by R. G. Long
Victory was surely within their grasp.
The south had given in and believed the rhetoric that was being preached from every hastily constructed chapel bearing the mark of the comet that these calamities plaguing their land were the result of the elves meddling with dark magic and the dwarves mining for treasure and jewels.
It was the purity of man that would cleanse this land of the demons that now roamed over it.
Fear was a powerful ally. And as far as general Verde was concerned, there was much for the common man to be afraid of these days.
Those living in rural areas or villages without walls feared an attack from the demons. Beasts cloaked in purple flame that roamed the night, killing all who crossed their path.
Those who lived in the sprawling cities feared those who now had power in the Southern Republic: the Mercs and their general: Androlion. To fall out of grace with them meant being banished from the protection of the city walls and forced out into the plains where demons roamed.
And now that these beasts were not the babbling of a displaced elder, but rather the prophecies of a general and protector of the people, it was easy to convince lesser men to do whatever it took to retain their safety.
Verde was quite pleased with himself and the part he had played in bringing down the republic.
Until Androlion entered the elder chamber.
He burst through the doors fuming and threw Xaxes onto the round table that used to serve as the meeting place of the republic’s elders.
There was now only one elder, and he was a puppet of Androlion.
Androlion had become more irate than Verde had ever seen him before. There was something in his plan to dominate the continent of Ruyn that was not going as he had expected. A very guarded man, he never confided in anyone unless he was absolutely sure he could trust them.
And then once that trust was given, total and complete obedience was expected. Something that apparently Xaxes lacked.
Verde removed his boots from the table as Xaxes groaned from hitting the hard wood.
"You told me that you acquired the amulet!" Androlion shouted at the young general. "This," he shook a fancy and well polished silver claw grasping at a blue piece of rimstone, "is a worthless trinket!"
Androlion threw the metallic accessory at Xaxes. It struck him and made a gash in his forehead, which began to bleed immediately. Xaxes grasped his head with one hand and howled in pain.
Verde was glad their places were not swapped.
"This is twice you have failed me!"
Androlion drew his sword from its sheath and approached Xaxes. He grabbed his neck and brought the blade to his throat. He looked him in the eye with as much loathing as Verde had ever seen in his general’s face.
"I will have no more failures from you."
VERDE AND ANDROLION left the chamber. The latter took a cloth from one of the young servants who cleaned the elder’s tower. With it, he wiped his blade clean until there was no more blood left upon it. He threw the towel back at the servant who grabbed it and scurried away, obviously more afraid of Androlion than he was disgusted by the bloody rag.
"Verde," Androlion said as they walked down a flight of marble stairs. "I have a task that is of the most importance. I will not trust it to anyone else but you, my most faithful general."
Verde was not exactly sure he coveted that title, seeing how well it had served Xaxes.
He handed him a book bound in leather. Verde accepted the tome and examined it. It was as old as the city of Conny itself. Its cover was worn and stained and the pages were brittle and delicate.
"Within this book you will find a description of an amulet that I seek. You will also find potential locations for this valuable charm. Find it and return it to me so that I might name you as second only to me in rule over this continent."
Verde had never seen this book in his leader's possession before, nor had he ever spoken if it. A locket or amulet he knew his master had sought, and had been told several times of his desire for it.
But this book was a new discovery.
"Do not fail me, Verde," Androlion said as he continued to descend the stairs. He turned and looked up at the general. Though he was considerably shorter than Verde from this angle, Verde felt no taller than his superior. Verde was at his command, no matter what it was Androlion asked.
He nodded agreement.
"Follow me," Androlion said, leading the way.
THEY CAME TO AN ARMORY of the Southern Republic. The stores of weapons were used in times of war and strife.
Incidentally, the stone storage facility was quite bare.
They walked past several guards who stood to attention at the sight of them. Passing through several locked portals, they finally came to an iron door at the bottom of two flights of stairs. Androlion waved aside the two guards and removed a key from his own pocket. He unlocked and opened the heavy door. The creak of the heavy and old metal filled the halls of the armory.
The room was no wider than the span of Verde's arms. Inside were several chests, which were also locked. Leaned up against the back wall was a spear Verde recognized. The spear of Holve Bravestead.
Androlion handed it to him.
"Read through the book as you travel to Beaton. You'll find this spear to be very useful in your travels, but not for battle. Do not use it to fight with. Your sword will suffice for any man you encounter. This spear must be returned to me as well as the locket."
Androlion gazed into the eyes of Verde, who took hold of the spear with awe.
It vibrated in his hands with an unknown power.
Androlion spoke again.
"I will suffer no more failed attempts to find that which I seek. Do not return without it."
And with those words, Androlion was gone.
41: Beaton’s Governor
The elven ships sailed up river.
It had been a full month since leaving The Southern Republic and their supplies were running low. Though no more pirates had crossed their paths, they were still sailing slower than they could have due to the damage their ships had sustained.
