by Ronald Long
Had they been cut down in the fighting? Charged like the men had and now lay slain somewhere along the mountain?
Ealrin banished the picture forming in his head of the faces he had known laying slain with glossy eyes unseeing. What was to be his fate, as well as the fate of the others who sat bound around him? They had been promised life, but for how long?
The Mercs around them gathered around campfires and drank. The suns were beginning to disappear behind the mountains, giving the valley an early night sky. Summer was coming, but there was no warmth in Ealrin’s bones.
Only a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature.
***
Night had fallen over the valley and the drinking and revelry of the Mercs had only increased as the suns set. Most gave little or no regard to the prisoners of war who were aching from being bound for such a long period and starving for flood that wouldn't come to them.
Some gloated and held rations just outside of their bite. Others simply kicked them and called them names not worth repeating when one was sober.
Ealrin was concentrating heavily on Holve. He had still yet to come out of his sleep or coma or whatever kept his head sunk over his chest. The only relief Ealrin had was the steady up and down movements of Holve's chest, letting him know his friend was alive.
Then a larger group of Mercs came walking over to them and Ealrin took his eyes off of Holve. Androlion himself came walking up to the prisoners flanked by his generals carrying torches and swords.
Androlion still looked as clean and sharp as he did that night Ealrin first saw him in Breyland. The only exception was that now he wore a breastplate with the white griffin on it and a grey cloak to match it. A sword dangled from the scabbard at his side. It didn't appear like Androlion had joined the fight against this army from River Head. His boots were too prestine. Perhaps he had only just gotten off his horse.
A smug look was all that shown on Androlion's face. He surveyed the prisoners of war with a grim satisfaction. The group marched right up to Ealrin and stopped. The leader of the Merc army surveyed the fighters bound and arranged in rows.
"Is this the army that King Thoran was to bring to the south? I would have expected better of him. Not even here to lead his own troops. A coward."
What? Ealrin thought. Does Androlion not yet know of the army that marched from Thoran?
The thought was exhilarating. Perhaps the king had been delayed for some reason. Something may have happened to the eastern pass. It could be possible that still ten thousand marched south to face the threat of the Mercs.
That hope gave him a rush, for a moment. Ealrin realized that even if the king's army was intact, it did nothing for his currents state of affairs.
"Ah, but here is Holve Bravestead. The general without a home." Androlion bent down to see Holve's face. He took it one hand and tried to bring it up to see his eyes. Ealrin could see that Holve was still mostly unconscious. His eyes still lolled and didn't focus on Androlion, even though his face was directed straight at the Merc leader.
"Sad," he said. "Couldn't even take the fight without fainting." He let go of Holve who crashed back to the ground in an even more awkward position than before. Then Ealrin noticed something. If even for a split second, it seemed that Holve's eyes regained their focus, searched around for something, and then shut again.
Was he coming to?
Apparently this went outside of the notice of Androlion, who stood straight up and looked around at the others, speaking in a mocking tone.
"I suppose there is another of the King's Swords who can speak for what's left of his army?"
Ealrin held his breath. Did Androlion know about Teresa? Surely the daughter of the king would be the one he would seek? Would he torture her for information? Kill her on the spot. He risked a quick glance at her, hoping not to betray that she was anyone other than a typical soldier. Her brow was furrowed and a single tear ran down her face.
She knew what her position would mean for her if she were discovered or betrayed.
When no spoke for a long moment, Androlion spat on the ground.
“Cowards,” he said with contempt in his voice.
“We are no cowards Androlion Fellgate!”
With that Androlion drew his sword and pointed it directly at Tory, the one who had spoken, who sat bound a few feet from Holve. Tory looked up at Androlion with a sneer.
“Get that thing out of my face,” he said, voice dripping with revulsion. “I remember you, Androlion.Your a rejected elder of the south. All you’ve ever done is try to convince men that the other races are lower than us. We don’t believe your bile. You won’t find anyone sympathetic to your views here.”
Ealrin was sure that at any moment Androlion was going to plunge his sword into Tory and end his speech, but he didn’t. Instead he just glared down at him. From his viewpoint, his face was hidden from Ealrin and he could only guess what the leader must be thinking.
He turned around and addressed the prisoners as a group.
“You were the markings of one of King Thoran’s Swords. I ask this of you. Have you ever witnessed the greed of the dwarves? Or the arrogance of the elves?” He then spoke louder so that all those who sat bound could hear him.
“How many of you have seen the viciousness of the goblins or other monstrosities who roam this land?”
“And we have seen those same evils in man. One especially,” remarked Tory, who seemed not to care that a sword’s edge was at his neck.
“Yes,” spoke Androlion. “Yes it would be easy to see what I have done thus far as the acts of a mad man bent on killing. What you do not understand is what I have seen. I have seen the future. A new age is coming. And that age is either a hell on earth with none but monsters and demons to roam the lands or one with the human race living at peace, without the other races. And I will gladly sacrifice others in order to save a this entire land from flames and preserve the race of men.”
