by Ronald Long
And then one man yelled in pain. A satisfied look crossed the general's face as his blade crossed the air across the chest of one of the men and sent him flying backwards. Enraged, the other made good at a chance to strike at his enemy, but a second swing of his sword nearly caught him across the chest as well. And it would have ended him had Holve not shoved him out of harms way and struck with his own spear. The general let out a cry of pain as the spear pierced his abdomen. Then his blade came crashing down at Holve, who had not yet recovered from the momentum of his attack. In one swift motion, the blade fell and a great purple flame engulfed the man.
He was gone.
And Holve lay on the ground, writhing in pain and clutching his stomach. The purple blade had indeed found its mark.
Holve was going to die.
***
Ealrin was at Holve's side, inspecting the wound. It wasn't bleeding as a normal sword wound would. Instead it was pulsing with a sickly purple hue. His skin around the cut was turning a crude red and purple mixture. It seemed to be seeping into the rest of his body like a poison.
When their leader had departed, the two Merc raiders left threw down their arms and fled. They had been pursued by a handful of the uniformed soldiers, but the rest remained. Two were at the side of the man who had already died from his own run in with the sword of the general. One of them was the man Holve had pushed aside. He was sobbing into the chest that no longer moved up and down with the rhythmic signs of life.
Blume had just now crawled over to Holve and sat next to Ealrin. He could tell she was exhausted from her earlier magic. Even still, she grabbed her jewel in one hand and placed another over the wound in Holve's belly. Again she spoke in words that Ealrin could neither comprehend nor repeat if he tried.
Sweat poured down her brow in earnest as she spoke. Her hand began to shake violently, even as a low green light began to shine through the hand clasped over her necklace. Unlike when she had healed herself, no light came from Holve's injuries. Just the spreading of the purple and red poison from his wound. He still writhed in pain on the ground.
"The wound won't...won't let me speak to it," Blume gasped. "It's fighting me." She leaned to one side and Ealrin had to catch her before she fell over completely.
"I... I don't know if I... if I can help him," she breathed. She was panting hard from exhaustion. “I can try to isolate the damage…” her voice trailed off. She was running out of energy and was fighting to stay sitting up.
Tears began to form in Ealrin's eyes. Was he to lose another friend to senseless violence?
"It's ok Blume," he choked. "You tried."
It was all he could manage to say. Blume's eyes rolled into the back of her head and she gave in to her desperate need for rest.
Two men came close to them and bent down next to Holve. One with shaggy brown hair spoke to Ealrin.
"If we hurry, we may be able to get him to the healers in Thoran. They may be able to save him. They've seen demon wounds like this before and have treated them with some success."
Ealrin looked the man in the eye. He had no idea who he was, nor why he and his fellow comrades came to their aid. Yet he felt as if he could trust them to care for Holve.
"Do what you can," Ealrin said through his strained voice. He didn't wish to betray his tears as weakness. Holve was the only friend he knew in the world. He didn't want to lose him.
"We will," the man replied, putting a hand on Ealrin's shoulder. "We have to. He's our general."
And with that, the two lifted Holve's body up to a rider on a horse. It wasn't the cries of pain that made the blood run cold in Ealrin, it was how limp his friend looked atop the horse. This was the same man who so skillfully fought with any who had opposed him. Now he seemed to be slipping away by the moment. They finally settled him in front of the rider.
"Make haste, Turnin. Tell the king what has happened," said the other man who had bent beside the shaggily brown haired man.
The man named Turnin gave a curt nod and then slapped the sides of his horse with his boots. Ealrin watched them ride into the night.
So, he was now in the presence of the army of Thoran.
***
The group began to journey north, following behind Holve and Turnin. Ealrin hoisted Blume onto his horse and held the reigns as they walked ahead. There were eight of them in all headed to Thoran's capital, nine if you counted the man whose body they had placed on a horse to carry him back to Thoran to be buried properly, not thrown on the fire and burned like they had the Merc raiders. Including the four who chased after the two runners there were thirteen in all.
It didn't take Ealrin long to see that this was a mixed group, much like those who were aboard the White Wind. Elves, dwarves, and men alike wore the maroon colors of Thoran. Among them were even two women. Their mood was somber at best. It seemed they had hoped to have been able to come to their commander's rescue and it had not gone according to their plan.
The brown haired man came up to Ealrin and walked beside him for awhile before he spoke.
"Holve was to bring a host with him. We were meant to meet him at River Head a week ago. When word came of the goblin's raiding, we feared the worst and traveled south to see if he had come by a different route. We saw your fire as well as the Mercs attack. We... We had hoped to route them all and be reunited with Holve as well as the others he was to bring. How long have you traveled with him? What happened to the warriors he was going to bring? And where's Roland?"
A great sadness overcame Ealrin. This was a tale he was not wishing to tell without Holve standing by him. And yet it was all he could give these warriors at the moment.
