by RG Long
Surveying what was ahead of them, Tory saw the luminous cave from which the undead had burst forth. An eerie blue light was still filling the caverns.
“Why in the world would we want to head in that direction?” Tory fumed, panting hard and looking around for the next enemy to slay. For a moment, he seemed to have run out.
“If we can get underneath the cave and unsettle the earth above,” Lote began, pointing up to where Paterus stood, still Speaking out his dark magic.
“We may stop the undead part of Yule's army,” Holve finished, following Lote's point and looking up to see that the leader of the Yule elves was indeed standing on the very ledge of the cave, with little earth beneath him and the top of the wide cave mouth. The other two parts of their army had yet to penetrate the defenses of Yule, who stood protecting their leader as he animated the lifeless army below.
“Shiv!” Holve yelled, holding up his sword and pointing towards the cave entrance. “Forward! To the cave!”
This order was, to Tory's surprise and resentment, carried out swiftly. Every elf on foot and every beast still drawing breath began to carve a path to the cave entrance. The bright blue light grew in intensity as they approached it, charging as best they could through the remaining enemies that stood in their way.
Within minutes, the remaining elves had come near to the cave entrance. Holve halted them before they actually reached the bottom of it. Undead still assaulted them from all sides but now, Tory noted, the majority of them actually lay behind them. Some of the things were crawling up the sides of the cave in an attempt to protect the living elves above. They were unnaturally skilled at ascending the rock wall. The sight unnerved Tory even more than being stuck between a cave with a magical glow and a shambling undead horde.
“Well?” he said, looking from Holve to Lote and then to the hundred and fifty Shivian elves who were left. “What do we do?”
Holve was surveying the cave's roof and sides with a penetrating stare. After a few moments, he finally pointed at a spot that seemed to be as mundane as the rest of the earth around it.
“Right there,” he said.
Five elves looked in the direction he indicated and nodded. They all muttered words of Speaking and motioned with their hands as if they were picking up something out of the air. As one, five large stones dislodged themselves from the ground and hovered in midair right in front of the group. Tory looked back and saw, with renewed panic, that the undead elves were much closer than they had been a moment ago and were steadily walking their way.
“Uh, a little quicker please,” he said, tapping Holve with his hand and motioning to the oncoming threat.
Looking back and then at the elves, Holve shouted “Now!” and the elves all made the same motion with their hands, as if throwing something.
The rocks shot forward like they had been released from a catapult and sped towards the side of the cave wall. They hit with five resounding thuds that echoed down into the depths of the cave. For a moment, they watched the rocks falling back to the ground. Then a stone from the side of the cavern dislodged itself and fell to the ground. Then another. With a great crack, the whole cave began to shudder.
“Back!” Holve shouted, as several rocks came loose from the side of the wall and began to tumble down, causing others to follow in a massive rock slide.
The elves, Lote, Holve, and Tory sped back away from the earth that was tumbling down at them and in the direction of the lifeless army behind them. The Yule elves who were up above were scrambling as well. Some fled away from the cave in while others were caught up in it and fell into the chasm.
Tory lifted his sword to swing at a particularly nasty looking undead soldier, when it fell down motionless before he brought down his blade. The blue light that had been glowing in the eyes of the animated corpses faded as, one by one, they dropped to the ground.
A great shout rose up from the Shivian elves, both from below the gaping hole made in the earth and on either side of it, seeing that the undead army was no more.
“Do you think we got him?” Tory asked, looking at the pile of dirt and rocks and snow that had just fallen. His answer came in a brilliant flash of light above what was left of the cavern.
Paterus hung suspended in mid-air. His armor still glimmered in the suns' light and his robes billowed around him as he hovered a hundred feet above them. Blue tendrils of energy swirled around him and stretched themselves out like great tentacles, grasping and lashing about.
Holve grunted and Lote's eyes narrowed as she looked up at her father. Tory just swore and kicked his steed, which was a mistake.
The great beast had apparently had enough of the battle, and of Tory, and finally freed himself of his rider. Tory hit the ground hard next to a pile of bodies that were no longer filled with dark magic, but were still just as horrifying.
With another round of new curses, Tory tore himself away from the unseeing eyes and stood, looking up at Paterus.
Then the tendrils struck out at them. Great rolling cords of energy came crashing towards them. Elves and beast alike scattered as the blue magic hit the ground, throwing up dirt and rock with each blow. Paterus was controlling the tentacles as if they were his own limbs. Tory could see him making great swiping movements with his hands that sent more and more blue magic their way.
This was, by far, worse than undead elves.
“Aren't you going to throw rocks at him or something?” Tory shouted at the Shivian elves who dove with him to avoid another gleaming tentacle. In answer, three elves performed the same picking up and throwing maneuver they had done earlier and hurled large rocks at the source of the magic. Two tentacles shot up and blocked the rocks from doing harm.
“He can't keep them up forever!” Tory shouted in frustration.
“Would you like to see how long he can?” Holve questioned him as he ran to the spot where Tory stood.
“Get me up there,” Lote said, a grim determination in her voice.
“What?” Tory said with annoyance. “Do you want them to throw you?”
