by RG Long
She also agreed with Abigail because Cory had refused to give her back the necklace.
"It's not time," he had said. "If people see you with this, your life may be forfeit and everything could fall apart really quick."
He promised she would have it. Just not yet.
That didn't sit well with her at all.
"So how does he plan to exact his revenge on Androlion and lead a military like coup? Does he have other generals on his side? Are the men secretly serving him, rather than Androlion?
Blume shook her head.
"He didn't really go into detail about his plans," she said. "He just told us to trust him."
"Well I don't," Abigail said as a matter of fact. "I think the whole thing is a trick."
"But what would he gain in tricking you?" Rose asked.
The three turned to her. Blume raised an eyebrow at the normally quiet girl. She had hardly said as many words since they got on the ship.
"What do you mean?" Blume asked her.
Rose blushed. Her cheeks turned nearly as red as her hair.
"I mean," she stammered. "He shows you he has your necklace. He protects you and puts you on his boat. He even tells you he plans to lead a rebellion against Androlion, which you think would be a good thing. What does he get out of tricking you?"
Blume thought for a moment. Rose had a point. How could a general gain from deceiving three young Speakers?
The boat creaked and rocked as they sat and pondered her words. Their candle's tiny flame flickered in the darkness.
"Your necklace," Jeremy said after a few moments of silence.
"Yes, Jeremy," Blume replied. "Cory still has it."
He shook his head.
"No," he said. "I mean, he doesn't know how to use it. He's not a Speaker. He needs a Speaker to use the necklace. And he's got three on this ship."
"He's got more than that," Abigail countered. "I saw a whole group of them when we first got on. They're mixed in with the soldiers."
"That's accurate," Jeremy replied. "But what if he doesn't want them to know about what he's got? Maybe he's waiting for the right opportunity to get Blume to use the necklace?"
"And do what with it?" Blume asked.
He gave her a hard look.
"You told us it's not just a typical piece of Rimstone on a chain," he said as he leaned in close to her. "Maybe he wants to make sure you're right."
Blume thought for a moment.
Maybe there was something dubious Cory had in mind. Still.
"I think we should sleep on it for now," she said.
She was exhausted. And, since no one argued, she was sure they were as well.
Blume blew out the candle and went to her hammock.
For a moment, she began to worry if she would be queasy and unable to sleep tonight. Then a heavy drowsiness overtook her and her eyelids became so heavy she could hardly lift them.
As sleep began to sweep over her, she heard Rose say one last thing before drifting off.
"I trust him."
***
THE NEXT MORNING, THEY awoke in the normal fashion: a hard rapping on the door.
"Up!" came the command from just outside. "Get breakfast ready!"
Sluggishly, they all got out of their hammocks, put on their work clothes, and climbed up the stairs to their stations.
Blume's feet felt like lead. It was harder than normal to get moving this morning. Perhaps it was because it was the first night she had actually slept through the night. Perhaps, also, it had something to do with a dream she had.
A few pictures flashed in her mind.
Ealrin. Her necklace. Her brother.
Nothing made sense to her, however, when she tried to remember what the dream had been about.
She shook her head and busied herself setting out the breakfast dishes. The soldiers ate at long tables just under the main deck. It was difficult to navigate the cramped eating space. Wooden columns jutted up in odd places and none of the furniture was movable. All of it was fastened to the floor to prevent it from sliding around.
As she went about setting out the utensils and bowls, soldiers began to come in and sit at the tables and wait for their food to be set before them.
Knowing it would be some time before she was allowed to eat, Blume snuck a piece of bread into a pocket and hoped she'd have a moment to eat it soon. Her stomach was growling at her.
"You there!" a voice shouted.
Blume's hand had only just slipped the crust underneath her apron. She was sure she was about to be reprimanded for stealing the bread.
She looked around for the source of the voice, to see if it was really her being summoned.
A soldier was a few steps up the stairs that lead to the main deck.
He was pointing right at Blume.
"Up on deck!"
One of the men who was sitting right beside where she stood looked at her and smirked.
"You're in trouble, little lady," he said too sweetly. "Better run before I think of a reason to keep you here with me."
"Ugh," Blume huffed and walked off.
All this for a piece of bread?
The suns were coming up over the water, making it extremely bright on the top deck. Blume's eyes had to adjust for a several seconds before she could see what was going on.
Sailors were climbing the rigging of the boat, fixing ropes and adjusting sails and following orders.
The soldier who had summoned her had already walked to the helm of the ship and was beckoning her to climb the stairs after him.
As she made her way up the wooden stairs she looked left, to the west. Over the horizon she saw large pillars of black smoke covering the land. She could also make out the port of River Head.
And it appeared that they were sailing past it.
Blume hesitated at the stairs, until she heard a cough from just ahead of her.
Cory Greenwall sat at a table with a tablecloth, a fine breakfast sat out before him. He drank coffee from a dainty looking cup.
