by RG Long
This only fueled the excitement growing in Androlion's chest.
"You and your kind have lived on Ruyn for a thousand years without hindrance or pain. Man struggled from the first. We have built for ourselves a nation that will grow into an empire. Man will reign supreme here. Your race's time is spent."
"You're a coward and a fool," the elf said, fully aware what speaking meant. "I hope you rot and die a slow, torturous death at the hands of an elf someday."
Androlion was quick. His hand had been on the dagger even as the elf had looked at him. He let the dagger stay where it landed: the elf's throat.
Any who threatened mankind would meet a similar fate.
Such atrocities were warranted if it meant the survival of his kind. Androlion knew that this was the only way. It was what had been shown to him in his vision. It was the future.
The other prisoners struggled against their bonds. Androlion stepped over the now dead elf towards Rayg and the staircase that led upwards. Now was not the time to descend.
As he came to the door, Rayg bowed low to him.
"See to this," Androlion ordered as he put a foot on the stair and nodded back to the prisoners.
Giving orders and having them obeyed was what gave Androlion his power. As long as Rayg followed his commands, all would go well.
Your time will come soon, Androlion thought.
Rayg turned to him and nodded once again in salute.
As he climbed the stairs, he heard the sound of threescore blades make quick and fatal cuts. Muffled screams. Several thuds as bodies hit the stones.
It was all for the greater good.
***
HE ROSE OUT OF THE prison chamber into one hall and then past another. Before long, they had entered the rotunda that served as an entrance hall to the great Capital Tower.
Waiting there, on Androlion's orders, were three men.
All were newly instated generals in his forces as he had yet to find any that could dependably do his work.
Except for Rayg, Androlion noted, annoyed at the fact.
"Very good," he said as he approached the three. "You've come."
He nodded for them to follow him as he ascended the stairs of the tower up to the war room. It was the place where once the ideals of unity and peace had been discussed. It brought Androlion great joy to plan war on the races on that large wooden table.
Once they had entered the room, Androlion stopped to consider the large map of Ruyn that had been laid upon the table. This room had once held the elders of the three major races of the Southern Republic. Now only one elder remained, as Androlion had conspired.
That elder, Tane Silverthread, now lay asleep in his chair at the head of the table.
Good, Androlion thought. Fewer interruptions from a fool.
On the map were marked all the major settlements of dwarves, elves, and other races that would be the undoing of the survival of men. In the cities Androlion now controlled were little wooden pegs, painted green. Each signified a thousand troops.
At the moment, several were placed by each major city in the Southern Republic.
More were placed in other areas along the map, poised to strike.
For the other areas, those not yet under his grasp, other pegs of different colors were gathered. An estimate from spies of how many troops defended each.
"Men," Androlion said as he took up a wooden rod to move the pieces wherever he saw fit. "The time to act is upon us. Yet preparations must still be made."
He began to move the pieces around the map.
"I await one of my most trusted generals from the north. In his absence, the three of you," he said motioning to each in turn with his rod, "will see that we are ready for our next move."
Just then, the doors to the chamber burst open. Tane awoke from his sleep and looked around the room in a daze. His face showed slight agitation at being woken from his nap, but he quickly sat upright at the sight of Androlion and his generals. The elder adjusted his robes around him as he looked at the one who had just entered the circular chamber.
"Welcome, General Rayg," Tane said in a sleepy voice.
The large soldier walked into the room followed by four other Mercs at his command.
Androlion was annoyed at the sight of him. The general was acting less and less like a subordinate and more like a king. Who were these men of his, Androlion wondered.
No matter. There were more important matters to see to.
Rayg stopped at the table and made a half bow in Androlion's direction, not bothering to return Tane's greeting.
"Thank you for your service, Rayg," Androlion said with a slight grimace. At this point, he cared little for how much his most tenured general thought of him.
"I need you here," he pointed his rod to a gathering of green pegs. "See to their preparations as we have discussed. After that is done, ensure our gray skinned allies aren't killing one another. Put them to better uses."
Rayg saluted.
"My Lord," he said. Then he turned and left the chamber, his men in tow.
It irked him that Rayg had left without being dismissed. He would ignore the disrespect for now.
Once he had acquired what he desired above all else, Rayg's immense physical strength would mean very little compared to the greater power Androlion would soon control. It was with his new power that he would topple countries and preserve mankind. He would see to the salvation of Ruyn and the subjugation of all.
But he still lacked one thing.
Driving the thought from his mind for the time being, he looked down at the table.
Again, Androlion motioned to an area of the map.
"As for you two," he continued, pointing to the rather short, robust, brown haired man and the man to his left: a quite slim and tall, black haired individual. "Gather these men here and continue their training for what must be done here."
They both saluted, knowing better than to talk at the moment.
"And finally, my newest general," he said.
He considered the young man.
What a promising career lies ahead of this one, he thought. If he can continue to deliver, that is.
