by RG Long
She was thinner than she'd ever been. The Blume that had left Thoran wasn't the one boarding this ship. This girl was someone new. Someone who had seen even more hardships.
And had more to face up ahead.
“Come on, you,” said a soldier who put the end of his spear into her back.
Blume glared at him, wishing she could put a bolt of magic through his chest, but kept walking up the ramp.
After walking more than a mile, Blume finally stood on the deck of the Pride of Men. She resented it now more than before.
The ship was beautifully crafted. Its railings were polished and its deck floor was pristine. Men ran about everywhere, tying down this rope, hauling up a small rowboat, and even scaling the mast to the crow's nest above.
“It's about time our cabin boys and girls reported,” said a man in a green and white uniform. His hair was combed and trimmed. Not a single strand was out of place. His shoes were shined and spotless.
He lacked armor, but had a hard expression on his face nonetheless.
“I am the first mate aboard this vessel, Mister Stanton. You need only address me as, Sir. Understood?”
They stood quiet and still, looking up at him. Blume saw a sneer form on his face.
“Yes,” Jeremy replied, looking at him defiantly. Blume looked to her side to see the dwarf staring up at the man with an equally hard expression.
He grabbed the dwarf by the throat and brought his own face up to his. Jeremy made gurgling choking noises as he struggled to breath.
“You will learn respect aboard my ship, dwarf,” he said in a threatening whisper. “That, or learn to swim.”
He released Jeremy and he collapsed onto the floor. Blume rushed to help him stand to his feet.
“You will address me as Sir. Understood?”
In unison, Jeremy, Blume, and Rose all said, “Yes, Sir.”
“Take them below with the others,” he said as he turned, stalking away.
Jeremy looked at Blume, who gave him a questioning look.
He shook his head and looked down as they followed the soldier in front and were goaded by another behind.
An opening in the deck revealed a set of stairs that led into the bowels of the ship. Blume glanced down the hallway the stairs met. The first level was relatively bright, as windows on the walls allowed the sunlight in. Other men in clean uniforms hurried this way and that, through polished wood doors and passing paintings hung on the walls.
But this was not where they stopped.
The second level was darker and was filled with more men without shirts who were rolling barrels down the hallway or carrying large ropes. The smell of food being cooked permeated the stairs and Blume realized how hungry she was.
The third level was the darkest of all and had very little activity going on.
One man held a sword and paced around the hall. No windows were found here. Two small torches lit the way, their smoke rose up through the stairwell. Several barrels were stacked on top of one another and strapped down with ropes. A set of iron cages was next to them along the wall: the ship's prison.
Blume feared she had just seen her new home.
“Cabin boys and girls,” said the soldier in front. The one who was pacing the halls turned and looked them up and down.
“A dwarf, too, eh?” he said with a smirk. “Won't last long here if Androlion comes aboard.”
He chuckled darkly.
A set of keys was produced and a door opposite the prison bars was unlocked. The three were unceremoniously pushed inside and told, “Stay here until you're called for. You'll be instructed later.”
The door was closed behind them and locked.
“Stay here,” Blume repeated. “Like we have a choice.”
Their quarters were dark. A single candle sat on a small table that was built into the floor. A bench on either side completed the only furniture in the room. Four bunked hammocks hung from the walls, two on each side. One of them was occupied.
“Blume?” a voice said from the swinging bed.
“Abi!?”
Blume rushed over and saw in the bottom hammock a sight that both lifted her spirits immensely and made her want to cry at the same time.
Abigail's face was bruised and cut in several places. One of her eyes was so swollen with black and blue bruises that she could hardly open it.
"What have they done to you?" Blume asked as she began to cry tears of sadness and joy.
Abigail gave a weak, half smile.
"Nothing that can make me any less sad to see both of your faces," she replied as Jeremy also came over to her hammock.
Blume was struggling to keep her tears in check. She didn't realize how much she had missed Abigail until she saw her face again.
"You know we won't quit bothering you until you give us the whole story," she said as she took her friend’s hand in her own.
Abigail sighed.
"The night that they came and got us from Ms. Greer was terrible. Many of the girls were hysterical. They were snatched out of their beds and thrown into those awful carts. I saw them carrying you, Blume. I was afraid you were dead. Then Miss Greer came through the door and started pointing out whom the soldiers should take. In all the confusion, Katie ran right up to Ms. Greer and snatched your necklace off her neck."
Blume gasped.
"She stole it back?" She asked.
Abigail's voice began to tremble.
"After Katy got it, she ran over to her bed and made to hide it. Ms. Greer came over and just started hitting her again and again. She asked her where she hid the necklace. Katy didn't say a word. By the time someone grabbed me, Katy was bleeding and hardly moving. Miss Greer just kept hitting her though."
Abigail was hardly able to keep talking. She was near sobbing.
"I don't know if she killed her or what. She didn't get out of the carts. Not any of the ones I saw at least. Oh Blume, I don't know what I'll do if she's dead."