Tale by tale he related being found by Holve at Good Harbor, encountering Roland, sailing on the White Wind, being attacked by goblins, shipwrecked, the destruction of Weyfield, finding and saving Blume, the encounter at Breyland, the subsequent escape that led to the discovering of Blume's ability, and the last few days of camping enroute to Thoran's capital.
More than just the man he was walking with was listening. Some conversation had continued when Ealrin first began to retell his story, but by the tale's ending it seemed everyone in the party was listening to Ealrin speak.
"And so you see," he concluded, "All in all we've had a pretty adventurous journey to this point. I hope Holve will live. He's been the reason I've gotten this far."
Ealrin fell silent after that, and the rest of the group didn't press him for more information at the moment.
Good, he thought.
He was drained from reliving everything and was glad for the moment's silence to think.
It seemed that wherever Ealrin went, destruction seemed to follow. What could he have done to prevent this? Was there anything he may have been able to do to save his friend? Even though he played the scene over and over again in his head, sometimes without permission, he couldn't think of anything.
Holve's life rested solely in the hands of those healers in Thoran and fate.
"You had said something about a demon wound?" Ealrin said out loud after a long time of hearing nothing by the sound of hooves and boots on the road. "What is a demon wound?"
"General Rayg is no mere man," replied a dwarf carrying a large mace over his shoulder. His red beard was braided elaborately and hung down almost to his knees. "He's a speaker of great skill, but also a charmer of demons and others from the nether."
The brown haired man spat.
"Ruyn'll be a better land once its rid of his filth," he said with a tone of hatred and disgust.
"Aye," replied the dwarf. "But you'll soon learn that he can't be bested by any mere man. Most speakers you encounter get incredibly weak after they work their magic, as that little girl did," he said as he pointed a short finger towards Blume, who still lay peacefully asleep on the horse as they walked.
"Not Rayg. He's speaking the language of demons and shades. He channels their power somehow into his. He's evil in flesh, he is," said the dwarf. Then he made a huffing s
ound and added, "Which ought to tell you how good Holve is for even wounding him."
Several murmurs of assent went up from those who were traveling with them. Apparently these warriors held Holve in the highest of regard.
Just like Ealrin did.
***
The group alternated resting on the horses and walking so that they could reach the capital quickly. There was enough adrenaline rushing through them to make it through two days of constant walking, as long as they could rest on horseback.
Blume was the only one of them who was constantly riding. She was so drained from her two feats of speaking that she could hardly hold herself up on the horse, let alone walk. Ealrin was her constant companion. The rest of the company took it upon themselves to be their guards. There were always two bows with arrows drawn on them at all times as they continued their journey to Thoran, the capital city.
The state of things must indeed be grim, Ealrin thought.
Even though they were in the very heart of the country of Thoran, these soldiers moved as if in enemy territory. They could feel the tension in the air. The Mercs could not have traveled so far into Thoran unless there were others who were sympathetic to them and their cause. It did not bode well for the King.
Ealrin was worried about Holve, so instead of dwelling on the condition of his companion, he busied himself with asking about the new companions he was surrounded by: The King's Swords. The four who chased after the Mercs were elves. They were the quickest on their feet and the most deadly of trackers. The group was quite sure that those who had escaped would either meet a quick end or be brought back to Thoran without much trouble on the four Swords.
Four of the others were men. Well, three if you counted the one woman. Brute was a huge man, easily taller than Roland was and just as strong. He was the most quiet of the group after hearing about Roland's passing. The two had shared many an adventure and were training partners. Ealrin knew better than to press him at this point. He was a barbarian of a man who carried a large mace in his hands and a few small daggers around his waist. He may have a soft spot for a companion, but to cross him on the field of battle would be an entirely a different story.
The woman was a knight. She was dressed head to toe in armor and wielded a two blades into battle. Her black hair was cut short but not unattractive. Were it not for her constant scowl as she surveyed the land before her she may have been beautiful. Something about her, however, pushed away all pretenses of worrying about looks. She was concerned with the fight ahead. She was a warrior at heart and had little time for pleasantries. She was also the leader of this group and was addressed only as “Milday.” Ealrin didn’t think it wise to ask her name.
The two who remained were brothers. Twins in fact. They resembled each other in nearly every way, save that one had brown hair and the other had blonde. They both wielded spears as Holve did and both were a slender but strong build. Cory, the one who had been speaking to Ealrin the most seemed to be easy going but alert to the situation at hand. Tory, the blonde haired man, was leading the horse carrying the dead man: his best friend other than his brother. Gray was the same age as the twins and apparently bent on convincing those who didn't know them that they were actually triplets split apart at birth. Most believed him. Now he would no longer make the jokes that only the three of them knew. His body would be buried in the soldier's cemetery outside of Thoran. Tory's face was solemn as he lead his friend's old horse to its master's grave.
