by RG Long
Today was not a day of welcome.
No less than ten guards stood by the fence, spears up and shields at the ready.
“What business do you have at the mansion of the governor?” a tall and well-built man asked the company.
Wisym looked around. The rest were the odd ones: two soldiers from Thoran, the commander of the Red Guard and a suspicious woman dressed in wolf skins.
She, however, was the most likely to need entrance.
“I am a counselor to the governor's office,” she said with as much superiority as she could muster. “And you will grant me passage. I left this place not six hours past!”
“And what is HE doing with you?” a second man asked her, pointing the tip of his spear at Jamond.
“I'll do as I please as a soldier and protector of Beaton, insolent fool!” he responded, knocking away the spear point with his fist.
I hope they run you through, Wisym found herself thinking.
The guard looked slightly less resolved as Jamond stared at him.
Wisym intervened before a fight took place.
"Please allow us passage," she asked as sweetly as her patience allowed her. "We have urgent news to give the governor about the Silver Suns’ demands."
He looked to his companions. For the most part, their smug faces showed a determination to let no one pass. Wisym was beginning to wonder if they would be allowed entrance.
Then the front door to the mansion swung open.
"Let them in, guards," the governor called from his doorway. Several of the soldiers looked back and stepped aside at this command.
The one holding the spear at the Red Guard commander waited a moment.
"Even Jamond," the governor added reluctantly. "We have important matters to discuss. But I would leave his men to guard the area."
With a humph, Jamond shoved the guard aside and marched up the path.
He glanced back at his guards.
"Watch them," he ordered, and then stormed ahead.
Wisym, half disappointed that the governor hadn't dismissed Jamond, followed. Walking up the path, she heard the crush of rubble and debris, as well as the demise of a great city she had once hoped to call home, under her feet.
8: Friendly Places
Ealrin wasn't sure who was more tense: Wisym from the exchange she had with Jamond just inside the residential gate, Jamond and his no nonsense way of trying to blame the governor for everything happening outside, or the governor himself.
Even though he had only spent a relatively short time in Beaton before trekking after Verde, he had never seen the governor looking this haggard.
Large purple bags hung under his eyes and he nursed a mug of a dark black drink that Ealrin assumed was coffee, though it smelled of liquor.
Perhaps the addition was supposed to offset the stress of leading a city in revolt against its rulers.
They entered the governor's dining hall and saw that a veritable feast had been set out on the table there.
The governor sat at a chair towards the middle and took a swig of his drink before tearing off a piece of bread from a loaf close by.
No one else felt the need to sit. Ealrin and Bertrom found their way to the other side of the table, facing the governor as he ate. Silverwolf barely entered the room. She propped herself against the wall beside the entrance to the room and began tossing her dagger into the air and catching it on the bladed side.
Ealrin wondered if this was typical behavior for an assassin.
General Jamond was the most energetic of those entering the chamber. He came up next to the governor and pounded the table.
"And what are you planning to do with the mess outside?" he shouted.
"First," the governor responded with a snap of his fingers. "I'll have you take a seat."
Several guards appeared from a hallway and physically moved Jamond around the table and to a chair. The scene took quite a while as Jamond was no willing party to the event unfolding around him.
"What's the meaning of this!?" he shouted as he was forced into a chair and served a cup of tea from a servant of the mansion.
The guards withdrew a few paces, but stayed nearby awaiting their next order.
"You are in my house," the governor said through a mouthful of bread. "I'll have you act as a guest and not the king."
Jamond picked up the cup of tea and was about to throw it across the room. Two guards both moved forward and held knives at his throat.
"I would stop your struggling," the governor said with a look of grim satisfaction.
Wisym sat down to the governor's right and placed her hands on the table.
"We need to discuss what you plan to do," she said plainly. "The Silver Suns have made demands."
"Hand over the city and all of my power, no doubt," the governor said as he swallowed several grapes.
Ealrin was impressed with how much one man could eat in the face of such adversity. He was also wondering if he had invited the general into his home for the sheer pleasure of threatening his life.
"And the Red Guard disbanded and disarmed!" Jamond said, though he had brought his volume down several steps since he had two knives at his throat. "Call off your men, Walteph. I'd hate to have to show you what my training has accomplished over many years."
The governor looked up from his mug at Jamond.
"You come into my house, threaten my rule, blame me for the atrocities taking place outside my own walls, and now you forget your manners, General Jamond."
He stood and sat his cup on the table.
"You will address me as Governor, or your life will be forfeit."
The two guards brought their knives closer to Jamond's neck.
Ealrin then realized he had never heard the man's name. Walteph. The Governor of Beaton.
"And what would you do?" he asked as he backed away from the table, causing Wisym to stand as well. "Would you have your men surround the Silver Suns and try to match your might against their anger? You'll find yourself without an army soon enough and, therefore, I will have no use of you."
"I would not surrender to such terrorists..." Jamond began.
Governor Walteph interrupted.
"And then what would you do?" he shouted over him.