Lote shot him a look that made him stop short.
“Well?” Tory stammered. “How else would you get up there?”
She looked at the three Shivian elves and spoke in a tongue Tory didn't recognize. The others must have understood, though, because they nodded and began their incantations again.
Snow, which had subsided for the last hour, began to fall again in earnest.
Three large rocks rose slightly into the air, hovering just feet above the ground. Lote jumped onto the lowest of these, as the other two continued to rise and circle around her. The elves muttered feverishly, their voices echoing and saying similar words in reverberations of each other.
Lote was being carried by the stone, crouching low and blades drawn, ready to strike.
Tory watched her flying faster and faster through the air, shooting towards Paterus.
“Show off,” he muttered.
“That's enough,” Holve retorted, causing Tory to jump. He didn't think he had been heard.
One bright tentacle shot off toward the rock formation. It collided with one of the two rocks encircling Lote. A brilliant light filled the sky and small dirt and rocks rained down on them. Tory shielded himself with his arm, still trying to follow Lote's flight. He looked over and saw that the Speaker who must have been magicking the stone carrying Lote sweating with perspiration, his brow furrowed hard with concentration.
Another tentacle of energy came hurtling at Lote, who had shrunk to the same size as Paterus. Tory could just barely make out her movements, but saw the figure he had been following leap from the stone as it was obliterated by the cord of blue.
“Move,” Holve ordered. “Quickly!”
They began to run. The Speakers stayed behind, bent over and exhausted.
Tory remembered that they needed to rest if they used too much magic. How powerful could Paterus possibly be, then, to be able to perform such dark magic all day without break or
pause?
Sprinting in their direction, Tory saw that no bright blue orb floated in the sky anymore. Instead, two figures fell plummeting towards the earth.
“Lote!” he shouted, seeing her fall with dizzying speed towards the rock and snow beneath her. He could just barely make out through blankets of white that the two of them appeared to be grappling midair. This was no unconscious fall. They were fighting for blood.
Struggling against uneven rocks and soft, powdery snow, Holve and Tory couldn't get to the point where they would land quick enough. Faster and faster they fell.
He was sure they would both meet their end upon the jagged rock below when, suddenly, he saw the snow that had been falling down rush up in a blast of wind. Instead of crashing onto the rocks, the two stopped suddenly, suspended in midair, and then fell no further than Tory stood tall.
They were still several paces away. Tory looked back to see a Speaker in dark black robes still muttering words and gasping. He had caused the wind that broke their fall, Tory guessed.
Lote had lost one of her blades, and the left side of her face looked bruised and burned. Paterus looked far worse. His left arm was bleeding heavily from a large cut and his side was also turning red with blood from some unseen wound.
Rage filled his face as he bared his teeth at his daughter.
He made to kick her with his foot, but she caught it and rolled him over. Lote got to her knees and stabbed madly with her sword. Each blow would have killed if she had hit her mark, but Paterus kept rolling. The armored Speaker then grabbed a rock and shoved it at Lote, hitting her on her face and causing her to recoil in pain.
Tory was nearly to them, his sword ready and his teeth gritted. Holve was right at his side.
A brilliant blue light filled Paterus' hand as he groped for his daughter's throat. Tory was just four paces from them, and then was blown backwards by a blast of energy.
Heat rolled over him like a wave. He hit the ground behind him hard, rolling even as he made contact with the ground. His sides, arms, and shoulders felt battered. The smell of something burning filled his nostrils.
Struggling to regain his footing, he got to his knees and opened his eyes.
The snow had melted around them in a circle. Steam rose up to meet the falling white powder. The ground felt moist and warm. Holve was just getting to his feet just to his left, looking back to where Paterus and Lote were.
But the only thing Tory could see was blackened and charred stone.
“Where are they?” he asked, looking side to side, thinking they had been blasted away as he and Holve had been. With great difficulty, he stood to his feet and grabbed his sword. He had dropped it when the wave of energy had hit.
“Holve?” he asked again, taking a few faltering steps. “Come on, we've got to help Lote!”
But Holve wasn't moving.
He had knelt down again and was reaching for something.
Something that could only be....
“NO!” Tory yelled as he saw who Holve was cradling in his arms.
She was blackened and crushed. Her skin charred and her hair nearly burned away.
Tory made his way and landed hard on his knees beside her. The stern look he had been so accustomed to lately was replaced by an emotionless expression. Her eyes stared up at the new snow that fell on them, unseeing.
Had he looked up from the sight that now stole his gaze, he would have seen the two flanking parties of the Shivians overcoming the line of Yule elves. He would have noticed that, at the sight of their leader falling from the sky and the undead soldiers falling to the ground, still, the army's spirit had broken. A cry of victory rose up from the Shivian elves as they drove back the blue banners to the west. Some broke off and went to chase down what was left of the army. Most rallied around Pella, who stood atop her mount, fist in the air, triumphant.
But Tory saw none of that. His eyes were fixed on the impossible thing that lay in front of him as hot tears rolled down his bitterly cold face.
