Sword of Ruyn

by R. G. Long

  It had been six weeks since they had set out from the beaches of Sharp Claw, and his stomach had yet to adjust to the rolling motion of the sea. Other goblin vessels had been luckier and broken off towards two large islands Stinkrunt knew nothing about. Only that they were ground, and this ship was not.

  It didn't help that he had also discovered he had an astute allergy to seafood. Consuming the smallest of fish would cause him to break out in the most horrible of boils. He scratched a place on his leg he was sure would never fully heal. And every time some salt water would spray up from the ocean onto the vessel, it would sting him something awful.

  Still, a goblin had to eat. Any bird or foul that came anywhere near him had a chance of being devoured on sight. Not that he particularly cared for feathers and beaks, but he certainly would rather have indigestion than boils.

  An always-empty stomach could put anyone in a bad mood, especially a goblin. Plus there was the whole being in charge bit that annoyed Stinkrunt to no end.

  There were always pesky questions like “When are we going to reach land?” and “Why isn't there enough food for everybody?” and “Why can't I slit his throat, he stole my knife and cut up my best mate?”

  Stinkrunt was more than content with pushing them around. He answered their questions with different renditions of "Who cares? I'm in charge!" but that had only lasted for the first week or so of sailing. The crew members were getting restless, and tired of their new captain.

  Leadership did not fit Stinkrunt well.

  And yet he didn't mind. For once there were goblins who took him seriously when he was looking. He didn't mind so much their shrugs and rolling eyes when they thought he wasn't paying attention. All he really cared about was getting his way when it mattered. Like when another goblin caught a bird and Stinkrunt was hungry.

  "Captains rations!" He yelled at the little goblin that had managed to catch his first bird. A phrase he had often repeated whenever he saw food that didn’t swim.

  Stinkrunt grabbed it away, and had swallowed it whole before the goblin had much chance to argue his point.

  And then he pushed him overboard for added measure. After all, he was “The Goblin Pusher.”

  The fleet of goblin ships would soon approach the Southern Republic and instead of fighting each other aboard their boats crammed with goblins, which several of the vessels had turned into near gladiatorial cages, they would begin to take out their aggression on meatier targets.

  Stinkrunt was very much looking forward to standing on dry ground again. Much more so than fighting a bunch of humans, elves and dwarves.

  Sleep was something he had given up on also. In the lower part of the ship there were several hammocks strung up for sleeping. The added swaying made him sick when he tried to go to sleep, sicker still while he was sleeping, and downright miserable when he woke up.

  So instead of a hammock Stinkrunt got away with napping on the deck during the night. But when he wasn't napping at night, like this particular one when the waves were awful and sleep evaded him, he dreamed with his eyes open.

  He remembered standing on land in the Goblin Maw. The hard packed dirt had been so solid. He could walk around without tripping, unless of course a goblin had tripped him on purpose. Then Grayscar would bash that goblin for picking on one of his cronies. Stinkrunt had been practicing bashing a few goblins of his own, and working out who would be his cronies. A few had impressed him, mostly because he had seen them fight each other. A good captain needed some cronies to do his heavy lifting.

  Or any lifting at all.

  Stinkrunt was enjoying thinking about bossing other people around and making them do whatever he wanted. He quite liked being in charge.

  In fact, he was daydreaming so hard that he barely noticed that Grayscar had gone to the trouble of having other goblins row a small boat from his own large vessel to the Fishbone.

  A smack on the back of his head woke him out of his reverie.

  "Hey. Stinkrunt."

  Had any other goblin aboard the Fishbone hit him so he would have considered actually using the fancy knife he kept attached to his belt, if it hadn’t been stolen while he was daydreaming that is. But after being in the service of Grayscar for so many years, Stinkrunt was familiar with the back of his master’s hand against his head.

  "Got a special job for you. Take five boats and go north. There is a city up there. It's after a ton of mountains. Smash it. Keep all the loot. After the city is smashed, walk south. Meet up with the rest of the Sharp Claws. We’ll smash some other cities too."

