Magic of Ruyn

by RG Long

  It was the first free moment of the day where quiet conversation was not met with a rod.

  Abigail sat on her bed with her feet dangling over the side. Blume lay on hers, starting up at the mattress above her.

  “How was your first day, newbies?” the girl who had warned Blume about complaining about her breakfast asked.

  Blume rolled in her bed to get a good look at her.

  She couldn't have been more than ten years old. Her dirty blonde hair was almost the same color as her stained clothing. Her face was hardened by what must have been years of work in the home. Her hands were bruised and one of her cheeks bore a scar from her ear to the corner of her mouth.

  She was a plain girl, by all accounts. Except her eyes.

  In the girl’s eyes there was a fire that Blume was familiar with. The fire of a life that refused to give up.

  “To tell you the truth, it was pretty terrible,” Blume replied as her stomach grumbled. She rubbed her empty belly. “I'm achy all over and I'm starving.”

  “Thought you would be,” the girl said. “I'm Katy. I nicked this for you two.”

  She threw two crusts of bread on the bed beside Blume.

  “New kids never eat on the first day. It's how Miss Greer works. Eat up.”

  Katy turned to walk back to her bed, but Blume called out.

  “Hey, wait up!” she said.

  Katy turned around and looked back.

  “What?” she asked.

  Blume reached for the bread and then stood on the floor. She handed one to Abigail, who took it quietly without eating it.

  “What's your story?” Blume asked. “And what's really going on here?”

  Blume had always been inquisitive, even as a child. Her father had always said she asked a hundred questions before dinner was on the table.

  Now that she had a chance to talk, she was going to get answers to the questions she had been thinking on all day.

  “You heard her this morning,” Katy said as she came back to their bed. She sat on the unoccupied mattress across from Blume's. “This is Miss Greer's Home for the Helpless. More like workshop for the kids they find on the streets. She makes us work for the broth we eat and tell her thanks. She sells the stuff we make to the highest bidder and lives in a fancy house somewhere uptown. But when she's down here, all she wears is that plain dress. Doesn't want her nice clothes getting dirty.”

  Katy emphasized her last words by shaking her own garment, which gives off a cloud of dust from the shop.

  “You get used to breathing the stuff in sooner or later,” she says with a dismissive smile.

  “How about you? Are you really orphans or did they just snatch you when you were on the wrong side of town?”

  “What? They do that?” Blume asked.

  Katy laughed.

  “Yeah, that's how they got at least ten of the girls. Maybe a few of the boys, too. Anyone who wanders away from their parents and gets lost may end up with Miss Greer. And she says if your parents come claim you that you can go home. That's mostly true. Problem is, anyone who goes asking where Miss Greer's is and they'll get taken to a nice little house uptown. And a few orphans live there. Well-fed and prettied up. But they're just a rouse. Anyway, after some parent sees their kid isn't there, they just give up.”

  Blume sat quietly for a moment. She took a bite of the bread, trying to think about the predicament of the children she was surrounded by.

  “So, is that what happened to you, Katy? Did you wander off?” she asked.

  Katy shook her head and dangled her feet from the bed.

  “Naw. My parents really are dead. Went sailing on a trip and the boat was attacked. At least that's what they said happened. I was six. And since I don't have any other family in the south, I got sent here.”

  She paused and chuckled.

  “Well,” she continued, “That's almost true. I have an uncle up in Beaton. My dad's brother. But I've only met him once. I tried to get a letter to him, but I haven't heard back. I doubt I will. Anyway, they took me to the nice house at first. After I talked back to Miss Greer once there for mistreating a kid, she sent me here.”

  “Thank you,” came a quiet voice from above Blume.

  Katy looked up at Abigail.

  “You're welcome,” she said. “Everybody has to eat. Even the new kids.”

  Katy stretched and yawned.

  “You never told me if you're orphans or not,” Katy said in-between stretches. “Not that it really matters if you ended up here.”

