by RG Long
"I’m sorry I yelled at you," she apologized. She meant it, too.
Blume had already been on a life threatening adventure. She doubted Abigail or Jeremy had ever had that experience.
"I'm scared, too," she added truthfully. The last time, she had been the one who needed protection. She had two grown men with her to look after her and guide her.
This time, Blume had no such luxuries.
She took her eyes off of Abigail's and looked around the stone-walled alley. Her fingers were still cold with nervousness. But while she was daunted by the task she knew lay before them, she was also determined.
"I’m scared," she repeated. "But I also know that sitting here and talking about how scared we are won't fix anything. We are in a country we're at war with. If anyone finds out where we’re from, we’ll be in big trouble. Like, prison trouble. Or worse."
Visions of prison cells guarded by men in green and white danced in Blume's mind. She thought of crusts of bread and water served in cold metallic dishes.
Abigail squeaked again.
"So what do we do?" Jeremy asked in his first complete sentence since arriving in Sea Gate.
Blume stood up, dusted herself off and realized what she was wearing. Even though it was soaked and smelled like fish, the unmistakable maroon and gold were a dead giveaway to where they had come from.
"First," she said. "We should probably change out of our robes from the Magic Academy of Thoran.”
***
AT FIRST, BLUME THOUGHT that they could sell their clothes or at least trade them for others. After realizing just how badly they smelled of fish and how the shop owners would question where they had acquired such clothing from, she thought better of it.
The robes that marked them as Speakers in training were unceremoniously stuffed into a garbage bin.
"Every night before bed I would put my robe on a hanger," said Abigail. "I would worry over every wrinkle or stain. Actually, I would do that with almost all of my clothes. It's kind of like being punched in the gut to throw it away. I don't think I've ever thrown out clothing before."
Blume understood. Not about keeping her robe pristine, but about taking pride in being a student in the Speaker Academy.
Ever since learning about its existence, she had wanted to be a part of it. She had wanted to belong again. Now she was getting rid of the one thing that marked her as a Speaker.
She clutched at her Rimstone necklace.
"Not everything," she said out loud.
"What’s that?" asked Jeremy.
"Nothing," she said as she dropped her hands quickly to her sides. She did wonder, though, what Jeremy or Abigail used to perform their magic. She hadn't paid much attention or cared up to this point. "Now onto the next priority."
"What’s the next priority?" asked Abigail.
Blume rubbed her grumbling stomach. It had been hours since they had escaped the owner of the Angry Fishermen and their breakfast was long gone.
"Food."
***
UNDERNEATH THEIR ROBES, the trio wore matching shirts and pants with simple leather shoes. Fortunately, they were brown and white and did not betray their country of origin.
The main problem they had now, was trying to figure out how best to disguise Jeremy and Abigail to look more human.
"I don't suppose we have a hat to cover up your ears?" Blume said out loud as she looked into Abigail's face.
Though she was a beautiful elf, she did not look too unlike most humans, save for the ears that were the unmistakable mark of the elven race.
"A bandana will have to do for now," Abigail said as she reached back into the garbage and tore a piece of cloth from her old robe. The maroon looked much less incriminating when it was only enough to cover her head and the tops of her ears. "I've never much cared for bandanas. They make my hair look funny. But I've seen them on other girls and they look rather sweet."
After just a moment, Abigail was looking more human than ever. Blume was satisfied for the time being.
Jeremy, however, was going to be more difficult.
"We could always call him our little brother," suggested Abigail as she adjusted her new headpiece. "You know I'm used to a bigger family. Maybe we could be our own family for a time. Of course, without a mom or a dad we don't make a proper family. Oh, I wonder if I could be the oldest, since I'm the tallest?”
Blume was almost glad to hear Abigail talking normally again, but knew she had to cut her off before they spent the rest of the day listening to her chatter. She also had a difficult time suppressing a smile as she looked at Jeremy and Abigail and then back at herself.
Abigail had long flowing blonde hair that sparkled like the sun when it wasn't soaking wet. She was tall and fair, with blue eyes that rivaled the sky's brilliance. Her face was pronounced and very well defined.
Jeremy, on the other hand, was short and black headed with round features and deep brown eyes. And, when inspected closely, he was sporting stubble on his face that betrayed his dwarven heritage.
“Do... do you have to shave Jeremy?” Blume asked him.
He turned redder than the robes they had just discarded.
“No!” he said. “A dwarf should never shave his beard. It's his pride and the mark of his race!”
“I thought you told me you shaved every morning because it itched you terribly?” Abigail interjected, now finished adjusting the bandana. "But that's the complete opposite of what you just said. So which is it? Do you like to itch but don't like to be a dwarf? Or, wait, I mean, do you not like to itch and prefer to be a dwarf. No, that's not it either..."
Though Blume had thought it impossible, Jeremy turned even redder.
“Alright, alright. Your secret is safe with me,” Blume said as she patted Jeremy on the shoulder. “But we're not going to fool anyone into thinking we're related.”
Her stomach rumbled again. This time Jeremy’s echoed it as well.
