by RG Long
She saw the sword falling towards her in a final, fatal arc.
With one last force of her she threw her hands into the air to block the sword, though she knew it was futile.
The world exploded into a brilliant flash of green.
And then all was darkness.
40: Aftermath
Anders picked himself up off of the ground. The blast had caused him to fly several feet before landing hard on his back. He shook his head and looked around. Felipe still lay where she had for most of the battle, obediently staying with the cart she so often pulled.
"Good horse," he said groggily, trying to orient himself again.
He looked around for the two who had been standing next to him just moments ago, surveying the battle with him and worrying about the Speaker girl. The dwarf called Jeremy was kneeling down over the elf girl he had shown up with. A cut was bleeding over her eye, but it didn't look serious.
Scanning the battlefield, Anders gasped.
Where there had once been twenty demons or so, carving bloody paths into the armies who had been attempting to fight them, there was not one. Even the dark comet, which had come so close to the earth, now was receding back up into the sky. Its purple glow was much more faint than it had been hours ago. An eerie silence covered the field. Soldiers who had been knocked off of their feet, as he had been, were now getting up and surveying the area around them as well. All of them looked around, confused.
Their adversaries were gone.
A general shambling began all over the field. Dwarves were gathering around the wall, where the great dragon perched with one of its wings at an odd angle. Elves clothed in black began to move towards the hill, making a large circle around a few in the middle. Many men could be seen clambering back into the city of Beaton, while considerably fewer were gathering around the banks of the river, near the ships that were docked there.
The fight had been completely taken out of all of them.
Anders walked over to the dwarf and the elf and knelt by them.
"You don't look that beat up," he said, observing more closely the cut over her left eye. "Just a scratch."
In truth, the girl looked pretty shaken, but for what war and death did to people, Anders knew there was very little he could do. In the matter of blood and cuts, however, he had a little skill. He walked back to his cart, which was mostly undamaged, and opened a cabinet on the side and took out a few bottles and bits of cloth.
With these in hand, he came back to the pair and started. First, he uncorked one blue bottle and poured it on the wound. The liquid was a dark yellow and had a pungent stench to it. It always reminded Anders of rotting cabbage.
The girl winced and took in a sharp breath.
"It stings but it'll keep it from disease," Anders said plainly, mopping up the excess with a clean rag.
"A warning would have been appropriate," the dwarf said, bitterness in his voice.
Anders looked at them both and cleared his throat. A decent bedside manner wasn't his strong point.
"What's your names?" he asked gruffly, searching for what he needed next in the pile he had laid down beside them.
"I'm Jeremy Farthee and this is Abigail Flowers. We're Speakers in training from Thoran."
He looked at them both for a moment and then begun to wrap the elf's head in an effort to stop the bleeding. He handed a smaller portion of it to the dwarf and told him, "Clean her up," while he finished wrapping the bandage.
"Speakers in training?" he asked as he stood to his feet. "Not often you see a dwarf Speaker. What are you doing so far from Thoran anyway?"
"The tale is quite long in the telling," Jeremy replied, looking carefully at Abigail, who still lay on the ground, no less bruised but now bandaged.
Anders handed Jeremy another glass bottle the color of dirt and uncorked it for him.
"What manner of potion is this?" he asked quizzically as he held it at an arm's length.
"Most people call it water," Anders replied, looking down at them. "It's for drinking."
He turned from them and surveyed the field. A large crater had formed where all the bright flashes of light had come from. Anders shook his head and dust fell from his hair. It would take weeks to clean himself and everything else he owned.
A cold chill swept over the fields, even though the suns above were high in the sky. Noon was approaching along with a very cold winter, it seemed. Anders pulled his clothes a bit tighter around him. He wasn't one who appreciated the chill very much.
Several minutes must have passed as he stared over the battlefield because both Jeremy and Abigail came and stood next to him, the dwarf offering his shoulder to Abigail to support herself.
"Where's Blume?" the elf asked.
"Who?" Anders said, turning to her. She looked pale and unsteady. "You ought to sit back down."
"Our friend," she said, not listening to his advice. "The Speaker who was here a moment ago. The one who had all of that green Rimstone energy around her."
Anders looked out towards the field and the crater that had formed. He had a good idea where they should look, but he didn't want to give them any false hope of finding her. That last blast had done serious damage to everything in the vicinity. Her survival wasn't sure, but fortunately, neither was Rayg's.
"I know where to check at least," he said walking toward the crater, not knowing what they would find when they got there.
"Come on, then."
41: A Princess' Rest
The wind blew up the mountainside, chilling Teresa and those who stood with her around the campfire. Though, her front was quite warm from the blaze they had kept going since emerging from the secret tunnels leading into the chambers of Castle Thoran. They had waited a full three days before sending a guard back through to see if the sacrifice of the Speakers had been sufficient to drive away the goblins.
So far in this great war that had consumed their land, Thoran had sacrificed most of its troops, its king, and now its most learned Speaker and gifted teachers. The cost had been too great on them. What hope had they of rebuilding?
