by RG Long
“Get back to your commanding officer,” the voice said as he settled on his mount. “Before I place you in my personal care. Hiyah!”
Horse hooves sounded out and sped away.
Grumbling men walked off and the cart was once again moving along.
Blume looked at Jeremy, who looked back to her.
“I cannot ascertain who that man was,” he said. “But I believe I owe him my life.”
***
JEREMY WAS RECOVERING slowly.
He was by no means well, but certainly not dying.
After a day of him being able to sit up and support himself, Blume was feeling relieved that he was no longer at death's door.
She also had another revelation.
"Jeremy," she said one morning after they had drank their water pitcher dry. "This is the most time you and I have ever spent together without Abigail."
He nodded his head, though his eyes were closed. Jeremy still complained about headaches from his fever.
"Are you surprised by your ability to tolerate me?" he asked with a small smile.
Blume chuckled.
"Well, I do tend to have a soft spot for pitiful creatures," she replied.
He gave a true smile.
"I didn't think you'd ever desire to be in my presence again, after I told Miss Wishter you had snuck out of your room."
That night seemed so long ago. It had been nearly two months since then.
"Yeah," Blume admitted after remembering how angry she had been. "I actually wanted to punch you in the nose."
They both laughed.
But Blume was curious.
"Why did you tell Miss Wishter? Couldn't you have just come and got me yourself if you thought it was dangerous?"
Jeremy opened his eyes. He rubbed his face with his hand and gave a deep sigh.
"Well," he began. "I suppose it had to do with my predisposition to respecting authority. Or rather, to having the admiration of those in authority."
Blume gave him a questioning look.
"Fine," he said. Blume could tell there was more to the story and was actually eager to listen. Over the last few days, seeing Jeremy in such dire conditions and caring for him through his sickness, she had actually come to see him as her friend.
And now she wanted to know more about him.
"It goes back to my parents. They've been armorers in Thoran for longer than even the last king was alive. They’re actually pretty famous for their craft. The problem is, their eldest son," he pointed to himself.
"Ie never really cared for the manufacturing of metal objects. I was more interested in Rimstone. Of course, it could be worked into weapons and armor to various degrees and effects, but in its raw state, it could be used to help manipulate nature itself! I was fascinated, but my parents didn't think I was living up to my potential. Nor to any dwarf's potential actually."
Jeremy knocked on the floor of the cart with his hand.
"I begged them to let me enroll in the Speaker school. When I turned twenty they finally relented and allowed me to begin courses. My younger brother took up the hammer in my stead and honestly," he paused a moment and sniffed.
"Honestly I don't think they've missed me much. I don't get many familial visits. So whenever I can capture the attention of an adult in charge. I suppose..."
He trailed off for a moment as several horses rode by, making so much noise he couldn't talk over them. They passed after a few moments.
"I suppose I wanted the attention and recognition I hadn't received from the parents I have at home," he continued. "Whenever I hear that I've performed a task well, I receive the affirmation I desire. It's like I need the compliments because I know I won't receive them from anyone at my own residence, or even anyone else in my race."
Blume took a moment to consider. Jeremy was, in fact, the only dwarf enrolled in the school that she knew about. Everyone else was either human or elf.
"That's why I have such a hard time relating to dwarven culture. I could with greater ease align myself with an elf."
He looked right at Blume with his large brown eyes. For once, Blume noticed how tender they looked. Even with his scruff on his neck, Jeremy was still a young man looking for the praise he never received from his parents.
"Surprisingly," he went on. "I would have never guessed I'd share all that with you, Blume Dearcrest."
"I'm glad you did,” she answered honestly.
As they continued to bump along the road, Blume was genuinely glad for the chance to get to know Jeremy better.
She needed all the friends she could possibly get if she was to survive whatever lay ahead of them.
He rested his head back against the side of the cart and sighed again. Blume wondered when was the last time he told anyone this. Or if he had shared his whole story with anyone.
The days drug on along with the cart.
Blume wondered how much longer they would be transported like this before they were thrown into some new circumstances. She also wondered if they would be an improvement over this.
27: Politics
Wisym was taken with this new influx of visitors to Beaton.
It had been either luck or fate that she was on top of the wall when they had tried to enter the city. She had easily spotted the elf in their party. With her own heightened sense of hearing, she could hear that they needed to get inside the city for a noble cause.
Talking in a voice that only the elf (whose name was Lote she would later learn) could hear, Wisym had explained what to say to the guard to stall while she climbed down the steps to let them in.
After the excitement of getting into Beaton and arranging a meeting with the governor the next day, the party relayed their thanks to Wisym.
She just wished she could be more helpful.
After their meeting with the governor ended with his usual: “I wish I could help but the Red Guard...” she understood their natural frustration. They all went to bed that night in the mansion of the Governor tired and unsatisfied.