“I've got five coins,” Blume said, pulling out the currency from her front pants pocket. “Do you two have any on you?”
Jeremy had ten and Abigail had two.
Not a bad start.
“Well, it won't last forever, but I think we should eat something to commemorate our first day as spies for Thoran.”
Both Jeremy and Abigail jumped a bit and looked at Blume in alarm.
“What?” she asked. “You didn't think we weren't going to take the opportunity to see what the Southern Republic is up to, did you?”
The young elf and dwarf exchanged looks of horror with each other, and then looked back at Blume.
“Come on,” she said. “Food first. Spying later.”
13: Old Enemies, New Friends
Ealrin walked alongside Lote on the fifth day since leaving the halfling village, Big Tree. The last few nights of sleeping on the forest ground, contending with fallen leaves, poking branches, and half empty stomachs, were all reminders of how gracious their hosts had been for a night.
And still, Ealrin knew halfling kindness would be a thing of legends and fairy tales if they didn't continue their journey.
So through a foggy morning, with similarly bleak moods, the group continued on towards Mountain Gate.
According to Lote, there was only a three days’ march left until they would see the mountains that rose up marking the barrier between Thoran and Beaton. The change in scenery would be welcome. The fall colors were beautiful. The forest was now much less daunting, knowing that its only inhabitants were halflings and the occasional edible wildlife. Squirrels were becoming Ealrin's least favorite travel food.
Conversation was light.
Even after they would cross into Beaton, there was still a long march to the city. For Ealrin and Bertrom, their travels would end there and the task of convincing the nation to go to war would begin. For the others, their journeys would continue on. Everyone was deep in thought about what would happen should the plan fail.
And if they had left in time.
***
EARLY ON THE LAST DAY, before the mountains would rise above the trees and signal the end of the first leg of their quest, Ealrin was on guard duty. The forest canopy hid the rising suns, but the breaking dawn was proof enough to him that his watch was soon over and that he would have to begin the unfortunate task of waking the troops.
Gorplin was especially difficult to rouse.
Most of their group had learned to stuff cloth in their ears, or else pray that they fell asleep before the monstrous snores of the dwarf. Ealrin went to give him a good kick.
"Wake up, Gorplin," he said as he opted to nudge the dwarf instead of give him a good blow. One morning he had attempted to roughly wake the dwarf and had been put on his back by a very irate dwarf with a very skilled leg swipe.
He stirred, but only long enough to stifle a snore. His inhale of breath shook the leaves.
"If you don't stop that snoring you'll scare away anything that might have been breakfast, Gorplin," Ealrin said again in a louder voice.
He noticed that the birds, which just moments ago had been heralding the morning, had stopped their song.
"Lazy dwarf," Ealrin said again as he looked out through the tree trunks and moved over to wake Tory instead.
Then he felt it.
The birds were quiet, which he had expected.
But so was the entire forest.
Something was wrong.
He slowly knelt down next to Tory and shook him, hard.
"Wake up, Tory," Ealrin said in a harsh whisper.
Tory opened his eyes and blinked a few times.
"Slept like a rock..." he began to say before Ealrin covered his mouth.
He wrested Ealrin's hand away.
"Hey now! What's wrong with you...?"
Looking up, Tory saw the concern on Ealrin's face as he scanned the area around them. His hand went to the blade at his side. Ealrin pulled his own sword out of its sheath as quietly as he could.
Then a twig snapped behind them.
Ealrin and Tory jumped to their feet, weapons drawn and pointed at the direction of the sound. As he did so, Ealrin let out a yell that he hoped would stun whatever it was sneaking up on their camp and wake up their companions.
His fierce battle cry seemed a little awkward, however, when he realized that it had been directed at two halflings.
Jurgon and Jurrin stood with their hands in the air, both wearing expressions of sheer terror.
Jurrin was finally able to stammer out "Don't... Don't shoot!"
Ealrin stood puzzled. He wasn't going to shoot them. His sword dropped as soon as he saw them. Then he noticed that neither of them was looking quite at him or Tory. They both were looking over his shoulder.
Turning, Ealrin saw that Lote had three arrows in one hand, while the other held back one strung to her bow.
She wore the look of one who has their prey targeted and was about to shoot. And even though Ealrin knew that she had ample time to lower her bow, her expression remained unchanged.
"Why have you followed us?" she demanded.
Ealrin was shocked to see her continue to point her bow at the two. They posed no threat. At least not any Ealrin could imagine.
"Lote..." he began.
She shook her head.
"I'll have the answer to my question," she said, cutting him off. Her eyes never left the pair of still horrified little folk. "Has Allet decided he wanted no one to know of his peaceful settlement?"
"Beg pardon ma'am," Jurrin managed. His voice was dry and he seemed like he was ready to pass out. "We mean no harm to you."
"Then you will explain what you're doing here," Lote said.
Jurgon slowly put his hands down. Ealrin saw that they wore travel packs. Both of them had small daggers at their sides and looked ready for a long journey, a much longer one than following their former guests through the forest.
"Was all that you said about a war and some person wanting to kill off all the other races true?" Jurrin asked.