Teresa sniffed back a tear that had threatened to fall.
No, she told herself. Don't give in to fear and hopelessness. Lead bravely.
Lead bravely. It had been what she had told herself since fleeing into the tunnels, though that very act had seemed rather cowardly to her all the same. But if she was to lead these people and ensure their survival into what so far appeared to be a very bleak winter, she must lead bravely.
And so she tried to do just that.
Every day she walked among the survivors, comforting those who had lost loved ones, encouraging those who were given into despair, and challenging those who were still inexperienced but able to lead.
Just like she was.
It was a difficult business. Thankfully, she had Mara, Felicia, and Urt to help and encourage her when she felt like giving up.
Urt was strong and spoke little, but he was constant and Teresa found great comfort in seeing him walk among the crowd, lifting logs for fires here and gathering supplies for others there. Felicia, using many words to compensate for Urt's lack of them, was constantly reminding her that she must be, in more colorful language, the best princess Thoran had ever known.
Mara, in her motherly and slightly overbearing way, was continuing to speak as if the Southern Republic could rebound from such terrible times as well. She reminded them all of her secret resistance and how they were seeking to undo the damage Androlion had caused.
If for no other reason, Teresa found these words and actions on the part of these three to spur her on and lead as best she could. She would lead bravely, she decided. No matter what.
Rubbing her hands together, she told herself that she had spent long enough time warming her cold body and that it was past time to make her rounds. She nodded at her captains around the fire and made to leave, when something caught her eye.
There was a commotion over by the tunnel entrance.
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Putting her hand on one of her swords, she began to make her way over to where several of her soldiers had gathered. Quick and heavy footsteps on the ground told her that Benton had followed her.
“Bah,” he said, his breath visible in the cold. “What's this?”
“I'm not sure,” she replied, quickening her pace.
Once they came closer, Teresa caught sight of Vera and the others she had sent to investigate had returned. Soldiers patting them on the back and welcoming them through the tunnel entrance surrounded them.
“Princess Teresa,” she said as she caught sight of her and Benton approaching. “The goblins.”
Visions of the grey-skinned beasts flooding the tunnels and erupting any moment filled Teresa's mind and she gripped her sword more tightly.
“What is it, Vera?” she asked, feeling the hair on the back of her neck prickle with fear.
“They're gone,” Vera replied shortly. “All of them.”
Teresa sighed deeply. The goblins were gone.
It was over.
IT WAS MIDDAY BY THE time Teresa had emerged through the tunnel and into the castle. Though Vera had checked thoroughly, she and Benton had both begged Teresa to stay behind until an advance guard could go ahead of her.
Begrudgingly, she had obliged.
The first thing that attacked her senses as she walked into the light of the suns and into the castle courtyard was the terrible smell. Though she had fought in many battles, the awful smell of entire armies defeated and left to the carrion birds was never something she could overcome.
Having found no more traces of goblins anywhere, a vast cleanup had begun. A smoky haze filled the air all around her. The people of Thoran were piling goblins into already tall fires and lining the brave defenders along the road as best they could so their families could mourn them before being buried.
Bravely, Teresa reminded herself as she strode into the main street leading to the main gates they had fought so hard to defend. Death surrounded her, but she walked on, trying to make it to the walls. She wanted to see for herself.
When she finally approached the gates, she allowed herself a moment to let the great price they had paid for their lives sink in.
One great sob escaped her lips before she covered her mouth and fought the tears. Dwarves, elves, and men of all ages lined the streets of Thoran. They had given their lives for the few that remained. The mantle of leadership rested heavily on her, threatening to crush her. For a moment, she felt as if there would be no way she might ever stand tall again. Then someone put an arm around her, steadying her.
To her great surprise, she felt the fur of Urt beside her.
She allowed herself a few more tears before taking her hands away from her face and looking into the big, cat-like eyes that were staring at her.
“You serve your people well,” he said. With that, he withdrew his arm and took a step back. Teresa wished he would stand closer and give her something to lean against, but the thought perished as she heard others coming down the street behind them.
“Bloody mess,” Felicia said, surveying not only the road but the carnage outside of the walls. Goblin bodies lay piled up against the fortifications. Rocks and arrows littered the ground, as did the ladders and trunks of trees the goblins had used to successfully scale the walls.
Everything that could be burned was being thrown into piles and put to the flame.
Teresa couldn't help but agree with Felicia's crude statement. It was a mess.
“Let's get busy cleaning up then,” Teresa said with an attempt at putting strength and bravery into her shaky voice. “But tonight we need to focus our attention elsewhere.”
STARS GLISTENED IN the cold, cloudless night. It was as if they understood that the occasion needed more decoration and reverence than other nights.
