by RG Long
"If you're looking for that pair who went up the stairs several minutes ago," he said with a slur. "You've just missed them."
He pointed to the open door of the inn, through which the innkeeper and the guard returned.
"It's no good," the guard said as he came back and out of breath.
"They gave me the slip."
Bryne approached him and grabbed him around the neck. Alric was always impressed with how strong of a woman she was. She nearly lifted him off the ground.
"You're fired," she said as she removed a small dagger from her waist and ended his life.
She let the body fall to the floor in a heap.
"Do you plan on going after her yourself, then?" Alric asked, glad that he was no low-level member of the gang.
Bryne cleaned off her blade on a nearby table.
"No," she said dryly. "We've got other matters to see to."
"Time to give the Silver Suns a face in the city?" he asked her.
She returned her blade to it sheath.
"Get the Council together," she replied as she burst through the door and onto the street.
The innkeeper looked down at the body of the guard and began to rummage through his pockets.
Alric raised an eyebrow at her.
She shrugged her shoulders.
"He owed me money," she said as she checked him for coins.
Alric stepped over them both and followed Bryne outside.
He had always been in the shadow of his older brother. It had nothing to do with his height, stature, or wisdom.
In all of these things Alric excelled over Folke.
He was a larger man and had experienced more battles. His mind for war was both refined and renowned.
During the skirmishes with the mercenary army in the Southern Republic, Alric had proved his worth. Because of his military strategy, he had led a small contingent of troops to a great number of victories over the dreaded mercenaries. His father had praised him for his ability to lead men at such a young age. Even his sister, the battle hardened veteran, had let him know that she was impressed with his skill.
But, it was said, Folke had the heart of the King. He was led by the ideals of justice, mercy, and unity. During the mercenary war, Folke had not led troops. Instead, he spearheaded negotiations, attempting to end the fighting with words instead of swords.
Rather than spend time debating the counseling, Alric would rather let his might decide the outcome for him.
Yet Folke was the eldest, and therefore he would be king of Thoran.
Alric could think of no greater curse than to be the subject of his brother's rule. All his life, he had been told that he was the better fighter, the better general, the better warrior. In hushed tones, advisers admitted that they would rather see Alric sit on the throne as opposed to Folke. All his life, he had believed them.
He, Alric, was the better leader. Their country needed him at the helm during this period of conflict and crisis.
If Folke didn't understand that now, he would soon.
5: Retreat
Ealrin and Silverwolf burst through the gate that lead back into the residential district and the battle that was still taking place there.
Ealrin tried to shout over the commotion.
"Would you care to explain what happened back there?" he asked.
She had practically dragged him all the way from the inn to the gate, dodging in and out of streets, shops, and alleyways.
"The short explanation is that I've just lost a lot of money and left behind some of my favorite swords," she replied as she let go of his wrist and examined her blood stained dagger.
"At least I have you, old friend," she said, not to Ealrin, but to her knife.
"It's odd to talk to inanimate objects," he pointed out to her.
She ignored him.
He looked out over the city streets and saw that there was still pandemonium. The Red Guard was marching down one street in what looked like a route of the Silver Suns. In another direction, Ealrin could see a different troop of soldiers dressed in red retreating away from a massive gathering of mask wearing, sword wielding rebels.
At the head of the retreat were two familiar faces.
"Wisym! Bertrom!" Ealrin called out to his friends. They might not have heard him, but they saw him.
Bertrom was waving his arms frantically and looked terrified.
Wisym, on the other hand, seemed calm and collected in spite of the fact that she was being chased by hundreds of angry citizens of Beaton.
She pointed and Ealrin followed her gesture to the street where the other guards seemed to have a handle on the situation.
"This way," Ealrin said as he ran after the guard.
Silverwolf followed him, but not closely.
"Let me remind you that I'm an assassin by trade. The guys in red might not be happy to see me in Beaton," she began to explain.
That thought hadn't occurred to Ealrin. But running towards the mob of Silver Sun sympathizers didn't sound wise either. From what they had just experienced in the Lower Docks, Silverwolf wasn't in their good graces anymore.
He ran until he was almost behind the column of Red Guard, and then looked back to see what was going on behind them.
The fleeing Red Guard were only steps ahead of the growing mob behind them. More and more people in masks joined their side. Some brandished rolling pins. Others butchers’ knives. This was more than gang violence. Beaton's citizens as a whole were out in force. They were ready to throw off their chains.
"You probably should have stayed gone a couple more days," Wisym said as Ealrin caught up with her.
Both she and Bertrom were trying to worm their way through the retreating Red Guard who were trying to meet up with the much larger force up the street. As they moved forward, Wisym kept looking around for something or, perhaps, someone.
Ealrin tried to match her pace and followed along beside her as they dodged overturned barrels, abandoned carts, and a score of soldiers.
