by R. G. Long
“I would rather die by your side than live without you, father,” she finally said.
“And I would rather die an old man defending the love of his life than rot away in grief. I command you, daughter, flee to castle Thoran. I love you”
With that, King Thoran spurred his horse forward, leaving his daughter to shed a tear and turn away. Androlion rode out with his generals to meet the riders from Thoran. Rayg was at his side, as well as Verde. The rest rode behind, carrying the banners of Androlion and The Southern Republic.
BOTH PARTIES STOPPED just short of meeting, with the king and Androlion coming out of their parties in order to speak to one another. A third man rode up slightly behind Androlion, one Ealrin didn’t recognize.
The man wore robes of deep green. On them were echoed the same pattern as the banner of the Southern Republic, with one addition: a white griffin stitched over his heart. He had a terrible smirk on his face: one that spoke of arrogance and pride as well as bloodlust.
King Thoran began the meeting without any formality.
“You carry the banner of The Southern Republic, and yet I do not see Ceolmaer the Elder. Where is the leader of the Republic that he might attest to this madness? Never have the armies of the south invaded...”
“Ceolmaer died. Poor soul, he was so old. He was defenseless against the elven assassin that killed him. But fear not. The elves have paid dearly for their treachery. Tane Silverthread here, is the Head Elder. He speaks for the south.”
Androlion spoke as venomously as a snake bite. Ealrin could feel his hatred for the man welling up inside him. How could one encourage so much reckless hate and war?
The man bowed his head slightly in King Thoran’s direction. A mockery of a salute, as evidenced by his dark smile. Thoran paid him no attention.
“I fear for justice and for the elves of the Southern Republic. I hear reports that Talgel and Ingur both burned to the ground. What do you hope to accomplish, Androlion? Genocide? Will you stop only when there are none but men on the continent of Ruyn? I doubt greatly that the death of Ceolmaer, a friend to all races, was orchestrated by the elves or dwarves of the south.”
King Thoran was enraged. Though he did his best to keep his voice down, Ealrin could perceive that at any moment he would have very much liked to strike at Androlion.
But that would only incur the wrath of his armies.
“If you doubt the truth of Ceolmaer’s death, then heed these words of warning. The whole continent of Ruyn will burn unless we purge the land of the filth of the elves and dwarves. A greater threat of fire and star. If you will submit to my rule, we may yet save a few. Defy me and you will condemn your entire country to chaos and death.”
Again Androlion spoke of his vision. Again Ealrin doubted. The man was evil to his core.
“What kind of foolish babble is this?” was the King’s only reply.
Androlion chuckled mirthlessly.
“Not babble. A vision. One granted to me by the Master Speaker of Irradan himself! A man of great wisdom.”
Irradan was another continent Ealrin had heard of from Holve. It was said to be the center of the study of magic and rim stone. A Master Speaker had spurned Androlion to this? Ealrin’s mind was weary from battle and exhaustion. He listened again to Androlion.
“I have seen the future of this land. One that is prosperous and blessed by the light of the twin sisters, another that is flame and shadow. Follow me and we shall have light. Defy me and subject yourself to death, either by my hand, or that of The Dark One!”
With this, Androlion pointed to the comet in the sky that still burned orange and bright. Ealrin hadn’t paid it much heed in the last few hours. His mind had been solely on the battle. Was it a trick of the eyes? Or did the thing seem closer?
Androlion looked up, following the path of his own finger. He soaked in the orange light of the comet.
And there was no denying. The thing was closer than it was last night.
“The time is nearly here. What will your choice be, King Thoran?
Ealrin wasn’t sure what to expect. A lengthy discourse? A speech? He could think of several things to say to Androlion. He noticed that Tory was near fuming at his side. What restraint was it taking for him to not strike?
“Androlion, I make no promises that you’ll find defeat here at my hand. But whether by my hand or another’s, you’ll one day find where this path will lead you. Your own hatred will destroy you if your enemies do not. I will not suffer your army to pass.”
Without further comment, Thoran turned his horse and spurred it back to the line of soldiers, men, dwarves, and elves, all awaiting his return.
Ealrin followed the king, knowing he may well follow this man to both their deaths.
AS THEY RODE BACK TO the army of Thoran, Ealrin spoke to Holve.
“How did you fare in the last battle?”
He was still concerned for his mentor and friend. During the last few days, Holve’s health had been getting worse. Whether it was from the battle with the Mercs, being tied up as a prisoner for days, the march through the mountain, or the last battle with goblins, Ealrin didn’t know.
Thinking through the possible things that could have made Holve look so sickly, Ealrin was beginning to think he must look pretty bad himself.
Rest had not been a part of the journey for the last two weeks.
Still, Holve was worse off than any of their other companions. He was breathing heavily, though he was riding.
It worried Ealrin.
“I’ll be fine. Stop worrying over me,” he glared at Ealrin. “You’ve been too preoccupied with my health. Look to your own!”
He was irate. Holve had tried to joke with Teresa earlier. Perhaps that was just to ease her suffering at the moment. There was none of that humor now. Not that Holve had much humor to begin with. The cause of his current mood could be several hundred reasons.