Just two months ago, she had felt the same when her own pleas for aid were unanswered.
So instead of returning to recapture her homeland, the few hundred of surviving elves who came with her to Beaton were given some plots of land within the protective walls of Beaton and Wisym was placed on the governor's council as his adviser in elf affairs.
It was, by no means, a popular choice among her leadership, let alone with her personally.
But what else could she do? She was responsible for the livelihood of the remainder of her kin. She couldn't force them into the wild. Since Beaton had been hospitable enough to them, she had been content to stay.
At least for the time being.
Her generals had not been so warm to the idea, but they also had not given any better advice.
“What would you have me do? Sail back down the river and into death?” she had asked, frustrated after her meeting with the governor to secure land for the elves.
“I would have you at least provide us with decent leadership! Hadn't you learned that under Galebre?” shouted Celdor, a commander underneath her. His brown braided hair had shaken when he rose to show his disgust with Wisym's decision. He was a battle-hardened elf who wanted to fight back, not settle.
Finwe, the other commander, put an arm to Celdor's chest. She was a wise elf and much older than both of the other two elves in the room. While Wisym's hair was blonde and long, Finwe's was whiter and longer. The bun she normally kept her hair in, however, hid its true length most of the time. Wisym had only ever seen her let her hair down once. It reached past her waist.
“You'll not put that type of pressure over her,” she said.
Wisym wished she could have been more thankful at that moment, but she felt belittled. Even from Finwe.
“I will lead as I see fit. We stay,” she said as she stormed from the ship they had lived on for the past week. Ithrel, her faithful and quiet companion, followed dutifully.
Wisym wish
ed that she were able to provide better for her fellow elves. At the moment, she could not find a better alternative.
"Ithrel," she said as she paced the deck of what was left of her ship. They had sailed without aid or rest from Talgel to Beaton and faced menacing goblins, inhospitable dwarves, and dangerous pirates all the way. The ship was not in its best condition. "Am I making the right choice?"
Though Ithrel only spoke a handful of words at a time, Wisym valued her advice and counsel above all others.
"You are leading from your heart," she said as she leaned against the rails of the ship.
Wisym took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
“But is my heart right on this?” she asked.
Ithrel was quiet. She had turned to look out past the ship.
Wisym looked over at her. She had short brown hair that contrasted with Wisym's long blonde hair. Ithrel looked out over the docks that lined the river. Her eyes were sad and thoughtful.
“We can't go back,” she said in a near whisper.
Wisym agreed. The elves would have to stay. Who knew what had become of Ingur and Talgel in their absence? They would have to make a new start in Beaton. She joined her friend at the railing and looked towards the glorious city.
This would be their new home.
***
EVER SINCE THAT MOMENT, Wisym had been trying her best to make the city of Beaton a place of refuge for herself and her companions.
The old, abandoned part of the city they had been granted had to be repaired and made livable again. This was no small task, but at least it gave the elves something to do and think about. The alternative was to ponder on all that they had lost.
Finwe and Celdor were in charge of the restoration. Wisym, after several talks with the governor, had learned more about the ruling of Beaton and had decided she would try to help the governor gain more power so that the elves could benefit.
Beaton was officially run by the governor's office. Many generations ago, however, a particularly corrupt leader had shown that too much power could be detrimental to the welfare of Beaton's people. So, in a cunning ploy, the Red Guard had promised to help him, if he agreed to the military becoming part of his own offices.
The idea had pleased the governor at the time. Unbeknownst to him, however, with adding the military to his own leadership, he unwittingly put several checks on many of his powers.
Thus, the corrupt ruler was unable to enforce his policies and lost much of his power. The people were thankful and the Red Guard flourished.
Now, however, for the current governor of Beaton, the pendulum had swung in the opposite direction.
“I can hardly decide what I want for breakfast without someone asking the Red Guard if eggs are a viable option,” he had lamented to Wisym.
From her perspective, it seemed true.
Every important decision had to be weighed, measured, and approved by the Red Guard. While this meant the governor's office would never abuse its power, it also meant that it was limited in just about every capacity.
But that didn't mean there weren't ways to work around the system.
Wisym was explaining this to the guests of the governor's mansion as they ate voraciously.
"The Red Guard doesn't want the governor to have too much power," Wisym was explaining. "But to keep things balanced, the governor has some checks on the military as well."
Most of the guests were eating and listening at the same time.
Only Lote and Ealrin were giving her their undivided attention.
For some reason, Wisym kept finding her eyes drifting back to Ealrin and being very comfortable held in his gaze.
"So to send any of the army south to help your country, it would require the willingness of the Red Guard as well as the approval of the governor."
"How willing do you think they would be?" Lote asked. "The members of the Red Guard we spoke with at the Mountain Gate didn't seem to be willing to do anything that put them in harm’s way."
