by RG Long
"I was a contemporary of His Majesty, Thoran the IV, Master Ealrin. It would be suffice to say that we served together in the army during his early years. We served as protection for the people of Thoran. There was no need for a large military presence. A sentiment shared by him and his own father. Those were peaceful times and, unfortunately, were soon forgotten after he ascended to the throne."
The company continued to march on. It was nearing midday and Ealrin knew that their meal would be had while they trekked on. The suns were warming the moderate day from up above them and, as they turned to the left, they saw through a break in the trees the mountain range they had been walking towards for half a month.
It loomed ahead of them. Just the top was visible to them at this point. The gate, which Lote was sure they would reach before nightfall, was still hidden in the trees.
"I have long served the king as an advisor in both times of war and of peace," Gaflion continued. "It was I who recommended Master Holve become a general in His Majesty's army. I also helped to train the young princess once it became clear to her mother that the typical duties of a queen would not befit her."
Ealrin had to shake his head to comprehend a few different things Gaflion just revealed.
"Wait," he interrupted. "You knew Teresa's mother? And you told the king to allow Holve to be a general, even though he wasn't a native of Thoran?"
"His Majesty's bride," he replied with a look of sadness in his eyes. "Yes I knew her very well. She was my younger sister."
Ealrin stopped walking altogether.
"What? Then you must be..."
"Madam Teresa's uncle. Correct."
"But... But..." Ealrin could hardly make this right in his head. He had never heard Teresa refer to Gaflion as a relative. She never spoke of him other than his abilities on the battlefield and his council to her.
She never called him family.
Gaflion turned back to Ealrin, since he had walked a few paces ahead of him.
"Her Majesty, the princess of Thoran, was trained by me. I believe she saw me more as a commanding officer than an uncle. I cannot blame her for that. I never showed her much affection. I suppose it is my own fault. She too closely resembles my sister for my tastes."
Ealrin shook his head again and walked on.
"Too closely resembles her? What do you mean?"
"Surely you know that the former queen has been dead for some time, Master Ealrin?"
"Uh..." Ealrin said slowly. He knew a little on that topic.
The portraits he had seen in the halls of Thoran had included the queen. He had used many of them as markers in trying to navigate the castle.
But the queen was nowhere included in any paintings or tapestries with her adult children. Ealrin assumed some unfortunate event had occurred, but had never asked what.
Gaflion shook his head sadly.
"I'll not speak on the matter, as my heart cannot bear having to repeat the story. Suffice to say that she died when it was unnecessary. Both my heart and the king's were broken. For His Majesty, Teresa was his pride and joy. A reminder of the beauty of his bride. For me..."
Gaflion coughed into his hand. Ealrin wasn't sure if it was to clear his throat or his mind.
"For me, seeing Teresa only reminded me of my sister's untimely death and those responsible. I am a broken man whenever I am in her presence."
He paused a moment.
"Instead of going off to battle with her as my second in command, serving among my soldiers, I begged the king to allow me to stay and offer council when needed. I gave up the title of King’s Swords. Instead, I was his adviser, one who was too remorseful of the past to do much good in the present."
Silence permeated the air for several moments.
Finally, Gaflion continued.
"Some men fight for family. Others, for peace. I suppose the reason I am at the service of her Madam Teresa is to bring back times of peace that were stolen from the current generation. My own peace was taken from me long ago."
Ealrin noticed that conversation towards the front of the company had halted as well.
"Do big folk always have such sad tales to tell?" Jurrin asked Jurgon, wiping a tear from one of his eyes.
He looked back at Gaflion and turned red from embarrassment.
"Begging your pardon, sir,” he said. "I must have forgot that I was eavesdropping."
Gaflion sniffed loudly and looked down at the halfling.
"You've nothing to fear, little Master Jurrin," he said kindly and his deep voice. "No, I am afraid that mine is not the only sad tale that could be shared amongst this company. You may have your own before our quest is complete."
"Bah," Gorplin said, though he was breathing heavy from trying to show Lote how quickly he could walk. His sentences were short.
"Don't scare them. We haven't even run into trouble. Not that I wouldn't mind. Been looking forward to a fight."
"You won't fight well wheezing for breath," Lote chided him. "Let's have lunch."
"Food is definitely the best way to lighten my spirits," Bertrom said happily.
Lote was in rare form and allowed them all a chance to sit and rest while they ate. This act proved she was so sure they would reach the mountain gate before supper.
"You're going to be this kind when you and I march north, right?" Tory asked her through a mouthful of berries they had found along the trail.
"That depends on how quick you walk in between meals and if you stop referring to me as that long-legged, pointy eared she elf," she retorted.
Tory nearly choked on his lunch and Bertrom had to hit him several times on the back before he stopped coughing.
"Elf ears," Gorplin muttered under his breath.
"I heard that also," Lote said, standing to her feet with a rare smirk on her face. "That's enough rest. Let's get moving."
The smile died away as quickly as it came. Lote stood like a statue staring back the way they had come.
Ealrin noticed and tried to follow her gaze down the path.
There was nothing there he could see, other than the trail that curved to the right slightly in the distance.
