by RG Long
The female elf, which Ealrin could only guess was Wisym, gave the guard a stern look.
“You weren't trying to get the tax out of this group were you?”
The guard stammered.
“Uh. Well. They didn't mention the Elf Preservation act, Miss Wisym,” he said.
“They have an elf in their party,” Wisym pointed out. “I think you can put it together after that.”
She then turned to group with a smile.
“Follow me,” she said. “I'll take you to the governor of Beaton straight away.”
The group walked past the open-mouthed guard and through the gate of Beaton.
“What just happened?” Tory asked Ealrin.
Ealrin shook his head as he looked back on the guard, scratching his neck again.
He had no idea.
***
BEATON WAS HUGE.
Even as night began to set in, people were everywhere. It was difficult to navigate the crowded streets at times. Shops lined every corner and down every street that Ealrin could see. The roads were stone paved and, at times, wide enough for twenty to walk across without being hindered. If the streets were empty that is.
Beaton's population seemed to be all sorts. Light and dark skinned men and women moved about, peddling their wares. Those who weren't selling their own trinkets were buying the ones offered in the market. Many carried heavy looking packages or bags filled with various goods.
A group of dwarves walked out of an armory with satisfied faces. Gorplin saluted them and they returned the gesture.
Elves, who wore different colors than the red and black of Beaton, also walked about. Their attire was green and silver. Many of them acknowledged Wisym and regarded Lote with curious eyes.
There were no single story buildings. Everything was built high. Ealrin assumed shop owners lived above their places of business and at least two inns they passed were five stories tall.
It was a bustling city there was no doubt.
And everywhere they walked, someone emblazoned in the symbol of the Red Guard was there, spear in hand and sword strapped on.
They had walked far enough to cross the capital of Thoran twice before they came to another wall, just as tall as the outer defenses.
"The city is divided up into sections," Wisym said. "We just walked through the business and financial sector. Once we cross the gate, we will be in the upper-class area. Only the rich and powerful live and can get in here."
Ealrin must have made a questioning look at her.
She winked at him.
"Don't worry," she said with a smile. "You're with me."
Wisym knocked on the gate and a small slat opened up. Two eyes. Out from the hole.
"It's me, Coriander. And I have..."
Wisym turned to count everyone who was in the party. "Eight guests with me. Please let us in."
Ealrin heard a gruff humph come from the other side of the gate before the little slat slammed shut.
A moment later the large wooden gates that resembled the ones they had walked through earlier cracked open, just wide enough for them to squeeze through one at time.
Once on the other side, Ealrin saw that Coriander was a rather fat old-looking member of the Red Guard. His uniform was bursting at the seams and his red-feathered helmet didn't sit correctly on his head.
"Miss Wisym and eight guests," he said out loud as they passed him.
A young boy sitting at a desk beside the gate took down notes in a leather bound volume.
"Being protective is one thing," Tory said to Ealrin. "These people seem downright crazy."
Wisym looked back at Tory and put a finger to her lips. She didn't look upset. In fact, her eyes still smiled at them.
But Ealrin got the feeling that this was not the appropriate place to talk poorly about the Red Guard.
The upper section of the city was indeed beautiful. Every home was a work of art. Columns and pillars lined the entryways to each. Unlike the business district, small yards of green grass took a prominent spot in front of each home.
"I think I could live in a house like that," Bertrom said, pointing to one of the more luxurious looking homes.
Wisym looked back and followed his finger.
"That house belongs to one of the higher ups in the Red Guard. "
Apparently being in the Red Guard came with a few perks, Ealrin thought.
"Just wait to see the governor's mansion! "Wisym said as she motioned for them to follow her down another street.
Even though it was almost dark, the grandeur of the governor’s mansion was not lost on the party.
White pillars held up a beautifully carved portico. Intricately designed lanterns lit their path to the front door. All manner of flowers and bushes grew in the garden that lined the walkway.
A three-story mansion rose up to meet them.
"Ever fancy being a governor?" Bertrom asked Tory.
"I've never been one for politics," he said. "But maybe I ought to give it a try."
Once inside the beautifully carved oak doors, the party found themselves in what was easily the most beautiful dwelling any of them had ever been inside.
Ealrin was stunned.
Before them was an atrium with exquisite carvings and decorations. The dome was covered in a painting of the city of Beaton and the people it held. Four great pillars held the structure above them.
Two half-circle staircases led to two large ornate doors on the second floor. Underneath the stairs, another hall opened up before them. The end of the corridor was not easily visible. Several smaller doors and halls led from the great foyer.
An attendant dressed in similar red robes to Wisym came up from one of the smaller doors and greeted them.
"Miss Wisym," a young woman said. "It's nice to see you back. Who are your..."
She examined the group for the first time with a long stare before finishing her sentence.
"...friends?"
Wisym smiled.
"That will be explained later. Please let the governor know I have returned and request an important meeting immediately."