  “I am,” Blume said, choking on her crust of bread. “My parents died a few months ago.”

  “I'm not an orphan,” Abigail said weakly. Blume noticed she didn't hear the elf crunching on her own piece of bread. She could envision her just turning it over and over in her hands as she spoke.

  “I have a mom. And a dad. Plus two older brothers,” Abigail said in small voice.

  The words were coming from Abigail, but Blume could hardly recognize the sound. It was like the very joy of living had been stolen from her.

  “I miss them terribly,” she finished with a small sob.

  “Sorry,” Katy said bluntly.

  Blume wasn't sure if she meant it. But she had no reason to doubt the little girl who had stolen them a piece of bread.

  “Better get used to it here,” Katy said. “No one leaves once they come to shop.”

  Blume swallowed the last bite of bread and cleared her throat.

  “You mean no one has yet,” she said. “We're going to be the first. And we start planning tomorrow.”

  Katy laughed again and shook her head.

  “You're not the first to say that, you know,” she said with a smile on her face.

  That smile hid a lot of pain. Blume could see it. Maybe Katy had said those words herself once.

  “Bet I'm the first Speaker to say it,” Blume replied.

  Katy's eyes went wide and Blume knew she was right.

  Miss Greer was going to have to deal with three Speakers soon enough.

  20: Ships of the Southerners

  Rayg walked through the ruins of what was once the mighty elven city.

  Spiral towers had been toppled and every piece of metal found repurposed.

  Impromptu forges were made from the stones of the ruined buildings. Their fires fueled by the shavings from the ancient trees. In a city that was once beautiful and white, there was now black smoke rising all around. The elves had tried so valiantly to keep the divide between forest and city seamless. Rayg had to admire their attention to detail and care for the forest.

  But that care had destroyed them.

  Their walls were not strong enough to keep out the mighty armies of men. Their feeble war engines made from trees that had fallen naturally were too weak to repel a mightier force. One that wasn't as concerned with preservation of nature.

  This force wanted domination.

  The sky had once been hidden from view in the beautiful city of Talgel. Tree canopies had allowed only a glimpse of the blue above.

  Now, as trees fell all around them, the sky canopy was opened and the clear blue sky above was visible.

  The accomplishments of man were growing.

  Two months ago, man came into the forest with ax and blade. Trees that had grown since the beginning of the elf settlement now lay in neat piles, ready to be made into planks.

  The ancient harbor had been converted and added to. It was now a ship foundry. No less than ten mighty vessels were being constructed. Their large hulls shadowed the docks. Each ship would carry enough men to sack a city.

  Another twenty-four of the mighty vessels were planned and in the beginning stages of construction. When combined with the ships that were already in Sea Gate, this armada would be a force to be feared.

  This fleet would be sent to destroy a country.

  Rayg breathed in the smell of freshly cut wood, smoking furnaces, and the hard labor of men.

  What a glorious war this would be.

&
nbsp; "General Rayg, sir?" A voice behind him interrupted his thoughts.

  The owner of this voice was Wessel, a servant of Androlion. A scribe. He was a small man, a full three heads shorter than Rayg. Though he was young, he was already balding on the top of his head. His eyes were too close together and his face seemed to be in a constant state of dislike. Like he had something sour in his mouth, but refused to spit it out. He was a skinny man wearing large robes that threatened to consume him whole at any given moment.

  The leader of the new Southern Republic had requested he come with Rayg to document the progress of construction.

  Rayg was more under the impression that the scribe had been sent to spy on him. He felt like Androlion had begun to trust in him less and less.

  No matter.

  "What do you want, weasel?" Rayg said.

  He was rather fond of the nickname he had granted this one.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Rayg saw the man flinch at being called weasel. He knew that he would never correct him. Wessel was far too much of a coward for that.

  "Should we get started on our report?" Wessel asked with a quivering voice.

  If it wouldn't stall the plans Rayg had made, he would have been content to kill the fool right then and there.