She made to bow to him, still wondering why she had been called here.
Then she froze.
Sitting with him was a man whose hair was perfectly combed. No piece of his uniform looked out of place. He dabbed at his mouth with a handkerchief.
"Is this the young lady you spoke of earlier?" Androlion asked Cory, locking eyes with Blume.
He nodded and smiled at Blume like introducing her to the general of the Merc army was nothing to be concerned about.
"The very same," Cory replied.
Androlion studied Blume for a moment.
"I hear you are a gifted Speaker," he said. "That you have studied at the school of magic in Thoran. I do believe you will see what is becoming of that castle if you look just beyond your shoulder."
Blume didn't move. She stared hard at the man who ordered her city to be burned to the ground and her friends to be killed by his armies.
Androlion smiled.
"I have need of a Speaker, Blume Dearcrest," he said. "You'll notice that we continue to sail north, instead of east to Thoran. Do you know where that will take us?"
She nodded.
The wind blew through her hair and she pushed it out from her face. Her hands were nearly frozen in fear, but she forced them to move normally. She refused to let him think she was afraid.
Androlion held his hand up and a soldier dressed in green and white came forward with a box.
One that looked very familiar.
Blume took a moment to turn her eyes to Cory. He neither looked at her, nor acknowledged what was happening. Like they hadn't talked at all last night. Was Rose wrong? Did he betray them like he betrayed his brother, his friends and his country?
"I trust," Androlion said as he took the box and opened it for Blume to see its contents. "That you know how one might use this necklace to its fullest potential?"
The wind at their back continued to drive them north, not towards Thoran as Blume had originally thought. Then ag
ain, her thoughts on several things were changing very rapidly as she stood on the deck with Cory Greenwall and Androlion Fellgate.
Blume felt betrayed. Ice ran through her veins as she stared at Cory. Just a moment ago she thought she could trust him.
Now she knew better.
There was no trusting anyone who wore the hated colors of green and white.
No one.
She turned her gaze down to the necklace and gave a slight nod. That nod was not for Androlion's sake, though he thought it must have been.
He smiled and narrowed his eyes at her. Greed and pride filled his face.
"Good."
Dragon of Ruyn
Magic has been unleashed on Ruyn.
Ealrin’s last hope to repel the armies of men lies in the sprawling city of Beaton.
With each day comes the threat of annihilation. Up against a gang of thieves, a belligerent government, and a rogue group of elves, Ealrin’s frustrations grow with each passing moment.
He knows that without the alliance of the dominate city of the north, all will be lost.
Yet the most dangerous foe the companions will face has not yet revealed himself.
1: Wake Up
The man entered the room slowly, still dreading the sight that would greet his eyes in the dim light of the dying fireplace.
He steeled himself for what he knew waited for him. The sight of the petite girl, bedridden and ashen faced, made him pause from pushing the door open to allow him entrance.
For the last three months, he had walked into the room and seen the same thing. Every time, he prayed to whoever might be listening to wake the girl from her slumber.
Every time, she still slept.
The steaming hot drink in his hands did little to warm him.
Pushing open the door, he was greeted with the painfully familiar sight. A girl who ought to be running through fields or chatting with friends lay motionless, save for the nearly imperceptible rhythmic rise and fall of her chest.
He sat down in the chair next to her bed. The fabric had long molded itself to his frame. With one hand, he placed the tray he had carried into the room on the tiny table next to the bed.
With the other, he took another sip from his drink.
It was dark outside. The lonely window showed a beautiful starry night out.
He couldn't find it within himself to enjoy it.
His sole concern was for the health of the girl.
From his pocket, he produced a small spoon and began the slow process of feeding her broth. With great care, he lifted up her head just enough to allow her mouth to open. He took a spoonful of soup and nursed it into her mouth.
And then he held his breath.
The first time he had tried to give her something to eat, she had gagged it up and nearly choked. Since that time, he hadn't felt comfortable giving her anything other than broth.
She swallowed the spoonful reflexively, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
"There now," he says as she swallows. "That's what you need. Some food."
Talking to her helped him, but only a little. He wasn't sure whether or not she could hear him.
Still.
He remembered times when they talked before. It calmed him a bit to speak to her like she was awake and could be listening.
"You were supposed to stay behind, you know," he said. A single tear came to his eye. He brushed it away, and went back to feeding her.
For the moment, he was silent.
He carefully fed her the rest of the soup, and then sat back in his chair to sip his drink.
The cup had cooled considerably.
So absorbed was he in his task, that he didn't realize he was no longer alone with her.
Behind him stood another man, one whom he respected greatly and was glad for his mentorship, but one whom he hadn't seen in some time. They had been reunited only two nights previous. He felt his strong hand on his shoulder.
“You gonna stay up all night again?” he asked in his gruff tone. “You've got to get some rest, too, or you'll wear yourself out.”