"Your information has been most useful, but your purpose in the north is fulfilled. For now. I need you in the south. There, train and recruit the men and ready them for General Rayg's preparations."
After he finished pointing out where he needed the general, he looked at him again.
The man had saluted already, yet held his attention.
How much he looked like his twin, Androlion thought. Save for his brown locks, they could be interchangeable. Save for the glorious fact that Androlion had convinced one of them to defect from his country, betray his friends, and kill his companions.
A glorious future lay ahead of him, there was no doubt.
"Are you prepared to do what is commanded of you, General Cory?"
The young man glared back at Androlion with a look of resoluteness. His answer echoed throughout the hall, stirring Tane, who had dozed off again.
"Yes, sir!"
16: After the Battle
Teresa walked the walls of her castle with several sergeants and surveyed the damage done by the goblins. It could have been much worse.
Repairs would need to be made to the main gate as well as the eastern wall. None of the gray-skinned intruders ever got past the wall, but their catapults did significant damage to many buildings and homes that were situated close to the entrance.
Teresa had to keep herself from inhaling too deeply as the smoke from the fires outside the castle walls blew towards them on a soft breeze.
Family and friends would give the soldiers of Thoran a proper burial. The mourning for them had already begun. Many had come down from the safety of the castle to check on their sons, daughters, fathers, and mothers who had defended them so bravely. Some had come to find that those who they sought would not return home with them.
The bodies of the goblins were unceremoniously piled a
nd burned.
The same would've been done to those who lived inside the walls had they not been able to repel the attackers.
Teresa was glad the invading goblin force had been so small. Had it been much larger, the fighting would have gone on for several weeks, instead of just a few days. Once the defenders had destroyed all of the goblins war machines, the beasts had seen the futility of continuing the battle and run.
Thoran's casualties had been light. Those of fighting age had already been called in to serve in their country's army. Far too many had already fallen in other battles. Teresa feared that they could not sustain many more losses and defend their homeland.
She stopped and looked over the wall into the mountains and forests beyond.
What would her father do?
The question had haunted her for weeks.
She had always seen him as the consummate ruler. Wise and strong. Kind and good.
She had never seen herself stepping in to fill his role. She never wanted it.
Ever since she decided to join the army, much to her mother's chagrin, she felt as if she had found her place.
She was a warrior, not a queen.
And one of her first decisions as the ruler of Thoran was to send everyone she trusted as a friend off on an adventure without her.
She yearned to go with them. Traveling to Beaton in search of aid was more what she believed her best role was. But her people needed her here. She told herself that every morning. And every night as she lay in bed she wondered if someone else could rule better in her place.
Though she would never say it out loud, she missed them. The King’s Swords was where she belonged. The palace felt foreign, odd.
She hoped they would return quickly with news of aid. She also hoped her brothers would return with them and rule the country, as they had been raised to do. But what then? What of Androlion? What of the army he could amass against them? Were there more goblins out there, waiting a command to attack?
Her thoughts wandered as she stared off towards the south.
A sergeant coughed behind her.
"Oh," she said. She turned and remembered she was not alone with her thoughts. There was a city to rebuild.
"Come men," she said in a voice that sounded too commanding and too forced. She just wasn't good at this. "Let's go tend to our city."
They began to descend the stairs that led back into the busy streets below, when a trumpet sounded. It was not the call of battle, but one of a delegation.
Teresa quickly ran up the stairs. She looked over the wall, but saw nothing.
"Milady!" came a call from the gate watchtower. One of her soldiers was waving from the eastern facing opening and pointing below. "A single rider! He bears a white flag!"
"From where are his colors?" She shouted back to him.
"He wears green, Milady!
The Southern Republic, thought Teresa. The enemy.
***
"OPEN THE GATE!" SHE ordered as they came to the main entrance to the city. A single rider came in on his horse. He was a young man with bright blonde hair.
"Hail, Thoran! I must speak with your ruler at once!" he began. He was unable to say much else, however, as Teresa leapt up and dragged him down off his horse. Her men restrained the beast as it reared up, annoyed at being dismounted so roughly.
“What is this?” the man said as he was taken off his horse. “I demand an audience with the prince...”
He didn't finish his sentence.
Teresa ensured he fell hard and that she was above him. She heard the air knocked out of him and his words stopped immediately. For good measure, she put her knee into his ribs.
His moan of pain was quite satisfying.
"How dare you bring the colors of Androlion Fellgate into my country!"
Teresa drew a knife from her hip and put it to the man's throat.
"My father is dead because of your country's insanity. I should have your head as the beginning of revenge for the thousands of my people who died because of your republic."
She spat at the ground beside him.
She truly was not her father. However, she felt great satisfaction at holding this messenger's life in her hands. What was one life when thousands had been spent defending peace and sanity?
The man gulped hard. Sweat dripped down his brow. He opened his mouth to speak, but Teresa cut him off.