  But there was still work to do and everything had to be perfect.

  The pair had traveled from Conny to Talgel at Androlion's request. The wheels of several different plans were all turning at once.

  "Everything must be precise," Androlion had told Rayg. "Our timing must be flawless if this salvation is to truly occur in its fullest extent."

  Rayg agreed. Salvation was indeed coming.

  Wessel and he had walked the entire city once over. They had seen the men cutting down the trees with saw and ax. The wood was then made into planks and carried to the docks. Huge scaffolding had been constructed so that several parts of one boat could be made at once. Speakers aided the workers in lifting the heavy wood, holding them in place while they were fastened with nails.

  The plan was unfolding just as Androlion had wished. Rayg's own plans were coming to fruition as well.

  "Take note of this, weasel," Rayg began.

  Wessel procured from his robes a quill, a small board, and a piece of parchment to take notes.

  "Ship production ahead of schedule. Thirty ships shall be ready to sail in a fortnight. Begin gathering troops and prepare them to set sail. I will personally deliver the first shift after it is completed."

  Rayg looked down at the scribe as he scribbled away on his paper.

  "That will suffice for the time being," he said as he turned his back on the shipbuilders and began to walk east.

  "Wait a moment! Wait!" Wessel said as he tried to follow Rayg, still writing on his parchment. "Shouldn't we be a bit more detailed?"

  Rayg turned so quickly on him that before Wessel knew he was in danger, it was too late. Rayg lifted him three feet into the air by his throat.

  "If you see fit to count pieces of wood and number of nails, be my guest," he spat at him. "You have a full month to write whatever you see fit. I have other matters to attend to."

  Rayg dropped Wessel on the ground and spun on his heel, walking away from the crumbled man on the ground.

  He heard him gasping for breath behind him. It was a pity he wasn't quite dead.

  Rayg pointed to a squad of soldiers.

  "Ten of you, with me," he barked. "The rest, make sure things stay ahead of schedule. I will return in three weeks."

  Rayg climbed onto his horse. It wore the same black armor that adorned him. It was a strong and terrifying looking beast with its battle gear on.

  "Have my ship ready."

  Rayg stalked off with ten soldiers behind him.

  It was time to ensure that the goblins were keeping their end of the bargain.

  21: Family

  Ealrin was glad to finally be on the other side of Mountain Gate.

  Fray and Susan had met together for only a moment of choice words directed to one another before their paperwork was completed. It turns out the old leader of the Red Guard was more than happy to get rid of the group that brought with them bad luck, regardless of whether it kept Beaton safe or not.

  Marty had been right, though the innkeeper did shed a tear knowing that his last guests for the next month or so would be leaving.

  In the end, the process only took an hour for all eight of them. The idea that it could have taken less time infuriated Lote to no end.

  "I can't believe we wasted all that time just to sign a paper," she said as they walked along the road that would lead them to the capital city.

  "If this is how all of this country handles its affairs, I’ll put my trust in dwarves before I have high hopes for a man again!"

  "She's talking about you, Shorty," Tory said as he slapped Gorplin on his shoulder.

  Gorplin snorted, but held his tongue.

  He was finally learning that Lote could hear whatever insult he decided to mutter under his breath.

  Ealrin was glad to be making progress again. He thought they would be able to make the journey from Thoran to Beaton in three weeks’ time.

  So far they had already spent three weeks and had just now crossed the border.

  There was still a lot of road ahead of them.

  RIGHT UP TO MOUNTAIN Gate on the eastern side, the green forest of Thoran grew proudly. Now that they were heading west, it was like the trees had no desire to follow them any further. All that stretched before them were rolling hills and tall grasses.

  Ealrin could see for miles ahead and, looking back, could still make out the tiny wall in the distance that had hindered their progress so far.

  The rest of their travels that day were uneventful. They continued to walk well after sunset, only stopping once Lote decided they had put enough distance between them and the border city. They arranged their packs in a circle and lit a small fire.

