by Ronald Long
When they reached the walls of the castle, two guards were maroon came up to assist Tory with his friend's body. They lowered him onto a stretcher of cloth and two wooden handles and carried him away. Tory watched them until they turned a corner and disappeared from sight.
Then he lost control of his emotions and broke down into sobs of crying.
His brother walked back to him and motioned the rest to go on ahead. Then, as if he remembered something, he called back to their host and said "Gaflion! See Ealrin and Blume to their rooms please. They've unfamiliar with the castle and its rooms."
Gaflion nodded and rode on.
The courtyard of the castle was surrounded by beautiful gardens. It made a large rectangle that could hold several hundred people. Perhaps it could used as a way to address a large number of people, as a balcony from the castle overlooked the courtyard below.
A man with a trumpet blew a few notes to announce their arrival into the beautiful grounds.
"Your quarters will be this direction," Gaflion said to Ealrin and Blume as he dismounted his horse.
"Can you walk Blume?" Ealrin asked. He knew that she was still exhausted as she had not yet had the opportunity to sleep laying down since their confrontation with the Mercs.
She shook her head. Ealrin helped her down off the horse and then lifted her off the ground. He then nodded to Gaflion to say that he was ready to take Blume to wherever she could rest.
Ealrin would be glad for the opportunity himself.
***
His quarters were no less fine than the king's Ealrin thought to himself as he put on the clothes provided for him: a white linen shirt with black pants and boots. His old clothes lay folded in a pile on the least nice looking chair in the room, which was truly hard to decide upon as all the furniture was ornate and well taken care of.
He had taken a bath and cleaned the dust and dirt off of him from his journey here and already felt better than he had in days. He hoped that Blume was feeling as equally rested in her chambers, or at least had fallen asleep so that she could recover.
After having been cleaned and dressed, Ealrin began to feel anxious again for Holve. He had heard nothing about him since arriving and had not mentioned his name for fear of the news he may receive. Gray was to receive a soldier's funeral the next day at sun down. Would two be buried instead of only one?
His thoughts were racing with worry. He had tried to write in Elezar’s journal to pass the time, but he couldn’t focus. So instead of pacing his room, Ealrin decided to wander the grounds until he was called to supper with the King and his soldiers.
Long and well decorated corridors met him at every doorway. Some held ornate tapestries depicting famous battles in the history of Thoran, others displayed past kings and queens with their families. It didn't take long for him to find a portrait of the current nobility.
King Thoran the IV. According to this picture, was a tall man. His dark black hair matched his well kept beard perfectly. In the painting, his wife and presumably the queen stood next to him. She was beautiful with her long and golden hair, blue eyes and winning smile. Their three children stood before them. The oldest, a boy, stood proudly at his father's side, holding a sword and a scepter. His hair matched his father's black and well combed. The middle, another boy, stood next to his brother and held a bow along with what must have been a kill he was proud of: one of the birds that inhabited the mountains of Thoran. His hair was more like his mother's golden and longer, flowing almost with the wind in the picture. The third child was a girl, who held a dove with one hand and shield in the other. Her hair was long but her face seemed familiar to Ealrin, though he was sure he had not met any royalty thus far. Only the members of the King's Swords.
“Ahem,” said a voice that startled Ealrin. He had been so absorbed in the painting that he had not noticed a palace boy standing next to him at attention. The boy may have been standing there several moments before making the sound.
“Sir Ealrin Belouve, supper is served in the dining hall.”
Chapter 27:
Dwarven Aid
Wisym peered off the starboard side of her vessel.
The ship was in good condition considering the fate of the city they had brought it from. Though Ingur lay in ruins, neither the harbor nor any of the three vessels that were currently sailing were sullied by the battle fought next to them. Wisym could see no reason and why the ships were left the way that they were. Hardly one stone was left on top another throughout the entire city yet these ships were stocked for a three-week long journey and hardly touched. They had been the only ships in the harbor.
Perhaps there was a great journey to be taken soon by the elves of Ingur that was cut short due to their untimely deaths.
Wisym thanked her elders that they had been so lucky to find them in such good condition
Of course these three ships were stocked and ready for a cruise of fifty apiece, though they now held six hundred. The boats were big enough as long as the elves didn't mind being in very close quarters. Even as the general of this army and the only thing they had close to a leader, Wisym shared her quarters with five other elves.
Being closely packed together was a small price to pay for their current safety. What would become a problem in the near future was a lack of food and drinking water.
Wisym had assigned several elves to fishing duty. Though none she had with them were fishers by trade, most had some experience casting lines off of the harbor docks of Talgel or nets from the nearby beaches.
Unfortunately fishing from a ship while out at the deep-sea was another issue entirely.
Wisym reminded herself to look over their food stores and do her best to ration what they had. There was no way to tell how long their journey would be, nor where it would take them.
