Wayward

by Ronald Long

  "We are the swords of the King," he said with a renewed boldness in his voice. "We are the defenders of Ruyn."

  The king took notice of Ealrin and Tory's exchange and cleared his throat.

  "I believe now is the time to tell you, Ealrin, about this group gathered before you and their purpose. To explain that to you will hope you understand why they are gathered here now to hear about these unsettling events happening across our continent."

  With this he gave a deep sigh.

  “Some believe that their armies should have numbers like the rocks along our mountain ranges: immeasurable. Surely Beaton has always found its strength in numbers. I don’t believe in having a military that is all consuming. Instead of using men as hammers and repeated banging against an enemy, suffering insurmountable loss and casualty, I use my army as one would delicately use a knife. Precision is what I value. The strength in tactics and advanced planning.”

  “Those you see gathered here before you,” he made a gesture with his hands, indicating the people seated around the table, “are my swords, my weapons of choice. They are the leaders of my military. They are my finest knights. If I am able to fight a war using only those you see here before you, I will. They are elite fighters, every one of them.”

  “Every man in Thoran knows his way around a sword and a bow. We regularly train ordinary citizens, but I don’t delight in seeing them arrayed for battle. They are bakers. Farmers. Artisans and craftsmen. I would have them stay that way. We have known peace for years now on the continent of Ruyn. Thoran has not seen war, other than the rebellion in the Southern Republic, for one hundred years. I would prefer it stayed that way. Having a large army means needing to use it. Instead of telling a family that their father is dead because of my actions, I would keep them safe within these walls if it is possible.”

  “My swords you see hear are a different story.” With this statement the king looked fondly at those gathered around him. Ealrin could tell he was proud of his warriors.

  “These swords know battle. They have fought in hundreds of skirmishes. All of them necessary acts to stave off a greater conflict or war. They are my finest fighters. They are the defenders of those who need it. They are the keepers of peace.”

  The king rose from the table and walked over to a large map that was hung on the wall opposite of the great windows. Ealrin admired the map in all of its detail and craftsmanship. The top of it rose well above the Kings head and went nearly all the way to the floor. It was wider than two men standing with their arms outstretched. It had in detail every city, Mountain range, forest, and country, on the entire south eastern side of the continent of Ruyn. There were several tens of different colors placed around the map. Some of them had pieces of paper with notes written on them hanging from it, while others were simply just round and metallic.

  “Unfortunately,” he spoke as he viewed the map, his back to the table. “We now know that there is war brewing in the hearts of our southern neighbors, though perhaps not from their leadership. Ten years ago we helped to put down a rebellion led by a former elder of the Southern Republic, Androlion Fellgate.”

  The king shook his head and looked at the floor.

  “A mad man who quests for power.”

  The King pointed towards both Wayfield and Breyland as he returned his gaze to the map.

  "We know of Merc activity and both of these cities of the southern republic. Holve told me how they burned Wayfield to the ground. It seems that they are now camped within the city of Breland. What worries me is this high concentration of Raiders without any response from the army of the Southern Republic. It would seem that he had either stirred the general population to agree with his views or somehow managed to silence his opposition. The later would be difficult unless…”

  Here he paused and again shook his head. After a moment he let out a deep sigh and returned his gaze to the table.

  “The Southern Republic is ruled equally by the three major races. If Androlion has quieted the elves and dwarves, I fear that there may no longer be any other race in the Southern Republic other than humans. If that is not the case yet, it is certainly how he would like it to be.”

  Ealrin looked around the table. Determination shown on every face. Determination and resolve to stop a madman.

  “My swords. It is time to gather our people and go again to aid the Southern Republic. This is not a time for some to fight. Now is the time for all. If Androlion takes control of the south, he will exterminate the other races there and then surely turn his attention here. He must be stopped.”

  “And yet there are still threats to be dealt with your Majesty,” said a voice that Ealrin knew well and had not heard in several days.

  Holve Bravestead walked slowly from a door on the opposite end of the hall as the king. Thurin came behind him. Ealrin could tell that he was readying himself to catch the unsteady Holve if need be. Ealrin was just glad to see his friend alive. He looked at Blume, who looked equally happy.

  “The goblins that raided our ship have traveled north, and are now attacked River Head as we speak. The message just arrived.”

  Behind Holve and Turnin walked a man who was breathless and weary looking. He looked as if he had been traveling hard. He bowed to the king.

  “It’s true your Majesty. Goblin ships sail the Crow’s Sea. They began their raids just as I was sent to deliver this message. We need aid.”

  The king looked from messenger, to Holve, to Ealrin, and back. He stroked his beard thoughtfully.

  “Goblins raid Thoran. The Mercs burn cities in the south. Could the timing be incidental or perhaps orchestrated?”

  “By whom your majesty?” The question was raised by Cory. “Surely not Androlion. He has more disgust for goblins than any other race.”

  Again the king thought for a moment.

  “We may not know all the details as of yet, but I fear for my people. If the goblins raid, we must defeat them. If the Southern Republic is in danger of collapse, we must come to their aid.” His eyes showed a great sadness as Ealrin could tell he was unhappy with what must be done. “We must gather ready the people for war.”

