by RG Long
Tree and bush rushed past her as she made a wide circle about the exit from the cave. There wasn't anything to report. No menacing creature or person that she could tell had made any prints in the area in the last week. She prided herself on her ability to hunt down anything that moved along the ground. Years of living on what she could hunt and making money off of who she could track had honed her skills.
Now she just had to put them to good use to find the silly man who had gotten himself captured.
Silverwolf returned to the campsite to see Amrolan and Blume both pouring over books. Amrolan was turning pages quickly in the volume he had exchanged his services for, stopping every now and then to better observe a sketch or illustration. It all looked like gibberish to Silverwolf.
Blume, however, was taking her time to read through a brown leather volume that was written neatly in the common language. In fact, the book and the writing looked familiar to Silverwolf, but she couldn’t quite place from where. She nudged Blume with her foot, knocking the book over.
“Lessons,” she said plainly. “You need to learn how to not die in a fight.”
Blume looked irritated and elated at the same time. Silverwolf wondered if she wore the same expression from time to time.
“Don't get excited,” she told her. “Grab that stick over there.”
Silverwolf picked up a short stick and took up a fighting stance in front of Blume. She, however, hadn't moved.
“I thought you said I needed a better weapon?” she asked.
“You need one that suits you,” Silverwolf answered. “So, pick up the stick.”
FOR AN HOUR, THE TWO practiced attacking, defending, footwork and paying attention to your surroundings when fighting. Silverwolf had learned much of her art from a long-forgotten past. The rest she picked up trying to survive. Amrolan looked up every now and then from his book to give Blume some additional pointers, but mostly he just poured over whatever the ancient tome had to say.
“No!” she shouted. “Don't step back like that. You'll have no idea where you're stepping! Don't forget where you are!”
Blume may have been an excellent Speaker, when her skill was working, but she was not a great fighter. Not in Silverwolf's opinion at least.
“Put your sword like that and you'll get skewered through the stomach,” she advised.
“But if I leave it here, you can't cut off my head,” Blume shot back, looking pleased with herself and standing defiantly in the same position.
She was quite the stubborn student, which Silverwolf couldn't help but appreciate. But the girl needed to learn. So, when Silverwolf's stick came crashing into the girl's gut, she didn't feel too bad when Blume doubled over in pain.
“You can bleed out from your stomach as quickly as you can from your neck,” she said, observing her now broken stick. She tossed it aside and looked down at Blume, heaving in pain on the forest ground.
“Plus, a blade will hurt more,” she added. “Now I need another stick.”
“Stop,” Amrolan said suddenly, looking up from the ancient book.
“What?” Silverwolf said, looking incredulous. “The girl has to learn. Getting hurt along the way will teach her way more than...”
“Shush!” he said, interrupting her. Silverwolf looked mutinously at him. And then she felt it, too.
The ground beneath her feet was shaking rhythmically. Like it was following a steady pattern or beat. Like it was marching.
“Hide,” Amrolan commanded, pointing back to the cave. Panto, who had been resting peacefully and watching the dueling lessons with mild interest, got up and hurriedly dug dirt over their small camp fire, burying the pieces of bark that had shielded the light from curious eyes. In moments, the fire was gone and Panto was making his way to the mouth of the cave. He stood by while Silverwolf and Blume grabbed their bags and shoved them into the entrance.
Just over the horizon, marching through the night, were thousands of soldiers. Silverwolf saw torches blazing in the nighttime sky. Their orange glow illuminated the purple banners of Enoth. At the head of this great army was a large wooden construction. The details of the structure were hard to make out in the light of the torches, mostly because the flame's light only went to a small portion of the thing. It kept rising into the sky, blocking out stars as it trundled along. A team of twenty horses pulled the weight, driven by their masters.
“Not a peaceful nightly stroll, huh?” Silverwolf said, jokingly.
“An army to defeat the forest,” Amrolan said quietly.