Blume squeezed her hand and patted her head. She tried not to brush any of Abigail's own injuries. She shook her head as she thought about little, street smart, brave Katy.
What had become of her?
"But Abi," Blume asked after Abigail began to calm down from crying. "What about you? How did you get so beat up?"
Abigail sniffed loudly and her expression changed.
"I was put in a cart with some older boys," she explained. "They weren't very nice at all."
That was all she could say before she burst into tears again.
Blume was ready to sob along with her. Before now, she had thought her own cart ride had been horrible.
What terrible things had Abigail had to endure?
Jeremy's fists were balled. He looked furious.
"What did they do to you?" he asked, his voice shaking and his fists clenched.
Blume shook her head.
"Don't make her say right now, Jeremy," she said.
They stood there for a moment. Blume looked over her shoulder to see Rose sit at the bench and just stare at the candle. She put her hands in her lap and sat quietly.
After some time, Abigail moved to sit up in her hammock. Jeremy and Blume backed away to give her space.
"I'll be fine," she said in a still trembling voice. "I've just been so worried over Katy that I haven't thought much about myself and what I was going through. Besides, I knew I had to get it to you."
Jeremy and Blume exchanged looks.
"Get what to me?" Blume asked, confused.
"Katy only pretended to hide the necklace under her bed," Abigail said. "Miss Greer didn't even pay attention to her passing by me."
Abigail opened up her other hand to reveal a glint of green: Blume's necklace.
She was shocked. She had given up on ever seeing her necklace again.
Blume held her father's gift to her chest as it gave off familiar warmth.
As she clutched it in her hand, she looked up at her friends with a renewed passion.
"We'r
e getting out of here as soon as we can," she said, as she began to fasten the necklace around her neck.
"I don't think you'll be going anywhere," said a voice from the frame of the door.
The same man who had stopped the men from tearing apart Blume's cart stood in their room. He must have silently entered while everyone's attention was on the necklace.
He deftly snatched away Blume's necklace. Though she tried to pull it back from him, he proved too strong.
The ship gave a lurch and everyone in the cabin, save for the man who was braced against the door, rocked and swayed. Blume fell into Abigail's hammock. Jeremy hit the small bench and Rose tried to catch the candle, which had nearly fallen.
The general held the necklace up and smiled at it.
Blume looked straight at his face for the first time. She finally she recognized him.
"You're..."
"Cory Greenwall," he interrupted. "General of Androlion and commanding officer on this vessel."
He pocketed the necklace and smiled at them in a way that reminded Blume of someone just finding out they had stumbled upon a great treasure.
"Welcome aboard."
31: Civil War
Tory hated walking. He hated marching. He hated eating small meals.
But most of all, he hated being along with Lote.
He had never been a fan of the elf, but he always had his brother, Cory, or his friend Gray, to talk to and joke with.
Now one was dead and the other a traitor.
The last week had been the longest of his life.
They had trekked from before the suns rose until Lote could be convinced that Tory couldn't continue walking through the dark and that bodily harm might come to him from tripping over rocks or snow.
While Lote could see just fine in fading light, Tory was stuck with average human eyes that mostly just saw an elf he began to despise more as the trip wore on.
Why does she have to be so serious all of the time? He wondered as they left the little inn, just a few days after they had set out. Would it kill her to crack a smile or make a joke?
The inn was called "Fern's Rest" and was just about as comfortable as an actual pile of sticks.
To Tory, however, a bed had been a welcome sight. It had taken half a day to convince Lote to spend the night. But if they were about to venture up into what Lote kept referring as "The Northern Wastes," he was keen to rest as much as he could before they continued.
Tory pulled his traveling cloak tight around him as they set off that morning. Light snow was beginning to fall from the sky.
"I've just discovered how much I really hate the cold," Tory said. Having spent most of his years in the more temperate Thoran, he had taken a warm spring's day for granted. He had never really been in such extreme temperatures. He wasn't enjoying the experience.
"It's cold up here most of the year and snows frequently," Lote replied. She hadn't so much as fastened the string around her cloak. It hung off her shoulders.
"Did Wisym tell you that it's a frozen wasteland up here?" He asked, wondering why the chill didn't affect her like it did him. She was much slimmer than he was.
"No," she said with an air of annoyance. "I speak from experience."
That caught Tory off guard.
"What?" he replied. "You've been here before? When?"
The pair had just crested a hill that allowed them to see much of the landscape out in front of them.
If 'waste' was not an accurate description then desolate or barren would have done just fine, Tory thought.
There was hardly any grass. A forest grew underneath the mountains to the east of them, but that appeared to be the only vegetation this land had to offer.
Lote paused on top of the hill for just a moment before continuing down it.
"It's been seventy years since I lived here," she said without looking back.
"Wait," Tory sputtered as he followed her down the hill. He tripped over an unseen rock and his cloak flew open, sending chills all around him. He struggled to pull the cloth back around him quickly.
"You lived here?" he asked, curious about Lote and her origins for the first time.