None of the ones Ealrin guessed were correct, however.
“I fear I’ve led you to your death, Ealrin,” Holve looked over at Ealrin and in his eyes, the older man showed more than a hint of compassion and sorrow. “Perhaps it would have been better if you had ridden away from here with Teresa. I fear, you would face your end.”
Ealrin was at a loss for words.
As their horses came near the front line, King Thoran shouted for his army to close ranks and prepare for battle. Dwarves made their way to the front of the line. Elves prepared on the flanks to fire their arrows. Men adjusted spears, swords, and shields as they prepared for the second battle in as many days.
Holve began addressing the soldiers, directing some here and there, preparing for the combined armies of the Southern Republic and the Mercs.
All wore grim expressions. They knew what this battle would mean.
Ealrin found his words in the faces of those he looked at from on top of his horse.
“Holve!”
He directed his horse towards the general.
“Thank you,” Ealrin said.
Holve raised an eyebrow at him.
“For what?” he asked.
Ealrin looked over the faces of those who were prepared to fight for their lives. In their eyes was determination, courage, and pride. This was an army that would not back down, even against impossible odds.
“For giving me purpose. A reason to fight. If it weren’t for you I’d be selling fish in Good Harbor. This is where I belong. Fighting against hate for the sake of what is good and decent. So thank you.”
He didn’t think there was anything else he could possibly add.
There wasn’t time anyway. A chorus of trumpets and shouts arose from the army bearing down on them. The men of the Southern Republic and Mercs charged.
“To the king!” Holve shouted.
39: Routed
Ealrin lifted his shield again to deflect the hundredth blow from Merc soldiers. His horse had long been slain. It was lucky the beast had thrown him off when it died without killing him in the pro
cess. He now fought for his life with the rest of the army of Thoran.
Elven arrows still shot overhead, thinning the ranks of soldiers who had yet to meet the front lines. Dwarves and men held that line as best they could.
Ealrin was fighting alongside Tory and Holve. The spear of Holve was keeping most Mercs at bay. Soldiers wearing the green uniform of the Southern Republic kept advancing when they thought they could gain the advantage. For every soldier from Thoran that fell, a dozen Mercs went with him. This invading army lacked two things that Thoran had: a superior understanding of rimstone was the first. Fire burned in the north. Merc speakers had attempted to burn down the forest in order to flush out the elves from their defensive position. Ealrin perceived a great rumbling under his feet. He spared a second to glance towards the beach and saw the great wave heading for them.
Speakers from Thoran were calling the waves forward to douse the flames. Two great waves struck in succession. Ealrin was astonished, in his quick glance, at the skill of the speakers.
The first rose unnaturally high as it approached the beach. Ealrin could see the wave taking the shape of a large eagle. The water shaped bird flew, literally flew over his head and smashed into the forest, dousing the flames and turning the black smoke into steam.
The second wave took the form of a bull, rushing at full strength. As it touched the beach’s sand, it leapt high and crashed down into the middle of the Merc and Southern Republic army, drenching the men, knocking them to the their feet. As the water receded, hundreds of men were swept back into the ocean.
The second thing the invaders lacked were a dedication to defend their own lands and homes.
For a moment, Ealrin began to hope against hope that they may win this battle. Some of the Mercs began to slow their approach. Instead, they looked to the sea, perhaps fearing another wave would come crashing into them.
Ealrin remembered how exhausted Blume had become after speaking her magic. The Speakers of Thoran would be tiring soon, but just maybe they had given them enough time to take advantage of their enemy’s fear?
That thought only stayed with Ealrin for a moment.
For several began to yell and point upward.
Several tails had split from the Dark Comet. Great tendrils of a light, like small comets in their own right, raced towards Gilia and Ruyn.
And one was speeding towards the battle of Thoran and Androlion.
EALRIN TRIED HIS BEST to raise himself to his feet. His ears rang. His body ached. White light was all he could see through his eyes. He blinked several times just to ensure that he had, in fact, opened them.
The world was on fire.
He looked around and saw several others also recovering from the massive explosion.
Ealrin closed his eyes and remembered what had happened.
The comet had come blazing from the sky. The giant fireball had smashed into the rear of the Southern Republic's army. Ealrin and several others had been blown from their feet by the impact of the small comet. For a moment the fighting had stopped as everyone directed their attention to the crater made by the projectile.
And the beast that rose out from it.
The monster was engulfed in purple flame. It had the body and hind legs of a great bull, the wings of a dragon and had smoking armored arms of a man. Its head was horned and yet a great armored helmet that it wore hid its face. And in its hand it wielded a sword larger than the tree in the forest it had crashed beside.
It let out a mighty roar as it spread its arms wide. Leaping from the crater into a group of men, Ealrin could tell that those who stood around it barely came up to its stomach. This beast was enormous.
With another roar it brought its sword down in a sweeping arc and dispatched twenty warriors with that single blow.
Chaos reigned.