The Fair Maiden's sails were badly tattered. The Oak's Envy needed several holes patched with more than other pieces of the ship, and if Wisym's own ship, The Bright Blade did not soon undergo much needed repairs, her main mast would surely splinter and break off at the bottom. The only thing holding her mast upright now was a splint engineered out of oars and several lengths of rope.
And their creaking didn't give Wisym any confidence that the ship would last much longer.
So naturally they had cheered when they saw land. The river meant that Beaton lay farther north, only a few days worth of sailing. Surely they could last that long.
The dwarves of Dun-Gaza had turned them away. The Southern Republic had not answered their pleas. The harbors of River Head were abandoned and blackened. Surely someone in Beaton would have pity and come to the elves' aid.
But what now would be her request? To send an army so that the elves could reclaim their homes? To give food and shelter to four hundred elves who were crammed into three ships? Or to repair the ships they had so that they could sail to another far off place and find new homes? Even among their ancient ancestors on the continent of Irradan?
She wasn’t sure what her request would be, having been gone for so long and unsure of where the elves aboard her vessel might call home in the future. Only that surely, in a city such as Beaton, someone would listen to her pleas.
Wisym had only heard tales of the great city, supposedly larger than two capitals of the Southern Republic placed side by side. The sheer amount of beings living in one space was hard to imagine.
Surely someone would aid the elves of Talgel?
Wisym’s hopes were high.
ON THE THIRD MORNING since sailing into the river of Beaton, Wisym caught sight of the City by the Sea.
Beaton was every bit as huge as her stories had said it would be, and more so.
From
one side of the horizon to the other, the walls of Beaton rose up around the river. Like the great towers of her homeland, several watch towers and other stone monuments rose over the top of the great city walls. Red flags and banners draped the stone parapets and defenses.
Truly, this was an impressive city, even for an elf who desired to see the forest trees more than stone and mortar.
As they approached the harbor, one of her generals, Finwe, came to her side. Finwe had been a general far longer than Wisym. She had the experience of an additional hundred years under the leadership of Galebre and for that, Wisym was more than willing to listen to whatever advice she might offer.
“Up ahead, Sister,” she said as she pointed up river. There were several ships docked at the harbor outside of the city’s walls. Several men in armor were signaling to the ships to make their way to three empty places on the docks.
“They don’t look particularly pleased to see us.”
“Do as they signal, Finwe,” Wisym said, though she was able to perceive the look on the guard’s faces. Wisym agreed with Finwe. It was not a welcoming smile, but an annoyed indifference that showed on the faces of several of the guards in red.
Perhaps they were unfamiliar with the four golden leaves flown on the banners and flags of their vessel. The symbol of Ingur. Wisym wished they had some banner for Talgel so that they may be rightfully represented, but pushed the thought from her mind.
She was now the representative of all the elves of The Southern Republic.
The guards signaled them into the docks and almost immediately lifted up ladders and walkways to the ship. Without any words, several soldiers began to march onto Wisym’s ship.
For a moment, she was a little less impressed with this city.
AFTER A FULL TWO HOURS of interrogation and cross questioning, the dock master and Wisym still did not see eye to eye with one another.
“I have no payment for docking and will not be turned away! Our people have fled from war and you demand a fee for our ships to float in your river!”
Wisym’s patience was wearing thin.
“Every ship pays to dock, without exception. It’s the law of Beaton. Pay the fee or sail back down river, lady elf.”
Lady elf.
The dock master was a heavyset soldier with a strong handlebar mustache. His brown hair was peppered with gray ones. The helmet he wore had a red plume that matched the red of his robes and chest plate. A sword was slung at his side, though Wisym was quite sure the man was no swordsman worth crossing blades with. His eyes almost disappeared into his fattened face and he stood a good three heads shorter than Wisym.
A black castle with a shield for its door was embroidered onto the cloth of his robes and etched into his armor: the symbol of Beaton, Wisym guessed.
To have come this far, seeking aid and then to be told that they were going to be turned away for three hundred coins was ridiculous. The money of The Southern Republic was only useable if it was exchanged for the coins of Beaton. The exchange could only be done in the city and yet here they were, outside and still in their boats after several hours of being told the laws of Beaton. What Wisym wanted was aid for her fellow elves from those whom she thought would give it, and yet here he was bullying her into paying a fee she could not unless she was allowed into the city.
Wisym was beginning to consider sailing away after trying to reason with this short and pudgy man when she heard another hailing from a ship just now coming into port.
“Hail! What brings the elves of Ingur to Beaton?”
Wisym turned. Here was someone who knew the banners of the elves!
She saw a ship that was much larger than their own that was also emblazoned with the red banners of Beaton with black castles.
The difference, which was not lost on Wisym, was that this ship’s flag bore no shield upon the door.
“Dock Master! Let the elves come to my ship with haste!”