"We've got some pretty bad timing it looks like," he replied with a smile back at her.
She looked back to him and returned the warm expression. Her smile faltered a bit as she examined Silverwolf.
"Who's this?" She asked Ealrin, gesturing at Silverwolf but not addressing her at all.
Ealrin shook his head and shrugged his shoulders in exasperation.
"I don't think we have time for a long story," he said as the mob in the street grew closer to them.
Bertrom still had a terrified look on his face as he made his way around a pile of rubble that used to be someone's front porch.
"Can we get to a place where there are more of our guys than them?" he asked with a tremble.
Silverwolf looked him in the eye and twirled her dagger in her hand. This was a true feat, seeing how quickly they were all moving along.
"Our guys?" she said with a tone of hostility. “I thought your friends weren't with the Red Guard, Ealrin?”
Bertrom took a step back and did his best to suppress a whimper.
Ealrin stepped between them and pointed to the crowd coming up the street.
"If you would care to join them," he said to Silverwolf, looking back to the mob. "Be my guest. Didn't we just escape from their boss? Something tells me they won't treat you kindly."
She looked up at him with a scowl.
"What? And you will?" She asked him.
Wisym cut in as the mob began to throw rocks at the retreating Red Guard, shortening the distance between them and the violence.
"Talking is for later," she said quickly. "Let's get out of here."
And they would have made for the front of those retreating to join with the other soldiers of Beaton had the even larger mob of Silver Suns not met them as they came to a large city square.
6: The Shining Suns
“Welcome, my fellow citizens of Beaton!” Bryne shouted from the top of a beautiful fountain that took up the majority of the square. A dragon was spewing water from its m
outh into a large bowl that it held in its claws. The water spilled out into the circular pond that surrounded the majestic beast.
Bryne stood in the bowl of water, surrounded by the feared Council of Seven. Two dwarves, one elf, one half elf, Bryne, another human and the newest member of the council: Alric Thoran.
The sight of him up there, smiling among the leaders of the Silver Suns, shocked Ealrin. Though he hadn't had much interaction with the young prince, this was the last thing he would expect him to be a part of.
He wondered what Folke would think of such a maneuver. Folke was noticeably absent from either side.
A flag of Beaton flew from the fountain. Someone with a torch was letting the flames lick the corner of the banner. Within moments, the fabric caught fire and was burning brightly.
The mob cheered as the standard burned.
Their first bid for power out in the open was certainly dramatic, he thought.
As Bryne spoke, the masked rebels cheered her. She held up her hands to silence the crowd.
Ealrin looked around to see that some of the soldiers in the Red Guard still held onto their spears. Most seemed unsure who to point at: the mob in front of them or the woman who spoke to them from the bowl of the fountain.
"The time has come for both the governor and the Red Guard to relinquish their control of Beaton over to us!"
The crowd cheered again.
Ealrin was beginning to feel quite uncomfortable. So far, a change in government in the south had resulted in a great number of casualties. Would the same be said in the north?
"Surrender your weapons. Turn over your control of the city. Bring us the governor and general what's his name. Those are our demands."
Bryne gave a smile so wide that Ealrin could see, even though he was a good distance from her.
The jewelry she wore glinted in the winter suns.
"Meet them, and you will be spared further bloodshed," she continued. "Refuse and face the wrath of the city you have destroyed with your own ignorance. You have one hour to respond! Get your incompetent leaders."
Many in the Red Guard looked around, the grips on their spears faltering in the face of such adversity.
Ealrin could understand their hesitation.
"What do you do when the people you've sworn to protect no longer want your protection?" Silverwolf asked out loud. The sarcasm in her voice was unmistakable.
Bryne spoke again.
“You have until the suns reach midday to respond! If you call yourself a Silver Sun, then I ask you to relent from your attacks until we have our answer.”
Ealrin looked around nervously.
It didn't seem like the mob was quite ready to obey that request.
Many still lifted swords and other sharp objects into the air and shouted curses at the Red Guard huddled in the square. A few hours of respite might be an impossible order.
She lifted a sword from her belt into the air to the cheers of everyone save for the Red Guard and the few unaffiliated with either group stranding nearby.
"The suns shine today of Silver!"
LOOTING AND BURNING were common sights from the city square, all the way back to the Governor's mansion.
Many in the Red Guard had already thrown down their spears and attempted to join the Silver Suns.
A few even made it.
Ealrin hadn't guessed that the city as a whole would be so fed up with a government that wasn't cooperating or even functioning well.
He had been wrong before, however.
Wisym led the way back to the upper residential section and tried to explain how the rioting had started early that morning.
“It wasn't even dawn when the fires broke out,” she began as they jogged to their destination. “I'd say ten to twenty of them all in different areas of the city.”
They passed what must have been one such fire. A hollowed out stone frame was all that remained of a moderately sized business. The leftover stones were scorched and blackened. A family walked among the rubble, picking up pieces of metal that survived the inferno.