Wisym returned to the main deck of her ship to consult the only map they had. Elves were, as a community, a very close knit group. Those who would sail far from home or travel by any other means usually had very good reason to do so and were thought of as odd by the elves of Talgel and Ingur. Who would desire to leave the blessed canopy of that great forest of the elves?
Yet the idea pained Wisym, for she knew that the forest was sullied. Goblins had invaded her home and were repelled. Men had invaded Ingur and were victorious.
For what reason? Why were they being attacked? Typically the land of the Southern Republic, though diverse and compact, was one of peace. She shook the thoughts from mind so as to address the current question at hand.
To where were they sailing?
The map that Ithrel was considering was laid out on top of a piece of wood laid over a barrel.
All tables were currently serving as beds.
As Wisym stared at the map, she was in awe of its craftsmanship. The ink that covered the well worn, but still in tact, parchment was delicately applied. Each country on the continent of Ruyn was well marked, along with each major city and settlement. There were too many smaller villages and towns to be named on a map covering such a large area.
They had sailed west as a start. The beating war drums and trumpets had come so quickly that in their haste, the elves had left with no real desire to know where they were heading. Survival was their goal.
After being at sea for a day, sailing directly west and sure that they were not being followed, Wisym held counsel with her generals and Ithrel about their next actions.
“River Head lies to the north,” said Celdor. He was a battle worn elf, with a scar running the length of his face from a goblin’s blade several human generations ago. He had fought bravely then and continued to fight well to this day. His brown hair was long and braided and reminded Wisym of the many trunks of a good forest. “Good Harbor to the southwest.”
“What about this settlement? Dun-Gaza?” asked Wisym as she looked closer. It was the nearest city that they would see and closer than any other by far. Though sailing to it would put them far from Good Harbor.
“Dwarves. I doubt we�
�ll find much help from them,” Celdor said with more than a hint of disgust in his voice.
Among some of the elves there was a disdain for dwarves. Wisym had heard of wars long ago between the two races, long before men walked the earth. Yet now they were a part of the same country, the same republic. Why should they not aid them?
Though Wisym found herself doubting those from her country now.
Men had attacked. Had they come from Weyfield? Breyland? Conny itself? She looked over the map and saw that to sail upriver to either of those settlements would take far less time than travel to Dun-Gaza.
And if it were aid they required to reclaim their forest, if indeed that was their purpose, Wisym had heard of no better warrior than a dwarf with a hammer.
Save perhaps for an elf with a bow.
“We sail for Dun-Gaza and beg for aid. Perhaps they will oblige us and put aside feelings from a long distant past,” she said with a flick of her eye up to Celdor.
She was grateful for his battle knowledge and the skills he would bring to any fight.
But there could be no room for malice aboard this vessel, of that she was sure.
***
Just as they had come within view of the mountain four days later, Wisym knew that something was wrong.
Smoke rose from the mountaintop as well as from many places on the island.
Dun-Gaza was ablaze.
Finwe wanted to sail in to see if they could find survivors. Celdor wanted to sail on and leave the dwarves to their own devices.
The decision was made for them, as two lone dwarves sailed out to the vessel.
“Turn around! Leave! You are not welcome! We’ll have no more foreigners on our island! Get out!”
And then, in an old dwarven tongue, they hurled curses at the elven vessels.
Celdor grabbed a bow and strung an arrow.
Wisym quickly put her hand on the weapon.
“They’ve done nothing to harm us, I’ll not have you harm them.”
Celdor’s eyes were slits of anger. Slowly, however, he obeyed his commander.
Wisym looked back out to the small boat and shouted.
“Master Dwarves! We are refugees from our own homeland! Goblins and men attacked our home! We need supplies and provisions! Let us get fresh water and we’ll be on our way!”
More dwarven curses.
“Your trouble is on your own heads! We’ve been ruined by goblins and man alike! Find somewhere else to steer your pointy ears!”
“Please!” Wisym pleaded. “We are in need!”
“So are many who sail these waters! Good Harbor’s been attacked and so had River Head! We’ve heard of many in need but our mountain stands because we fought off those who attacked us! We’ll not stand to be attacked again by elvish trickery or scam! Be off!”
And with that, the dwarves rowed back to land.
“So much for dwarven aid,” Celdor grumbled.
Wisym wished he wasn’t right.
What had happened here that had caused the dwarves to be so defensive? Not in her lifetime had she been turned away from aid or rescue because of her race.
The times were changing, it seemed.
An elf signaled from the front of her ship. Wisym looked off the side to see what had caused the elf to signal danger.
Seven ships approached.
Though they didn’t look like goblin ships of those of the dwarves, they did not look friendly.
Black flags flew from their masts.
“Pirates,” Ithrel said.
Wisym cursed.
“Prepare for battle!” she called to the wind.
Chapter 28:
Supper with a King
The route the boy took Ealrin wound through the interior of the castle until he was sure that he was lost beyond hope. Then they came to a door that the boy opened for him and motioned that Ealrin should go inside. The view took his breath away.