A Sword of the King, lying motionless on the field of battle, cradled in the arms of her general. He, as her comrade in arms, let out a wail of sorrow for a soldier he thought impossible to defeat.
The battle was won.
Lote was lost.
30: Conviction
“Your civil war may be ended, but an even greater threat, one that could consume the entire northern kingdom of elves, now marches north and it will not stop at Thoran, or even Beaton,” Holve was arguing with Pella.
The army had returned to the castle disguised in the mountain and a feast had been held to honor those fallen in battle and celebrate the victory over the elves of Yule.
Tory had lost his taste for feasting.
How many friends and fellow soldiers was he to lose before war consumed the continent he had once loved, but now found hard to make peace with. How long could Ruyn survive such hate and violence?
Darkness had overtaken the land and the dishes of the meal were now being cleaned. Soldiers returned to their homes and their families. Tory had spent most of the celebration walking the dark stone halls and trying his best not to miss the elf he had said annoyed him more times than he could remember.
It was becoming increasingly difficult.
Holve had found him wandering around aimlessly. Tory allowed himself to be lead to the room where they had been reunited. He should have been happy to be with Holve again, but the loss of Lote overshadowed any joy he might have had.
Pella and Holve, along with a few other elves, were entering into a heated argument.
Tory was simply gazing out of a window into the starry sky outside.
The snow had stopped and now a blanket of white lay over the land, reflecting the light of the moon and the stars. Passing slowly overhead, he noticed, the Dark Comet shone an even deeper color than the last time he had paid attention to the night sky phenomenon.
“You've seen his madness firsthand. Tell them of it.”
A silence hung in the chamber.
“Tory?”
Hearing his name called brought him back to his surroundings. Looking around, he saw that Holve was giving him a look of anticipation. But he hadn't been following the conversation at all.
“What?” he asked shortly.
Holve's face hardened.
“I was asking you to explain how Androlion's madness and genocide has affected the south,” he said, a little too harshly in Tory's opinion. “Would you care to elaborate?”
Tory stood. He had been sitting for the entire meeting and his legs needed to stretch in order to work properly. The elves gazed at him with curiosity. Pella, however, gave him a look even more penetrating than Holve's.
He really wasn't in the mood to talk.
“I...” he began slowly, thinking of what Holve had asked him to describe.
How had he been affected by the crazed regime of the new Southern Republic?
“I've lost more than most,” he began flatly. “I lost a brother to treason. I lost a friend from my childhood to a skirmish. And today I lost a comrade, who I never thought I'd actually miss.”
Speaking the words were difficult at first, but now that he had started, they began to flow freely.
"And it's not just the fact that Androlion is a madman; there's no denying he's lost it. It's the madness he's spreading to others. It's a disease. He's convincing people to hate others just because of the fact that they're dwarves or elves or something else."
Tory was pacing now, back and forth, not looking at the elves or at Holve. The words were spilling from his mouth. He found himself throwing his arms in frustration, swinging at the air.
"He won't give up when he sees that there are more elves here. Or dwarves somewhere else. If we let him, he'll spread his hate all over until there's nothing left on Ruyn save for men. And then what? Maybe men will start hating men for the color of their skin, or whether they're from the north or the south. It's sick. This racism he's inciting. Nothing good has ever come from hat
ing someone because of who they are or what they look like."
He stopped and stared out at the darkness beyond the castle. The stars were shining clearly in a cloudless sky.
"And because he's decided his hate is worth fighting for, we've got to show him and everybody else that there's something else worth fighting for, too."
There was a silence that followed this. Tory wasn't sure where he had thought up all of the ideas he was speaking now. Maybe it was from Holve. Or from the Swords. Or maybe it was just months of frustration finally coming out of him in words and not complaints.
"What's worth fighting for?" Pella asked, stepping forward from her group of elves.
Tory turned.
Holve was gazing at him in a new way. Pella stood, still hardened, in front of her representatives.
He sighed and shrugged his shoulders, putting his hands into his pockets.
"Peace," he said simply. "If we don't fight this hate and win, there won't be any. We've got to fight if we want to bring any sanity back to this continent. We've got to."
Holve took a step toward Tory and nodded his approval at him. Then he turned to Pella.
"Will you make good on your promise, Pella? Will you send your armies south to aid Thoran and help us save the continent of Ruyn from destruction?"
The female elf folded her arms and seemed to consider the question, looking at the floor for a long time.
She clicked her tongue twice and breathed heavily.
"We will," she said, finally looking back up at them.
"The elves of Shiv will march south come the dawn."
"WHAT GOOD WILL IT DO, Holve?" Tory asked later that evening, finding himself in an elven robe and looking down at a bed beside a small fireplace in an ornate room.
Four beds were here, yet only two would find use tonight. Holve had spent the last few weeks here, talking with the elves and planning their attack on Yule. The floors of the room were smoothed and polished stone. Planks of stained wood lined the wall. A simple dresser stood beside each bed with three drawers. Four chairs encircled the fire. Holve sat in one of them while Tory continued to look out of a glass window up at the stars. Ceiling to floor curtains were used to hold off the chill, but for now, Tory had opened these and looked out.