"I should warn you, that the next words from your mouth are tied up very closely to your life. Ponder them well."
She had almost whispered the words to him. None of her men moved to stop her actions. They probably would have loved to gut anyone from Androlion's camp themselves.
The blonde man breathed deeply and spoke slowly.
"Not all from the once great Southern Republic share that disgraced elder's ramblings as worth listening to."
Teresa eased up on her dagger.
"Keep talking," she said. "But your life is not spared yet."
She looked closely at him and realized that his uniform was not bearing the white griffin of Androlion, but rather the three triangles of The Southern Republic.
"I come asking for aid," he continued. He spoke more calmly as he felt the pressure give from the dagger's edge.
"Aid for who?" Teresa asked, puzzled that anyone would think Thoran capable of sending aid. Surely they would have known of the hardships that the country had faced?
They had only sent for aid several days ago themselves to the north.
"For those who seek to undo Androlion Fellgate and restore peace back to Ruyn," he answered.
Teresa got off of him and stood up. The messenger gave a great sigh of relief and rubbed his ribs gently.
"One elder of the old Republic remains," he said as he sat up and looked Teresa in the eyes. He could not have been older than twenty, yet Teresa saw great sorrow in his brown eyes.
"She requests an audience with the ruler of Thoran."
Teresa reached out a hand to help the man off his back. He looked at her questioningly.
“Your life is no longer forfeit, if that is your worry,” she said plainly, continuing to offer her hand.
He took it and stood. After he dusted himself off, he spoke.
“In three days, Mara of The Southern Republic will port in River Head. She begs for council.”
Teresa regarded him closely, and then nodded.
"Take him to the barracks and find him a place among the soldiers to rest until morning," she commanded.
He looked around questioningly.
“Um, ma'am,” he began looking awkwardly around. “I do still need to speak with the ruler of Thoran. Elder Mara seeks council from him.”
“Her,” Teresa corrected him. “You've been speaking with the ruler of Thoran this whole time.”
He looked aghast at her for a moment. Then, as if waking up from a dream, he shook himself and bowed low. He also grunted a bit and held his ribs. Teresa began to feel bad for him.
“My apologies, Milady!” he said. “I thought Thoran's prince had taken the throne after the sad passing of the king!”
This wasn't making Teresa regret her decision to knee him in the ribs at all.
“My brothers are north for the time being. I will counsel with Mara,” she said.
She turned to leave, but then realized the man was still bowing down.
"What's your name?" she asked him.
"Alec," he replied, still bowed low and grunting a bit every now and then.
"Rise, Alec," she said, feeling a bit awkward at telling someone to stop bending over. “Bring him back his horse!”
A sergeant brought back his mount and handed him the reigns.
"And rest well, Alec. We leave at dawn for River Head."
Teresa walked out past the gate a few paces onto the road that lay ahead.
If she could not join the King’s Swords in an attempt to gain aid for Thoran, perhaps she could find aid herself in River Head.
Perhaps she could prove her worth as
Thoran's leader.
17: The Sly Pirate
Blume stood on the small stage of the grungy inn they had wandered into a week ago. The innkeeper's wife had seen the three and taken pity on them.
“Just look at them, Marvin! They're wasting away!”
It was a little difficult for Blume to understand her meaning, as they had only left Thoran the day before, spent one night in the alleyway, and actually eaten two meals on the streets of Sea Gate, before stumbling upon the inn.
Wasting away surely wasn't the right way to describe them, but in comparison to the innkeeper wife's considerable girth, they were smaller by far.
It had actually been Abigail who had spotted the help wanted poster outside the building, after having wandered several back alleyways and side streets, trying to find a place to stay.
They had promised to work hard in exchange for food, a place to sleep at night, and a coin each a day. According to Jeremy's math, they were losing out quite a lot in truth, as the innkeeper charged any tenants six coins for a night's stay and a meal. But they had a warm bed, plenty to eat, and a fresh set of clothes for the three of them.
And so far, their attempts to hide Abigail and Jeremy's race had gone well. Jeremy was the youngest of the three (or so they told their employers), while Abigail was the oldest and tallest.
It seemed this story satisfied both Beryl and Marvin. And one night, after finishing a song for the guests, Blume overheard Beryl speaking with another patron. Apparently the two were old friends and went back a long way. As she walked from the stage, Beryl motioned for Blume to join them at their table.
“Blume, this is Miss Pearl, a dear friend of mine,” she said as she scooted over to make room for the small girl. There wasn't much room left on the tiny bench, but it was enough for Blume to pretend to sit.
“Pearl, this is the wonderful singing girl I've been telling you all about,” Beryl gushed to her friend. “Didn't I tell you? She's a natural talent!”
Miss Pearl smiled, or at least Blume thought she did.
As bubbly and outgoing as Beryl was, Pearl seemed to be quite the opposite. Beryl looked at every patron as if she could have been his or her long lost mother, or at least neighbor and dear friend.