“That's what Holve said we should warn the Wood Walkers about,” Blume replied, just as quietly.
“Holve? Who's Holve?” Amrolan asked.
“Uh,” Blume replied. “It's kind of a long story.”
A stillness hung over them as they watched the huge army continue their march northwards. Silverwolf couldn't think of a time when she saw such a huge army gathered. Even at the doors of Beaton, the Southern Republic and all of Androlion's crazed militants hadn't numbered this many.
“We're lucky to have avoided their scouts this far,” Amrolan said after a time, looking anxious. “We should sleep in the cave tonight and keep watch.”
He began to take some of the hanging plants that grew from the cave and place them over the exit to the tunnel. These, along with dead branches and logs, he used to cover the mouth of the cave so that they wouldn't be seen by prying eyes. Silverwolf wished her wood would have been put to use making a fire instead of camouflage.
“I'll go first,” Blume offered, still rubbing her stomach with one hand. “I'm not very tired.”
Silverwolf scoffed. Would they really trust their safety to a little girl? Not likely.
“As you wish,” Amrolan replied, making Silverwolf do a double take.
“You aren't serious?” Silverwolf argued as the army from down south marched ever closer.
“Keep watch with her if you don't trust her,” Amrolan said, stretching himself out and sitting against the wall of the cave, his arms folded across his chest. “I, for one, will rest. Tomorrow's journey will not be easy. The main road is no longer available to us. We'll have to go around.”
“I hope Ealrin is worth it to you,” she said down to Blume, who had sat herself next to Panto at the entrance to the cave. The girl didn't turn around. Silverwolf finally sat behind the bear and the girl, to make sure they were actually safe throughout the night. She wasn't quite ready to trust their fate to a teenager.
In reality, she wasn't willing to trust her fate to anyone. Especially with an army marching north right outside their door. The rhythmic marching of feet soon lulled Silverwolf into a sleep she didn't mean to take.
A few minutes, or perhaps many hours later, she jumped awake, startled by a scraping just outside their cavern sanctuary.
17: Washed Up
Tory opened his eyes slowly. The rushing tide was still pushing on his legs that were half submerged in water. He spluttered, realizing that his mouth was covered in the dirt and sand that lined the sea's edge. With some effort, he managed to hoist himself up to his knees to look around. The suns were shining down on him from above him. It was late afternoon.
He looked up and down the waterfront. Trees covered the landscape for as far as he could see. The only thing that broke up the shoreline for any distinguishable distance was a large rock that lay several paces away. Then Tory recognized that rock was actually moving up and down, slowly but steadily.
"Gorplin!" he croaked. With great effort, Tory managed to push himself up and stagger over to the dwarf. Gorplin lay on his side, not appearing to be injured, but with eyes closed. He got on his knees beside the dwarf and pushed him over onto his back. The stubborn fool still grasped his precious axe. Tory shook him.
"Wake up!" he shouted. "Hey! Gorplin! Wake up!"
The dwarf's eyes flitted open for a moment. Then he sprang up and grabbed Tory by the throat.
"Dirty pirate!" he shouted before his eyes came into focus and, with a look of r
ecognition, he saw that it was Tory he was throttling.
"Bah," he groaned as he let Tory's throat go. A fit of coughing took over the man as he recovered.
"I thought you might be dead," Tory said at last. "But instead you tried to kill me!"
Tory was massaging his throat still when he stood to his feet. He looked out over the sea and, to his dismay, saw nothing.
"Where are they?" he asked, looking at the great expanse of water before him.
"Where are we?" Gorplin replied as he stood to his sturdy feet and joined Tory. "Somewhere along the western edge of the sea I wager, judging by the direction of the suns."
Tory sighed.
"Gorplin," he started.
"Don't say it," the dwarf interrupted. Tory looked down at the stout Gorplin and saw his hard face. "They’ll be fine."