  Grayscar looked Stinkrunt up-and-down once. Though he was a poor leader, Stinkrunt was enjoying getting to boss other people around. So much so that he had forgotten what it was like to be bossed around himself.

  He was sure something on his face communicated that to Grayscar.

  He got hit on the head again.

  "Got it?" the large and fierce looking goblin asked the smaller and way less intimidating one.

  "Got it," Stinkrunt said. "Sail north. Smash the city. Walk south."

  Grayscar gave a grunt of approval.

  "Make sharp claws look good," he said as he climbed an old rope ladder back down to his boat.

  As Grayscar was rowing back, a commotion came up from the boats upfront. Stinkrunt looked to the horizon and saw one solitary ship sailing away from them.

  And though he really wanted to steer his boats in the direction of that ship and smash it, (after all, hundreds of ships versus one was really good odds) he signaled his crew to sail north, and to pass the message along to the other goblins going with him.

  Maybe sailing that way, and smashing one city, wouldn’t be so bad. One city was less than a lot of cities. Maybe this was his chance to prove to Grayscar that he deserved to be in charge. Maybe this was his big break.

  He signaled the goblin to point the ship north.

  Of course, his signal was one of his personal favorites: bash the goblin holding the rudder with a stick until he got the direction right.

  15: Roland’s Fight

  The goblins were prepared to board the White Wind. They hung from ropes attached to their masts and were getting ready to swing from their ship to Ealrin's. Each and every goblin had a twisted smile on their face, as if they knew the terror they must be instilling.

  With howls of rage the goblins made their first boarding attempt. Several of them swung in the direction of Ealrin, Roland and Holve.

  With a sling of his blade, Ealrin dispatched one of them before he touched the deck of the White Wind. Holve speared another in his chest, and sent him down snarling to the sea. Two more landed to the left of Roland, but were dead before they could raise their swords. They turned to face six more goblins who had successfully planted themselves onto the deck around them. With a quick stab from his spear Holve skewered two goblins on the spot. With a powerful kick, Ealrin put the goblin nearest him on his back, and turned to engage another who was swinging his blade across his chest. He quickly made to block the goblin blade with his own. Ealrin pushed hard against the goblin to knock him off balance, swung his blade high, and dealt a fatal blow.

  He turned to see that Roland had taken care of another two goblins, and then looked to the ship to see if another wave was coming.

  For the three on the upper deck the first wave of goblins had gone well. Ealrin could see that things were not for those on the lower deck.

  The second wave of goblins was now boarding the ship. Those on the lower deck had yet to completely deal with the first. Roland bounded down into a pile of no less than seven of the beasts. With his sword flashing in the morning sun, he dispatched one with every swing.

  Ealrin felt the hairs on his neck begin to stand up straight, as the air around him charged with energy. He spun around and gazed at the goblin ship directly behind theirs. On its forward mast stood a menacing looking goblin, holding high his staff with a red jewel affixed to its top. The goblin shaman's eyes glowed with an unnatural fire as his mouth m
oved up and down in silent incantation.

  In that moment, he knew he was going to die.

  Appearing seemingly out of thin air, Edgar threw both Holve and Ealrin to the ground on the lower deck and out of harm's way. After hitting the deck of the ship, Ealrin looked up to see Edgar's metal suit of armor glowing green with an unnatural energy. And then, with arms spread wide, he burst into thousand tiny smoking pieces.

  Ealrin shielded his eyes from the blast with his arm. The spot where Edgar had stood was now a giant hole in the upper deck of the ship. All that was left was now charred and blackened from the blast. Ealrin heard the goblin shaman cackle with the sight of the damage he had caused.

  Ealrin stood to his feet, surveying what was around him. The bodies of both goblins and the crew of the White Wind were strewn about the lower deck. Still the fighting raged on, and he saw a goblin charging him with his blade held high. Roland came from his left and intercepted the foe, dispatching him with a blow.