The attendant bowed and rushed up the stairs.
With a deep breath, Wisym turned and faced the group.
"Well, now that that's over, I suppose we should introduce ourselves before I bring you to the governor."
"My name is Wisym. I am the leader of what is left of the elves of Talgel and diplomat to the Governor of Beaton," she said with a smile before asking her first question of them.
"Who are you?"
26: Carts Full of Slaves
Blume woke up as the cart she was riding in bumped along the dusty road. It was still nighttime, judging by the very dim light that came from a small hole that served as their only window.
It'd been a week since most of the children at Miss Greer’s Home for the Helpless were rounded up. Most were thrown haphazardly into carts pulled by strong horses and driven by soldiers of the Southern Republic.
The carts were little more than wooden boxes with a door on the back and a small window on the front. Comfort, nor ease of travel, had been considered in their construction. The sole purpose of the carts was to transport bodies.
Blume had been thrown into a cart with eight other children. Two of them were her age. One was much older, but still looked like a child to the soldiers. The others with them were six or seven at best.
There was no furniture in the cart. A solitary bucket collected their waste.
Once a day a metal pitcher filled with water would be passed through the window so they could drink. Their food was whatever scraps the soldiers saw fit to give them.
Because of this their bucket didn't collect much waste anyways.
Blume had certainly been through a lot in the past year. The last week inside this cart, however, had been the worst experience of her young life.
She sat huddled in a corner; Jeremy’s head lay up on her lap.
Though he was twice her age, in dwarf years he was still considered
a teenager.
And for the last three days he had been extremely sick.
When he had thrown up everything he had eaten over the course of their journey so far, he simply dry heaved until he wore himself out.
Blume almost had to force water into his mouth to ensure he didn't dehydrate. His forehead was still burning hot to the touch.
He was asleep with his mouth open. His lips were cracked and his breathing was ragged.
Blume feared for his life.
She had given up trying to get someone outside of their cart to have pity on them and give them medicine or even simply more water.
Her pleas for help went unanswered.
Without her Rimstone to perform healing magic, she felt helpless.
So she did the only thing she knew.
She sang.
The fish they swim.
The birds will fly.
But I'll be walking by and by.
By castles fair.
By cities wide.
There's nowhere that I can't hide.
To friends who're near.
And family far.
I will walk to where they are.
The moon will rise.
The sun will set.
And I have walking to do yet.
“Could you sing that one again Miss Blume?" a little voice asked her.
Blume looked over at the small huddled up form of one of the younger children.
It was Thomas, a seven-year-old boy. His father had marched north to fight with the army against Thoran. When his name appeared on the list of those who had given their life for the Southern Republic, his mother had taken her own life as well.
With no family close by nor any siblings, Thomas soon found himself out on the streets. Before he had come to the Home for the Helpless he had lived a happy life. He wasn't spoiled, nor did he go without. To hear him speak about his parents and how much he missed them was heartbreaking.
Blume motioned for him to scoot closer to her and put her arm around him.
"I'll sing it again, Thomas," she said. "Only this time try to go back to sleep.""
He nodded his head and leaned against her shoulder.
At the end of the song, Blume found herself crying silent tears and trying not to wake anyone else in the cart.
She tried hard not to think about someone she had not seen since the night all this happened.
Blume didn't know if Abigail was in another cart, back at the Home for the Helpless, or if she had suffered some worse fate.
***
ANOTHER BUMP FROM THE cart woke Blume up from a sleep she didn't remember starting. Thomas was still asleep on her shoulder. She looked down in her lap to see that Jeremy was still there as well. His eyes had opened for the first time in days.
“Morning, Jeremy,” Blume said softly, trying not to wake Thomas.
Jeremy grunted and adjusted himself on the floor of the cart. Blume thought he must have been pretty sore after lying in the same spot for a few days.
“I noticed you left out 'good,'” he said with a raspy voice, “which accurately describes how I feel at the moment. Most certainly, not good.”
It was the most he had said in two days. Blume was encouraged by at least hearing him talk.
“Miss Blume?” Thomas asked.
She hadn't felt him stir. When she looked down at him, he hadn't even moved or opened his eyes. Still, he must have at least woken up a little.
“Is Mister Jeremy gonna die?”
A lump formed in Blume's throat.
“No,” she said through a watery haze in her eyes. “No, he'll be just fine. We just have to take care of him.”
She opened her eyes to see Jeremy looking up at her. He wore a look of both pain and great appreciation for her.
Blume stroked his head. He was still hot to the touch. But less so than yesterday.
“I think his fever is breaking,” she said, more to herself than to Thomas.
“Hey! Water!” a voice from outside the cart yelled.
The kids looked up and saw a metal pitcher shoved through the window. Precious drops splashed out as whoever was offering them the drink handled the cup without care.
Thomas jumped up and grabbed it, attempting not to spill the precious liquid.