Most did their best to flee from the abomination. None could outrun it. Wherever its sword struck, dozens fell.
Terrified, Ealrin was frozen to the spot. He found that he was unable to look away from the carnage that was only a stone’s throw away from him. A hand on his shoulder brought him back to his senses and he glanced to his right.
It was Holve.
"As strong and as terrible as it seems, it is not invincible. We must fight it back or we will all perish here."
Ealrin nodded, yet he was confused. How in the world did Holve know that this beast was not invincible? There was no time to deliberate.
Elven archers appeared and began to shoot as many missiles as they had left toward the flaming beast. Though some arrows were engulfed in purple flame and seemed to turn to ash, others pierced its flesh. With a howl of rage it turned its attention in the direction of the archers and charged them.
A line of dwarven warriors met the beast as it charged, protecting the archers. Their shouts of battle intermingled with cries of pain as an attack from the monstrosity hit them and they were cut down.
Still more arrows peppered the monster at its chest and head. Its helmet was protecting it from fatal shots and across its chest it wore a huge plate of armor. Yet where there were exposed places of its black skin, the shafts of arrows protruded.
A hundred men with spears and swords gathered around Ealrin. Knowing that this would be the greatest test of his bravery and skill as a warrior, as well as the final charge of his life, he lifted his sword high and sounded a battle cry as he ran towards the demon.
When he reached the monster he did his best to hack at its legs, only to find that its skin and hide was as tough as the trunk of a tree. Several men attempted to stab him with their spears and still more rushed at it in order to bring the beast too its knees.
With a mighty kick it sent several flying twenty feet into the air, including Ealrin.
He landed with a thud on top of several others. Many cried out in pain, but Ealrin felt winded, not wounded.
Spinning around, he tried to see where the battle between the demon and the others was taking place. All he had time to perceive was a warrior with an ornate spear jumping high into the air. From the tip of the spear shone a brilliant white light.
As Holve forced the tip of his spear into the demon a flash of purple fire and white light overtook the battlefield. Shielding his eyes, Ealrin was again knocked back by the force of the explosion. Recovering quickly he looked up, and saw that where the demon was standing, there remained only a huge crater.
There was no trace of the giant beast.
Or of Holve Bravestead.
The noise of the battle died around him.
As the Merc and Southern Republic armies surged forward to take advantage of the stunned army of Thoran, Ealrin stared at the spot where the demon stood moments ago.
The spot from where Holve leapt.
The crater that remained.
Holve was gone.
Some warriors from Thoran stood to fight. A group of dwarves was stubbornly holding back the tide of men that came upon them. Ealrin saw Tory lead a charge of a hundred men to their deaths. They fought bravely. They fought until their bodies were ruined by battle. They fought until there was nothing left of them.
Androlion and his generals rode on horseback through the crater. Verde signaled from his horse for a soldier to pick something up.
A spear.
Holve's spear was given to Verde, who then passed it back to Androlion.
After examining it for a moment, he lifted it into the air and gave a shout.
He knew whose spear that was.
The army of Thoran was overwhelmed. Sheer numbers crashed into them on all sides. The beast had knocked Ealrin into the cover of the forest. Most men surged past him on the road or the beach. He looked around desperately.
Where was the king?
It didn't take long for him to spot him. He was surrounded by warriors of Thoran. They defended the road and the few speakers that remained. Pieces of rock flew through the air, crushing men as they fell. But soon the rocks slowed as the speakers grew weary with their spells. Though the kin
g and his protectors fought with all their might, they soon disappeared underneath uniforms of green and gray.
Ealrin felt someone tugging at his shoulder. It took ages for him to respond. He looked up, almost unaware of his own sense of touch and time.
It was Lote.
THEY RAN THROUGH FOREST and mountainside. They ran, knowing that their life depended on it. They ran with singular purpose: Warn the city of Thoran of what had transpired.
There was no rest. Fewer breaks. They stayed as close as they could to fresh water, and then they ran again.
It was a week before they came to Liaf. Ealrin was exhausted. Lote pushed them on each day and night, knowing full well that the joint armies of the Mercs and the Southern Republic may be close behind.
They bartered for horses and asked if any others had come through town. To find if any wearing the maroon and gold of Thoran had come.
None had.
Either we are the first to come, Ealrin thought, or the last that would.
By horse they raced to Thoran.
And what would they say when they arrived? How do you deliver the news they had?
Ealrin's heart sank, as his horse galloped desperately onward.
Teresa.
He began to think of the difference between dying on the battlefield alongside those you care about, and living on in their absence.
Holve. Tory. Gorplin. Cedric.
The other men, dwarves, and elves from Thoran who lay dead on the beaches outside of Liaf.
They had lost so many.
And for what purpose? Fighting back the hate of a man who drove armies to madness?
Androlion Fellgate had beaten Thoran's armies.
Now, Ealrin feared, he would come for its castle.
40: Verde
General Verde sat comfortably at the table of the head elders of the Southern Republic. Banners that no longer had meaning hung from its ceiling, celebrating the diversity of the south and the unity of the races. A unity that no longer existed.