It was true. He was exhausted. The last two nights he had spent half resting, half watching over his sleeping ward.
He took another sip of his drink.
“I'll watch her tonight,” his friend said. “You rest.”
Reluctantly and wearily, he stood. With every movement, he felt the aches and pains in his body of little rest and less food in his belly.
He had to take care of himself if he was going to take care of someone else.
Slowly, he walked back to the door with his mug and his tray, the spoon and bowl resting on top.
At the door frame, he turned and watched his friend settle himself into the chair, a mug in his own hands. From the smell of it, he was drinking something much stronger than tea.
He glanced at the girl one last time. The slow and steady movement of her chest was the only indicator of the life inside her when she wasn't eating.
For months she hadn't spoken.
She hadn't moved.
She hadn't done anything.
Her eyes were shut tight.
He couldn't bare the sight any longer. He pulled the door closed and stepped into the lonely hallway.
“Wake up, Blume,” he said in a near whisper as he walked to the kitchen to return his dishes, his eyes beginning to mist and obscure his vision.
2: The Man and the Wolf
A wintry powder settled on the northern lands of Ruyn. Autumn had brought with it colder than normal weather and now snow was beginning to fall. Several birds who had been late to fly south now began their journey to warmer climates. The plains that surrounded the northern city of Beaton were quiet and still.
The only figures that could be seen for miles were a man and woman, both heading in the same direction.
Towards Beaton at a breakneck speed.
A brown haired man, with a sword that had no point, carried a traveling pack on his shoulders. It was not as full as it had been when he traveled from Thoran to The Glorious City. He had only packed the essentials when he set off to track an enemy through the cold and frozen Northern Wastes.
For the most part, he was a moderately good looking man who might have been in his early twenties. Though how old he really was, he didn't know.
There were many things about himself he didn't remember. All he knew was that several months ago, he had washed up on the shores of an island called Good Harbor with few possessions and fewer memories. That hadn't stopped him from getting swept up into a conflict that was beginning to consume the entire continent.
He was on a mission with several others to request aid for the country of Thoran from the northern countries: Beaton, Yule, Shiv, and Grandun-Krator. Of the people who had come on the original journey, however, he alone had wandered off by himself to track Verde, a general for the Southern Republic.
It was the Southern Republic and the mercenary army called The Mercs that had begun this war. They claimed that a catastrophic apocalypse was on its way and that the only way to prevent the doom foreseen was to rid the land of every race that was not human.
Many battles had been hard fought based on those mad claims made by one man, Androlion Fellgate. He was an expert tactician, a mastermind of the battlefield, and a crazed lunatic who desired power above all else.
At least, that's what Ealrin thought of him.
And it was Ealrin's thought, as well, that if the man who could turn a nation on its head and drive it to madness could be dealt with, then the whole conflict would come to a halt and sanity could be restored.
Thus explained his traveling companion.
The woman who ran beside him had several swords and daggers on her back and several more hidden in her clothes. A single braid of strikingly white hair ran down her back. If the wolf head cloak she wore had fallen away, men would clamor to call her beautiful and beg for a moment of her time.
And as the stories go, she'd give it them in the form of a
knife to the throat.
Silverwolf, the only name she ever gave to those who asked, was a deadly assassin. Ealrin had met her just after she had killed her most recent bounty.
He had asked for her help then.
She had yet to promise it.
But they both traveled to Beaton. She was to claim her coins and entertain the idea of retirement. He was to meet up with his friends who had hopefully swayed the governor of Beaton and the Red Guard, Beaton's military and police force, to help Thoran.
Both plans might be in jeopardy.
Before them on the horizon, the city of Beaton was alight with flames.
They both ran as quickly as they could.
Forgetting, for a moment, how strange it was that he was now partnered with a professional assassin, Ealrin was worried about the fate of his friends.
Wisym, an elf from the now ruined elven city of Talgel in the Southern Republic, Bertrom, a soldier from Thoran, and the two princes of the same kingdom had stayed behind.
Fire and ash from the city rose above the northern walls. The smell of smoke was heavy in the air as the cold wind blew it away from Beaton and towards them.
Ealrin hoped that they had weathered whatever storm was taking place.
They were still a stone's throw from the walls. From this point, he could see that the northern city gate was cracked and an orange glow escaped through the opening.
Considering how closely the Red Guard protected the city, it was strange to see the door devoid of any soldiers.
It didn't bode well.
They arrived at the door and forced it open. This was no easy task, as it was at least twice as tall as he was and made of solid wood. Whoever was supposed to be working the gears and pulleys that operated the door was no longer manning his post.
When he left Beaton almost two weeks ago, he had left from this same gate in pursuit of the general from the Southern Republic. Then, along with the sound of levers and cranks and the grunting of a few men, the door had easily swung open.
The Red Guard had asked him a slew of questions about his origins, his reason for leaving, and if he had planned to return.