Very few of the people roaming the streets seemed interested in helping them.
“That used to be a shoe store,” Wisym said as they passed. “They must have had the wrong type of relationship with the Red Guard.”
“You mean a positive one?” Bertrom asked as what was left of the building passed out of their sight.
“Something like that,” she replied.
The same sight could be seen every mile or so. A store burned to the ground or the ruins of what was once a house. Some of these sights were accompanied by people trying to pick up valuables in the wreckage.
Of those who gathered what they could, tears stained their faces and their hearts looked heavy.
“What's the difference between burning down someone's home because they aren't on your good side and burning down someone's home because they aren't the same race as you?” Ealrin asked as they passed by the fourth pile of scorched rubble.
At this location, a man and a woman stood arm in arm looking at the mess.
Apparently there was nothing to save.
No one had an answer to his question as they jogged by in silence.
“Did anyone notice who all was standing up there with Bryne?” Silverwolf asked. “I knew a few of their faces, but one or two were new to me. I thought I knew the whole council.”
“I thought it was strange. One of them looked like Prince Alric,” Bertrom said as the gate to the upper residential district came into view around a corner. “Isn't that odd?”
“He didn't just look like him,” Wisym replied. “It was him.”
What was once a door that led to the gate was now a pile of splinters. The guard house inside the gate was smashed to rubble.
A motionless arm stuck out of the stones.
“He won't be the last one,” Silverwolf said. Hers was a tone without compassion.
Wisym turned on her.
“You're glad to see people dying all around you?” she blurted, obviously flustered at it.
Ealrin remembered the guard. He was a nuisance to be sure. But was his loss of life simply because he wore the color red?
Silverwolf made no attempt to defend herself or to attack Wisym.
She simply held her ground.
The group circled the two of them.
Ealrin wasn't quite sure what to do. Defend an assassin? Protect a friend?
He waited.
The two females glared at one another.
Wisym spoke first.
“They may be difficult at times, but the Red Guard are people,” she said defiantly. She looked down on Silverwolf. Her elven heritage gave her the advantage of height, even if it was the only thing intimidating about her. “For that reason alone, they deserve to live.”
Silverwolf pushed back the hood to her cloak. The wolf head that she had worn all day fell to her back. Her piercing eyes made no attempt to look away from Wisym.
“And others would reason that because you are an elf, you deserve to die,” she replied. “Would you be willing to defend those people if you were given the choice? They are, as you point out, people.”
The stare down would have continued longer, had the group not had to move out of the way for the next person through the gate.
“I trust you're off to see the Governor, then?” General Jamond of the Red Guard asked Wisym.
7: Generals and Governors
The street that led to the Governor's house was littered with wood piles, overturned carts, and broken everything.
General Jamond and three of his men walked alongside them.
Wisym was impressed with the general's ability to keep his mustache and hair well-groomed, even in the midst of a rebellion.
She also took note, that while his soldiers' clothes were tattered, torn, and singed with fire, his own garments seemed unstained from battle. He had hardly even broken a sweat.
"I hope the governor is ready to answer for his inability to
lead his people," Jamond spat at Wisym.
If Ealrin had not grabbed her wrist, she would've slapped Jamond across the face. She glared at him for not giving her the satisfaction of doing him physical harm before wresting her arm free.
"You will not place the blame fully on our shoulders," she said as she marched ahead of him.
Bertrom leaned over to Ealrin.
“Think we ought to let these two fight it out before we get to the governor's mansion? Might make this quicker,” he said with a look of exasperation.
Wisym ignored him for now. Bertrom had been little help to her. The soldier from Thoran was arguably the least brave man she had ever met. That he was able to both hold his sword and run at the same time came as a surprise to Wisym.
Still, her feelings almost validated his words. She certainly felt like she could do away with Jamond right then and there. Surely that would just add to the growing problem of rebellion.
The presence of warriors in the upper residential district was much greater than out in the rest of the city. Many marched here and there, putting out fires, securing homes, and manning areas where several citizens sat in rows of ten, detained and downtrodden.
Soldiers here were different than the ones they had just seen in the lower residential district. They wore the symbol of Beaton: a large black city wall with a gate emblazoned on a coat of red. Noticeably absent was the shield that marked them as a member of the Red Guard.
“That's new since I left,” Ealrin said.
“The governor saw fit to implement his own armed force,” Wisym explained. “I told him it was an unwise decision and would reflect poorly on his office.”
“I see he didn't heed your council.”
Wisym decided her best course of action was to remain silent for now.
She was irritated that the governor had enacted a personal army against her advice. There was something about his recent obsession with the idea that struck her.
The events of today certainly added to her uneasiness.
A large contingent of guards surrounded the governor's mansion. A low fence surrounded the property. The humble gate was typically opened and welcoming.