In truth, it wasn't the cleanest. Little minerals floated around in the cup. The water had the slightest brown tinge to it. They didn't care.
Blume would have drunk a gallon of the water, if given the opportunity. She was so thirsty.
But this was all they would get for the entire day. The pitcher was no larger than a large mug of ale.
Typically, they would pass it among the youngest of them first. The three little ones were all in various stages of dehydration. But today, instead of taking the first drink, Thomas brought the pitcher over to Jeremy.
“Here, Mister Jeremy,” he said as he slowly tipped the pitcher of water to his mouth. “You need this more than we do.”
Blume held him back gently.
“Thank you, Thomas,” she said, truly touched by his act of selflessness. “But if we all drink after Mister Jeremy we might all get sick. You three drink first.”
Thomas looked hurt, but understood all the same.
The little ones drank two swallows a piece. Blume took hers, then the other older girl, whose name was Rosa, took a sip.
“He needs it,” she said as Blume gave her a questioning look.
Rosa hadn't spoken much this entire time. The little ones snuggled up next to her more than Blume and she affectionately patted them. She hadn't shared her story about how she came to be at Miss Greer's or what happened to her parents or anything.
She ate and drank silently.
Perhaps her story was too sad to tell.
Sometimes, Blume had thought, being quiet might be better than bringing up old pains.
She smiled at the quiet girl, and offered Jeremy the rest of the water.
Jeremy drank while actually conscious. That alone was an improvement. He had two or three large gulps and smacked his lips in satisfaction.
Then the water was gone.
They hardly stopped in this caravan. It seemed to Blume that the army marched all day and all night. There were some periods where they rested what could not have been for more than a few hours. But that was all.
Time passed in odd intervals inside the cart. Only one could look outside the window at a time, and only for a limited span. The ceiling wasn't tall enough to let Blume stand to her full height, yet any of the smaller children had to be given a boost to see what was happening beyond their cage.
Mostly, the view was of countless soldiers marching. Blume guessed they were heading north, due to never having the suns shine directly though the opening. But that was just a guess.
Thoran had already had its army beaten. When the trio had mistakenly left Thoran, a goblin army was coming against it. Surely this was Androlion's maneuver to finish off the country for good. Blume sat back. If they were going back to Thoran, this was certainly not how she would have liked to.
***
ONE DAY, WHEN THEY would typically be handed their food, a commotion was happening just outside the cart.
“I want to see!”
“Give us a chance!”
“Where's that thing?”
The voices came from all around them. Blume sat upright, still cradling Jeremy's head in her lap.
“What's going on, Miss Blume?” Thomas asked as he huddled close.
She shook her head in response and looked to Rose.
The other two children were close to her and she sat wide-eyed, staring at the window.
Then someone starting banging on the outside of the cart. The noise reverberated loudly and the children started screaming.
The cart shook and rocked as the banging continued. Blume saw some figures pass in front of the window. She couldn't tell who or what they were. The visions of what could be transpiring were murky and terrifying.
Sudden
ly a voice rang out, clear and strong.
“Stop that! Soldiers! Stop!”
The banging stopped and all was quiet.
“Back in line! All of you! Where is your officer?”
There was a shuffling of feet and some grumbling voices.
Blume could hear the sounds of a horse trotting alongside the animal that pulled their cage.
One more loud bang came against their cart. Blume felt the boards right behind her head move.
“You there!” came the voice again. “What are you doing?”
“We heard there was a dwarf in there, sir!” came the reply.
Blume looked at Jeremy anxiously. He returned her glare.
“What's that to you? Back to your position!” the other voice barked.
There was a pause. Blume certainly heard someone right outside her cart, but the sound of boots walking away didn't come.
“Sir,” the voice next to the cart said. “Aren't we supposed to be killing off the dwarves? And the elves? That's what Master Androlion keeps telling us we're to do. Cleanse the continent.”
Now Blume was nervous. All that stood between her and a soldier who wished to kill Jeremy was a few old boards.
The armies of Androlion had certainly seen fit to kill any other race they come in contact with. Blume had experienced that in Weyfield. She had seen it in Thoran. What was to stop them now if that was what they desired?
Outside the cart, Blume heard someone in armor dismount from their horse and draw a sword. Her heart began to race.
Was this going to be their end?
Then there was a crashing sound and the cart rocked as something smashed hard against the boards next to Blume.
“I don't care who or what is in there. My orders are to see them to our journey's end safely,” said a voice right outside the cart. His tone was threatening.
“If you so much as come near their cart again, I'll cleanse the continent of you and your insolence. Back in line!”
Another crash against the cart was followed by the sound of someone falling to the ground and gagging. Whoever it was must have been held by the throat up against their wooden cage.
Blume tried to look through the cracks in the boards and could just barely make out a man climbing back onto his horse and someone helping the other off the ground.