  "That makes 18 for me! Are you keeping up Holve?" Roland shouted as the goblin fell dead at his feet. "You'll have to do better than that!" He shouted at the goblin ships around him.

  And that was when an arrow pierced his heart.

  EALRIN HEARD THAT THE scream was loud and long. He could hear the hurt and the pain that was in it, as well as the rage and anger. It took a moment to register what it was that it escaped his own lips.

  Roland fell to the deck onto his knees. With one hand he still clutched his sword, the other wrapped around the arrow that had embedded itself into his chest. Arrows now rained down onto the White Wind, and all around them both goblins and crew members fell. Though Ealrin protested with all his might, attempting to stay at Roland's side as he gasped for air, Holve pulled him away and under the eaves of what was left of the upper deck. Then, with what had to have been pure adrenaline, Roland rose to his feet, ran to the side of the ship, and grabbed a rope. He let out a garbled cry of battle as he flung himself onto the enemy vessel.

  Roland was too much of a warrior to die by just one arrow. He continued to fight, though now two more arrows pierced him as he swung in the air. He landed on the goblin ship and was instantly surrounded, and nearly covered by gray skinned warriors. Though every swing of his blade killed at least one goblin, it was too much for his poison wracked body. He finally disappeared underneath uncountable goblins.

  Roland was defeated.

  Ealrin was still trying to come to grips with the indisputable fact that Roland had been slain. He seemed like a warrior who had no limits or weaknesses. Now he lay slain on the ship of his enemies, surrounded by the bodies of those he took with him.

  At that moment the arrows stopped raining down onto the deck. Ealrin saw that he and Holve were the only surviving members of the crew. Then through every crack and crevice in the ship shone the same unnatural green light that had ended Edgar.

  The boards of the White Wind creaked and moaned under the influence of the dark magic. The last thing Ealrin was aware of before he hit the seawater was being cast into the air by the force of the explosion that split the vessel in two.

  EALRIN STRUGGLED FOR not only his life, but for the life of Holve.

  The goblins ships had sailed on, which was fortunate for the pair in one sense. Had they been spotted they no doubt would have become target practice for goblin archers. Whether it was fortune or fate, Ealrin was not sure, but as the ship broke to pieces, he was able to grab Holve and hoist him onto a piece of debris. Ealrin had hit the water, but Holve had hit something hard, a piece of the formal ship. He was breathing, but unconscious. Then a sail that had broken free from its rigging had fallen over them, covering the two from the view of goblin eyes.

  Ealrin hadn't dared to move the sail, though it made holding onto Holve difficult. He was also unable to see the sun, and therefore know the direction they were floating. He only hoped the tide would bring them closer to land, any land.

  Before they were attacked it was still a good day's worth of sailing to their intended port in Thoran. Now he wasn't sure what mass of land would be close enough for them to float to. From one of Holve's maps, now lost to the bottom of the sea, Ealrin thought he remembered some cities on the shores of Ruyn.

  He prayed they would make land near one of them.

  Well, he prayed that they would land somewhere not being raided by goblins.

  The sun was well past setting when Ealrin thought he saw the stars disappearing higher over the horizon than they had been before. He hoped that meant land was close, and started kicking hard to help them float towards it. The water was cold. Spring had come, but the sea was still recovering from the long winter. It had not yet been warmed long enough by the sunlight to erase the winter cold.

  Ealrin swam because he knew that it meant survival. Holve had not woken from his injury. Though he shivered at the coldness of the air, Ealrin had been able to keep him mostly out of the water. It was only the act of swimming that kept Ealrin warm enough to remain alert. His hands and arms ached from holding onto the debris that kept them alive.

  There was land ahead of them, Ealrin was sure of it now. He could hear the sound of waves crashing, meaning that the shore was becoming shallower and allowing the crest to break. Though every part of him ached with fatigue, he swam. There would be time for rest after they made land. Now was the time for survival.

