in her travels with Holve and Ealrin, it was never give an angry, blade-wielding stranger the chance to interrogate.
Still clutching their arms, Blume ran wildly down a street lined with shops. The fish store owner was slipping on his own wares as he attempted to pursue them. To Blume's great relief, the street was filled with people milling about.
"Follow me," she managed to say while continuing to half drag, half lead her friends away from the fish man. They took a few quick turns down one alley and then another. Just before her, Blume saw the street widen into a larger thoroughfare.
"Then we can take a minute and try to figure out where we..."
As they turned the corner onto the much larger street that was bustling with the business of the morning, Blume saw a symbol she had come to both fear and hate.
A white griffon flying on dark green flags hung from every store, building, and street pole in the main thoroughfare.
The trio had landed in the Southern Republic.
***
JEREMY PACED BACK AND forth in the narrow alley they had eventually found to hide in. The main street was a good three miles away. As an extra precaution, they had arranged several boxes and barrels to prevent them from being seen from any passersby. But, as secluded as they were from the activity of that main thoroughfare, Blume prayed there wouldn't be many who would think to walk down this secluded back alley.
Thankfully, the rain had stopped about halfway through their escape. As the sun rose, they began to dry out.
Blume's fingers were freezing, though it was a fairly mild day. It was a sign of her nerves coming undone. Her companions were no better. Abigail had stopped talking all together and Jeremy was having trouble finding the right words to describe their situation.
"Teleportation with the use of Rimstone still has to be studied intensively..."
"Typically the magical gift of a Speaker predispositions himself..."
"The pure physical stamina required for such a maneuver..."
"Jeremy, if you do not start talking in full sentences I am going to throw something at you," Blume said in her frustration. Though, with all the tingling in her fingers and hands, she wasn't sure if she would actually be able to follow through with her threat.
"Don't," Abigail said, or rather squeaked.
Blume let out a very long sigh.
"Look, I can't explain how we got here. What we can do from this point, however, is try to figure out where we are exactly and what we are going to do."
Jeremy stopped his pacing and sat down, resting his back against the alley wall. Abigail rocked back and forth on the box she had found to sit on, holding back a few tears.
"Okay," Blume began. "We are most definitely not in Thoran. We aren't in my hometown, either." Blume paused a moment as images of her ransacked city and the ghosts of her parents and brother flickered to the front of her mind. She shook her head in an attempt to clear her thoughts.
"I remember the capital of the Southern Republic had a giant tower in it. Or, at least they taught us about it in school," Blume said trying to forget the faces pictured in her head. "I haven't seen a tower like that here. I'm almost certain we would've been able to see it from that main street."
Blume took a deep breath of the air around her. Weyfield had been a large city before the Mercs ransacked it. She remembered how bigger ci
ties smelled. Thoran smelled of forests and mountains. Weyfield smelled of fresh bread, bustling stores, animals and people everywhere. She also could smell her father's metal working table where he crafted jewelry.
This town, however...
"We're by the ocean," Blume said as she recognized the scent filling up her nostrils. It was the unmistakable smell of salt in the air.
"We must be in Sea Gate," she said.
She had smelled the sea only one other time in her life, but it was unforgettable. It was during a family trip to the coast. It was a wonderful time then, but a painful memory of all that she had lost now. She pushed the recollection from her mind.
"Teleportation covering the distance of two entire countries..." Jeremy began saying before he trailed off and mumbled incoherently. Blume's foot connected to his shin.
"I told you to talk in full sentences!" She said as she grasped her toe, realizing that the kick had probably hurt her as much as Jeremy.
A tiny squeak came out of Abigail.
"What!?" Blume yelled too loudly as she turned on her classmate who was still so uncharacteristically quiet.
Saw the look of sheer terror on Abigail's face and immediately regretted lashing out at her. She was quiet for a moment and kept her eyes on the ground.
"I’m scared," Abigail finally said in a whisper.
Blume took a deep breath to calm herself. She sat down next to her and put an arm around Abigail. She realized it was the first time she had shown affection to anyone her own age since arriving at Thoran. Maybe she had been thinking of herself too highly.