"I don't think you'll have a problem with that here," Wisym replied. She had seen the Red Guard at the capital city throw themselves in danger without so much as a second thought. Mostly in the direction of the Suns.
"So getting the army to come won't be our challenge?" Ealrin asked inquisitively.
"Unfortunately not," she replied, wondering why her face felt hot. "The governor rarely approves any action on the Red Guards part without them granting him some of the powers he thinks should come to him."
"Which is why this whole governing system is broken," came a voice from the hall.
Everyone at the table turned to see who was speaking.
Two men walked into the dining hall followed by a few of the mansion's attendants.
Lote, Tory, and Gaflion all stood and bowed to the newcomers.
Wisym stood to introduce them to those around the table who were unfamiliar with their faces.
"After a brief absence, we welcome back the princes of Thoran to the governor's table."
"We're glad to be back," said the older looking one. "But we had best get out to see what's happening in the streets right now."
"What's happening outside?"
The younger one strapped his sword to his side.
"The Silver Suns are out in force."
***
"SO THE RED GUARD IS your army. The governor's office leads the people, or at least they try to," Tory was recapping as they walked briskly down the street of the richer section of town. "Who in the world are the Silver Suns you keep talking about? And why do you people have to keep naming things?"
"The Silver Suns are a gang of thieves and troublemakers," Folke, the oldest living member of the royal family of Thoran replied. "And for your own information, they named themselves."
Folke was agitated and Wisym could tell. He and his brother, Alric, had been on a hunt for a troll in the north.
They had come back empty handed.
Alric chimed in next.
"The problem is that a lot of people in Beaton are tired of the Red Guard and politicians always fighting. So they turn to the Silver Suns for help when they don't get it elsewhere."
"Bah! What can crooks do to help?" Gorplin managed through his quickened pace.
"Make more trouble," Folke replied.
"Not always," Alric countered with a glance at his brother. "Sometimes they get food for the hungry. Other times they've been able to track down people who owed debts and gotten them to pay up. That's more than the Guard has been able to do in some circumstances."
Folke snorted.
"My brother, the all too interested," he said offhandedly. "You think the Suns are worthwhile sometimes, don't you?"
He shook his head at the younger prince.
"They’re just a gang trying to make themselves look good. We need haste," he said as he began to quicken his pace.
The group ran, following Folke's example. Wisym had quickly explained that the Silver Suns typically don't do any physical damage. At least not to people. The gang of vigilantes was more concerned with getting high value items for the black market they ran in Beaton.
And, most of the time, these raids were really only cover-ups for some other operation happening on a different side of town. Something more important that tradable goods.
The group had insisted on coming to see what was going on. If for no other reason, because it would help them see a bit more of what Beaton has to deal with.
And perhaps gain some leverage on either the Red Guard or the governor.
As they ran towards the gate that led to the business district, Wisym noted several others fleeing the same area. Wealthy merchants, aristocrats, and Red Guard officials who had nothing to do with actual fighting, all ran to their homes.
Several slammed their doors behind them, while others simply found relief in jumping through their own windows.
“Are they that scared?” the soldier named Bertrom asked.
“Mostly they just don't want to get in the w
ay when the army comes through,” Wisym answered. “That or become a target for the next raid.”
When they reached the gate, a small contingent of Red Guard troops stood guarding it.
“We can't let you pass,” one of the taller ones shouted to the group as they approached. “This area has been designated as dangerous.”
A few in the group slowed down. Not Wisym.
She ran past the guards and into the next district, knocking one or two fleeing merchants aside at the same time.
As she looked behind her, she saw several in the group doing the same but wearing looks of confusion.
With a blush, she noticed that Ealrin was right beside her, matching her pace step for step.
“Sometimes forgiveness is better than permission,” Wisym said.
He smiled and she had to face forward again, before allowing her face to go much redder.
Which would have been difficult.
It wasn't difficult to find out where the raid was taking place. Wisym just had to run in the opposite direction of any normal citizen and towards most of the Red Guard soldiers.
Soon, the target of the raid came into view: an army storehouse.
Smoke billowed up from the side of the once beautiful building. White stone pillars were knocked aside like toothpicks and the large facade on the side of the building was almost completely destroyed. A large hole was made in the east side of it, and many boxes, barrels, and other storage containers lay smashed alongside the rubble.
This was a weapons storehouse. From the looks of it, most of the contents were taken away easily.
A Red Guard captain pushed his way by Wisym.
“Out of the way! Red Guard coming through!” he bellowed as a troop of soldiers came behind him.
A crowd of people was now gathering around the building. Those who weren't smart enough to run came to see what all the commotion was about.
Wisym noticed that some of them wore smug expressions on their faces: either Silver Suns sympathizers or actual members themselves.
Unlike the army, this organization wore no uniform or identifying feature. They blended in naturally among the citizens of Beaton.