The silence hung for a moment as both men stared each other down.
"Then what do you suggest, Governor?" Jamond asked as hate seethed from him with each word.
The governor took a deep breath and moved towards a large map of the northern continent. He held his hands behind his back as he spoke.
"We invite the Council of Seven to a peaceful meeting here at the mansion. We tell them we will give them what they want: control of the city, a disarmed Red Guard. We let them revel in their success for an hour or two of drunkenness." The governor turned back to Jamond and gave him a determined look that Ealrin had not seen on the governor's face up unto this point.
"We then ensure that none of them leave the room alive."
Wisym gasped.
Jamond's scowl turned into a smile.
"With their leadership out of the way," he began.
"The Silver Suns will crumble and the two of us can begin talks on how to rule the city with an iron fist so that such a rebellion never takes place again," the governor finished.
Ealrin look back and forth at the two men with a look of disgust upon his face.
Bertrom looked from Wisym to Ealrin and back again.
Silverwolf, however, spoke her mind for the benefit of the room.
"You are both old fools who won't survive the end of the week," she said as she caught her dagger in her hand, reattached it to her wrist, and folded her arms.
The governor and Jamond both looked at her. Jamond spoke first.
"I have heard tales of the bounty hunter known as the White Wolf. I believe I've even lost a friend or two to your skills. Perhaps you would be willing to join us in return for clemency?"
Silverwolf scoffed.
"Throw in my lo
t with the inept leadership that practically handed this city over to the likes of the Silver Suns?" She threw her hands into the air. "You've got to be kidding me."
The governor and Jamond exchanged a glance and then nodded at one another.
"Then I believe you have given up your right to parade so freely in the glorious city of Beaton," the governor said.
He snapped his fingers and three more guards stepped away from Jamond and pointed their swords at Silverwolf.
She shook her head.
"No wonder the city hates you," she said as she took something from her pocket and threw it at the ground.
A blinding flash of light and a white powdery smoke filled the room. After they had all stopped coughing on whatever it was that hung in the air, the governor shouted at his men.
"Well? Go find her!" he shouted at the confused guards.
Some of them withdrew from the room and began to shout at others throughout the mansion.
Wisym was the first to speak after the chaos and confusion had passed.
"Governor," she asked pleadingly. "Surely you won't succumb to deceit and murder to solve this?"
The governor looked at her with a raised eyebrow.
"And surely you understand the value of protecting one's country at any cost? I was hoping for the aid of your elves in securing our city."
Wisym took a step backward from him.
"You had promised that our refugees would be free from any draft or conscription. There are too few of us!" she said, aghast at his suggestion.
"Times have changed, Wisym," he countered.
"You will return to your kind and tell them of my offer. Serve me, or face imprisonment."
“My kind?” Wisym said, shaking her head. "You can't be serious."
"And you can't expect better from the thugs outside," he replied, taking a leg of chicken from the table and biting into it.
"You will make the offer to your people. You will return as quickly as you are able." He swallowed his bit and stared hard at her.
"You will not question my authority, Wisym of Talgel."
Ealrin had never seen the governor like this. It was as if the rebellion of the Silver Suns had caused a timid dog to realize he had teeth with which he could bite.
"You three are dismissed," the governor said with a wave of his hand. "Jamond and I still have much to discuss."
Jamond smiled at the governor's treatment of Wisym.
“You will, from this moment forward, relinquish your power and command of the Red Guard to me and my office,” he stated, more as a matter of fact than as a request.
Jamond's smile faded.
“You're mad!” he shouted and began to stand.
Four men with swords all pointed at his neck stepped in quickly to subdue him.
Governor Walteph's face bore a twisted smile.
“My friend,” he said with a sweet tone that turned Ealrin's stomach. “You've come to my house without your men. I believe that was a mistake. You won't leave until we have come to an agreeable decision.”
He turned and stared at the three who had lingered.
“Dismissed!” he barked.
Wisym took several more steps backward before she nodded her head and left the room. Bertrom and Ealrin followed.
The city of Beaton was no longer a friendly place.
9: A Rift in the Trees
It was all he could do to keep up with Wisym. She was walking so fast out of the upper residential district that he was nearly jogging.
Bertrom ran beside him.
“I think that went well,” he joked as they followed the elf who was obviously hurt and mad all at the same time.
“And the day isn't over yet,” Ealrin reminded him. “I wonder what the Silver Suns will do if the governor doesn't yield?”
“I'd rather not imagine,” Bertrom replied with a shudder.
Before any of them really comprehended that they were no longer a trio, Ealrin nearly fell to his knees at the sight of Silverwolf running beside him.
“Did I miss the fireworks?” she asked, nonchalantly.
Bertrom's mouth was wide open.
“How'd you do that?” he asked in awe.
“Smoke and mirrors aren't that complicated,” she shrugged. “Where's pointy-ears going?”
Wisym turned on the spot and pulled out both of her swords from their sheaths.