  “My swords, “ the king walked back to his chair and stood beside it as he spoke. “Each of you is to take ten of your best men to River Head. Intercept the goblins there. Surely they can be defeated by your cunning and skill. I will gather the people and march for Loran. There I will await your return so that we may aid the Southern Republic.”

  Everyone at the table stood as the king held his cup high again. Ealrin stood with them and took his own cup in hand as did the others.

  “For peace on Ruyn!” he called to them.

  “We are Swords of the King!” was their reply.

  The king excused himself as he went to discuss matters with the messenger who had arrived.

  Ealrin walked over to Holve and made to hug him.

  “Wait!” Holve said as he raised an arm to block Ealrin “I may be standing but I’ll be bowled over if you aren’t careful. General Rayg’s sword left me quite wounded. Though I know I have Blume here to thank for my survival.”

  Blume had also gotten up and walked with Ealrin over to their traveling companion.

  “I’ve heard endless talk about you little Blume,” said Holve with an unusual smile in her direction. “The healers were quite impressed with your ability to contain damage done.”

  She blushed at his kind words.

  “Do you think they’ll take me on at the school of magic here?” she asked through red cheeks.

  Holve chuckled lightly, but held the spot where Rayg’s blade had cut.

  “I doubt you have much to worry about there, Speaker.”

  ***

  The next day was a flurry of activity. The king sent word that all able-bodied citizens of Thoran were to gather in Loran, ready to march to war and stop the Merc’s pillaging of the south. While the planning was going on, Ealrin received a summons from the king. He walked into the room where he and seve
ral advisors as well as some of the members of the King’s Swords and Holve were gathered. It seemed as if they were planning a strategy for the coming conflict.

  “Your Majesty?” he spoke loudly enough to be heard over the general commotion, but still cautiously. After all, he was unsure of how to act around a king.

  Looking up from various maps and notes laid about a wide wooden table, the king smiled.

  “Ah! Ealrin! Come in please.”

  The king dismissed several advisors to go and attend to other duties. Cory and the woman of the swords were left with Holve, Ealrin, and the king.

  “Holve has told me much about you and your fateful journey here. You’ve no memory of your country, your station, or your past then?”

  Ealrin had little time to try to remember who he had been after the encounter in Weyfield. It was strange that it should be brought up here, as he assumed the present was more pressing than his past.

  “No you majesty. I cannot recall who I was or where I came from.” He felt foolish speaking the truth, but he knew better than to fabricate anything about himself. And why would he? What purpose would it serve?

  “I have heard of men who have lost things before, but one who has lost his memory is something that I have not encountered.” The king did not speak with a tone of unbelief, merely one of fact.

  “I hear of the good you have done beside Holve,” he continued, not allowing Ealrin a chance to explain himself or guess the nature of his circumstances. “He assures me of your heart and your bravery. One such as you would fit well with the rest of my swords. Would you serve a king and adopt a country, in light of not knowing your own?”

  Ealrin stopped short. Become a Sword in the king’s army? Hadn’t he called them the very best of his soldiers? His elite army leaders? He was sure that he couldn’t be anywhere near their caliber. He was nearly going to protest when Holve spoke.

  “You see, Ealrin, we are going to head to River Head in the morning. The swords and 150 soldiers against an armada of goblins. We know that goblins are only sure of an attack as long as their leaders push them to. If we can deliver a deathblow to the goblins or trolls who lead them, we are sure the others will flee. Goblins only fight…”

  “…when they are sure they can win.” Ealrin finished. He remembered all to well the last time Holve told him that statement.

  The king looked Ealrin and grinned. “So you’ll become a Sword for my army then?”

  Ealrin was still lost for a response. He wanted to aid, to fight. But as an elite?

  “I… I uh…” was all that he could muster at the thought.

  The king turned and looked Ealrin Square In the eye.

  “You have nothing to fear. Not all of my soldiers need to be the most skilled of fighters. I also need those who are courageous of heart. From what Holve tells me, that description fits you perfectly.”

  Ealrin met the kings gaze. His were not eyes of belittling or babying. He was not trying to convince Ealrin. He believed in him. It was evident in the kindness of his words and the expression on his face.

  Ealrin finally found his voice and put words to his thoughts.

  “I… I don’t know if I am quite the solider you’re looking for. I’ve survived mostly on instinct and luck so far,” he finally said.

  The king gave Holve a knowing look and a nod that seemed to say that Ealrin’s luck so far was just what he was hoping for.

  “Sounds like you’ll fit in just fine,” said Holve with a slap on Ealrin’s back. “Welcome to the Swords.”

  ***

  The rest of the afternoon was a blur of activity. Ealrin was fitted with his own suit of armor. It was not a full plate of metal, as old explained that the nights of beaten wear, but rather a combination of small metal plates that fit together on top of a suit of leather.

  We wear these armored suits so that we are protected but also so that we are not hindered in movement. Holve explained.

  Like all of the other sorts of the king, Ealrin’s suit bore the symbol of Thoran.