He had always assumed she had lived in Thoran her whole life. That or she had come from down south where the other elves of Ruyn gathered.
In all of their training together, she had never mentioned anything about her history.
Then again, Tory thought, Lote hardly talked about anything other than the task at hand.
"To be accurate," she continued, keeping her eyes on the horizon. "I was born here."
"Born here?" Tory repeated. "But, why did you leave?"
Lote stopped and put a hand out to Tory's chest. He paused and looked around.
The air was tense. He could feel it. Something was stirring on the wind. He put his hand on his sword. Lote drew an arrow and notched it to her bowstring.
"You'll soon see," she said in a whisper Tory could barely discern over the wind.
Bursting over a hill came a group of twenty or thirty elves clad in blue. With their spears held at their hips, they charged towards Lote and Tory.
He could see their armor gleam in the sun. Each elf was armored alike from neck to foot. On their left arm was strapped a silver shield. Only the blue cloth that they wore over their chests broke up their metal plates of protection. On it, a white tower was emblazoned.
Tory stood his ground alongside Lote. He knew they were no match for thirty elves. It seemed like diplomacy wasn't an option, either.
Yet he glanced sideways to see that Lote hadn't fired a single arrow, though the elves were now less than twenty paces away.
That's when ten other elves burst from underneath the hill they had been standing on.
These elves wore black cloaks and wielded fierce looking short bows and arrows. Barbed arrows soared through the air and rocketed towards the elves in blue. Some found their targets and felled them. Others landed, but did nothing to stop the forward advance.
Lote stood, stone faced, as the elves approached each other.
“What do we do!?” Tory asked over the yells of the fighting below.
Lote shook her head and closed her eyes.
The blue elves had reached the black. Instead of spears, the elves from the under the hill drew out blades that were shaped like sickles and razor sharp. Some of them chopped off the ends of the spears of their attackers. Others went straight for the elves themselves.
Sword and spear clanged against one another. An elf in black fell. Then another. One who wore silver armor fell to their knees, too.
“Should we help?” Tory asked, though he didn't fully know what was happening below.
In the previous months, he had seen elves fight against man and goblins. He had never seen elves at war with one another.
Did Lote know about this when they sought to ask the northern elves for aid?
The black elves were outnumbered and unable to repel their attackers. Some stood their ground until they were cut down. Two or three managed to break free and flee to the east.
A lone soldier shouted something and pointed up to the top of the hill, where Lote and Tory stood.
“Don't resist them,” Lote said, putting her bow on the ground.
Reluctantly, Tory followed suit and dropped his sword.
Three elves climbed the hill, spears pointed out. The leader, a male elf who wore no helmet, called out to them.
“Be ye friend or foe?” he asked, without taking his eyes off the pair.
He surveyed them intently, looking at their cloaks and their travel packs.
“Are ye Shivian?” he asked again.
“Shivian?” Tory said low under his breath.
Lote ignored him, instead addressing the elf in front of them.
“I am Lote of Thoran,” she said in a voice that betrayed a hint of trepidation, Tory thought. Or could it be fear?
Then she added, “You once knew me as Lilf of House Camuur.”
Tory l
ooked sideways.
Who, in the name of the twin suns, is Lilf? he thought.
Was that a name Lote used to have? And House Camuur? He had heard of elves claiming houses in order to denote their lineage. Lote had never claimed any such thing in his presence.
“Lilf?” the armored elf repeated, a sense of recognition sweeping over his face. He looked down at the elves that were below him, and then back up to Lote and Tory.
“Come with us,” he said.
It was a command without threat. Tory looked sideways at Lote, who nodded her head.
He bent down to get his sword, but found a spear at his throat.
“Leave it,” the elf said with a snarl.
Slowly, Tory rose to his feet.
So much for friendly fare, he thought.
They marched down the hill, past the bodies of the fallen elves in black cloaks as well as the few who had been defeated in blue.
We've come to ask for aid during a bad time, Tory thought as they began their walk north, a spear pointed at his back.
***
THEY WALKED NORTH FOR a full day, hands bound and weapons confiscated. The company of elves surrounding them spoke in low tones and whispers.
Tory was certain Lote could hear them, but he struggled to make out any words that mattered. Once or twice he had attempted to say something to Lote. All he got in return was a harsh stare from her that let him know now was not the time for talking.
He busied himself with things he could do without drawing attention to himself or going crazy with boredom. He counted.
There were twenty-three elves who wore armor of silver and blue. Fifteen of them wore helmets that they apparently never saw a golden opportunity to take off. Four had fallen in the battle and were being carried along on stretchers in full armor. A pair of elves carried the dead comrade between them, though it still must have been quite the feat.
Tory knew armor was no light business.
When he ran out of things to count, he tried to familiarize himself with the terrain, but it was all the same.
To the west was a mountain range covered in snow. The flurries were still falling around them as they marched. Eastwards, the land was barren and devoid of vegetation. As they walked north, Tory could begin to see the outline of a great castle with many towers.