"What do you see, Lote?" Ealrin asked in a low voice.
She silenced him with a shush and held her finger to her lips.
No one moved.
Ealrin noticed that, once again, the forest had gone quiet.
In the distance, some ways down the trail, he heard a low rumbling roar.
"Run," Lote commanded and began to sprint down the trail towards the mountain.
14: A Threat in the Trees
They ran as quickly as they could from the faceless roar that grew ever closer.
"What is that thing?" Bertrom yelled as the company sprinted down the trail.
"A monster I've not heard for a hundred years!" Lote shouted back "Faster!"
Low hanging tree branches smacked Ealrin in the face as he ran down the path. His legs were caught every now and then by a stray vine or root that grew across the dirt path that marked their way.
As they sped along the trail, Ealrin noticed that what was once dirt under his feet was now becoming stone. Not the rough-hewn stones that fell from mountains, but paving stones.
They were close to the gate.
Up ahead the trail made a sharp left. As he rounded the bend, Ealrin saw the fortification that marked the border between the two countries.
An arched gate that looked like the entrance to a castle came into view. On either side of the archway, a giant stone wall blended into the two mountains that rose up to the north and south. The wall was at least three stories tall. A solid iron gate was opened tall enough for a man riding a horse to pass through unhindered. Pillars and archways lined the last stone's throw of the path, marking it to be an ancient and once glorious entryway. It had now nearly fallen into ruin.
Ealrin could see guards walking along the top wall with spears in their hands, wearing red uniforms with a black crest on their chests that was impossible t
o discern from their distance.
Some people not dressed in any uniform were milling about the entrance of the gate.
Lote was shouting at them urgently!
"To arms! Troll! Defend the gate!"
Ealrin glanced over his shoulder to see that Gorplin, Jurrin, and Jurgon were bringing up the rear.
At the same time he saw, making the turn and not a stone’s throw away from the three stragglers, a giant monster that he could only guess was a troll.
The thing was twice as tall as he was. Its gray skin was similar to that of the goblins they had fought in the past. Like a goblin, it had a huge mouth, large ears, and black hair covering it in places. Unlike the smaller monsters, its torso was elongated and its arms were easily as long as its whole body.
A simple loincloth was all it wore for clothes, though some tree trunks had been fashioned into crude armor to protect its gigantic arms and chest. A large rock was tied to the end of a giant log that the troll swung over its head as it raced towards them.
Jurgon stumbled and fell over a loose paving stone. He cried out as he fell and Gorplin turned on his heel. At the same moment, a monumental crash sounded behind Ealrin. He spun around to see that the huge iron gate had slammed closed, sending up a dust cloud.
"I said defend the gate you fools! Don't close it yet!" Lote was yelling even louder and threateningly.
"Watch out behind you!" one of the guards yelled back, pointing at the troll.
As if they needed the warning.
Ealrin drew his blade as he turned to face the oncoming monster.
"I suppose there won't be reinforcements," he said as Lote ran to his side, drawing her bow.
"Doubtfully," she replied. "Trolls are supposed to have thick hides, almost like armor."
"So what do we do?" Ealrin asked as they began to trot back to their friends.
Gorplin had drawn his axe with one hand, and with the other he was helping Jurgon to his feet along with Jurrin. It looked as if the halfling had twisted his ankle. They carried him beyond Bertrom, Gaflion, and Tory, who had drawn their weapons and turned to face the beast.
"Aim for the eyes," Lote answered, and let an arrow fly. The beast was swinging its club back and forth in front of it. More from luck than skill, the arrow bounced off the weapon harmlessly.
Lote cursed.
"Come on, you!" Tory yelled as the thing swung its club in a high arc, denting the stone as it crashed to the earth. Tory had only just jumped out of the way. Gaflion began to hack away at the creature's hand and arm, doing little damage. Bertrom seemed rooted to the spot. The troll had noticed the unmoving and easy to grab target. The troll's hand reached out for Bertrom. Ealrin rushed next to him and slammed his own body into the young recruit, barely dodging the massive troll's grab. Bertrom's sword fell from his hand and clanged to the ground.
The two rolled behind the troll in a pile. Ealrin looked up in time to see Lote fire another arrow at the creature's face. This one found its mark. The troll let out a long bellow and grabbed its head with one hand, taking a few steps back. Ealrin forced Bertrom to roll over several times to avoid being stepped on. They hit a stone column that was on the side of the road and towered above even the troll. It shook and rocked precariously.
"Get up, Bertrom! Quick!" Ealrin yelled at him as he scrambled to his feet.
He saw that Gorplin had returned to the fight and was trying to cut off the troll's foot with his axe. He was having very little success.
"Gray skinned foul creature!" the dwarf yelled as he twirled his axe this way and that. The troll continued to dance around the dwarf, howling in pain at the arrow in its eye.
"Gorplin!" Ealrin yelled as he got behind the pillar and shoved with all his might. "Over here!"
The dwarf looked up and ran towards the column. Gaflion ran beside him. The troll chased after the two, swinging his club wildly with one arm and clutching his face with the other.
Lote was continuing to fire arrow after arrow at the beast, but to no effect.