Tory knew what was going through the mind of Gorplin. His last view of their companions had been Jurrin with a knife to his throat and Felecia and Urt surrounded by pirate blades. As hard a captain as she could prove to be and as small as the halfling was, Tory didn't know what he'd do if real harm came to them. Somehow, he couldn't envision the mighty Urt ever falling to an enemy blade, but he guessed it was possible.
"The Boss, or whatever, said he was going to take us all to some place named Bloodspire," Tory said, remembering that last encounter. "How do we get there? Where is it? Bloody Irradan, I should have looked at Holve's maps more."
Tory was furious with himself. He was sure if he had done less complaining and more studying, he would have known right away where the pirate was talking about. But no mention of Bloodspire had ever come across him that he could remember. He was sure it was some pirate's cove or retreat. A small port where the shady characters of Irradan made their living. And his companions were headed there.
"We have to find them," Tory said. He looked down at Gorplin who was tightening his grip on his axe handle.
"Holve," he said softly, as if in deep thought. "Holve gave us a job."
Gorplin turned to Tory and put his axe in his belt.
"He and the others went to get Teresa and Wisym back. I suspect they're doing just that. Holve told us to warn the Wood Walkers about these crazy elves and the men of Darrion. Bah. They might be marching here as we talk. We've got a job to do, Tory Greenwall. We need to do it."
Tory stood speechless. Surely Gorplin knew what fate he was residing the others to if they didn't go after them?
"But Felecia..." he stammered.
"Bah, she knew our job. And the only reason we weren't doing it was because the dirty pirates got us first," Gorplin argued. He stared hard at Tory, as if this was the easiest decision that had been made.
"We can't just leave them to be sold as slaves, if they're even around to be sold," Tory muttered.
"Got a boat?" Gorplin asked. "Care to swim?"
"Alright!" Tory shouted. He was mad. There was a need to save his companions. He knew that. There was also a job to do, and he couldn't argue that point. But he knew his friends. Who were the elves in the woods to him? They hadn't traveled with him for miles and been through what they had.
They were strangers to him.
"Bah," Gorplin said, turning away from Tory. He had obviously seen the hesitation in Tory's face.
Tory was about to go on a rant about how they owed it to them to save their friends. But what he heard next caught him off guard completely.
"If my mountain had gotten a day's worth of warning, just one day," Gorplin said thickly. "We could have defended ourselves. Maybe even had survived the horrors they threw at us. Bah, we would've!"
Tory had heard stories of what had happened to Gorplin and his people. They had been nearly wiped to extinction within their own mountain by powerful Speakers. Men of the Southern Republic in Ruyn brought fire and Rimstone to torch the mountain of the dwarves. Only a few hundred of the thousands who dwelled there escaped. Those who did called Gorplin their leader for as long as he was on Ruyn.
The dwarf was having a hard time explaining himself.
"Dwarves don't run," he said with an effort. "We stand and fight. But in that moment, I knew that if any of our kindred were going to make it, we had to flee. It was terrible to leave that mountain, Tory."
He turned back and looked at him. A group of birds flew over the sea as the dwarf stood there, defiant and strong. The suns were setting into a beautiful evening that was in stark contrast to how Tory felt. He knew the stout warrior had seen more horrors than he'd ever care to know. Their whole lot had seen too much violence and war as it was.
"One day would have made the difference," he continued. "If we can give that same chance to these elves, we ought to. After we warn them, we'll get the captain, Jurrin, and even the big hairball back."
Tory smirked, despite himself.
"You're a stubborn one," he said. He stretched himself and looked once more to the horizon. It was a beautiful sight. The suns were just beginning their slow descent into the sea. It was a wonderful early summer sunset forming. It didn't match the seriousness with which Tory considered their two options. They could let their friends be carted off without first going after them, or let an entire nation of elves be overtaken by a power mad nation. Then again, they could warn the elves and risk never seeing their companions again.
Neither seemed like the best choice.
“We'll come get you,” he said to the sea, willing his thoughts to the friends they had traveled so far with. “We'll find you after we warn the bloody elves.”