“So I will give this option to you: join me. Trust in my words and the future that I have seen and I will give you a place amongst my other generals. Give me your allegiance and help us preserve the line of men in the age to come.”
Ealrin couldn’t believe his hears. Surely Androlion was speaking madness. He spoke as if he could see the future, as if he knew what was going to happen.
No man sees what is going to come! Ealrin thought.
This had to just be something a madman dreamt up to justify his hatred of those who were not like him. Of those who were not men.
And then a voice echoed over the silence of the other prisoners.
“I will fight with you.”
Ealrin had been looking at the ground, lost in his thoughts about how Androlion was a man driven to insanity and couldn’t be sure who had spoken. He looked to his left and right trying to find who had called out. Surely no one would actually believe these ramblings!
And yet the voice spoke again, one that Ealrin knew well. He could see that his was not the only face that was filled with shock at the owner of the voice.
“I will fight,” Cory said again.
Androlion turned to where Cory was sitting, several steps past Holve in the opposite direction of Tory. As he walked from one twin to the other, Ealrin could see the look of surprise that was turning into disgust on Tory’s face.
“Ah,” said Androlion as he approached Cory. “It seems there are two of you. Brothers no doubt? Twins? How quaint.”
At this, Androlion bent and spoke on a face-to-face level with Cory.
“You see that the gods have given me a glimpse into the future and that to preserve our race we must destroy the others that walk this land? Do you agree?”
Again, Androlion blocked Ealrin’s view of who he was speaking to. But the answer was not lost amongst the stillness of the other prisoners.
“Yes.”
Androlion stood and motioned to two of his generals and said simply, “Untie him.”
Xaxes and Verde moved forward
, each with a dagger in hand and loosed the bonds that had kept Cory tied to the spot. Ealrin still couldn’t believe what was going on in front of him. Surely this was all a rouse? He half expected Cory to stand to his feet and drive a sword into Androlion’s chest. But all he did was to stand and massage his wrists. There was no fight in him and his face was expressionless, something that was odd for the typically outspoken twin.
“You will prove to me that you mean to help rid this land of the lesser races. What is your name?”
“Cory. Cory Goldenwall.”
Androlion stood surveying him for a moment. He then sheathed his sword and drew a dagger from his belt. He marched back a few paces from Cory, stopping right in front of Holve. With one arm he extended the weapon to him and with the other he motioned to Frerin and Narvi.
“Very well Cory Greenwall. You will show me that you are pure in purpose and that none of the lesser races can be saved. Not even those whom you have called friends. I see that these two dwarves are the last that have survived the battle with my army.”
Ealrin could see the twisted smile that lined Androlion’s face as he spoke his next words.
“Kill them.”
***
The suns began to rise over the mountain range, but they brought no light with them. None at least to Ealrin and the other survivors of the Merc assault.
The survivors were no longer the diverse and complimentary warriors that marched from River Head. Instead it was a group of only men.
Ealrin was devastated. How could Cory kill his comrades? How could slit the throats of those with whom he had fought and battled the evils of the realm? Ealrin had listened to countless stories from the dwarves about their adventures as Swords. They always talked so highly of Cory. And even in his short time of knowing him, Ealrin had thought he was a level headed soldier. Given over to a little superstition perhaps, but to be so easily swayed?
It all seemed too terrible to believe.
And yet the missing bodies of the dwarves across from him couldn’t be a hallucination. Holve had indeed awoken. He had been able to wiggle into a sitting position from where he had lay previously. When they drug the dwarves’ bleeding bodies away, Holve had fallen into the dirt.
Now he sat up and was trying to ascertain what had happened from Ealrin. With every detail his brow continued to furrow and his eyes more steely than even normal. Ealrin finished the story with all the details he knew.
“After Cory… Well, afterwards Cory left with Androlion and the other generals. I just can’t believe he killed Narvi and Frerin. For what? The ramblings of a mad man? I just can’t believe it Holve. He’s betrayed us and murdered his friends.”
With a moment to think about what was going on around him, Ealrin was beginning to come to terms with what all had transpired. He had shipwrecked onto an island, sailed for Thoran, was nearly killed by goblins, almost drowned at sea, rescued a teenage girl, escaped from the Mercs, joined an army and marched south to do something good. Now it seemed it was all for naught.
“War is hell, Holve,” he finished.
“I’ve never said it was anything but, Ealrin. War is not what happens when those with level heads can rightly discuss their issues and solve them with peace instead of swords. War is what happens when those who have a need for power or position see no other alternative other than the needless shedding of blood. War is hell. But some wars are fought against those who seek to do a greater evil. And some wars are won when those who seek to do good rally around others who seek to do what is right. This one isn’t over, Ealrin. I doubt it’s even truly begun. We still have a chance to do what is right.”
“How? How Holve?” Ealrin was downcast and desperate. He was bound, hungry, and angry. Angry at Cory for deserting them. Angry at Androlion for starting a war. Angry at war for the bloodshed it caused. He wanted it all to stop. He wanted to stop it himself. But he didn’t know how and felt powerless to do anything. “I’m surprised the rest of us have lasted this long. They’ll surely kill us before next sun rise.”