She stood ready to attack, though Silverwolf only stopped short of the blades, considering.
“You will treat my race with dignity or you will no longer have breath in your lungs, assassin,” she breathed in a rage.
“Fine, fine,” Silverwolf said with her hands in the air and her face devoid of emotion. “No more jokes about the ears.”
Wisym held her position for a moment, still glaring at Silverwolf.
“Weren't you headed somewhere in a hurry?” she asked after a silent moment passed.
The swords were placed back into their sheaths as their owner stormed off again, this time actually running.
They followed.
AFTER SEVERAL MINUTES of running and jogging, they finally arrived at their destination: the ancient part of Beaton that had been gifted to the elves months beforehand.
The old stones were being taken off of one structure or another and being repurposed into new, and more elf friendly, homes and buildings. Already, many of the structures were beginning to resemble the tall towers of ancient elven civilizations Ealrin had heard and read about.
Wooden walkways and scaffolding wound around the stone constructions.
At the moment, however, no one was working at the buildings.
It was eerily quiet.
Wisym pointed to the largest stone structure under construction, a large circular ring of stones with a wooden rooftop.
“That's where we hold meetings,” she explained. “We'll need to head there first.”
Before they could begin, however, an elf that Ealrin had not seen scouting the perimeter of the abandoned part of Beaton came up beside them. It startled Ealrin, forgetting how silently an elf could move if they so choose.
“Ithrel,” Wisym said, embracing the sentry.
Of all the elves Ealrin had ever met, Wisym had to be the most affectionate. Not many would so openly show their love for a friend. Ithrel, however, did not return the warm smile given to her. Her face remained grave and serious.
“What's wrong?” Wisym asked, noticing the look on her face.
“Finwe,” Ithrel replied.
ELVES FILLED THE CIRCULAR ROOM from wall-to-wall. The meeting place had been constructed with stadium seating so that the one who led the meeting could stand in the middle and be seen by everyone in attendance.
The formidable elf who stood in the middle now was obviously relishing her moment in the spotlight.
"Wisym's leadership is questionable at best. Every decision she has made has been a detriment to us. Now, while the city caves, in on itself, what do you suppose will happen to us?"
Some of the elves were silent and considered her words carefully, stroking their chins or looking down at their feet.
Others cheered their agreement with her.
"At least when I disagree," Wisym shouted from the entrance of the room as she made her way down the steps to where Finwe was standing. "I ensure that the party I am disagreeing with is in the room."
Some of the elves who previously had cheered now turned their faces away. Others made a type of salute toward her and Bertrom as she descended the stairs.
"Forgive me, sister. Now that you are here," Finwe said with mock remorse. "Let us discuss the best course of action."
More cheers from the crowd.
"So she is the leader of these elves?" Silverwolf asked Ealrin. "That makes this interesting."
Bertrom spoke up.
"Technically, she's the general of their troops," he explained. "These elves are from the Southern Republic. Androlion came in and destroyed their homeland, so they fled here. All they had wit
h them were three ships and about 300 elves. She has two commanders under her. I have met the male, but I don't see him anywhere. That one in the middle's name is Finwe. Wisym has been telling me she fears she has begun to doubt her ability to lead. I guess she thought it was time to do something about it."
Ealrin looked up at Bertrom, surprised.
"You've learned a lot since I've been gone," he said.
Bertrom went a little red in the face.
"Mostly I've just been following Wisym around listening to her."
"Hanging on her every word, it seems," Silverwolf interjected, a smug look on her face.
Wisym had just arrived at the middle of the room. Finwe opened her arms wide, indicating the assembly at large.
"Why should we throw our lives on the line for a city that has barely given us the scraps off their table?" she asked, more to everyone than to Wisym.
"Surely you don't expect us to throw away our lives for someone who has been so hospitable to us?" sarcasm dripped from her mouth.
Wisym hesitated for a moment. Her brow was furrowed and her eyes were fixed on a point.
"No," she said loudly. "I will not ask us to lay down our lives for Beaton."
A look of triumph came over Finwe's face.
"But that does not mean our lives will be free from danger and war."
Several of the elves in the room shuffled their feet. Others murmured to one another.
"What do you mean by this?" Finwe asked her.
Wisym gave a great sigh.
"The governor has ordered us to align ourselves with him and his men against the might of the Silver Suns and the Red Guard."
Cries rang out from the elves around them.
"No!"
"We are not his to command!"
"Does he expect us to die for him?"
Wisym held up her hands in an attempt to quiet the crowd.
"I have made no promises," she shouted above the noise. "But there are few options for us if we go against him."
"Would you have us join the Suns?" Finwe asked her accusingly.
Wisym shook her head.
"We should deliberate together on a course of action," she shouted. "As I see it, we have three options. Align with the governor, who has at the very least been neutral towards us. Align ourselves with the Silver Suns, an unknown but overwhelming force. Or last, and perhaps most dangerous, align with no one, defend ourselves, and weather out the storm."