“Bah,” Gorplin said as he looked out. “On my axe, we will!”
They both stood for a moment, listening to the waves lapping at the shores. Then Tory turned to Gorplin.
“Which way to the elves, shorty?” he asked.
“If I remember anything about them,” Gorplin said as he turned to face the forest. “They fill this place to the brim. If we walk on any trodden path, it likely won't be long before we run into any of them.”
He said this as he tightened his belt and put his axe back into its holster. Tory wished he had held onto his blade as closely as the dwarf did. He was weaponless for the time being.
“So, walk into the forest, make a ton of noise, and hope the elves find us?” he asked, thinking of at least ten possible ways this plan could go very wrong. “Seems like they'll find us before we're ready.”
“Too true,” said a voice to Tory's right.
He spun around, grasping for a blade that wasn't there. Gorplin grabbed his axe out of the holster he had just set it in. Tory gasped and put a hand out.
“I wish we would stop getting snuck up on,” he muttered to his companion as he counted no fewer than twenty of the strangest looking elves he had ever seen.
Vines and leaves woven together with what looked like smaller plants were all they wore for clothes. Their hair was cut short, near to the scalp. Both male and female elves held bowstring tight. Stone tipped arrows were pointed right at them. Tory raised his hands in a sign of peace.
“Uh,” he began as he looked at the circle forming around them.
“You're all in danger,” he said weakly.
The faces that stared back at Tory did not convey that they believed this statement.
Instead, their bow strings tightened.
18: Stars, Stairs, Slaves
Rophilborn led Wisym and Teresa higher and higher up the winding staircase. Wisym thought that they were already at a dizzying height when the emperor led them to the balcony that led off of his throne room. The entire city of Pahyrst was visible from that point. Also noteworthy was the large army that was marching from the south to the north.
“My warriors go to reclaim distant lands,” he said as he faced out to the plains beyond. “Never has such a host been sent from Enoth. And never will one be needed again.”
With those cryptic words, he sent them to eat and rest until the evening.
When the stars had begun to come out, a servant was sent for the human and elf from Ruyn. One servant an
d ten palace guards led them from their chamber to a small door that lay at the end of a hallway that was decorated with tapestries and paintings depicting the sky at all times of day. Night stars and charts were displayed next to beautiful sunsets and rises.
At the end of the hall, the emperor himself stood with his arms behind his back. He greeted them and waved the servant and guards away. A strange maneuver, Wisym thought.
He then showed them the way into the small door and asked them to climb the stairs.
For what seemed like an hour, they climbed. Not wanting to show any sign of weakness, the pair refused each break they were offered. Though she hated to admit it, going around the dizzying staircase was beginning to make her stomach ache terribly. When she felt like she could not climb another step, they reached a small platform that held a single door. Rophilborn excused himself ahead of them and, without a word, opened the portal.
Encircling the exit from the stairs was a beautiful work of art and stonework. Several benches were arranged with cushions and reclining backs in circles around small basins of fire that were lit with small flames. On the floor of the observation deck were many star charts and runes to help the observer better understand the beautiful sight above them. This circle of a deck had a small wall, no taller than Wisym's waist, but no roof.
The vaulted heavens were the only thing to look at when one turned their gaze upwards.
The sight was the second time Wisym had lost her breath that day. Dazzling stars dotted the sky. It was a clear, beautiful night. The sky was black and, like diamonds sat upon velvet, the multitude of stars gazed down on them. She could, with great ease, find some of her favorite constellations: Farago the goblin slayer, the jumping fish, Mara and Simeon and more. They seemed to be in slightly different parts of the sky, though. Wisym had to remind herself that she was not on Ruyn, but a foreign land with foreign enemies.
One of whom stood behind her.
“I've always loved the night sky,” Rophilborn said as he gazed up at the starry host. “Stars are a symbol of my empire, a beacon of light in the darkness. We are many points of light in the gathering gloom around us.”