Teresa stood at the top of the castle walls, the flames of many bonfires around the city and several torches that were placed along the city street cast their light upon the mountain castle and its city. If she could just get through this, she would feel like leading her people into the next day and beyond. Everyone who wasn't on guard at the outer walls watching for any signs of straggling goblins or awaiting news from the south was gathered below. Her voice echoed throughout the city, amplified as she stood addressing them.
“Tonight we are weary,” she began, her voice betraying her own fatigue. But she must persevere.
“Tonight we are broken, but not fallen. We are cast down, but we are not defeated. Thoran stands, still.”
This statement she let echo and there was a general murmur of agreement. Thoran, though battered, was still standing.
“We owe every soul who gave their lives to defend ours and see that we stand and live here tonight, our thanks.”
She lifted her fist into the air, then made a salute across her chest and bowed.
Everyone in the crowd mimicked her. It was a gesture of honor. The same salute the King's Swords used themselves.
“Our survival would have been impossible, however, were it not for the brave efforts of Madam Wishter and the Speakers who gave their lives to drive away the gray beasts and secure our safety. To them, we owe our lives.”
Again, she saluted, and, again, those standing beneath her copied her movements.
“Their sacrifice shall never be forgotten as long as the Kingdom of Thoran endures. We memorialize them here, tonight, and thank them for their bravery and courage.”
She drew a breath as she gazed down at her people. They were tired. They were worn out. Every face that looked back at her was bruised and battered.
But they must endure.
“Let us honor them best by striving to live on. They gave their lives so that we may live. Let us live in such a way that honors their great sacrifice.”
At this, she raised her hand, palm outward, and shouted, “Thoran!”
It was echoed as one throughout the crowds below.
Teresa nodded her head, and turned away from them and walked a few paces down the wall.
Felicia, Urt and Mara awaited her there, as did Vera and Benton.
The last of those whom she had come to trust and rely on.
“Are you sure of your plans, Mara?” she asked, her voice sounding more weary by the moment. “We could benefit from your leadership.”
“You have proved yourself more capable than I had previously thought,” she replied, her face nearly betraying a small smile. “Thoran will be in able hands while it awaits the princes.”
Mara continued to look down at the crowd below and not turn her face to Teresa. It was true that Teresa felt like Mara had thought little of her before this battle had occurred, but after the events of the last week she was sure the elder from the south had found a higher respect for her. She did, however, feel that Mara was talking down to her, even in her compliment.
Teresa nodded and turned then to Felicia and Urt.
“And you two will accompany her?” she asked, fully aware of the answer before her question left her lips.
“Aye,” Felicia replied. “If nothin' else, she's family.”
Mara's mouth gave a slight twitch, as if attempting a large amount of self-restraint.
Urt simply nodded.
“Then I wish you all the best of luck,” Teresa said. “And I and all of Thoran thank you for your aid.”
“I pray I will be in a position to send more in the future,” Mara said, finally turning and looking at Teresa properly.
“You've earned a good night's sleep,” she said, looking at Teresa with maternal eyes. “I would take it.”
Teresa did not need telling twice.
She had hardly slept over the last week. It would be some time before she could actually rest well, she knew. The Southern Republic had sent these goblins here. She knew they had allied with the beasts before.
How long would it be before they heard of the failure to eradicate Thoran? And how long would it be before they came for the castle themselves?
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br /> Gazing down on the crowd, who was now dispersing to find whatever shelter they themselves could manage for the night, she also wondered if her people could withstand any more battles.
These thoughts would haunt her day tomorrow, but, for now, Teresa Thoran would attempt to rest.
The suns above knew she needed it.
42: Stinkrunt at Sea
Stinkrunt sulked as he sat on top of the rickety ship he and a hundred goblins had managed to piece together out of the spare pieces of three wrecks and the last remaining goblin vessel that had sailed to the east: Snarl Sail.
It had taken them nearly two weeks to get the ship to the point where it wouldn't sink as soon as it got out in open sea. A few leaks in the very bottom of the boat, in which several of the smaller goblins had been shoved to stop the flow of incoming water, proved that the ship wasn't quite ready to for the journey.
Stinkrunt had seen three larger ships sailing out of the city called Riverhead, another stupid city they had failed to conquer, and he was keen on getting home before ships started sailing back and forth again between the civilized settlements.
They wouldn't last long against any boats they saw coming their way.
All that remained of the massive goblin army that was supposed to have found a new base of operations in Thoran to pillage the north and south was this solitary ship.
This is stupid, thought Stinkrunt as he clung to the side rails of Snarl Sail's railing, praying that their voyage would be swift and that the ship wouldn't sway so much in the water. He still hated sailing.
Still, he thought as the suns shown down on them, but did little to warm the deck as a cold winter wind carried them west, you're alive.
Stinkrunt's ability to adapt and survive, through cunning and cowardice, had seen him live to tell a tale that would highly exaggerate their defeat at Castle Thoran. He had already come up with a couple different ways to explain away how he bravely led the troops from behind their backs and sent everyone else on towards the inner gates, while he sat back and feasted on some excellent ale and roasted something or other.