Three dwarves also accompanied them. Two seemed to fit the mold of what a dwarf should be, according to those Ealrin had met. Frerin had a red beard that was braided. This was the dwarf who had spoke highly of Holve. The other, Khali Khali, had brown hair that was less braided than his companions but not unkempt. He held a halberd, a long pole that had on its end an axe head larger than both of Ealrin's hands put together.
However, there was something odd about the last dwarf. She, and Ealrin could only guess it was a she for there was no beard on this dwarf, carried two smaller hammers than Ealrin thought a dwarf would carry. She also had affixed to her back a banner of sorts. It blew in the air and bore a black anvil on a maroon background. Ealrin learned that this dwarf, whose name was Narvi, was the forger of Thoran: the master weapon maker of the city, and in fact the country. She had come to Thoran to practice her skill because in the dwarven forge cities, the forgers are predominantly male. Ealrin wasn't sure if she had been outlawed from forging or had just wanted to have a better chance to see her skills put to good use. It could have been either way to hear her tell it. She promised to have a good look at Ealrin's sword when they returned to her workshop. Perhaps she could coax it into greater feats in battle.
Dwarves and their weapons, Ealrin thought. Treating them as if they are living beings.
Even as he thought it, his own weapon grew warm in his grasp.
And now I’m imagining it, he thought. That was foolish.
The last living member of the party was a female elf named Lote. She carried a large bow that enabled her to shoot just about anything in sight. Her deadly skill and accuracy ensured that the arrow she launched would hit its target. Her blonde hair was wrapped around a in a bun on the back of her head and her deep green eyes were always darting here and there, looking for the recipient of the arrow she kept continually strung on her bow.
It seemed the Southern Republic was not he only country in Ruyn that saw the benefit of using the skills of the three major races. Ealrin was glad of the difference in company again. Just like on the White Wind.
He also hoped that this band would not meet the same fate as the last group he had traveled with.
***
By midafternoon on the second day after Holve was injured by the Merc general, the city of Thoran rose up over the horizon. Though he was exhausted from his travels, Ealrin could not help but admire the beauty of the city and its castle. It seemed to rise up from the very base of the mountain and indeed, part of the castle must have been hewn from the range itself.
A vast wall rose up to protect its borders from intruders. A giant wooden door, which was strengthened by iron and bronze, guarded the entrance to the city. It was the only way in or out of the stronghold.
The doors were closed tight presently and Ealrin wondered how they might get past them, when a trumpet sounded from the wall and a maroon flag was waved back and forth next to the sound. The same imagery of two swords crossed behind a shield that was emblazoned with a crown was on the uniform of Ealrin's companions.
The soldiers were expected.
As they came closer to the city, Ealrin was able to see more clearer the construction of the wall. The giant blocks that formed the majority of it were taller than him and just as wide. They towered above him. He guessed that if ten men stood on each other's shoulders, they would still not reach the top of the great wall.
A set of smaller doors opened at the base of the large gate and the company filed through. They entered into the structure of the wall and Ealrin was in awe of the vastness of it. Corridors ran to his left and right through the inside of the wall. It seemed that eight soldiers could easily walk side by side and march through the inside of the wall itself. The only thing that prevented any from doing it at the moment were more large doors about a stone's throw away. It seemed that if the outside wall was ever demolished, the ruined part could be locked down so that no invader could get inside the city. It was brilliantly constructed and would be able to withstand even the mightiest of attacks, Ealrin thought.
The party walked another ten paces and then was allowed through a second door, much like the first, on the other end of the wall.
If the wall was awe inspiring, the city itself was magnificent.
What must be the market place of Thoran was constructed of the type of rock that the wall was, only the stones were smaller. The shops rose into the air like mighty trees of an ancient forest. Ealrin could see people buying and selling on not only the Main Street than rain in front of him, bu
t also on two streets that were laid over the tops of the shops on the ground level. The city was bustling with activity at the moment, though most who were close to the entrance took notice of the group who just arrived and parted to make way for them.
Ealrin could see the castle ahead of him, blocked off by yet another wall. As they made their way down the finely stoned road, a knight on a horse rode up to them from that direction.
The man who rode the horse spoke in an official tone of reverence for the soldiers.
"His Majesty, King Thoran IV wishes to welcome his valiant Swords home and wishes to speak with them as soon as they are rested from their travels. Your quarters are ready and a supper will be served as the sun sets so that you may speak with him. As for your company," the man looked straight at Ealrin and Blume on her horse. She had rested just enough to admire the gates as they were walking in properly and now sat up a little straighter. "He has prepared a set of rooms for them as well and wishes they also join him for supper."
Supper with the king? This was not what Ealrin had expected from his visit to Thoran, especially without Holve's intervention. Perhaps he may have had a quick audience with him, but this was beyond what he had imagined.
And Blume was also to attend?
"If you'll allow me to escort you to the castle."
"As always Gaflion," said Cory as he gave a deep bow.
The group followed the man as he rode on horseback. Some people stopped what they were doing altogether to watch them pass. Other continued about their business without giving much of a glance towards the company.