“Perhaps,” said Holve. “But never doubt that there are others around you who seek justice as much as you do.”
Ealrin had no other words for Holve. He just sat for a while and starred.
Maybe there are others who would end a war, he thought.
But where were they now? And what good could they do for those whose hands and feet were bound and whose spirits were downcast?
***
For most of the day, the River Head army sat bound and at the mercy of the Raiders. Ealrin couldn’t tell what they were planning to do. They seemed content to stay in this pass for however long they needed. A few mountain streams were giving them the water they needed to quench the thirst of their army. He feared for the rest of the Swords and those who had marched with him.
He had tried a few times to talk to Teresa, but she only shook her head whenever he had spoken. His attempts to encourage her about the whereabouts of the king went unacknowledged.
Ealrin was starving. His tongue was sticking to the top of his mouth. The heat of the suns above them was blazing down on them. And in the light of the sun bearing down on Ealrin, he finally noticed something up on the mountainside. Something gleamed through the trees and shrubs that grew alongside the cliffs that rose to form the mountain. Several things did.
And then came the arrows raining down from above, shooting over those bound and sitting tied up and landing on the raiders who were caught off guard completely by the assault.
Then from all around them, out of the trees and the bushes at the base of the mountain, erupted soldiers wearing the maroon and gold of Thoran.
Ealrin recognized several of the elves who burst forward and began to rain arrows down on the closest Raiders and at the same time several others began cutting the prisoners free. As they were cut free of their bonds, the warriors of Thoran began to scramble toward a pile of weapons and grab anything that could be used to defend themselves against the Raiders that began to organize and attack the new and unexpected threat. Fortunately they were still drunk over their victory and from their ale to react quickly, but Ealrin knew that would only give them an advantage for so long.
He was cut free and hastily scrambled to Holve and worked to help him to his feet. Teresa ran to Holve’s other side and also began to help escort the general away from the fight and toward the slopes of the mountain.
"Get yourselves a sword and let go of me!" he tried to argue. Ealrin and Teresa exchanged grim looks, knowing that his words had truth to them. Three unarmed and weak prisoners of war would have little chance to survive any battle. And yet they both knew that Holve was in worse condition than either of them.
The sound of battle horns echoed in the valley as the Merc warriors were alerted to the small skirmish going on. Ealrin knew they were hopelessly outnumbered and could only last several minutes at best.
He looked behind him to see whatever warriors had been able to grab weapons forming a semicircle with the mountain at their back. The last of the army of Thoran that marched from River Head would be crushed against the mountain. He could see that most of the elves were hanging their bows on their backs and drawing their swords. They were running out of arrows.
"I don't know how long we will last here Holve," Ealrin said as he continued to help Teresa drag him away from the battle.
And then a voice that seemed to come from a rock spoke up.
"Bah. A lot longer if you get inside and quit fooling around."
Chapter 33:
Fate
They walked for several minutes through a series of caves and caverns that had Ealrin’s head spinning. It was just wide enough for Ealrin and Teresa to stay at Holve’s side, continuing to help him walk. The light that contented to lead them through the dizzying maze came from the lantern of a dwarf. Ealrin couldn’t see him well enough to know if he was familiar with this dwarf, but he doubted it.
Instead of the maroon and gold of Thoran, this dwarf was wearing brow
n leather pants and a black shirt. No uniform that Ealrin had seen thus far or could identify. The tunnels they traversed were extensive and even reinforced at different parts. Old wooden beams held up certain areas, though some threatened to fall soon if not maintained. Behind him, Ealrin could here the shouts and boots of several others coming into the underground cave. And then a loud crash echoed throughout the tunnel and a rush of air and dust came down the tunnel. For a moment the light flickered in the dwarf's lamp and Ealrin feared they'd be plunged into darkness, but the passed as soon as it came.
"What was that?" he asked, not truly expecting an answer from Teresa or Holve, who both were looking as puzzled as Ealrin felt. There was also a bit of fear in Ealrin that he didn't want to show at this moment.
"That'll be the entrance we came in collapsing," said the dwarf over his shoulder as he continued to lead the group onward through twisting tunnels. Ealrin's stomach dropped as he realized that this was the thing he feared. Had they been lead from their death at the sword to their death underground?
"We're nearly there," the dwarf said as he made a right down a fork in the tunnel. He passed from sight for a brief moment and Ealrin took the opportunity to voice his concerns with Holve.
"Maybe following this dwarf into this cave wasn't the best decision. What if we're no better off under this mountain than out there with the Mercs?" he spoke in a low voice.
"We'd be dead if we weren't under this mountain, Ealrin," said Teresa with a tone of impatience.
"But with no way out..." began Ealrin. He found that he was unable to continue his sentence as he found himself walking into the large cavern that opened up from the tunnel. Giant stalactites hung from the great ceiling of the giant underground room. The light of several lanterns that were resting on natural rock outcroppings acting as shelves illuminated the room. Which made missing the three hundred dwarves that stood watching the influx of warriors from Thoran impossible.