  Gaflion consulted a map he had brought along and informed the group there was a two-week hike until they arrived in the enormous city.

  Two more weeks until they were to come to Beaton and begin to convince them that Thoran needed aid and needed it quickly.

  Ealrin hoped they had left in time.

  Jurgon prepared an excellent meal from the provisions they had purchased in Mountain Gate. The bread that was made for the journey was still moist and the meat from the fire was especially delicious.

  “I must say, those Mountain Gate folk sure know how to salt a ham!” Jurrin said again and again as he ate his dinner, most pleased with his friend's work.

  Jurgon knew how to cook and the entire company benefited from his experience. Ealrin was trying to pick up everything he could from the master chef, who also was a self-trained Speaker.

  “Nope,” Jurgon said as he saw Ealrin take over the spit.

  “Don't turn it that way!” Jurrin told him, speaking on behalf of his friend. “You'll never get the edges cooked before the middle burns.”

  Oh well, Ealrin thought. I can learn by watching.

  He sat back and enjoyed his own bread and meat and enjoyed the view of the stars above him.

  Ealrin and Bertrom were first watch that night. As the fire burned low, the soft wind of the plains lulled most of them to sleep. After successfully crossing the gate, everyone felt accomplished and ready for the trek to Beaton. They all looked like they were enjoying their night's rest to Ealrin. Even Gorplin's snoring wasn't as loud as usual.

  “Think they're all asleep?” Bertrom asked in a quiet voice. He had been pacing around the camp, looking out beyond the light of the fire to the plains that surrounded them.

  “I doubt Lote is, though she puts on a good front,” Ealrin said as he looked over at the elf. She slept on her side, one hand on her bow and another on an arrow. Ever the constant warrior. Her chest rose and fell evenly, but Ealrin wasn't quite convinced she was all the way asleep. Something about traveling this far with her told him she could be very alert at
any moment, if needed.

  “I wasn't brave back there,” Bertrom said as he stared into the fire.

  “What?” Ealrin asked, brought back to the fire and his night's watch. “When?”

  He looked over at the young soldier and saw a serious expression on his typically jovial face. Bertrom sat by the fire, sword still in hand. He tapped it lightly on the ground.

  “When we fought the troll on the Thoran side of the gate,” he continued. Ealrin sat back against his pack. He could tell by looking at Bertrom that this had been weighing on his mind. Throughout their stay in Mountain Gate, he had been uncharacteristically quiet and moody.

  “You all went head first into that fight. I just froze up.”

  Ealrin remembered having to shove him out of harm’s way. In the moment, he hadn't thought much of it. He was just trying to protect the young man from harm.

  “None of you even thought for a second. You just reacted. All I could think about was dying. If you hadn't saved me, I would have died anyways.”

  He sighed.

  “I was pretty useless. Why did Princess Teresa choose me for this? I'm no warrior.”

  He picked up a piece of grass and rolled it between his fingers. The pain in Bertrom's voice was hard for Ealrin to listen to.

  “Weren't you in the battle down south? I heard you tell Teresa that you were,” Ealrin said, trying to find some way to encourage Bertrom.

  “That was different,” he answered. “It's one thing to be brave when you're surrounded by a thousand others who are charging with you into the enemy. When I saw that troll, all I could think was 'I can't do this' and I just...”

  Bertrom trailed off as he kept staring into the fire's dying light.

  “I froze,” he finished. “Ealrin, I think I should go back. I'm no help to you. Even the halflings are useful. They can do magic. I can't even wield a sword without flinching.”

  Ealrin had no words of encouragement for him. What was he going to tell him? Ignore the fear? Be brave? This was where Holve would have the words to encourage someone. Ealrin wasn't sure what Bertrom needed to hear.

  “You're not like that,” Bertrom continued. “You fought bravely. You went up and faced the troll like it was nothing. How'd you do it?”