"All of them except humans that is, ma'am?"
Ealrin heard in Jurrin's voice both curiosity and fear.
Even though their knees were still shaking a little bit, he also could see the signs of someone who is determined beyond sensibility.
Lote finally lowered her bow and let the string go slack.
"Yes," she said. "It's true."
The two halflings breathed a sigh of relief as the threat of being peppered with arrows disappeared.
"I've seen it firsthand," Ealrin added. "Men driven to madness and violence doing what they think is right. Brother turned against a brother with no better reason than a madman's ramblings."
Ealrin saw Tory look down at the ground.
"Thousands have already died because of this lunacy. Elves, dwarves and anyone else who doesn't see it the way Androlion does. "
Ealrin thought for moment of all the friends he had lost so far in this struggle. He looked around at his companions and wondered how many he was still to lose.
"But I've also seen," he continued. "Brave warriors of all races fight for justice and for peace. I have watched them lay down their lives defending those who can't defend themselves. They fought because they believe that we are better when we embrace our differences. They fought for unity."
Ealrin returned his sword back to its sheath.
He looked at Jurrin and saw that the little halfling was clenching his jaw and had rolled his hands in the fists. His expression didn't change as he spoke.
"We've come to fight, too, sir."
***
WHEN THE ENTIRE PARTY had woken up and began to gather their supplies, they talked about what to do with the arrival of the halflings.
Some saw them as a burden, while others thought they might prove useful on their journey.
Lote fell into the former category.
"We've already got one set of short legs that hold us back from going faster," she said, pointing a thumb at Gorplin. The dwarf was none too perturbed by the insult.
Jurrin had managed to kill two rabbits and Jurgon was busy cooking them over the coals of the previous night's fire.
"Short legs or no," Gorplin said licking his lips. "We bring the halflings. We need their skills!"
Tory rolled his eyes.
"You mean you want them to cook for your greedy belly," he said as he hoisted his pack on his back.
"Either way," Tory continued. "We need to get going. I'm ready to see that mountain."
Jurgon looked with satisfaction on the cooked rabbit meat and passed the spitted breakfast to Gorplin. The dwarf would have eaten the whole thing had Tory not swiped it from him.
Jurrin, who had been handing Jurgon spices from his pack, replaced all the canisters, brushed his hands off and approached Lote.
"Beg pardon, ma’am," he said. "We followed you so we could join you. You talked about people who wanted to kill others just because they're a different race. That's not right, ma’am."
Ealrin chuckled as he looked over at the scene unfolding.
Lote was the consummate soldier. He knew she would follow orders to her death. She was skilled beyond any of her peers with her bow. Then there was Jurrin. A halfling who, up until a few days ago, had probably never known what it was like to be in a real battle.
Until Lote shot him. A bandage was still wrapped around his wound.
"We want to do right, ma’am," he persisted. "Mayor Allet may think he's doing us a favor by keeping away from everyone, but we don't think so. We want to do something to help."
Lote took a deep breath and looked around at everyone, packs on his or her back, and ready to march.
Ealrin met her eyes and smiled.
One side of her lips turned up slightly.
"We'll not slow our march for you two," she said, looking down at Jurrin with his hands on his suspenders. "You understand?"
The halfling's eyes lit up.
"Oh, yes ma’am! We understand!" He turned back to his friend. "Right, Jurgon?"
"Yup!"
Apparently, Jurgon was a halfling of few words.
Tory shook his head and began to follow Lote, who had turned to begin marching down the trail.
"What a motley crew we've turned into," he said.
"Speak for yourself," Gorplin countered, picking a piece of rabbit meat out of his teeth with the point of his dagger.
***
JURRIN AND JURGON DID in fact keep pace with the company throughout the day's march. Some of that was due to the slowing of their pace by Lote. Unbeknownst to the halflings, their new elf leader had given them a little reprieve and not kept the pace they had for the past week.
Gorplin was both relieved and insulted.
"Bah. She'll slow down for these little folk, but not for a dwarf, eh?" he steamed and complained.
Ealrin paid him little mind.
"You said you would rather shave than let her walk faster than you could. Or did I hear you wrong?" Ealrin reminded Gorplin.
"Bah," he said as he picked up his own pace.
Ealrin chuckled as he watched him run. There wasn't much difference between a dwarf walking quickly and a dwarf running. Both were rather humorous.
As he walked, Ealrin found himself next to Gaflion.
The man had been a bit of an enigma to Ealrin. He was not one to speak much, though when he did the wisdom of his years was invaluable.
They were at the back of the group, so Ealrin thought he might get to know him better.
"Gaflion," he began, not really knowing if calling him sir was proper or not. "How did you come into the service of Thoran?"
Ealrin looked over at him as he marched. He had a few gray hairs mixed with the brown that covered his head. A bushy mustache that had become less pristine with their journey was the only hair on his face. Even on the road, Gaflion had managed to shave his stubble with his knife.
That was something Ealrin was not keen to try, and so had some scruff beginning to grow on his face and neck. He rubbed at it as Gaflion sniffed hard and wiggled his mustache.