Bertrom was on his feet and pushing the column with Ealrin now. The stones were beginning to shift.
"Over here, beastie!" Gorplin yelled as he planted himself on the other side of the pillar that Ealrin and Bertrom were pushing. The dwarf swung his axe into the pillar as if it were a tree. A great chunk of rock flew out.
Gaflion turned and made a jump off of a large stone in the path. He pointed his sword right at the neck of the beast, just as the pillar began to fall in the direction Ealrin and Bertrom pushed it. Gaflion’s blade managed to pierce the skin of the troll and plunge into its neck. As it did, however, the troll swatted at the old soldier with its massive arms and sent him flying.
In a rage, the troll grabbed at the sword. A sickly gurgling mixed with a howl as it clawed at the blade.
Then the stone pillar fell and the beast fell with it. A stark silence hung in the air.
As the dust cleared around them, Ealrin took stock of their condition. Jurgon and Jurrin were close to the gate. Jurgon was clutching his ankle and Jurrin was attempting to identify what was wrong with it.
Lote had run over to Gaflion. The older soldier was breathing, but it was very labored. He had landed beside a tree. Ealrin wasn't sure if he had hit it before falling to the ground.
Gorplin was standing over the head of the troll, ensuring that the thing was dead. The dwarf drew out Gaflion's blade with some effort. The thing came free, but was covered in the black blood of the gray skinned races.
"Bah," he said, as he went to wipe the blade clean on the grass. "Smells like death already."
Ealrin was about to turn and check on Gaflion as well when he realized Bertrom still hadn't moved.
He just stood still and looked down at the fallen creature with wide eyes.
"It's alright, Bertrom," Ealrin said as he walked back to him. "It's dead."
Bertrom didn't move. His hands trembled slightly and a sweat bead ran down his cheek.
"Hey!" Ealrin said, taking him by the shoulders and shaking him a bit. "You okay?"
He blinked a few times, shook his head, and then looked at Ealrin as if he had only just realized he was standing there.
"Yeah... Yeah, I'm fine," he said as he stumbled towards Gaflion and Lote and away from the troll.
Ealrin watched him walk away for a bit. Gorplin returned with a clean blade.
"Still a kid, that one," he said low enough for Bertrom not to hear.
"I suppose so," Ealrin replied as he wondered how wise it was to have Bertrom come on this journey.
More perilous battles surely lay ahead of them.
15: The Greater Good
Androlion walked among the prisoners in the lower chambers of the dungeon. Elves, dwarves, and even a handful of halflings were on their knees with their hands tied behind their backs. Several torches along the wall were the only source of light in this dank place. The smell of decay and rats filled the air. Cool air that had not seen daylight in a hundred years settled on the smooth, damp stones of the floor.
Thirty guards dressed in Androlion's personal color stood behind them. Each had a sword resting on the neck of the prisoner in front of them. All they needed was a command from their leader.
Androlion looked in the face of each prisoner. He had seen so many over the past month. So many had been in this very dungeon, dug out of the ground below the Capital Tower in Conny. In previous times, these dark stone walls housed goblins and trolls. Above them the more civilized prisoners were kept: murderers and thieves. The ceiling was low and would discourage any who feared tight spaces.
The room was wide and square shaped. Barred doors that led to small cells lined every available space in the walls, save for two doors. One had a staircase leading upwards to other chambers. The other led further down. As Androlion walked down the line of those bound and gagged on the floor, he stopped and considered the second staircase.
He dreaded it.
Yet he knew that all too soon, necessity would drive him
deeper underground. The catacombs would call to him. And the secrets held within them would be unearthed.
But now, there was a much more present threat to handle.
"Rayg," he said to the man who stood at the other end of the room. "Do you understand why Ruyn must be cleansed?"
He turned to face the man that had been his general since the beginning of his pursuit of power and salvation. His huge frame was wrapped in black armor. His sword was much too large for any normal man to wield.
But Rayg was no normal man.
He was power and battle lust incarnate. Of all his leadership, Rayg was the one whom he knew would lead armies to victory. No matter the odds.
But it was also why he distrusted him.
Any man who could wield more power than he was a threat to his vision of a pure continent. One that would be spared the coming darkness.
"We cleanse to save man, my Lord," was Rayg's calm reply as he idly picked at his nails. His hands and face were the only parts of him not covered in his famed and feared armor. Many small interwoven pieces of shaped metal allowed him to move with frightening agility. He was a master soldier.
One whom, Androlion knew, would have to meet his end before long.
He smiled, knowing Rayg would fall before the glory of the cleansing was complete.
"The age of man is upon us," Androlion said. The prisoners shifted as they listened.
They knew what this speech would mean.
"I have seen the future, and it is one without dwarves, elves, or other filth," Androlion said as he walked back up the line. "If man is to thrive and avoid destruction, other races must be eliminated."
He stopped at an elf who was glaring at him. Anger and rage was in the prisoner's eyes.
Androlion smiled. He removed the cloth that gagged his mouth.
"What's your name, elf?"
Disgust filled the elf's face.
"Feran of the House Carail," he said, loathing dripping from his lips. "From Ingur."