  When his feet finally touched the sandy bottom of the shore, Ealrin let out a sigh of relief. The threat of death by drowning was over. He continued to push Holve on the floating debris until it began to drag along the bottom of the shore as well. He then picked up his friend as best he could and drug him to shore.

  He ensured that Holve was still breathing and went back to where the piece of the White Wind was stuck in the sand. He retrieved the large sail, and broke free what pieces of wood he could and brought them back to land.

  Crude shelter was better than none.

  Further up the shore were trees. They would do for adding shelter from the wind that now bit into Ealrin's flesh. For now they would give them protection from being seen from the sea. Ealrin didn't know whether or not the goblins would make their way to this stretch of beach.

  As Ealrin set up a lean-to of fallen branches and broken pieces of the ship against the trunk of two trees growing close to one another, he wondered what would cause the goblins to raid. He knew, from somewhere in the back of his mind, that goblins were evil creatures, driven to violence by the influence of the dark magic that had created them thousands of years ago. They craved violence as others crave water and food. They had always had to fight. And if no enemy had presented itself to them, they would fight among their own tribes and cities.

  Ealrin paused. How could he remember the nature of a goblin, but couldn't recall the nature of himself? He knew a few things from instinct, but nothing that would reveal who he was, or where he had come from. As he surveyed his handiwork, he wondered if, when the sun brought light to the beach, he would recognize the area they now camped at.

  Holve stirred inside of the lean-to.

  "Ugh. Blasted goblins," said a very weary sounding Holve.

  Ealrin had laid him on his back on top of his own jacket. Thankfully, neither had lost their weapon to the sea. Both weapons now lay next to Holve.

  Holve raised himself onto his elbow, but immediately clutched his head.

  "Gah. My head. I haven't been out like that for a long time," Holve looked up at Ealrin.

  "Who are you?" he asked.

  The suns! If Holve had lost his memory too, what in the world were they to do?

  A small smile quickly formed on the man's face.

  Ealrin made to kick him.

  "Don't do that!" he said half angry, half relieved he was alive and alright.

  "Ha. Can't have both of us clueless. But, I would venture to ask if you know where we are?" Holve asked as he lay back down. He shut his eyes hard in an apparent attempt to ease the throbbing that must be going on inside his skull.

&nb
sp; "Land," replied Ealrin simply and truthfully. That was all he knew. They were no longer floating at sea, but were now on some beach in either Thoran or The Southern Republic. Ealrin wasn't sure which.

  "Well, that's a start," said Holve. "We can explore a bit when the sun comes up."

  "You mean when your head stops throbbing," replied Ealrin.

  Holve let out a mirthless laugh, and then a slight moan. He was obviously in pain.

  "Roland..." began Ealrin. Holve cut him off.

  "Roland died as he would have wished: bravely and in battle. He never saw himself living past being useful in a fight. He was a good friend and I'm sad to have lost him, but he died a warrior. He wouldn't have wanted anything less."

  Still, thought Ealrin, he was gone.

  Along with the entire crew of the White Wind. Captain Felicia Stormchaser, Urt, the dwarves, the elves, all of them.

  Drowned in the sea or speared by a goblin sword or arrow.

  The thought sickened Ealrin.

  He had only recollection of the last few weeks, and already they bore more pain than he thought he could handle.

  He lay down and tried to sleep, but was overwhelmed by sorrow and hunger and thirst.

  16: Wisym of Talgel

  Wisym looked around her. Some of the elven warriors still rushed to put out fires. Others searched the forest floor for goblin attackers. Still others were chasing after those who had fled the battle into the morning. Occasionally the sound of a wounded one meeting its end would rise over the scrambling of feet on the forest floor. Typically, when an elf walked there would be no sound, save for the air that was disrupted from its resting place. Today was not a day for stealth, however. Today was a day of battle. Today was a day for recovering from a goblin raid.

  Today was a day of mourning.

  A few of her fellow commanders stood around her as she kneeled at her fallen general's side. A goblin arrow in the heart had struck him. The cursed thing had punched through his armor, thick and elegant as it was. The poison was claiming his life quickly.