  I may not have had a past that he could remember, Ealrin thought to himself. But for now I have a country to call my own. One I will fight for and defend.

  Ealrin was walking around the castle courtyard trying to feel comfortable in his new uniform when blue came up beside him. The look on her face was first one of happiness. When she saw his armor, however, she began to look worried.

  "So you were going off to fight the goblins rating River Head are you?" She asked him with a tone of concern and her voice.

  "Yes Bloom," he replied. I am going to help defend those who are defenseless. This is what I have wanted since seeing so much violence from both the goblins and the Merc Raiders."

  She placed her hand on his arm and looked into his eyes. He could've sworn that he saw small tears forming in them.

  "Promise me you'll be safe Ealrin. You have to be safe. You saved my life." She hesitated before she spoke her next words. "I don't want to see you die."

  "I promise," he said, even though inside of him he knew that to defend others he must put himself and dangers way. It's what he had done when he had saved her life. It's what he had done when he had fought to defend her and to help Holve. But he knew, that for her sake and perhaps for the sake of others he would defend, he must not throw his life away needlessly.

  "You looked so happy walking up before you saw me in my uniform," he said attempting to change the subject. "What could make you so glad?"

  At this her face brightened, if only a little. A smile broke out on her face as she blushed.

  "I've just spoken with the head speaker in Thoran's school of magic. They have excepted me and I am to begin training tomorrow."

  At that news Ealrin hugged bloom tightly and then held onto her shoulders as he broke away. He knew the smile on his face must be huge for he saw it reflected in her brightening face.

  "That's wonderful news Blume! Well of course they will accept you! They would be crazy not to. What did you show them that convinced them?"

  He let go of her and began to walk around the castle grounds again with her at his side.

  "At first all they wanted me to do was to make a small piece of rimstone glow. It wasn't very difficult, but I may have overdone it. I was blinded for a moment after it shown so brightly."

  She giggled.

  "I wanted them to know that I could do it. They said that the task of making rimstone react to your voice was what some speakers train years to do. They said that I would be placed in a group of speakers who are 5 to 10 years older than I am."

  The pair climbed a set of stairs that led to a balcony overlooking the castle grounds. There were people running in all directions preparing for tomorrow when the citizen army would march south to war.

  Ealrin was so glad to hear that Blume would be accepted into the school of magic, but he was also hesitant about the role of speakers in the coming conflict.

  "Do any speakers March off to war?" He asked her as he looked out over the commotion below.

  "Yes, she replied, but only those who are older or much more advanced than I am."

  Ealrin gave a sigh of relief. Blume, he thought, had already seen too much war and violence as it was. He didn't want her to be a part of any more.

  "I will miss you while you are gone, Ealrin."

  Bloom turned to him, a small tear actually falling down her cheek.

  "You and Holve have been so wonderful. Rescuing me and ensuring that I was kept out of harm. I don't know how I could ever repay you."

  Ealrin put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze as he looked out over the clamor below him.

  "Become a gifted speaker and make use of your talents to bring peace to this land, he told her, "and that will be payment enough for me."

  Ealrin did not know what would await them in the city of River Head that was under goblin attack. But this one thing he did know: he would miss his adopted daughter.

  Chapter 29:

  The City Crusherr />
  Stinkrunt was glad that his feet were now on firm ground again. He was glad that there were no more fish to eat and that he could eat whatever berry or squirrel that seemed good to him.

  Except whatever Splitear ate. He fell over dead after eating a couple of roots right after they landed. Then again, he could have died because Stinkrunt stabbed him with the knife he found out Splitear had stolen from him.

  One of those was definitely to blame.

  Stinkrunt held his knife at his side and pleased that his leadership had helped them get to the right city.

  The first three times they had landed when Stinkrunt thought they saw a city didn’t count, in his mind. They had found a house or two and smashed them. A city, he reminded himself, had lots of houses.

  And a stupid wall.

  The city they had landed at and were now attempting to smash had a big wall built around it, as well as lots of towers.

  And the stupid walls just wouldn’t smash easily.

  Stinkrunt was not a master tactician and he knew it. But what he did know was that this one city was his chance to prove to Grayscar that he was a good boss and that other goblins should fear his name.

  Or at least do what he wanted.

  And currently, Stinkrunt wanted his goblins to get up the walls.

  A couple of the goblins had enough smarts to grab ropes and things from the ship to use to climb up the wall. Stinkrunt thought that was a good idea, so he made all the goblins grab all the ropes they could and rush the wall. Well, he made his cronies make the other goblins do it.

  He was far enough back from the wall that he was safe from the arrows that kept getting fired from along the wall.

  He had been camped out here for the last week as the goblins tried to smash the city.

  So far, it wasn’t smashed.

  The rope method hadn’t really worked out the way he wanted it to though. He saw a lot of goblins keep getting smashed with heavy rocks dropped from the wall and stuck with arrows. Neither had the ladder strategy. Or the throw the rocks back strategy.

  He needed a new strategy.

  “Hey, you, lazy guts!” he shouted at a goblin who was standing next to him, obviously also trying to avoid being shot with an arrow. He looked around slowly to Stinkrunt.