Before him on the opposite wall rose windows that stood taller than three men and spanned the length of the room, which was more than a stone's throw from wall to wall. Ealrin could see the majority of the city from here and saw that even though the suns were beginning to set, Thoran was still a busy place. People hustled from one part of town to the next.
“I never wish to eat without understanding the effect any indulgence will have on my people,” said a deep voice from Ealrin's left.
And standing before him must be King Thoran the IV, for he looked every bit like the man who stood in the painting with his wife and three children: tall, dark haired, and commanding. Yet in his dark eyes there was a gentleness that the painter had not been able to capture. There was a light of the understanding of the common man.
Ealrin bowed deeply before the king, but not for long.
“Rise Ealrin. You've earned a good supper and a chance to dismiss a few formalities,” Thoran spoke as he motioned to the table. Several members of the Swords were already seated, thought none had any food on their plates.
How they could resist the spread before them was unimaginable, Ealrin thought.
Meat of all descriptions was laid before them, as well as several fruits and vegetables. Baskets of bread were set between every two chairs and cups, which looked to be made of silver, begged to be filled with the wine that sat in bottles before them.
Ealrin found an empty seat next to Cory and seated himself as well.
As the king came to his seat at the head of the table, the company rose. Ealrin followed suit.
Thoran spoke in a reverent manner.
“We eat to memory of those who gave their lives to ensure that tonight we eat in peace.”
He took a cup in front of him and filled it with the wine from a bottle close to him.
“To Gray Furtherland. A Sword for the King!”
“A Sword for the King!” came the response from the rest of the group. As the king sat, so did they. Ealrin noticed that Tory, who sat across the table from his brother, had eyes that were red and swollen. Apparently he was only just recovered enough from mourning to sit at the king's table tonight.
All the chairs were filled save for three to the left of the king. Ealrin did not see the queen at the table and assumed one of them would be for her. But who would sit in the other three?
The king began speaking to those who had assembled.
"I have heard about your short journey to find Holve, and am pleased to let you know that it was not in vain. Thurin arrived a day before you did, and Holve is now the care of my best healers. I am told he will not only survive, but be able to have a speedy recovery."
The collective sigh of relief was felt throughout the room. Ealrin could feel tensions easing away as news of Holves survival sunk in. It seemed he would not need to bury another friend just yet.
"I am also told," The king continued, "that his survival is due to the fact that his wound was contained quickly by a young and yet very gifted healer.
The King looked meaningfully at Ealrin and then around his table.
"And where is our talented speaker?"
As if she had heard his summons, balloon stepped through a door at the opposite end of the room. Behind her followed the same attendant that had escorted Ealrin here. She looked clean and refreshed, but slightly embarrassed.
"I'm sorry," she spoke timidly. "Apparently I overslept."
The king arose as she took a step toward the table and motioned at a seat next to him.
"My dear you have nothing to apologize for. It is because of your efforts I'm told that Holve still lives. Please come and sit as an honored guest."
When the king had risen, the rest of those seated had also. As Bloom walked past Ealrin she gave him a nervous smile. Ealrin returned it with a wink. It appeared that she would have no trouble asking permission to be accepted into the school of magic here. The king waited for her to take her seat and then set down again.
"I have asked you to join me for supper tonight to discuss what I fear our interconnected and disturbing even
ts on the continent of Ruyn. But I have delayed you long enough. We will discuss these matters once you have eaten to regain your strength from your journey. Please, my swords eat well."
This was a command Ealrin was glad to obey. He was famished from the weeks journey and eating only what they were able to shoot or find. He found himself eating whatever was within his reach. And in that small radius, there was quite the feast. Fruit of all types Leyba for him as well as a widespread of other plants and vegetables. There were two types of birds and one other meat that Ealrin didn't recognize but found delicious. Before he had been able to sample everything he found that his stomach could hold no more and so he simply sat back and took sips of his wine to finish off his meal.
As he observed his supper companions, he noticed that all of them seemed in better spirits at the news of Holve’s survival. All except Tory, who was simply picking at his food. He had eaten a fair bit in order to obey his king, but now food seemed to not satisfy his empty heart.
"I haven't thanked you properly Tory," Ealrin spoke across the table. His were the first words to rise above smaller conversations going on around the table. "You and Gray saved my life when General Rayg attacked us. Thank you for your bravery and for defense of Blume and I."
Tory looked up from his picked over plate.
"It's who we are,” he said through a constricted throat. “It's what we do."
With this, he dropped his gaze into his plate. And yet you continue to speak through his constricted throat.
"Gray and I grew up together. He was my second brother. His family was killed by a group of raiding goblins. Out of three other children and his parents, he was the only one to survive. Corey and I begged our father to take him in. We were eight and he was seven. Since then we've done everything together. Laugh. Fight. Grow up. We even joined the king swords at the same time, though he was a year younger. For six years now we have defended those who were in need. He died doing what we have all sworn to do. I don't suppose he could've asked for more."
Tori then looked up at Ealrin with eyes that were still red, but now shown with determination.
