by RG Long
“Ealrin’s here, too!?” came a voice she recognized and remembered was still annoying.
“Tory!” Blume shouted as she flung herself at the man walking their direction. “You’re alive! And Gorplin. too!”
“Bah,” the dwarf replied.
Silverwolf thought to herself that ‘alive’ may have been a little kind. The pair looked terrible. Tory had a cut on his forehead that was bleeding profusely and the dwarf was limping. But yes, she conceded, they were definitely alive.
“Ealrin’s here?” Tory repeated. “What the devil were you thinking? Coming here? I thought you went to go rescue Princess Teresa and the others?”
“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later,” Blume said. “Have you seen Ealrin? Or Holve? Or a large bear in armor?”
“A what?” Gorplin asked, his brow furrowed.
“This is the last boat,” said a voice from behind Silverwolf. She turned to see Trek walking towards her with an empty rowboat. All the others had climbed aboard the last few and were shoving off from the shore. “If you don’t want to get caught up by any Enoth scouts or Wrents, I suggest you come along.”
“Get in the boat, shorty,” Silverwolf said. “You, too, Green ball.”
“Greenwall,” Tory corrected her. “And if Ealrin is here, we need to find him.”
Silverwolf took a deep breath and steadied herself for what she was about to say.
“Look,” she began.
But before she could finish her sentence, two things happened at once. Blume tore off in the direction of the smoldering forest, which made Tory swear and run after her. Then Panto came crashing through the trees with Amrolan on his back and Holve in close pursuit, which made Silverwolf declare her own colorful language the current vernacular.
That bloody masked elf was back with his bodyguard.
46: Loyalty or Life
Tory ran as hard as he could. The blasted smoke that covered the battlefield burned his eyes. He had seen enough fire to last a lifetime.
So much for promising to protect the forest. The ancient trees that had stood proudly the night before were now blackened and charred. Ash and branches fell all around him. Bodies strewn the forest floor: elves in armor, elves in vines, and Wrents of all colors. He had seen the aftermath of too many battles now to be horribly affected by this scene.
But he cringed to think that Ealrin might be in this mix somewhere. That man may not have much in terms of memory or great skill with a blade, but he had the ability to lead others and lots of heart. And Tory admired that. Plus, Holve had taken a liking to him, and that always counted for more than a fair share of respect.
Thinking about the old general put another thought into his mind. Tory hated the idea that Holve might be in this mess, too.
“Blume!” he shouted, not really thinking there would be many out in this charred landscape to find him. Plus, he would much rather someone happen on him than on the girl. Even if she was a bossy nuisance sometimes.
“Bah, found her yet?” Gorplin asked as he limped up beside Tory.
“Not yet,” Tory began to say.
Then he heard it.
Someone was crying out. It had to be Blume. It sounded hysterical and she was saying one name over and over again. And the sound of it chilled Tory’s blood.
“Ealrin! Ealrin, no!”
He cursed and ran in the direction of the screams. Or, at least, he would have done so if Gorplin hadn’t grabbed his arm and sent him spinning around to face the masked elf and their bewitched companions again. They were blurs in the smoke that rose, but Tory could hear the grunts of his general and the roars of Panto to know it was their friends fighting. A small breeze stirred the smoke up enough to allow Tory to see.
Holve, Amrolan, and Panto were fighting blade and claw with the four attackers. The masked elf was blasting some type of purple bolts of energy at Holve, who kept deflecting them with his spear, while Panto and Amrolan dueled the female warriors with fury and skill.
But, by the looks of it, the fury was running out.
“Keep them away from Blume,” Tory said as he charged forward to help the elf. “And you help Holve with your magic ax!”
“Magic ax,” Gorplin grunted as he started off in Holve’s direction. “Bah! I’ll show you ‘magic ax’!”
Tory readied his own blade and made for the other group. One of the helmeted warriors came for him and they began to duel. He knew this style, helmet or no.
“Princess!” he shouted, knowing that the one who attacked him with two blades was Teresa. “Snap out of it!”
He knew shouting did little to rouse someone from an evil enchantment, but he wasn’t going to just fight without trying to break through.
“You’re stronger than this, you tomboy! Fight it!”
Her sword came close to his right hand and he just barely dodged it. Blood splattered him in the face. His own blood.
Tory let out a grunt of pain. Using a technique Holve had once shown him while training for the elite soldiers of Thoran known as the King’s Swords, Tory attempted to free one of her blades from her hands. He at least wanted to fight on even grounds. With a flash of his steel, he managed the trick and one of her blades flew through the air, wisps of smoke curling around it as it rose.
She looked up at it with helmeted face, her other sword still held tightly in her grasp, and Tory took his chance. Using the butt of his blade and his full body weight, he struck at her chest, hoping to knock her to the ground and pin her down. As he did so, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Blume a few paces away. The air crackled around her as she stood with amulet in one hand and wand in the other.
A deafening, blood chilling, scream came from her petite form, rising in crescendo and shattering the air like it was glass.
“STOP!”
The blast of her command hit them all at the exact same moment. Tory perceived many things at once. The sword he had disarmed from Teresa hit a felled tree with a thud. Teresa’s helmet cracked down the center like it was a rock struck by an axe and fell away. The same sound echoed twice more, followed by an electric crack and burst of purple light.
The masked elf had vanished.
But as he coughed and blood escaped his mouth without his knowing how it got there, Tory looked down at his chest. All but a hand width of Teresa’s blade was rammed into his heart.
He looked to his princess as the world around him went from gray to darkening black. Teresa blinked twice and a look of horror grew across her face as Tory slumped to his knees.
Someone was screaming a pitiful, howling, painful noise somewhere far off in the distance. Tory felt no pain. Only cold wind on his face as he looked into the face of his princess and ruler.
The one he had refused to kill when given the opportunity, even though it now cost him his life.
“A sword,” he coughed. “For the queen.”
Before he fell sideways and hit the ground with a crunch amongst the burned and blackened woods around him, all went black.
Tory Greenwall was dead.
The Story Continues
“Wars of Irradan”, book six in the Legends of Gilia series, will be available July 2nd, 2018!
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Enjoy the journey,
RG Long
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