The dock master huffed loudly, then turned and left the ship with the rest of the guards of Beaton.
Perhaps not everyone in the city was as difficult at that pudgy dock master, Wisym thought.
“YOU WILL HAVE TO EXCUSE the Red Guard for how they handle the docks of Beaton," the man who had introduced himself as governor said as he invited Wisym, Finwe, and Ithrel into the captain's cabin of his ship, The Heart of Beaton.
"In fact," he said as he motioned for them to help themselves to refreshments, "You'll have to excuse the Red Guard for many of their activities."
Wisym was less concerned about who the Red Guard might be when she saw the fabulous spread out in front of her.
There were several different types of bread as well as fruits that she recognized and others that were new to her. There was turkey, venison, fish, and other food laid out on a magnificent table. The hungry elves loaded their plates while doing their best to remember their manners. Having nothing for the last two days save for moldy bread, however, can cause one's table manners to be a little less than desirable.
The governor of Beaton was not perturbed by the ravenous sounds the elves made as they ate.
After having taken a dozen bites of whatever food was within reach, Wisym looked to the man who was their host, and apparently the leader of the city of Beaton.
He was an older gentleman with gray hair and beard that was well groomed. His blue eyes were not faded with age and showed the kindness that was inside of him. He was not any taller than Wisym but she knew that he was tall for a man. He was not skinny, nor was he heavyset, but instead his frame showed that he was a man not given into indulgence but also not familiar with the pain of hunger.
Seeing how his guests ate, Wisym saw him signal for a servant who stood nearby.
"If this is any indication as to how hungry the rest of the elves on board their ships are, please send rations to them immediately. I will not have guests of my city going hungry."
The servant nodded and then hurried out of the room.
Turning his attention back to the three elves sitting at his table he spoke directly to Wisym.
"Tell me your story," sister of Talgel.
He placed an elbow on the table and his head in one hand as he looked into the eyes of what Wisym knew must be a very tired looking elf.
She sighed deeply and then began to relive the events of the past month that led her to the shores of the Red Sea.
WHEN ALL WAS TOLD, the governor shook his head.
"I have heard of trouble brewing in the goblin lands as well as down in the Southern Republic. But I had no idea that it had come to war."
Finding within herself a renewed strength from the much needed food and renewed hope from the warm reception she had received from the governor, Wisym made her plea.
"Please Governor," she begged. "You have heard our tale and so I am sure you know how desperate our situation is. We need aid. Whether it is armies or supplies or a place to call a safe haven, we are at your mercy."
The governor leaned his head back against his chair and took a deep breath. His expression changed from one of sympathy to that of a helpless onlooker.
"My title may be governor, but I'm afraid my powers here in the city are few and limited. Every action I take must be tested against the Red Guard's wishes."
He cast a glance out of the window of the ship towards the walls of the city. He spoke more to himself than to the elves at his table.
"Many years ago when I was first elected governor, crime and evil were rampant in my city. I was desperate for anything that could rid us of the terrible blight that was plaguing us. When I was promised that justice could be restored if I handed over some of my power to the Red Guard, I was quick to agree. Perhaps I was more concerned with being reelected and pleasing the people than I was about my ability to lead on my own."
He looked back at the elves with a very sad expression on his face.
"I will do what I can to lobby for you so that aid may be sent. But I fear there is much red tape we must pass through
before I can get authorization for such a venture."
Wisym felt deflated. At first she had such high hopes that the governor of the city would be able to help. Now she was being told he was little more than a puppet. Her current experience with the Red Guard and their dock master did not bode well for getting aid quickly.
"What I can offer is rest for you and your people, though I know it is not everything you desire."
As he spoke the doors of the cabin opened and two young men walked in. Wisym noticed that they were dressed finely in maroon and gold. Neither of them looked to be more than thirty human years.
"Ah," said the governor. "If I am limited, perhaps these men may be able to better assist you, Wisym of Talgel."
He stood to his feet and gestured to the two men with his hand.
"May I introduce to you: the princes of Thoran."
42: The Northern Wastes
Ealrin had been walking for a solid week. He had been following General Verde for a month, ever since he had seen him venture into the Northern Wastes from Beaton. Ealrin was also keenly aware that the general was on a mission. He stayed as far back from him as he dared, merely following the tracks and trails of travel, as Holve had nearly a year ago when they tracked a thief together.
Why the general had Holve's spear, Ealrin couldn't be sure. He did know, however, that the necklace he carried looked extremely similar to the one that belonged to Blume. That he intended to get it back and return to its owner. He prayed that Blume had indeed been transferred to the magical college in Irradan and spared the war ravaging the south.
His thoughts lingered on his adopted daughter as he followed Verde. It gave him hope and warmth as he pressed on. To think that, though there was a great evil in the world, there could shine a light of hope as bright as Blume Dearcrest surely was a sign that all was not lost, that evil had not triumphed.
